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Timed: September 23, 2014
Malia had texted Stiles a few times. She feels nervous now, as she sits in Bologna Bar. It's the worst name for a place, and all she can smell is deli meat, but it was near enough to Dimera to walk to it, and far enough away that she feels comfortable asking him to come here. She doesn't want to upset Derek by talking to him — she's not here to steal him away. She just needs Stiles's help with something.
He thinks like a detective. She needs his brain.
On the little dinette table in front of her, she has a yellow legal pad and two pens, and at the top, she's written Roommate Wanted in big, bold, pointed letters. Now, she's tapping her pen against the pad as she looks around for Stiles.
Bologna Bar. It's one of the only places he'd ever willingly spend money on a bologna sandwich, and Malia had been willing. This is still all weird for him, but he's sure that it's no less for Malia.
He steps into the restaurant and finds Malia, raising a hand in awkward greeting with a smile before he comes over go her table, sitting down across from her and drumming in the table once. "Hey. Did you order?"
"Yeah," she says with a shrug. "I figured you wouldn't mind. They haven't brought it yet, or anything." She closes her eyes, because she realizes as soon as she says it that it's obvious they haven't brought it, since it's not there. There is, however, a glass of icy Dr. Pepper on his side of the table. Malia has ice water, but she hasn't touched it yet.
She got him Dr. Pepper. He notices, but doesn't make it weird by saying anything, just giving her a smile and raising his glass in thanks. "So what're we doing? You're... you want a roommate? Really?"
"There's a house, out by the woods," she says. "It's nice. Out of the way, and there's woods, and it's away from the city, and you and Derek." The last bit pops out. "I mean, it's weird that we share an apartment building, isn't it?" She shrugs. "Anyway, but I can't afford to live out there alone. I don't have a car, or a job, so. I need a roommate."
Malia takes a deep breath and looks down at the page. "I just have no idea how to say that they need to lock me up once a month or I might eat them."
Is it weird? It hasn't been for Stiles, not beyond what he figures is temporary awkwardness, but Malia's been through more than he has. He feels bad about it.
"Well, there's no shortage of people who'd be used to that kind of thing around here," he says, giving her as much of a smile as he can. "You haven't got a hold on it? I can help."
"No," she says. "It's okay." She looks up when a server brings them their plates. She'd ordered Stiles a BLT with extra bacon and mayo, and a side of curly fries. She'd gotten herself a toasted meat-lover's club with cheesy fries. The food smells great. Her stomach growls.
"You've already helped a lot," she clarifies. "It's just . . . better safe than sorry."
"I haven't really helped at all. Other me sounds like he's a pretty cool dude, though..." he trails off, face lighting up at the sandwich.
"And I'm pretty sure you know that you have my undivided attention now." He grabs a couple of curly fries first and eats with gusto.
Malia grins, possibly for the first time in front of this Stiles.
"I was hoping you still liked that, " she says. "And other you is... pretty neat. Um, but, this roommate ad. I was thinking of saying 'Nice farmhouse in the country, but I can't afford it on my own, so someone please be my roommate.' " She looks at him expectantly, eyes big and innocent.
He stares for a moment, a beat longer than he should, then bites his lip, considering.
"Uhhh, you might want to try something less... direct? And more about the kind of person you want to room with?"
Malia considers, then nods. "I want someone who isn't stupid," she says decisively. "Someone who doesn't stink, and doesn't mind that once a month, the moon drives me crazy and they might need to lock me up."
Stiles opens his mouth, then shuts it again. It's not that he doesn't understand the sentiment, but Craigslist and its Darrow counterpart are weird enough without putting stuff like that in the universe.
"...how about you want them to be clean? And, uh... understanding that you have a... condition that needs attention from time to time. "
She watches him steadily, then nods and looks down to write that. Clean. Understanding of condition. She hesitates.
"Also, enjoys the countryside?" she asks hopefully. She's trying.
"Enjoys the countryside! Yes. Perfect, good." Oh thank god. Stiles has never had to write one of these himself, so even if him writing the ad would've kept Malia from sounding like a serial killer, that's still not exactly "perfect roommate" material.
