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For the past few nights, Sturm's been having unusual dreams - the kind that spiral away from her like water down a drain when she wakes, leaving her with nothing but a set of very familiar, conflicted, and intense feelings. The kind of things she felt when she met Sigrun for the first time.
... and so, Sturm finds herself dragging Teagan through the Gate of Ivory once more - but this time, into a very different dreamscape. The pair float about a hundred feet above a street that's recognizable as a youthful Sturm's old stomping grounds, but rather than street signs and brownstones, they now find carved runes - and row upon row of viking longhouses.
Smoke from a block's worth of fire pits billows upward into the frigid air, and a deafening clap of thunder shatters the otherwise silent night, drawing attention to a terrible storm brewing on the horizon. Out in the distance, in a frozen over, mountainous landscape, the towering silhouette of an under-construction Bell Atlantic Tower juts between icy peaks. It's incomplete, red granite features illuminated only by the infrequent flashes of lightning. It's... somehow off, but the Philadelphia skyline fits into this place - much in the same way the longhouses sit on streets better suited to rowhouses.
The Mirrorskin is used to People's Difficult Dreams, and people's weird dreams, but no matter how much they're prepared, it's always a little weird to find yourself looking down on longhouses where you know there are townhouses. Teagan in dreams remains the idealized version of themself, somehow more distant and ineffable now than they've ever been. Their broken-mirror gaze sweeps across the cityscape in the dream, and they take a slow breath in. "Okay."
Once more into the breach.
Sturm appears much as she had in the previous dream. Her idealized self - though there's no bright sunlight for her to bask in. A particularly bright bolt of lightning arcs through the sky - sending a sharp beam of light refracting, splintering, and shimmering through the cracks and scars in Sturm's body.
"Fuck, so. Remember when I said the last one was weird? I take it back. This is weird." She looks down at a hunched form - blue-ish features lit only by the glow of a cigarette - on the stoop of the longhouse where her home ought to be. "So. Eidolons and shit. How do we start detangling this," Sturm gestures around her, brow furrowing. "... fucked up nonsense? Do I do what Sig did and go into the Eidolon, or...?"
Oh yeah, this is like the second time she's done this.
"It looks like kind of -- your brain is smashing multiple memories together. So the question is, what's important? Like, we can take something that is minor and make it more important, so it becomes more prevalent. We can... move through the dream and see what we can find, or... "
"I mean, you can. Otherwise I'm going to end up experiencing whatever you experience," Teagan explains. "Which, like, I will, if that's what you need. So you don't have to do it alone." That crack of lighting sends strange silver shimmers across Teagan's skin, and crackles through their broken-mirror eyes.
"I..." She clears her throat. "Thank you." Sturm looks as though she might be sick to her stomach as she looks down at the street, frown in place as though it were armor. "Wanna see whatever the fuck we see with my own eyes - and I'm sorry that... means you've got to experience it, too."
The door to the longhouse opens, and another shadow-y figure steps out onto the porch. This one has long hair, gangly proportions, and is carrying a bag. A round, very modern-seeming suitcase. "Let's get this shit over with, then..."
The Jotunn's oneiropomp descends - close enough to key into the hurried conversation the pair of figures are having. The more gangly of the two remains almost entirely in shadows - even with the closed distance - until they, too, are handed a lit cigarette that illuminates their features... and though the other figure appears to be a man, it's easy to see... certain similarity between Sturm's features, and those of the larger individual.
"I'm here for you, doll," reiterates the Mirrorskin in their oddly calm way, and they slowly descend, following after Sturm. They're consciously attempting to remember, watching for details, trying to pick out what's important, and let go what isn't, while at the same time being there for Sturm. One of their hands rises to briefly touch the other oneiropomp's forearm. A reassurance. An anchoring. Yes, I'm here.
"- fuck that." The smaller of the two waves a hand dismissively, and then proceeds in a hushed tone. "It is never going to get any better - and you're as dumb as Ma' if you think that steady work is going to make that man less of a fuckin' asshole." Dream Sturm simply grunts in response. Some things never change, it seems.
Lightning cracks the sky, illuminating the figures in their entirety. The smaller of the two seems to be dressed in a kind of chain shirt - a sleeveless, armored tunic that looks like it might be a few sizes too big. It clutches the suitcase to it's chest, and a clap of thunder drowns out the larger figure's next words.
The Mirrorskin's attention is devoted not as much as it should be to the conversation, at least not at the moment. They try to slide into the shadows, but, uh, the shadows in dreams are peculiar and particular and don't always work like shadows should; Teagan's steadfast nature saves it from being a true failure, however, and they listen, casting a quick sidelong glance at Sturm. Checking in.
