afieldsmedal | ( VOICEMAIL @ PROXIMA ) do you have an iq over 170?

you got a puppy?

can i bring booze?

I'm sure there's several deeper layers of psychological underpinnings that we could dig into with that one.

Her name's Angie. Only if it cost more than $30, I'm not drinking liquid paint cleaner.

no kidding. too bad when you start digging he turns into a freaking porcupine with quills made of lasers to defend his insane emotionally stunted logic.

will you accept a $15-20 bottle of wine?

[Because his job that I haven't even thought to specify after all these months totally can't fund $30 booze runs!!]

I don't think he's as opaque as he thinks he is. I'll see if I've got a psychology text book around here or something. We can psychoanalyze him properly.

So long as it's a rosé.

that sounds--ironically? or appropriately?--like it'll be therapeutic.

rosé. you got it.

That's what I'm here for.

Hurry up.

[ or actually, take your time, because she's got to take angie for a quick walk around the block and shove the laundry on her couch back into her bedroom. while stiles may be getting gradually more and more familiar with her underwear, that doesn't mean lydia wants him reclining in it.

she's got her dog walked, clothes haphazardly shoved into the clean hamper by the time he gets there, and is washing her hands to cut cheese to put on crackers (she'd bust out salmon spread if she had it) because that goes well with rosé, and she likes to pretend she's an adult. ]

[It takes Stiles a while to find a liquor store that'll sell to him, anyway. He finally comes across a little specialty grocer that has wine that won't break the bank, so he grabs the pinkest bottle he can find--then snags a little box of chocolate truffles as an after-thought, and a bag of homemade doggy biscuits as an after-after-thought.

He's carrying them in a paper bag when he gets to Lydia's place, slides out of his shoes and sets the wine on the counter.]

These are for the clothes you lent me, and also just--for you in general, you know. Just for generally being you. [Except Stiles realizes belatedly that he has the dog biscuits in hand, drops them on the counter and reaches for the truffles, pressing those into Lydia's hands instead.]

Sorry, uh--the biscuits are for Angie. Obviously. Chocolates are for you. The other way around would be bad for both of you, probably.

[ her eyebrows were in serious danger of flying off her forehead, thank you very much for clarifying, stiles. but when she's got an armful of truffles instead of dog biscuits in her face, lydia smiles. ]

Aw, you didn't have to do that. That's so nice, Stiles!

[ and if you ever feed chocolate to her dog, she'll be the one to start making those death threats.

angie is a small australian shepherd who looks like she's starting to straddle the line between puppyhood and young adult dog life. she's also splayed out on lydia's living room carpet. she gets up and plots over at the mention of her name, and lydia shoves the bag of treats back into stiles' hand before going to fetch cups from her cupboard. ]

You should give her one. She's super friendly, doesn't bit. Also, I don't actually have any wine glasses, so we're going to be super classy and drink wine out of tea mugs.

[Years of Lydia totally ignoring his present-giving efforts--even when they're bigger than both of their heads put together--have sort of trained him to deal with easy dismissal, so when she thanks him he feels a warm flush of satisfaction, lips twitching into a smile as he rocks on his heels a little.]

Yeah, it's--no big, you know, just doing what I do.

[Angie, as it turns out, is pretty cute. And maybe not a bad third companion when their usual third companion has been making him feel like complete and total crap lately. Stiles lowers into a squat with one of the biscuits in hand, holding it in his palm for her to sniff.]

Mugs are good. Mugs mean I don't have to pretend to sip when I sort of want to chug. Does she know any tricks?

No, she's just a puppy.

[ lydia's up on her tip toes, pulling two blue ceremic cups from the cupboard and rinsing them to make sure they're clean before rooting out a corkscrew and all of that, and the bottle of wine, over to the coffee table. they're going to drink and get comfortable and bitch about derek hale —

after she's done with the cheese, which she returns to the kitchen to cut, and smiles at her just a puppy. ]

She's very obedient, though. That ought to be a trick. And if you try to chug the rosé, I'm taking it away from you.

[ classy mugs, stiles. classy. ]

Puppies can totally learn tricks. [Do they even have obedience training here?? Stiles isn't so sure he'd want to put a dog through Proxima-sanctioned doggy day care.

