Logs:Owning My Light

From From Dusk till Jawn
Revision as of 00:42, 27 November 2021 by Spider (talk | contribs) (Created page with "{{Log | content-warning=Vague nudity, implied sexytimes, butt-grabbing, Durance discussions | cast=Sigrun Ljosdottir and Teagan | setting=Downtime, the Direct Action...")
(diff) ← Older revision | Latest revision (diff) | Newer revision → (diff)
Jump to navigation Jump to search
Content Warning

Vague nudity, implied sexytimes, butt-grabbing, Durance discussions

Cast

Sigrun Ljosdottir and Teagan

Setting

Downtime, the Direct Action Hollow

Log

Another watch ended, Sigrun's truck pulls into the drive and out she hops, all joint achey and tired as she tends to be after another stint at the firehouse. Her dog trundles out of the back of the truck, and she pulls her duffel out after it. From the look of her, she probably still smells of burned rubber and electrical fire. That stink usually doesn't wash out at the firehouse showers.

The joys of being a rookie to the department. Still, once she's dropped her bag inside the door and had Garm curl up on the end of the couch in expectation, it's a short walk to the fridge and her mead stash. And thus begins her well earned time off. "I'M HOME," she bellows in her accent that makes the declaration a bit mooselike in tone.

There are hard-working firewomen and then there are... Teagans. They work hard at lots of things, but 'traditional employment' has never really been on that list. So it can't be really that surprising when the Mirrorskin just sort of appears in the doorway of the kitchen, lazy as a Sunday afternoon, leaned against the doorframe in a black tank top and boxers, all sleep-warm and ruffled. But also, Baby dangles from one hand, because until they were sure it was actually Sigrun, this was a security action.

"Mmmhmm," they agree, one corner of their mouth drawing up. "Hey, Stinky." Beat. "And Garm." Just in case she might be confused about who is stinkier: her or the dog. The words come with undeniable warm affection wrapped around them like a cat circling one's ankles.

Sigrun pulls out her shirt and gives herself a sniff before crinkling up her nose. "Yeah. Apartment fire. Sorry about that. But when those apartments go, they go black and the go hot. It's gross." She gestures at her hair as she says it, since that is typically the sole thing she ever worries about getting gross. She fetches her mead and heads over towards Teagan to collect a hug and a kiss all the same. This conjures a wag of Garm's tail, at the least. The big rottie's face remains a mask of what many mistake as a lack of intelligence and focus. It's just his content face, the poor guy. Sigrun is kind enough to wait until after she's claimed a proper kiss to swig back some of the mead. Nobody appreciates chilled lips, after all. "What's new with you?"

"Nah, it's okay. That means I get to wash you, right?" Their nose crinkles up the way it does when the corners of their mouth curl up, too. One hand reaches to scratch Garm, then completes the gesture back up to rest at the small of Sigrun's back for the hug. And then grab her butt during that proper kiss, because that's how that works. "Everybody got out okay?" Because that's the important thing, especially to a Teagan. Stuff (short of Baby) is just Stuff. This is a philosophy that lends itself well to being a lone assassin on a battlefield or living out of a car for years.

"Eh. I took Jack out to Eons for Halloween yesterday. He did the whole Sexy Stagehand thing, which means he... was... Jack." A little shake of their head. "That, patrol, holding down the fort, infusing the world with a certain inimitable swagger. The usual."

"See, I feel the mistake is adopting inimitable swagger. You want the bards to be able to nail you when they're doing your story. Swagger should be distinct but easily replicable." Sigrun taps the side of her braided head, as though this is a subject about which she has done some considerable thinking. She is, after all, only in this for the stories afterwards. (This being life.)

"And sure, being as strong as ten dragons is cool on paper but nobody but a very select few people know just how strong dragons can get. That's a useless measurement to put into an epic tale of your glorious deeds. That's why I keep these guns tuned to easily comprehensible weights and measures. Impressive, but comprehensible." Sigrun flexes up one of her all the more impressive these days biceps. Not a lot to do at a firehouse but drink and lift weights. At least when you only play video games with one very special boy.

