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The groups are guided onto Dover Air Force Base, to a fairly nondescript building that appears to serve as offices of some sort. There they are brought through a gate and into the Hedge. This time, no one is forced to swear an Oath in order to enter. The Cypress group is technically with ya'll, as this is happening at the same time--but in the background while you make last minute preparations.
The Hedge is alive here. It's thriving--no sign of the blight. The Hollow is a clearing filled with covered pavilions made naturally grown wood and vine, grown in beautiful designs. Wooden bridges and walkways weave around and over trickling streams, and it only takes them a moment to realize that these aren't just pathways--they're enormous roots. Which grow outwards from two of the largest trees any of them have ever seen. They appear to grow up and up into the sky, it's branches fanning outwards to block out the Hedge's sky, creating a huge domed ceiling. One tree is a little smaller than the other, but they stand so close together that their roots and branches intermingle, tangling and twisting together. Lanterns are hung everywhere, casting the area in an ethereal glow. It's beautiful, and feels safe.
In one of the pavilions closest to the tree trunk, three Changelings are laid out on cots. They are being tended to by a Spring, carefully fed bits of water and food, but they look sickly and… unwell. It’s within this pavilion that more cots are laid out, ready for the teams to lay down and sleep, to let their minds merge with the tree’s.
King Jacob Fireheart is there to lead them into the Hollow. The Hollow otherwise is, perhaps surprisingly, empty. His body is made of burning embers, eyes glowing and currently filled with calm worry--one of his legs is a prosthetic, but he moves well enough one can barely notice.
“Thank you all for volunteering,” Jacob says once past the gate, leading the way to the prepared pavilion. “I hope today will mark the beginning of the end of this conflict. That you are risking yourselves to help us… speaks greater than I can find words for.”
It is also assumed that before heading out they'd each been given a hedgefruit by Spicy. They look sort of like... a beet?? Some sort of twisted root-like fruit that Spicy claims will help them get safely "inside" the tree, as well as help fortify their minds.
The... Chatelaine? that is Teagan moves with a sort of easy grace, if a different sort of ease of movement than usual. There's more ephemerality to them than usual, and if it weren't for the greatcoat, the scars across their palms, and, oh yes, the machete strapped to their hip, it might be difficult to identify them.
Right now, Teagan doesn't look like Teagan at all. They've got long, silky red curls that fall over their shoulders, a red panda's ears, brilliant blue eyes, skin as white as snow with silver cracks and sapphire fissures through it like a delicate porcelain, forming subtle leaf patterns over what of the skin of their hands can be seen, hyena spots climbing the sides of their neck like a Trill's spots, and a subtle derezzing of their body at its edges.
They gnaw on the end of their hedgefruit, consuming it and licking their fingers. Their hand drops to Oso's ears and pets the dog gently. "We do what needs doing," they offer back to the King; their Summer Mantle cracks and pops around them. It's stronger than anyone's felt from Teagan before, too -- carrying the distant sound of milspec radios popping on and off, the whisper of voices calling medic, medic, calling but never answered.
Also, Teagan reaches out and swipes the fucking fruit out of Johnnie's hand. "This is mine," they inform the Helldiver. "You can't have it."
This is Vorpal's first trip out this way. For those who haven't met the Torrent before (and o does she embody that name in so many ways, from the wash of Wyrd pulsing off of her to the harvest abundance of Autumn scattering leaves and Strange Feels about her, to the visually difficult-to-swallow too-smoothness to her movements, even when she does her best to keep her overflow of grace from infecting her movements with uncanny valley elegance) she is... well, she's Kind Of A Lot. She's dressed plain enough, with a matched hooded duster to Teagan's and particularly boring jeans and sneakers besides. Her handwraps are striking leather affairs that look- no, are dragonskin leather, and glimpses of some sort of small survival blade can be caught in a holster under her arm.
Not that most of that is gonna be pertinent once they go to sleep.
She's in the middle of staring at the beet-like fruit in her hand like it has actively insulted her honor, shat in her Wheaties, and slapped her mama, when Teagan snatches the thing from her hands with zero warning. There's a moment of shock and relief, and then defiant glee as a shadowy hand "sneaks" up behind Teagan to snatch it back. "Oh, if you insist," she demurrs, looking anywhere but the fruit as it's "stolen" back. "I'll just go hungry. Don't mind me." And with her back turned for plausible deniability, she devours the stolen fruit, turning back a moment later like it was never there.
"You're quite welcome, Your Majesty. I know if I was lost in a dream, I'd have my own on my heels to bring me back- seems only proper to do what I can for those who haven't got that luxury. Besides. I never could turn down a new adventure," she admits, like it's some big secret.
Rosalyn had rode in on Elio (who was dressed in his full and most impressive gilded barding) looking more like Disney's Aurora than ever. Her roses had all been pruned back, and her gold metal hair had even taken on large cartoonish curls with large fluffy bangs. Agate glided after her and Elio, occasionally touching down only to leap like a cat back into the air. "Stay close, and on guard," she murmured to the creatures when they arrived at the heart of the hollow. "No games, Elio. This is too serious."
She dismounted and gave the Summer King a little nod. "We'll do all we can."
When bitten into, the fruits drip a clear slightly saltish liquid that reminds one of tears. It makes them feel melancholy, but also strangely sleepy.
Jacob gestures to the cots and Spring nurse. "Lily and I will be watching over your bodies. If we notice any signs of distress or injury, we will do our best to help you." His smile turns strained. "I would come with you, but I fear my Freehold's connection to the Tree is what caused those who had already gone inside to forget themselves. I'd probably just slow you down."
Sturm's been holding the odd beet in the palm of her hand ever since Spicy passed it off. Just like. What's she supposed to even do with this thing? Just make sure she doesn't lose the fucker?? For the whole way up to Dover??? Keep track of this beet like some kind of beet tracker?!?
