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?”
Stiles shoulders the door open, and then creeps into the apartment, eyebrows raising silently when he finds himself confronted with the true length of Summer’s hair. That’s a lot of hair. He’s too curious, however, and ends up picking his way closer, peering at the screen as if he’s trying to figure out which game she’s playing.
But he’s looking at a respawn prompt, and Stiles can’t quite stop himself from snorting, the sound somehow slightly sympathetic. “Sometimes there’s not enough defensive cooldowns in the world.”
He blinks a second later, and then figures out that she’s talking about his face, and he makes a dismissive sound with his lips, blowing air through them in a stereotypical-horse-noise. “Pffft, this is nothing, really, don’t worry about it. Hardly know it’s there. Gives me street cred, not a big deal.”
“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 no 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?”