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Bailey had been spending more time at the Summer Hollow the past several days, in the hope of finding an illusive Teagan. Alas, frequent uses of Light Shy make it hard to track down sneaky Darklings. But Bailey doesn't mind. They busy themself with work, which right now is focused on the memorial field. They have a basket on the ground beside them, filled with weeds and rogue thorns that have started to grow up around the stones, trying to claim the personal items left there for rememberance.
Not at all a foreboding omen of what is to come. Nope.
Not a bit, no!
Teagan arrives alongside Sigrun. Or rather, Teagan arrives when Sigrun arrives. Kinda. Returning from patrol, it's the Valkyrie who appears first, decked out in her armor. And then Teagan literally appears, just sort of ... next to Sigrun, off to one side, walking like they'd always been there. Hands in the pockets of their leather longcoat, never mind how freaking hot it is. The Aesthetic (and also the armor) demands.
"Hey, kid," they call toward Bailey in greeting, changing the angle of their path to lead them over toward the memorial and Bailey's work.
Sigrun hauls her gear over to the Direct Action cabin and drops her gear down with a heavy thud. Shield and helmet are set down, her spear is leaned against the cabin wall, and she begins to unbuckle her armor in an effort to get out of the stifling stuff and bathe. Because this is ridiculous. "I'm gonna hose down, so nobody come back here unless you want a show and slash or a black eye."
Bailey looks up as they spot Sigrun coming into the Hollow, offering her a nod in greeting--then pauses as Teagan appears out of thin air. Not quite a jolt of surprise--the scarecrow just goes still for a second, then relaxes.
"Afternoon. Sigrun, Teagan." They tip their ever present beat up black hat towards them both, then looks towards Teagan. "Been lookin' for ya."
"Yeah, sorry. I'm not exactly easy to find unless I'm also trying to find you. Which, in this case, I am." The Mirrorskin's fractured eyes glitter sharply, and their hands stay tucked in their pockets as they wander over and stand a companionable-discussion distance away from the scarecrow. Their shoulders roll lazily, and they call after Sigrun, "Can I opt for the show without the black eye?"
The question has all the hallmarks of a rote question, mind -- Teagan is required by some sort of internal law to tease Sigrun in such a fashion, but shows no sign of following after the stinky Valkyrie. "I saw your note. Or, well, Sato's note on your behalf. What's going on?"
Bits of armor are tosses into the growing pile, followed by sweat soaked clothing, and then Sigrun ducks under the outdoor shower and pulls the lever. Blessed cool water rains down and she's able to scrub off in a cursory manner, but one sufficient to get the stink and the sweat off. It doesn't take her all that long, and then she's ducking inside the cabin to put on something suitable for wearing around the hearth. "I'll give you a private one later, ya goober!"
Bailey looks towards the cabin Sigrun disappears into, then gives a little shake of their head at the couple's antics.
"It's aight," they assure, tossing another clump of weeds into the basket before they stand, dusting dirt off of their burlap hands that... just seem to stay permanently dirty. It's a futile effort. "Heh... Rieko suggested I reach out to folk that are from back in the old days. I have a fragment of a memory that I've been chasin' down, but... well... aint too good at digging up old information."
The look that Teagan casts off toward the cabin is one that's frankly smitten, even when -- and perhaps especially when -- Sigrun calls them a goober. "I'll hold you to that!" they holler back, but then they crouch next to Bailey, the better to keep a companionable conversational distance. Looming over someone is no good unless you mean to loom, and Teagan does not. "Yeah, that kind of stuff sucks," they agree. "I'm not that good at digging stuff up, but -- I've been working on getting better. Trying to find my own -- stuff."
They puff out their cheeks. "Y'wanna maybe tell me what you're looking for, and ... we'll figure it out from there?"
When Sigrun reappears, she's gone from shieldmaiden to hausfrau. A new chemise has been acquired, a rust red overskirt has been donned, and a red linen light bodice with gold and orange flame embroidery, too. She's still pink in the cheeks from the heat and exertion, but much cooler and less stanky. She steps out of the cabin with a horn of mead in one hand and a fresh pear in the other, cronching into said pear as she wanders over to the pair. English is a stupid language.
Bailey nods slowly, but doesn't immediately speak. They close off a bit, stitches of their face tightening into an uncomfortable expression. Talking about feelings and memories is not something the Elemental is good at.
But eventually they push through. "The oldest--and pretty much the only--memory I got from Before, is watching someone get hanged," Bailey says slowly. "A woman, I think. There's this building in the background, and I managed to sketch it out and describe it enough that someone back in Miami found out it was the old City Hall here in Philly. S'why I came here. Figured if I walked around and saw it myself, more memories would come back--but, well. Ain't happened."
