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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.
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. ]
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?
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. ]
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. ]
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.
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?
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.
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.
[ 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.
[ 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.
[ 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. ]
[ 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. ]
[ Day one of living in the alpha's complex meant nothing but training. Interviews were kept to the second day and the arrivals, giving the candidates a chance to train in the facilities owned by the complex. Honestly, it wasn't like the training was going to help the ones who were well and truly screwed, so it seemed like a gracious gesture of the alphas, to give them a fighting chance.
Being one of those losers, Stiles can concur, totally freakin' sucks.
What he knows about combat is limited to sparring with his best friend. His survival skills are better--the son of the sheriff has an even shot, can identify up to forty strains of wolfsbane with little to no effort, and watched enough Bear Grylls to live out in the woods for like ten years. That part he's not worried about. Killing a bunch of other werewolves, some of whom train their whole lives for this? That he's a little worried about.
Derek had told him to pick a weapon that felt familiar. The bat, as useful as it'd been during the exhibition, was going to have to be put down, because the idea of bludgeoning someone's brains out with it made his stomach churn a little. Plus--that would take time. Stiles has a good swing, but it's not that great.
His eyes land on what looks like a poleaxe, similar in size to a lacrosse stick, with a viciously sharp, curved blade on one end and a shorter one on the other. He picks it up, tests the weight of it in his hands (nearly drops it on account of how light it is) and gives it a spin. Distance. Put distance between you and an opponent, but you don't want something you have to constantly load and reload.
Taking it into the testing room, he glances over his shoulder, watching the other candidate from Beacon Hills, a woman named Jennifer Blake, mercilessly destroying a couple of targets with what looked like miniature daggers.
Super. ]
Being one of those losers, Stiles can concur, totally freakin' sucks.
What he knows about combat is limited to sparring with his best friend. His survival skills are better--the son of the sheriff has an even shot, can identify up to forty strains of wolfsbane with little to no effort, and watched enough Bear Grylls to live out in the woods for like ten years. That part he's not worried about. Killing a bunch of other werewolves, some of whom train their whole lives for this? That he's a little worried about.
Derek had told him to pick a weapon that felt familiar. The bat, as useful as it'd been during the exhibition, was going to have to be put down, because the idea of bludgeoning someone's brains out with it made his stomach churn a little. Plus--that would take time. Stiles has a good swing, but it's not that great.
His eyes land on what looks like a poleaxe, similar in size to a lacrosse stick, with a viciously sharp, curved blade on one end and a shorter one on the other. He picks it up, tests the weight of it in his hands (nearly drops it on account of how light it is) and gives it a spin. Distance. Put distance between you and an opponent, but you don't want something you have to constantly load and reload.
Taking it into the testing room, he glances over his shoulder, watching the other candidate from Beacon Hills, a woman named Jennifer Blake, mercilessly destroying a couple of targets with what looked like miniature daggers.
Super. ]
[ Day two dawns with Stiles feeling no less terrified about the ordeal he's about to go through. His stylist is from Beacon Hills, and she gives him a sympathetic look and tuts at him when he comes out into the styling room in ratty sweatpants and a tank top (they didn't exactly give him much of an option to change clothes for the choosing). He cracks a joke about her killing him before any of the candidates do, and she just raises her eyebrows at him.
Right. Terrifying.
But he has two admit, two hours of being picked at and gelled and poked with pins, she might be a magician. The image that everyone seems to have latched onto is red riding hood--it's a joke, that he's gonna be the first easy kill, and because he'd been wearing his favorite old red hoodie when they picked him. So Lydia latched onto that. In a bright red suit cut to his proportions perfectly, Stiles holds his arms out dutifully and turns for her--the coat has coattails shaped like the bottom of a cape, with velvet swirls going up the back, and a hood cheekily stuck out from the back of the jacket. She'd probably spent ten minutes staring at his hair and shaking her head before she gave up and put in enough gel to keep it from getting even more birds nest-y, and Stiles had laughed and told her his mom tried to fight that monster with no success for years. She threatened to shave it; he mentioned he'd been there, done that.
