princesscupcake | you're a bad-hearted boy-trap, babydoll, but you're so damn hot.

[Lydia is looking at the board, her lips pressing together tightly. She opens her mouth to reply to the professor, to offer an apology, what suddenly she gets hit with the worst migraine.

No, not a migraine - the other banshees are shrieking at the tops of their lungs, trying to warn her - warn her of what? - she can't tell, too many voices, and it's become an inarticulate howl. A hand is pressed to her temple, eyes closing.]

I'm sorry. I'm - I'm not feeling well.

[The professor offers to excuse her, but Lydia shakes her head.]

No, I'm fine. Really. I just need to sit. Or maybe have some water?

[Without really looking at the young man, the professor gestures vaguely in Luke's direction, requesting he help the young woman out to get some water.]

[He lets his assault on her mind drop, the colour returning to his eyes. Good. That's good. He can get her alone and- break her neck and get the hell out of dodge- no, he'll ask her what the hell she is and what she thinks she's playing at. He's not a killer. He's not his family, but if she knows what a cuckoo is, she'll be scared. She'll talk.

He just nods and stands, sweeping his books into his bag and going over to her, hand hovering by her elbow without really touching. He doesn't want to touch her again.]

Come on.

[Lydia nods mutely at the prompting of the professor, and doesn't seem to mind being accompanied by the young man she'd bumped into earlier. The other banshees are still hollering, and she has to silently order them all to SHUT THE FUCK UP! in order to get her bearings.

There's a vending machine that has bottled water in it. Even in the throes of full on banshee assault, Lydia Martin does not drink from a fountain.

As she reaches into her favorite red handbag, she offers the young man a weary smile, still meant to charm despite the faint wince of pain around her eyes.]

I'm so sorry. That was weird, wasn't it? Sometimes I get these fugues, you know? It's a miracle my mom lets me have the car.

[Lydia has no idea what he is. Or why she wrote those words...or really even knows to connect them just yet. But it's just a short matter of time.]

I'm Lydia. You want a cola? Least I could do.

[The lack of fear is strange. If she knows what he is, she should be scared- everyone's scared of cuckoos, even if they try to hide it. It's the only reasonable reaction. He can't dig in to find out why, his sense of her is still too vague.

He nods on automatic, used to taking things people just give him. It's a lot more normal than anything else that's happened since Lydia went up to the blackboard.]

Thanks. I'm Luke.

[He leans against the wall, still watching her with a hint of wariness. Pretending he doesn't know anything might help him figure out what she knows or doesn't know.]

So you're not big into cuckoo clocks? Because that was my theory.

Ha ha. [Her tone is dry. She buys her water first, his cola second, and holds out the latter to him in offering.]

That depends. Are you some kind of crazy serial killer who's obsessed with them? Turnabout is fair play, right?

[She's trying to diffuse the situation; the last thing she wants is for someone else to think she's a lunatic.]

[Luke takes the bottle and opens it to take a small sip. Ugh. More vending machines need to sell tomato juice.]

Yeah, you caught me. Crazy cuckoo serial killer right here.

[His tone is just as dry as hers. It's- almost the truth. But he only ever killed one person, so he's a murderer, not a serial killer. It's a very important distinction.]

I do have a type. [Her tone hasn't changed much, save to become more inclusive. She's still straining to hear the other banshees, but it's not like she can clear the cobwebs out to hear what they have to say right in front of this guy.]

That headache though, that was weird. I mean, even for having attention deficit or whatever. [Stiles would laugh at her if he knew she was passing off a fugue as ADD.]

It just came out of nowhere, no warning at all.

Maybe there was some kind of weird atmospheric pressure thing. Some people are more sensitive.

[Another tiny sip, how do humans drink this stuff? Blech. He should have said he wanted water. That's the problem with doing things on automatic.]

Are you feeling better now?

Might be. [But she's beginning to doubt it, given the way the other banshees aren't letting up. She's finally starting to understand what they're saying, though it takes her a few moments to parse it.]

Yeah, I think I am. We should probably get back to class - [She starts a few steps ahead, then stops, turning to stare at him, uncertain and a little afraid. Not terrified, though. Clearly not entirely familiar.]

What are you?

[Seems the other banshees finally made something clear, at least.]

I've had a bit of a headache too.

[Though he knows exactly where that came from.

He gets ready to follow her in (and possibly dispose of his coke somewhere) and stops, taking a step back and looking as confused as he can. Telepathy hasn't worked on her, but maybe straight-up lying can.]

I don't know what you're talking about. Are you okay?

[She's still staring at him warily. There's a point at which you stop caring about whether someone thinks you're crazy.]

You're not a banshee. Or a werewolf. Or a kanima. What are you?

You're something.

[Boy does she know what that's like.]

[Okay, lying less successful. Especially when faced with telepaths of some kind, which Lydia clearly is- or something close enough that it doesn't make a difference.

He sighs and raises his hands- a gesture to show he isn't going to harm her- and to remind himself of that, too.]

I'm a cuckoo. Don't worry, I won't hurt you. I'm just here for the math.

[Her eyes roll heavenward.] Well that explains it. No wonder they were all freaking out. [Then,]

I'm a banshee. I just here for the math, too.

Hence all the... [He vaguely gestures at his head] ...screaming?

['No wonder they were all freaking out'. Lydia obviously doesn't really get cuckoos if she's that calm, but this reaction is better than he could have expected.

He doesn't want to have to leave Beacon Hills. He likes it here, the college has so many math courses.]

Maybe we should get back to class.

you're a bad-hearted boy-trap, babydoll, but you're so damn hot.

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