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S: hey u wanna smash some shit?
T: damn i thought you were gonna ask if i wanted to smash
T: yeah i really do
S: I mean.
S: didnt think it was an option that was on the table
T: i don't think it is still
T: but if you think i'm missing the opportunity to make that joke
S: a girl can dream :woman_shrugging:
T: well it's nice to know i figure in those dreams
S: [Address near one of the Completed Projects. The ones with the Iron Bars.]
S: wear a mask.
S: and i think we both know uve been in my dreams a lot lately lol
T: you won't recognize my face, but i'm masking up anyway
T: oh i do know but that doesn't mean I won't tease the fuck out of you
S: be still my heart.
It's not long before Sturm's waiting at the specified address. At this time of night, it's a practically deserted street a few blocks away from the previously mentioned 'Capitalist Fucks' and one of their 'Ugly-Ass Buildings' and the Jotunn's waiting on the corner wearing a hoodie with the hood up, and her leather jacket. She's got a duffel bag over one shoulder, and is currently smoking a cigarette. Would sure suck if someone were to pop out of thin air and startle her...
And then from around a corner comes a lanky femme, six feet tall, masked up. A rust-colored corkscrew curl peeks out from under her black scarf, rather deliberately so. If it's caught on camera, that's the sort of detail people will focus on. Teagan's Mask is up firmly, the femme face's eyes a sharp and lovely blue. A baggy t-shirt and jeans, Chuck Taylors, a hoodie, a black backpack. (Baby is probably in the backpack.)
For once, Teagan doesn't pop out of thin air and startle her. "Hey, doll." Even the voice is different, higher and sweeter.
"Unusual." Sturm's low tone is uncharacteristically gravelly tonight. Probably this isn't the first cigarette she's had in the past hour. "Good to see you, though." Yes. Whatever Teagan might look like at this moment, Sturm's still happy to see them. That's the implication there. She doesn't say anything further than that, just walks across the street when the walk light flashes - and then hooks a right down the first alley she sees...
You know. For some Contract Loophole nonsense.
The Mirrorskin follows after, sliding into the darkness of the alley. "Good to see you too," they answer. "... you know, if it weren't for your height, I'd tell you that we might want to Mirrorskin you again... " But the height is kind of hard to mistake, all things considered. How many seven-foot-tall women are there in Philly?
(A couple.)
When Sturm ducks into the alley, that higher, sweeter voice murmurs, "Well, I mean, it's not what I expected... " because G-d forbid Teagan stop making fucking sex jokes for three whole seconds.
"Yeah, well. If buying pants isn't the worst part of being this fuckin' big, it's definitely trying to avoid being accused of crimes I... also definitely committed." Beat. "... and I'd say 'fuck you' but I know it'd just make things worse," Sturm unzips the duffel bag, and pulls out a big blanket. Yeah. A blanket. She scuffs the heels of her boots against the pavement as she paces down towards a dumpster.
"Especially when I tell you I need you to help me change clothes."
"... right," Teagan answers, and the femme face underneath that mask goes totally still for a moment, because there are some things that they were not prepared for and 'help me get briefly almost naked in this alley' is one of them.
Please hold, gay overload commencing.
Gay overload commencing.
Gay overload complete.
Those bright blue eyes blink a few times, and they clear their throat. "... what do you need me to do?"
"Make a blanket fort." Honestly, if Sturm had even a comedic bone in her body, a deadpan delivery for this line would absolutely fucking kill. "With the, uhh. Horrible smelling dumpster from this pizza place."
... but she's dead-ass serious - and even if she can't read the gay overload on Teagan's face, she knows it's there. How could it not be? She's listened to the playlist they made for her, after all. She tosses the blanket to Teagan, and takes off her leather jacket and hoodie, revealing those sick-ass Snowskin guns... even though it's currently 43 degrees in Philly.
Maybe the cold doesn't bother her. Err. Or something? Anyway.
Help, please, I'm dying of gay. Teagan just sort of stares at Sturm for a moment, and then harrumphs in the back of their throat, taking the blanket in hand. "We could have just done this at your place," they mutter under their breath.
With their Mask reinforced, it's possible for a blush to actually look like a blush, and the tiniest edges of it touch their face over the tops of their mask.
They make the requested blanket fort, mumbling under their breath.
"Could have, yeah. Wouldn't get to have this much fun, though." Sturm notices the blush. Hell, she's fuckin' looking for it, even. It's probably not hard to see the Jotunn's smirk as she disappears beneath the blanket. When she returns, she's wearing a ratty old white tank top - between the blood stains and the frayed hem, it seems like it's probably been in her workout clothing rotation for a while.
