Black Water ↠ Stiles Stilinski [Teen Wolf, Vol. One]

How To Make Friends And Convince People Not To Kill You

Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.

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In other news I just love John Boyega OKAY????????

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Chapter 12 - How To Make Friends And Convince People Not To Kill You

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Sometimes the landscape of Beacon Hills seemed to be ripped directly from the pages of gothic literature. This could in part be attributed to the unilaterally shitty electrical work that ran through the town. Flickering lights and the stuttering hum of bulbs were no stranger. Add in the rolling fog that dropped by on a semi-regular basis, the cryptic woods, and, oh yeah, the series of violent animal attacks, and the town painted the perfect backdrop for a Washington Irving novel. What's more, that general aura of eeriness found a way to infiltrate even the most mundane of places.

The Beacon Hills High School library was creepy as shit. Two open and empty stories, shelves littered with the graffiti of students long since departed, layers of dust covering books whose spines hadn't been cracked in years—past and present seemed to be separated by a thin veil of time. The air was filled with a stagnant silence, interrupted only the occasional ghoulish gasp of the cracked air conditioner. Why, then, did Charlie find herself holed up in this repository of mildew and outdated reading material on her lunch break? It was the last place anybody—anybody being Lydia—would look.

Charlie bit her lip in concentration as she crouched over her chemistry books. Good thing Lydia couldn't see her like this, pens jutting out of a messy bun that was in no way artful and various colors of highlighter staining her fingertips. She ran through chemistry with the fervor of a madwoman. Harris, who apparently had yet to meet his weekly quota of assholery, dropped a shitload of homework on them not fifteen minutes ago. This was not an uncommon occurrence, nor did it typically cause Charlie that much grief, but tonight was not like any other. She didn't have time for chemistry tonight. Tonight she ventured into the belly of the beast—she would stare into the mouth of said beast and wait to be swallowed whole. Tonight she was joining the Argents for dinner.

'Dinner party' was code for interrogation over pseudo-gourmet cooking, of this Charlie was certain. With the Argents, first impressions were out the window and three miles back on the highway. But as Mel always said you only get one chance at a second impression, and given that two thirds of the Argent family was objectively terrifying, that impression would knock on their door smiling widely and carrying a platter of devilled eggs and chicken sate. Or mini-quiches. Or croquettes of some sort. Which meant that when she got home from school she had to play Betty Crocker, not Bill Nye, and her lunch period was sacrificed on the altar of Mr. Harris's bullshit.

Why the fuck had they planned this dinner on a school night?

Stacks of notes and piles of discarded wadded up paper built up around her, enclosing her in a mausoleum of knowledge that would prove ultimately useless. Her pencil scratched so quickly the friction threatened to set the paper aflame. And yet she continued to scribble. Their half hour lunch period was only twenty-five minutes long after all. Half way through a set of molar ratios and the pencil point ripped through the page of her notebook. The final straw fell on her anxiety-laden shoulders. Charlie's forehead hit the desk with a loud thunk. Her lungs shuddered with a low, plaintive whine. "Ugh, why?"