CHAPTER FIVE !!
golden bloodshed
"ALLISON, DO ME A FAVOUR AND PICK UP YOUR GODDAMNED PHONE BEFORE I DECIDE TO PICK YOU UP INSTEAD AND THROW YOU OUT THE WINDOW."
To describe Chrissy as stressed would be a wild mistake, a far understatement at that. She was practically at the stage of ripping her own hair out, fists clenching tight against the rapidly growing urge to bang her head repeatedly against the wall. It was overwhelming, really, like a putrid smell that clung desperately to anything it could latch its formidable grip onto, digging the nauseating feeling deeper and deeper.
She couldn't shake her dream from the night before, no, not one bit. God, it was awful, like a raging fire that enraptured the most docile of things and savaged it until it was merely left as ruined remains. Truthfully, Chrissy had never felt anything close to it, the searing pain of panic that had settled down within her bones was so strong that her body ached with each step she took. Her face had been coated in a thin layer of sweat, evidence of the sheer frightened state the reverie had left her in.
Allison hadn't replied to any of her phone calls, text messages, or even e-mails. The question of what if floated carelessly around Chrissy's mind, bumping into each of her nerve endings and emotion memories. What if? What if, somehow, it was real? The blood, the carnage, the screams. What if it actually happened?
It was as clear as day, the image that was. One of the school buses, the bright yellow now turned a deep crimson red, and Allison, once bubbly and smiley, now still and scarred. It was horrifying, the way the brunette cried and shrieked as barred fangs of some sort clashed down on her pale flesh, ripping chunks of her skin away with murderous intent. Claws and vicious snarls scraped against her throat and stomach, leaving thick trails of blotchy red in their wake.
And now, with no answer, no communication, nothing, Chrissy's mind was going haywire with questions and horror. But there was still the nagging feeling of, perhaps it wasn't real. Surely it didn't happen, right? Her visions could be unpredictable, maybe not fake, but there was always room for an unexpected development. Who was to say that it wasn't just a made up, worrisome nightmare and nothing more than that?
Though, as Chrissy arrived at the gates of a place much considered her own personal hell, the more and more police cars and deputies that showed up with flashlights and forensic equipment, the more her perturbation wrapped around her ribs and squeezed the air from her lungs. This could not be happening to her.
She followed the string of officers around the school to the back where the school buses slept, not a thing occupying her thoughts besides the brunette she called her best friend. Flashbacks of the horror she had seen flickered between her reality and mind, making it difficult to navigate the route towards the sight of carnage. However, her pathway was immediately blocked, obscured by a body of general superiority and power.
"Whoa, slow down there, Miss." Hands placed themselves on the material of her coat, stopping her from investigating much further. Sheriff Stilinski bent down into her line of sight, almost as if he was trying to shield her from the gory showcase of blood and mess behind him. An almost expression of recognition wafted over his creased eyes, and his face dropped with a certain extent of softness. "It's Chrissy, right? Stiles' friend?"
"Yeah, that's me." Though Chrissy couldn't see what was going on, she still pushed in his grip to try and peer over his padded shoulders, hoping to catch a glimpse of a body that wasn't Allison. She didn't spend too much of her time thinking on how Noah Stilinski had even the slightest idea as to who she was, merely brushing back the comment for a later time. "Look, Mr. Sheriff, Sir- I really need to get over there and have a look. Who is it? I kn- There's a bod- Who's body is it? Male? Female?" Chrissy begged, her mind was desperate for the reassurance she so terribly needed. She pursed her lips tightly, controlling her accidental quiver. "Please..."
"Why don't you calm down for me, okay?" Stilinski guided her away, turning her body to face away from the scene of destruction and chaos. "Now, how about you tell me why you so urgently need to be over there?"
"I- No."
Stilinski recoiled, though a tight-lipped smile lifted at the corners of his lips. "Chrissy." His voice was quiet, yet firm all the same, tilting his head to look down at the girl with a raised brow.
