“Mages don’t get defensive cooldowns,” Summer replies, absently, still peering at his face. It’s so purple and blue-black, it /must/ hurt, and he got it on her behalf; she wipes out the pain from it on principle. It’s not being inside his mind, so it’s okay, she reasons. Helios appears from underneath the desk to rub his face against Stiles’ leg.
“Do you play?”
Stiles’ eyebrows scrunch together, and he eyes Summer skeptically for a few seconds, almost in concert with her blocking the pain from the injury on his face. It’s a dangerous sort of look, not because he looks angry—he doesn’t—but because it looks like he might be on the verge of figuring something out.
He doesn’t say anything, however, instead leaning over to rub Helios’ ears absently.
“Not that,” he admits, and there’s a moment where he’s doing that thing he does, sometimes, pressing his lips together inside his mouth and then pulling them part with an excessively loud ‘pop’ noise. “World of Warcraft, though. Sometimes. When I have the chance. Where, incidentally, mages get defensive cooldowns. And Time Warp, you can’t undervalue the ability to give yourself Heroism at the right moment.”
“Ew, WoW.” Summer sneers really hard and makes a retching noise. “No defensive cooldowns would save me from mobs ten levels above me, okay, Stiles. Especially not six of them. It’s not City of Heroes.” She reaches dowm and scruffs Helios, who hunches down in a cat-puff.
“Are you driving or am I?” she asks, scooping him up and looking around for her shoes.