"I need to speak to Nogitsune," the man says. "I heard you can put me in touch."
Stiles leans on the door, takes a drag off his cigarette, eyes the guy from head to toe and back up again. God, he's fucking pretty. "Don't know him," Stiles says. "Him? Her? Either way, best of luck."
He makes a move to close the door; the guy shoves his foot between the door and the frame. "I just need a little chaos," the guy says. "I'll pay extra for strife. Pain not required; I don't have much of a taste for it."
"Come in," Lydia says, peeking around Stiles. "We'll hear you out. If we like what you have to say, we'll pass the word on. If not," and she stops there, shrugs.
Allison opens the door wide, stands there using her sharpest dagger to pick dirt out from under her nails. "If not, we'll give you a head start." Stiles looks at her, eyebrow raised, and Allison says, "What, he's hot. Be a shame to send those cheekbones six feet under. Let 'im in and put the cig out."
"I'll take it," the guy says. "My name's Derek. And -- thank you."