laography | everybody wants to rule the world

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everybody wants to rule the world

holding hands while the walls come tumbling down

when they do i'll be right behind you

[ To become an alpha was the greatest honor of all, or so people said. To be with an alpha was just as great. The Alphas were the people who ran the world--drew the borderlines, ran the businesses, held the money in their hands. Each alpha held with them an indiscernible amount of power that they earned, from quelling revolutions, and most of all, winning competitions, where powerful betas from all across the country were selected--forced--to fight for the honor of becoming an alpha and joining the few and the proud. For these betas, it was supposed to be just that, an honor. They would bring power to their families names, protection to their loved ones, and be elevated to a status that so very few can obtain.

But that's for one. One beta a year. Not everyone can be a victor, of course.

The twenty odd betas who are left? Well, they're all dead. It's a fight to the death to be that one beta turned alpha, and maybe that's a little more indicative about what their werewolf games are all about. The entire thing is a farce, death and destruction designed for the murder happy populace--for the murder happy alphas.

Beacon Hills had had exactly one victor. He hasn't been back since.

Stiles Stilinski doesn't really blame him, to be honest. He's been watching the games since he was younger, participated in every school sponsored exam. The whole point of this was to pick the best of the best, and so the alphas themselves came and watched as young werewolves ran in PE or...excelled at academics, or whatever they were interested in. Stiles stood in line with the rest of the kids and waited not to get picked, then watched the games with Scott, every year. It was stupid, it was wrong, but there was never any changing it.

Until this year. Stiles was sixteen years old when his best friend was nominated for the games, and he just--maybe it was stupid. Maybe he couldn't control his mouth. But the fierce urge to keep Scott safe had ended in him screaming, I volunteer, and now here he was, in the alphas complex, sitting and awaiting a presentation to the entire country, and most of all, sponsors. He'd chatted with his stylist, who was from Beacon Hills too and was just stupidly pretty, and even as she'd gussied him and fussed at his suit, she'd stared at Stiles as he said something particularly smart and muttered, "Oh, they're going to love you."

And so, Stiles went into the tech room. Eyed the other werewolves in the room, who mostly sneered at him from being from the middle of nowhere, but the entire time that he was in the room, he was taking information in his head.

And when it was his turn to step up, Stiles swallowed his nerves, the thudding of his heart, and leveled the sponsors just above him with a cool look, never stopping to pick up a weapon. ] Candidate from San Dimas, weak runner and he strikes really heavily on his left side. He also has a huge thing for the other candidate. It's a weak point. The candidate from San Diego, on the other hand, is like a frickin machine, except for the fact that his temper is so fast that he's going to lose, because anger clouds his sparring skills--I mean, did you see him against the soldier lackey you've got in there?

[ One by one, he goes through the other candidates, exacting, then pauses and narrows his eyes at the box of sponsors. ] And you guys--you guys rely so much on your alphaships that you don't give a crap about the people trying to snare you around your legs. You get so comfortable in your power that you start getting fat--[ And a pointed look at one of the bigger alphas. ] --and stop caring about anything that's not a frickin' gala. And when somebody stops following your little games, you're all gonna be screwed, because you just weren't paying attention.

[ And apparently, while people weren't paying attention, Stiles picked up what looked like a cherry bomb. And when he tosses it in the air, he slams the bat he'd picked up at the beginning of the demonstration into it, so it sails through the air and slams into the forcefield.

With a sarcastic bow, he turns around and leaves, and when Lydia receives him and moves him into the one on one room, she tuts at him. They're gonna kill you, you know. Stiles gets settled in the chair and drops his head into his hands. ] If I don't die in the next ten minutes, I'm gonna be the first kill in the stupid games, anyway.

[ What most people don't seem to realize about the so-called prestigious position of being an alpha, being a part of the council itself, is that it's not a permanent position. The press talks about it, of course, but it's dolled up so that the world thinks that they've simply retired. But for every beta that dies, for every one that wins, there's a number of alphas that meet their end themselves. It's backstabbing at its finest, a game of its own.

Beacon Hills has had one victor, and with him an increase in supplies, trades, defenses, whatever could be supplied. But there's a certain line that the council doesn't want any of them to cross, unless they want those rights to be revoked, and so he can only do more on the sly, or under the guise of something else. He might never return, but Derek Hale does what he can to help his home.

Watching other candidates come in from the small town over the years has grated on him, because no matter what he does for them as a sponsor-- if he can get to them before the other alphas, anyways-- can't get them through these damn games alive. And it weighs heavy on him, though he carries the weight with what already sits on his shoulders. He's not given up, trying to get these people through something that ripped the heart out of him when he was their ages.

The fact he's held onto his seat for so long is a miracle, given how vicious those around him can be. But when he had become a candidate, he had been fifty pounds lighter at the very least and what they called the softhearted prince. They hardly expected him to last through the first night.

