Logs:Ain't That Something

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Content Warning

Talking about the past, lost memories, sadness, awkward feels, family stuff.

Cast

Bailey Straw and Teagan

Setting

Fairmount Park

Log

Now that Bailey has a phone, it makes meeting up so much easier.

After some texts back and forth, Bailey offers for them to meet up at Fairmount Park.

It's getting late in the afternoon, creeping on evening, though the sun hasn't completely set yet. It's late enough that the park is getting quieter, though. Bailey sits on a bench, looking the same as they always do, same outfit--with a bag resting on their lap. Looks to be a mixture of nuts, grains, and.... live worms. Not the most pleasant of mixes, but the small flock of crows that are bobbing around are gleefully gobbling up whatever Bailey tosses at them.

They don't appear out of nowhere for once, because that is a bit awkward if there are normal humans around. Teagan comes loping across the park, hands in the pockets of their long coat, putting on an ease that they may or may not feel. Oso starts running across the park toward the crows ahead of Teagan, barking delightedly, until Teagan whistles sharply and calls him back; he takes up his spot at their side, tail wagging excitedly as the pair approaches Bailey.

Bailey frowns briefly as the crows start to scatter, but it fades as they look up and see Teagan and Oso. They scoot over to give more room to one side of the bench, and hold out a hand towards the doggo to pet once he's close enough.

"Evenin'," they say, glancing back up at their parent.

The dog bounces happily, play-bowing to Bailey before leaning in to snorfle at their hand and headbutt it happily. His tail's going a million miles an hour, but then he sits down at Bailey's feet and plops his head down on their knee.

Teagan, on the other hand, is much more reserved with their greeting, reaching to gently pat Bailey's shoulder as they sit down, carefully arranging the machete that's under their coat as they sit down next to their kid on the bench. "Hey, kiddo," they greet. "How's it?"

Bailey smiles back at the dog, because how can you not smile at excited dogs? They ruffle up around his cheeks and ears, then scritches down across his neck. "Howdy, Oso. Good to see you too, good boy."

They lean back to belatedly look back to Teagan and reply, "Goin' alright. Same ol', really. What about you?"

The dog's warble is: hello hello hello in Spanish, followed by a shameless, hello, I love you! likewise in Spanish, because dogs are like that in every language. Oso scoots in closer, giving a big-eyed stare up at the scarecrow.

"Yeah, same, basically. Been to Market, been hanging out at the house, waiting for Sigrun to finish up her firefighting course. The usual." Yeah, it's a very normal Market visit that is not anything to be concerned about, that's why Teagan keeps bringing it up. They lean back, propping one of their arms on the back of the bench. Crowley would be proud of their boneless sprawl.

Bailey doesn't understand Spanish, but they understand animals and it's pretty obvious when a dog is proclaiming their love for you. It brings a wider smile to their face, stitches at the corners of their mouth tightening.

Unfortunately, Bailey isn't... the best at picking up on social cues. They take the mention of the Market at face value. "I didn' get to the Market in time. But gonna be headin' to one down in New Jersey, here real soon. Kinda lookin' forward to it."

The Mirrorskin shifts their shoulders, watching the interaction between Bailey and Oso with a distant, mirror-blank sort of smile. It's not the easiest thing in the world to watch an interaction that you know only the dog remembers. Especially when you've got the stuff to talk about now that you know you need to talk about.

"What are you looking for in New Jersey?" Teagan asks, wimping out for the moment.

"There's this treefolk that got robbed out of his house. He ended up wanderin' out of the Hedge for a bit--when there was that fiasco at the hotel a week or so back. Someone swindled him and sold the deed to the hollow at the Market. So gonna go down there on the Equinox, see if I can find out what happened to it. He's stayin' with me until then."

A vague frown passes across Teagan's face, then. "Hunh. Well. I'd tell you I'd help, and I will, if you need it, but I'm not the best choice there." Partially because of certain people needing to run the scene. "Sigrun's probably a better choice, though, if you want help. That sounds shitty, though."

