|
The best way to avoid people while also making yourself useful? Trod patrol. Or in this case, also Trod maintenance. And thus Teagan eventually tracks Bailey down, fairly far from the Freehold, in a patch where a narrow river carves its way through the Hedge. A natural bridge grows over it, a thick log with knotted vines wide enough for people to easily walk over.
Bailey has their jacket and boots thrown off on the ground, their pants rolled up to their knees as they wade through the shallow river. Debris from the earthquake had washed down stream and built up, creating a dam that was causing water to rise on one side of the bridge. And so Bailey works, grabbing up branches and stones to haul to the side of the river and toss up out of the way.
In a tree nearby, a giant crow griffin lounges, draped over two thick branches and snoring idly.
They appear not too far away from Bailey, but not too close, either. Some twenty feet away from Bailey, and forty feet away from the griffin, crouched on the branch of another tree. Their machete hangs from their hip, heavy charcoal-grey leather coat draped around them and hanging down past the branch. Teagan looks -- tired -- mostly. As much as it's easy to see their emotions if a person isn't used to reading the microexpressions that telegraph their feelings.
The Mirrorskin calls, from their perch, "Hey."
Bailey, hauling up a branch, wheels around and looks for a moment like they might chuck the branch at Teagan, or at least use it to bash something if it got too close.
The scarecrow looks tired too. The threads under their eyes are a little looser, which in their mask probably translates to dark circles.
Slowly the branch is lowered as Bailey stares up at them. Then they half turn away to toss it up onto the pile by the shore. "Hey."
"I can go," Teagan offers quietly, sliding down to sit on the branch they've commandeered, letting their combat-booted feet hang in the space beneath the branch. Scarred palms rest on the branch, long mirror-dark fingers gripping it, and they press their lips into a thin line, then let out a long, slow breath. "I don't have to be here. I just -- "
The crow griffin cracks open one large black eye to blink in Teagan's direction sleepily, but then it shifts around to curl up and continue snoozing.
"No... it's fine," Bailey mutters, and seems to mean it--but still continues focusing on dragging out debris from the water. Because having something else to focus on helps everything feel less overwhelming. "You can stay."
They spend a moment turning their head to look at the griffin, and then push themself up to walk along the branch, casually toward the trunk of the tree, and then walk right down the trunk of said tree like it's nothing. Like they're casually walking down the street. It's one of their favorite tricks, so. Once they get to the ground, they tuck their hands into the pockets of their coat. "Do you want to talk about it?" Teagan asks, keeping their distance but also closing the distance a little bit. Coming to the edge of the water.
They puff out a breath, staring down the length of the stream before turning back to look up at where Teagan now stands. Their expression is... strained. Looking a little lost.
"Maybe. I dunno. Don' really know where to start."(edited)
One hand rises to scratch the back of their head. "I guess that depends on how much you want to know?" Their voice rises into a question mark, and they turn their head to look off up the trod, offering Bailey their profile. It's not an unfamiliar one, but at least it isn't exactly the face that they saw fall apart into rubbish and ruin. "Or how much you think you want to know." Because what we actually want to know and what we think we want to know are sometimes two different things.
Bailey stares quietly for a moment at their profile, hesitating as they note the familiarity, the echo of the memory--then looks away. "I came to Philly lookin' for answers about who I was Before. Just... didn' think I'd find the past starin' back at my face." They inhale a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Seems cowardly to run away from the answers now, don' it?"
"Yeah, well. Looking for something doesn't mean you won't hate what you find," answers the Mirrorskin, and their jaw gets pushed out a little, set hard, as they let out a little puff of breath through their nose. Their shoulders rise and then fall slowly; they take a deep breath, hold it. Let it go slowly.
"The man that my Fetch was lynched for murdering... " and then they swallow, hard. "That was the other half of your genetic material." Beat. "Your biological father."
There's a looong pause as Bailey stares down at the water flowing around their legs. Their stitched on brows crease, folding together in between their brows.
"Did the Fetch do it?"
"Nope."
They swallow. "You are fifteen years younger than I am," Teagan offers, as if that explains everything. "You are forty years younger than your father." They don't look at him, they don't move. They just look off into the near distance. "I have killed a lot of men in the past hundred years, Bailey."
"No one deserved it like he did."
"I'm not sorry."
They blink slowly as this settles in. There's no anger or resentment that shows on their face, just... shocked acceptance. It's hard to feel resentful for a man you don't even remember and a day before didn't even know existed. After exhaling another deep breath, they nod. "Okay."