He watches her eat the biscuit, scratches behind her ears a little before meandering back over to the couch and flopping down on it, picking up the corkscrew and sticking his tongue out in concentration as he starts to work at the wine bottle.

The cork twists out with a satisfying little pop, after minimal struggling, and Stiles pours a generous amount into his mug, then one for Lydia, setting hers aside and taking a sip. It's sweeter than he likes his booze, but he can deal.]

I have every intention of getting drunk enough to not care about dumb assholes via sip or gulp or chug, so. Either way.

So long as you're not drunk enough to vomit on my couch, we're fine.

[ angie's primary purpose is to be a guard dog in lydia's ideal world. she's the wrong breed for that, though, and too big to be a lap dog, but her previous owner was gone and she was a sweetheart; no trading her in now, lydia's grown attached.

she efficient with a knife, and considering her project was already half done by the time he showed up, it's only a minute or two until lydia's joining stiles on the couch trading the cheese plate in her hands for the wine mug on the coffee table. it's not going to do to get too intoxicated, but it smells pretty good for a $20 bottle of wine, and she lets out a quiet hum of satisfaction. ]

Can you recap everything that's happened for me? I don't think I've heard everything. [ from your perspective, and what she's heard from Derek has been suspiciously lacking. ]

[Stiles is double-fisting his mug and a cheese and cracker sandwich--classiest company--and is half-way through a bite when she says I don't think I've heard everything. He stops mid-chew, washes it down with another swig of wine, which is going to take him to tipsyville sooner rather than later, and narrows his eyes a little as he watches her.]

What have you heard? [Because Stiles has been pretty mum about his hookups with Derek, which means Mr. "Don't Tell Anyone About This" has had something to say.]

Edited (words!!) 2014-01-30 07:22 (UTC)

Um.

[ shit.

lydia stalls by taking a long, deep sip of her wine. she didn't want to get too inebriated — she had stuff to do later; people to do, too — but who knows if she's already shot herself in the foot. ]

I know you two were at the New Year's party together. Got hit by another dose of — well, you know...

[ i don't know if i'm really that into stiles. ]

Nice. [Stiles nods jerkily, dragging a hand over his face before squinting down into his mug.] Really nice, since he told me to not tell anyone and then--clearly turned around and waved his stupid hypocritical hands and did exactly what he told me not to do.

Anything else?

No, that was it.

[ she also turned around and challenged derek to a who can make stiles come the most when he's a girl contest, but he didn't take her up on it so it doesn't count. ]

But I'm guessing things didn't go well, and are continuing to not go well since then.

[The thing is, Stiles used to not give a crap if things didn't go well with Derek. That was kind of their default state of existing, for a long time, maybe edging into tolerating and trusting each other back home before they all got unceremoniously thrown into this mess.

And that's exactly what this is: a mess. He doesn't know when he started caring and he hates that he does, feeling the tell-tale numbness in his fingertips that comes with a fresh buzz but the wine isn't really helping him to not feel like shit. It's just amplifying the fact that he feels like shit.]

I kind of refused to talk to him until he texted me and asked about my whole girl... [Stiles gestures vaguely.] Problem. And offered to help with it. Again.

[He sets his mug down on her table for a moment, jaw working as he rests his elbows on his knees.]

So he did, and he was really--into it? Which I thought was maybe just, you know, the vagina thing, if it weren't for the round we had once I switched back. Chip influence-free. And he was really into that.

[His throat's tight, because this current problem is Derek-related but it's not all about Derek, and Stiles doesn't even know how to get into the rest, lacing his fingers together and bouncing his leg, not quite looking at Lydia.]

I could probably deal with him being an asshole if sex wasn't involved, you know? But he insists there's nothing wrong with me and then turns around and is a complete dick and I can't-- I spent the first sixteen years of my life being completely undesirable to basically everyone [There's an unspoken to you in there, because Lydia was everyone, for about as long as he can remember.] so it's a lot easier for me to wrap my brain around someone being totally disgusted by me than really wanting me. And it feels like shit.

( VOICEMAIL @ PROXIMA ) do you have an iq over 170?

(TEXT)

(TEXT)

(TEXT)

(TEXT)

do you want a log bb!

i want quick and dirty action!!!

thumbs up!!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject