And just like that, his countenance shifts—pained humiliation giving way rapidly to rapt curiosity. Stiles draws closer almost in spite of himself, warmed whiskey-brown eyes now studying Liem with a vivid interest that might be offensive in how blatantly it was absent beforehand. An alarmingly accurate and almost preternatural intuition, despite his human nature, insists that there’s something off about the man. Equipped with nothing but these instincts, the teen maintains his open scrutiny. However, Stiles doesn’t manage to put his finger on what’s bothering him. Yet. Mouth flat with frustration, he picks up the conversation again.]
How about everything? [A hint of dry humor punctuates his response.] I wanna ask you more about, uh…y’know, the fact this isn’t your first rodeo. Let’s circle back to that, though.
[He pauses, once again staring. The sunglasses? They’re not technically suspicious—especially not on an island boasting two suns. Still, Stiles squints at them closely, trying to abuse the few inches of height he has on Liem to see behind them. Tone somewhat distracted, he continues.]
How about we start with the whole “perched on the edge of existence” business. [Maybe it’s the freakishly stark pallor that’s tripping the alarms in his head. Is the guy sick? Possibly. The idea fails to satisfy the itch crawling over his skin.] All I’ve heard is that we’re—
[Stiles falters, gaze suddenly dropping to their feet. Finally, it occurs to him what’s wrong. When he looks back up at Liem, his expression is alive with a sharp, morbid fascination.
no subject
And just like that, his countenance shifts—pained humiliation giving way rapidly to rapt curiosity. Stiles draws closer almost in spite of himself, warmed whiskey-brown eyes now studying Liem with a vivid interest that might be offensive in how blatantly it was absent beforehand. An alarmingly accurate and almost preternatural intuition, despite his human nature, insists that there’s something off about the man. Equipped with nothing but these instincts, the teen maintains his open scrutiny. However, Stiles doesn’t manage to put his finger on what’s bothering him. Yet. Mouth flat with frustration, he picks up the conversation again.]
How about everything? [A hint of dry humor punctuates his response.] I wanna ask you more about, uh…y’know, the fact this isn’t your first rodeo. Let’s circle back to that, though.
[He pauses, once again staring. The sunglasses? They’re not technically suspicious—especially not on an island boasting two suns. Still, Stiles squints at them closely, trying to abuse the few inches of height he has on Liem to see behind them. Tone somewhat distracted, he continues.]
How about we start with the whole “perched on the edge of existence” business. [Maybe it’s the freakishly stark pallor that’s tripping the alarms in his head. Is the guy sick? Possibly. The idea fails to satisfy the itch crawling over his skin.] All I’ve heard is that we’re—
[Stiles falters, gaze suddenly dropping to their feet. Finally, it occurs to him what’s wrong. When he looks back up at Liem, his expression is alive with a sharp, morbid fascination.
Quietly:] You don’t cast a shadow.