She fetches her overcoat from the duffel bag - stuffing the blanket, and leather jacket back into the bag - before producing a pair of construction tools: a sledgehammer, and a crowbar. "Alright, T. Pick your poison..."
They mumble under their breath, watching that blanket like there might be a poisonous animal underneath it, or possibly like they might get a glance at some boob. You know. The important things. 'Someone might kill me, or there might be some titties.'
When Sturm comes back out, wearing a ratty white tank top with blood on it the blush doesn't flirt with their skin, it colors everything except the eyes itself in what's visible of Teagan's face, and they clear their throat. "I -- uh. would not take the sledgehammer from you." Aww, their voice is a little squeaky there for a sec.
"Crowbar."
"Aww." Again, just the same fuckin' deadpan she always has. Even when she hugs the sledgehammer's metal head to her chest. "You'd let me take the implement of larger-scale destruction? You must really like me..."
... and then she winks at Teagan as she obscures her face with a black bandanna, throws her hood over her platinum-blonde hair, and tucks the sledgehammer underneath her overcoat, and out of sight.
"Would offer to Cloak you, but I think even with Ermine's you're probably still a better sneak than I am." Jesus, Sturm's laying it on thick... "So. You good to go?"
"Shut up, doll," Teagan mutters, picking up the crowbar and twirling it lazily. It's no Baby -- it has a horrible center of balance compared to the beloved machete, which is almost definitely stashed in the backpack across their back -- but it's something. They laugh a little bit, the bandana across the bottom half of their face puffing out slightly. "You know how I feel."
And if she keeps pushing them like this, they might just swing back by saying it out loud.
"I won't turn down help, if you think it'll help, but yeah, I'm ... probably the best." Cocky as fuck, as per the usual.
The good thing about sneaking around alleys at night with plans to commit vandalism? You and your star-crossed gay crush have already fulfilled all of the requirements for Cloak of Night - loophole included. Obviously. So. Sturm goes real fuckin' still again for a moment - and the darkness in the alley seems to coalesce within her shadow. There's a subtle twitch from her hand, and the Jotunn's massive silhouette expands to encompass Teagan as well.
"Careful. This ugly motherfucker's gonna probably have iron everywhere." Sturm's got a completely straight face as she mutters under her breath. "... but, uhh. I don't think I know, actually." Beat. "Maybe you oughta enlighten me?"
... though she doesn't really wait for Teagan's response - maybe a couple seconds - and then she's off, moving at a slow and deliberate pace as she leaves the mouth of the alley, and off towards that horrible fuckin' brutalist nightmare.
Nope. Nothing's getting said right now. There's another puff of breath, pushing out that air slightly, and Teagan just sighs, following after Sturm. When there's the reminder about iron? They reach into their pockets and pull out a pair of leather gloves, pulling those onto their hands. "Yeah. I had kind of forgotten."
Their voice would sound flat whether or not they had Rigid Mask up. Last time iron happened in their life, it was kind of a trauma moment. Once their gloves are on, they follow after Sturm. But sorry, Sturm, they do their own stunts stealth rolls.
Sturm knows. She wouldn't have expected any less from the more skilled Darkling. The Bruiser may dabble, but she'll give credit where credit is due.
The pair of Changelings roll up on what has to be one of the ugliest buildings in the city; an awful, concrete nightmare with harsh, blocky edges, and a disgusting burnt orange color scheme. Y'know, the kind of sight that makes listening to religious talk radio - or watching a gridlocked Republican congress on C-SPAN - seem enlightening by comparison. Sturm steps into the shadows, unveiling her sledgehammer, and patting it against her gloved open palm.
"Okay, so. Obviously we wanna try and take down some of the awful fuckin' iron bars - but keep an eye out for anything else that might look iron-y enough to warrant removal." Beat. "In fact we'd probably better case the motherfucker, first, because once we start swinging we're on a timer..."
There's a soft voice from the shadows behind her, but Sturm proooobably can't place where Teagan is right now, given the givens. "I mean, sort of. This is still the Northeast, no matter how fucking bougie it is. But yeah, we should count on only having about twenty minutes or so once we start making noise."
A pause. "Can you just walk up buildings?" With the implication, of course, that they can do so.
"Oh, I know. This is my neck of the woods, remember?" Beat. "... but there's a lot of money getting poured into these fuckin' eyesores, though, so I wouldn't bank on having the full twenty." Sturm blinks a few times, looking around for Teagan. "No. I can walk into buildings, but... no. Walking up them eludes me. Can you rectify that - or is it just the line for our division of labor?"
Teagan's laughter is so soft that it's barely audible, which is in line with, you know, staying hidden. It's kind of what's necessary. They can't laugh that big broken-glass laugh of theirs without, y'know, people hearing it. "Fair enough," they answer, and clear their throat. "I cannot rectify that in the moment, but if you want to learn it later, that's a different story. That's the line for our division of labor."
