[He was so sure he could be back on time. So sure. He'd calculated the time he had left, it should have been more than enough-- but after banging on the door of the house he'd been staying at, then banging on all the doors of all the houses he could find... Stiles was forced to admit there might have been something that went wrong with those calculations. It was always Lydia who was good at math. Maybe he would have needed her notes for this, too.
And hell, he hates the cold. After just a few hours outside, huddled against the wall of the last house he tried to get in to, it's already seeping in. It almost feels like the bathtub full of ice, except back then he was dying to save his dad, and the dying wasn't, you know, permanent. (Is it, here? Maybe not, but he'd rather not have taken the chance.)
Typing on the tablet is out of the question, but at least he can still talk.]
So... this would be a good time for someone to tell me this whole "don't stay outside the night" thing is a total lie. Someone? ... Anyone?
prompt four; action
[He wakes up with shuddering gasp that soon turns into a fit of coughing. There's a voice ringing in his ears-- the tablet, telling him to leave... and it doesn't have to tell him twice. Staying in the morgue? Yeah, no thanks, even he isn't that morbid.
Which is probably a bit ironic, given that he just came back to life. But Stiles isn't complaining, definitely not complaining, even though dying of hypothermia certainly leaves something to be desired, not an ideal way to go, 10/10 would not recommend-- instead, he stumbles outside, taking out his tablet to see what is going on... but all the words on it seem jumbled, some of the letters moving up, some down, until he can't make any sense of what he's seeing.]
No- [oh no, no, not this again, not again--] I... why can't I read this? Hey! [He stumbles as he tries to run to the person nearby.] Hey, can you read this?
stiles stilinski | teen wolf
[He was so sure he could be back on time. So sure. He'd calculated the time he had left, it should have been more than enough-- but after banging on the door of the house he'd been staying at, then banging on all the doors of all the houses he could find... Stiles was forced to admit there might have been something that went wrong with those calculations. It was always Lydia who was good at math. Maybe he would have needed her notes for this, too.
And hell, he hates the cold. After just a few hours outside, huddled against the wall of the last house he tried to get in to, it's already seeping in. It almost feels like the bathtub full of ice, except back then he was dying to save his dad, and the dying wasn't, you know, permanent. (Is it, here? Maybe not, but he'd rather not have taken the chance.)
Typing on the tablet is out of the question, but at least he can still talk.]
So... this would be a good time for someone to tell me this whole "don't stay outside the night" thing is a total lie. Someone? ... Anyone?
prompt four; action
[He wakes up with shuddering gasp that soon turns into a fit of coughing. There's a voice ringing in his ears-- the tablet, telling him to leave... and it doesn't have to tell him twice. Staying in the morgue? Yeah, no thanks, even he isn't that morbid.
Which is probably a bit ironic, given that he just came back to life. But Stiles isn't complaining, definitely not complaining, even though dying of hypothermia certainly leaves something to be desired, not an ideal way to go, 10/10 would not recommend-- instead, he stumbles outside, taking out his tablet to see what is going on... but all the words on it seem jumbled, some of the letters moving up, some down, until he can't make any sense of what he's seeing.]
No- [oh no, no, not this again, not again--] I... why can't I read this? Hey! [He stumbles as he tries to run to the person nearby.] Hey, can you read this?