Well. If that's the sort of shit that's getting on her nerves at this point, someone probably picked a bad week to quit smoking...
When the time finally comes, Sturm chomps the offending root vegetable whole. She doesn't look all that much different as a Hunterheart -- still surly, still giant, still terrifying muscle and rough features hewn from an icy cliff facing -- save for the glittering ice-shard teeth in her maw that rend, and grind the beet into nothingness, and a set of piercing vertical-slit eyes. She can't wear her coat in the Summer without being a Snowskin, so she shoves her hands back into the pockets of her jeans, following along behind the group and using her height and bulk to keep her eyes out for trouble.(edited)
Line had never been in another Freehold before. In her time wandering after escaping, she had the good fortune of avoiding any till she returned to Philly. So it was with wide eyed interest that the Elemental was taking in details while the others talked and did 'diplomacy'.
A pair of bright, multi colored headphones that played music only heard by Line was the essence of what she was. Her hair was longer than her mask's, and similarly colored like her headphones. The rest of her? It was a shadow, an outline of her slim figured self filled with blackness and the occasional burst of lights and arcing electricity. It was harmless, really. And mostly covered by the coveralls and baggy t-shirt she wore. A perfectly respectable representative of Autumn.
They were all talking to the 'King' Line dragged her attention back to him for a moment, nodded, flashed a smile, and went back to rubbernecking. "Its a tree hugger's wet dream in here," she whispered to Ros.
The redhead doesn't look all that offended when they get stolen from, they just sigh. "I said you couldn't have it," they scold Johnnie, their pretty features twisted into a sadness, albeit a brief one. They turn their attention back to the King, nodding once. "Your clarity on the matter is appreciated, very much so." The smile that Teagan offers is far more ... compliant ... than Teagan's smiles normally are. Much less sass. They rest their hand on Oso's head gently, and move over to one of the cots. "Everyone fed?"
Her beet had been apparently eaten like an apple, as Line rolled what was left in her hand. "A little off tasting- you sure these were fresh?" she asked, stifling a yawn. "I don't really feel anything. I mean, a little tingly, but nothing like I'm about to doze off." She yawned again. "Maybe some milk. And no, I am not nervous." A third yawn.(edited)
"You did say that. And then it disappeared and nobody at all knows where it went," sing-songs Jackie, swirling herself down onto a cot nearish to Line and Rosalyn, settling near the less familiar of their group without hesitation. "You know, you remind me of someone right now, Lady Frigg," she comments with a yawn, swooping down onto her cot with all the elegance of a falling leaf (and more than a few of those swirling about the floor thanks to her Mantle). "And we'll have to be better introduced," she says to Line through a second yawn, smacking her lips and trying to forget the taste of tears, "-when I'm not drifting into Nod just yet. Do you know any of my other friends and more, perchance?" This apparently indicative of Sturm and Teagan and Rosalyn, all-inclusive of the rest of their group in some degree.
"Don't suppose there's any last-minute insights, Your Majesty?" Yawwwwwwwwwwwwwn.
She tried to point at Rosalyn and Teagan. "Has a flesh eating Unicorn," Line says of Ros. Then casts a drooping look at Teagan as Line settled on a cot. "Has nice hands." She finally looked at Sturm, smiled and wave. "Never met em."
Rosalyn had bit into her beet like an apple and laid down with a little sigh, then reached out to offer Jackie her hand on one side, and Sturm on the other, smiling faintly at the inappropriately timed meet and greet. "See you on the other side," she murmured.
"These are the three Lost you're looking for. I have no reason to believe they would look different where you are going," the King says, gesturing to the comatose Lost already on cots. "I'm afraid I don't have any other insight for you. I... am not sure what you will find inside there." A beat pause. "But I know Cypress was a good, kind woman, who wanted to protect her people above all else... No matter what remains of her inside there has become, now. I ask you only do harm that is... necessary, to protect yourselves and those you go to save." Yet he doesn't Seal any assurances given. His expression is grim but resigned.
The fruit is starting to set in, making them feel so, so sleepy...
As the group settles down and drifts off to sleep beside each other, they feel their minds slipping away, tethered to some power greater than themselves. They are pulled through the Gate of Ivory, not just as their dreamself--but as… more. It makes one wonder if their very soul had been ripped from their body and placed… somewhere else. It is not a comfortable feeling, knowing just how horrible it is to be stolen away into another reality.
As they settle into this new place, their minds wrestle with themselves. Are they really here? Is this a dream? Is this the Hedge? Perhaps it’s somewhere in between. A world where the Wyrd is stronger than even in Dreams. Whatever this is, they come to one disturbing realization: Their flesh feels solid.
Looking around, the scene before them is… surprisingly pleasant. It’s a sunny day, the sky above clear and blue. There’s the sound of birds chirping nearby. Before them is a farmhouse. Quaint, but rather outdated. No trace of modern marvels--only rustic accommodations. The house looks like it was hand built in fact, two stories with simple white washed walls. Beside it, not too far away, is a small barn. Chickens roam around the barn, clucking and pecking at the ground. The area appears well lived in, homey, but there’s no signs of people wandering about.
The now-Chatelaine is one of the more adept of the Oneiromancers in their motley. That may not say much, but at least they're used to doing this kind of stuff. After they lay down on the cot, between Johnnie and Sturm, they cover Baby with their coat and pat-pat their stomach. A moment of rearranging their hair so that red curls fall comfortably everywhere over their pillow. One scarred hand reaches out to snag one of Johnnie's hands, the other reaches for Sturm. Oso hops up rather nimbly for such a big hound and curls up alongside Teagan, resting his head on their chest as though he's always done this. As though there's nowhere else in the world he could possibly belong.
