where things get weird

III - EURYDICE

Basically, Stiles was still having trouble believing that he had been able to get away with it in such a simple way. It was, among other things, as easy as stealing a pacifier from a baby. Or maybe his best friend was just incredibly naive? Yes. Okay. Maybe Scott was a damn good target for every nutty storyteller. But hey! Stiles wasn't going to complain - especially since he'd still managed to get the Mexican to believe that he was testing a new mud and herbal skin cream that was supposed to calm his hyperactivity. Scott had raised his eyebrows, patted his shoulder with an engaging smile and let him know that it was cool even though everyone had gotten used to it by now. As for the rest of the pack, well... I guess Stiles' quirks were so frequent that they decided not to be surprised by anything anymore and to act like everything was normal. Stiles was almost offended by this. He was always a little more surprised to see how his genius tended not to be recognized. Then he had mentally slapped himself, remembering that this famous mud mask was non-existent anyway and that therefore all his monologue about being misunderstood had been useless.

A normal start to the day for Stiles Stilinski, moreover.

The rest was much less normal and usual. At least, if hanging out with werewolves or banshees could be considered normal. Had he ever made it clear that he was a human being? No ? Yes ? Because no matter how much he spent the day like an old tape movie, he still couldn't understand how the hell he could have come to talk about astronomy with a ficus. A fucking ficus. The same one that must have rotted in the back of the economy classroom, forgotten by the Coach probably from the very beginning.

Stiles sat on his chair, as far away as possible from the desk of his heretic economics professor and, incidentally, his Lacrosse coach - even if tormentor was more accurate - eager to make himself forget the time of a class. He was still rethinking his non-dream - the very one where he had decided to think he was a Winchester and invoke Lucifer (Gaia) to kick the ass of a pack of wolves - when the bell announcing the beginning of classes rang. Then Bobby Finstock had arrived with his usual pomp and circumstance, his face marked by the disgust that his students inspired in him - even though everyone knew that deep down, the Coach liked them even though he pretended otherwise - and the arrogance that befits him so much.

"Alright people," he said, as soon as he finished with his: "Shut up you morons."

He carried his coffee cup with his own effigy on his lips while he let his gaze linger on his class, probably looking for a student to bully at the beginning of the class. A victorious smile quietly adorned his lips as he noticed that Scott - his all time favourite scapegoat after Stiles - was just about to look at his best friend, who had been avoiding him and the pack all morning. Bobby didn't even pretend to hold back his mocking giggle.

"Something wrong with McCall? Your relationship with Rasowsky is falling apart? Come on, everybody, thank McCall and get yourself some paper to write on. It's essaie time. It's what y'all get for exchanging sweet glances in my class, you bunch of losers."

There were grunts, eyes raised to the ceiling and Lydia smiling slightly with a mocking glow in the green of her eyes. You really don't know how to live without each other, they seemed to say. Scott would have stood up if he hadn't been sure to take double rations from Finstock. Instead, he grumbled into his non-existent beard and found himself a paper to write on, leaving Stiles and his outraged face in the back of the classroom.

The same one who, for once, had done nothing.

I hate that guy, he thought to himself, fumbling around in his bag with energy. Couldn't he let us off the hook sometimes? You'd think he really has nothing else to do, but no. What an ass. And he continued to mumble inside for the first twenty-seven minutes of the test, as much against the Coach as against his bullshit economics topic.

But what is it with these questions? Damn, we've never seen that in class before!

Stiles, at his top of his nerves, rolled his eyes as he re-read the first question he had been working on more or less all along.

A. In a structured and reasoned note, set out the restrictions on the use of ICTs imposed on the employer with regard to recruitment and the control and monitoring of employees.

He tilted his back against the chair's backrest, his head moving towards the green plant that had looked like a decoration since the dawn of time.

"You're some llucky girl. Here you are, sitting quietly and doing nothing all day. Awesomeness," he blew gently, about to refocus on his assessment, when the leaves of the ficus suddenly moved.

For a moment he thought he had totally hallucinated, when a face seemed to appear in the trunk. Stiles, buddy. You need to get some serious counselling, he thought, holding back a nervous laugh. But then the plant replied in a reprimanding tone.

Yes, that's it! Insult us, plants, because they are not capable of feelings! They are only decoration after all, aren't they? Yeah, let them die in the back of a dusty classroom with a bunch of retarded and disrespectful childrens! You pretentious asshole! Piece of shit! Imbecile! She squirmed and gently wiggled her leaves, as if a draught had suddenly infiltrated the room and started to waltz between her leafy limbs...

Needless to say, Stiles was speechless. Needless to say, Stiles was stunned. And if he thought it would end there, he was not happy, since the ficus started again in a kind of hate speech towards humans and pro-Gaia. The name barely uttered by the plant made him shudder and his skin seemed to be running with an electric current. The ficus immediately stopped speaking, staring at Stiles with what he imagined to be a shocked look. The plant shook its leaves as if it were shaking.

Oh, she did it. I didn't realized that Gaia... Anyways.. Oh. By My Mother. A Man with the magic of...