"So you're, uh. You're moving out?" He gets it. Like, it makes a lot of sense. He's just grown fond of the apartments, weirdly enough.
"I want to," she says. "It's just too . . . middle-city for my taste, I guess. I mean, the park isn't so far, that's good, it's just." She shrugs. "Cramped?" She doesn't add that every now and then, she gets a whiff of Stiles and Derek through the floor vents, or the open windows. She lives above them, and heat rises, and yeah. It's added to a certain lack of comfort for her.
She taps her pen against the pad again, then sets it down and focuses on her sandwich. After the first few bites, she tucks her food into her cheek so she can talk a little without flashing food.
"I need a job, too," she adds. "But I figured I'd try to find a roommate, first." She doesn't see the point in getting a job if she can't even get the place she wants.
"The job wouldn't suck either way. What they give us isn't much, at least I don't think? And maybe you could save up enough for a bigger place, you know? Room for you, room for the uh, roomie." It's not a problem he's ever come across, but honestly, he figures Malia might be better off if she had something to do.
She nods and swallows, then sips her water and wipes her face with a napkin. "What if someone takes the farmhouse I want?" she asks. "Before I can save up, I mean." She knows the obvious answer: she's not allowed to fight them for it. But she really likes the place she's found.
She grabs her pen and writes no pets. After another moment, she turns the period into a comma and adds please next to it. She's had enough bad experiences with people's pets, thanks to being a coyote.
"Then you gotta find another place. No deathmatches, right?" It's a light teasing, but of course he means it. He gets it, though, he thinks. Malia is still working on adjusting - Ms. Morrell probably calls it transitioning or something back home - and he's been helping. Other him. And now Malia is stuck with him.
He takes a healthy/bigger than healthy bite of his sandwich, grumbling his appreciation.
Malia smiles a little at the noises he makes. Then she feigns a sigh. "Fine, no deathmatches." She actually sounds like she's teasing back. Then she bites her lip and looks down. "Um. Thank you. For your help."
Malia had texted Stiles a few times. She feels nervous now, as she sits in Bologna Bar. It's the worst name for a place, and all she can smell is deli meat, but it was near enough to Dimera to walk to it, and far enough away that she feels comfortable asking him to come here. She doesn't want to upset Derek by talking to him — she's not here to steal him away. She just needs Stiles's help with something.
He thinks like a detective. She needs his brain.
On the little dinette table in front of her, she has a yellow legal pad and two pens, and at the top, she's written Roommate Wanted in big, bold, pointed letters. Now, she's tapping her pen against the pad as she looks around for Stiles.
Bologna Bar. It's one of the only places he'd ever willingly spend money on a bologna sandwich, and Malia had been willing. This is still all weird for him, but he's sure that it's no less for Malia.
He steps into the restaurant and finds Malia, raising a hand in awkward greeting with a smile before he comes over go her table, sitting down across from her and drumming in the table once. "Hey. Did you order?"
"Yeah," she says with a shrug. "I figured you wouldn't mind. They haven't brought it yet, or anything." She closes her eyes, because she realizes as soon as she says it that it's obvious they haven't brought it, since it's not there. There is, however, a glass of icy Dr. Pepper on his side of the table. Malia has ice water, but she hasn't touched it yet.
She got him Dr. Pepper. He notices, but doesn't make it weird by saying anything, just giving her a smile and raising his glass in thanks. "So what're we doing? You're... you want a roommate? Really?"
"There's a house, out by the woods," she says. "It's nice. Out of the way, and there's woods, and it's away from the city, and you and Derek." The last bit pops out. "I mean, it's weird that we share an apartment building, isn't it?" She shrugs. "Anyway, but I can't afford to live out there alone. I don't have a car, or a job, so. I need a roommate."
Malia takes a deep breath and looks down at the page. "I just have no idea how to say that they need to lock me up once a month or I might eat them."
Is it weird? It hasn't been for Stiles, not beyond what he figures is temporary awkwardness, but Malia's been through more than he has. He feels bad about it.
