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Sturm is a shockingly private person when it comes to her business, but this is different. This is important... and if she's going to trust Teagan with something of this magnitude, then she may as well trust them with another private thing. So she texts them the address of her dad's old place - a tiny house out in [not well off older part of town] that looks like it's been there since at least the 70's.
The frost giant is waiting on the stoop out front dressed in workboots, cargo pants, and an old Judas Priest tour shirt (that looks like it barely fits at this point) underneath her leather jacket. She's smoking a cigarette and shaking a little bit - though whether that's from unsteady nerves or the cool night is unapparent...
Northeast Philly is a place that Teagan knows well: a lot of the houses are rowhouses, but there are some duplexes and even some singles -- most of the neighborhoods are kinda battered, though some are getting gentrified. It's the perfect place for a house just like that. Out on the outskirts right near where it turns into 'not actually the city anymore.'
Teagan doesn't so much arrive as just appear just out of Sturm's arm's reach. She's going to have to get used to that, if she expects to hang out with Teagan. They spend a lot of their time Light-Shy and only appear when they need to do so. "Hey," they greet, their voice pitched quiet, hands tucked into their trenchcoat's pockets.
Sturm, caught mid-drag on her cigarette, coughs in surprise. Once she recovers form her coughing fit, she moves over on the stoop to make room for Teagan to sit. If they want.
"Didn't expect you to just appear like that," her voice is still raspy from the irritation. She holds up a half-crumpled pack of Camel Menthols, and a shitty gas station lighter that reads let's flick and chill - not really expecting Teagan to take one, but offering to be polite. "Lemme just finish this and then we can go in. Would just smoke inside, but my brother owns this place and even if he just lets it fuckin' rot here, I don't wanna smoke it up."
They pause for a moment, and then 'oh' softly. They're not actually used to people who aren't used to them just... appearing out of nowhere. "Oh, right. My bad."
A little shake of their head. "I quit a couple years ago," Teagan answers. "June got on my ass because it stinks up her fur. Thanks, though." Their shoulders roll a little bit, and they look down the street, and up again. "Yeah, word. I hear you."
"Probably for the best, honestly." The pack and lighter disappear into the pocket of her jacket, and she finishes what's left of her cigarette with one long drag. She puts it out on the stair, and is careful to blow the smoke in the opposite direction of her guest. "Enh. Seen you do it a couple times before and it's not normally an issue... but nerves are a bit shot right now - as you can probably imagine."
Sturm reaches up for the railing, using it to pull herself up from the stoop with a small grunt before silently heading to the front door and getting the door - heading inside and letting Teagan follow. The house is sparsely furnished, but looks lived in - unusually so for a house that her brother 'just lets rot here.' She makes her way over to an old couch with an absolutely hideous upholstry, stopping at the arm to hover awkwardly with hands in her pockets. "So, how's this supposed to work again?"
"I have a vape for weed, but that's, like... different." A vague shrug, and Teagan watches Sturm smoke, or at least appears to; it can be difficult to tell what direction they're looking, what with those broken-mirror eyes. "Nah, I getcha. This is a Big Fuckin' Deal. But like... it should hopefully be a big deal in a good way?"
They scratch their face absently, turning to look up and down the street again like they're worried about being followed -- just a normal level of paranoia, thanks -- before following Sturm inside. They shuck their coat off once they step inside, and then unhook the hedgespun machete that hangs at their hip. Teagan carefully wraps the machete up in the coat, and looks for a place to set it aside for the time being. "Well, I'm gonna have to touch your face for a little bit; that will make it possible for me to ... reshape your Kith. And I'll make you into a Mirrorskin -- like me. I'm not sure what the exact upshot of that will be, how it will change your mien immediately, but you will look different. If it would help you, I can change myself into something else first, so you can see how Riddle Kith works."
"And once you're a Mirrorskin, you just... kind of... will yourself to change. And I can show you how that works, too, if you want. Some people find it helps to actually like... move your body around, to shape what you want. Your Mask will follow, too, if you push your glamour through your body to make it do so."
"Yeah, of course it's... in a good way. Fuckin' life changing, actually, but..." She trails off, noticing Teagan looking around for a place to set their coat and weapon. She points to a little side table on the other end of the couch - it's not the only flat surface in the room - but it's the one that's least likely to be in the way. "Y'know, I don't really trust like this often. Or ever. No offense or anything."
