Emitter: Stiles Stilinski
Four Buffy-style vampires
It's a painful reminder. This place reminds Faith Lehane of...Sunnydale. Crouched over the handlebars of a bike, she roars down the street, dark hair streaming out behind her helmet. A few curtains might crack...she's going, perhaps, a little faster than would normally be de rigueur for this quiet suburb. Rumors. She's chasing rumors, and she finally slows the bike, looking at the school.
Lord Glamorgan drives far more sensibly through the quiet neighborhood, though his vehicle of choice is anything but sensible -- a 1957 Jaguar XK140M roadster, midnight black, 52 spoke Dayton chrome wire wheels, top down. Not exactly the sort of car one would choose for a clandestined statekout, to be sure. The man behind the wheel wears leather driving gloves and a jaunty cap of gray tweed.
Compared to others, Wyatt looks like he belongs. A kid walking along the street outside the school. Except he's a bit young for a high school, though perhaps he's waiting to meet with an older sibling. In any case, he walks towards a bench near the school.
As Faith pulls up to the school, all seems quiet, even eerily calm. Her Slayer senses may pick up on the tension, even as a light from the school's lacrosse pitch may catch the eye of the rather more sensibly traveling Lord Glamorgan--someone's out there. Wyatt may sense things in his own way, or then he may just hear it when the night is pierced by a sudden scream. Well, actually, it sounds more like...
"WAAAAAUGH--OH GOD, WHY ARE THERE VAMPIRES NOW!?"
The sound of running footsteps comes next, as someone may be seen bolting onto the lacrosse field from the darkness, sprinting like his life depends on it.
And behind him comes a group of four pale-skinned creatures, their "game faces" on and fangs bared as they charge after him, rapidly gaining ground.
And the bike roars into action again, streaking past the running kid only to skid into a sideways halt, sending divots up from the wheels as it slides a little across the lacrosse field, between him and the vampires. "Hello, gentlemen," Faith says, in a mild voice, reaching inside her leather jacket. Her eyes are fixed on the three. Are they going to be boring and run, or is she about to get the workout she's been frankly craving for a little while. There's only four of them. This...should not be a problem.
Lord Glamorgan slows the sportscar to a stop at the curb, but leaves the engine running. Squinting through the darkness, he peers toward the pitch for a few moments, then reaches into a leather satchel on the passenger seat, withdrawing a small set of opera glasses.
Wyatt Halliwell's eyes widen as he hears the scream, and he looks towards the figure running from the monsters. "Vampires... oh right, stakes," he says softly to himself. He bites his lip as someone else seems to be getting in the demon's way as well, not having a clue who she is, and quickly looks around until he sees a tree at the edge of the field. He waves a hand, and the end of a branch breaks off and vanishes in a swirl of glowing blue lights. It reappears the same way in front of one of the vampires, flying right at its chest if it doesn't dodge.
Said kid, a dark-haired teenager in flannel and jeans, stumbles at Faith's appearance and goes pinwheeling off to one side, landing flat on his ass in a sprawl. "The fu--?" he starts to ask, but then she goes all Emma Peel, American-style, with her greeting, and the teen just boggles at her, jaw popping open. "Who the hell are you?" he can't help but ask, not even fully realizing it's out loud.
The lead vampire snarls at Faith, declaring, "What do you think you are, a Slayer? This one's dinner. So unless you want to be dessert--" And that's when a stake appears in sparkling blue light to stake him. He has just enough time to look startled before he goes rigid and crumbles to ash before their eyes.
"Crap, she's a witch!" one of the other vamps declares.
"Slayers can be witches now?!" the third cries out.
"I thought the Slayer was a blonde," the last one says, clearly a bit slow on the uptake.
The second vamp has by now recovered himself, snarls, and charges at Faith, fangs flashing. "Die, witch!" he bellows, leaping for her throat.
The bike is pushed away, sliding across the grass, as Faith leaps from it to meet the undead halfway. Her right hand holds a stake, her left hand strikes sideways and open towards him even as she brings her knee up, bent on pushing the vampire backwards BEFORE attempting to bring the stake home. She's moving faster than anything human has a right to move, fast enough to be mistaken for some creature of the night herself. "That's the *other* one," she snarls at the vampires. Well, there are a lot more now, but Buffy's always going to be the other one. The two of them are like sisters. The bad kind.