Teagan scratches their cheek with their long, blunt fingers, and offers, "I, uh. I bought a memory at Market."

"Should be aight. Lif is gonna head down with me. Might talk'ta Sigrun, maybe." They pause, sitting up straighter and turning to face them. Expression turning more... guarded. "Oh."

"She'd like it if you did." Because Sigrun has determined that she's Bailey's stepmom, like a Sigrun does. When Bailey changes their posture, Teagan's head tips to the side, as though they're looking at their kid out of the corners of their eyes. Hard to tell, on account of the 'not any eyes at all' thing. "Yeah, so... "

"... I didn't get the memory that I wanted," Teagan starts, "but I know where to find that, now, and -- I have -- something. Something you should -- probably know about." They swallow. "I'd say 'nothing bad,' but." But is there anything so far that isn't bad in their shared history? Is there a single uncomplicated memory to be found?

Bailey shifts a bit in their seat, but just nods faintly in reply. Waiting quietly.

The Mirrorskin rubs both of their hands over their cropped-short, messy hair, looking off across the park, turning their head this way and that. Not like anyone in Philly is really gonna give a shit if someone starts telling a weird story, but ...

Their scarred hands drop into their lap, and they stare off into the near distance. "So... " Teagan chews their lower lip, lets out a long sigh. "The Armsmaster. That fuckhead that's been burning the shit out of the Hedge? He's coming for me. He's ... specifically. Like. I guess Le General wants his assassin back." The smile that flickers across their face there is sad. Weary. A little weak. "And I ... didn't really remember him. But ... what I remember is, uh. I think he's the one who bought me from Market. I remember, uh. I remember being dragged. When I still looked like -- " When I still looked like what you remember.

"Something fell out of my pocket, and I started screaming, and trying to get it back, and. I wanted it. It was everything in the world at that moment. I couldn't reach it. It was behind me on the dirt. I was so -- it was everything in the world, it was the only thing I had left of -- everything that mattered to me -- and I, uh. I needed it. But I couldn't get it back." Teagan's voice is thin in their throat, and they pull their phone out of their pocket, unlocking it with their fingerprint. Well, someone's fingerprint, anyway. A couple of taps, and they send the image. Bailey's phone beeps.

"Looked like that."

Bailey's stitches tighten and twist a bit as they listen. They look... torn. Hopeful, but not wanting to be hopeful, because hope is painful when it's stolen away from you.

The beep of their phone makes them jump, as if they hadn't expected it to happen or just--aren't used to it. They dig into their coat pocket to pull it out, handling it like an old lady would with slow pokes and awkward swipes, but they go to pull up the image.

And presumably it is the image of the old cowboy toy, and Bailey just... goes still. Perfectly still. Doll-like, scarecrow-like stillness.

The hope is not precisely reflected by Teagan; it's not right to call it 'reflected' when it has its own source beneath the Mirror's liquid-dark surface. They look down at the picture on their phone that they'd just sent to Bailey, clear their throat. Don't say anything at all for a while.

When they do speak, their voice has that thin, tight quality when people are talking around a lump in their throat. Teagan can't cry, and sometimes they hate that fact. Like, now, for example. "You wanted to know if I hated you. If I resented you. If I ... " and they trail off into silence, clear their throat. "I wanted this back like someone had torn out my heart," they croak. "I -- It became my Icon. And the Armsmaster has it."

"This is the shape of my memories of you. Everything I had left of you. And I wanted it. I wanted it so much."

It's... hard to tell if Bailey is really hearing what Teagan is saying. They don't have eyes either--but their gaze has started to go... distant. Like they're staring somewhere far, far away.

They don't cry--no visible tears, but the cloth around their eyes starts to darken as it becomes wet, dripping down from their stitched eye-slits.

"Bass Reeves," they finally murmur, voice whisper soft. "Bass and his loyal mare, Justice."