Stiles absolutely loved his stylist, he'd decided by the end of it. Even if he was sure she was poking him with the straight pins on accident. And when they walked up together, she paused, straightened his tie. Try to smile.
People are getting ready to kill me. Might as well, right? First time on TV.
With a little bit of sarcasm to his grin, Stiles steps out into the bright, bright lights of the stage, waving at the crowd as instructed. ]
Right. Terrifying.
But he has two admit, two hours of being picked at and gelled and poked with pins, she might be a magician. The image that everyone seems to have latched onto is red riding hood--it's a joke, that he's gonna be the first easy kill, and because he'd been wearing his favorite old red hoodie when they picked him. So Lydia latched onto that. In a bright red suit cut to his proportions perfectly, Stiles holds his arms out dutifully and turns for her--the coat has coattails shaped like the bottom of a cape, with velvet swirls going up the back, and a hood cheekily stuck out from the back of the jacket. She'd probably spent ten minutes staring at his hair and shaking her head before she gave up and put in enough gel to keep it from getting even more birds nest-y, and Stiles had laughed and told her his mom tried to fight that monster with no success for years. She threatened to shave it; he mentioned he'd been there, done that.
Stiles absolutely loved his stylist, he'd decided by the end of it. Even if he was sure she was poking him with the straight pins on accident. And when they walked up together, she paused, straightened his tie. Try to smile.
People are getting ready to kill me. Might as well, right? First time on TV.
With a little bit of sarcasm to his grin, Stiles steps out into the bright, bright lights of the stage, waving at the crowd as instructed. ]
[ Every time Derek has seen off his candidates, he's felt like he's been sending them to the slaughterhouse. But he refuses to just go sit up with the rest of the alphas when he can at least try and brace them for what they're about to face, try to give them some last minute advice. The fact that he's been through the games once, himself, and seen them so many times from a close vantage point, has given him something of an advantage. Maybe some of the other alphas watch with the same critical eye that he does, making it a game of chess, but he fights to keep himself five moves ahead.
Stiles is a chess player, through and through. He just hopes that he can keep ahead of the rest of the players.
He comes down to the lift, jacket abandoned and sleeves rolled up, waistcoat really his last image of professionalism as the anxiety of the final countdown weighs heavy on him. On the other candidates. The woman from Beacon Hills is down in the lift area, as well, but she's been sponsored by another alpha-- Kali, vicious and out for Derek's throat, so he's not particularly surprised that she'd go after someone from his hometown-- and from day one, he'd only had eyes for Stiles.
Even now, he only has eyes for Stiles as he comes in, catching his scent and the sound of his jackrabbit heart thundering. If he could just take him from this death trap, he would. But there's no chance of it, so he can only hope that he's done enough to help him survive.
Moving towards him, as if pulled by his personal gravity, he gives him a once-over as he had when they first spoke. ] I'm not even going to ask if you feel ready for this.
Stiles is a chess player, through and through. He just hopes that he can keep ahead of the rest of the players.
He comes down to the lift, jacket abandoned and sleeves rolled up, waistcoat really his last image of professionalism as the anxiety of the final countdown weighs heavy on him. On the other candidates. The woman from Beacon Hills is down in the lift area, as well, but she's been sponsored by another alpha-- Kali, vicious and out for Derek's throat, so he's not particularly surprised that she'd go after someone from his hometown-- and from day one, he'd only had eyes for Stiles.
Even now, he only has eyes for Stiles as he comes in, catching his scent and the sound of his jackrabbit heart thundering. If he could just take him from this death trap, he would. But there's no chance of it, so he can only hope that he's done enough to help him survive.
Moving towards him, as if pulled by his personal gravity, he gives him a once-over as he had when they first spoke. ] I'm not even going to ask if you feel ready for this.