"Oh bother," the Jaguar's driver says, lowering the opera glasses with a shake of his head. "Of all the villages in all the Colonies, she had to stroll into this one." He raises the glasses again, focusing on the frightened teenage boy for a moment, then back to Faith and the vampires. He has yet to take notice of Wyatt, though the magically appearing stake does give him a moment's pause. "Now that is intriguing. However did she manage that?"
Wyatt Halliwell lets out a sigh as the innocent just stops running, taking a step forward but then stopping for a split second in surprise as the woman enters combat. It's only a split second, though, running onto the field to yell at the boy who was being chased, "Are you nuts? Run!" He turns, raising an arm again to try to telekinetically knock one of the vampires off its feet, to give the woman a little breathing room.
Stiles is by now on his feet, but for some reason all he does is backpedal a little. He's staring at the scene, no longer in shock or fear but a kind of morbid fascination. (Though, to be fair, he still looks pretty damn terrified.)
The charging vamp is probably on an athletic field for a reason. He's clearly the "charge in and hope his strength prevails" type, and against Faith, it just doesn't fly. He's guarding against her stake hand, the obvious threat, and so the feint does exactly what it was meant to, letting her knock him back hard, staggering, just in time for the stake to strike home--and with another FWOOSH, the second vamp goes down.
The third vamp is knocked back by Wyatt's telekinesis, sprawled on his back in confusion, which leaves the fourth vamp to hold up both hands as though about to surrender--then turn tail and bolt for the edge of the forest.
Oh, no. Vampires do not get away. Faith takes off at full speed after the one that's fleeing. She'll find out who the witch is...later. The important thing is that the kid isn't dinner, she isn't dessert...but Faith is *not* the type to let even one pathetic biter get away. And she's as fast in a straight line as she was in the fight.
Lord Glamorgan scowls as another kid runs onto the field, quickly shutting off his motor and grabbing a stake from the satchel, before launching himself from the car. "She has her own Scoobies?" he mutters to himself, jogging toward the field. "There's nothing in her file about having her own Scoobies. I really must demand an updated report." As he draws closer, he shouts, "You there! Young lad! Have a care, that's a very dangerous creature."
That leaves the one on the ground to Wyatt. Acting quickly, since it won't be stunned for long, he raises his hand and another bit of tree branch disappears to reappear in his hand. Using both arms, and a bit of telekinetic oomph, he drives the branch down at the creature. "Yup, I know."
The watcher arrives just in time to see Wyatt, displaying truly unnatural strength, drive a magically appearing snake into the heart of the felled vampire, who looks downright insulted as he begins to crumble, snarling, "By a KID? This su--!" And then he's dust.
Faith, meanwhile, finds that the vampire gives her a good chase. He's desperate and terrified. But, in an ironic reversal of every horror movie ever, the monster trips over an exposed tree root and goes down face-first in the dirt, rolling over to scramble backward on hands and knees in utter horror. "N-no, please! We didn't know it was you, I swear! I'll go away and never come back!"
Meanwhile, Stiles shakes himself, coming out of a daze, and gives Wyatt a long, searching look. His brow furrowed and expression vaguely like that of someone who just realized the missing puzzle piece they needed was under the table the whole time, he extends a hand to vaguely gesture at the kid with one finger. "I'm gonna go out on a limb, here, and guess that you guys aren't exactly, ah, human... are ya?"
"You have me mistaken for another slayer." Faith spins the stake in her hand and steps forward smoothly to finish off the vampire. Yeah, maybe some other girl would show mercy. As far as she's concerned? He's a vampire, and of a kind of which the only good one is dead or Angel. When he's not Angelus.
Lord Glamorgan slows his steps, finally stopping not too far from Stiles, sounding a tad winded after his sprint across the pitch. "Oh, you two don't know one another?" he asks, glancing between Stiles and Wyatt a few times, his accent very upper class British, though perhaps difficult to exactly pinpoint. Looking at Stiles, he continues, "I take it you are not a member of the team, as they say?" He keeps a wary eye on the edge of the forest, while trying to keep the two boys also within sight. This Watching thing is harder in the field than the textbooks suggest.
Wyatt Halliwell stand straight again, brushing vampire dust off himself, then looks up to Stiles, and answers, "I'm a witch." He glances towards the forest, and adds, "Not sure what she is. Except very cool." He looks back to the British guy, "No, I'm kinda new around here. I just wanted to help."
The vampire looks oddly gratified for a moment, saying, "Oh, so she IS blond--" just as Faith stakes him, dusting the last of Stiles' attackers. All is quiet for a moment.