They reach out one of their hands, gently resting it on Bailey's wrist. It's not their turn to talk. It's Bailey's turn to have feelings, to process, to think about things. The screen on their phone goes dark and Teagan isn't looking at it anymore; their head just tilts to the side and they watch Bailey. "Yeah?" they ask cautiously, in the silence that follows.

"That's what it was named. The toy. Bass and Justice. I think... they were named after something. A story..." Their brows crease, stitched pulling and tightening along their forehead as they try to think hard. Struggling to remember anything of who Teagan was, pulling on the vague, blurred traces of long ago bedtime stories, but falling short.

After several seconds they seem to give up, shoulders slumping with a look of frustration and despair. "I can't... remember..."

They lift their hand from Bailey's wrist to unlock their phone, pulling up a browser to taptaptap. Like Teagan remembers, either? A moment later and a couple of different spelling attempts (Teagan still isn't the best speller), they let out a soft puff of air. "Bass Reeves, born July 1838, died January 12, 1910, was an American law enforcement officer," they read out slowly, pausing to sound out words to themself occasionally. "He was the first black US deputy Marshal west of the Mississippi River. He worked mostly in Arkansas and the Oklahoma Territory." They scan onward, no longer reading out word for word.

"Born into slavery... escaped his enslaver during the Civil War... " And then they pause, pulling in a breath. "One account recalls how Bass Reeves and George Reeves, his enslaver, had an altercation over a card game. Bass severely beat his enslaver, and fled to the Indian Territory where he lived among the Cherokee, Creeks and Seminoles." The sentence ends with a short puff of sad, sharp laughter.

Bailey looks up at them and stares. Their eye-slits expand, as if eyes were widening, as they read aloud. A look of wonder and shock. And when Teagan lets out the short puff of laughter, Bailey mirrors it. A burst of pained laughter, though it continues on longer, growing softer after several seconds, trailing away then dying.

"Aint that somethin'," Bailey croaks out, looking away from them. They stare out over the park for a few seconds, then look down at Oso, staring at the dog. Then giving him a slow, detached pet. "Wanted to be him when I grew up."

"Ain't that something," Teagan mirrors back quietly. The dog warbles concernedly up at Bailey, giving them the biggest staring eyes that have ever existed. "Well," the Mirrorskin says after a while, locking their phone's screen again and sort of gesturing with one hand toward Bailey, as if to say 'you kind of did just that.'

Another laugh--softer and weaker this time, but a little less pained. Then they puff out a breath and lean back into the bench, slumping down a bit. Petting Oso is calming, though the dark wet stains under their eyes linger. They don't get larger, at least.

"Sorry," they murmur. "I just... I hadn't remembered that before." They glance back at them, not fully, just out of the corner of their stitched empty eyes. "What are you gonna do?"

They rest a hand on Bailey's wrist. "I'm going to go find the Armsmaster, and I'm going to get back my Icon, and I'm going to stop him from burning up the fucking Hedge and hurting the hobs." Teagan clears their throat sharply, and sits there in silence for a moment. "Not just me. My motley is going with me. And -- "

"And we will kill him. But just -- " But just in case, they begin, and don't quite finish the sentence. "Look." They're looking for words and can't quite find them.

Bailey isn't the best with words. But they're also not the best at masking their emotions--they didn't inherit that quality. Their expression is openly pained, full of worry and fear. I just found you, I don't want to loose you again, it says, but they can't find the words to express that either.

They inhale sharply, then shake their head, speaking up to fill the silence when Teagan is at a loss for words. "You'll kill him," they agree. "He'll die an' when ya come back we can... deal with the memories you got back. An'--an' maybe it will help me remember, too."

The sound of Teagan's voice when it comes out again is the sparest, thinnest croak, though their face is smooth and perfect, the un-reflection of Bailey's painted expression. "Oh, kid," they sigh, and unless Bailey dodges, they get wrapped up in an actual, real, and very tight hug. "Oh, kid," Teagan repeats. "Look, if I don't -- June and Sig -- "

There are sentences they can't quite finish, so they say instead: "It was all I had left of you, and it was everything I wanted." Because saying that means that proves I loved you. Just in case I don't come back, that has to prove that I loved you.

