[I'm going to drop this thread if I have to keep reading about fish guts and dicks.
Itachi's shoulders draw a little tighter as he's followed with such close persistence, though he understands it was a hopeless effort. He hasn't yet been able to shake Stiles. There's a calculated part of this, that Stiles knows what he is doing and intends not to leave until he's satisfied his own bottomless curiosity. It is, perhaps, one of the first times in years Itachi has felt so cornered. His every move watched, his attention hounded... Even to a degree far less harmful than his childhood, it's dredging up an unwanted sensation of distress. The discomfort threatens to reach a point of crisis.
He turns another corner, keeping his pace even and calm so as not to clue Stiles into the state of his mind.]
Twenty-one. [This is short, clipped. Undoubtedly annoyed now.]
[ Somehow, it’s even younger than he expected – which isn’t because Stiles actually thinks Itachi looks older, but because of the practiced air of cool confidence and enigmatic intelligence that he exudes. Twenty-one is barely any older than he is. It’s younger than Derek. ]
Is there a shinobi drinking age? [ he asks next, still following around the next corner, utterly oblivious to his eminent fate; the public venue has given him an illusion of safety. ] Where I’m from, you can’t drink alcohol until you’re twenty-one.
[ Can’t believe you’re about to ruin this man’s whole career because you can’t handle 21 Questions, Itachi. ]
Yes. [Tragically, he doesn't tell Stiles what that is (it's twenty).] I'm old enough to drink.
[A breadcrumb, a little give, fully intending to use this as a manipulative tactic so Stiles will continue to stick close to him in conversation. By now he's woven their path around the bookshelves toward the back corner of this section, where an alcove connects to a dark annex. It must be a location accessed mainly by employees; at the moment, there is no one around. His ranging up-down path through the aisles gave him enough time to scope the area and determine how close the nearest pair of eyes lurked. Armed with this knowledge, knowing he'll need to take this opportunity while the window waits open, Itachi stops walking.]
Stiles.
[Keeping his voice low and calm, he turns, stepping forward into the younger man's space. It is willingly and uncharacteristically invasive for someone who covets physical separation and distance. Their gazes level, he inclines his head.]
I gave you a chance to walk away from this. [As soon as these ominous words are said, he moves with lightning speed, yanking Stiles forward with a hand on the front of his shirt—pulling him close, so that his opposite hand has the momentum and room to come down hard on the back of Stiles' neck. It's a clean and efficient strike. One he's delivered enough times to know its effect: short-lasting unconsciousness and a lingering headache but no other damage. When Stiles drops, Itachi is there to brace his weight in his arms, then begin hauling him into the attached passage.] You should have listened.
[A suitable, empty storage closet is found to set Stiles down and lean him up against the wall. Then he closes the door. And begins to walk very, very far away.]
text; the fact that i used "eminent" instead of "imminent" is going to haunt me until the day i die
[Itachi glances at this message when it comes, then slides his watch back into his pocket without even a pause and continues on with his blessedly quieter day. Good luck ever getting him to respond to you again, Stiles.]
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Itachi's shoulders draw a little tighter as he's followed with such close persistence, though he understands it was a hopeless effort. He hasn't yet been able to shake Stiles. There's a calculated part of this, that Stiles knows what he is doing and intends not to leave until he's satisfied his own bottomless curiosity. It is, perhaps, one of the first times in years Itachi has felt so cornered. His every move watched, his attention hounded... Even to a degree far less harmful than his childhood, it's dredging up an unwanted sensation of distress. The discomfort threatens to reach a point of crisis.
He turns another corner, keeping his pace even and calm so as not to clue Stiles into the state of his mind.]
Twenty-one. [This is short, clipped. Undoubtedly annoyed now.]
chuckles, im in danger
Huh.
[ Somehow, it’s even younger than he expected – which isn’t because Stiles actually thinks Itachi looks older, but because of the practiced air of cool confidence and enigmatic intelligence that he exudes. Twenty-one is barely any older than he is. It’s younger than Derek. ]
Is there a shinobi drinking age? [ he asks next, still following around the next corner, utterly oblivious to his eminent fate; the public venue has given him an illusion of safety. ] Where I’m from, you can’t drink alcohol until you’re twenty-one.
[ Can’t believe you’re about to ruin this man’s whole career because you can’t handle 21 Questions, Itachi. ]
:}
[A breadcrumb, a little give, fully intending to use this as a manipulative tactic so Stiles will continue to stick close to him in conversation. By now he's woven their path around the bookshelves toward the back corner of this section, where an alcove connects to a dark annex. It must be a location accessed mainly by employees; at the moment, there is no one around. His ranging up-down path through the aisles gave him enough time to scope the area and determine how close the nearest pair of eyes lurked. Armed with this knowledge, knowing he'll need to take this opportunity while the window waits open, Itachi stops walking.]
Stiles.
[Keeping his voice low and calm, he turns, stepping forward into the younger man's space. It is willingly and uncharacteristically invasive for someone who covets physical separation and distance. Their gazes level, he inclines his head.]
I gave you a chance to walk away from this. [As soon as these ominous words are said, he moves with lightning speed, yanking Stiles forward with a hand on the front of his shirt—pulling him close, so that his opposite hand has the momentum and room to come down hard on the back of Stiles' neck. It's a clean and efficient strike. One he's delivered enough times to know its effect: short-lasting unconsciousness and a lingering headache but no other damage. When Stiles drops, Itachi is there to brace his weight in his arms, then begin hauling him into the attached passage.] You should have listened.
[A suitable, empty storage closet is found to set Stiles down and lean him up against the wall. Then he closes the door. And begins to walk very, very far away.]
text; the fact that i used "eminent" instead of "imminent" is going to haunt me until the day i die
Bitch.
[ Well, at least it's not a garbage dumpster this time. ]
i didn't even notice, but now i do