Stiles nods slowly, taking in Wyatt's answer. "Okay, witch-boy. Check. Strangely, that's not the oddest thing I've heard... ever... really." He scrubs a hand across his forehead, glancing after Faith, and admits under his breath, "So. Very. Cool." Dammit. Why is everyone cooler than him? Except, just maybe-- He turns to the watcher last. "Right, so. We've got a witch-boy, a badass hunter, and... a lost extra from Downton Abbey?" A beat, and then he adds, flailing his arms wide, "Plus frickin' VAMPIRES? I swear, the pack's gone for barely any time at all, and it's frickin' VAMPIRES!" He reaches up to rub at his templs, groaning. "I was so hoping they didn't really exist. But of course. Of course! Why wouldn't they? In Beacon Hills, ALL FREAKS are possible!"
Faith Lehane steps back out of the woods, tucking the stake into her jacket and making a beeline for her fallen bike. She looks far too happy for just having staked a couple of vampires. Yeah, she enjoyed that. She glances at the two young men. No, three. Hrm. Which one's the witch? There was *definitely* a witch. Unfortunately, she was too far away even with slayer senses to catch the word "pack."
Lord Glamorgan looks at the smooth-handled wooden stake in his hand, giving a rather sheepish grin. "Yes, indeed, a lost extra from Downton Abbey," he says, holding the stake behind his back in as casual a manner as possible. "I'm sorry, did you say something about all freaks being possible in Beacon Hills? Aside from vampires, what precisely do you mean?" Even as he prattles on, he's giving Wyatt a more scrutinizing visual examination, which means he misses Faith emerges from the forest's edge. At least for the moment.
Wyatt Halliwell looks a little relieved, "So you know that magic? Cool. I'm not the one he usually has to explain things, I'd probably just confuse you." Then he nods, "Not just in Beacon Hills, vampires are everywhere." Then he looks curious, and asks, "Pack?"
"Right," Stiles says, groaning. "Look, it's a long story. Can we all just go, please? Before the cops get here or something? I don't need to explain what I was doing here in the middle of the night." He glances between the three of them. Clearly something's up, but right now he's not in a good position to find out what. To Wyatt, he says, "Yes, pack. As in, 'let's pack it in'!"
Faith Lehane rights her bike. She glances at the group. Okay. Everyone seems to be okay, and even though she's pretty sure pack means there are fuzzballs around here *somewhere*? There aren't any more vampires. And nobody here's the right gender to be the person she's looking for. She hops on the bike and starts it up.
Lord Glamorgan frowns a touch, glancing over Faith, then quickly looking away again. There's not much chance she'd recognize him...he hopes. "Yes, well. Perhaps it would be prudent if we were to depart the premises as quickly as possible. Have you any suggestion where we might reconvene to continue this discussion?" Because sounding as though he's swallowed a thesaurus (with a heavy British accent) surely won't give any clue to his identity.
Wyatt Halliwell blinks, then glances around, perhaps looking for cops. He spots Faith, giving a small wave, but not bothering to call after with any questions. He looks back to Stiles and the British guy, "Um, yeah, we probably should get out of here."
Enough recognition to make Faith hesitate...then gun the engine and do her best at disappearing into the night before he can think to chase her, ask her anything or. They'd better *not* be re-forming. She'll have to have words with Buffy about this. When she can.
Staring at the departing Faith, Stiles raises his hand and calls after her, clearly both a bit dazzled and yet puzzled by her, "Thanks, Power Girl!" Then, more under his breath, he adds, "And once again, Stiles, you have successfully served as a mansel in distress... and been saved by someone so much hotter than you, she's probably had a hand in climate change." Then he looks to Glamorgan and Wyatt, a bit warily, and says, "Ah... sure. How do you feel about pets?"
Lord Glamorgan lets out a small breath of relief when Faith takes off on her overpowered motorcycle, then quirks a brow at Stiles. "What sort of pets?" he asks curiously, hand still behind his back.
Glancing at Faith once more and she drives away, Wyatt then looks back to Stiles and brightens a little, "I like pets." He steps to follow after if Stiles starts to lead them anywhere.
Stiles turns and heads for the school parking lot. "Well, y'know... pets. Dogs, cats... that kind of thing," he explains. "Occasionally, snakes and rodents." Once the roar of Faith's bike has faded, he glances back at the others, "Interesting girl. Either of you guys know her?"
"No," Glamorgan says, perhaps a bit too quickly and definitely too forcefully. "Can't say I've had the pleasure of meeting her. She isn't a friend of yours, I take it?" He begins to follow as well, glancing back toward his parked Jaguar. "You have transportation? Because I'd be happy to take one or both of you as a passenger. My vehicle isn't terribly large, but I'm certain it would accomodate the three of us."