"Well, there's no shortage of people who'd be used to that kind of thing around here," he says, giving her as much of a smile as he can. "You haven't got a hold on it? I can help."
"No," she says. "It's okay." She looks up when a server brings them their plates. She'd ordered Stiles a BLT with extra bacon and mayo, and a side of curly fries. She'd gotten herself a toasted meat-lover's club with cheesy fries. The food smells great. Her stomach growls.
"You've already helped a lot," she clarifies. "It's just . . . better safe than sorry."
"I haven't really helped at all. Other me sounds like he's a pretty cool dude, though..." he trails off, face lighting up at the sandwich.
"And I'm pretty sure you know that you have my undivided attention now." He grabs a couple of curly fries first and eats with gusto.
Malia grins, possibly for the first time in front of this Stiles.
"I was hoping you still liked that, " she says. "And other you is... pretty neat. Um, but, this roommate ad. I was thinking of saying 'Nice farmhouse in the country, but I can't afford it on my own, so someone please be my roommate.' " She looks at him expectantly, eyes big and innocent.
He stares for a moment, a beat longer than he should, then bites his lip, considering.
"Uhhh, you might want to try something less... direct? And more about the kind of person you want to room with?"
Malia considers, then nods. "I want someone who isn't stupid," she says decisively. "Someone who doesn't stink, and doesn't mind that once a month, the moon drives me crazy and they might need to lock me up."
Stiles opens his mouth, then shuts it again. It's not that he doesn't understand the sentiment, but Craigslist and its Darrow counterpart are weird enough without putting stuff like that in the universe.
"...how about you want them to be clean? And, uh... understanding that you have a... condition that needs attention from time to time. "
She watches him steadily, then nods and looks down to write that. Clean. Understanding of condition. She hesitates.
"Also, enjoys the countryside?" she asks hopefully. She's trying.
"Enjoys the countryside! Yes. Perfect, good." Oh thank god. Stiles has never had to write one of these himself, so even if him writing the ad would've kept Malia from sounding like a serial killer, that's still not exactly "perfect roommate" material.
"So you're, uh. You're moving out?" He gets it. Like, it makes a lot of sense. He's just grown fond of the apartments, weirdly enough.
"I want to," she says. "It's just too . . . middle-city for my taste, I guess. I mean, the park isn't so far, that's good, it's just." She shrugs. "Cramped?" She doesn't add that every now and then, she gets a whiff of Stiles and Derek through the floor vents, or the open windows. She lives above them, and heat rises, and yeah. It's added to a certain lack of comfort for her.
She taps her pen against the pad again, then sets it down and focuses on her sandwich. After the first few bites, she tucks her food into her cheek so she can talk a little without flashing food.
"I need a job, too," she adds. "But I figured I'd try to find a roommate, first." She doesn't see the point in getting a job if she can't even get the place she wants.
"The job wouldn't suck either way. What they give us isn't much, at least I don't think? And maybe you could save up enough for a bigger place, you know? Room for you, room for the uh, roomie." It's not a problem he's ever come across, but honestly, he figures Malia might be better off if she had something to do.
She nods and swallows, then sips her water and wipes her face with a napkin. "What if someone takes the farmhouse I want?" she asks. "Before I can save up, I mean." She knows the obvious answer: she's not allowed to fight them for it. But she really likes the place she's found.
She grabs her pen and writes no pets. After another moment, she turns the period into a comma and adds please next to it. She's had enough bad experiences with people's pets, thanks to being a coyote.
"Then you gotta find another place. No deathmatches, right?" It's a light teasing, but of course he means it. He gets it, though, he thinks. Malia is still working on adjusting - Ms. Morrell probably calls it transitioning or something back home - and he's been helping. Other him. And now Malia is stuck with him.
He takes a healthy/bigger than healthy bite of his sandwich, grumbling his appreciation.
Malia smiles a little at the noises he makes. Then she feigns a sigh. "Fine, no deathmatches." She actually sounds like she's teasing back. Then she bites her lip and looks down. "Um. Thank you. For your help."