Bailey gives up on working, moving to climb out of the stream. Their cloth legs have soaked up water, and make sloshing noises as they walk. They step past Teagan to walk to the center of the bridge, where they just... sink down, legs dangling over the edge, water steadily drip-dripping off their bare feet. They stare down into the flowing waters below.
"Sounds like you... remember a lot." It's half hopeful, half afraid.
"More than I want to," confesses the Mirrorskin; only now do they turn their head to follow the path of their child's movement. "More than I want to." Their shoulders hunch a little more, and then they pull off their heavy leather greatcoat, unhook Baby from their hip, and wrap the blade in the grey leather. Then they quietly unlace their boots, leaving them where they step out of them, socks too. But the wrapped-up blade is brought with them and set on the bridge when they sit down. They're here to talk to their kid, but they're not dumb enough to put their machete out of arm's reach when they're in the Hedge, even on the Trod. Teagan leaves about half their reach in space between themself as Bailey when they sit down on the bridge, resting their forearms on their knees. "What do you want to know?"
"I guess... anythin' about me. What I was like. What our home was like. Where it is--was? And... your dog was there, right? Just... anything." Bailey is quiet a moment, still staring down at the river. "Was there anythin' good?"
They bring their hands up and cover their face, then, and let out a heavy breath. "I don't -- actually -- remember you at all." Their voice is thin, reedy, like their throat is closing up around the words. "I think that -- probably -- the part of me that remembers you and your sister? It's out there, somewhere." A limp gesture with one of their scarred hands. "Oso remembers you. Oso is why I know you exist." There's bitterness, there, and they swallow it.
"Our house was -- is, kind of -- in Northeast. It wasn't a bad neighborhood at the time. It got abandoned after -- " A beat. "And we burned it down a couple years ago." A twitch of the corners of their mouth, and they turn their wrist, showing Bailey the wire-wrapped chunk of marble they wear on their left wrist. "From the front step. I sat there with my sisters, sometimes. That wasn't all bad." And a look off down the creek bed.
"There must have been," Teagan answers them, turning to look at Bailey, now, for the first time in a long while. "Because Oso loves you. Oso was so -- happy -- to think that you might have been with me. But I don't -- remember you. Yet. And that, I'm sorry about." Even if it's probably not their fault. "I wish I did. You deserve that from me."
"Oh."
It's a heavy word, and a heavy silence that follows. The disappointment and upset at not being remembered is... clear on their face, as the stitches around their eyes and lips tighten. It doesn't get any better as Teagan continues, though they do glance towards the piece of marble on Teagan's wrist. But the news of the home being destroyed, the realization that there's nothing left of that place for them to find, it leaves them looking... helpless.
They don't seem to know what to say, or even really capable of saying anything. But they nod slowly in quiet acceptance of their apology.(edited)
"I was talking to Sturm last night." A pause, and Teagan pulls in a breath through their teeth. "And I think that... " They turn their hands up on their knee, sort of helplessly. "I think that I need to go and find the part of me that remembers you. I've been -- avoiding -- remembering anything about who I used to be, more than I already did, because so much of it hurt so much." They lick their lips. "I must have loved you."
A small, sad little smile aside. "How could I not? You were something good from something bad. Something innocent. Something real." Silence, heavy and painful. "The empty place where you are supposed to be is -- like being a mirror again. And you deserve better from me."
"What if you didn't? Love us." Is what Bailey says first, head tipping to look Teagan in the face. "What if you just saw us as an extension of his... of what he did to you. Of the life you were forced into."
"Then I get to love you now," Teagan answers with the swiftness of someone who probably spent the whole night thinking about exactly that question, with the quiet, fierce certainty of Summer's longest, hottest day, the sort of persistent furnace-blast torridity that wilts flowers and sends the hardiest men running for ice water and shady siestas. "When that man has been dead for a hundred years, and cannot hurt us ever again."
Bailey's skin doesn't allow for tears to bead and fall, but the burlap under their eyes starts to darken and turn wet. They stare at the Mirrorskin for a long moment, the burning intensity and truth in their words helping to ease some of their fear, but not all.
They nod slowly, keeping eye contact for a moment more before looking back down at the river below. "Do you remember getting Taken?"
The thing about eye contact with Teagan is that it isn't, really. Bailey, rather than Teagan's eyes, sees bits and pieces of their burlap and stitchery reflected back at them, and there's a subtle wince across their mother's face. It's always sort of An Event the first time someone really sees themself reflected back from Teagan.