Wyatt Halliwell shakes his head to Stiles and says, "Nope. Never seen her before. I thought she was gonna get eaten until she started fighting." He then looks to Lord Glamorgan's offer of a lift in the car and says, "Sure." No fear of strangers in this kid.
As they reach the parking lot, Stiles glances around, puzzled. "Huh. My car's not here..." he says, trailing off, and then reaches up to rub at his forehead a bit. "Weird. I guess we'll take yours. It's not too far. Just... take Circle south until we get to the Animal Clinic. There's a sign." And it's a nice car. Why does everyone have a nicer car than him?
Lord Glamorgan raises a brow again, changing directions to lead the others toward his car, which the observant would note has diplomatic plates. "You aren't concerned that someone took your car?" he asks, snatching the leather bag from the passenger seat and quickly stuffing the wooden stake inside. He opens the driver's door -- which is on the right, rather than the left -- and climbs behind the wheel. "I'm afraid one of you will have to sit upon the other, but if our destination is as close as you say, that shouldn't be a problem, yes?"
Shaking his head immediately, Wyatt says, "I can go myself, I'll meet you there. I know where to go now, I'll just orb there." In other words, is not quite comfortable sitting on someone's lap. "See you there," he says, and then vanishes in a swirl of sparkling blue lights.
Stiles blinks several times at Wyatt's departure, jaw dropping open a bit. "God," he groans, "It's like the universe is trying to remind me how vanilla I am." He slides into the other side of the car, though, and takes a moment to really appreciate it. "Dude," he says with an envious sigh, "This is a sweet ride." Then, belatedly, he shrugs, "And if someone stole my car, I'll report it to the insurance company. It might be worth more that way, to be honest. Anyway, let's roll, 'kay?"
Lord Glamorgan slides the ignition key into the polished wooden dashboard, but before he can start the motor, Wyatt...orbs. "Good heavens!" he declares, wide-eyed. "What the devil was that?" He looks curiously at Stiles for a moment, before turning the key. "Did you know he could do...that?" He guns the engine, then zips down the street...at a safe speed. Soon, he's pulling to a stop outside the animal clinic.
And, as promised, Wyatt is waiting outside the clinic. Smiling, he waves as he sees the car pulling up, but stays back to be out of the way into they're parked.
Stiles takes a long moment to appreciate the car before emerging, fumbling in his pocket to pull out a set of keys. "Okay, so, obviously don't touch things, all right? I'm watching the place while the owner is out of town and my friend, who works here is... well, also out of town. They have someone who comes in to do the doctoring, but feed them and stuff." He disarms the security system, opens the door, and then lets them inside, entering a modest little animal clinic. "Okay," he says, heading for the chair behind the reception desk and dropping into it. "We're here. We can talk." Raising his hands a bit and waving them slightly, he puts on an expectant face. "So... talk?"
Lord Glamorgan removes his driving cap as he enters the clinic, nose wrinkling at the decidedly 'animal' smell of the place. "How quaint," he says, sliding a finger over the desk's edge, then checking for excessive dust. "I take it Beacon Hills doesn't have a tea or coffee shop we could have met in?" He removes a handkerchief from an inner jacket pocket, cleaning his dusty fingers, then looks at Wyatt. "Perhaps you'd like to begin. What sort of witch did you say you were?"
Wyatt Halliwell hops up to sit on the counter, swinging his dangling feet, "I'm a born witch. Well, actually, I'm half witch. Half whitelighter." Then, after a quick pause, he adds, "A whitelighter is a type of guardian angel. That's how I can orb." Finally, he adds, "Oh, my name is Wyatt."
"Well, we could go to a Starbucks," Stiles says to Glamorgan in a reasonable tone, "And we could talk all about werewolves and vampires and all that kind of--did you just say 'guardian angel'?" He whirls to face Wyatt, nearly knocking over the chair from the force of his turn. "Look, kid--I'm willing to accept that you're some new kind of druid or whatever, but angels?" He reaches into his pocket, rummaging around for something, and apparently doesn't find it. Groaning, he says, "Not like it would help, anyway. Adderall isn't going to magically make you all sound sane."
Lord Glamorgan's eyes widen again as he stares at Wyatt for a long moment. "An angel, you say? How curious. What is...'orbing', did you say? I'm unfamiliar with the use of the word 'orb' as a verb." He glances to Stiles again, cocking a brow. "I can assure you, I'm quite sane. And if it's any comfort, you appear to be rather lucid yourself. From your general attitude, I take it you are not altogether unfamiliar with these sorts of occurrances. You have, I assume, encountered werewolves, vampires, and druids before?"
