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Daycycle 105 [ August 28 - September 03]

daycycle 105

[Aug 28 - Sept 3]

Early Morning [0800 - 0900] — All Troubleshooters Report for Duty
Felicity Smoak and Natasha Romanoff, have been selected for today’s mission. Details are below:

‘In order to help us improve our combat simulators, you will need to run through any combat situation you encounter at least three times. On the second pass through, engage the combat at a greater range than originally. On the third pass through, attempt it at a much closer range. You will provide tactical notes to our staff afterwards. If the simulators catch fire, or fail to respond to override commands... note that too. The eggheads were supposed to have fixed that.’

Please debrief the computer on the status of your mission by the end of the Daycycle here.

Morning & Afternoon [0900 - 1600] — Service Firm Positions
All Troubleshooters not assigned a mission should report to their Service Firm for their daily duties, unless specifically assigned a different shift.

Evening [1600 - 2200] — Citizen Improvement
All Alpha citizens are encouraged to better themselves through Alpha’s wide variety of educational, entertainment and cultural opportunities offered each evening. Attending these sanctioned events are not mandatory, but is highly encouraged by The Computer. Citizens choosing not to take advantage of these opportunities, have a growing number of other options available to them in how to spend their hard earned credits and free time.

Tonight’s event will be at 1700 in Hangar 15, Armed Forces Sector and will be hosted by the Alpha Complex Dogeball Association. Join us for a game of Alpha Dodgeball! All clearance levels above INFRARED welcome.

Alpha Curfew Restrictions
All Alpha citizens should be in their quarters within the Wagon Wheel by 2200, unless they’ve been given permission from a GREEN or higher clearance level citizen. Sleeping Aid gas is dispelled each night in the Wagon Wheel at 2200 to assist citizens in getting a productive sleeping period.

Confession Booths
There are hundreds of confession booths available around Alpha Complex if a citizen would like to communicate directly with the computer. Please use these confession booths to report mission statuses, report treason or terrorist acts, unregistered mutants, confess your trespasses against Alpha Complex, request propaganda or speak with Your Friend, The Computer, at any time.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The reference isn't lost on Derek — in fact, hearing someone else say the word out loud in such a significant way actually has a clarifying effect. He blinks, his chin lifting slightly. "Yeah," he says slowly; uncertainly before looking directly at the other man. "Yeah, you're right."

The two of them move toward the exit to leave the room and Derek shakes his head at the question. He waits, though, until they're out of earshot of the playing area. "I don't care where we go. You're real. ...So what else is real in here?" he asks more than says, tapping a finger against the side of his head. "I can't sort anything out, anymore. I was in orientation for days," he says, looking over at Stiles, suggesting without saying that yes, he spent days watching that film on loop; days being brainwashed, and at some point, it actually started working.

His voice is lower still when be speaks once more, looking over at Stiles, knowing his face, knowing his name; remembering things that can't be real but certainly feel like it, and he's weak enough in the moment to ask. "Help me."

Stiles gives Derek a quick look over his shoulder, as if double checking that decision before walking out the crack between the large double doors. No point in leaving the whole place open - the guy going after stray balls would have had a hell of a time getting them back again.

There's another exit, out of the base and back into the 'civilian' sectors of the city off towards their left, and he heads towards that. The stretch of tarmac's pretty empty at this time, either people are off on the night shift, or they're still at the makeshift court. "Define real," he starts. "If you mean something you can see, hear, or touch, then definitely not. But think of it this way, the Computer couldn't have downloaded us from nowhere, and things are too well connected to be a dream, you can always link point A to B to C." It had made sense, to think of everything that came through as stuff that had actually happened, somewhen and somewhere. There wasn't any of that disjointed scene changes or nonsensical behavior you get in dreams, not when he could make sense of it. And he dismisses the probability of a shared hallucination right off, there's too much for that.