"Well, it's just- I can't, no- My frien- Who is it? Please just tell me who it is." She stumbled over her words clumsily, scratching at her now free arms. White lines scraped at her skin, fingernails dragging harshly down the length of her right forearm, carving a trail of scratches.
"You know I can't disclose that information with you, Chrissy, it's private matters." Stilinski soothed, attempting his very best to try and steer the teenager away. "Alright, come on, I'm sure your teachers won't approve of your tardiness. Off to lessons, now."
"But, Sheriff, wait! Please, I have to know!"
"Chrissy, please understand that I can't mention anything to a member of the public, never mind a teenage girl. So, please, just go to lessons and try get through the day. If you so desperately need to speak about it, I suggest my son- there's no doubt he'll be blabbing all of his wild theories to the first person he sees."
He planted her by the back entrances to the school, wishing her off with a kind nod as the radio strapped to his chest spluttered and fizzed, and he glanced back one last time before hurrying his way back over to the monstrosity that was the crime scene.
Just in her static moment of time, Chrissy failed to notice the two boys who had joined either side of her, both Stiles and Scott glancing at her in mild confusion. Each looked their fair bit of disgust and worry at the view in front of them, Scott the most. The palms of his hands were sweating and his lips opened and closed in a haze of shock.
He frantically scanned his eyes over the scene before darting off through the doors and whipping out his phone, leaving Stiles and Chrissy outside.
Stiles looked back at where Scott had previously left, then down to the girl next to him. She looked dazed almost, a faraway expression in her eyes whilst she stared motionless at the buses. The boy took a deep breath, and wrapped his fingers around her elbow to tug her away from the mess.
"Come on, Chrissy. We should leave and let them do their job, we'll just be getting in the way."
Chrissy turned to Stiles in a slow motions, dragging her eyes away the very last second. "But what about Allison? She was on the bus..." Her voice dipped in volume, trailing off with a quiet blubber.
Stiles froze.
"Chrissy, what do you mean Allison was on the bus?"
"It was her. I saw it. She was attacked by this thing, this monster! I could practically hear her screams, they were so loud in the silence. I couldn't help her." The 'silence'. Her visions.
Stiles grabbed her by the shoulders, probably a little rougher than intended, and pulled her inside the school. "Chrissy, what? You saw it happen? You were there when it happened?"
Something inside of her seemed to snap and she pushed away from Stiles, glancing around her surroundings in a state of wild confusion, her bag dropping off her shoulder with a deep thud. "What?"
"Chrissy, you okay? What did you mean?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Stiles." Chrissy denied, the balance between her heightened emotions and rationality waring thin. The scariest thing of all, she had no recollection of the past few moments she had shared with the boy, the last thing she could remember was the back of Sheriff Stilinski trudging away from her in such a hurried manner that it must have puzzled her brain.
Stiles rubbed his hands along the cheeks of his face, painting them a scarlet hue of irritation, and he once again took a hold of her arm to lead her down the hallways. He was in an intense state of what one would call bewilderment, hesitant of what he was meant to say now. Stiles was bemused to say the least, and his confusion was understandable, the obscure switch of personality and mindset that Chrissy even lacked knowledge of was concerning, worrying even.
There was something not quite right with the Langford girl. He had always known that, the distant rumours and hum of cautious whispers told him that much, but now, up-close, he could see what everyone so desperately gossiped about so much. It wasn't just the glazed over eyes, or even the random outbursts of daytime strolls, no, it was the odd spurts of knowledge of things that nobody should really know, the confidential system. She knew too much, how that came to be was still a cold case, and Stiles should know better that unsolved mysteries often led to whole lot of nothing good. He should know better- but that never necessarily meant he had to actually follow the rules of the law enforcing game.
He should really go looking for Scott, his best friend suddenly dashing off was always a high priority of problems, yet the list seemed to just keep piling high, and the pretty blonde was now fresh at the top. Perhaps he could just solve both in one, and fix it he did, dragging Chrissy further down the halls until his eyes lay on his panicked and basically hyperventilating friend.
