Number One: “The skirt is supposed to be this short.”
“I can’t believe this is your dirty secret.”
Boyd raised his eyebrows, adjusting his belt. “What did you think it was?”
“I don’t know, scrapbooking? Ballroom dance? Secret piccolo prodigy?” Stiles tried to shimmy the massive wedgie out of his buttcrack, but it just slipped in further. God damn it. He was wearing way too many layers to go after it, at least two of them chainmail.
“Piccolo?” Boyd’s tone itself wasn’t threatening, but picking up a broadsword and sheathing it on his belt certainly was. It was much bigger than Stiles’ sword, that was for sure.
“Come on, dude. Do you really not see the irony of a literal werewolf LARPing? And not as a werewolf? You wouldn’t even need prosthetics!”
“It’s not roleplaying if you’re just being yourself.”
“Okay, but why roleplay when you’re already a badass? Let’s face it, if anyone here should be roleplaying, it’s the pack human who doesn’t have superpowers.”
“They aren’t superpowers!” Derek’s usual reflex response came from behind the curtain, and then he added, “Are you sure you didn’t give me Kira’s outfit?”
Boyd rolled his eyes like they were the ones being unreasonable here. “Yes, I’m still sure. Come out.”
Stiles couldn’t actually hear it, but it was like a sixth sense by now; he knew Derek sighed before yanking back the crookedly hanging sheet that served as a dressing room in a corner of their massive canvas pack tent.