As soon as they manifest inside the dream itself, the redhead says, drily: "I am perfectly comfortable without a machete, and there is no reason why anyone should think otherwise." This will not fool anyone, and wasn't meant to; their discomfort, however, fades when a blade manifests in their left hand. "Perfect." It's not Baby, but it'll do.
They test the feel of it, and that's when the realization that their body is -- off -- hits them. "... be careful," they caution. "We could actually bite it in here."
Sleep doesn't come easily to Sturm at the best of times -- let alone when she's surrounded by strangers, and in an unfamiliar place -- but the presence of Teagan and Johnnie helps. Well, not as much as Spicy's incredible beet which is in her tummy if you've been keeping track but that's beside the point. Even with aid, it takes her a bit to get comfy on the cot, and is one of the last to drift off.
"Well," Sturm grumbles in response to Teagan's comment. "I guess it won't do to be unarmed or unarmored, then." She slams her fists together in front of her -- what would've been a particularly devastating temple strike against an actual opponent -- and when she withdrawls her hands, jagged shards of ice protrude from her knuckles like a vicious set of punching daggers. Or, y'know. Wolverine's claws. If he were made of ice.
The fact that death was possible did not seem to have any immediate impact on Line. Rather, the first bit of concern she had was.. "No! My battery is gone!" she exclaimed, patting herself down. Nevermind everything else was too. She frowned and sighed. "I hate dreams." She then noticed everyone else gearing up with weapons. "Oh...its going to be one of those days. Right..well.." She looked down at her self, waited for one of the semi regular arcs of electricity, and snatched it. It squirmed, and Line told it to behave, and eventually she fanned it into several small lightning bolts, which she promptly hid on her person. (Guess ill activate Elemental Weapon normally then!)
Rosalyn was never particularly pleased to practice her oneiromantic skills, but she did have a great deal of experience at it, and she smoothly wove a bow and quiver that looked like the mirror image of her own Hedgespun bow out of the ephemera. "We are here quite strongly," she agreed, focusing for a few moments on her clothing until they changed into comfortable reinforced leather. "Be careful, our minds can usually take more punishment than our bodies can handle. Armor may be wise to create as well."
Johnnie drifts off with Ros's offered hand in hers, Teagan's in the other, giggling dopily at Line's comments about their companions, her expression fine... until it isn't and it's too late.
~
"Hyurghlnf."
Johnnie makes a queer sound of disgust and concern upon arrival.
"This is- hoo boy. Concerning. There is way too much Me here. Anyone else feel Too Here? I feel Way Too Here," mutters the unsettled Autumn, looking distinctly uncomfortable as she confirms Teagan's worries. She reaches down impatiently into Sturm's shadow while she flexes and shadowboxes, and yanks what looks like a tankard made entirely of shade itself out of Sturm's shade. She lifts this, toasts the sun above, and shotguns the content of the mug before spitting shadows in a spray over her free hand, coating it in darkness and letting trickling veins of black flit across her form, as much a natural warning sign as copperhead colors or brilliant tree frogs.
"Hey, new girl. How're you in a scrap? I know everyone else here can hold their own. It's okay if it's not your thing, just wanna know now instead of later." She sounds like she'll accept any answer given, judging by the show of Elemental Power.
There's a feeling of... unease, as the group dreamweaves to arm themselves. When Teagan looks upon the machete, they can't help but wonder for a split second--Is this Baby? No--no, they know baby, but out of the corner of their eyes they see hints of blood smeared on the edge of the blade. When Sturm creates her claws, it's as if her body extends out into them, and for a split second she wonders--Have I always had these? When Rosalyn makes her bow and armor, for a split-second she also wonders Is this really my bow?
But it's not enough to make them fully question their reality and selves. Just a flicker of uneasy doubt. For now.(edited)
"Mmm," grunts the now-Chatelaine. Common Sense dictates that this is not Baby, because Teagan was just holding Baby when they fell asleep, and came to without the machete. What a fortuitous development in the Darkling's life. "Welp, that's going to be a problem," they sigh, rolling their shoulders lazily. "Okay, let's look alive." Their poker face is as firmly in place as they can manage, save for the subtle frown that briefly flickers across their pretty alabaster-and-silver face. It's probably kind of weird to be able to tell where Teagan is looking, rather than guessing because of the Darkling not normally having eyes: they stare off toward the farmhouse, click their tongue against the roof of their mouth.
"Don't split the party under any circumstances. If one of us gets separated, we fucking stop until we're all together again. This is way too ... pastoral... to be anything but a fucking hellscape waiting to eat us. So. House first, and then if we don't find anything, we head for the barn."
Once the mini lightning bolts were tucked away, she glanced up at Vorpal. The Innovator considered the question- despite not having a distinct set of facial features, she still gave off the impression of her eyes bouncing from side to side as she mentally considered how best to answer. "I'm a runner," she said proudly, thumbing at her chest.
She nodded to Teagan. "This reminds me of someplace I can't quite put my finger on. Maybe a movie, maybe a memory. Caaaaaanada. That sounds about right. Maybe." She pulls out one of the mini bolts and considers it. "Should I send a friend out ahead?" Without waiting for an answer, Line stabs a finger tip with it, and rubs it with the blood, and in a moment, it turns into a flapping bolt that eventually ends up in the shape of an electric capuchin. (Summon the Loyal Servant)(edited)
The little electric monkey springs to life, scurrying about Line's feet wildly, jumping from place to place like a bolt of energy--ready to follow Line's command.
Sturm spends just a little too long staring at her hands. She's normally very grounded, and quite lucid -- especially since she and Sigrun procured their intertwined icons from the Hedge -- so something tugging at her sense of reality like that is unusual, and immediately disconcerting. Her brow furrows, and she hooks a thumb into her belt loop before reaching up to brush her thumb along the facing of a sapphire pendant... that isn't there.
