Stiles Lupine Punching Bag Stilinski

[Player information]
Player Name: Kymmeh
Age: Ugh, 24
E-mail: zydrate.anatomy@hotmail.co.uk
Other characters played at Cape Kore: N/A

[Character information]
Name: Stiles (Real first name unknown) Stilinski
Canon: Teen Wolf
Canon Point: 3:11
Age: 17

Appearance: Stiles is surprisingly well built for such a skinny guy, gangly in a way that teenagers are but growing into his limbs thanks to lacrosse. And running away from the latest big bad. He's finally grown out the buzz-cut that used to be his trademark, but you'll never make him give up the plaid.
Inventory: A Swiss Army knife, a jiffy bag full of black powder (mountain ash) and a healthy paranoia.
Abilities: Stiles can do a neat trick with mountain ash, making a barrier that prevents any supernatural beings from crossing it - well, he knows it works on werewolves and kanimas, but I leave angels/demons/other up to the other Mun's discretion. Other than that, he's just a regular teenaged kid.

History: A not so brief history of the Stilinskus Sarcasmus

Personality: Stiles is, and has been since his mother's death, a bunch of neuroticisms and guilt wrapped in a veneer of affable sarcasm. He blames himself, and is constantly trying to make up for it by taking extra care of his father, making sure he's getting enough sleep and keeping a hawk-eye on his diet. Much of the time, against his father's wishes. He loves his dad a lot, and sees him as a sort of everyday hero, but also someone that needs to be taken care of. Losing his wife hit Sheriff Stilinski hard, and Stiles has taken it upon himself to fill as much of her role in taking care of his father that he can. The hardest part about having a werewolf for a best friend, and knowing about the supernatural goings-on in Beacon Hills, is that he's had to keep a lot of secrets. And where he and his dad used to have an easy relationship - they didn't understand each other all the time, but they were always close - now their conversations are stilted and halting. Stiles knows they're difting apart, and he feels like that, too, is his fault.

He's suffered from severe panic attacks since his mother died, caused by his guilt and the fear that the people he loves are in danger. Over the past few years, he's been mostly in control of them, dealing with horrifying situations with a surprisingly level head and calm approach, but when his father is threatened, his composure shatters, and when the Sheriff is in extreme danger, it has been enough to set off an attack.

Of course, another side-effect of having a super-special-awesome werewolf for a best friend, and a perpetual, hopeless crush on the school beauty queen who has barely even looked at him in all the years he's been smitten with her and who is also a cold-hearted, callous young woman at times and an untapped genius besides, is an inferiority complex that he likes to pretend he doesn't have. He's always been a social outcast, not exactly bullied but definitely roughed up when the school jocks have nothing better to do. Up until now, he's been comfortable with that, because he's always had his best friend Scott beside him. But since Scott was bitten, his popularity has skyrocketed. He's co-captain of the lacrosse team, he has a gorgeous girlfriend, and he has powers that Stiles can only dream of. Stiles is suddenly very aware of his own inadequacies as he sees them. The way he sees it, he'll never be as strong or as fast as even some of his human classmates, let alone a werewolf. And he's not the smartest in the group, not now Lydia's in on the loop. He sees himself as expendable, the Robin to Scott's Batman. He has a tendency to talk too much, too fast, and get off-topic very quickly, thanks in part to the fact that he has ADHD, but also his natural energy and inquisitiveness. He gets nervous around girls - and guys - that he finds attractive or appealing on an intellectual level, and his natural clumsiness and motormouth tend to ratchet up a notch or twenty. Which means that if he's not tripping over his own feet, it's because he's shoving one boot in his mouth.

Also thanks to his ADHD, Stiles has a tendency to be impetuous. Not every teenager would think it's a good idea to drag their best friend out into the woods to go looking for half of a dead body. But hey, it all ended well- wait... He will take the fall for something if it's his fault, though. He doesn't believe in making his friends suffer for his own mistakes.
He's a huge nerd, enjoying a vast collection of comic books and videogames. Before the werewolf debacle, it wasn't uncommon for Scott to come over and the two of them to have all-night gaming marathons. Something that he misses, nowadays.

Stiles can, despite his concentration problems, be an excellent researcher when he has something to focus on, spending hours sifting and compiling apparently random facts into usable information. His attention goes from being scattered all over the place to almost obsessively focussed on the task at hand, and his I.Q. is probaby second only to Lydia Martin's. The things that do motivate him, easily, are the people that he cares about. For instance, when Scott was bitten, he spent hours compiling an almost ludicrous amount of research on werewolves, so that he could help his friend. He's become an unofficial researcher of the group, due to his tireless energy and capacity to absorb and retain massive amounts of information.

He doesn't take well to people at first, putting on a hostile front, complete with witty sarcasm, and can even come across as callous. But when he starts to care about a person, he will literally do anything for them. Up to and including throwing himself in the path of an Alpha werewolf, while unarmed. He's loyal to a fault, and incredibly quick to anger if his friends or his father are threatened, and brave to the point of foolhardiness.



[Samples]

Type 1

It's a quiet night. Stiles hates quiet nights. When he has nothing to focus on, nothing to distract him, the energy sits under his skin, making him restless and antsy. He's texted almost everyone in his contacts list - not Jackson, he still doesn't like the guy, and he can do without the international charges - but tonight's been scheduled as Pack training, and Lydia only deigns to respond long enough to tell him that she's busy and doesn't he have something else to be doing?
Which he does; homework. But his Chem is finished, his English is abandoned in disgust and he can't concentrate long enough to make head or tail of Math. Then again, there is his other homework. Now Lydia's translated over half of the Bestiary and Deaton's given him what amounts to an Encyclopaedia of herbs, minerals and other stuff that the fantasy-RPG gamer in Stiles finds fascinating, he has enough homework to keep him going until he's thirty.
He eyes up the stack of printed pages that the strawberry-blonde beauty had dumped unceremoniously into his arms the other day, and gnaws on a corner of his lip, giving the Rubik's cube he's been playing with another twist. He's made no attempts to solve it, but the click-click of the rows turning is somehow soothing.
With a resigned sigh, he tosses it onto the bed and grabs the papers, flipping through until he finds the last place he got to.
"Sel-kie," he murmurs, trying the word out. "Seal maidens. Huh cool."

Type 2

Okay, whoa, whoa. Slow down. ADD genius I may be, but you're gonna have to run that one by me again, I missed it the first time.

[Which may or may not have something to do with the fact that it's 3am, and Stiles, for a change, had been fast asleep up until the shrill ring of his phone two minutes ago.

Isaac, on the other end, takes a shaky breath and repeats everything. Stiles drags himself into a sitting position, scrubbing a hand over his face.]

Okay, where are you?

[While he's talking, he pulls on his jacket, shoving his feet into his shoes. He's depressingly familiar with this sort of routine, and he supposes he should be thankful that his werewolf friends are drunk, not bleeding in a ditch somewhere.]

How did you even get drunk? What, did you ask Lydia for the recipe for hallucinogenic punch or something? Because that ended up so well last ti-Oh my god, you actually did. And you didn't call Derek because Derek would can your asses for partying and getting drunk.

[He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. How is this his life?]

Okay, fine. My Dad's working the night shift, so I can put you up for tonight. But your asses are out at the crack of dawn, and if you throw up on anything, you'll be cleaning it. Deal?

[There's a meek little affirmative on the other end.]

Right, I'm hanging up now, because I need to drive and I'd like to not crash. Do. Not. Move.

Got that? Good wolf.

Type 3

Link heeere~

Anything Else? His moles are adorable.