"You really should hire me as a publicist," said the Bright One to the Darkling.

The delight in their broken-mirror eyes makes them literally glitter, sending beautiful rainbows scattering all over because of that whole 'Bright One' thing. Sigrun literally makes their eyes light up. Awh. "Well, maybe that's part of the story. 'I can get close to the swagger but no one can truly replicate it, that's how rad they were.'" This is clearly not a thing they've ever actually thought about. Their left hand continues to hold Baby loosely at their side, and their right rests on Sigrun's hip with that possessiveness particular to having her alone.

"Jesus fuck, you get hotter every time I see you," they laugh, leaning forward to chomp at the muscle playfully.

"Done. You're hired. Exclusive rights to my sagas, or whatever."

"You want to have your saga endlessly compared to Tribute by Tenacious D? Cos if that's what you want..." Sigrun lets that threat slash offer trail off into an eventual peal of laughter when Teagan gives her hips a tug, Sigrun's eyebrows wiggle upwards in amusement. "See? Smart. As a student of the sagas, I should be able to carefully craft your tale with an absolute minimum of hyperbole and aggrandizement. Which will of course make all the good parts much more believable." She gives a small 'trust me' nod, followed by a winning smile.

"You were talking about cleaning me up a little bit ago? You should expand on that."

Laughter curls up out of their throat, then, low and rumbling as distant Summer thunder, and they lean in and kiss her jaw, biting at the spot after laying that kiss there. Because ... cat. Essentially. "I mean, that... that doesn't sound bad to me," Teagan answers with that same low, rumbling laugh. "It is a truly epic song, sung by epic men, in an epic way."

But the thought of their saga -- which must, by rights, or at least in generalities, follow their death -- is left to fall away when she steers the subject. One hand on her hip, they murmur, "Well, you're pretty stinky, so we'd need to start with a once-over scrub, get all the worst of the build-up out. First round of cleaning your hair, all that. Then we can get into ... details. As necessary. Since some areas need more attention than others."

A beat's pause. "Also, I'm gonna fuck you." Another pause. "Repeatedly." In case that part wasn't clear.

"Yeah. It's a truly epic song by Jack and Kyle about a time they totally rocked the devil. It's their epic tale. But, see, in this metaphor you're neither Jack nor Kyle, you're the first song. Which, despite being the greatest and best song in the world does not sound anything like this song." Sigrun figures she'll get the concept across to Teagan eventually, either that or they'll end up getting high and listening to Tenacious D. Which is not a terribly way to begin your fortnight off.

Sigrun then falls amusedly quiet as Teagan goes on to steer the conversation to more pleasant matters of hygiene and fucking. She nods along in understanding, and only has one question as she turns to head for the hollow, "Is that going to be before, after, or during those moments of closer attention?"

Yeah, the matter of sagas is one of those things that's probably going to take a while to get through to Teagan, probably because, you know. Unseen assassins never give much thought to their legacy, and mirrors tend not to have their own stories. Teagan is starting to learn that they matter, but sometimes...

... sometimes it's really clear that they're not a Valkyrie, to put it mildly.

They follow after, and swat at her backside once they're forced by practicalities to stop grabbing at her for at least a minute. "Mmmm, I think the answer to that is yes," they answer. "I missed you."

Obviously.

"I can tell," Sigrun teases before stooping to give Garm some scritches to tide him over until they're back from fucktopia in the hedge. That this puts her ass on further display is just pure happenstance. Then she steps through into the hedge, starting the process of discarding her clothing almost immediately once she's through.

She's a pro at being a norsewoman, though. One can tell because she can get out of both a tee shirt and a bra without having to set down an open bottle of mead. It's impressive, and it involves using the mouth at times. But it works. The jeans are less impressive in the execution, but no less impressive for the resulting show. She's stepping out of her boot socks as a last consideration before starting to wade down into the water, bottle still in tow.