[ After the day of respite, where Stiles phoned his dad and cried for several hours where no cameras or people could see him, he had to be ready. So he'd gotten out of bed that morning in the complex, got dressed in the suit they gave him--tight and form fitting, designed for what looked like a trek through the forest, high up around his collar but exposing his jugular anyway. They all matched, and Stiles didn't flinch when they put the tracker in him, just sat and traced the BH on his shoulder with his fingers and thought about his mom. (It's a sign for how much he's in his own world--Stiles hates needles, probably more than anything in the world.)
By the time he reaches the lift, with Jennifer nearby, Stiles is jittering almost to the point that his teeth are rattling in his mouth. There's no eerie calm, this is 100%-about-to-have-a-balls-to-the-wall-panic-attack Stiles Stilinski right now, and he jams his hands against the side of his suit, kneading his knuckles against the watertight material to try and find something else to focus on, jumping up and down. But when Derek enters the room, he stops, meeting his gaze almost immediately and calming down a little. Whether it's trying to put on a good show for the poor guy or something else entirely, even Stiles isn't sure, and he swallows down the lump in his throat, managing a crooked smile. ] Dude, can't you tell? I'm totally ready to go out and run to my inevitable death.
[ Beside them, even if quietly, Jennifer scoffs. ]
By the time he reaches the lift, with Jennifer nearby, Stiles is jittering almost to the point that his teeth are rattling in his mouth. There's no eerie calm, this is 100%-about-to-have-a-balls-to-the-wall-panic-attack Stiles Stilinski right now, and he jams his hands against the side of his suit, kneading his knuckles against the watertight material to try and find something else to focus on, jumping up and down. But when Derek enters the room, he stops, meeting his gaze almost immediately and calming down a little. Whether it's trying to put on a good show for the poor guy or something else entirely, even Stiles isn't sure, and he swallows down the lump in his throat, managing a crooked smile. ] Dude, can't you tell? I'm totally ready to go out and run to my inevitable death.
[ Beside them, even if quietly, Jennifer scoffs. ]
[ Since having first participated in the games, having come into the alpha's complex, things have received some upgrades. He is grateful for them, in some ways, but the problem is that only certain upgrades are shared by all of the candidates. Fortune favors the rich, after all, and some candidates are given special attention where they truly don't need it. They're being shaped into proper killing machines by their sponsors, who provide trainers and special weapons.
But it's impersonal. It makes them cocky, doesn't remind them of the risks that come with entering the dome surrounded by other players that want to win or survive. A pair from Beacon Hills, recently sixteen and scared out of their wits, hadn't been given special treatment. Their sponsor did what he could for them, a sad but knowing smile on his face every time they spoke to him, but Paige had always made sure to keep their heads above water. Even towards the end.
Almost eight years later, Derek plans to do the same. He passes through the complex, citing to anyone that stops him that he's busy taking care of sponsor-related business, with only one destination in mind. He's been to the training room plenty of times since he first passed through, so it's an easy path that he takes almost subconsciously. He'd said, when he and Stiles first spoke, that he would train him himself if he had to.
And that was exactly what he was going to do.
As he comes into the training room, he unbuttons his suit jacket and shrugs it off, folding it over his arms neatly as he approaches where Stiles is examining one of the glaives set out for the candidates to train with. It's a good choice, and hopefully one that he'll click with. Because they need to get started, and fast. ] Good pick.
[ Jennifer goes completely unnoticed (or, more likely, ignored) as he comes to a stop next to Stiles. ]
But it's impersonal. It makes them cocky, doesn't remind them of the risks that come with entering the dome surrounded by other players that want to win or survive. A pair from Beacon Hills, recently sixteen and scared out of their wits, hadn't been given special treatment. Their sponsor did what he could for them, a sad but knowing smile on his face every time they spoke to him, but Paige had always made sure to keep their heads above water. Even towards the end.