"Days," Stiles has to stop to give Derek a disbelieving look. "Days." Because that speaks of a stubbornness, while unsurprising, that's willing to subject someone to self-torture. Why would anyone even want to do that? They don't even have sections in the video to skip back to - if you asked a question, they made you watch the whole thing from the top. Anyone who does that probably does need all the help they can get.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he takes a moment to weight his options. He's also aware that standing around in the middle of an airfield's probably attracting unnecessary attention, but he doesn't care at the moment.

"Okay. Let's see what we can find out." It wouldn't be the first time he just rolled with things.

Maybe that's half the problem, Derek thinks. He can link A to B to C, and that's what makes everything in his head so goddamn terrible. He wonders if that's why he fought them so hard to keep the memories, because the horrible nature of them is what makes Derek who he is, and even if that means he's a monster, those experiences define him. Without all of that pain; without all the loss, who is Derek Hale? Because he feels so disconnected from the person he was before the fire that he barely recognizes himself in those memories at all.

Or maybe he stayed there fighting because he was punishing himself for all the mistakes he's made along the way, leaving so many bodies in his wake and so much blood, both directly and indirectly, on his hands. The incredulity on Stiles's face tells him that maybe it was overkill, if the latter is the reason.

"What do you remember?" he asks. "About home?"

"Wait, it's kind of a lot to go through." Stiles says with a shake of his head. What he remembers are enough pieces to put together an entire puzzle - even the pieces that don't make the most sense. "Here's not the best place, not unless we want to act like a beacon for trouble."

Not that he knows where would be a good place for this conversation either, but definitely not the hangar. With the amount of space taken up by the military buildings, he doesn't doubt the place is riddled with vigilant people and other forms of technological monitoring.

"There were a couple of public buildings I'd been meaning to check out, haven't really had the chance with stuff that's happened lately. We could head towards those?" He offers, shifting his feet. There are one or two places where people talking quietly together wouldn't get too much attention, in fact, quiet would be expected so if they keep whispering - no one would think it odd.

Derek sighs a little, because he knows that it's a lot and he doesn't necessarily mean that he wants Stiles's life story or anything, but in the other man's defense, it's not like Derek is wording himself all that well. It makes him think of the petafore/metaphor thing from last night and he huffs a little humorless laugh to himself, shaking his head. "I know it's a lot, I'm not asking for everything," he says quietly.

He looks around, frowning. Is there a good place to have this conversation? "Yeah, okay," he agrees. Derek's been meaning to do more exploring, anyway, but he hasn't really had the chance, either, so that sounds like as good a plan as any to Derek. "Lead the way," he tacks on for good measure.

As they walk, Derek's keeping his eyes peeled and he's trying to listen and scent, but neither of those senses are working the way they feel like they should, which frustrates him. So, he's admittedly glowering about it, but then...what else is new? That thought reminds him that he's going to need to find that Izzy girl another day and apologize for being kind of a dick. It wasn't her fault, after all, that he was so wrapped up in himself that he totally blew her off; it certainly wasn't anything personal, considering he'd never met her before.

"I just want to know the weird stuff," he whispers back to Stiles as they continue on. "The stuff that makes no sense, because if the glitches line up, then that can't be just a glitch, can it? The probability of two random clones having the same glitches when no one else does? My roommate has weird ones, too, like really weird, but they don't line up with mine. Not really, anyway..." Because she's what he would've called a hunter in his glitches and she probably thinks he's a vampire, which is disgusting. At least, Derek thinks it is.

"One thing could lead to another," Stiles points out; context can change everything, though in an argument about whether something is right or not, it doesn't always help. Breaking into a police station because you need to hide incriminating information, for example. There's always someone willing to say it's still B&E. Anyway, he'll be the first to admit that he sometimes can say a lot, without actually saying anything - and distractions happen.