"I do." One hand reaches over to carefully touch Bailey's wrist. "It was an accident."
Their hand twitches a bit at the touch, but they don't pull away. "I reckon if it don' involve me, it's not really any of my business," Bailey says after a thoughtful pause. "Ya ain't gotta talk about it unless you wanna."
"It's how I left you," Teagan answers quietly, letting their hand rest on Bailey's wrist. Not advancing the contact, but not backing away from it. "I think it is kind of your business." They press their lips together, the way Teagan does when they're thinking, looking for the beginning of a story, or a thread to pull.
"My brother got me Oso. I remember that. A present, but I don't remember why. Maybe just an excuse to have a dog. Some way he could protect me." They rub the thumb of their other hand against their own knee. "I don't know. But I think it's -- how I know that he never hurt you kids. Because he tried to kill Oso, and that's when I killed him." A pause, and then they just charge forward. "I stabbed him with a butcher knife. A lot."
"Some Hedge gates open if you have blood on your hands and touch a doorway. At least... when I ran away? That's what happened to me. And ... Oso followed me."
"It was an accident. I was afraid."
"That... makes some sense," Bailey replies, seeming to take this story a little better, at least. There's another nod, a little quicker this time. Less lost. "I believe you. That... you didn't mean to go." A beat pause. "Sounds like... in a fucked up way, it saved you. Could'a been the real you that was lynched."
"Yeah. I got captured by privateers. Sold off." There's a little snort, there. Having been sold off either literally or metaphorically? Sort of a theme of Teagan's early life. "I didn't mean to go," they affirm again, and their hand rests a little less lightly on Bailey's wrist. Just keeping that contact.
Silence, then. "Hunh." They hadn't actually thought about that, apparently. "Yeah, I guess that's so."
Bailey's hand slowly relaxes in Teagan's grip, until they're resting in it rather than just enduring it. The tension in their face eases a little as well. As if talking is becoming a little less actively painful, though still... hard. It wasn't going to stop being hard anytime soon.
"So there were... others. I had a sister. And you had sisters and brothers. And... parents?"
A little nod of their head -- just the most most minute gesture, as their hand relaxes a little more on top of Bailey's wrist, the anxiety of touch leaching away a little at a time. "Yeah. They're -- sort of ... feelings more than memories. At least right now. Shadows and emotions. We're, uh, Dominican-American. I grew up Catholic."
"Dominican..." Bailey echoes, blinking slowly. "I always figured I wasn' white, lookin' at my Mask, but--didn' know that. Wonder if there's any of 'em still around. Eh... Well, not likely, but... maybe their kids. Or grandkids." Their voice is less heavy now, more just... talking. Rambling the thoughts flitting in and out of their head. "Wouldn't mind knowing what happened to... her. My sister."
"Your... great-grandfather, my grandfather, brought my dad to the United States somewhere around the time of the Civil War. I was one of the younger kids." This is probably more than Teagan has said to anyone about their history, ever, and possibly the most they've acknowledged actually having blood family in the last hundred years. "There were a lot of us, but I can't remember how many, exactly. A lot of kids died young, back then. No vaccines, no... you know. It was just not good." A gentle squeeze on their wrist. "I wouldn't mind, either. I, uh. I never knew how to read, because it wasn't, you know. No one thought I needed to. So I was pretty stubborn about it for a while."
"Once I found out that you two existed, my motley started teaching me. So I could find out. So I could find what happened to you."
Bailey's lips twitch upwards. Teagan may not enjoy talking about it, but knowing their family's lost history seems a relief to the scarecrow. Tradition, the past, it all rings so very important for the old one. Something seems to have sparked in their gaze, a hunger to find out more about where they came from--before they were born, before Teagan was even born. But that can come later.
"I don't know how to read or write either," Bailey confesses, then puffs out a breath. "Heh. Kinda ironic timin' then, for all this, innit?"
Their smile broadens a little, grows a little less sad, a little less wry, when Bailey's expression starts to change. That hunger isn't theirs, but it's something they can understand, and something they can help with.
The wryness returns, just then, and they gently bump their shoulder against his. "Well, you're in luck, then. I have heard it said that it's generally speaking supposed to be your parents who teach you to read. And we have a whole bunch of books that Adora -- err, Sigrun -- and JuneyJune got to help me to learn."
Their expression stills a little, and they turn their head to look at Bailey, fractions of burlap and segments of stitches reflecting back to them.