She flicks her neck, producing the crackling sound of ice-against-ice, and when she draws her hand away, there's her necklace: a sapphire pendant hanging from a silver choker chain.
Ros gave Teagan a sharp nod. "If there's no sign, we could always try a larger shift in the pattern," she murmured. "More difficult and potentially dangerous, but we might be able to uncover where they are that way too." She flashed a grin at Sturm's weaving. "That's pretty."
It's a similar feeling, Sturm--perhaps almost comforting, in a way, for Sturm to... be unsure if this is her real necklace or not, for a moment.
Johnnie frowns faintly as Sturm goes out of her way to make herself more at home. "Be careful with that. It's not necessarily a bad thing to have reminders that we're Not Really Here. We're after people who got caught up here and didn't leave for some reason. It might be because they're imprisoned, or it might be because they forgot this wasn't reality." She gestures at herself. "No coat, no Sigknifr, no necklace, no wraps. I've got a lotta reminders this ain't real and that's by design."(edited)
"Are you asking or are you telling, kid? Don't ask me something and then do it without waiting for me to answer you." Teagan slides their sapphire-blue eyes toward Line, one perfect eyebrow arching just the way Sigrun's does when they crack a terrible joke at her expense. "That's a symbol of me, Johnnie. I'm here, too."
And then to Rosalyn: "Let's search first, and then shift. It's hard enough to move things around as it is, and I have a feeling that the more we shift things, the more uncertain the ground we'll be standing on. So let's only make those changes if we don't come up with something by looking with our eyes." Beat. "Or our subconsciouses, as the case may be. In any case, let's move out. Line, send your scout ahead." The Chatelaine carries their machete loose in their left hand as they start toward the house.
She nods to Teagan when they take charge and nod. "On your lead. I'll keep a weather eye out for danger, and when I know it, y'all will know it."
She grins and nods as Line identifies herself as a Runner. "Cool. Don't be afraid to run behind any of us. Everyone here can watch your back, but like Teagan said- don't split the party."
"And yeah, I know you're here, too, Teagan, but." Vorpal knits her brow together, clearly still uncomfortable with the act of reducing the reminders that they're not Someplace Real, and falls silent.
Line nodded, and crouched down to get her face closer to the crackling monkey. "Alright Sparkles. Go to the house, see if anything anyone is in there, and then come back, okay?" She frowned. That might be too much for the poor thing, but she quickly smiled and gave it a head scritch. "Just let us know with a screech if anyone is in there." She stands as the monkey scampers away, and stretches.
"Well, sometimes I run to the danger. It all, depends, you know?" she says to Vorpal.(edited)
"I've got fucked up eyes, bad teeth, and claws like Wolverine in his half-naked Weapon X costume. I think I'm allowed one small comfort as a treat, given that I'm a pissed off ball of nicotine withdrawal and I just managed to drift off asleep in a room full of fucking strangers after maintaining minimal human contact for five years." Sturm's voice is a low, unamused grumble as she stalks off. Someone's in a mood don't take it personally, Johnnie.
Far from her usual methodical procedures, Sturm's movements are almost feral - but I guess that's to be expected when you're hopped up on Hunterheart. The hunch in her shoulders is exaggerated greatly, and she'll occasionally sniff at -- or even taste -- the air before turning on a dime to fix some minot detail with her intense, red-eyed gaze.
The monkey crackles and pops, then scurries off ahead of the group. The front door of the farmhouse is cracked open, the monkey slips inside and starts to rush about with a burst of monkey-lightning speed. It makes no sounds of distress, or calls of warning as it rushes through the house--and eventually comes back to perch on an old table, sniffing at a bowl of fruit.
Moving into the farmhouse, it's likely what you'd expect from a quaint home. It's clearly in the styles of the 1800s--still no sign of modern technology or inventions. No electricity either, but sunlight shines through the windows to illuminate the area. The home is small, not many rooms to look through--kitchen, a couple bedrooms, and a little sewing/sitting room that has a writing desk in it.
It's here that Sturm finds something of note. There's a couple letters on it, written in two different hand writings.
I have sent via at two o’clock three large hams. I hope they find you in good health and merriment.
Signed,
J.F.
And another, with the ink still looking slightly damp, as if it were just written.
The hams were indeed well received, my dear friend. The church will eat well this season.
Heaven bless you,
M.C.
Sturm knows this is meaningful, somehow--some sort of code, maybe? (Anyone can roll Intelligence+Academics.)
When Line and Rosalyn look over the letters, something clicks. They have heard rumors that Patriarch Tree was founded in the height of the Underground Railroad--so it makes sense for their first Queen to have been involved there. In fact, they recall reading somewhere or another, or seeing a documentary sometime--that this is Underground Railroad code. It basically means that three freed slaves have been sent to this way station.
Sturm is able to intuit with her AWESOME INVESTIGATION that J.F likely means Jacob Fireheart and M.C is Meriday Cypress. The "freed slaves" are likely the three missing Lost. Which suggests two things: One, maybe she believes she is helping them somehow, by keeping them here--and two, the trail for where they are must be somewhere on this farm.
"They're here," Ros breathed. "Maybe we can take on the role of picking them up for the next stop, bring them out again."
It takes Teagan a little longer to read the words than everyone else. They stand there, forming the sounds of the words with their mouth, silently, while tapping their machete against their leg. "The fuck is a ham about?" The Chatelaine mumbles, and then they cut their gaze aside at Ros for a second. "They what now? Please use your people words to explain to the less educated of us what the hams is going on."