She grimaces through most of Teagan's explanation. It's a lot of new and uncertain shit for her - and the face-touching bit in particular seems to put her on edge - though she does manage to muscle through it in the end, letting her mouth take a more familiar, sour shape. After a few minutes of still and silent pondering, she slides out of her jacket, and tosses it onto the couch. "It'd probably help to see you do it first, yeah." Beat. "How... uhh. Hard? Is it to just will yourself into a different shape - and... what all can I change? How long do I have, and what happens if I fuck it up?"
The questions come spilling out of her mouth before she can stop them all, and she looks embarrassed at needing this much help with the concept - or perhaps at being so fuckin' vulnerable in front of someone who she's previously been so standoffish with.
"None taken." Teagan sets down the blade on the table, carefully swaddled in their coat, like it's a child or something that they're putting to bed for the time being. "I don't normally put Baby down unless it's only my motley and Laura in the room, or I'm fuckin' someone, or something. So." So trust is happening on both sides, apparently.
They sit down on the couch and unlace their combat boots, pulling them off and setting them aside like they live here or something. "Which you wanna see me do first? Changing my Kith, or changing my body?" Through all of it, Teagan's just super matter-of-fact, like this is very normal, and nothing to be afraid of at all. After all, they do this shit every day, don't they? Or close enough? Maybe their frankness is intended to set Sturm at ease as much as possible. "So... I mean, for me, it's not difficult at all, but I've literally been doing some form of this for over a hundred years. It might be awkward for you at first because you've never done it before. You can change yourself almost entirely, as long as your ... basic body mass and size stay the same. You'll be just as strong as you are now, you'll be just as tall as you are now, but you can give yourself a different jawline, you can give yourself a different... voice, because your voicebox you can shift, you can change your eye color, your genitals, your chest... whatever."
"You have a couple of hours until Riddle Kith wears off, and once it does, you'll go back to being what you are now, Kith-wise. But all the changes you make? Those are permanent. So you're not gonna, like, go to sleep tonight with a vag and wake up with a dick again. Not to be blunt, but, like, for real."
"And if you do decide, 'I made my tits too big' or whatever, all you have to do is ask to be Riddle Kith'd again, and you can change it. And then that is permanent." All the while, Teagan leans their forearms on their knees, looking up at her, totally comfortable.
"Make sense?"
Oddly enough, being up front about exactly what to expect and how it's going to work does seem to set Sturm at ease - and the fact that Teagan has disarmed themselves for the first time in her presence is absolutely not lost on her. She'd have understood what that meant even if they hadn't drawn attention to it. So she reaches into one of the deeper side pockets of her cargo pants, producing a handful of objects - a set set of brass knuckles, her keys, a phone, and a worry stone - all of which she sets down on the coffee table (save for the stone) before taking a place on the couch a few feet from Teagan.
"Yeah... that makes sense, I think." Sturm thumbs the worry stone for a bit as she considers the possibilities of what she's got to work with, only letting go of the smooth, oval-shaped rock to unlace her boots, and toss them out into the hallway. "... when you helped your girlfriend in Miami, did it change, like, internal shit, too? Say, if some asshole smell the hormones in my fuckin' blood or whatever, he's gonna smell the right shit, right?" Beat. "... and I'm not gonna have to keep takin' all these pills?"
They sit still for a bit, watching her disarm herself, and there's sort of a half-smile from Teagan, then. They recognize the return gesture, and wait through all of her reassessment and change. With their coat off, it's possible to see Teagan's tattoos and their sole piece of jewelry: on their left wrist, there's a chunk of what looks like marble, wrapped in silver and turned into a bracelet by someone who was only kinda good at that; on the back of their left wrist, a typewriter-font tattoo that reads 'this machine kills rapists.' On the back of their right wrist, in solid black that somehow floats above the metallic-black of their skin, 'Teagan' in old English style calligraphy. And then all up and down their arms, solid whorls of black ink, and in between those whorls, groups of five hash-marks. Tons, and tons, and tons of them.
