บท 3: Hospitable Hosts [Edited]
Entering the house, Stiles made his remaining four picks speedily. He figured since he could do this every year from now on, he had no need to think it through very long.
The house had beautiful lighting. Sandy was opening the door to his beautifully illuminated house when the system sounded in Stiles's mind, [Ding! The host's first five picks are carried out! You've chosen the following abilities! "Heart Reading," "Hormonal Manipulation," "Death Transfer," "Supernatural Skill Canceler," "Werewolf's Blood"! Confirm?]
'Yes.' Stiles told with no hesitation.
His picks could've gone a different way, and in his head, there was room for argument concerning the vampire's blood potential, but he could pick it next year.
Because he hadn't selected the "injury transfer" skill, he figured the Werewolf's healing factor would be helpful. After all, vampires, young ones more so, had to drink a lot of blood to heal, unlike werewolves who healed casually.
Vampires could go berserk even due to that need for blood. Unpracticed young vampires, especially...
Stiles becoming an original vampire wouldn't change much when that precise detail—not a trifling one—was concerned.
As for why he didn't pick the "disease transfer" skill, that would be because he would not have a substantial need for it after turning into a supernatural being.
It was important but optional.
As a werewolf because he wouldn't get sick often, if not at all, he wasn't exactly desperate for the ability to transplant and remotely shift diseases.
Other people, ordinary people, which he could heal with all these necromancy skills, however, would be desperate.
They would be... Definitely, they would be...
But Stiles wasn't a doctor, though.
He wasn't sufficiently self-absorbed to think he was reborn to cure all the world's sicknesses.
Not only that. But even if he was reborn for the noble cause and put here with a mission, there was another issue...
That transfer stuff was a transfer of things, not an obliteration of them.
He wasn't going to go play god and transfer terminal illnesses or injuries from person to person or from people to other living things.
Not just to play.
So, no, that wouldn't happen unless he was directly concerned...
Ahem. Why?
Yes. Yes, it was selfish and hypocritical, but who was he to pass judgment on the world out of boredom?
He was simply a self-loving world traveler. A traveler sent to this special location with an overpowered cheat that could cause him problems—with the government if he was caught doing bunk that the rest of the world wasn't prepared for.
He was going to stay in his lane... That meant he needed to concentrate on making himself happy rather than worrying about social justice and world issues.
Stiles didn't underestimate governments. Ordinary world or not...
Aside from this logic, the world he would be trying to protect, to help, wasn't exactly a virtuous place to begin with.
If it was, hospitals wouldn't make patients pay before treatment in most countries.
Dear Stiles himself died and transmigrated to this wonderful world because his poor family couldn't afford to send him quick enough into the operating room.
What a blessing, right?
But welp, that was a topic for another day...
[Ding! Picks Confirmed! Congratulations, and see you next year, Host!]
The system said and instantly went to sleep—until Stiles's birthday next year.
'Yeah, thanks; see you next.'
Stiles thanked it without being too astonished or amazed. They had discussed the subject earlier when Stiles put it on a clever mute mode.
Unless Stiles wanted to ask it questions, the system would be napping.
Out of its own volition, actually.
It was a lazy system with a salted fish's behavior.
It was largely useful one time a year. Precisely when it gave the powerful draws.
... Since it was loud, Stiles wouldn't stop it from doing what it loved.
He could wake it up, but he wouldn't.
Because it was a win on both sides.
A win-win.
The system was smart and did things intelligently.
Especially not to cause trouble for him. With a sudden Werewolf's transformation, for example.
@Origin of Chaos System (Window)
//Status: Stiles Stilinski
//Age: 15
//Draws: 5
//Skills: Heart Reading, Hormonal Manipulation, Death Transfer, Skill Cancel
//Stored OOCS: Werewolf's Blood
//Inventoried Wealth (Phrased Estimations): Nothing. You're so poor that crying is considered expensive.
@
'Great start Stiles. Things are looking up now.' Glancing at his status window, Stiles closed it a second later, satisfied. He wasn't offended by the truth when he couldn't beg for potato chips.
If he cried, he would waste water and need to buy something to drink. There wasn't much to argue over.
These would be old concerns starting tomorrow, though...
Since they were entering the house, he would take care of the werewolf body and change business later.
He was hoping it wasn't painful. Or loud.
*********************
When Stiles entered the house, his eyes directly went to the sophisticated blonde woman with short hair that attractively reached to her neck.
She wore a tight white dress that stressed her svelte but toned contours.