They were wrong, and they're going to be wrong about this Beacon Hills native, too.

Without even looking away from where he tracks the teenager-- M. Stilinski, with a note for his nickname it says-- Derek can feel the tension suddenly rise in some of the alphas around him. He knows that the San Dimas and San Diego candidates have eyes on them already, special treatment planned, and the insults at their weaknesses riles them up. But the entire box goes on edge, tension thick in the air, as he directs his attention solely to them. With the explosion, that tension snaps, some of them jumping up and others bristling, growling, even flashing their eyes.

Derek just gets up from his seat as Stiles leaves, ignoring anyone that pays him any mind as he heads down to the one-on-one room without hesitation. He can hear them vying for his loss on the first day, even as he makes his way down the hall, but this one. This one is going to be it. He knows it, as he enters the room. ]

[ It was satisfying, at least. Stiles can console himself with that when he's about to die. When Lydia's gone and there are footsteps down the hall, Stiles jerks up and grabs onto the edge of the table, trying to stay calm. His heart thuds in his chest as he ponders the merits of getting up and bolting out of the window, or how fast the guard would kill him.

But he doesn't lose his grip or his focus, and as far as it would look to naked eyes, he's human. Stiles doesn't freak or flash his eyes when the door opens, either, but he does regard the alpha with a wary look, only to stop for a second as his eyes scan over his face. ] ...Alpha Hale.

[ That wasn't who he was expecting, exactly. Stiles' shoulders slump a little, and he raises an eyebrow. ] Are you here to give me the killing I just asked for or do I get to wait for my government-ordained killing in the arena when I inevitably trip in the starting countdown?

[ Up close, Stiles is all limbs and mouth, and he can't say he's particularly surprised. But his eyes are really what catch his attention, and there's no denying that he's smart. It's obvious even when he's not trash talking the other candidates and the very alphas that he was supposed to be appealing to. (To be fair, he wasn't exactly conventional when he'd done it, himself.) Unfortunately, it's also obvious that he's tense. Not that he can blame him, after that stunt, but he's visibly handling this rather well otherwise.

Derek slowly cocks his head to the side, almost as if actually considering the question. He brings his hands up, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall opposite Stiles. ] I'm here to get to you before they do, and to make sure that you're actually prepared so you don't trip in the starting countdown.

[ And, preferably, survive the damn games. ]

Edited 2013-11-25 03:08 (UTC)

[ Stiles literally gapes at him for that one, staring for a minute. He wasn't really expecting anything short of "here's my claws, nice to meet your throat" and a cannon shot to go off before he even frickin' got into the game.

His mouth shuts with an audible click, and he raises his eyebrows. He's more than smart enough to figure this part out. ] You want to sponsor me.

[ Somewhere it echoes in the back of his head that everyone Derek Hale's ever sponsored has died. It's kind of hard to have luck with this kind of thing, particularly when alphas like Deucalion and Kali have their bets on the wolves from the big city. ]

Unlike the other alphas that you've pissed off in one fell swoop, I'm more inclined to agree with you. [ His eyebrows twitch up in response to Stiles' reaction as he processes the situation, but Derek remains calm and even as he speaks. Few people actually speak ill of the alphas, or at least few people manage to get out of it alive, but he's been pushing his luck with them for a good seven, eight years now. Maybe the handful of candidates he's sponsored haven't made it out of the games, but no one can deny that they've been just as tenacious as their sponsor.

Stiles is tenacious on his own, and he can tell. And maybe he's afraid, but it doesn't stop him from voicing exactly what's on his mind. It's appealing, though he knows that he's going to have a headache very, very soon. ]

And probably the only one that would be willing to act as your sponsor, given the aneurysm you gave everyone.

[ ...huh.

Stiles nods a little to himself, turning his gaze away from Derek's and looking at the table. He knows a lot about Derek's win in the games; he watched it, when he had to kill the other candidate from Beacon Hills. They'd been in love, but she'd been this close to being killed by another candidate, and in his arms, when they were the last two left, she'd begged for him to end it for her and let her die in peace. It was hard to stomach, although not as hard as the interviews they had to watch Derek sit through when it was all over. He could only imagine what that initiation had felt like.

A part of him wondered if Derek hadn't had become an alpha by winning the competition, if his eyes would have been blue. Most of the betas who get involved turn blue before the end of the competition--Stiles already has them beat on that one. Thinking of his mom, what she would say with this circus (and her already vehement hatred of the games), Stiles focuses back in on the conversation and makes a guilty face. Oops. ]

Yeah, well, I volunteered to be here, I might as well show them I'm not actually that interested. [ It was worth it, though. Mouth curling up a little, he glances at Derek. ] Did it really piss them off that bad?