Keeping count of something. Teagan absently flexes the fingers of their left hand, flexing their forearm also; it's not showing off, it's just idle gestures done while they're thinking. They're not built like she is; their muscles are long and lean, a runner's physique, or a swimmer's. "First of all, anyone sniffing your fucking blood needs a boot to the ass, and if someone's like, smelling your blood again, please let me know so I can kick them in the crotch. Especially if it was a fucking vampire. Those assholes need to mind their own goddamned business." Their nose wrinkles up. "Side note, if you're hanging around a vampire and suddenly find you're missing time or think you're like suddenly obsessed and in love with them? Tell someone right away, because that vampire is fucking with you."
Then the Mirrorskin clicks their tongue against the roof of their mouth. "You won't need to take pills anymore. No pills, no injections, no ... lasers, no surgeons. Nothing. You'll be what you want to be. Still can't have kids, but none of us can."
"He wasn't, like, a fuckin' dick about it or anything but... it was uhh... an invasion of privacy, yeah." She leaves it at that, thankful to have heard someone else voice the thing she'd been thinking about all day. She doesn't quite look at Teagan directly, but offers a small, crooked smile when they volunteer to intervene on her behalf in the future. "Most people just assume I can handle the violent shit myself. It's... funny to be on this end of that for a change."
She chews on that, for a moment - adopting a distant look as she continues to fret over the little rock in her hand. Her voice is a low grumble when she continues, but it's nowhere near the harsh growl that she usually has. "Okay. I think I'm ready to see you do it." She looks over at Teagan directly for probably the first time since they arrived - and it's pretty easy to tell from her face alone that she's still incredibly nervous.
A soft puff of air. "Sometimes it's easier if someone else sticks up for you about that shit, rather than you having to do it yourself." Teagan absently rubs their thumb over the 'this machine kills rapists' tatoo on their left wrist. "I know you can handle the violent shit yourself. It's ... not that I was thinking about."
"Which do you want to see, before I do it? Body shifting, or Riddle Kith? They take a little out of me, so I don't wanna waste."
"The body shifting stuff. I don't think I need to see you Riddle Kith specifically. What I'm nervous about is- well, being... like you isn't what I'm worried about. Having this level of control over my body isn't a... thing I know how to handle, and I'm very worried that I'll do something to set off my dysphoria by accident while I'm trying to change. Y'know. In a bad way." She frowns again. "... but what were you thinking about if it wasn't that?" Beat. "...if I can ask?"
"It might," Teagan agrees. "Sometimes the in-between stages or if you do something one way or whatever, it could. The process can be kinda scary if you're not used to it. But like, no matter what happens, what's important is that you are in control. And at the end of the day, you and not nature or God or some fucked up Them is going to tell you who you are."
They pause, there. "Sometimes it's hard to stick up for yourself when people are doing shit like sniffing your blood, when, like, they're being like 'oh I can smell your HRT' or whatever. So... that's what I was thinking about. How fucked up it can be and it can make it hard to stand up for yourself." A vague shrug, and then they reach up, tugging their shirt off and chucking it onto the end table, on top of their coat wrapped around Baby. Teagan sits up straight -- or at least upright, they can't do anything straight -- and clears their throat.
The Mirrorskin's chest, by default, has small breasts, each topped with a pitch-black nipple. Not big enough to need a bra or a binder if they don't feel like it, but breasts all the same. They tip their head to one side, looking slightly away from Sturm, because doing this on request around someone who isn't in their motley is a little intimate. And then? Those breasts first get larger, until they're heavy and soft, and then shrink again until they disappear, and their chest is sleek and muscular, matching the rest of them -- it's a chest like would be seen on an Olympic swimmer.
The whole process is sort of surreal: it looks like playing with the sliders on a video game. Small boobs... bigger boobs... no boobs at all!
And then? They shrug. "I can show you the rest. It's just a body. It can be what you want."
"I, uhh..." Sturm trails off. She does that little snort-laugh she does when she's uncomfortable. She isn't particularly used to having people stick up for her like that - even just basic human decency type shit - and it shows. "Thanks, I guess."
She looks like she's about to elaborate further when Teagan just straight or gay, whatever up whips their shirt off and tosses it aside. She closes her mouth, clearly surprised, blinking a few times before recovering enough to get her mask back into place. Her brow furrows in thought - or perhaps from empathy - as Teagan looks away, and then her mind is absolutely fucking blown wide open as the possibilites she's got to work with are clearly visible in front of her.