"I remember this," Real-Sturm seems to pale a shade, and she shoves her hands into her pockets. "This is me and my brother. Uhh... one of the last times we spoke, actually."
There's another flash of lightning. This time when the figures are illuminated - even though it's only for a half of a second - Teagan can very clearly see a painted image on the rounded end of the smaller figure's bag: a knotwork image of Yggdrasil.
"Don't fuckin' defend him! Look at what he's-" the armored figure catches themself, dropping their volume appropriately, now that the sky is quiet once more. "Have you seen your fucking face?" They sigh - a plea in their tone as they continue. "Come on, I can't sit through this shit anymore..."
The larger figure takes a long drag from their cigarette. "You're the fuckin' favorite..." Real-Sturm groans next to Teagan. "... and you can't sit through it anymore? Fuck off..."
Yeah, Teagan doesn't really have a clue about what's going on. They can't read the situation worth a damn, and a frustrated press of their lips betrays how little they really get the fine points of what's going on. Their gaze hands on the tree -- that, at least, they recognize, and their jaw juts out slightly. "What happened to him? Or -- " Blame the fact that they're asking dumb questions on not being able to get a read on the situation. Oops?
"He, uhh. Fucks off," Sturm grumbles. Her frown deepens. "Just like I told him to. Grabs his shit without another word, takes his car, and gets the fuck out of Dodge." Beat. "We... haven't spoken since. Might have if I hadn't, uhh. Well, you know... but." She trails off.
... but. Unlike in the series of events that Real-Sturm describes, the smaller figure continues to speak. "Fuck that gig, dude. I can't do this without you-" they hold up their hand as if to strike something from the record. "Well, I can but I don't want to have to fight with you, too."
In the span of another flash of lightning - a jarring scene change - Dream-Sturm and her "brother" are standing opposite one another in a great meadhall. Weapons in hand.
... and then, as if nothing had happened, the relatively peaceful conversation snaps back into place. Both figures in place exactly as they were. "Seems like a much better solution for both of us if you go back inside the house, pack your shit while I grab the Horn... and then we both get the fuck out of here, yeah?"
There's a moment where Teagan might have said something else, but then there's a crack, an overlap, an the flash of lighting. "Wait." The Mirrorskin turns their attention to the bag, to the smaller figure.
"You saw that, right?" And they pull on the shadows hard, as if to make a cloak from them, but then release them at the last minute, just before they fully fade from sight. A quick step toward the mouth of an 'alley' between the longhouses, and Teagan reaches into a trash can, pulling out a functioning tape recorder. "Perfect. Okay. Now. What the fuck. I don't -- I think your brain is conflating two memories. You're assigning your brother both roles."
"I did," Sturm grumbles. Her frown is gone, and only visible confusion can be found where it once was. "This, uhh. Isn't how it's supposed to go, obviously." Beat. "... and I have no fuckin' idea what that means, Teagan."
Without another word, Dream-Sturm nods. The pair drop their cigarettes, grinding them into the pavement beneath their boots - leaving their faces shrouded in shadows, save for the occasional flash of lightning.
Sturm follows them both into the house - and what greets her is an absurd sight. The interior of the longhouse is far larger than real-world physics should allow - and lit by an enormous, crackling firepit. Scattered throughout the hall, it's easy to pick out bits of furniture that obviously stand out against the backdrop. A hideously upholstered couch. A coffee pot. A stereo. A handmade kitchen table and chairs - the kind Teagan might recognize as having set at.
"Your brain is trying to make sense of stuff it can't quite remember by making -- I think you just saw Sigrun but your brain doesn't know how to understand a memory it doesn't have all the pieces to so it's giving that part to your brother instead." The Mirrorskin pushes into the longhouse, and they look at the 'brother' closely, walking up to and around him, staring at him as if they could force the brother to take on Sigrun's role. "The thing about the Horn. Sigrun said that -- Sig said that she had an accomplice. That they stole the Horn, and it put Old One-Eyed Fuckface and his buddies to sleep."
"Oh..." is all the Jotunn can muster in response. "Oh."
The two exchange nods, and then head off in separate directions. The "brother" seems to melt away as he turns a corner towards the left-hand side of the meadhall - which looks oddly similar to the section of hallway that heads towards Sturm's living room in meatspace.
The eidolon heads through a door at the back of the hall - which leads into Sturm's kitchen. Almost exactly as it appears - sans scale - in the waking world. Around the table there're three snoring Jotunn - louder than the thunder outside - and empty beer cans litter the floor.