The pace Stiles sets is a shade above leisurely, in the hopes that the implication that they're busy would prevent others from approaching them while they walk past a lighted sign pointing towards the concrete walkways that helped connect certain areas of the city. If those meant most people bypassed certain residential areas... no one was complaining, and the tunnels saw a lot of daily traffic.

"The Spark's note version of the weird stuff?" He asks, just as quiet. "You're probably more interested in the ones you're involved with."

There are an increasing number of lighted signs as they approach the public works area, most of which are concentrated in the same general area, in the spaces closet to the tunnel mouths. After all, it'll be the easiest way to establish controlled access areas, right? If you had to color code a city.

"Who's your room mate?" He's curious, but changes his mind immediately after. Plausible deniability exists after all. "No wait, don't tell me."

Stiles stops by one of the signs: some of them had given directions, others repeat the slogans that make up the basic rules of the City. Reminders; that whatever they do, they'll have to be careful about it. This sign just gives the name of the building.

It doesn't escape Derek that Stiles has picked up the pace and the reason for that isn't lost on him, either. So Derek matches it. If anyone happens to pass them by and believes them to be on their way somewhere important as opposed to just strolling along to kill time before curfew, they're less likely to be approached. Stiles is one of the smart ones, he remembers. Lydia and Stiles: book smart and street smart, respectively. He makes a mental note of that so that he doesn't let it fall to the wayside. Trust Stiles, he's good at this.

"Mostly the stuff with me in it, because I can't verify with my own glitch if I'm not in it," he points out. "Or if I wasn't at least present for it." Derek opens his mouth to answer his question about the roommate but Stiles cuts him off, changing his mind. Fair enough, he thought. It was probably better if he didn't go spouting it off, anyway. He got the feeling Buffy wouldn't like it and he really does not want to be on her bad side, just in case he's right about the fact that he's pretty sure she's a hunter and he's a werewolf and those two things do not go well together.

Derek stops when Stiles does, looking around. There's not a whole lot of activity out here, he's noticed. Everything about this place looks so weird to Derek. He remembers Brooklyn and he remembers Beacon Hills, but neither of them looked like this. There's signs everywhere, neon lights to accentuate some of them, and most of them are specifically reminders to citizens. "In here?" he asks, lifting his eyebrows in question, just to clarify that they're on the same page as to the reason why Stiles has stopped in this particular spot. He looks over his shoulder one more time to verify that they're not being followed, but he doesn't see anyone. Seems safe to proceed. He hopes he's right.

There might not be many people around, but it doesn't hurt to be careful. Stiles had noticed Derek looking around - and considering the way the guy's life had gone, he's inclined to believe the fact that he'll notice something dangerous. Some things don't really change, despite the way the cloning process was suppose to make them all baseline human. Call it an instinct.

"Might as well get to know this place better," Stiles says brightly, more excited that he actually feels while he reaches for the door. It opens easily when he pulls back on the bar.

The hall ahead had high ceilings, metal shafts left exposed so that wires were run along them. Oddly enough, the place doesn't look half-finished, though he feels like it should, sarcastically, he comments: "Nice sense of decor." Mechanic-chic, would that be the word for it?

There are rows of tables spaced out along the room, in front of doorways that led into other rooms. Some of the rooms seem to attract more people than others, extra chairs piled up around those areas.

"And yeah, I get that, but there probably things we both know that aren't actually events," he says, trying to figure out where to go next.

Instinct is probably the best way to describe the way Derek's acting right then, although he hasn't actually recognized it as such. To Derek, he's just being cautious. He's still battling between real and not real and it hasn't actually occurred to him that half the reason he's so vigilant right now is because those glitches are real and he's used to having to run and used to being hunted. Not that they're officially being hunted down right now, but one never really knows, after all, do they?