"No, I wouldn't ask you to go further than that. I... honestly wasn't expecting even," She gestures vaguely to her own chest and wobbles her hands trying to mimic for emphasis. "Uhh. That. Figured you'd show me with your face or something." She does that little nervous snort again. "... and you said you don't have to be here for when I do it, right?"
"You're welcome, I guess. It ... is something that sometimes we need." And Teagan lets that bit go. "Seriously, though, fuck vampires."
Their cheeks silver briefly when she says "I mean, I could, but... that's a lot of what you're interested in, right?" A pause, and then Teagan clarifies, "I mean, like, body changes. Plus this is a lot more dramatic." The Mirrorskin takes a deep breath in, and shakes their head, resting their hands on their knees. There's a certain tension in their frame, subtle though it is, that's nothing like their usual boneless laziness. "I don't, no. I can be there, or I can be in the next room over in case you get freaked out or need help, or I can fuck off and you can call me if you need me to re-up the contract."
"Yeah... uhh. Guy was a bit of a dick like that." ... and then she, too, let's that thread go.
"I guess you're not wrong. It is... exactly what I asked for, yeah." She trails off, taking note of the sudden shift in color, but electing to ignore it on account of... well, she'd probably want the same. She reaches over to the left and procures her worry stone from the cushion, and begins to fiddle with it again. Her face scrunches up in thought as she figures out how to phrase her next question. "... would it," she pauses awkwardly. "... be weird if I asked you to stay? Like, you don't gotta look or anything - I mean, I wouldn't want to if I were you, and I don't think I'd be able to handle it if you did - but I think I'd probably feel more comfortable if you were... uhh." Beat. "Y'know. In the room?"
She's not exactly blushing or anything, but she's having trouble keeping up her stony demeanor to be sure. This level of vulnerability - or familiarity - is... far from common.
They spread their hands, then, and clear their throat. "No. I offered because it would not be weird for me to stay," Teagan replies. "Not to be, like... weird, myself, but -- I would be kind of worried if I just... gave you the ability to do this, and then fucked off and didn't ... stick around to make sure that you were okay?" They take in a deep breath, their shoulders lifting with the gesture, and then let it out slowly. "It would be like... handing someone a loaded gun and then just walking away. Not that you can hurt yourself physically, you can't, really, but."
But dysphoria sucks, and you can hurt yourself mentally with that shit, well do they know it.
"So." Teagan turns their face toward Sturm again; fractions and fragments of her are reflected in their broken-mirror eyes. "You ready?"
She takes a deep breath, trying her best to wrangle the intense nervous energy she's been grappling with since well before Teagan even arrived. She's squeezing that little polished rock of hers so hard that her knuckles are begining to turn white, and then she sets it down on the table with the rest of her belongings - opening and closing her hand as it's absence is noticed.
"Yeah, uhh. Fuck me up, I guess."
Hey, even Sturm can try to be funny now and again. "... or, un-fuck me up."
Their laughter is brief, and possibly nervous -- it's so hard to tell, with Teagan, what their actual feelings are -- but genuine. A bright contralto sound, like large shards of glass chiming against one another. "Okay. I'm going to touch your face now." Every step along the way comes with at least a little bit of warning, and they scoot along the couch until they're sitting right next to her.
Hands as cool as glass, like touching a mirror, reach up to touch her cheeks; the touch is inestimably gentle, but somehow goes underneath her skin as well as on top of it.
Sturm doesn't jump or anything, but even being prepared for what Teagan's about to do doesn't quite make it easy for her to deal with it. She leans back ever-so-slightly, successfully fighting the urge to pull back from the touch altogether - and her skin, a thin layer of ice, is also cold to the touch. Teagan can feel the jotun working her jaw, grinding her teeth nervously.
The coldness of her skin frosts Teagan's fingertips, since, you know, that happens to glass when it comes into contact with cold; Teagan seems to be reaching just underneath her skin, but it's really just the Glamour within her that Teagan is moving about. Their face goes totally still -- like, almost unnervingly still -- and they work her face slowly, or rather, the Glamour inside of it.
