S'up peeps? Well, I don't actually know what this is, I don't know what's gonna happen, I just had a picture and this story came into my mind. Hope you enjoy! Any feedback would be great (as always!) and I will try and update every Saturday, but so far my track record is pretty dang awful. Anyway. Here ye are!
The pungent smell of fumes filled Stiles' nostrils, and he spluttered, leaning over the handlebars. He pulled over at a lay-by and wiped the petrol from the tyres. A car was apparently leaking somewhere, and Stiles was half-expecting to look down the long road and see a vehicle on fire.
Adjusting the too-large helmet, Stiles remounted the bike and kicked off, wobbling a bit as he drove down the road.
New to motorcycling, Stiles had only just discovered the diner at the end of the town where, apparently, loads of bikers went, including his best friend Scott. Sure, he'd driven past it loads of times in the Jeep, but it looked a bit dodgy and he approached the entrance with a hint of trepidation. Thankfully, Scott's bike was already parked outside; at least Stiles wouldn't be alone.
The door creaked loudly as Stiles pushed and the men inside turned to stare at the newbie. Stiles smiled , and Scott pushed past the bikers to greet his friend. "You came!" he exclaimed delightedly.
"Of course I came, I'm not gonna abandon my mate, am I?" Stiles replied, punching Scott lightly on the arm. Scott's puppy-face broke into a wide grin.
"Do you want anything?" He indicated to the bar area. Stiles shrugged.
"I'll have what you're having." Scott nodded and pointed to a corner.
"Allison and Lydia are over there."
"Lydia?" Stiles asked surprised. Scott raised his eyebrows, assuming it was answer enough.
Hordes of men ranging in age and beauty crowded into the surprisingly small diner, and Stiles had to push his way through to get to the corner. Stereotypically red and retro, the diner didn't actually look too bad from the inside. Sure, chips littered the floor and it reeked of vinegar and sweat (not a nice combo) but there wasn't any fighting or drugs; none that Stiles could see, anyway.
Loud chattering filled Stiles' ears, and he could barely hear himself think. He stumbled over legs and scattered chairs and tables. Eventually, he discovered Lydia and Allison in the corner as Scott had said. They had their heads close together, deep in conversation.
"Ladies," Stiles smiled. Lydia rolled her eyes but Allison had a small smile on her face, clearly amused.
"Where's Scott?" she asked.
Stiles pointed a thumb over his shoulder and said, "Getting drinks." He slid into the booth, brushing crumbs from the seat onto the floor. "So... you guys come up here often?" Lydia glanced to her left as a guy walked past; he winked at her and she tilted her head flirtatiously.
"Very often," she replied. Stiles felt the familiar hint of jealously in his stomach and he swallowed, leaning back on the seat. Just because Lydia took no notice of him didn't mean he couldn't take any notice of her...did it?
"Here." Scott planted two full glasses of some brown soft drink on the table. Stiles sniffed at it and recoiled in disgust.
"What is this?" Scott shrugged and Lydia answered for him.
"It's just some cheap rip-off. Don't use the straw," she advised, just as Scott was about to take a sip, "I know where they've been." Allison raised her eyebrows and gave her 'The Look' – the girly one that Stiles had never (and probably would never) understood. "What?" Lydia asked innocently, "My last boyfriend worked here." As she was speaking, she motioned her head to the boy at the counter, who was watching her lustfully. "Too clingy," she decided.
Pulling a face, Stiles put the drink back on the table; it tasted as revolting as it smelt. The group settled into a silence. Scott rubbed his tattoo absent-mindedly as a man covered in ink strolled past. Thinking about it, as Stiles looked around, most people here were inked. He felt out of place; most of them had beards, too, or at least fuzz.
With a loud bang, the door swung open again, and all eyes swivelled to the man striding in. His leather jacket had a layer of soot caking the shoulders, but it didn't affect the powerful aura he carried. Green eyes provided a dramatic contrast to his otherwise dark complexion.
"Who's that?" Stiles asked wondrously as the man leant against the bar. He seemed to order a drink without moving his lips.
Scott raised his eyebrows and Lydia sighed ludicrously. "Derek Hale," Scott said, a hint of jealousy in his voice. "They call him a rogue – he doesn't really have a group of people."
Startled by this mention of a 'group', Stiles exclaimed, "And who's your 'group'?" Scott shrugged.
"Guy called Isaac. Couple of others. I don't see them very often." Stiles nodded expectantly. "And you, of course." Stiles winked and grinned widely.
"So what does this 'Derek Hale' do, then?" Scott pulled a face and took a sip of the drink.
"I don't actually know." Stiles rolled his eyes.
"That's dull. Why don't you go find out?"
Shaking his head, Scott laughed. "Stiles, no one talks to Derek. No one is part of his 'gang'. No offence, but I don't think you're gonna change that."
Stiles raised his eyebrows challengingly. "I could try."