Derek gives a little shrug that says he's not entirely sure he feels comfortable agreeing with the verbal sentiment, even in jest, but he does grab the door with one hand just over Stiles's head, to hold it open once Stiles pulls on the bar. It's spacious as hell, he realizes, and he's not sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. The space would suggest that they might use it for storage, but that it isn't quite finished. That means that they probably have some time. The downside, though, is that there's a lot of space, which would suggest there might end up being an echo if they're not careful to keep their voices especially low.

A huff of a laugh escapes him and sarcasm...yeah, Stiles is sarcastic; he remembers that, too. "Right? Very stylish." It almost reminds him of the train depot, but he doesn't say so because he isn't sure he should. Even if he buys into the fact that the glitches are real — and he's starting to — there's still the fact that...well. Not all of them necessarily will be, right? And he doesn't want to muddy the waters of Stiles explaining what he knows by throwing out memories that might truly be glitches mixed up within the reality settled in the back of his mind.

He lifts his chin to scent the room and stops halfway through his inhale, frowning. He can't small anything except that nasty tang of metal and dust. This is really, really annoying.

"Yeah, I was just thinking that, actually," he agrees. "Maybe..." he starts to suggest before moving further into the room, scratching at his stubble. "...maybe we start with something that either seems too weirdly specific not to be real or something that would be significant to both of us." Not that there are a whole lot of instances of that to choose from, he realizes, because he and Stiles weren't ever close. He can't remember why, just then, because it's buried deep within all the extra stuff he's got to sort through, but he's hoping for some clarity along the way. That's the whole point of this, after all.

Not hunted, but definitely watched. What another person, or the Computer itself made of what it saw is the question. And some things are easy to put together, no matter what vague inklings there are to draw from.

Turning on his heels, Stiles walks backwards for a few steps so that he can face Derek. There's no danger of him walking into a support beam, nor another person with the amount of space present. "It's hard to tell what they're going to do with this place, but they're not letting the space go to waste in the meantime."

He'd peeked into one of the side rooms, and all he could see where empty display cases. They were lit, which doesn't make any sense to him, and he dismisses the place as somewhere to go - there isn't any way to convince another person that they're there purely out of interest. Maybe they'll have better luck further along, he thinks, turning around.

Stiles takes a moment to think about that, just why is it the traumatic moments that he remembers the clearest? Something about those thoughts and memories stick, though they don't have the chance to become nightmares. Sleeping gas. actually good for something.

At first, he'd thought about pointing out the pattern of power tools and traumatic experiences, though the syringe probably doesn't fit, which then gives him an idea, one that's much simpler: "This might be weird, but do have a tattoo?" He doesn't know if that would have carried over.

Derek gives a little shrug. "Who cares?" he asks. He doesn't, anyway. Whatever they're doing with this place is of absolutely no interest to him so long as no one comes in after them to start working on it right this second. That's all Derek cares about at the moment.

It takes Stiles a moment to respond and Derek waits patiently because to do anything else would be shooting himself in the foot. Nobody's making Stiles help him, nobody's paying him; Derek can't compensate him in any way, so if he gives Stiles a reason to change his mind, then this is all he's going to get out of it which, so far, is nothing beyond the fact that Stiles is a real person and he knows who Derek is.

The question takes him a little off guard but he shrugs. "I don't know, I don't have a mirror, but if I did, it would be on my back," he says. Suddenly, he turns with his back to Stiles, unbuttoning his jumpsuit a little ways and shrugging the top half of it off. "Do I? Is it a...trisk...ele? Triskellion? Something like that?"

"Uh, just because the place is like this now, doesn't mean it'll be in the future - what if I want to come back? What if you want to come back? Though yeah, that doesn't really matter now," Stiles frowns briefly, looking up at the rafters.

That's not exactly true, the fact that Stiles had recognized Derek already meant he wouldn't have let this go; the mystery of it would have gnawed at him.

Well, that solves that problem, Stiles thinks. It's direct, and to the point, even if he felt like he should be rolling his eyes over it. "There's spirals linked together," he confirms, he doesn't really care for tattoos. "Does that fit with what you're calling a triskele?" Because he also remembers another shape, one that's more triangular, sharper.