"They said the budget wouldn't allow a sauna and three season bath. I tried citing religious necessity and they just stared at me until I sighed and left."

"Hmgh." Sometimes there are words, and sometimes Sigrun just bends over and her ass is just like there after two weeks of not being there and Teagan just grunts. Ugh, wife. Wife good. Wife ass. Hmgh.

They trail through after her and hang up Baby on her appropriate hooks inside the Hollow, watching her with those broken-mirror eyes that literally can never reflect her enough. Their disrobing takes an awful lot less time, on account of that whole 'tank top and boxers' thing, wherein one flies this way and the other one just sort of drops on the floor and no that is not a machete in their pocket and they are happy to see her. "What was your first clue?" they answer her drily, stretching their long, runner's-muscled arms up over their head. "Or your second?"

The hot water waits for a moment longer, on account of needing to acquire one of the weird off-brand Hedge Beers from the fridge, and the combs and soaps and shampoos and all the things necessary to Wash A Sigrun. That this occasions to put their sleek body on slightly longer display is not a coincidence. "Well. I mean. You could always just... I dunno. Raise the funds or something. And be like 'heyyyyy look what I did.' That would work, right?" Teagan does not understand money.

"If I raised enough money to reno the firehouse with a three season bath and a sauna, that would instead be a kitchen and dining room reno. Then two new bathroom renos. THEN. The three season bath and sauna. And even that should probably wait until after we replaced the HVAC." Not that Sigrun has given it any thought before, or anything. She briefly swims out into the deeper parts of the pool, dunking her head under and coming up in chest deep water to begin wading towards something to scrub herself with.

"Eugh. Give me a hot second to just scrub off the gross. I don't even want to be touched just this second." Sometimes you are so gross that you need to wash yourself off before you can permit yourself to be bathed. It do be like that sometimes. But after a mostly perfunctory scrubbing with some soap to get away the grime and that immediate acidic reak of burned rubber, she does come wading in closer to "shore" again, where Teagan is coming with the rest of the bathing necessities.

They busy themself with arranging the necessities just so along the edge of the hot water spring, and then slip down into the water themself, sinking into it and briefly becoming nearly invisible, what with being, you know, a mirror in dark water. "I love how practical you are," they answer when they surface again, sliding back to rest their back against the edge of the spring and lazing there. A small, dismissive sort of 'it's okay' gesture when she says she wants to scrub herself off before being touched. They get it, after all. It can be sexy to be spattered in blood, after all, but then after the blood gets gunky, you gotta wash it off yourself.

As she comes wading in closer again, they stretch an arm out toward her. Gotta get a smooch first.

There is very little that's sexy about electrical fires in abandoned office spaces. Nothing to rescue, only private property to save. But fires do tend to spread, and burned out blight is bad for everyone. Especially here in Philly. Sigrun's expression bears this out with a sort of wan grin, "Yeah. Practical. I just like to build on good foundations. The prosperity you eek out of the top of a mountain is nothing to that you can nurture down in the valley with others. Or as they say in politics; we all do better when we all do better." Sigrun wades into the offered arms and lean in to collect the offered smooch, nestling in against Teagan's chest as her own arms snake about their back. Only after some protracted fondling of their posterior does Sigrun slink about in their arms and offer up their hair and person to Teagan's attentions.

And then comes the predictable distraction from what that kiss probably did. "I've been having dreams again. Different ones this time. And, I think, maybe... not bad ones? But I think I remembered something. From before. And it got me to thinking. And the more I think about it, the more sense it makes. But I'm a slight bit frightened. Because if I say it, then someone else will no the idea. And if it's actually a bad idea, then I won't have it to hold on to any longer. And I'm rather fond of the idea, now that I've had it for this long." She's rambling. Which is probably also a stalling tactic.