There are a lot of things that the Mirrorskin might have expected to be talking about with Bailey, but that? That isn't one of them. Their expression stays -- relatively -- smoothed out, and they call over to Sigrun as she wanders over to them, eating a pear: "Hey, Sig. You're good at reading things. You know how to look up records of historical executions?"
They take in a breath, hold it in their chest for a moment, and turns their attention back to Bailey. Because it could have been a lot of things, and it could have been a lot of people, and it doesn't necessarily mean anything, and that's what their sanity has to hold on to with the ragged edges of its fingernails. "That's a hell of a memory. Do you have -- like -- any idea of when it was?"
"Depends on where and when and what the charge was. Who the prisoner was, and so on. Different times and different nations had different record keeping. And if it were the result of the assizes, for example, they tended not to keep great records in the countryside. Even for capital cases." Sigrun's penchant for grim historical facts finally has a use outside of advising sets for Amazon productions. "Execution was a much more commonplace occurrence in the past, so it wasn't documented with the rigor it is today." Sigrun tilts back her horn for a gulp of her mead and lets out a satisfied sigh. "Mmm. Want any?" She offers the horn to Teagan, then Bailey.
"Not exactly," Bailey replies, not seeming to note the hidden emotions. They're not too good at reading people. "Based on things I recognize... songs an' the like, I've been able to guess that I was alive back in... eh... Around 1900 to 1920. But never narrowed down specific dates or anything."
Bailey glances at the horn, then shakes their head. "Naw thanks."
The more Bailey talks, the more Teagan's shoulders hunch -- just a little, pulling in just a bit. It's the sort of thing that someone who doesn't know them and isn't good at reading them wouldn't notice, but probably reads plain as day to someone who does know them better than almost anyone else on the planet. "Hunh," the Mirrorskin says, pulling their mouth to one side. And when Sigrun offers the horn? Teagan reaches out one of their scarred hands and takes the horn from her, taking a bracing swallow of said mead. "Whatcha think, Adora?" they ask, passing the horn back.
"A hanging in the early 20th century should have pretty good records, yeah. Was it locally, here? In the city? Philadelphia County and Philadelphia City integrated after that period, so it's possible the records were lost in the shuffle depending upon where it took place. Like. In whose jurisdiction, and all. State records may have something, too. I'd have to do some digging. I can't imagine too awful many women were executed by hanging during that period, you know? I can do some poking around. And there's others I can ask for help, too, who are better at research than me." Sigrun accepts the horn back and takes another quick gulp, wiping off her mouth on the back of her sleeve like the classy bitch she is. "Can't really do much research from here in the hedge, though."
Bailey nods to Sigrun. "Pretty sure. It was in front of City Hall. Don't look much like it used to, now, but--I'm pretty sure it was done there. Local. Eh... Research works. I'm not in any huge rush. I don't know the woman's name, but..."
Their eyes close for a moment, brows creasing in thought. After a few seconds they continue. "She had... dark skin. Not real dark--but she wasn' white. Hispanic, maybe. Real long black hair. Thin. Dunno how tall, but she felt tall. But maybe I was just young. I don't remember hearing anythin' specific, just... the crowd around me yellin', all at once. Drowned out everything else." Their eyes open to look at Sigrun. "Ya think that's enough to go on?"
They're asking Sigrun, for one thing, and for another thing, that's kind of like -- a lot? Actually? Like a lot, a lot? So Teagan, crouched by Bailey, kind of stares off into the distance through all of that, and then turns their head to the side and whistles -- low-high-low. It's almost the same whistle that they use to signal that they're still there during Hedge runs, just slightly different pitches. That call brings one (1) faithful hound into existence, right next to Teagan, and the Mirrorskin rests their head against Oso's side. The big black-and-brown mutt snuffles at their hair, warbling curiously.
"Yeah, actually. Cos Pennsylvania wasn't executing people by hanging in the 1900s. They were all be the electric chair. So if someone was hanged, it would have been extra-judicial. The extra-judicial lynching of a woman in the early 20th century ought to be pretty easy to track down." Sigrun turns to head over to her pile of gear so she can get it up off the ground and properly stowed in the cabin, "Once I've got this gear packed away, I'll pop out and do some looking. Honestly it shouldn't take me long with what you've given me."
Bailey blinks and brightens as the giant doggo comes trotting up, lips twitching up into a smile. No recognition, just... a natural love of animals in all shapes. Especially hedge critters. "Nice dog," Bailey says.
Their gaze gets pulled back to Sigrun, and they blink in surprise. Could information really be dug up that fast? It seems to mystify the old fashioned scarecrow. "Oh. Okay. Thank you. Really appreciate it."
When Sigrun speaks, Teagan looks up at her and stares for a long moment. "... hunh." That's not much of a reaction for the kind of revelation that Sigrun just sort of accidentally dropped on the Mirrorskin, but sometimes you just can't put into words the things that have just been, you know. Revealed. They turn their attention back to Bailey, and offer them a slightly-distracted smile. "Yeah, he's -- almost as old as I am. Oso is a good boy."