Wyatt Halliwell flinches a little at Stiles' reaction, and says, "Too much? I told you, I'm not very good at the explaining thing. But it's true. You almost got eaten by a bunch of demons, what's so hard to believe about angels? But it's okay, I am a witch, so, yeah." He looks to Lord Glamorgan, "it's how I got here so fast."
Rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes, Stiles says, "Druids, sure." He drops his hands, blinking a few times to clear them, and gives his head slight shake. "Werewolves, OH yeah. Vampires, that's new--but at least they're monsters I can wrap my head around like most other stuff. But angels? Winged robed dudes who sit around strumming harps? If there's angels, why aren't they out, I dunno, STOPPING MONSTERS or something?"
Lord Glamorgan quirks a brow again, glancing at Wyatt. "Who says they aren't? I seem to recall young Wyatt here stopping a monster or two this very evening." He focuses once more on Stiles. "What did you say your name was again, young man?"
Wyatt Halliwell blinks, and nods, "They do. Well, whitelighter's mostly protect and guide witches while they fight evil, but fighting evil's what they're about. Well, except for my dad, who fell in love with my mom. But whitelighter's are just one kind of angel. There's lots of kinds. Some are out there fighting themselves. And some, they don't have anything to do with fighting evil, but they still have their jobs."
"The kid said he's half witch," Stiles retorts to Glamorgan. Then, asked his name, he grunts and concedes, "Stiles. I live here in Beacon Hills. My dad's the sheriff." Looking back to Wyatt, he shakes his head. "Well, no offense, but angels seem pretty inept when you look at the world. Monsters, people starving in the street, war... yeah, Heaven must really have an awesome plan if all this is in the mix." He leans back in the chair, scowling lightly.
Lord Glamorgan scowls as well, shaking his head. "That's a rather negative attitude, lad. I'm no expert in religious studies, but it seems to me that human beings haven't exactly been living up to their end of the bargain. 'Be good to one another' may be a rather naive philosophy, but that doesn't mean it's a bad one. The world would be a much better place if more people lived by those words. Perhaps then it would be easier for people to band together against the various monsters out there." He focuses on Wyatt again. "Your parents are fighting evil together in this town, are they? Do they know you're out here alone, in the middle of the night?"
Wyatt Halliwell blinks, "But goods winning. Just buy a bit, I mean, people still have freedom. They're free to be mean to each other, and evil takes advantage of that. But it is always good people, witches and others, to save the world." He looks to Lord Glamorgan again, and hesitates. "No.. They're in San Francisco. They don't know I'm here. But if I explained that, I think he might have a stroke or something," he adds, indicating Stiles.
Sighing and giving the others a somewhat sheepish look, Stiles says, "Okay, point. I'm just saying... angels. C'mon, you gotta realize that's a tough pill to swallow." He shifts the chair back and forth on its wheels a bit, lightly tapping his fingertips against his knees, and seems momentarily lost in thought. After seeming to collect himself, he explains, "Last year, my best friend got turned into a werewolf. Seen some weird stuff since then. Most recently, I, uh... kind of helped complete an ancient druidic rite that activated... something. We're not totally clear on what, but... it seems to have kinda 'magically awakened' the whole town a bit. Like... things are shifting around that have been sleeping for... maybe a long, LONG time."
"Oh dear," Glamorgan says, letting out a small sigh. "You haven't awakened a Hellmouth, have you? That would certainly explain why there is an increase in supernatural activity in this area." He gives his head a shake, reaching into his pocket for his smartphone. "If you two will pardon me for a moment, I need to place a rather important trans-Atlantic call." He steps away from the others, but doesn't actually leave the room, as he places the call.
Wyatt Halliwell shakes his head to Stiles, "It's been part of my life for my whole life, angels, demons, magic, leprechauns, cupids, ghosts.. It's all normal. Growing up without magic, that would be weird." He looks curiously to Lord Glamorgan, "Don't mention me to anybody, please."
"A hell... mouth..." Stiles repeats, somewhat exaggerating the pronunciation of the words. "It just gets better and better," he groans. "But, no, I don't think it's... whatever that is. It's a natural power. As in, nature--nature-al. It's the remains of a giant tree the druids used to make sacrifices to." He rubs his chin a little, then rotates his hand so it's pointing at Wyatt. "So, witches. Big on the blood magic, hexing people, flying on broomsticks?"