Sturm follows into the room, making a disgusted noise. She looks up at her eidolon as it tip-toes extra carefully through the aluminum minefield - holding it's breath while passing one giant in particular. An older man with close-cropped (but definitely thinning) blonde hair. The eidolon fetches a great club from the countertop - a twisted, gnarled thing made of blackened wood, and banded with strips of iron...
The Mirrorskin follows after the eidolon, watching intently. They're picking up details as best they can, filing away everything so they can sort through it with Sturm later. Right now? Right now is the time to watch, and gather information. They remember how hard it was on Sigrun to get through the end of this, and so they extend a hand back to Sturm in offering. They said they'd be here for this. "Yeah," Teagan whispers back at her. "I learned that word the other day so I keep using it. Sorry." When someone who isn't very educated learns a new word, they use it. A lot. Okay, so everyone does that. Teagan must have heard 'conflating' on a podcast.
Sturm takes Teagan's hand when it's offered. An anchor. The eidolon grabs the club, and moves silently back towards the kitchen's entrance - and passes back into the meadhall. Well. What should have been the meadhall.
When Teagan and Sturm follow back through the doorway, they find themselves in a long, dimly-lit hallway - just like the one in Sturm's home - and the front door is ajar. Her brother comes up from the den - closing the door behind him - carrying the suitcase in one hand, with a duffel bag over slung over his shoulder. "Ready to get the fuck out of here?"
The eidolon nods, bracing it's shoulder against the door, and pushing it open with a grunt. Her brother steps through the door - into the fucking Hedge - spinning the keys around his index finger...
The Mirrorskin's fingers squeeze tightly on Sturm's -- even in the dream, there's a funny little squeak, of ice against glass, and they look at the brother-who-maybe-isn't, jaw tightening. The suitcase gets a long stare from Teagan, because they're fairly sure that's the mental substitute for the Horn that Sigrun was talking about. "It's gonna get hard from here," Teagan murmurs quietly to Sturm. "For both of us. So hang on, okay? If shit goes sideways, call June. You'll know if you need to." And then they pick up the pace, following the pair into the Hedge.
The sudden change in clarity and recognition is terrible and jarring as Dream-Sturm passes through the doorway - and it is suddenly far too small for her to pass through. She drops the warclub - clawing violently - reaching out for anything on the other side of the hole that might present a point of leverage as she forces herself through the thorns and layer upon layer of her icy skin peels away until what's left of her is small enough to fit.
Then, the Jotunn is on all fours, vision swimming. She looks down a fork in the path, catching a glimpse of her brother, no - the nigh unrecognizable wreckage of what was definitely not her brother - and she screams. Raw, throat-wrenching agony escapes her mighty lungs as an invisible something - no, ten invisible somethings - pierce her already bleeding back, and drag her screaming back through the hole.
... and the dreamscape begins to fade.
It's a horrifying sequence to witness, and the Mirrorskin hisses out a breath through gritted teeth as they follow the self-flagellating -- literally, flaying herself on the thorns -- Snowskin out into the Hedge. Almost the whole way. Almost.
They had a terrible, terrible premonition that this was going to be how it would all end, but seeing it play out? Feeling, if not literally, the piercing in their back as Sturm gets dragged back? It shakes Teagan, and even as the dreamscape fades and they start to wake, their hands stretch out, grabbing for the Jotunn. As if they could unmake the past and make it possible for her to escape with Sigrun, and in the moment between sleep and waking, eidolon and psychopomp are one and the same. Whether it's a dream-object or the real woman, the Mirrorskin reaches out.
For Sturm, waking up is excruciating - and basically instantaneous. Her eyes are wide, skin drenched with cold sweat, and her breaths come out labored and ragged. Teagan reaches out, but the Jotunn barely - if at all - notices the touch, throwing herself off of the couch and to her feet. "Jesus fuck," the words escape in a loud, harsh growl - and she hunches over, nearly vomiting. "Jesus fuck," she repeats, barely above a whisper this time. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck."
The Mirrorskin is on their feet a second later, chasing after Sturm quite literally in the real as they were in the dream. "Doll," Teagan says, their own voice shaking -- how could it not be? -- as they follow after her. They're barefoot, their boots next to the couch, Baby sitting on the side table, wrapped in their heavy briarwolf leather coat, and as she's hunched over, they can actually reach her head without climbing her like a tree as they've previously threatened to do. Unless they get pushed away, their tattooed arms wrap around her shoulders, long-fingered hand cradling the back of her horned head as if she's inestimably delicate. "You're awake," they assure her. "You're here. I'm here."