Almost eight years later, Derek plans to do the same. He passes through the complex, citing to anyone that stops him that he's busy taking care of sponsor-related business, with only one destination in mind. He's been to the training room plenty of times since he first passed through, so it's an easy path that he takes almost subconsciously. He'd said, when he and Stiles first spoke, that he would train him himself if he had to.
And that was exactly what he was going to do.
As he comes into the training room, he unbuttons his suit jacket and shrugs it off, folding it over his arms neatly as he approaches where Stiles is examining one of the glaives set out for the candidates to train with. It's a good choice, and hopefully one that he'll click with. Because they need to get started, and fast. ] Good pick.
[ Jennifer goes completely unnoticed (or, more likely, ignored) as he comes to a stop next to Stiles. ]
[ Fingers twitching a little, at first he ignores the impulse to reach out and touch Stiles. It's been rather prevalent, over the past couple of days, but Derek's done well to push it aside because there's more important things to worry about than the pull he's felt around Stiles. Still, he enters his space as he examines him in his suit, brows quirking in response to the strained sarcasm. (He continues to disregard Jennifer's presence, or at least seems so trained on Stiles that he might as well have tunnel vision, where it's just the two of them in the room.) ]
You're not going to die. [ He meant for that to come out sternly, but it's something softer, and he caves, bringing a hand up to trace his fingers along the BH on his shoulder. It was something that he'd done plenty of times when they first suited him up, too, so feeling that it's already been smoothed over a little doesn't surprise him. But even as he touches it, touches Stiles, he keeps his eyes on his. ] You're going to survive.
[ No one wins the alpha games. ]
You're not going to die. [ He meant for that to come out sternly, but it's something softer, and he caves, bringing a hand up to trace his fingers along the BH on his shoulder. It was something that he'd done plenty of times when they first suited him up, too, so feeling that it's already been smoothed over a little doesn't surprise him. But even as he touches it, touches Stiles, he keeps his eyes on his. ] You're going to survive.
[ No one wins the alpha games. ]
[ To say that one Stiles Stilinski is not the talk of the metaphorical town would be a lie, and John would not perpetrate that lie in the least. Volunteering at Beacon Hills' choosing, to go in his friend's stead, is certainly one hell of a jump. His profile cuts a perfect image, red hood standing out bright in the midst of the residents, something for the media to latch onto. And of course, there's the story of little red riding hood, eaten up by the big bad wolf. Some versions of the story end well for her. Others, not so much.
He's pretty sure that the media is leaning more towards the latter, but even if they went on the former? Well, she was a damsel in distress. No damsel in distress steps forward and says take me instead.
John intends to remind them that a long time ago, there was a different connotation to the red riding hood story. Maybe it's died in recent years with the rise of the alphas, wanting to cash in on their bright red eyes and keep that color for themselves. But he's certainly not going to voice that on public air, where he could get himself thrown in as cannon fodder for the rest of the candidates. He has enough problems as it is fighting with other media moguls to keep his position as one of the announcers for these games.
As Stiles comes out, he stands up, gesturing with both hands towards the teenager to encourage the crowd further. ] And red riding hood himself is here to join us!
Welcome, Mr. Stilinski-- Stiles, right? C'mon, let's get started. [ John grins wide at him, thick brows raised as he gestures towards the chairs set up on the stage. ]
He's pretty sure that the media is leaning more towards the latter, but even if they went on the former? Well, she was a damsel in distress. No damsel in distress steps forward and says take me instead.
John intends to remind them that a long time ago, there was a different connotation to the red riding hood story. Maybe it's died in recent years with the rise of the alphas, wanting to cash in on their bright red eyes and keep that color for themselves. But he's certainly not going to voice that on public air, where he could get himself thrown in as cannon fodder for the rest of the candidates. He has enough problems as it is fighting with other media moguls to keep his position as one of the announcers for these games.