Scott was racing back and forth through the hoards of student bodies and clans of awaiting teachers, shoving past their hefty folders hooked through their fingers and bulky luggage clutched tightly in their fists. He turned to follow a stream of academics, overtaking them and allowing Stiles and Chrissy the chance to catch up to him.
"She's probably fine." Stiles tried his best to reassure him, truly, but his words did more harm than he ever intended.
"She's not answering my texts, Stiles."
"It could just be a coincidence, alright?" Stiles offered his advice once again, but Scott just brushed him off with an increase of pace, stumbling forward. "A seriously amazing coincidence."
"Just help me find her, okay?" Scott was on this last legs, desperation crawling through his bones and wracking his breaths with an incessant paranoia. His neck was beginning to hurt with the pace he swivelled it around in his circuit of delusion, and his vision was starting to blur with the oncoming haste of tears that filled his innocent chocolate eyes.
The onlookers of intrigued students did nothing but up the already worrying amount of stress in each of the trio's bodies, and the pattering of their hearts synced with the mutual sense of concern.
"Do you see her?" It was Chrissy now, who had joined Scott on his mission to find the brunette, her own pressure of fear squeezing the air from her winded lungs. "Stiles, Scott, where is she?"
The McCall boy wasn't looking too great, in all honesty - if his pants of erratic air weren't enough evidence, then the shaking of his fingers certainly were. He suddenly halted, turned and leant forward to hit his forehead harshly against the steel of a random locker. His two friends winced at his spontaneous actions, silently rubbing at their own foreheads as if to ease the non-existent ache. Scott appeared to be in some type of inconsistent rage, not a thing he could easily control, which was proved in much confidence when his fist collided with the metal of the locker in front of him.
"Oh, shit, that's Jackson's locker, Scott." Chrissy murmured, yet she couldn't find it in herself to feel the slightest regret of sympathy for the Whittemore boy - had he have been a much nicer, more tolerable kind of boy then surely she wouldn't have liked to see his property destroyed, but he wasn't. "Oh, well, it doesn't matter. Come on, up you get, we haven't found her yet."
And despite her own mental conflicts, Chrissy reached forwards with the guidance of the Stilinski boy behind her, and hooked her hands underneath Scott's arms to hoist him up. He was confused, sure, but merely accepted his fate with a roll of his neck before rising to his full height with nothing more than a vote of mild confidence. Though his endeavour didn't seem to last nearly as long as before, his route suddenly blocked off by a body and an all too familiar laugh.
A crash of all things brought their undesired search to a satisfying conclusion, and there Allison stood, a nervous yet amused grin on her pink lips. Waves of respective relief soaked through to the bones of the three teenagers, and Chrissy mentally praised whatever spectre that was out there for the safety of her best friend.
"You scared the hell out of me." She chuckled, unknowing of the panic and concern she had unconsciously caused her friends, and wiped the brunette strands from her face before bending her knees to gather the textbooks that had ungracefully fallen in their collision. She failed to notice the cold sweat on his forehead, and the blonde behind him, almost too enraptured in the love-sick expression that adorned her 'almost-boyfriend's' face.
Chrissy's source of what was deemed entertainment was cut short with the hand that had found itself in the crook of her elbow. She turned, a swift, precise movement, to face the origins of the limb, finding Stiles at the end. He all but tugged on her arm, pulling her along that reminded her much of the moments before, leading her between the bodies of students and cliques of all sorts. She had little to no clue as to where Stiles was taking her.
"Stiles," Chrissy huffed out a needed breath. "Where are you taking me?"
The boy was relentless in his mystery, not a word leaving the confines of his lips.
"Stiles!"
"You know something, Chrissy. You always know too much." Stiles finally spoke, though it was far from the thing Chrissy wanted to hear him say. A feeling of what she thought was panic seeped into the tissue of her lungs, catching her already rushed breaths in a grip that was too tight to squirm away from. "And I'm going to find out why."