Her skin changes color, that's the first thing she realizes, catching a glimpse of it out of the corner of her eye. It looks like Teagan's, now. And her skin's chill, but not as cold as it was. Ambient chill. Teagan sits back and puffs out their cheeks, and nods once. "You... look like me right now. Sorry about that." And indeed, she's got the same broken-mirror eyes, the same mirror-dark metallic skin... and horns. But the rest? She looks like a bigger, buffer Teagan. "Okay. I ... can turn my back."
"Why would you apologize for that? You're- err. This is incredible." Sturm corrects herself, hoping the slip goes unnoticed as she looks down at her hands, turning them over to can get a better look at her palms - and a better feel for her new form. When she's finished being enamoured with the mirror-like quality of her skin, she nods at Teagan - waiting for the other changeling to turn around.
They dip their head slightly and a half-smile flickers across their face. They caught that slip, but they don't say anything about it. Instead, they just nod their head once. A tiny little smile traces around the corners of their mouth when she marvels at her mirror-ness (Teagan is a fan, but they love being a Mirror), and then they turn around, but don't leave the couch, just turning their smooth metallic black back toward the Ogre. They reach for their shirt, then, and tug it back on, perhaps to fill the time.
Even with Teagan's back turned, Sturm is slow to disrobe. She gets up from the couch, crossing to the window to make absolutely sure the curtains are drawn tightly. Once she's satisfied that nobody'll be able to see her, the already-too-tight Judas Priest tee comes off - and she tosses it aside knowing that she'll definitely need another shirt once this is finished - then her belt and plain sports bra.
She makes her way back to the couch, grabbing her phone from the table on the way, and pulling up something to help her visualze what she wants. She sits back down, and looks between herself and the picture. On account of her broad chest, her bulky muscle, and some combination of bad genetics and the general ineffecacy of hormone therapy - any changes her breasts have undergone thusfar have been largely unnoticible. She closes her eyes, seeing her new chest in her mind - and hoping that was the last time she'll have to feel the frustration and disappointment of looking down.
It isn't quite as hard as she imagined - or perhaps she just thought it'd be a Herculean feat - and the expression of will comes to her like second-nature after a lifetime of hoping and wanting. She opens her eyes to a pleasant sight - the body she'd imagined - and a small gasp escapes her lips before she can stop it. Embarrassed at the expression and not wanting to be completely naked for the rest of the process, she reaches over for her sports bra and redressing before removing the rest of her clothing.
She reaches for the phone again, finding the pre-prepared picture of what she hopes to look like, and taking one last look at her old self. Having transitioned after being taken, bottom surgery was something she never even considered an option - and as a result, visualizing this part takes a bit longer for her... but after another intense expression of will, she opens her eyes.
This time, there's no surprised gasp, just an overwhelming swell of emotion in her chest - a wave that brings tears to her eyes.
Once the final touches are finished, Sturm sits in an utterly stunned silence, sniffling as she takes in her new form - her new body - and feeling neither shame, or the ever-present sense of profound unfairness that has been with her for as long as she can remember. It's the first time she's ever looked at herself and seen a curve on her hips, a fullness in her thighs, or an easily tamable amount of body hair on her body. She can't keep a stony expression any longer, and soft tears fall into her lap, pitter-pattering onto her mirror skin for a few minutes. She clears her throat when she remembers that Teagan is still a few feet away. She dries her eyes with the old concert tee, blinking crud and tears from her vision as reaches over for the rest of the pile of clothing on the couch beside her.
"Alright... I'm good." Her voice is hoarse when she finally speaks again - though it's significantly higher in pitch now, and capable of a far greater emotional range. Dressed again, she stands up - admiring the shape of her figure in profile for the first time. "My shirt was small to begin with and... isn't really gonna fit anymore, so... sorry you gotta see me without one until I grab another from the other room." She laughs. Like legitimately laughs - and her voice sounds lovely.
Their back stays turned the entire time; Teagan reaches for their machete at one point, but it's just a self-pacifying gesture. They rest their hand on top of the wrapped bundle, and sit quietly. Their shoulders shift subtly as they get as comfortable as they can, and they stay silent, respectful, waiting.
She gasps, and their head turns slightly, but they catch themselves before they can see anything. She'd ask for help if she needed it, and they have to be patient. There are subtle jitters in the Mirrorskin's black skin, shimmering through them. It's hard to sit still when you know what's happening behind you, and the gender compersion is totally real.
