Work Text:
The sound of a cocktail shaker was supposed to be musical and for the most part to him it was. There were days, of course, when the tempo was off or the note was flat, but everyone had days like that. And there were days when his ADHD sped the notes up, but those were few and far between and usually on the back end of a research spiral of some kind.
Leaving Beacon Hills hadn’t been the wrench he’d thought it would be, his moving to Washington hadn’t exactly been unexpected. It was something he’d been planning, it seemed, for most of his life. Between wanting to follow his Dad into law enforcement and the Gajos family calling, it was no surprise really.
And it wasn’t as though it was something he’d kept to himself either, most of Beacon Hills had known that was what he’d wanted. So maybe he’d left a little earlier than had been planned, well maybe a year or so earlier, but he still didn’t get why Scott and co had been so shocked. Even Peter had known he was going, and that particular wolf wasn’t interested in much that didn’t serve him.
It had been surprising to find that law enforcement hadn’t suited him though, it seemed his mind didn’t quite work that way, for all that he’d almost lived at his Dad’s work at one time. He was inclined to agree with his Dad and his Aunt that his unexpected exposure to the supernatural and the paranormal had moved his way of thinking slightly to the left.
Mix that with having just that touch of spark, and his instinct was to bend, to work a way round. To look at something sideways to get to the answer rather than follow a path that would get law enforcement the result they need.
Not that he was complaining, he was, currently, having fun.
So he was changing tracks a GWU, bouncing around a little to see what stuck, while standing behind a bar to pay rent. Not that he minded standing behind a bar, far from, especially the type of bar that he worked at.
Having a touch of magic and some knowledge of those things that go bump in the night opened doors that most people didn’t even know were there. And those doors opened even more doors.
You were never just a bar tender, never just a server, never just a mixologist at bars like these, you were someone who had something that some person or other wanted or needed. And that was a skill you could make money off. His knack for either knowing or finding answers was worth money, though he was extremely specific about what questions he would answer and about what he was willing to put into finding those answers.
He didn’t work with hunters, ever. Only his Aunt could ask those kinds of questions. Anything to do with law enforcement was properly vetted though his Dad or the other contacts he’d made while at GWU. And anyone with a question had to know where to find him in the first place, and then get through his boss to ask anyway. There had been a rumour or three when he’d first started working that more than one person had met a sticky end trying to get to him. Not something that had happened recently, apparently.
“And your Manhattan, Peter.”
“Thank you, Stiles.” The smirk and slightly raised eyebrow said many things, none of them any good, really.
“You have a question for me?”
And so the dance began.