virago

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢

[𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊]

So there was this party. Stiles'd been reluctant to tell Marisol about it, although when Scott pressured him slightly, he completely caved. Scott claimed she was their friend now, she'd helped him in the woods once, then helped them again with his inhaler, so she'd (begrudgingly) earned a lift to this said party. But Stiles would be lying if he said he didn't want to know more about her. By almost all accounts, she was a complete mystery. She had no other real friends, she never talked about herself and if you asked her, she'd probably break your nose.

But this was a rare occasion. He knew that she knew that he knew what she possibly maybe could be. Stiles didn't even fully believe it and it was his theory. But what other explanation was there for it? Scott had explained her injuries in great detail and, she definitely should have died.

But, if she was what he thought she could possibly be. Then she could help them. Maybe. Scott'd told Stiles that if he overheard absolutely anything about the body or the woods from his Dad. And eventually, he did. The fibre analysis from the woods had come back, and it was very much not human. Though, Scott suddenly seemed completely and utterly uninterested in the case or whatever was happening to him. Instead, lacrosse practice was more important.

It almost pained Stiles to even consider the option, but there Marisol sat, watching the players warm up. He knew she'd argue, thoroughly, but she'd help. Or at least, he hoped.

Marisol audibly groaned as Stiles took a quick seat next to her, his leg bouncing a mile a minute. "Hey," He said, his eyes trained intently forward in avoidance of her stone-cold glare.

"What do you want, Stiles?" She asked, her eyes never wavered from the side of his head.

Stiles pursed his lips, contemplating the situation with himself one more time before he turned to face her finally. "Fibre analysis from the lab in LA." He spat the words out as quick as they could physically leave his mouth. "Scott's busy, I need your help. Your brain,"

Another groan erupted from her throat as she slumped forward to place her elbows on her knees, her hands planted firmly over her face. "God, not this again." She whined, thinking that maybe if she couldn't see the problem then she could promptly will it out of existence.

"No, look! C'mon!" Stiles pleaded, leaning toward her slightly. "You were in the woods and you won't tell either of us why; you know something!"

Another incomprehensible sound came from her mouth, muffled by her hands. "And what if I do?" She muttered, the muted words barely audible. Marisol still could barely believe how deeply she'd been dragged into this mess. To the point where Stiles came to her for help? He was surely desperate.

"Wh-?!" Stiles spluttered out, "What if you do?" This pure mocking disbelief in his tone was enough for Marisol to drag her hands from her face and finally look up at him again. "If you do then we need your help," He said, his gaze frozen on her still. "Please."

Marisol thought for a short moment; she could either a), not help them but then ultimately drag out their incessant pestering. Or she could b), just help them and get the whole thing over and done with quicker. Hmmm. She wasn't sure Derek would appreciate her helping them, he wanted her just to be quiet and observe. But actively intervening was a whole other thing.

She sighed eventually, a soft and defeated one. "Fine." A short huff, "What did the fibre analysis from the woods find?" Marisol asked, tapping her finger against her chin in mock thought. "Wolf hairs on the body?" She asked, her face plastered in faux shock and her mouth agape before it quickly snapped closed once again. Marisol rolled her eyes at his genuine shock and turned her attention back to practice. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to make sure Scott doesn't maul anyone."