"Stiles, no. Not now, please!" Chrissy tried to get away, really. Perhaps it was her least favourite lesson, but she wanted to get to chemistry that very second to escape the one conversation she was never prepared for. But she was desperate, a term she loathed, yet it was just so fitting in that exact moment.
Ever since she was caught snooping, so to speak, the ever growing urge to know what was happening to her had become something that consumed her every waking thought. "Please... At lease wait until after school, okay? I'll even help you look, how about that? I'll help you find out what's wrong with me, because frankly, I'd like to know too!"
Stiles stopped. He spun with increased pace, raised eyebrows and all. "Yo- Are you sure?" He received a nod, an unsure one at that, but a nod all the same. "O-okay, yeah. I'll drop it for now, but, as soon as we step out of them gates later, you are coming over and we're going to figure out what the hell is happening to you."
LOVER
MR HARRIS WAS AN INSUFFERABLE MAN, INTOLERABLE, IMPOSSIBLE; ALL THE INSULTING SYNONYMS UNDER THE SUN. The man carried a far-fetched hatred for his students, a mutual feeling, and his belittling words were of the sort that could leave an impression on somebody for years to come. There were only a select few of students that never felt the wrath of his humiliating remarks, the ones that were as equally abusive to their peers - take Jackson for example.
The only bearable factor of the whole entire lesson was the point that Stiles sat beside Chrissy, a seating plan she was actually grateful for. Though their minor conversation from before had her delving her head so far into the leather bound notebook that each word in the pages morphed into a static blur. She had ultimately discarded her class work, instead taking her attention elsewhere - to the confines of her scribbled writing and colourful drawings of obscure shapes.
Chrissy could almost feel the stares at her back from the onlooking students behind her, the questioning fellows who knew no better, but she was not phased, not even in the slightest. It was something that she had grown used to, the judgmental glares and curious wonders, and the sense of being watched from each angle didn't bother her no more.
She was hurried with her actions, her hand speeding up and the pen gliding across the paper smoothly in her hasty movements. Although the rustling of sheets below couldn't disguise the poorly-whispered discussion from McCall to Stilinski, and her ears tuned into the conversation of worrisome interest.
"Maybe it was my blood on the door." Scott's blood? On which door? It was highly confusing, to say the least, concerning sure, but confusing. What on Earth were they on about?
"Could have been animal blood." Stiles shrugged, knocking the already wonky table to a slant. "You know, maybe you caught a rabbit, or something."
Scott was apparently into hunting. Honestly, Chrissy wouldn't have dubbed Scott as the type, seeing as he could never purposely hurt a fly, but there are some things that change unexpectedly.
Scott turned around even more in his seat, twisting his body behind him in a way that was surely uncomfortable. "And did what?"
"Ate it."
"Raw?"
Stiles huffed. "No, you stopped to bake it in a little werewolf oven. I don't know, you're the one who can't remember anything." He was sarcastic with his words, a scrutinising squint in his eyes.
Werewolf? What. The. Fuck? He had to be joking, a little inside thing the two best friends shared. It was the most reasonable explanation, yeah. Werewolves and the rest of the supernatural community didn't exist - they were myths, bedtime stories to scare younger siblings at that. They weren't real. Right?
Though, even if there was the slightest, most minuscule chance, that they did really live side-by-side with the daily life of those around, then it really did make sense. Scott's overnight change in athletic abilities and his massive confidence boost. The tilt of his head to almost listen towards an ongoing conversation metres away. They were all signs of something strange, the movies and books told you that much.
"Mr. Stilinski, if that's your idea of a hushed whisper, you might want to pull the headphones out every once in a while." It was Mr. Harris' voice that eventually grabbed Chrissy from the spiral of bewilderment and doubt in her mind. "I think you and Mr.McCall would benefit from a little distance, yes?"
"No." Stiles protested with a scoff.