"Alright, then I guess that means it's time to start fuckin' smashing shit, and we'll see how much gets accomplished before we start to hear sirens." Sturm runs her hands along the shaft of the sledgehammer - pacing towards the closest window that has iron bars over it. The Jotunn raises the hammer over her head, poised to strike. "Things shall get loud now."
Oh yeah. As cool as she might seem in this moment, Sturm's still a fuckin' dork that paints Warhammer minis.
The Jotunn swings her sledgehammer at the iron bars - and fuckin' a, these motherfuckers are sturdy. Looks like they might take more than one swing - and with that sickening realization, the race is on.
And now is the time when two of the Freeholders probably terrify people who are just trying to get some sleep in their very expensive homes by starting to pry off bars. Teagan pops off one fairly quickly, and there's a strange expression that slides across their face -- even hidden as it is -- when they hold the iron bar briefly in their hand. They drop it like it's hot, and not in the sexy way, before trying to pry another bar loose.
This time when Sturm swings, it just fuckin' obliterates the already weakened bars - and the horrible, tearing sound of iron being wrenched from concrete rends the night air. Y'know, as if the sound of a fuckin' giant swinging a hammer wasn't loud enough. It's probably a good thing Sigrun isn't here, too. Sturm swinging a hammer was probably the last sight of many an Einherjar in the moments just before their heads turned into goo...
For some values of smashing, this is the kind of smashing Teagan likes. Look, they do enjoy this kind of smashing. It's just maybe not the kind of smashing they really would prefer to be doing with Sturm right now, but that, at least, we have maybe covered by now.
They drop piles of iron bars by the windows, their gloved fingers leaving no fingerprints, and when there's movement inside the condos, Teagan hisses "Go! Go! They're awake. Fuckers might tape us or some shit." Last thing they need is to end up on YouTube or some nonsense, after all. And having given that warning, Teagan peels out down the sidewalk, counting on Sturm to keep up. They know this neighborhood well enough to cut through a few alleys and lose any pursuit -- though the cops are surely minutes away.
Once Sturm is able to re-contextualize her actions, the work begins to go significantly faster. In this moment, she's not a warrior swinging for a precise blow - she's a sixteen year old fuck up about to take off with someone's jewelry, and just givin' the motherfucker a solid whack is more than enough. She loses herself for a moment - in the mechanical comfort of a slowly-returning muscle memory - but Teagan's voice snaps her out of it. She lowers the hammer, and takes off after the Mirrorskin without another thought.
Sure, this isn't the kind of workout she'd like to be getting, but there's a certain thrill to it. Sturm's a bit slower than Teagan - probably like four points of some esoteric measurement of speed - but she lived in this part of Philly for fucking ever, and even though she can hear sirens in the distance, she'll find her own way out. She ducks through alleys and side streets until she manages to find a quiet spot where she can sink back into the shadows, and change into a less conspicuous coat - and also hide the fuckin' sledgehammer. Before too long, she's back at her own place and firing off a text message.
S: u get out alright?
It takes a little while before Teagan can answer, because as soon as they realize that Sturm isn't right behind them, they duck into the first open door they find, and end up in Downtime. Shucking off their clothes, scrubbing up, returning their face to rights, they step back into the real about twenty minutes later.
Enough time for Sturm to worry, maybe. Oops.
Damn cats.
T: yeah sorry i took a shortcut home
S: lol i shouldve assumed that was the case rather than worrying
T: well nice to know you worry
T: but i'm okay
T: sorry to freak you out
S: i mean of course i worry
S: i worry all the damn time lol
T: yeah fair
T: i'm home tho
T: gonna have to come back out shortly in a weird part of town and get a lyft home tho heh
T: oops
S: i can pick u up if u want?
T: that would be cool
S: lmk know where u come out and ill head over once i finish my smoke
S: oh n thanks for the help - n for not asking too many questions :p
T: any excuse to smash with you doll
S: oh i know i was watchin u blush for practically the whole time
S: my how the tables have turned...
T: yeah yeah
S: sturm can have a little queer gaze as a treat :p
S: n e how. Im heading to the truck. Txt me ur location n ill see u in a few
T: sturm can has yes
T: ok doll
T: [google maps location about seven blocks from the vandalism site]
S: see you soon
... and pretty soon, Sturm's ancient-ass pickup truck comes rolling 'round the block - and pulls up alongside the curb. She throws open the passenger door to let Teagan into the cabin, puts something (probably British Steel) into the CD player, and then heads out towards DA's ironside home.
Oh, and the ride home was probably hella gay, too.
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