Roling his eyes, Derek shrugs. "There's like six hundred of these places around here, Stiles, if they use this one, we just find another. It can't be that hard," he says, sounding a lot more sure about it than he actually is. The fact of the matter is that he has no idea whether they'll be able to find another place if they need one in the future. He hasn't had much of a chance to look around enough to have a stance on that.

"Three, right?" Derek asks as he gets the jumpsuit back on and turns back to face Stiles again. "Three spirals that sort of meet in the middle. Right?"

That's something, isn't it? The fact that the symbol he remembers from the glitch is actually on his body, still. That has to mean something, right, that has to mean that there's more to the glitches than a hiccup in a system somewhere.

Stiles gives Derek the side-eye, he does not share that certainty. "Somewhere new every time?" he asks. They would run out of spaces one day, even if all of them were usable.

"Yep," he says. "They all turn the same way too." He wouldn't try to draw it out - he doesn't have a pen, for one, and two, getting it to look right could be a challenge. "It's not the only time I've seen it either - the symbol, not your tattoo." He shrugs, he isn't really clear if it actually means anything, just that it's an important symbol for the Hales. Like a family sigil.

"I doubt we'll always have to find a new place each time. Some of them are bound to be abandoned for a while," he points out. There's only so much man power, after all, right?

He nods at Stiles's description as he finishes buttoning up the jumpsuit again. "Yeah. ...my sister and I got them after the fire," he says experimentally, giving Stiles a wary look as if to ask if any of that rings a bell. "It's not the only place I've seen it either. I remember it even when I was a kid," he adds, and it feels strange to sound like he believes it because he's been fighting it since he woke up here. He pauses.

"I remember going to the tattoo parlor. I remember my sister taking a blowtorch to my back when we got home, but that's crazy, right?" He pauses again. "...or no?" Because the healing thing.

Stiles might have suggested a new place each time, if it wasn't for what they're trying to do: basically poking at trouble with a big stick. It's like a bad habit he won't ever try to change.

"We could probably read it off a sign," Stiles says, thinking back to the ones they'd passed while making their way here. And it's not like the City ever sleeps anyway, not the machines, at least.

He doesn't know much about Laura, especially not the stuff she and Derek may have gotten up to when they'd left Beacon Hills after the fire. "I never knew your sister." Corpses don't count, and it wasn't like the Hales were people he would have run into much when he was a kid. They might have been involved in the community - he doesn't know - but not in a way he would've paid attention to. Except for when the fire made the news. "It's was a door. Like X marks the spot."

He winces, "Yeah, no, I totally didn't need to know about the tattooing process. The needles were bad enough, I am leaving the room the next time you get your hands on a blowtorch. I don't even care if that's not possible here, I'm saying no in advance."

Derek gives a little non-commital facial shrug. "Yeah, probably," he agrees. He makes a mental note to do that when they're on their way back, because...they should probably head to their respective rooms soon unless they want to end up spending the night in this place, which is exactly what'll happen if they don't go back before the SleepAid gas gets released for the night. There's got to be a way around that...

"I know that," Derek replies. Digging up her body doesn't count, he thinks and a frown forms on his face for a moment. But the fact that he acknowledges that yes, Derek has a sister, and yes, Stiles knows she existed in the past tense is still a baby step of progress.

Rolling his eyes, Derek gives a long suffering sigh. "Yeah you didn't take it well when I did it for Scott, either. Don't worry. I'm not a big fan of the process myself. It hurts like a bitch."

Derek looks down at his PDC. "...it's getting late..."

He's stalling. Right now, he doesn't really want to go when they've barely gotten anywhere with the discussion they're having, but he also doesn't actually know where they hell they are or how long it'll take to get back to their rooms. So maybe he's sort of off-handedly fishing for that information without even realizing it.