"You do like to build on good foundations, and you look at things in a very -- real -- sort of way. I genuinely love and treasure this about you, because it's something I can't do, not in the way you do it. Everything practical I ever knew about the world is pretty much gone, so attempting to plan things... I just can't. None of this world really makes sense to me. So... when you tell me these things, it's like... some sort of magic that you can do, filtered through the way you take care of people, and I love that. I really, really do." As they talk, their arms wrap around her, their hands pet down her back, and one up her side for a none-too-subtle boob grab. The butt-fondling engenders its own reflexive reaction, but one that they sort of allow to just... happen, at the moment, because: hair time, and, well, distraction.

Their nimble fingers start working on taking out the braids in her hair: Teagan has been doing this for years now, and knows precisely how to unwind all of the elaborate braids without breaking or tugging on Sigrun's hair any more than necessary. This work goes on in silence as she talks, and talks, and... finally, they push her hair away from the side of her neck, and place one soft kiss right where her jaw, ear and throat all meet. "Significant," Teagan murmurs, "you're spinning." They pause in the unbraiding to wrap their arms around her shoulders. "Stop spinning and tell me."

Sigrun has to force herself to stop rambling and fall silent. Her constant internal monologue resumes being internal and she spends a few moments staring down at her folded hands before she can start some place that Teagan won't need a ton of preface to grasp.

"Basically, I keep wondering why I have to be what's left of what he made of me. Everything I've done since I got out has been to reclaim myself from his control. But I'm still..." Sigrun gestures at herself vaguely. As if to indicate she is still whatever she can be said to be in total. "I used to have wings. Made of light. I used to ride light on a horse. Just a horse. Not a pegasus. Just. Riding on lightning and moonbeams and rainbows. I get why the light that's left of me is scared and lashes out. But why does it have to? There has to be a way to get in there deep enough, find a tool like they'd use to create one of us? Only. Use it on myself. Voluntarily. There are other parts of me out there, I'm sure of it. And if I get one, and if I get my hands on the right kind of jewel, or prism, or crystal-- Maybe I can harness my light for other uses. How cool would it be if I could fly with light lashed wings, like in the sagas. Or walk over rainbows to Valheim? Say hi to mom." The last bit is probably a joke, given the way she scratches at her nose self-consciously.

"I've changed everything about my circumstances. I've built everything around me to be better. Sturdy. To last forty years. I figure I owe myself nothing less, right?"

During that silence, Teagan leaves their arms wrapped around her shoulders: solid, warm, present. As Sigrun looks down at her folded hands, she can see, too, the way that Teagan's skin reflects the light from her body as a sort of prismatic scattering of colors. They just... listen.

And it's only when Sigrun starts speaking that Teagan loosens their hold on her, sits back up, and goes back to unbraiding her hair. Once they've undone every plait, every weaving of one strand over another, they reach for the shampoo, pour a handful onto one palm, and start scrubbing. Clean scalp after smelling of industrial fire? That's got to be amazing, and Teagan aims to make it feel amazing, too. Their fingertips work around her hairline and in toward the center, cleaning behind her ears, the nape of her neck, building up a heavy lather and gently slathering that all over her blonde tresses. "So you're thinking that if you find that tool, or more of your Icons, maybe you can ... remake yourself in your own image more profoundly, and more permanently?" Teagan asks, their tone clearly thoughtful, and gentle.

"Or maybe a token that can harness the light in a new way. Build it into a tiara or my helmet or into my hauberk, or what have you. Either one. I'm fairly certain that rewriting myself may be more difficult than that. And probably frowned on by the powers that be." Sigrun says all of that with the sort of casual practicality for which she is known, handily listing off all the reasons that this is probably not going to work out the way she wants it to. But she follows it up with a quietly fussy, "But, yeah."

