It’s a beautiful, mild May day and of course that means that it’s time to take the cat to the vet! Stiles’ Jeep comes rumbling up to Summer’s apartment complex and wedges itself in a parking spot with a casual air that implies a deep bond between car and driver. Stiles himself is hopping out of the car a moment later, the area under one of his eyes still black and the bridge of his nose taped but his expression cheerful enough as his voice calls, “Suuuummmm-eerrrrr.”
There’s a yelp of some kind barely audible through the door, muffled words, and then a little louder, “It’s open!” When he comes in, Summer is all but crouched at the computer, hair untidy and wholly unbound down her back and practically to the floor. She’s dressed, but that’s about it.
“Oh, hel—/shit/. Shit shitshitshit fuck get off me no /ARGH/! Who the hell puts level 49s in an area with level 40 quests, seriously, do these designers not /talk/ to each other!” She taps the keys so fast the clicking is continuous, and on the screen a cat-eared, pixellated figure is completely surrounded by enemies.
And dead. Summer throws her hands up in the air, clicks the respawn button, and groans. “Of /course/ I was bound all the way across the fucking /world/, of course I was.” She pushes herself up from the chair and turns to face Stiles, whereupon her eyes widen. “/Stiles/. You didn’t tell me it had bruised that badly.” She reaches out as if to touch it. “Does it hurt?”