[ In all her denim overalls wearing glory, Malia sees a car go by, watches it stop, and someone she recognizes get out. Suddenly the multi-faceted importance of driving barrels in on her. A day she remembers, her first day after being turned human, where she's sitting in an SUV being driven home by a sheriff. Not everyone's favorite smiley officer in town. Stiles' dad. But, why should she know anything about Stiles other than that he's there too? Oh. The awareness is unsettling, yet she knows in that moment that no other connection she can remember having in recent days could ever be as strong as the one she has with Stiles. How her memories return is not at all linear. They shoot ahead to her driving. In Beacon Hills. She remembers Lydia's voice, a light in any member of their pack's darkness. Almost none of the pack is in Wayward Pines. Scott isn't. Kira. Other faces.
She's frozen in place for several minutes until her feet start moving, and she's awkwardly at Damon's car, running a hand along its side. A new voice slips into her mind, one that mulls over the pros and cons of both acting human and prioritizing your needs against your pack's. Peter. Her father. Her focus spirals back onto Lydia. Days spent together, and she looks up at the body shop in front of her. You don't go to, stop at a place, for no reason. There's always a purpose.
When she steps past the threshold of the garage, she stops and considers walking out. She knows her heart's beating wildly, that if Damon has even a fraction of the senses that she's sized him up to have in comparison to the creatures she fully knows about (werewolves, kitsune, kanima, banshees; there's a book full of details about them all), he may already know she's there. She hesitates, but a final thought trickles in: control is overrated.
The memory influx leaves her frustrated in that she wants to know more. Why all the deceit, creepy town? She has no reason to really trust Damon, but he...left an impression. She wants to talk to him. She listens for where he is and heads that way. Palm flat on the door frame, she looks in while he's typing away at a computer. ] Hey. You got a minute? [ All inconspicuous. Playing it real cool. ]
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She's frozen in place for several minutes until her feet start moving, and she's awkwardly at Damon's car, running a hand along its side. A new voice slips into her mind, one that mulls over the pros and cons of both acting human and prioritizing your needs against your pack's. Peter. Her father. Her focus spirals back onto Lydia. Days spent together, and she looks up at the body shop in front of her. You don't go to, stop at a place, for no reason. There's always a purpose.
When she steps past the threshold of the garage, she stops and considers walking out. She knows her heart's beating wildly, that if Damon has even a fraction of the senses that she's sized him up to have in comparison to the creatures she fully knows about (werewolves, kitsune, kanima, banshees; there's a book full of details about them all), he may already know she's there. She hesitates, but a final thought trickles in: control is overrated.
The memory influx leaves her frustrated in that she wants to know more. Why all the deceit, creepy town? She has no reason to really trust Damon, but he...left an impression. She wants to talk to him. She listens for where he is and heads that way. Palm flat on the door frame, she looks in while he's typing away at a computer. ] Hey. You got a minute? [ All inconspicuous. Playing it real cool. ]