As Stiles comes out, he stands up, gesturing with both hands towards the teenager to encourage the crowd further. ] And red riding hood himself is here to join us!
Welcome, Mr. Stilinski-- Stiles, right? C'mon, let's get started. [ John grins wide at him, thick brows raised as he gestures towards the chairs set up on the stage. ]
[ Stiles jumps half a foot when Derek sneaks up on him--he'd been in his own little world, staring down the silver pole and trying to merit the weights of it against other werewolves. If he was allowed to, he would have coated the blade with wolfsbane, but that would have to come later, when he was actually in the games with the weapon in his hands. (If he could get to the cornucopia and back fast enough.)
The glaive clatters and he nearly drops it, grabbing it and jumping back half a foot as he points the thing at him. Stiles--is jumpy. He's really jumpy. Every second here makes him feel more than just nervous, it makes him hypervigilant, and Stiles scans Derek's face before he relaxes the glaive, holding it back down. ] Jesus, man, could you not sneak up on me in a room full of people that are actively going to try and kill me in three days? Uncool.
[ But his posture relaxes a little, and his brows furrow. ] What are you doing here?
The glaive clatters and he nearly drops it, grabbing it and jumping back half a foot as he points the thing at him. Stiles--is jumpy. He's really jumpy. Every second here makes him feel more than just nervous, it makes him hypervigilant, and Stiles scans Derek's face before he relaxes the glaive, holding it back down. ] Jesus, man, could you not sneak up on me in a room full of people that are actively going to try and kill me in three days? Uncool.
[ But his posture relaxes a little, and his brows furrow. ] What are you doing here?
[ The lights are bright and blinding, and it takes Stiles a minute to properly focus on the announcer. His name's John Cheese, and his affectionate brand of weirdness had made him a natural choice for the announcer job. Stiles kind of knew him--he knew Derek Hale's older sister had had something going on with him before she was killed in the fire. It's a little familiar, even if it's from the television and the occasional jaunt around town, and Stiles swallows the lump in his throat and strides forward.
Not to mention, they call him by his name. During the actual choosing, he'd had to cut the woman off--it's Stiles--and he squares his shoulders and makes his way forward to the chairs, trying to turn on the charm. ] What big eyebrows you have, John.
[ At least he can banter with the best of them. Sarcasm is his default state--hopefully it doesn't come to bite him in the ass. ]
Not to mention, they call him by his name. During the actual choosing, he'd had to cut the woman off--it's Stiles--and he squares his shoulders and makes his way forward to the chairs, trying to turn on the charm. ] What big eyebrows you have, John.
[ At least he can banter with the best of them. Sarcasm is his default state--hopefully it doesn't come to bite him in the ass. ]
[ Something like a small smirk curls across Derek's expression as Stiles jumps, as if he isn't pointing an incredibly dangerous weapon at him. Instead of seeming particularly bothered-- he's amused by the jumpiness, but it's also going to come in handy for the games-- he simply goes about unbuttoning his waistcoat, quickly losing that official air that many of the alphas carry around with them. He folds it up the same as he had his jacket, setting them down on the weapons table, then undoes his cuffs and starts rolling his sleeves up. ]
Your reaction time's pretty good. [ It's offhanded, and a bit of a nudge to see if he'll relax a little more if he pokes a little fun at him. ] I told you. You'll learn, even if I have to teach you myself.
[ He loosens and undoes his tie, dropping it on top of his jacket and waistcoat. Maybe he could've snuck down here in something more suitable than his dress clothes, what everyone expects him to be wearing while the games are going on and the media is breathing down all their necks, but the fact that they are breathing down their necks is a bit of a problem. ]
Your reaction time's pretty good. [ It's offhanded, and a bit of a nudge to see if he'll relax a little more if he pokes a little fun at him. ] I told you. You'll learn, even if I have to teach you myself.