In a few words, she was a milf looking like a fit career woman.
She looked like she was taking care of herself.
This was Sandy's wife, Kirsten Cohen.
She owned this million dollar crib he and Ryan were welcomed to temporarily.
Stiles was trying to find out what exactly was the color of Kirsten's beautiful eyes when Sandy made the introduction, "This is my wife, Kirsten."
"Kirsten, these are Ryan and Stiles."
"Nice meeting you. And thanks for taking us in." When Ryan took the woman's business handshake as she wore her business smile, Stiles had finally figured out what color her magnetizing eyes were.
It was a rare, virtually colorless turquoise blue and green pair of eyes that the woman was born with. It was very wan and even looked a bit supernatural to him.
Walking toward her, Stiles realized that he had lost the war before a battle took place.
He would never be able to resist her or the mature pheromones that her full-grown and ripe body was naturally expelling...
Not if he didn't use one of his new powers. The hormonal manipulation to restrain his urges.
Thankfully, though he was already a lost cause, with the heart reading, he knew that the woman didn't see him as a welcome guest. Or consider what he looked like.
The generous act wasn't fake, but Kirsten was forcing the pleasant smile she showed to him and his cousin right now.
"Nice meeting you, Kirsten. That's a nice and peaceful home you have. I know this probably isn't easy for you to take us in like this at night. We'll try not to be inconveniences..." When Stiles took her hand into his, he told, trying to sound natural and true to himself.
The impression was already bad. There was no point acting too fake. More so when he could take better care of himself now.
He knew all too well what kind of trouble Ryan would get himself into. He had no intention of being his cousin's nanny, either.
Stiles just wanted to live with the Cohens for the family and lifestyle he had always admired. He never thought he could be with them in that house one day.
Now he was here. In a house that had a fucking pool house and a boat. A boat.
He didn't want to leave, but he had self-respect.
Or did he?
Maybe... No, actually, he had none. But that was his little secret...
He wouldn't be getting a bit strong in his pants at the resplendent sight of his benefactor's spouse if he had some.
... But then again, shame never fed anyone. At least not people who trimmed to be where they're at and get things.
Restraining the bad-timed stiffness, Stiles was confident that it went unnoticed. That was when Kirsten's hand left him, and she replied curtly, fighting her best not to frown, "I trust my husband."
Hearing the forked response, Stiles was clear. Kirsten felt like Stiles had read the hidden thoughts in her mind—thoughts coming from her heart first.
Not that she was mistaken... She just didn't know how right she was thinking so.
The woman basically didn't want to suggest that she trusted Stiles. She expressed that she trusted her husband instead...
'Sophisticated milfs are so interesting. This will be fun for me...' Stiles thought, smiling.
He didn't provoke her more.
His eyes wandered to wholesome things as he looked around the entrance hall instead.
Don't talk about where Stiles crashed recently; the entrance to the Cohen's villa was already bigger than Ryan's house.
'Crash?'
'Wait... Oh, Hell no! I just remembered that I had to call her! This will be trouble for me soon...'
Thinking about a hospitable but scary female friend, Stiles had a headache. That was when Sandy smiled wryly at his wife's answer and changed the subject, saying, "It's late already; how about we get Theresa here to send you over something to eat? Let's take you to the beach house."
"Isn't it heavy? Let me help you with the luggage."
He walked forward and continued.
The man was a practiced husband of two decades, so he noticed his wife's wrong mood.
How could Stiles and Ryan share an entire meal with them right now?
"Beach house?" At the mention of the beach house, Ryan asked.
"If you'll excuse me. I'll go and talk to Theresa." Kirsten elegantly hinted at a spot behind the stairways with a finger. She excused herself as she immediately walked away. It was a pretext not to stay, but Stiles knew she would also grab towels and arrange blankets, stuff, etc., for them.
'Don't mind us, please.' Stiles wanted to say but stopped himself from doing so. He just thought.
Too much teasing wasn't good.
The woman was in her house, so he would feel awkward sardonically acting like the host.
This is what politeness was. In too much amount, it sounded rude instead.
He and Ryan were comfortably installed in the beach house minutes later, eating something homemade, when he wondered where he could get a phone.
He had an urgent call to make to a dangerous BFF.
He wasn't scared. But though he had changed and had a cheat now, he was too grateful for the last few weeks not to call her to tell her his whereabouts.
Because he calmly waited for Sandy to pick him up this morning, she probably didn't even know about his trip to the juvenile detention center.
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