It seemed to blow through a small hole there in the bark, mumbling through her foliage.

I do miss ol' times sometimes.

Stiles blinked.

"Ugh.. So..You're talking," he said, looking around him, certain that his comrades had heard.

But everyone seemed to be immersed in Finstock's assessment, and sometimes a few half-tone swear words were heard. In spite of himself, an ironic smile stretched the corner of his lips. He was obviously not the only one struggling with the subject. Something to please him rather, if you wanted the people's opinion. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to be satisfied with that, since Ficus seemed to throw a branch at the top of his head. He uttered a surprised scream as he glared at the potted plant.

"Oh, seriously?" he hissed under his breath..

Stupid human, the plant replied. Stupid human who doesn't know anything about anything.

The Sheriff's son looked up at the ceiling.

"But hey! Why can I talk to a plant? Why now and wait. Aren't you a hallucination? For sure it's that mud mask, here!"

Another bang and a few muffled screams later, and Stiles would start grumbling in his non-existent beard again.

That's what happens when you're a bearer of the Power of Gaia, young idiot, to him the plant. One becomes the eyes and ears of nature and the other way around.

Good. At least he was definitively fixed about this story of pseudo satanic ritual. Although. He ticked at the words of the plant.

"Wait a minute. What do you mean by that? The eyes and ears of nature? Seriously, what do you mean?"

Okay. That story was getting a little bit weird. Was George - he had decided to nickname the plant that way - implying that he was going to have to go through all the plants' moods?

Yes. You're going to feel everything we feel as we will be able to feel you. We're connected, you idiot. Your life is ours and ours is yours.. Although I'm still wondering why Mother decided to inflict such a punishment on us..

And Stiles thought that he was in deep, deep shit. He wanted the strength to defeat Deucalion.. and now he found himself in the shoes of Tarzan. He started to laugh. It might have sounded a bit hysterical, tho.

"It's a joke I hope! I'm not going to.." but someone interrupted him.

He fluttered around and turned to the economics teacher, to the whole room, who was now staring at him as if hesitating between laughing at him and sending him to an asylum.

"You're not going to what, Stilinski? Finish your conversation with this friend of yours ? The plant? Did it at least give you the answers to the evaluation? Oh? No? I wonder why it didn't."

The human was slightly startled, his eyebrows furrowed and a disappointed pout on his face, while the class burst out laughing. Ah. Well, there he was looking like the village's fool again. He rolled his eyes.

"In fact it's a ficus, sir," he boasted.

George shook his leaves as if to tell him to shut up. Not really helpful since Stiles being who he was, was more than willing to open his mouth even when he didn't have to.

"But I'm just saying."

Stiles in a nutshell. An uninteresting course which had earned him an hour of detention... And a new buddy who was a bit too fond of insults - if you wanted his opinion, but who was he to judge people or plants, after all, eh? The fact was, he was going to have another conversation with his father - the serious ones, the ones that always ended in one: Son, daydreaming has no place at school! Or: Stiles, are you sure you're taking the right dosage of your medication? All of this sprinkled with a suspicious look. As if the idea of taking drugs with his own pills had ever crossed his mind... Or maybe it has. But that wasn't the point. He strongly doubted that the Marijuana Mud Mask excuse would work with the city sheriff. But never mind.

It was time for lunch, and Stiles was already letting the pack behind, with the idea of getting to the bottom of this whole thing. Scott was probably too busy cooing with Allison to notice his absence anyway. As for Derek's doggies, bullying the rest of the high school population seemed like a full-time job. So Stiles found himself wading alone in the huge puddles that had been created by the overwhelming downpour that had crushed down on the town of Beacon Hills that morning. With his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, he set out for the forest that bordered the high school, the same forest where so much had happened and which surrounded the town like a green trap. I'm everywhere, what did you expect? Blowed a voice in the back of his head. Stiles began to think he was going crazy - not only had he learned to disguise the voice of his own conscience - as he walked into the woods. When he was far enough away, but not lost in the middle of nowhere - he began to scan the trees, ferns, flowers and even the grass as if he had never seen them before, as if it would only take one look for everything to suddenly reveal itself in a new light, as with the plant. But nothing happened. He just stood there, soaked, in the middle of the forest, waiting for a fucking tree to speak.

He was clearly going off the rails.

And he calls himself a genius, laughed the woman in his head.

Stiles grunted slightly as he shot into a pebble, looking a little off. Yeah, well, if I'd been provided with a Gaia trainer's manual it would have been easier, he replied mentally, repeating his shot. The pebble had then flown, bounced off a tree trunk before coming back to his face as suddenly as that. All around him, the forest became agitated and the wind whistled so loudly in his ears that he was convinced that nature was laughing at him. Watch your mouth, Child, he heard everywhere and nowhere at once. He rolled his eyes, probably more jaded than ever.

"Well, if her majesty would deign to come down and give me a hand or two it would be really cool. Kind of. Really," Stiles said orally, staring suspiciously at a shrub, inwardly persuaded that he was, having seen it move.

