Eyes tracking Elliot's, Stiles didn't make any motion to keep him in place. It was pretty obvious that he was assessing the area, probably looking for a way out as soon as he was healed up enough to make a break for it. Stiles knew something of his magic, and even if his own would provide energy for the necromantic, he wagered that he could hold him in place if needed. It would be worth the risk, knowing that these streets were Elliot's backyard and he could easily lose Stiles with enough distance between them. Feeling eyes heavy on his skin, he focused back on Elliot and his reaction to the thick black smoke. Even among witches, Stiles' brand of magic was neither common nor enjoyable to be around.
He huffed out a laugh at the harsh look in Elliot's eyes, enjoying the juxtaposition of his youthful exterior and decaying interior. Though Elliot was still keen on denying his identity, Stiles was certain that he'd found his man; now all the had to do was convince him not to run off the second his legs stopped jutting out at impossible angles. "Necromantic witch with a protection mandala on his right hand? Yeah, and the neon pants sort of give it away," he replied with a crooked smile just wide enough to show one sharp canine. "I mean, he also told me you were a bitey bugger in the sack, but I'm not fucking you just to find out if you can help me. Maybe after," he added with one raised eyebrow.
Elliot scoffed, turning his head away from Stiles, making note to punch Maxwell in the face when he saw him next. "You're not my type, mate," he said smoothly, even if it was a lie. "I don't help people." With a groan, he finally pushed himself up with his arms, so that he was at least sitting up. His cigarette case and the letter fell into his lap, ignored for the time being. "I wouldn't steal your watch either, it's shite." Ah, there it was -- an actual truth.
"What is it you need help with then? I'm not a doctor, I can't sort out whatever terminal illness that's killing you." It was a blind guess, one that he was shaky about at best. His posture was hunched, spine still hurting. His legs were still busted, he wasn't going anywhere for a little while. "Uuurgh." His hands moved to his hair to ruffle it in his own frustration. His own sharp teeth were pressed together, jaw tensing and relaxing in thought.
"I need a bloody pint. Haven't got any hidden in your weird black portals, ay?"
Stiles rolled his eyes before examining his nails—bitten short but surprisingly clean after being knuckle-deep in the floating sludge of his portal magic. He chose to ignore the jab, neither believing nor caring if it was yet another comment on Elliot's sexuality. Straightening up a bit, no longer needing to loom over Elliot just to meet his eyes, Stiles took another pull on his cigarette, exhaling normal smoke a few seconds later. "Yeah, think it's dead anyways," he said as he glanced down at the watch face. His dad had given it to him for his birthday freshman year of high school in an effort to keep him from missing classes, and he hadn't been able to part with it.
"Nothing that easy or boring," he replied with an annoyed click of his tongue. Rationally, he knew that Elliot didn't know him nor owe him anything, but he couldn't help wishing he'd be less of a dick to the witch he was siphoning energy from. "Max is a friend from school," he explained as Elliot groaned and appeared to take stock of his legs. "He told me about Nyaminyami," he added, hoping that it would at least get Elliot to take him seriously.
Elliot didn't bother comment on the other guy's watch, not emotionally invested in the situation. Fuck, a ghost could stroll by any time so he could fuck off back home... His lips parted, mouth about to open and rattle off something cocky and sarcastic - the other guy was bringing it out in him - when he hears the word Nyaminyami. Everything he was about to say died on his tongue, leaving it a graveyard. His hands busied themselves with stuffing his cigarette case back in his pocket and actually grabbing the note, finally. With mild hesitation, he opened it, looking at the message that Stiles had relayed to him.
He stayed silent for a good thirty seconds before finding it in him to speak up. "You've got a possession problem? Isn't that what Max does. Vessel things? Did he tell you he was the one to pull the fucking thing out of me? Well, him and his weird gran." It was the most he'd said all night, probably, which probably meant the rest of his night was going to suck too. "Is that what's killing you? A spirit or sommat?" Eyes that looked black in the night scanned over Stiles, not looking for much of anything other than answers. "Came an awful long way to be told to ask for Max's help." Elliot was eternally grateful that Nyaminyami hadn't begun feeding on his soul whilst possessing him, he hadn't had to cut any decay out of himself, or puke maggots. He'd just been left with a horrific fear of the water and far too many experiences of drowning.
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He huffed out a laugh at the harsh look in Elliot's eyes, enjoying the juxtaposition of his youthful exterior and decaying interior. Though Elliot was still keen on denying his identity, Stiles was certain that he'd found his man; now all the had to do was convince him not to run off the second his legs stopped jutting out at impossible angles. "Necromantic witch with a protection mandala on his right hand? Yeah, and the neon pants sort of give it away," he replied with a crooked smile just wide enough to show one sharp canine. "I mean, he also told me you were a bitey bugger in the sack, but I'm not fucking you just to find out if you can help me. Maybe after," he added with one raised eyebrow.
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Elliot scoffed, turning his head away from Stiles, making note to punch Maxwell in the face when he saw him next. "You're not my type, mate," he said smoothly, even if it was a lie. "I don't help people." With a groan, he finally pushed himself up with his arms, so that he was at least sitting up. His cigarette case and the letter fell into his lap, ignored for the time being. "I wouldn't steal your watch either, it's shite." Ah, there it was -- an actual truth.
"What is it you need help with then? I'm not a doctor, I can't sort out whatever terminal illness that's killing you." It was a blind guess, one that he was shaky about at best. His posture was hunched, spine still hurting. His legs were still busted, he wasn't going anywhere for a little while. "Uuurgh." His hands moved to his hair to ruffle it in his own frustration. His own sharp teeth were pressed together, jaw tensing and relaxing in thought.
"I need a bloody pint. Haven't got any hidden in your weird black portals, ay?"
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"Nothing that easy or boring," he replied with an annoyed click of his tongue. Rationally, he knew that Elliot didn't know him nor owe him anything, but he couldn't help wishing he'd be less of a dick to the witch he was siphoning energy from. "Max is a friend from school," he explained as Elliot groaned and appeared to take stock of his legs. "He told me about Nyaminyami," he added, hoping that it would at least get Elliot to take him seriously.
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He stayed silent for a good thirty seconds before finding it in him to speak up. "You've got a possession problem? Isn't that what Max does. Vessel things? Did he tell you he was the one to pull the fucking thing out of me? Well, him and his weird gran." It was the most he'd said all night, probably, which probably meant the rest of his night was going to suck too. "Is that what's killing you? A spirit or sommat?" Eyes that looked black in the night scanned over Stiles, not looking for much of anything other than answers. "Came an awful long way to be told to ask for Max's help." Elliot was eternally grateful that Nyaminyami hadn't begun feeding on his soul whilst possessing him, he hadn't had to cut any decay out of himself, or puke maggots. He'd just been left with a horrific fear of the water and far too many experiences of drowning.