The voice is different, and that's the first time Teagan even briefly actually startles, because ack did someone sneak in? (It could happen.) But then their laughter rolls out, that same brilliant broken-mirror-fragment sound, before they turn their head. "I'm sure it'll be f -- "
" -- ine."
Teagan literally can't blink rapidly, but their jaw sure can drop. "... woah."
Sturm is still big, obviously there's no getting around that - and her muscle mass is still in tact - but there's no doubt that she's shaped more appropriately. She actually has some waist-to-hip definition! Where science (and thirty years of testosterone poisoning) had failed to appropriately - or effectively - redistribute fat to the appropriate places, Riddle Kith had come through.
Her chest is bigger - though it's hard to tell what exactly she did as the definitely-too-small sports bra is compressing things a bit - and Teagan can clearly see that Sturm isn't really sculpted like a bodybuilder would be, but carries bulk like a power lifter - and now, everything seems to just... sit better on her. She seems comfortable in her skin; no self-imposed slouch, no forced frown, no pissed off, fuck-the-world look- and when she meets Teagan's gaze... well, her eyes might be red and puffy (or whatever passes for it when one is a Mirrorskin) but she looks fucking happy.
"Right?" It's not exactly a thank you, but forgive her. From the way she keeps looking down at herself, and then looking back up at Teagan, it seems like she's stuck in a feedback loop.
This is a look that Teagan is used to, honestly, at least in the sense that they're used to someone finally getting the thing that they've wanted for years upon years. It's probably not too dissimilar to the look Teagan got when they first realized that they could swap themself around and mix and match depending on their current whims and desires and fluid sense of gender. But it's new and it's different every time, and every person reacts differently, and it's fucking precious every time.
They said 'it's a gift,' and they meant it. The secret is that it's a gift they give, and one they get back, too.
Teagan's eyes light -- literally. Their broken-mirror eyes shimmer and shift, casting rainbows briefly, and they smile broadly, a genuine thing, spreading their hands out. "You need some clothes that fit, but damn, girl," they reply. "You even stand different." The feedback loop is simply accepted, because, well.
It's fucking awesome.
"Yeah, well..." Sturm gestures limply to herself, and then to her surroundings. "Tweaked just about everything I could think of, but a lot of the upper body changes were pretty significant, so."
She holds up a finger - the classic 'one moment' gesture - before rushing into the next room. Teagan can hear the scrape of a dresser drawer being opened, and when Sturm returns, she's wearing another t-shirt. This one fits must better.
"It's uhh.. easier to stand up straight when you're not ashamed, y'know?" Her voice is still deep-dish, but it's nothing compared to the furious growls of Sturm's past. "Gonna buy some fuckin' skinny jeans, though, lemme tell you."
She's still hovering awkwardly - or maybe expectantly. Some things never change, I guess.
The Mirrorskin curls up one corner of their mouth, just ... looking. They sit still on the couch, very patient -- this moment isn't about them, so everything is just... waiting. Just doing whatever Sturm needs in that moment.
"I do know," Teagan agrees, that corner of their mouth curled up just so; they're not smug, exactly, but they definitely know and that knowing sort of plays out over their face. "I do know very well." They roll up to their feet, hooking their thumbs into their pockets. "Well, we can go shopping now, if you want to. I'm pretty good at that shit. Or... whatever you want. Want to go watch people drool?"
She looks like she probably wants to give Teagan a giant monster hug, but refrains.
"Actually... yeah. That'd be cool as fuck." Sturm squints at Teagan, lips pursed - looking a little bit taken aback by their offer. "Can't remember the last time I wore anything besides tank tops and cargo pants, so I could probably use the help." Beat. "Maybe another time, though? I know you said this was a gift, but I'd like to buy you a drink at the very least. If that's cool?"
Their eyes glitter in amusement, and Teagan -- unarmed and unarmored, a rarity when they're not around their motley -- stretches out their arms toward Sturm. She looks like she wants to give a hug? Teagan is a Mirror. They reflect what they're given.
"I don't usually go too femme, but I've got motleymates who do, so they can probably help," they point out, their lazy smile fully in place now. Gender compersion is real.
