'Old dialogues memories, spoken out loud thoughts, the past in general ...'
/// Memories ///
POVs
"" Not an Actual Speech or Thought ""
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Warning: Alternative POVs
21st July, 2015
4:00 PM
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Stiles leaned against a wall, head thrown back, eyes focused on the horizon as he waited for the rest of the pack to come back from their most recent introduction to the supernatural.
In, of all the places in, the world to run into an Ifrit; he never expected it to be in the Mojave Desert on the hottest day of the year. He exhaled and tried not to squirm as the sensation of being covered in dust and grime and the fact that he was slowly getting tanned, or roasted given his complexion's propensity, get to him.
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The Ifrit, and really the Hales' propensity when it came to fire, seemed to be bound in mysterious ways that hurt just thinking about. Fate's game was not something Stiles wanted to indulge in.
The ifrit had burned through everything and attacked everyone it came into contact with, like a hungry arsonist who needed more, wanted the thrill, and couldn't escape it, as it leaked into its very soul.
Around lunch, when they'd stopped at this dingy gas station a kilometre away from a somewhat forgotten Wallmart Supercenter for some water and snacks, and to stretch a little, before they would reach their vacation destination.
They'd been driving for hours, Peter and Stiles had divided the drive time.
They'd all decided after the Nogitsune, and the Double Russian Roulette that Peter had played to hunt down Kate and end the war once and for all, was to take a goddamn vacation. The adults had agreed, they'd taken three SUVs and divided the group accordingly, to avoid any kind of discord, future and or otherwise.
They were a pack that fought together sure, but given the chance; they'd probably kill each other. What they needed was a catalyst to avoid all mishaps. The chances for which everyone hoped the vacation would offer some kind of solution to end the cold war.