"Yes, that's right," Glamorgan says softly into his phone. "Apparently there was a druidic ritual of some form conducted. Yes, of course, sir." He glances back to the others. "I shall do my best, of course. No, I don't believe there's any danger of that. There may be another problem, however. I can confirm a sighting of...Miss Lehane. Yes, the small village of Beacon Hills. No, I didn't engage her directly. Or indirectly, for that matter."
Wyatt Halliwell shakes his head again, "No. I mean, a few spells and potions need blood, but not many, and is always our blood. Well, some vanquishing potions need the flesh of the demon it's being made to vanquish. Mostly it's just potions and spells, and using our powers to destroy demons and protect innocents."
"I am gonna need way more books," Stiles mutters, rubbing at his face a bit. "Okay," he says, clapping his hands down on the desktop. "So I'm on board. You're an angelic witch. What's HIS story, then, and who was Power Girl back there?" He leans his elbows on the desk, pressing his hands together with the forefingers loosely steepled. "And where do I learn more about demons and vampires? So far I've mostly dealt with just shapeshifters."
Lord Glamorgan slips his phone back into his pocket, turning back to the others with a small smile. "If you're serious about learning more, I could perhaps be of some assistance. I have a rather extensive library of occult knowledge at my home in San Francisco. You would likely need to reacquire your transportation, however, to visit me there." He glances at Wyatt again. "Though perhaps you could, as they say, catch a ride on young Wyatt's orbs?"
Wyatt Halliwell nods quickly to Lord Glamorgan, smiling brightly, "Sure! I can take you anytime." Then he asks, "Can I take a look at those books too? There's a demon I want to look up, I um.. I think he's gonna cause some problems sometime in the future. But he wasn't in my family's Book of Shadows."
"God, Downton," Stiles groans. "Phrasing!" But he shakes it off, literally giving his head a shake, and says, "Okay, look. I need to go feed the animals, and you two should... probably go do whatever it is you do." He glances at Wyatt. "You have a place to crash, right? I'd never forgive myself if I let a kid--even an angel witch magic kid--be on the streets all night." Looking to Glamorgan, he says, "Write down your address and number, and I'll see about checking in if I need to borrow some books, okay? I appreciate the offer."
"Glamorgan," he corrects with a small grin, as he slips a card from his pocket and offers it to Stiles. "Lord Glamorgan, in point of fact. Recently appointed her Majesty's Consul General in San Francisco. You can reach me at this number. It's my private line, so you won't need to deal with any of the staff." Tugging at the bottom of his vest (otherwise known to nerds everywhere as the Picard Maneuver), he turns to Wyatt again. "Will you be needing a lift back to the city? Or do your orbs have an unlimited range?"
Wyatt Halliwell shakes his head, answering Glamorgan first, "I can go anywhere in the world. Or the heavens or the underworld." He hesitates, though, but answer Stiles, "But yeah, I don't really have anywhere to go. My parents don't even know I exist right now. So I'm kind of stuck."
"Right," Stiles says. He pulls out his phone and taps it a few times, then shows it to Wyatt. "These are directions from the school to a lake house. You can sleep there, but you've got to make sure you don't let anyone see you or leave any evidence you were there, okay? I'd let you stay at my place, but Dad would ask way too many questions, and you'd end up having to orb your way out of child services." He scrubs a hand across his face, shakes his head again, and says, "Well, guys, it's been a blast--" he snags Glamorgan's card, tucking it into his shirt pocket, "But I have cats and dogs to feed. I'll catch you all... later. I'm sure."
Lord Glamorgan frowns then, brows drawing together. "You're parents don't know you exist? That's...quite intriguing! But if you require a place to stay, I can offer a room at Swansea House. It's a bit less rustic than a cottage on a lake, but I can assure you, there will be no problem with government agencies. The estate enjoys a diplomatic status almost as inviolate as a full embassy." He offers a card to Wyatt as well, then places his cap back on his head, nodding to Stiles. "It was a pleasure to meet you, young man. I do hope our paths cross again soon."
Wyatt Halliwell takes the card and looks at the map, looking between the two. "Wow, thanks!" Of course, now he has to pick which one to accept. And, maybe it'll be a surpirse because he just smiles, "Thank you! I'll see you later. If you need me, call my name really loud." And then he orbs away.
"Yep," Stiles calls after the others, picking up a scoop of food. "Pleasure was all mine." And with a suddenly weary sigh he trudges back to see about feeding the animals.