The teacher was having none of Stiles' back-chat, clicking his fingers and pointing at two opposite sides of the classroom. The two boys huffed, reaching down to begrudgingly to gather their respective belongings, before trudging along whilst scraping their feet to sit down.
"Let me know if the separation anxiety gets to be too much."
Stiles caught Chrissy's eyes from his new seat, and sent an apologetic smile her way; He knew of her hatred for the class, they had discussed it on a regular basis, agreeing on a mutual decision. She returned it, however, the corners of her eyes never wrinkled, and the corners of her lips didn't stretch as far as they normally would.
"Hey, I think they found something!" It was the girl beside Scott, Harley, who was sat closest to the wall of windows, next to the shine of brightness and screen of sunny clouds.
Almost each student leaped from their seats and raced to the glass to press their eager faces against the windows, aching for a glimpse of what seemed like a spectacle. Chrissy made it beside Scott, feeling Stiles sidle up behind her, and she fought against the raging blush that so desperately wanted to overtake the apples of her cheeks.
They watched on with attentive eyes, observing as paramedics wheeled a gurney from the parking lot and towards the back of an ambulance.
"That's not a rabbit." Scott muttered under his breath, but it was in fact, loud enough for his two friends to hear.
It was so swift, a blur all the same, as the man on the gurney abruptly sat up, grasping onto the two paramedics with bloody hands. His face was coated in a thick layer of the crimson liquid, staining his peaky face with a burgundy hue. He screamed, a frightening, horror-stricken type of yell, and the majority of the interested students flinched away from the hysteric bellow.
"Okay. This is good, this is good." Stiles mumbled, approaching Scott, who had managed to back away in his haze of frantic motion and disturbed mindset. "He got up, he's not dead. Dead guys can't do that."
"Stiles," Scott sighed heavily, eyes wide with a feeling of alarm. "I did that."
LOVER
THE CAFETERIA WAS BUSTLING WITH UNRULY, PERSISTENT STUDENTS, CHATTING WITH unchallenged volume and witty yelps. Contrast to popular belief, the room seemed to be fairly clean, void of thrown potatoes and boiled carrots - though there wasn't much hope that the rest of the week would be the same level of pristine.
It came as a shock to learn that lunch was actually Chrissy's most favourite period of the school day, especially due to the oncoming crowd of ravenous teenagers and the overwhelming loudness. She wasn't a fan of great hoards of people, not in the slightest, but this specific hour was one thing she could find joy in - she enjoyed the copious amount of people watching there was to be done, scanning her eyes over the room for any signs of obvious entertainment.
Oh, how she loved to observe the obvious interests students had for one another, how they glanced longingly at each other in hopes of catching the other's eye for a split second. How friends giggled and spoke with such vigour that even she felt a part of their conversation, intently listening in to their new topic at hand.
Before the school year had even begun, Chrissy found herself sat within the space of her own company, never really seeking the opportunity to sport the same winning grin on her face when others did. People often left her to her lonesome, debating silently whether to offer the Langford an invitation out of pity or not. Most times, often than not, they didn't, instead sticking to what they knew best.
Chrissy never really liked change, finding the sudden contrast to be too much, yet swapping her usual seat to become one beside Allison Argent and Lydia Martin, she welcomes this insane, but comforting exchange. She just ignored Jackson's existence on a whole, mentally battling against her growing desire to stab her fork through his hand.
But when following Lydia from the lunch queue and walking past their usual table towards an unexpected one, Chrissy struggled to understand as to what was actually going on. They came to a stop alongside a table where both Stiles and Scott sat, heatedly discussing something over the stained plastic in front of them.
Lydia stalked forward and placed her palms of her hands atop the table, thudding them down in hopes of catching their attention. "Figure out what?" She chirped, interrupting them now for good.
Chrissy could see the fleet of panic flood both of the boys' eyes, the two of them briefly sharing a singular glance of concern before they stuttered and Scott finally spoke.