"I want to burn his tattoo off of me, except they're not tattoos and they won't burn away. But that's the idea. Just heat the knife until it's good and hot and press it down. But rather than something ugly and scarring, I can maybe make it something beautiful. Something practical. Something useful and unexpected. Because let's face it. Viking from the sky is going to catch some people by surprise." Sigrun pauses to glance back over her shoulder and give Teagan a grin there for a moment before resuming being an biddable doll with respect to the bathing. (edited)

"There has never been a thing that you have wanted to do with respect to yourself that didn't turn out to be a good idea, in my experience. I don't know if it'll work, and I don't know how it'll work. But what I know is that of everyone who gets to decide who you are... like... that everyone is just one person, and it's you." All of Teagan's words come with that sort of very gentle, thoughtful way they reserve for being alone with Direct Action, and especially with Sigrun. "I would walk into Hel with you, whether or not I expected to walk back out again, and I can think of no better reason to do that than to help you be less what That Thing made you and more who you want to be." They lean forward to kiss her cheek when she turns her head, then add, "Tip your head back," as they reach for a large cup, the better to rinse out her hair.

Cupful after cupful of warm water pours over her hair, sluicing off the shampoo and leaving her tresses literally squeaky-clean. Then it's time for conditioning: a thick layer of sweetly-scented organic goop all over her abundant iridescent-blonde hair, gently worked in by Teagan's hands. "If anyone can do that, babe, it's going to be you. And if what you're asking me is 'are you down for this, because it's risky and scary,' and you need to hear from me that I'm ride-or-die on everything you need, well." A beat's pause. "I am."

"Good. Cos I need to go climb a giant icy mountain and talk to the northern lights. Possibly do them a favor. Or fight them. Or beat them at a riddle. You never really know. But I figure they know how light can fly, and they appear over both Vanaheim and Midgard. They're beautiful and frilly, so One Eye probably takes them for granted, too. I don't really know where the journey is going to take me, but I know that's where it's got to start." Sigrun does tilt her head back as requested, letting her eyes shut just in case any water gets into her eyes. It never does, but it never hurts to be careful. Once her hair is good and clean, she actually relaxes into the conditioning.

That's the part where all she has to do is sit there and soak it in, quite literally. So she makes quiet little murmurs of pleasure and gets a bit wobbly on her legs and floaty in the water. "Do you know the contract to be toasty warm no matter what? Because you're going to want it if you don't. Northern lights can be flighty and fickle and do not care to be shown up, so. We may be there for a bit until we find one willing to talk. And the top of icy mountains are notoriously unpleasant otherwise. And, frankly, even accounting for."

Squelch, squish, squelch. Once the conditioner is slathered all over her hair, Teagan just wraps their arms around Sigrun's shoulders again, gently tugging her back against them. Their knees rest on either side of her hips, and they sort of full-body hug her, a sort of patient and reassuring squeeze that lasts a good while and sort of rocks back and forth a bit. "Sounds like an adventure," Teagan answers, kissing just in front of her temple so they don't end up with a mouthful of conditioner.

"Yeah, I know that," they agree. "One of the first things I learned. Really hate being cold, honestly. Always have." Teagan, did you become Summer in part to not have to be cold ever? (Yes.) Slow petting of their hands on her upper arms. "Someday," they comment quietly, "you won't worry about whether I'm coming with you on your next amazing adventure. You'll know that I'm just here, and I always will be."

"That's not why I was worried. I was worried you'd try to talk me out of it. I'm not used to having good dreams. Especially not good dreams that people encourage me to follow. I've gotten a lot better about that with you all, but it was still a little much to believe everyone would be instantly on board my hair-brained adventures without detailed explanations. But. I wouldn't be even talking to you about it if I hadn't worked a broad plan out. Even if the first step is the only one with any detail. And I figure if it doesn't work out, we can brag about having climbed a tall mountain during the snowy season."

Sigrun does lean back into Teagan, grinning at the idea of ascending a mountain in a storm. Sure, they can spin to have fairer weather, but where's the fun in all of that? Once they get up above the clouds, they won't have to worry about the snow anyway. Sigrun rests her head back against Teagan's shoulder and folds her arms across Teagan's around her middle. She lets out a contented little sigh. "Who knows," she muses with a hint of flirtation to her voice, "something might even try to kill us."