[ Some alphas were born into the right, rather than having to fight for it in the games. Had it passed on to them through family, or simply came into it. Talia Hale had hated the games vehemently, herself. Fought to have them abolished, for the sake of the future generations that would come. She had been absolutely livid when he had been selected as a candidate, and Derek vaguely remembers her ripping into Deucalion himself, before he became a major spokesperson for the games.

Though she never stopped opposing them, when he won the games she had been both relieved and quieter. It was possibly in respect for everything that'd happened to him-- two of the friends he'd made in training, people he'd worked with as the countdown loomed over them, had died; he had a piece of his soul ripped from his chest, leaving a searing blue in his eyes until he'd been initiated-- and maybe, she felt like her son did. He never knew, and he never tried to ask, before the fire.

He keeps his eyes on Stiles, observing him with a keen, if quiet, interest. ]

For your best friend. I saw that. [ There's no judgment to that, and even if there was it shifts away and into faint amusement in response to Stiles' question. ] Most of the southern alphas flashed their eyes. Alpha Sanchez probably lost ten pounds because of the explosion on the barrier, but like you said. Some of them need to lose that weight.

[ That startles a laugh out of him, and Stiles drops his head, shaking it a little with his snort. It's kind of weird to think that one of the alphas actually wants to sponsor him, after that. ] I guess I wasn't really thinking. [ A beat. ] I don't usually do that anyway. My dad says I was born with "a knack for avoiding authority figures." Kind of a joke of a beta.

[ Folding his hands together, Stiles looks down at them. He'd barely gotten to say goodbye to Scott, who'd just told him he was an idiot for volunteering, but given him the tightest hug he'd ever received and told him not to die. His dad's goodbye had been even more brutal--he'd looked so damn hurt. Stiles didn't want his dad to have to bury him next to his mom. He had a feeling that the alphas wouldn't let him get out without being eviscerated, anyway.

Swallowing down that less than pleasant thought, Stiles sighs through his nose. ] I'm not a very good fighter. I'm pretty much positive they only let me volunteer because they needed an easy kill.

[ Tipping his head back against the wall behind him, the corner of his mouth twitches the slightest bit. This is going to be an interesting round of the games, that's for sure. The other candidates are varied across the whole spectrum, but most of them seem more prepared for this. Or at least have the more elite of the alphas sponsoring them. ] You're not the first, and you won't be the last.

[ After a moment more of consideration, Derek sways forward and away from the wall, stepping closer to him on silent feet. He's obviously giving Stiles a once-over, but keeps to the edges of their personal space rather than quite stepping over completely. He doesn't look like a lot, but he's lean like a runner, tall but still considerably smaller than at least one of the other candidates. And inexperienced.

But so was he. ] I wasn't either, and most of the betting pool leaned towards the cannons firing on the first day. [ There's a pause, and his jaw works a little. ] You'll learn, even if I have to teach you myself.

[ Vaguely feeling like he's being eyed like a piece of meat, Stiles looks Derek up and down and drums his fingertips against the table. He's got exactly three days before he has to go into the arena. Three. One for the gimmicks and the parades, one for TV interviews, and one last day of "reconcile", which was basically Alphaese for "getting ready for the fact that you're probably gonna die." ] Exactly how much are you planning on teaching me that fast?

[ But, he can remember. He can remember Derek, who was fierce as hell for being the underdog. He wasn't exactly the pride of Beacon Hills when he won, considering what he had to do to do it, and his victory passed with a small parade and nothing else. It didn't seem like Derek won, at all. Rather, it felt like he survived.

Stiles had never really been much of a winner, either. Maybe surviving was the way to go. ] Bet on the lame horse and get the better draw, I guess.

[ He glances up and looks at his face, brown eyes hardening just a little, and holds out his hand. ] You've got a deal.

[ Three days is not enough and yet far too much at the same time. Stiles needs to be as prepared as possible for what he's about to face, but the technicians behind the entire fiasco tend to throw as many curveballs into the thing as possible. Derek knows from experience, and knows from watching it from the outside. The hardest part is the day for "reconcile," when you know it's the last you'll have before you go in to either survive or die. ] You've got brains and a good eye, you'd do well to hone that, as a strategist. But you're more for speed than strength, so it'd be better to focus on something that can keep you out of arm's reach until you need to get in and out.

[ And it really isn't winning. Some people might think of it as a victory, to step into the upper echelon. But not Derek. It was simply finding some way to survive, even before Paige had been gutted to the point that her body was rejecting the healing process. Afterwards? Much of it was a haze, and he tries not to think back to what he'd done to survive, despite the fact it was what they'd all done since the first games. ] Something like that.

[ Meeting his gaze steadily, clear green-gold searching before he seems to find some sort of answer, he brings a hand up to take Stiles' firmly. ]

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