Line joined Sparkles at the bowl of fruit after reviewing the letters. She placed the capuchin on her shoulder and poked at the fruit in the bowl idly as she considered where to go next. "I didn't see a church. Or is that more code- would be a bad code if they literally sent them to a church. But I mean, they did tend to be safe places back then. Why couldn't this have been a math problem?" she muttered then glanced at Ros. "Wasn't Canada often a final destination for many of those, ah, trips?" Line asked. "I think I'm Canadian. Would that matter to the dream if we tried to trick it like that? I like that idea, by the way, Rosalyn." Then she blinked at Teagan. "Oh, uh, its a code. Hams are...er..people...Underground Railroad- so if if , like, Marshals found the letter, it wouldn't say 'Hey, we got three escapees, I'm sending them your way' "
Would it make sense to give Sturm the benefit of the doubt? Absolutely.
Did Johnnie's entire present motley seem to completely disregard her concerns? Yeah, that happened too, and when enough people feel like they're telling you to shut up, it's hard not to either do that or get mad- and the latter seems less productive. So Johnnie clams up and leaves everyone else to study the letters, circling slowly round the room to keep an eye out the windows and make sure nothing sneaks up on them. Riddles aren't her bag, anyhow.
Ros inclined her head towards Line. "Just so," she agreed. "Maybe we should leave a note of our own? Or try to find the 'church', which could be a hidden space in the house or barn or something."
"Yep," Sturm grumbles to Teagan. "I think the escapees in question are actually our missing Lost. If the J.F. in the first note is Jacob, and the M.C. in the second note is Meriday, that would make sense." A beat. "With the other information, I was immediately suspicious of the whole thing as a set up, but I think probably Meriday just... thinks she's helping the folx they sent in before us. Maybe she's thinks she's somewhen else." There's a little shrug. "If Meriday thinks she's helping these Lost escape captivity, maybe we should be looking for a tunnel - or a trail."
Sturm's good at investigating, but she's only one investigator. Fortunately, she's very good when it comes to delegating responsibility, and her companions are both competent and capable. The group fans out under her direction, putting their combined skill to use with her investigative expertise...(edited)
A quick double check around the house leads them to believe that the trail isn't here--so they head outside. Rosalyn, with her hunch about churches, spots a cross hanging above the door to the barn. Looking inside, it looks like the barn doubles as a small humble chapel, only with a few rows of wooden pews.
Teagan and Johnny spot some scuffs in the dirt around the barn, some remains of footprints heading inside. Line spots a patch of straw in one part of the barn that looks conveniently placed, and Sturm realizes that her hunch is correct as she pushes it aside, pulls up an old cloth, revealing a hidden hatch that opens up--a dark cellar below, with a rickety ladder that leads down.
Inside the cellar are signs of people staying here, at one time. There's some blankets, little mugs and plates, a lantern. But no sign of people here.
...However, one wall of the cellar is missing. Roots grow through the dirt walls, poking out here and there around the missing wall, which leads into a dark tunnel. The walls of the tunnel aren't dirt, though. They're knotted, natural wood that twists and turns. It looks like the carved out inside of a massive root.
They follow Sturm's direction when the investigation begins, fanning out to examine the house. When they're confronted with the big tunnel, they frown mildly, their pretty forehead creasing up. Teagan pushes their curls back over their shoulders, commenting absently, "I'm not really sure how June manages these things." Tucking their machete under their arm, they twist the curls back behind their head and tuck them into the collar of their hooded coat.
"Rally up. Non-combatants in the middle." Machete in hand again, they turn their hand over and over, staring at Johnnie thoughtfully for a second. She did seem upset earlier.
The light is made, but Teagan wonders briefly--Is this light real? Will it really guide me? Am I just imagining that there is light?
...But it's probably fine.
She whistles when she sees the hollowed out root. "That's some creative interior decorating," Line noted. "Guess they went that away? Just as long as we don't take a wrong turn at Albuquerque, right?" She grins and pulls out a mini bolt. When Teagan gives the rally, she looks around at the others. "Oh, that must be me? Weee!" And she makes a point to put herself in the middle of the group.
Rosalyn grimaced at the tunnel, and took up the last spot in the line with a trio of arrows held hand and ready to rapidly loose if necessary. She stretched her arm out ahead to keep a light touch on the shoulder of whomever was directly in front of her, and kept a close watch behind.
Before they start down the tunnel formed out of the root, Teagan leans toward the wall, their eyes half-lidding, dimming the brilliant shine of their sapphire eyes, and whispers, "I don't regret anything." That's certainly a sentence out of context, isn't it? They lay one of their scarred palms on the wall companionably -- gently -- as if greeting an old friend.
Johnnie's lingering at the rear, tugging on the dark material of her manifested glove and murmuring to it under her breath as the situation seems to wax more dangerous. She's focused on keeping her senses on point and trying to stay alert enough to preclude danger to her fellows. Does she look sullen when Teagan stares? She's a high-wyrd teenaged edge lord in an adult body who feels somewhere between scolded and slighted, of course she looks sullen. When Ros joins her at the rear, she gestures towards Line. "If anyone's getting jumped, I'd rather it be me. Promise I'll stay clear of your line of fire."
Sturm moves to go ahead of Teagan, but then realizes that she is by far the tallest person in this group, and cutting off everyone's field of vision seems like a bad move. So Teagan gets to go first, and Sturm follows behind the not-Mirrorskin. Perhaps just a little bit closer -- more protectively -- than she would've if she'd been following behind anyone else.
The wood of the walls almost seems to breathe as they step into the tunnel. There’s a soft, steady shift in the grain, like it’s rising and falling like lungs inflating and deflating. The wood under their feet feels… kinda of softer than it should, growing in sinewy lines and ridges, bringing thoughts of whether this is really wood or flesh...(edited)
"And I'd rather it wasn't you," Ros murmured back. "No heroics. I'll fall back if it comes to hand to hand," she promised. (Also, I'm so lost on turn order...)
