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Scott hasn't actually been to his own prom, mostly because it's still first semester of junior year and while gatecrashing is the kind of thing Stiles would totally go for, they had the winter formal to tide them over and werewolf problems to keep them busy last year. He didn't mean to go to this prom either, but he's kinda getting used to opening doors and finding himself in weird places. Okay, he's not, but someone's high school prom is the most innocuous thing he's found yet. The normalcy of it all is probably why he steps through before remembering that he's just stepped into another world or something; but the door stays put, weirdly unnoticed by everyone else. A look down shows him that he's dressed appropriately too, something that would freak him out more if he weren't starting to get used to all this. Besides, the tux is the kind of thing that someone like Jackson could buy, but that Scott could never afford under regular circumstances — it was hard enough to get something workable together in time for the winter formal in Beacon Hills.

So he lingers, and if you happen to walk through his door he might approach you first; or you may find him hovering around the edges or food and punch tables, looking like he expects to get caught any minute, which he kind of does.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Alex had found the prom door and pretty much ear-marked it as her favorite place ever because it was prom and she'd been robbed of prom because she'd been dating a true bard. Yeah, she knows, she missed out, but whatever, there are blitzes and punch and hey! Cute guy she recognizes. She points to him, mouth still full of powdered sugar, grinning away. "It's you! Chip guy!" she says brightly.

He has to grin when he hears that nickname. Hey, there are a lot worse things than being known as the chip guy.

"Hey. You're," he points in her direction like it'll help him remember, and maybe it does. "Alex. How've you been?"

He has a cup of the punch in his hand, but nothing else as of right now. It's been spiked, of course, but not enough to really hit him — especially considering werewolf metabolism.

"Pretty good," Alex confirms with a nod of her head. "I got to pay my rent last month entirely in actual dollars," she says, excited about this because it's a rare occurrence and she thinks it ought to be celebrated. "How cool is this!" she jumps straight to the important things. "For real! I haven't actually ever seen prom, not ever, and this is a whole world of it! I feel like the king of the prom!"

Actual dollars instead of what? Is what he wonders. But he replies, "Uh, that's great," because, hey, it is. But then she goes on, and he blurts out: "You never went to prom before?"

"I was dating a poet of our times," Alex reminisces with a forlorn and nostalgic smile. "He convinced me that prom was an establishment and that by going to it, we were killing America. There was a poem involved," she remembers. "So, sadly, instead of going to prom in a cute dress, I sat at home and we talked about his dream of owning a mobile poetry stand."