And what they say is: "I think it's perfect."
And what they mean is: I think you're perfect.
Their nose wrinkles up a little at the thought of being taught to read. Teagan isn't the only one who can be stubborn about it. And maybe a trace of discomfort at being taught by Teagan, at falling into that traditional roll of mother and child so quickly. "Mmm... Maybe," they reply, noncommittal.
Then they go still, their head tilted to stare at the Mirrorskin. Perfectly still, barely a stray straw moving in the light breeze. Even when they do move, when their mouth opens and closes, they don't know what to say. Which is common, it seems, when they're feeling Feels.
So instead they just nod slowly.
They shrug their shoulders, and don't push the matter. Their motley had to work around them not being able to read for literally three years before they found something that made them want to learn. It isn't like they didn't expect their kid to inherit their stubbornness, of all things.
They watch Bailey, the flutter of straw, a stray string from burlap dancing in the breeze. And in silence, they lift the hand that was resting on Bailey's wrist, carefully -- giving them time to pull back -- leaning to wrap that arm around his shoulder. Sometimes there are too many things to say and not enough words.
It almost seems like they would pull back, at first--but instead they go still, which seems their default defensive mechanism when it comes to uncomfortable Feels. They swallow down a lump in their throat.
"Do you... have any questions, for me?"
One arm around Bailey, the other hand resting on their knee, and Teagan just sort of stays there for the time being. This is an awful lot of Emotional Content for one Mirror. "Do you remember being Taken?" Teagan asks, as if they had not actually expected that offer, and had counted on being the only one giving information. At peace with that idea, if not thrilled with it.
"Not... really," Bailey says. But unlike Teagan, Bailey is a horrible liar, and wears their emotions plainly on their sleeves. They're uncertain and... hesitant. They do remember, at least in part. And is worried about that information hurting the Mirrorskin.
They don't look at Bailey directly, because this close up, looking at the reflections of oneself in Teagan's eyes can be really offputting. Instead, they look up the river, frowning just a little bit. "Whatever it is, I'm strong enough for it," Teagan offers quietly. "I would rather you told me the whole truth."
Bailey grimaces, looking away as well, their shoulders sinking a bit under their arm. "I... don't... know. But last night I had some... pretty intense dreams. Memories? Of the Fetch. Of watching it fall apart. Then watching parts of me fall apart. Then stitched back together. Like it was some... some cycle. So I don'... remember but I feel like seein' what I did, that it was connected, somehow."
That arm squeezes gently when Bailey grimaces and their shoulders sink a bit. Just a little, and then loosens again, that grip. "Hmm," Teagan agrees quietly. "I'm not surprised you dreamed about the Fetch last night. I mean -- you hadn't seen her face since it happened." Her face. Not my face. My face is this one, goes the unspoken narrative. That face is the Fetch's face. The One Who Died. Sure gives a whole new meaning to 'deadname,' doesn't it? "I'm sorry for that." A click of their tongue against the roof of their mouth. "Maybe. I mean. By that point, I was gone. So maybe something was watching my Fetch. Saw you."
"I ain' sayin' it's your fault or nothin'. Just... feel like it was involved. But yeah, maybe. I don't remember how old I was when I was Taken. Could'a been right after the hangin', could'a been years after." Their shoulders lift helplessly. "Maybe this will help trigger more memories, and I can... figure that out."
A beat pause. "Would you... mind showin' me, where the house used to be? Not now. Just sometime."
There's a moment of silence, and then Teagan says something that would probably cause Sigrun to faint of shock: "Sometimes I make mistakes." And then after a breath's pause, they continue, "It's okay if it's my fault." A low noise in the back of their throat. "It's still kind of there. I dunno. Maybe it's haunted or something. No one's built anything there. But. Yeah, I'll take you. Not today. But soon."
"It doesn't matter who's fault it is." Bailey shakes their head. "Don' matter. Is what it is, an' you didn' have no control over it anyway."
They manage a small smile. "Thank you."
"I meant putting on her face." Not my face. Her face. "I made that decision. If it's making you have terrible dreams, then, that sucks, and I'm sorry." A vague shrug. "I'm not half-bad at dreamwalking. I helped Sturm, and Sigrun, sort out stuff from their Durance. At -- some point, if you trust me to, I'll help." And they bite their lower lip thoughtfully.
"I don't like going there," Teagan says. "But I will."
