"... Okay," she says. "Well, most of the stuff I recognize checks out, though I admit I cannot tell the accuracy of," she peers at a magazine, "how many times Lindsay Lohan has broken up with Samantha Ronson."

"Yeah, that's fair. You can always do deeper research later to make sure science looks how you remember it too, though. Anyway, I'll let you go. I'll still be downstairs when you finish."

"Mhm."

And then: showering. She doesn't fit too badly in Scott's mom's clothing, so she'll go with that for the shopping trip.

Once that's done, she goes downstairs and says, "Hey, ready to go have the most low key shopping montage of all time?"

"Sure. I'll drive, since you don't exist and everything. Your world has drivers' licenses, right?"

Scott goes outside.

And hops on his motorcycle.

... Um. Okay. Right. Of course he has a motorcycle.

"Yes, it has drivers' licenses, I even have one. Uh. Do. You have a passenger helmet?"

Because if she dies on a fucking motorcycle in a land of werewolves and magic she will be pissed.

"Uh, yeah, sorry, it's in the garage. Stiles never rides along, so I haven't used it much."

Nod. She fetches the helmet, puts it on, and then. ... Looks at the motorcycle with trepidation.

It's just a motorcycle. The werewolf driving it is probably more dangerous.

Aaaaugh.

She stiffly gets on.

Scott glances back at her before they leave.

"It's probably best if you put your arms around my waist."

Ngggggh.

"Please tell me this will not turn into a horrible misunderstanding with your girlfriend," she mutters, but there goeth the arms. "I am allergic to teen drama."

"Um. Maybe I should go to the party and apologize? But she won't be jealous, I don't think."

"Okay, awesome. Then. Away..?"

Do not whimper. Do not whimper. Do not. (Aaaaa.)

Away!

Eventually, after much wind blowing through everyone's hair, they arrive.

It is awful and Yvette is relieved to be off of it. She never thought she'd be so grateful to see a Target sign, and here they are.

"Right," she says, once she is off of the speedy metal unshielded deathtrap and free of having to tip sideways while turning. "Shopping. Yes. Follow me please."

Scott follows...willingly?

He seems quite happy to hold anything she needs him to hold, though.

She has a cart for that, but he can push it if he likes.

Yvette is not the type of shopper that meanders. She knows her size, knows what colors and cuts look good on her, picks things out, and then it is off to the changing room. She tries things on, she hands the ones she looks terrible in to the clerk that is in charge of collecting rejected clothes, and then considers and decides that she requires more clothes. So she does it again. This time, with a better idea of where to find things, and then tries those on. Then they're done, Scott is free.

Once he's finished buying Yvette's new clothes, they head home.

On his motorcycle.

"Hey, do you need my help with anything else? I was thinking I should go to the party since Stiles and Allison both are."

Augh motorcycle noooooooooooo.

"Uh, I might need you to point me at your washer and dryer so I can wash these, but laundry's easy. I am not sure you'd get much out of me staring at the book? Is there something you could help with there if something goes wrong?"

"Maybe? I heal faster, if that helps, and I can take away your pain."

"Not proper healing, though?"

"No, sorry. Should I go then?"

"Yeah, s-" and the stop light they were at has gone from red to green and they are moving and she has to quiet a perfectly justified eep. "... Sure. Yes. That."

Scott stays quiet for the rest of the trip.

When they get home, he offers his arms should she need help getting off the bike.

Nnngh no she will get off of this awful metal deathtrap on her own power she has beaten it.

She takes a deep breath and composes herself, once she is away from the monstrosity and then says, "Thanks for this, it was very helpful. Have fun at the party!"

Scott...

attends the party.

And Yvette goes and starts on laundry, then picks a quiet spot outside to sit and peer at her book. She closes her eyes and tries not to feel too anxious.

The book appears, shining from the darkness. She - could have sworn she remembered the front cover having some kind of symbol on it, but no such symbol is there that she can see. Only shifting and swirling star-filled blue. The edges of the pages are gilded with gold. Yvette had thought of maybe trying to draw the book, seeing if she could look it up somewhere that way, but its sheer lack of distinguishing marks makes it near impossible. 'I am looking for a starry blue book with gold edges'?

She stares at it for a little while, feeling like she is missing something. It gets really old, really quickly. Is it just going to sit there, stalking her? Can she - she can't see her hands, but it's as clear to her eyes as if it were in front of her. Maybe something will happen if she reaches out and touches it. Her hands brush against something and oh no did this actually work it seemed insane. But she continues on anyway, because look book she was on a motorcycle today, you have no power here. As soon as she has a firm grip on the book, she opens an eye.

There is the book. Definitely in her actual vision instead of hiding behind her eyelids. She wonders if only she can see it. This might have been a good use for Scott, but... Well. Bit late now, isn't it. She might be the only one seeing this, or she might not. If she had her cellphone, she'd take a picture and see if other people could see it, but - nope. But it's still worth studying, even if it's just in her head. Now, she can open it, and see if it unleashes an explosion or not.

It opens with a faint burst of light, and for half a second Yvette fears that she did unleash an explosion. But the light fades to something more manageable. The pages are black and almost seem to eat light, but the shining writing is perfectly visible. It - doesn't have words in it. It has twisting, glittering white symbols and swirling arcs and a thousand stars. If she saw it in another context, she'd think that it belonged to some master artist that was trying to make some kind of inscrutable statement. It would be worthy of lots of rich people wandering by and pretending to know what it meant, surely.

Unlike them, though - Yvette actually knows. She's not sure how, but she can tell that the swirl on the left side of the first page is a statement of introduction, and the twists that branch off of it say that this book is hers. And then the multi-circled design thing on the right is -

She slams the book shut and backs away.

What the hell. How the fuck can she read that. When did it shove the ability to read its insane swirly art gibberish in her head? When it dropped her into this insane werewolf world? ... When it reached and grabbed something-like-her-heart and twisted? What else is this book that promises to be hers planning to do to her? Because she knows how this goes, the mysterious magical artifact promises to belong to someone while twisting them into something they're not, and bam. Then you have Sauron. She does not want to be anything like Sauron. Even if she wants power to protect herself, to stop whatever weird werewolf drama's going on so badly she feels like she might scream.

She hesitates, then decides that she should not leave the eldritch book outside where anyone could get it, and tentatively picks it up to put inside. She'll get a sticky note or something. 'Do not touch, is probably evil.'

Sticky note goes onto the book, and then she goes to have herself a perfectly sensible freakout in the living room. There is no crying involved, thankfully, but there's a lot of fear and worry about what it wants from her. Then, because someone can only do that for so long, there is channel surfing to have some kind of noise that is not coming from her own head to distract her from the book. She finds something tasteful on the history channel. She moves the laundry from the washing machine to the dryer, then sits down and wonders if it'll screw her sleep schedule up even more if she napped...

The book is there, behind her eyes.

She sits up with a whimper, and goes to the kitchen where she left it. No book. Just the sticky note. She rips it up and throws it away, because she has to rip something up to make herself feel better, and she's not pissing off the eldritch book.

Is Scott or his mom coming home soon? Please? She is feeling very alone with the terrifying book, she would like someone to tell her that everything is going to be okay. She'd even take Stiles.