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shanachie_quillDisclaimer: No one recognizable belongs to me. Not making any money off this.
Second Disclaimer Despite being fanfiction, this is MY work and I do not give anyone or any other site permission to republish this story under my name or any other without my authorization.
Author's Note: This actually isn't related to the prior chapter at all. I started this story as the original story for illfindmyway, but I wasn't happy with it. Since I don't plan to finish it, I thought I would share it.
“Hold still.”
“Lydia, my goddess, stop trying to poke my eye out and I will. Why do I need make-up?”
The firey red-head leaned back so she could study him a little better, one hand on a hip and the eyeliner pencil clasped tightly in the opposite hand. “You are pale. Moley. And…” She waved the hand holding the pencil. “You.” She leaned back towards him. “You might be the writer, but I am not letting you make yourself look more ridiculous than usual.”
“I’m pretty sure even you don’t have a hope of making me look non-ridiculous,” Stiles informed her.
“How do you make a living as a writer when you speak like that?” Lydia demanded. “And I didn’t say ‘non-ridiculous’. I said ‘more ridiculous than usual’.”
Stiles’s reply was cut off by the door opening. “Mr. ah…” The girl consulted her iPad. “St… Stal…”
“Stiles,” the author told her, rolling his eyes at Lydia. “I’m kinda glad she didn’t attempt my first name.”
“Your first name is listed as an initial for a reason,” Lydia told him tartly. “No one can pronounce your first name.”
“I can pronounce my first name.”
“No one normal can pronounce it,” Lydia corrected.
The girl looked between the two of them, obviously unsure if she should interrupt or wait for them to finish bickering. “Um?” she asked after a minute.
“Yes? Well?” Lydia questioned.
“Mr. Stiles needs to be on stage in five minutes, ma’am,” the girl said as firmly as she was able.
Lydia nodded in response. “He’ll be there.” Reaching out, she wrenched Stiles’s chin around so she could finish applying the eyeliner. A moment later she realized the girl was still staring. “Was there something else?”
“You asked to be informed of the other names on the panel?”
Stiles nodded as much as he was able with his chin still held in Lydia’s grip, indicating that the girl should continue.
Consulting her iPad again, she said, “It’s you. Uh. Jordan Parrish, the writer of Medie-Times Blog. Melissa McCall, the newest feature editor for Past Lives. And…” She turned the iPad, tapping it as she tried to get it to even out. “Historical novelist Derek Hale.”
Stiles jumped at the last name on the list. “Fuck,” he squeaked.
“Derek?”
The dark haired historian looked up from the map he’d been studying, his eyes focusing on his sister after a minute. “What?”
“Put the dusty history away. You need to rejoin the modern world,” Laura informed him.
“I never left the world,” Derek replied. “But why specifically now?”
“Your panel is in a few minutes.”
“I thought that was tomorrow.”
Laura sighed at her brother. “Your panel is on Saturday. Today is Saturday. Have you eaten today?”
Derek grumbled something in response that she can’t quite hear. When she just stared at him, he raised his voice, “I ate. I had some fruit. Why do I have to do this?”
“We’ve discussed this, Der-Der,” Laura said, sitting down next to him. “You need to be social.”
This time she was sure his response had something to do with fuck social, but he started gathering up the maps and books he had spread across the table so she decided to ignore it. Finally though she had to start chiding him into moving along and actually prodding him to head out the door.
Alan Deaton smiled as the last of his panelists entered the backstage area. “Mr. Hale,” he greeted the novelist. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Derek nodded in reply, causing Laura to elbow him in the ribs. “I’m here,” he grumbled.
“Derek doesn’t want to use up all his words before he gets on stage,” Laura explained.
The younger Hale glared at his sister in response.
Second Disclaimer Despite being fanfiction, this is MY work and I do not give anyone or any other site permission to republish this story under my name or any other without my authorization.
Author's Note: This actually isn't related to the prior chapter at all. I started this story as the original story for illfindmyway, but I wasn't happy with it. Since I don't plan to finish it, I thought I would share it.
“Hold still.”
“Lydia, my goddess, stop trying to poke my eye out and I will. Why do I need make-up?”
The firey red-head leaned back so she could study him a little better, one hand on a hip and the eyeliner pencil clasped tightly in the opposite hand. “You are pale. Moley. And…” She waved the hand holding the pencil. “You.” She leaned back towards him. “You might be the writer, but I am not letting you make yourself look more ridiculous than usual.”
“I’m pretty sure even you don’t have a hope of making me look non-ridiculous,” Stiles informed her.
“How do you make a living as a writer when you speak like that?” Lydia demanded. “And I didn’t say ‘non-ridiculous’. I said ‘more ridiculous than usual’.”
Stiles’s reply was cut off by the door opening. “Mr. ah…” The girl consulted her iPad. “St… Stal…”
“Stiles,” the author told her, rolling his eyes at Lydia. “I’m kinda glad she didn’t attempt my first name.”
“Your first name is listed as an initial for a reason,” Lydia told him tartly. “No one can pronounce your first name.”
“I can pronounce my first name.”
“No one normal can pronounce it,” Lydia corrected.
The girl looked between the two of them, obviously unsure if she should interrupt or wait for them to finish bickering. “Um?” she asked after a minute.
“Yes? Well?” Lydia questioned.
“Mr. Stiles needs to be on stage in five minutes, ma’am,” the girl said as firmly as she was able.
Lydia nodded in response. “He’ll be there.” Reaching out, she wrenched Stiles’s chin around so she could finish applying the eyeliner. A moment later she realized the girl was still staring. “Was there something else?”
“You asked to be informed of the other names on the panel?”
Stiles nodded as much as he was able with his chin still held in Lydia’s grip, indicating that the girl should continue.
Consulting her iPad again, she said, “It’s you. Uh. Jordan Parrish, the writer of Medie-Times Blog. Melissa McCall, the newest feature editor for Past Lives. And…” She turned the iPad, tapping it as she tried to get it to even out. “Historical novelist Derek Hale.”
Stiles jumped at the last name on the list. “Fuck,” he squeaked.
“Derek?”
The dark haired historian looked up from the map he’d been studying, his eyes focusing on his sister after a minute. “What?”
“Put the dusty history away. You need to rejoin the modern world,” Laura informed him.
“I never left the world,” Derek replied. “But why specifically now?”
“Your panel is in a few minutes.”
“I thought that was tomorrow.”
Laura sighed at her brother. “Your panel is on Saturday. Today is Saturday. Have you eaten today?”
Derek grumbled something in response that she can’t quite hear. When she just stared at him, he raised his voice, “I ate. I had some fruit. Why do I have to do this?”
“We’ve discussed this, Der-Der,” Laura said, sitting down next to him. “You need to be social.”
This time she was sure his response had something to do with fuck social, but he started gathering up the maps and books he had spread across the table so she decided to ignore it. Finally though she had to start chiding him into moving along and actually prodding him to head out the door.
Alan Deaton smiled as the last of his panelists entered the backstage area. “Mr. Hale,” he greeted the novelist. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Derek nodded in reply, causing Laura to elbow him in the ribs. “I’m here,” he grumbled.
“Derek doesn’t want to use up all his words before he gets on stage,” Laura explained.
The younger Hale glared at his sister in response.
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