Two households, both alike in dignity, in Middle Earth, where we lay our scene From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal realms of these two foes A pair of star-cross’d brothers make their life Whose misadventure Sauron overthrows, And with his death, end their people’s strife. Their fearful passage, that shall death mark’d prove And the continuance of their parents’ rage Which but The One Ring’s end, naught could remove, Is now, like, twelve hours’ traffic of our stage; The which of you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
From his textbooks, Stiles had gotten the impression that vampires had a weird, stretched out look to them — slightly too-long limbs and pale skin. This guy, though, he looked human, broad-shouldered and clearly muscular even under a loose sweatshirt. He wasn’t pale at all, his skin lightly tanned, hair dark, eyes pale. They narrowed at Stiles and Stiles froze as the man looked him up and down, clearly judging him. He must have passed the test, though, because the man kind of shrugged and said, “Take off your clothes.”
A dark haired man who is unsocial and doesn’t fit in meets a blonde man, a soldier, who likes to look menacing but is a kind heart on the inside. They work together to stop evil and continue to save each other.