They don't resist the hug--just tensing a little, and their eyes close so tightly that their whole face wrinkles up. More wetness soaks into the cloth, and after a moment Bailey wordlessly turns into them, pressing their face hard into Teagan's shoulder. Their shoulders shake a little as emotion overwhelms them.

Sometimes there's nothing left to say, because -- for the moment, at least -- you've said everything that needs saying, and the only thing left to do is hold on to your kid while they cry. Teagan presses their face against the side of Bailey's, kissing the side of the cowboy's head, and their arms wrap around them, holding on tight. One scarred palm pets down the scarecrow's spine, and they sigh softly, "Oh, kid."

Bailey isn't much of a hugger, but this time... they don't pull away quickly. They linger in the hug for a few minutes, accepting the comfort and protection of a parent's embrace.

When the scarecrow does eventually lean away, there's a pinched look of frustration--the sorrow and confusion and fear getting wrapped up with anger, because fucking emotions, they suck ass. They seem to be making an (unsuccessful) attempt at pulling themself together, but their face is still wet and they just look soggy and miserable. They can't even wipe the tears from their face, because there's nothing to wipe away--it all just soaks into the straw and cloth.

"Sorry," they mutter, head sagged down.

Teagan wasn't, for a long time, but (not to point fingers) there were red pandas and glowing women. Who doesn't hug red pandas?

They hang on to Bailey until they lean away, letting their kid set the terms of the interaction, pretty much, and when Bailey does? They leave a hand resting on Bailey's shoulder, and reach their other hand out to rest on Bailey's cheek, thumb gently tracing over the wet patches. No, they can't literally wipe the kid's tears away, but the gesture is there. "Don't be sorry, kid," Teagan offers quietly. "There's nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all."

"I am planning on coming back, you know." Once upon a time, that wouldn't have been true. Bailey can thank the red panda for that, too.

"I know," Bailey grumbles softly. Teagan knows well enough that it's difficult to know where someone is looking exactly when they don't have eyes, but it seems like Bailey is looking away from them. They endure the tender, paternal gestures of affection--at first, but then awkwardness starts to override the comfort of having someone who actually... gives a shit. Who is family.

The scarecrow pulls back, pulling down the brim of their hat a bit, as if they could hide behind it. Because on one hand, Bailey is not a kid and they don't need to have their tears wiped away. But on the other, playing the role of loved and wanted child is... nice. They haven't grown completely comfortable in that strange, foreign place in between, just yet.

"I know," they say again, a little softer and gentler this time. "Just... just be careful."

It's a weird place to navigate. This whole thing is like watching two porcupines try to figure out how to hug. They let their hands drop, and when Bailey pulls down the brim of their hat a bit, they tug on the front of their heavy coat, pulling the charcoal-grey leather around themself like a pillbug curling up and protecting their soft underneath. A soft puff of breath at the first 'I know,' something like a wry little laugh, and Oso warbles softly, headbutting Bailey's knee gently.

Teagan rolls up to their feet, that boneless grace of theirs ending with them reaching out to tug on the brim of that hat, a little like tweaking someone's nose. Another soft puff of breath, a second near-silent bit of wry laughter. "I will, kid. I will."

"I promise."

They take a half-step back, and whistle sharply; Oso licks Bailey's straw-and-fabric hand just the once, and then withdraws with a whine, falling into step obediently next to the Mirrorskin. "You too, okay? No good coming back if there ain't anybody to come back to."

Bailey looks up at them as the hat is tugged, lips pursing briefly before they offer a weak, uncertain stare that comes close to a smile, but not quite.

Oso's whine and lick makes Bailey reach out to give him a pat before the dog slips off. They watch as the hedgebeast falls into step, a real smile spreading for a moment--then they look back up to meet Teagan's mirror-gaze.

"I will. I'll see ya soon."

"You will." There's a certain irony in that, given that following a loose salute from Teagan, they -- and a second later, Oso -- disappear.