He had a moment of hesitation, as the teenager added with obvious bad faith.

"Please... I really feel like I'm going mad there. And I'm not talking about Max, like, Mad Max okay? It's irrelevant.

Behind him, a rustle of leaves made him turn around, his hazelnut irises resting on the wide trunk of the old oak tree. The voice was slightly more distinct and crystalline this time and, without really knowing why, Stiles was convinced it was someone else.

Before trying to use Gaia's Magic, you have to be able to see Gaia's magic, she told him.

Needless to say, it hadn't gone any further than that. He had frowned, looked around, before grumbling in frustration:

"I can't really open my eyes any more than they already are."

And, with his eyes wide open, he had swept his space with his gaze, without finding anything magical. Then the voice seemed to sigh, half bored, half exasperated, and for sure that if it had been there, Stiles would have sworn whatever what here with him, had rolled his or her eyes. Do you even want it? Stiles rolled his own eyes this time.

"Well, obviously I'm not here to pick mushrooms."

Although that would have given him an excuse for his strange behavior with his teachers...

Your head desires what your heart is afraid of, Child, she said again. Stiles replied immediately, abruptly:

"It doesn't make sense. My heart and my head belong to me. And I want to understand, I want to know."

Then in this case, all you have to do is see.

"But I can't see anything, damn it!" He began to get annoyed.

His face, which had taken on a slight red hue under the annoyance, now seemed scarlet under the anger. Before he could add anything more, the crystalline voice resumed - as if equipped with unfailing patience.

You look, but you don't see, Child. Don't look with your eyes. See with your heart. See with your soul. See with your senses. See with the breath of the wind. See with the rustle of the leaves. See with the chirping of the birds...

Stiles had - at least in part - taken his mind off what the voice was telling him. She hadn't stopped talking, making her list a little longer and longer, but now it was all just a vague background noise in Stiles's head as he kept telling himself that none of it made sense. He was clearly under the influence of drugs or whatever. Probably his father was even going to show up with an armed team, to force him back to Eichen House - the place where he had invented all those supernatural adventures. He was seriously freaking out - between talking to the trees and hearing voices, frankly, one could not decently do worse. And yet, he couldn't help but do exactly what he was told to do.

With closed eyelids, he let his mind wander as he knew how to do so well. He could hear without any difficulty the powerful wind blowing and the raindrops hammering the ground into an uninterrupted symphony - the sinister creaking of branches and imposing trunks, not to mention the various and varied rustling, coming as much from the bushes at ground level as from the leaves there, lost in the skies. Anyone could have sensed all this, he said to himself, clenching his fists. The caress of the wind on his face, however, quickly loosened him up and he blew himself out of his nervousness and fear. Then suddenly the wind became song and the earth rumbled and he thought for a moment he heard a bird whistling the impressed air on a: Good job, encouraging. He then opened his eyes and almost flinched when he saw it. Her, the owner of this calm and patient voice. Her green mane sprinkled with flowers that flowed in a dense mass along her naked body and painted in the same hue. A crown of oak leaves hugged her forehead, refining her face, and her amber eyes seemed to glow brightly. On her pale lips, a gentle smile was addressed to her. He saw his naked breasts and his flat belly half covered by an opaque veil - as if made of water and hiding his probable nudity - Stiles really didn't want to know - and he saw the lower part of his body, as if melted into a very old oak tree. A word immediately came to his mind.

Nymph.

A nymph who gave him a beautiful smile - just enough to make his heart beat wildly - looked particularly amused. The thin fingers she had placed against his cheeks - who was then convinced that it was the caress of the wind - fell down along his body and the next moment she was standing upright in front of the teenager, who was then separated from his oak tree. Stiles was still gawking, his jaw hanging down, and it took awhile for him to recover.

"What the..," stammered, looking totally lost and hysterical.

The lady made of plants was probably not the only one to have appeared under his frightened glance. Everywhere, he could now see female faces in the trunks of trees, melting into and out of them with the curiosity of small children, seemingly hesitating between being thrilled to have a new friend to play with, or being suspicious of him. The forest was full of nymphs. Nymphs and many other spirits who gradually came out of their hiding places to start dancing around him. Tiny figures made of air began to lay a multitude of flowers of all kinds on his hair and soon he could not move his head without one of them landing on his shoulders, making the little mutinous silhouettes laugh out loud.

In the distance, he even saw a fox, his clever glance planted in his and seemed so ... Significant. New? You come and play ?, he seemed to ask. Stiles had his jaw down the floor. He turned to the one who seemed to be the Chief, for want of another word, his mouth not being able to decide between staying closed or staying open. Finally, he babbled.

"How is that even.." he sutters. "What in hell.."

The Nymph burst out with a crystalline laugh and Stiles blushed immediately. There he started to swear, it was downright average in front of... In front of whom exactly?

I am Eurydice, said the nymph… - well, the Dryad to be exact, - without even opening her mouth. Welcome home, bearer of Gaia's magic..