Inestimably delicate is probably a good way to describe Sturm's head, actually, because right now it feels like somebody took a baseball bat to it while she was sleeping. She's supporting her head with her palms, elbows braced against her knees as she leans into Teagan for balance. She stays like that for a good five minutes or so, before gently shrugging the Mirrorskin's arm from her shoulders - just so she can stand up - and when she's upright again, she's managed to set her jaw into place.
Though it's definitely a shaky prospect, still...
They hold on to her as long as she lets them, their fingers knit into her long white hair -- or perhaps her long white braid, loosened by sleep -- and they just ... support her, their nose pressed against the side of her head, taking long, slow breaths. She's not the only one shaken, after all, and the strength they take from her is as important as that which they give. The chill of the Snowskin fogs up Teagan's glassy skin, and their warm breath leaves tiny crystals on her icy skin where it courses over her skin, leaving its own little craquelure pattern.
When she shrugs their arms away, they let go, however reluctantly. "Doll," they offer quietly, almost reproachfully, when her jaw sets. Unspoken, the undertow in that single word. You don't have to do that with me. Or maybe that doesn't fool me anymore.
She looks, for a moment, like she might keep it in place - until she hears that one word, and the stoic expression cracks. "Fuuuuck," she whines, shutting her eyes tightly, and reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose with one hand... and blindly reaching out for Teagan's hand with the other.
"What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?" Her voice is barely above a breath. "How does this help - like, I know it does, but please explain it to me so my head knows it was worth it."
Both of their hands close around Sturm's, and Teagan steps in closer, resting their cheek against her arm. It's one step shy of a kiss, perhaps, and one step shy of a hug, for certain. But both of their hands close around her much larger one, and Teagan lets out a long, slow sigh. "You know the truth now. Both of you do, doll," Teagan murmurs softly, against her muscular bicep. "You know that the two of you tried to escape together. You know that you planned to leave together. That you were on the same side when it counted. You weren't each other's enemies."
"You were the best ally each other had in that fucked-up place." They take in a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Fuck." Boy, they are not looking forward to telling Sigrun what they saw.
Sturm takes a deep, shuddering breath - and her jaw wobbles dangerously as she struggles to keep her shit together. For at least long enough to lose it in private.
She holds tightly to whichever of Teagan's hands is in hers, and she leans into them. Not her full weight, obviously, but enough of it that they're helping keep her up.
"Yeah..." She hangs her head - taking another, much steadier breath. "Fuck."
For once, there's no quip coming back at Sturm, just Teagan leaning into them. When she leans back against them? They let go with one hand, if only so they can loop that arm back around her shoulders, cradle the back of her head once more. "You know," Teagan says very quietly indeed, so the words don't carry. Not that there's anyone else here, but if anyone was, only the two of them would be able to hear it. "I think at this point it's kind of okay to not -- uh." They stop, and laugh softly. "I don't think... you need to hide from me how fucked up this is."
"I was kinda there."
"Yeah, I-" the word seems to catch in her throat and she can go no further with the sentence. She clears her throat and gulps audibly, but no amount of trying to clear that lump seems to do a damn thing for her ability to speak. So, instead she just keeps her eyes anywhere besides Teagan - because she isn't gonna survive being told it's okay to cry another time...
It's ironic, really, because the Mirrorskin has cried exactly one time in all the time that June has known them; of course, their eyes aren't even really built for it. What happens, does it just leak from between the mosaic bits? Their fingers slide back into the back of her hair, and they lean into her. "Doll," they murmur, once more. "Seriously. You can pretend with everyone else on this planet if you want to that nothing hurts you, but you can't pretend with me anymore."
"Goddamnit," the ogre's voice cracks as she pushes the word out. She looks up at the ceiling, focusing on the blades of her moving fan... which only accentuates the coolness of the now-freely flowing tears against her cheeks.
She turns her head - hopefully fast enough to avoid being seen - to bury her face in Teagan's shoulder. She almost makes it there before a gasping, audible sob escapes from her mouth - but thankfully the Mirrorskin's clothing will probably muffle the rest... right?
They let go of her hand, then, and both of their arms wrap around her shoulders, fingers threaded into her hair. There's nothing more to say, is there? She's leaned down, sobbing into the Mirrorskin's shoulder, and they just sort of rock back and forth, making low, consoling sounds in the back of their throat. They don't tell her that it's all right, because it's not all right. They don't tell her that everything's going to be okay, because they don't know that either. Instead, what they say is:
"I know."
Because that, at least, is true.
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