Yep, that's gross. Having been very close to the flesh-wood, Teagan pulls back, and mutters, "If I find out we're walking up the inside of the tree's dick, I'm gonna make such a fucking face." They flip the machete in their hand, and hold the light up, underneath their chin so that they don't look directly into it, as they head up the roots. "I saw them. They're ... imbedded in the tree. The tree will try to grab us at some point, to keep us here. So be on your fucking toes. If you have Vigilance of Ares, put it up. If you don't have it, you should get it. Just fucking saying."
"Not a Summer. Haven't done anything to earn the Goodwill besides fuck a couple of them," Sturm offers nonchalantly. When she notices the disgusting wall, her hand goes up to her -- no, the -- sapphire pendant at her neck, and she brushes a thumb across it's facing. "Machete is all well and good for hacking through underbrush, but did anybody bring a goddamned chainsaw to this fucked up party?"
Well at least her grumbling is entertaining, right?
Rosalyn shuddered at that little nugget of information. "Delightful. Do you know where they are in the tree? Can we extract them from it? Perhaps it's time to try a more significant change- open a door to the room they've been hidden in rather than trying to take a chainsaw to the tree- which would be a blatant attack."
"You know, this would be a very bad place to start a fire, I think," Line says as a general aside. She looks over her shoulder, towards the way they came a lot. Not because she wanted to exit, but simply because she couldnt really see past the mobile wall that was Sturm. As they walk, she scritches the electric monkey to calm it. And also herself. "Is this like a behind the scenes of star wars, like after the people get knocked into that worm pit?" She siddles up to Sturm, and pokes her head just past them to look up. "Did someone bring a chainsaw? Please say yes, I'd love to make it better!"
"They're in the trunk," Teagan offers as a quick interjection before scene change. "And I mean they're in the tree, Ros. They're embedded in it. In the ceiling, in what looks like the center of the tree. We need to follow this up to get there before we try anything. Just ... follow the path, right now."
Jackie's lip curls faintly at Ros, and she nods. "Fine. Hold you to that."
The texture of the wood, the revelation of the incorporation, all of it leaves Johnnie transparent squicked, and she shivers. "For now, follow Teagan's lead, they've got what intel we have. Besides- Teagan does have a machete. It's literally designed to cut plants." She leaves it at that.
Sturm has a chainsaw where her hand should be. But she now has to deal with the horror of wondering did she always have a chainsaw instead of a hand? It's enough of a question of self to leave her mind reeling for a moment, but she recovers.
They continue down the tunnel. It branches off here and there, creating a vein-like network of roots, but Teagan with some occasionally peering down side-tunnels can find their way through the maze, following the roots that are the thickest, that lead them steadily upwards to where they saw the vision.
Nothing jumps out at them as they walk. Teagan leads them safely through the maze, until the root tunnel around them is large enough they can all walk comfortably through rather than single file. Eventually it opens up into a huge... cavern? Tower? It stretches up above, with root tunnels branching off every which way, in a way that reminds them on the inside of a heart--the base of the tree's vast trunk.
High above, in the ceiling, they can spot a large knot in the wood. Growing inside the knot are the three Lost they are looking for. They can only see parts of their faces and shoulders and limbs poking through, as if the wood had grown around them. Or... their bodies had grown into the wood...? They don't appear to be conscious.
A voice echoes through the cavern around them. No--it is a dozen voices, all echoing together. All feminine, but all with different inflections. Some sound despairing, some angry, some kind. They blend together to create an eerie cacophony that rings through their minds, through their bodies, through their Wyrds. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AzoI-W01VJE
I am hearth.
I am life.
Life beyond body. Life beyond misery. Life beyond ache.
I have watched as hundreds have found sanctuary under my branches.
I remember them all. I am them. They are me.
There is room for you to sprout too.
Join me. Join us.
The walls of this cavern seem to shift and move like the tunnels--more so. Teagan gets some STRANGER DANGER FEELS coming from them. The risk of getting sucked into the wood like the other Lost is probably strong. But then, how would one get up to where the Lost are?
"Ah, no thanks," Line says in reply to the 'voices'. "I am more into Metal than wood. That is absolutely not innuendo nor a pun. Preferably ferrous."
Rosalyn was white as a sheet, but her chin was set stubbornly and she nocked and arrow as she tried to push the voices out of her mind. "I could shoot the burl, try to crack the wood so they fall out," she suggested.
The Chatelaine frowns deeply, and pulls back. "Don't touch the walls. I don't know how these fuckers couldn't just portal out, but they apparently can't. Maybe she sucks the glamour out of them or something, but don't touch the walls." They move further in, looking up at the unconscious trio. "Okay. Without setting off rockets or blowing anything up, suggestions on how to get these guys down? We can always try to talk the tree into letting them go, but to do that, I think, would be an epic thing." They rest their free hand on their hip, putting on their calmest, bravest of faces. (Good thing that Teagans are usually pretty good at keeping all their fuck this shit I'm out tucked away.) Listening to the horrifying overlap of voices, while Teagan asks for ideas, they also listen to the undertones of the voices.
The voice continues to echo around them and through them...
I only want you to grow.
Give up your bones for branches. Give up your blood for sap. Give up your flesh for the joy of roots.
Grow with me.
I embrace you. I love you.
The walls shift and ripple, and from knots in the wood, hands grow--reaching towards them in a desperate, pleading way. Beckoning.