"Yeah. I think that'd be fucking rad. Who wouldn't want a hot girl to buy them a drink?" A flash of a grin, there.
"I mean, I'm not going to start wearing dresses n' shit, but it's nice to feel like I have that option now, if I wanted it." The gestures - both the literal one, and figurative one - are not lost on Sturm. She breaks into a full blown grin - showing both her teeth, and tusks. "I appreciate that offer. Seriously. I'll probably take you - err, them - up on it."
... and then she moves to sweep Teagan into a bone-crushingly tight hug - lifting them up and givin' em a good jostle (should they allow her) before setting them back down. "I'll take it. Had to catch the "fuck you" before it escaped my mouth, but I'll take it."
"I mean, you definitely could, if you found something that fit your style. You'd look hot as hell. Fuckin' -- what's his name -- Christian Siriano designed a bunch of gowns for like, Leslie Jones and shit, really made for tall women. You'd look amazing." Teagan's compliments are genuine, and easy. "I'm not femme at all, unless I'm on assignment and need to be." The grin earns a reflection of same.
And then? They get picked up and hugged and jostled much the same way that they usually do to June. It's disorienting, being on the other side of that, but all it does is make Teagan laugh out loud, brilliant and sharp, before they're set down. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," they tease, and then reach up to slightly adjust a small bit of stray hair, out of place from all the shirt-changing. "You should. You're hot. Most important, you look the way you looked in your head. You want me to let the Mirrorskin go, so you can go back to being ice?"
"You're ridiculous," her tone is as playful as they've likely ever heard from the giant - and she does that little snort-laugh of hers. Up this close, Teagan can probably feel her breath when she does it, and Sturm can tell she's going to have to watch her fuck you's around Teagan - as this is apparently going to be a theme.
There's a subtle little blush as Teagan brushes the stray hair from her face. She frowns, not entirely sure how to respond to it, and straightens back up - retraining good posture is probably going to take her a while. "Think so, yeah. Mirrors are cool and all, but uhh. Something something ice cold." You know. Like the song. Beat. "... which is to say, uhh. Thanks - and thanks again. It means... the world, y'know?"
"I am." They don't deny their ridiculousness, or try to put aside what she says. They are ridiculous. They're a pansexual genderfluid Mirror who carries a machete everywhere under their trenchcoat and lives with six other broken-souled creatures ranging from 'tiny edgelord' to 'cutest murder machine.' That's pretty ridiculous. Teagan flashes another grin at her, and tips their chin up to look at her. "Okay. Introducing the last bit of the new, non-testosterone-poisoned you."
Moments like these deserve a fanfare. They deserve shimmering lights and a chorus of angels. But all that happens is that Teagan rolls their shoulders and lets the contract go; the mirror-dark skin slides away, fading from metallic black to ice-blue. The ambient temperature of her skin drops again, and she is fully, completely, herself. "I do know. And you're welcome. It is literally the least I could do." That's not true, the least they could do is nothing. But this seems to be the least they're comfortable doing, anyway.
"Well. It's definitely not the least you could do - especially with how often I put my... entire boot into my mouth whenever you're around. So. Just know that it's noted and appreciated - and if you need anything, let me know." She watches her bare arms - and her hands - as the reflective surface gives way to her icy not-quite-flesh, and the familiar, chiseled rune-shaped scars. She takes a deep breath, letting her belongings stay on the table for a while - visibly relaxed and enjoying the feeling, even without the worry stone.
There's one or two more times where she looks like she might pick Tegan up again, but she refrains - for real this time. "... anyway, you ready to go get that drink?"
They make sort of a dismissive gesture with one hand, but that's, you know. Teagan being Teagan. Yeah, yeah. "It's solidarity," they finally manage, and clear their throat. They reach out to pat her upper arm gently, and it's a genuinely soothing sort of gesture, not a casual grope of the scarred arm.
"Yes," Teagan agrees, but they're not leaving their stuff there. It's time for the trenchcoat and the machete to go back where they belong. "Let's do that."
"Yeah, well. Same." She gives an affirmative nod - and doesn't shy away from being touched like she might've an hour ago - before reaching up to rub her still-damp eyes with the palms of her hands.
"Cool." Sturm tosses her jacket on, and shoves all her shit back into her pockets, too.
... and then she leads Teagan back outside to get that drink.
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