[ He loosens and undoes his tie, dropping it on top of his jacket and waistcoat. Maybe he could've snuck down here in something more suitable than his dress clothes, what everyone expects him to be wearing while the games are going on and the media is breathing down all their necks, but the fact that they are breathing down their necks is a bit of a problem. ]
You keep saying that. [ Something else in him relaxes noticeably as Derek's fingers brush against his shoulders. He obviously doesn't mind the contact, and even leans into it a little, his brown eyes searching his face for something, some kind of answer.
He wants to believe Derek so badly. A part of him does. Stiles isn't intent on dying anytime soon, but none of these people are either. No one goes into the games just to die, after all, and Stiles' stomach churns as he imagines Scott, Allison, his dad watching him die on screen at home. Whatever determination he has is lit by the fire that his family brings, that his dad won't have to bury him next to his mother in the family plot.
Sixty seconds, the voice drones overhead.
Jennifer turns cool eyes on them both, watching from the corner of her gaze. All she wanted was Derek to sponsor her. ]
I don't get much of a choice at this point, right? [ His smile goes soft at the edges, a crooked, lopsided thing, and he fixes Derek with what can only really be described as a Look. ] If--if I do, tell my dad I love him, okay?
He wants to believe Derek so badly. A part of him does. Stiles isn't intent on dying anytime soon, but none of these people are either. No one goes into the games just to die, after all, and Stiles' stomach churns as he imagines Scott, Allison, his dad watching him die on screen at home. Whatever determination he has is lit by the fire that his family brings, that his dad won't have to bury him next to his mother in the family plot.
Sixty seconds, the voice drones overhead.
Jennifer turns cool eyes on them both, watching from the corner of her gaze. All she wanted was Derek to sponsor her. ]
I don't get much of a choice at this point, right? [ His smile goes soft at the edges, a crooked, lopsided thing, and he fixes Derek with what can only really be described as a Look. ] If--if I do, tell my dad I love him, okay?
[ The fact that Derek's picked the underdog to sponsor doesn't surprise John in the least. His once-upon-a-time-almost-in-law had this habit of looking out for the people that were in the same position he had once been in, even if none of them had managed to pull through to the very end. But even if they weren't the finalist, the one in the winner's circle, they sure as hell made it far-- none of them were lower than the top five, and no one could say if that was because of Derek or because of them. Beacon Hills just churns out some damn tenacious people.
From what he knows about this one, in passing conversations with Derek that are entirely off the record, he's about ten times more tenacious than the rest of them. So John's rooting for him, and instantly likes him with the sarcastic barb. As they're pointed out, he wiggles his eyebrows at him suggestively. ] All the better to turn questions inappropriate with.
[ The grin cracks his face further, and he moves to take a seat with him in his cushy chair. ]
From what he knows about this one, in passing conversations with Derek that are entirely off the record, he's about ten times more tenacious than the rest of them. So John's rooting for him, and instantly likes him with the sarcastic barb. As they're pointed out, he wiggles his eyebrows at him suggestively. ] All the better to turn questions inappropriate with.
[ The grin cracks his face further, and he moves to take a seat with him in his cushy chair. ]
[ He grins a little in response, the tension seeming to melt out of his shoulders, and Stiles leans back against the chair, looking out at the faces staring back at him. They're going to play the clip of him scaring the shit out of the alphas, probably, and Stiles recalls Lydia's advice--work with your image--so as the clip plays, he pulls up his bright red hood.
By the time it's finished, he's a little more relaxed. The crowd reacted with "oooohs" and a bunch of different other noises, and that's--well that's something he can work with. Stiles leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, letting his hands hang down in the middle, and looks at John head on, ready for whatever questions he's going to hit him with. ]
By the time it's finished, he's a little more relaxed. The crowd reacted with "oooohs" and a bunch of different other noises, and that's--well that's something he can work with. Stiles leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, letting his hands hang down in the middle, and looks at John head on, ready for whatever questions he's going to hit him with. ]
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