"Just, uh, homework." He replied, though it was crystal clear that his words were a lie. Chrissy's eyes narrowed towards him, the same word floating around the abyss of her mind the longer she stared at him. Werewolf.
Through her haze of intuition, she barely managed to grasp the outstare on the side of her face, and she flickered her eyes to Stiles', eyes locking in a minor battle of hesitation.
"Yeah." Stiles agreed far too quickly to make Scott's lie believable, solidifying the truth that was already evident.
Lydia snuck around to occupy a lone seat, the rest of her clique now joining her in sitting down. Allison immediately snagged a seat beside Scott, leaving one spare for Chrissy to sit next to Stiles at the end of the table. Allison sent her a grin full of cheek, letting out a small, yet noticeable giggle at the girl's flustered skin.
Danny, a boy who Chrissy had only spoke to a handful of times, placed his tray down next to her, offering her a nod of acknowledgment. A random lacrosse player took the seat at the head of the table, but there was no time for his unwanted settlement, as only mere moments later, Jackson stood to the side of him, staring him down with a harsh glare.
"Get up." Jackson demanded.
The boy placed down his food with a push, turning to face up at Jackson. "How come you never ask Danny to get up?" He practically whined, looking up with his dark eyes.
"Because I don't stare at his girlfriend's coin slot." Danny replied in Jackson's favour, eliciting a chuckle from the Langford girl beside him. Stiles himself huffed a puff of air from his nose in a silent agreement of amusement.
Jackson shoved the former occupant of the chair away and sat down for himself. The air strayed away from a more secure sense of safety to one of less reassurance, Jackson's persona often dragging the liveliness of the atmosphere into the deepest depths of rising uncertainty. It was awkward at first, to say the least - Scott and Stiles were still in whirls of heavy confusion, Chrissy debating on the quickest escape route out of the cafeteria.
"So, I hear they're saying it's some type of animal attack." Danny began, breaking the table from the silence that had found themselves in. He really was attempting his hand at starting a conversation, maybe not a cheery one of sorts, yet a conversation all the same. "Probably a cougar."
"I heard a mountain lion." Jackson stated in a casual tone, making sure his voice was the one heard the most.
"A cougar is a mountain lion." Lydia interrupted, and explained as though it was obvious to everyone but her boyfriend, yet backed down from the scrunch of Jackson's eyebrows. "Isn't it?" Her voice fell to something of a slack stupidity, drawling out the words and putting more effort in the curling her lips upward.
"Who cares?" Jackson rolled his eyes so far that it was a surprise he never seemed to reach the lack of brains deep within the confines of his skull. "The guy's probably some homeless tweaker who's gonna die anyway." Ever the sympathetic, he was. His endless kindness just occurred to be never-ending.
Stiles pulled his phone from the opening in his pocket, fishing out the device and scrolling across the screen until he came across video from the news, a clip of the Sheriff's department working their way through the horrific crime scene. "Actually, I just found out who it is. Check it out."
He moved the screen to the middle of the table, holding it to show the rest of the group. Chrissy shuffled in her seat to watch at a better angle, silently apologising at the knock she sent at Stiles' knee with her own. He smiled, merely brushing it off with nothing but a gentle pat on her leg. But he withdrew his hand as soon as it made swift contact, blushing with a scarlet hue, and trying his very best to discard the sly smirk Scott sent him from the opposite side.
The video showed Sheriff Stilinski inspecting the damage done throughout the entirety of the bus, the voice of a male reporter summarising a quick overview of the events that had transpired the night before. Each student leaned in with keen curiosity, wishing for more information on the mystery.
"The Sheriff's Department won't speculate on details of the incident, but confirmed the victim, Garrison Meyers, did survive the attack." Pictures of the man flashed along the screen, a stark contrast to what his most recent appearance seemed to be. "Meyers was taken to a local hospital where he remains in critical condition."
Scott's voice began to stutter as Stiles pulled the device away from the prying eyes around him. "I know this guy."
"You do?" Allison wondered aloud, voicing just what everyone else came to think.