"Oh." Bailey hesitates, then lets out a soft grunt. "M'tough enough to take it. Wasn' complainin' none, or anythin'. An' if ya hadn't, we wouldn't have known. Not for sure. Don't regret it."
The scarecrow hesitates, then nods. "You don't gotta show me. Can just tell me where it is. I don't mind goin' alone."
A puff of breath out their nose. "That's fair." No one screws up their face quite like a Mirrorskin, and Teagan's face distorts as they consider that. "No, I think I should, unless you actually want to go alone. Dunno what's going to surface, and sometimes -- with people like us -- it can be really bad if we remember things suddenly. I don't want you like... collapsing because your Clarity suddenly got beat to shit."
"Don't really know what I want right now," Bailey admits, and something about how lost those words sound make it seem like... they're talking about more than just going to see an old burnt down house. "But reckon you're right. Probably shouldn' take the risk of going alone."
A puff of breath. "Well, you don't -- really need to know, you know? We're all just sort of fumbling our way through." Another small squeeze with their one arm, and Teagan falls quiet, just looking up the river. "You seem to be doing okay for yourself, y'know. Animals know better than humans do whether or not someone's an asshole."
"Dunno if I'm an asshole or not. But I'm... gettin' by." They nod, then reach up to adjust their hat. "Always been good enough for me. Though now that I'm no longer chasin' after shadows... Dunno what I'll focus my time on."
"You got Eko to help you, you got your griffin here, whose name I don't know, and I think like maybe I should? I think probably you're doing okay." A glance aside, then, the light catching the glittering edges of their broken mirror eyepits, and they add, "Much better than I was, when I first got out."
"Dunno. One thing at a time, maybe. Philly's a pretty good place to be Summer."
"Hm," comes a soft sound in reply at the mention of Eko. Whatever that means. But then they look up at the snoozing griffin and smile. "Oh, heh. His name is Buck." The griffin's head lifts sleepily as he hears his name, then yawns widely, beak clacking.
Bailey falls quiet for a moment, then leans a bit into Teagan's side, finally. But just for a few blissful, content seconds before they start to pull away completely, shifting out from under their arm.
"Thanks. For coming to find me. Talkin'. But I think uh... Think I need to..." They make a vague gesture with a wave of their hand. Go. Think. Be alone.
"Hey, Buck," Teagan says toward the crow griffin, and their smile is brief, but real. Their mouth curls up its corners, there, and their off hand rises in brief salute.
When Bailey falls quiet and leans into them, the Mirrorskin turns their head slightly, resting their cheek against the top of Bailey's hat. One deep breath in, which they hold for a few seconds, and then let go slowly. A few blissful, content seconds, and their arm tightens around the Torrent for just long enough. Some long-gone memories left their edges in the empty space which remains, and when Bailey shifts to move away, Teagan swallows round a hard knot in their throat. No words, just a nod, and a vague gesture with one hand. Sometimes it really sucks when you can't just tear up because you've got no fucking eyes.
"Buckarooooo," the griffin replies as it streeeetches like a giant oversized feathered cat, voice ticking upwards in pitch at the end of the stretch. But as it becomes clear Bailey is preparing to leave, the griffin stands and hop down to the ground to trot closer, shaking out his thick glistening feathers.
Bailey turns away and moves to collect their boots, tugging them on, then shrugs on the long leather coat that looks like it's been to hell and back, with crude stitches and patches all over. But once on it just seems to... blend in with the rest of the scarecrow.
They put a hand on the griffin's back, gripping the strips of leather tied around him that serves as a saddle. But pause, looking back towards the Mirrorskin. "I'll uh... I'll see you around, yeah?"
Now that makes Teagan laugh just a little, shaking that lump loose, as the griffin stretches, and they push themself up to their feet, picking up the bundle of coat and machete; the machete is hooked back on the Mirrorskin's left hip, and they shrug their way into the heavy grey greatcoat. It's a family thing, apparently, these long leather coats, and Teagan laughs softly under their breath when they realize it. Likewise, they lace themself back into their boots, tucking their jeans into the battered old combat boots before they pull themself to their full height.
"You know where to find me, Bailey. I'll be around when you need me," Teagan agrees. And then, as Teagan is wont to do, they disappear. Bailey isn't the only one who needs to go cope with their fucking Feelings.
Bailey just nods in reply, blinking as Teagan disappears. They huff out a breath, then climb up into the saddle and soon enough the griffin's giant wings are fanning out, flapping, then making them soar over and beyond the Trod walls.
|