"All right," answers Teagan, apparently soothed by the idea that Sigrun wasn't doubting their willingness to follow her to Hel or hell or both. "I mean, my not talking you out of it doesn't necessarily mean it's a good idea," they tease, self-deprecatingly, "but it does seem like a good idea to me. Even if you didn't have an idea of what you wanted to do next, the idea of like... going out to find a better way to be you? That's... that's not bad. The idea of being the one who gets to make the decisions about who you are and what that means? That's not a bad idea."

"Mmm. That does sound very braggable." They're content to just hold her and let her hair soak up all that goopy goodness, gently petting her sides with their silver-black fingers. "Mmmm," they agree, their tone content. Something might try to kill them. That sounds like fun.

"If it makes you feel any better, I sort of got the idea from you," Sigrun begins explaining after a moment or two, her eyes staring up and away at the curls of steam misting above the hot water and under the cool air. "And the way my light goes all wild in your eyes. I thought what if I just had a suit of you? What would happen then? With all that light folding back in on itself over and over again. At first I thought I could make it into a weapon-- and I could. But. That's not really what I'm all about. I thought if I turned it back in on itself, built a suit of mirrored armor? Crystal armor, even? But, like. Lined. With the silver steel of the Dwarves, and directed. Focused. Into some sort of matrix or crystal or lens or. You know. Magic doo-dad. That the Aurora will teach me how to make."

Sigrun has the casual spoken confidence when boasting of adventures that only an avid student of the eddas can really manifest. This only sounds ridiculous if you've not read what the Gods got away with on the regular. "And then we can come back down from the mountain and pretend we were cold the entire time so we have an excuse to do this again."

They go quiet while she explains that, mooshing their face into her shoulder. If she could see their face, it'd surely be shades of silver along with the glittering of her light glancing across the silver-backed glass that is their body. "That ... makes sense," they agree quietly, loosening their arms around her waist, their voice the audio equivalent of a blush, still. "Especially since I'm... inside out." They don't explain that, really. Instead, they reach for the cup again. "Rinsing time," Teagan announces, giving her time to tip her head back before they start that process again.

"I really like the idea, and I think it could work," they affirm, and then that last bit? Makes Teagan laugh out loud. "I do always like excuses to do this again, though generally... " they don't need an excuse.

"You're not inside out. You're mirrored on the inside." Sigrun turns that whole bit right on its head. Yes, of course she's aware of the metaphor and all. But it's also Just Teagan. "If you were inside out, I could see your smelly bits. And since I can't see your smelly bits, you are absolutely inside-in." Sigrun leans a bit to the side before peering back over her shoulder and adding once more for reassurance, "But it is a cool metaphor. Anyway. Clad in Teagan armor, with a shiny bit to help me fly? I figure that's a pretty solid foundation to start being a new me on."

Sigrun slowly straightens up and turns about in the water, sliding back in against Teagan once more, just face to face this time. It makes it easier to look them in the eyes and let her glowing fingers settle on their dark skin. "I've always tried to cover up my light when I'm out. Black armor and the like. It will be nice to harness it, instead. Plus. Shiny underwear sounds pretty cool."

They snort at that, as Sigrun turns the thought right on its head. "You know what I mean. This is the back of the mirror," Teagan replies, stretching out one of their arms and turning it so that the silver-black catches her light. They rarely talk about how they were made, and the manner of their being; this is its own little cache of trust, offered to the Valkyrie like a cat leaving a dead mouse on the step. "At least, how they used to make mirrors."

They finish up rinsing out her hair, gently slicking the blonde tresses back from her face, just as she turns around. The cup settles on the ground to their right with a little clatter. Their eyes send out those lovely prismatic scatters, reflecting back shimmering fragments of her blue eyes, her porcelain skin, the inlays that curl over her body. "Mmm," they agree. "You do tend to light up a room." Metaphor and fact, all in one convenient flirtatious package. Their fingertips soothe over her shoulders, down to her waist. "I fully endorse magic shiny underpants."