"Yeah, when I used to take the bus, back when I lived with my dad. He was the driver." Scott looked to Stiles who only nodded at his burst of words.
There was a beat of silence, one that felt heavy and suffocating. It was broken with a click of Lydia's tongue as she swivelled her fork around the tips of her fingers, eyes glancing rapidly between the bodies around her. "Can we talk about something slightly more fun, please? Like, oh, where are we going tomorrow night?"
The strawberry blonde was now pointing a questioning eyebrow towards Scott and Allison, the couple seemingly confused at the very inquiry. Lydia took notice of the bewildered expression the couple had shared, though she couldn't seem to fathom as to why they were so reclusive with their answer. "You said you and Scott were hanging out tomorrow night, right?"
Allison swallowed her food before stuttering out a reply that was hefty with the weight of unease. "Um, we were thinking of what we were gonna do."
Stiles rather comically looked up from his tray before him, shaking his head towards Scott with a face that practically radiated perplexity.
"Well, I am not sitting at home again watching lacrosse videos." Lydia sighed, flickering the green of her eyes to hint at her boyfriend, the one sat with a glare on his face and huffing with something alike of offending manner. "So, if the four of us are hanging out, we are doing something fun."
Scott almost struggled to come to terms with what the conversation had turned to, spinning his head to Allison as if she were to know all the answers. "Hanging out?" He watched Allison shrug her shoulders awkwardly, and he released somewhat of a huff. "Like the four of us? Do you wanna hang out, like us and them?"
Both Stiles and Chrissy cringed from where they watched the utter catastrophe take place, practically shaking in their seats from the sheer amount of second-hand embarrassment that was infiltrating the joints between their bones, making the extra stretch to turn their head away from watching whatever was actually going on.
"Yeah, I guess." Allison spoke once again, bringing the attention back to her. "Sounds fun."
There was a heaving sigh from the end of the table, Jackson sat with a fork dangerously close to his face - the willpower Chrissy held from resisting the urge to shove the metal so far through his face that you could see it from the other side was strong. Yet, frighteningly weak all the same.
"You know what else sounds fun?" He suggested. "Stabbing myself in the face with this fork."
"I'll do the honours, don't you worry about that." Chrissy muttered, though it was far too loud to go unheard, an almost choked sound reaching from the depths of Stiles' throat. The noise caused a row of concern from the girl beside him, and as she whipped her head around to survey what could possible be wrong, she was met with a fist held tightly against his lips, silencing the chuckle that so badly wanted to be released. A smile, full of laughter and coincidental amusement, lifted at the corners of her own lips and she too had to purposefully smother her mouth with the palm of her hand to disguise the humour she so happily welcomed.
"What are you two laughing at, huh? Don't be shy, come and share with the rest of us, we want to have a laugh too," Jackson's accusatory glare couldn't be blocked with even the strongest pair of shaded sunglasses, and the giggling pair soon came to an abrupt stop. "Right everyone?"
Lydia had managed to snatch the utensil from her boyfriend, slamming it back down onto the table with a light thud. "How about bowling? You love to bowl." Bless her for trying to diffuse the tension across the table, though it was obvious that her under appreciated efforts were merely futile, and it was as though Jackson's frown deepened.
"Yeah, with actual competition." He sneered, rolling his eyes.
Allison smirked and leant forward with a push of her arms. "How do you know we're not actual competition?" Her eyes turned to face Scott. "You can bowl, right?"
Scott cowered back for only a split second, bouncing back to his once semi-confident state. "Sort of."
Stiles made a quiet noise of protest, one that could only be interpreted as a way to distinguish Scott's blatant lie. He wasn't a good bowler, not in the very least.
Jackson crossed his arms, squinting his eyes with a taunting smile. "Is that a sort of or yes?"
"Yes." Scott spoke with such assurance that is was easily mistaken for the false truth. "In fact, I'm a great bowler."
Oh, Scott McCall, what have you done now?