Does the gas affect the entire city? And would they find themselves carted off somewhere if someone happens across them if it did?

Would that be the bit about the vault door, or his sister, Stiles wonders, giving Derek a quick look. "For both things?" he asks. "Sucks that her dying was the reason you even went back in the first place."

Stiles makes an exasperated expression. "I hated his tattoo," he says quietly. Beyond what had been required to get it done in the first place. But it was Scott's choice, and for all his misgivings over Scott's reasoning, he'd still gone with him when he'd gotten it. And then had to actually help out again after. Ugh. "And good." He points, for emphasis.

Humming, Stiles leans over to try and look at Derek's PDC screen. It's not like he doesn't believe Derek, but he just likes to see for himself. There never seems to be enough time. "It wasn't like it was early when we headed off. The night life isn't exactly active here - not even a single bump in the night."

Derek figures it's better to err on the side of caution when he has no idea what the whole process of the SleepAid gas actually is beyond the walls of his own room because, so far, he's always been in it when the gas has been released. He only ever takes the curfew seriously because it's not like there's been anything else really vying for his attention at the 22:00 hour mark every night so far.

"My sister," he clarifies. "Some things are still kind of fuzzy. The vault door. I don't...my family's vault? Or the bank vault…? My family's vault had the triskele, yeah." Sucks. Stiles thinks it sucks that Laura's murder is the reason he came back to Beacon Hills at all and Derek thinks that's incredibly generous. "Yeah, well. It is what it is." He gives a tone of finality because even though he's only still just starting to come around to the idea that these "glitches" are actual memories, they hurt. They hurt a lot. And they hurt even more when he thinks about the fact that they're becoming more and more real and less and less glitch by the minute. No wonder he was so easy to brainwash once he finally gave in. He wanted it all to be a glitch, because if it isn't, then the whole second half of his life so far as been completely terrible. Who wouldn't want that to be a lie?

A small, humorless huff of semi-amusement escapes him. "Yeah, that tattoo is ugly as hell, agreed."

Stiles's response doesn't give Derek much to work off, so he asks directly. "How long do you think it'll take us to get back? I don't know where we are." He gives a little facial shrug. "I'm actually kind of okay with the lack of nightlife and bumps in the night."

There's also how curfew is emphasized on a daily basis, like they'll somehow forget about it without the constant reminder. He would have preferred the choice of them having a choice in what they do in their rooms - but that wouldn't be considered "restful". Nothing said restful like pins and needles, neck cricks and back pain, but that isn't a problem any computer could really understand.

Stiles nods at that. "Definitely your family vault," he says, then pauses. He never really understood why it was where it was, how accessible would it have been in an emergency? Or was it supposed to also be a place for the younger Hales too? All questions he'll never get an answer to. "Which was under the high school." For all that he'd been involved in the plans, Stiles never actually went to the bank vault. Not before, and certainly not after.

"It wasn't the worst choice he could have made," he mutters from between his hands. That whole freaking summer of self improvement.

"Uh, we were walking for about twenty minutes, and it was what? Half an hour from the Wagonwheel to get to the hangar." So, just under an hour to get back, if they retraced there route. "All the trains lead back too, as long as you take the right train." There's probably a station somewhere nearby.

"The kind that means running for your life? Yeah."

Derek, too, gives another nod to acknowledge Stiles's response. "Yeah, I know..." he replies and his voice trails off thoughtfully. "I always kind of wondered why it was under the high school, but it's been there for like a quarter of a century or something, I think, so maybe it wasn't a high school when my ancestors put the vault there. Maybe the school was something else once upon a time." He really has kind of always wondered this and it's never really been explained to him, but then he never really questioned it, either. You just didn't question Talia Hale. No one did, because once they started to, that was when things would get ugly and messy. His mother had been a good Alpha. He'd been an embarrassment. Remembering that actually makes him wince a little.

