[This time, it’s his turn to blink (which he does, with both eyes). Stiles assumes that, by claiming not to know what’s meant by “underaged,” the man must be covering his ass in a “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas”-esque manner. Later, once the teen learns more about the differentiated worlds that people arrived in Kenos from, it will occur to him that maybe Silco was genuinely baffled by the concept. For now, the native Californian puts the matter aside and directs his attention to what else the drug den proprietor (another assumption) has to say.]

Huh.

[Stiles shoots the hookah a long, thoughtful look. God, it’s tempting to test the guy by grabbing the hose and taking a deep inhalation—just to see what happens next. Except, as fond as he is of flying by the seat of his pants, Stiles knows better than to try his luck in a hostile environment like this. Kowloon is a dumpster on fire, careening down a San Francisco hill at Mach speed while everybody pretends not to notice. Oh, and the dumpster is about to bowl over a superfluity of holy nuns as they innocently cross the street. Fun to watch? Hell yeah. But getting actively involved? Definitely not a good idea.

Not that that’s ever stopped him before.]

I mean, there are rules everywhere, [he counters after a moment, tone deliberately light so as to not seem like he’s trying to start a heated argument,] whether they’re officially written down in a court of law and observed by the general public or not. Even chaos can be organized. Otherwise, a city like this would eventually collapse on itself, right?

[The teen scrutinizes Silco in the wake of his question, head cocked ever so slightly to the side. He’s genuinely curious how Draumahol’s owner will respond, while simultaneously not expecting much. Most adults in positions of relative power wouldn’t bother humoring someone like Stiles, after all.]