voluntaryapnea | 18. You want a revelation/Some kind of resolution/Tell me what you want me to say

[Open Zero Spam]

[Stiles sits with his back to the wall in a cell in Zero, scowl etched onto his features. He can hear Jackson's heart beating from across the hall and he wishes he'd ripped it out of his chest so at least he'd have some peace and quiet while he's stuck down here. Being alone would be better than being stuck in the same vicinity as Jackson Whittemore.

He shuts his eyes and covers his ears with his hands, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths. He doesn't know exactly how containment down here works, but he knows that short of someone letting him out, he's trapped for now.

It's fine. He'll deal. He always does. He's not thrilled about it, because there are things he could be doing if he wasn't locked in a freaking jail cell.

He opens his eyes again when he hears the distant echo of footsteps approaching -- but whether they're approaching his cell or Jackson's, or if someone else is being locked up -- that he's not sure about yet.

So he stares at the bars ahead, eyes dark and narrow. Waiting.]

[Public Voice Post]

[He's never done well with boredom. After several hours of sitting in relative silence, he picks up his comm. The boredom is as evident in his tone as the sarcastic taunting.]

I have to say that if this is the worst you people can do for punishment, I'm severely disappointed. No wonder our barge graduates more people than yours. You don't even have an ounce of creativity.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You wish. The only time you would have had a shot at taking me is when you were a reptile.

[ he hits the bars again. This time in complete and utter fury. ]

When I get out of here, you're dead, Stilinkski!

[He laughs at Jackson's anger, but it's a sound devoid of all humor.]

You can certainly try. You won't get very far.

You're just as pathetic as you've always been. I've always been better! You think fangs and claws gives you some sort of edge?! Getting the bite doesn't change that you'll never be as good as I am!

[He snorts at that and rolls his eyes, dismissive as he's always been with Jackson's insults.]

That's the hilarious part. You think I care about what you think. I don't. I never have. No one ever has. You're a joke, Jackson. People pity you, but not as much as you pity yourself. Talk about pathetic.

[ There was a brief flash of something, of pain, or maybe of fear. But it was a sign that he knew, deep down, that Stiles was right. But it was gone in an instant by sudden and intense flood of pure rage. He slammed himself against those bars. As if he could force himself completely through them. His eyes glowing and fangs exposed. ]

At least they know WHO I AM! It's my name they're chanting when we win! NOT YOURS!

[And Stiles knows from that brief instance, that he hit home with his words. There's a great thing about not caring about anything, about not giving a damn, about not having anything to lose. It frees up all those inhibitions. The things he's always thought but held back because once upon a time he wasn't just endlessly cruel...he doesn't have a problem spouting them off now. He doesn't care if it hurts Jackson.

He clucks and shakes his head. His voice is deliberately soothing when he speaks again.]

Jackson, Jackson, Jackson. You think I care about lacrosse? I'm so far beyond your high school drama. I'm playing the big leagues now, buddy.

YOU?!

[ He manages one of his all too familiar condescending laughs. But even with how well honed it was, it was imperfect. A crack in his usual mask. ]

You might think you've made it. But you're still in the stands while I'm down on the FIELD actually PLAYING! You'll never be on my level, Stilinski!

[ This was a fact that he must continue to believe. Everything else had changed too much for him to cope with. Being better than Stiles was a base-line standard of his life. Ever since they were kids. It had to stay the same. ]

[Even now that laugh grates on Stiles' nerves. He really wishes he'd just ripped his heart out and let him deal with the death toll.]

You think so? [His voice grows softer, dangerous.]

Well, Lydia certainly seems to think I'm better than you. In more ways than one.

[He smirks.]

[ He manages another, even more mocking laugh. This one a bit more solid. Because that idea was so absolutely incredulous that it breaks through the anger enough that his teeth return to their default, blunt state. He leans back from the bars a bit, a hand resting on his stomach. ]

Her. With you? I think the bite's gone to your brain, because that would never happen?

[His smile is easy, eerily calm. Because it doesn't matter if Jackson believes him or not. He has the truth on his side. He hums in response.]

All the time.

[ He leaned back to the bars, a bit more relaxed, now. ]

It doesn't count if it's all in your head. You know that, right?

[Now he chuckles.]

Oh, Jackson. You know that time here works differently, right?

[ He wasn't listening. He didn't want to listen. Or at least to follow what it might mean. So he rolls his eyes. ]

So you've had even longer to obsess over what you can't have?

And they say denial isn't just a river in Egypt.

[His voice is fully of pity and he smirks.]

I'm sure you have plenty of your own fun when you take off to London. Not that any of us really cared. We didn't exactly keep in touch.

[ Disbelief twisted his eyebrows. Because what did London have to do with anything? ]

So are you going to shut up or not?

[His smirk widens and he moves away from the bars and drops down onto the edge of the bed. And then he starts to sing.]

I'm Henry the Eighth I am, I'm Henry the Eighth I am, I am.

[ He snarled, teeth grinding together. But he said nothing. He turned his back to the bars, trying to block it out. In here, his senses weren't so keen. It should be easier. But his nerves were frayed. He just needed to outlast that irritating singing. ]

18. You want a revelation/Some kind of resolution/Tell me what you want me to say

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