"Rosalyn's arrow is an option -- Oliver Queen's exploding arrowheads aside -- but we could always try to make ourselves a ramp up, and... uhh. Hack them free?" Sturm doesn't really blanche, considring her skin's already practically just ice, but she definitely seems uncomfortable at the idea of being sucked into the tree... and far from feeling comfort at the dramatic difference between her dream-self, and her physical form. Well. Her eyes keep dropping to her new weapon, and the hand that hasn't hideously morphed into an icy chainsaw keeps wandering up to her -- no, wait -- this sapphire necklace. It's not actually hers, it just... looks like it. Feels like it. Brings a similar comfort. Reminds her of...
Well, it's best not to finish that thought.
When Teagan preemptively vetoes any notions of rockets or explosives, Line lowers her hand with a sad face. "Well, I've got nothing." She pauses. "I could turn Sparkles into a bird, but it wouldnt be able to carry anyone nor cut them out, I think- oh that's not good. That's not good, right?" The Elemental holds up a mini bolt, ready to throw it in a split second.
"It's like she's turning into one of the True Fae," Rosalyn hissed, then called out to the Queen. "How long until you just drag the entire freehold or even region to Arcadia with this delusion of love. If you love them, set them free."(edited)
All of a sudden, there's a whole lot of awful going on. Hands reaching out of the walls (which Vorpal has no inclination to touch), people visibly fused into the tree overhead, voices layered in unsettling unison and disharmonic tone- a whole lot of things Vorpal doesn't like in the slightest. And then, as if that wasn't enough, Sturm's got a chainsaw for a hand, and Johnnie doubletakes, groaning under her breath. "I hate absolutely everything about this. Teagan, I believe in you. If you think you can talk the tree into releasing them, I'll back you. I'll even spin you some finery to do it in. If you want to go up there and get them down, I can probably spin us a ramp up without too much trouble. I'll back your play." She glances at the very effective looking weapon and shudders. "For the record, I really don't think the term "handsaw" is supposed to be that literal," she mutters.
"Shooting isn't the worst idea, but we'd need a way to catch them. New girl, you got any ideas for getting them down safe, or you like the "convince the metamind tree" idea?"
The question distracted Line enough from the problems at hands. She looked up at the trio in the tree. "Talking sounds good right now. Or you could should an arrow with a rope up there, and I can freeze it in place so someone can climb it. Someone with chainsaws on their hands."
"I think that's the best option. If we try to fight this tree, we're at a distinct disadvantage, and I think that's what the others did, possibly. I might be wrong. But the thing is, she thinks she's doing the right thing." Teagan tips their head back, looks up at the tree itself. "Johnnie, make me something pretty. We're going to do the thing."
As they discuss their options, the hands continue to stretch out towards them, grasping air, pleadingly beckoning. The voice seems to grow even more desperate.
All it takes is a single touch.
A single touch to the heart.
You will feel bliss.
You will be free.
"Let's do talking first. Teagan's right. We're, uh. Outnumbered, apparently," Johnnie replies to Line. And Teagan? Teagan asks her to make them something pretty. "You're already something pretty. But I can emphasize what's good." And Vorpal's shadows blossom behind her, and tear into the air around Teagan, dark fists raining forward through empty air at targets that don't exist. And when they retract, and Vorpal seems to be sporting something like a normal shadow again?
Teagan's wearing the perfect power suit. Trim, perfectly crisp lines, broadcasting in every thread the Truth of Teagan's assurance, control, understanding. They Look Like They Know Best. And Johnnie steps back, quite pleased with herself, eyes on those grasping hands, ears tracking those spooky words. One touch? Well then. Best nobody gets the Bad Touch, she supposes.
Rosalyn feels the contract set in, feels her power connect to the power of this... this thing. Person? It feels so much greater than her, but she feels the echos of Cypress' emotions ripple back at her--it's hard to really give names to the insanity she is suffering from, but it becomes clear that she is... unwell. Disorientated, paranoid, and obsessed are the closest things, but it's... a lot to process. Rosalyn feels pain, joy, loss, fear that for a moment she wonders is her own. It's difficult to pick her own emotions and this thing's apart. But... she steels her mind and shakes it off.
For the first time, Vorpal feels that uneasy question of reality when she spins. As she stares at Teagan there's a split second of horror as she wonders if her shadows really are what Teagan is wearing--are they pieces of her she'll ever get back?
Once they're dressed up, Teagan turns and does something rather unthinkable -- which, perhaps, is a deliberate gesture, something done to prove to everyone, including themself, that this is not Baby:
They hand the machete to Johnnie. "Hold this, please," they begin, and then they ward off the grasping hands with a gesture. "Don't touch me." Their voice is gentle, rather than chiding. Dressed in the power suit, Teagan looks down at the ground for a moment, and when they raise their eyes, their face is somehow softer, rounder, more innocent and eminently more likable. As if someone sanded off all of the 'if fuck were a noun, it would be you' that Sigrun calls Teagan normally and replaced it with sweet, inoffensive, and virtuous.
It's probably kind of creepy, to be honest. But it's certainly A Look.
When they speak, it's with Sigrun's Midwestern cant, and Glitch's 'please like me' uncertainty; they smile with Laura's earnestness and June's absolutely Adorable dimples, with Sturm's self-assuredness and the truth that Johnnie radiates by basic sense of ego. And yet, still cute as fuck and really gosh-darn nice. It takes a Mirrorskin to speak as their motley, maybe.
"What have you done?" Teagan asks, clasping their hands together and turning up their bright blue borrowed eyes toward the tree. "What have you done? Don't you remember who you are? What you did? Why it mattered? You were the Queen who sacrificed herself for the freedom of others. You gave your life so that others could make their own decisions, could live without others determining the right path for them. Your sacrifice has meant so much to so many -- they love you even today -- but you can't be who they look up to if you keep them from living free. Everything that you have ever done has been freeing others."