He lifts his eyebrows a little. "Do I even want to know?" he asks, but it's mostly rhetorical. He probably doesn't want to know. Even if he did, he's pretty sure he doesn't actually care.

"We should probably get going then," he thinks aloud. "Make sure we give ourselves time in case the train station is equally as confusing as literally everything else in this hell hole and we end up on the wrong one, no?"

Derek's tired of running, so his response to that last is a deep breath and a long-suffering sigh coupled with a nod. Yeah. That's exactly what he means.

"They just tore down what was there and built up on top of it?" he asks. "That could have happened. Not like there isn't a ton of abandoned buildings around town." Of course, that would still mean the Hales had to have connections so that the right arrangements could be made to keep the vault a secret, and accessible. "And with the number of people on the force, you can get away with hanging around those places without getting noticed."

Stiles coughs into his hand. "Eh, probably not," he draws out the first word. The samples the tattooist had weren't that great, and from Scott's reaction before Stiles took a header into the floor, definitely not appreciated.

Nodding, he looks back towards the door. "At least with the trains, there's only two options - and it won't take long to figure out if it's going the wrong way." There's got to be a system map in the station, or on the train cars themselves.

"Maybe," Derek responds with a shrug. He's never been all that into town histories. He's always been more interested in the mythology of the beings that reside in it. For all he knows, it could've been a grocery store. "Yeah, that and when I was a kid, my family was in good standing with the town in general. I imagine that was also true a long, long time ago. But I don't really know. My mom never talked about that. It never really seemed relevant to conversation."

Derek's nose scrunches a little and he gives a small nod. Yeah, probably not.

"Yeah? I haven't actually taken the trains, yet. I've never been this far from where I needed to be, so I never really needed to." Then again, he hasn't been here that long. Better late than never, he supposes, because these will probably be useful later on down the line. Eventually he'll want to explore more and he'll have time to do it. "Small favors, huh?" he asks as they move toward the station. Sure enough, there's a map on the wall, backlit with florescent lighting so that it's easier to see. Derek approaches it and there's...so many stops that it takes him a moment just to get past the overwhelming feeling of looking at the damn thing. "Jesus..." he mutters under his breath.

"Probably a good investment." Not that everything can be planned for, he thinks, given what did happen. If it hadn't been for the fire, would he have even known about the Hales in any way, he wonders. He can't remember if there had been any Hales that were public pillars of the community at all.

"Well, yeah." That's just common knowledge. Trains go along their tracks, and different lines will have them running in opposite directions. So less of a favor, and more of an engineering success. But it works, so maybe he should just accept it, and stop nitpicking. "I like them because they're faster than having to walk everywhere." Unless you take the wrong train.

Which is why they're staring at the map that looked a lot like a plate of spaghetti thrown at the wall. Stiles checks what the name of the station they're currently at, squints at the writing, and places his finger over the name on the map. "We need to get here-" he indicates the Wagonwheel with his other hand. "That's like four different possible trains." He says, after seeing what's available at this station, and stops at the Wagonwheel without going all over the map. There are still deviations, but at least they won't be getting a free 'tour' of the city on the way.

[ooc: that was supposed to be at the school, not on the force. orz]

"Well," Derek starts as he looks at the map with his eyebrows lifted. "Assuming you can read the map and you don't end up on the wrong train, they're faster..." Stiles is probably better at this than Derek is, but he steps up beside the teenager and frowns as he tries to follow the paths presented before them.

It really shouldn't be this difficult to find the easiest route; they shouldn't need Stiles's fingers on the map, or Derek's — but he adds his anyway to trace what looks like the shortest route just to make sure that it is, in fact, going from here to the Wagon Wheel, because even though the lines are color coded, they're so tangled together, it's still a pain in the ass to decipher.

"This one?" he asks. "I think?"

Daycycle 105 [ August 28 - September 03]

daycycle 105

[Aug 28 - Sept 3]

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