"I can't stay here with you. I am Teagan, the Unseen Blade of Direct Action, beloved of Sigrun and June, Glitch and Sturm, Hyena and Johnnie, and I deserve to live as I choose. I deserve to make good choices, and bad choices. No, it won't be safe. It will be scary, it will be uncertain, and in the end, I'll probably die, but that's my choice. You can't make that choice for me, or for them, or you will have forgotten the sacrifice that brought you here in the first place."
"Please. Let them go. Let them live."
Tears well up in their expressive blue eyes and they whisper: "Please."
The chamber goes silent for several seconds after the group--and lastly Teagan--speaks. Long enough that they start to wonder if they've been heard at all.
Then the voice speaks again, and this time, briefly, it doesn't sound like a discordant cacophony. It's just one woman's sad voice.
"I'm sorry."
Then the voices return, echoing and monstrous that fills the cavern up with one more word, as if the brief moment of clarity was starting to slip.
GO.
Above, the ceiling cracks and the three Lost trapped there start to slip free from the wood they were trapped in. In the center of the ceiling the wood cracks more, dirt and dust falling down onto them. A hole opens up, sunlight shining down. They know, instinctively, that this is the way out.
But at the same moment, the whole cavern starts to shake and tremble like an earthquake, as if the tree were fighting against its self. The hands slip back into the walls, and they start shifting and warping--just shaking, starting to crack along the grain. They don't have much time before the whole place falls apart--or before her insanity returns.
Rosalyn was tense as Teagan spoke, then dropped everything to run and climb up to help the newly freed Lost. "I've got you," she said. "You're going to be alright, come on, you can do it."
Johnnie takes the machete from Teagan, with none of the sheer reverence she'd absolutely reserve for Baby. This is just a machete, and she reinforces it by treating it like what it is- a tool, nodding affirmingly to Teagan and stepping back, tapping the blunt back of the blade on her shoulder.
She listens, intently, as Teagan speaks, trying to take notes and giving up as the tremendous, concerted talents of their motley and the lent words and feelings of their compatriots rise up within Teagan and reach for Cypress, trying to make a connection, trying to reconnect her with the person she'd once been. Teagan was, after all, correct- the task is titanic, inimical to the state in which she now exists, and success lives in a sliver between too much and not enough.
And that's precisely where Teagan's words land.
Vorpal watches in quiet awe as this person, so utterly unlike Teagan and so deeply like every one of the rest of them, draws so deeply that Cypress can't help but, for a moment, cede to such impossible persuasion, can't help but yield to her better nature- even if just for an instant. And that instant is all it takes to turn the tide.
The crack overhead fragments, shatters, raining down bark and twigs and-
Johnnie grins. "Go on. Get up there. Get them to safety-" She says, reaching up for one falling leaf among many, shaken loose by the shattering overhead. "- I'll see myself ou-"
Her hand closes round the leaf, and then there's naught but leaves, the most glorious, Autumnal of leaves ever, in a brilliant spray that rockets skywards, spiraling upwards in a trailing swish that skims past the tree trunk's internals, as if thanking Cypress for her moment of clarity before exploding upwards and into the light.
The Playmate reaches to snatch up the machete as Johnnie drops it, and then Teagan walks up the wall as casually as if they're just taking a stroll down to the bodega to get a cheesesteak. They absently rub the back of their sleeve across their eyes as if the tears meant nothing. Maybe they didn't. Maybe Teagan was just play-acting.
"Come on, Ros, let's get number three here out. Sturm, can you get the other two?" Just a casual stroll. Everything's fine. No need to run. Just walk like a protester trying to get away from the police: be like water, flow, don't run.
Sturm isn't much of a talker, and sometimes the best thing you can do to assist someone with their persuasive efforts is to just stay out of the way. Y'know, that and hide your terrifying chainsaw hand.
Speaking of? Well, when the light begins to show through the cracks at the top of the tree? Climbing with a chainsaw hand is probably a shitty idea, even if the thing you're climbing is a tree. Known for her efficient brutality, Sturm leans down, wedging her unused weapon between her boot and the floor. There's a terrible crack of splitting ice as she aims a fierce kick at it -- breaking away the chainsaw blade -- to reveal her hand encased in the ice.
As the captives are broken free, she secures the weakest under her arm -- supporting their weight almost entirely -- and allowing a second to wrap their arms around her neck, and legs round her middle.
Sturm doesn't have any of her Motley's fancy tricks, and it's a rough climb... but Sturm is strong. She's a good climber. This? This was a day in the life for a Jotunn in Odin's realm. She was - quite literally - made for moments like these.
Even with the weakened changeling under one arm she manages the climb with a practiced ease. The kind of thing that might be an Olympic feat, even, in a different place or time. Until finally?
Oh, sweet freedom how I missed thee.
The walls are shaking, making climbing hard--but the group hauls their way up the cracking walls and manage to grab the three Lost before they fall. Once they are their eyes start to sluggishly open, but they still look disorientated and weak--meaning they have to be quickly caught and hauled onto people's shoulders before they fall. Sturm hefts up two of them, while Rosalyn and Teagan work together to support the third. Line is there, climbing and darting upwards among them. Then it's quick climb up the rest of the way, through the hole and beyond, while Johnny just rockets her way upwards and upwards...
They awake inside their own bodies with a painful jolt. It takes a bit for them to realize they're not dreaming anymore--that this is real. That they are real. But the transition from this place to another leaves their minds shaken, as they wonder if they may have left pieces of themself behind...
The three Lost they just saved start to wake up, much to the relief of Jacob. They still look disorientated, but alive and well enough. The other team... well, they haven't yet woken up. And all around them the group can feel the earth shaking, and in the far, far distance the muffled sound of thunderous destruction...
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