Oso -- who is a very good boy, it is known -- twitches his tail and lowers himself, creeping toward Bailey with barely-contained excitement. New people are Oso's favorite, this is also known. But then he gets close to Bailey and, after booping his nose on the scarecrow's rough hand, sort of ... explodes with delight. Bouncing from side to side, play-bowing, warbling. Ever seen one of those videos where a soldier comes home and his dog freaks the fuck out? Kinda like that, if the dog could also say, over and over: "El niño!"
Sigrun is not the brightest lady in the world, it's just the truth. She's earnest, she's empathetic, she's sensitive, but she's not necessarily smart. But she knows what niño means, and she knows who Oso is, and she knows how dogs behave, and so short on the heels of Oso starting his happy dance, Sigrun's mantle flares hotter for a moment, and Sigrun focuses intently on Teagan. It's not clear what that was all about, but Sigrun holds up a hand towards Bailey, "We need to slow our roll, here. I'd like to move this conversation to our place. And have June here, if that's okay? She's better equipped for this sort of situation than me."
Bailey is happy to let the dog approach, lifting their hand to let Oso get a good sniff before Bailey makes any attempt to pet or touch him. Their smile widens as the dog gets a good sniff--then blinks in surprised alarm at his reaction. Bailey never turns away an excited, friendly animal, but this intense of a shift throws them off guard and they're not quite sure how to approach it. "Nino...?" someone does not speak Spanish, apparently.
After a moment they laugh with shocked delight, and decides to just... roll with it. Not realizing that this is likely exactly what the dog wants--and remembers. Playtime. Bailey encourages the bouncing by pushing up to their knees and bouncing back, mock-pouncing, and grabbing the hound to wrestle when Oso barrels against them, letting out another rough laugh.
But then Sigrun is talking and Bailey reluctantly pulls back from the dog, giving the hedgebeast an apologetic look before focusing on the Bright One, confused. They still are clueless about what's going on. "Eh? Eh... sure?"
That's a lot of input for one Mirrorskin. Oso starts freaking out, Sigrun's Mantle flares, the certain cold knowledge -- or at least, the creeping dread which becomes knowledge, that heavy feeling at the pit of one's stomach or the feeling of something standing at your shoulder in a very metaphorical but also very real sense -- and Teagan takes in a big breath.
"El Nino means 'the boy,'" Teagan says very carefully. "I think my dog thinks he recognizes you." Pushing up to their feet, they clear their throat. "Oso is very smart. And he loved my children as much as he loved me." Their voice somehow manages to sound like it's coming from right there but also very far away, like it's reflecting through a hall of mirrors to get out of their mouth. "We should probably call June, yeah."
"It means I'm a stepmother!" Sigrun could find the sunny-side of a car crash, really. She's beaming, for all that Bailey is confused and Teagan looks like they had their emotions raked over the coals. "Bailey, it's very possible you're Teagan's child. We can't know for sure just this second, but that's how it's looking. We can talk more at our place. But I'd really like it if you came over for dinner tonight. I'll cook you up something special, and you and Teagan can talk in the living room. We'll have June around in case things get really fraught, and I'll be there, too, to help everyone keep their wits about them. I'm good like that. Is that okay?" Sigrun is, still, just beaming. Yeah, this is difficult. But it's also super awesome.
"Boy? I'm not..." Bailey starts, then stops. They suddenly go very still as Teagan continues, standing straight and not moving a muscle, not even a stitch. Looking much like a large rag doll that has been hung up on a hook, limp and quiet. it's hard to tell where their eyes are looking cause they have no eyes, so--for all they know Bailey could just be staring blankly forward.
When Sigrun confirms the knowledge that Bailey had finally seemed to connect the dots about, Bailey remains still for a few more seconds before their head slowly lowers to look down at the dog still bouncing around them, brim of their hat shielding their face a moment.
"...Okay," they finally say, in a voice that sounds dry and rough like they have gravel and dry straw lodged in their throat.
"You're not a boy," Teagan agrees, because of all the things they can focus on in this conversation, affirming gender is, for them, kind of reflexive. And, after all, they were the person who Bailey first talked to about gender, back in Miami. Oh, the layers upon layers of irony. "You're not." They take a sort of awkward half-step forward as if about to reach out to the scarecrow and then stop, sort of helpless.
Thankfully, Sigrun is there to handle the situation and direct it, because Teagan is just sort of -- mentally jelly. There's enough fortitude there for them to turn to Oso and explain to him in Spanish, "Not the boy, the child." That's about as much as they have. "Yeah. Let's -- go order dinner?"
Sigrun doesn't console Bailey the way she might like to. Doesn't know them well enough to offer hugs or shoulder pats or the like. But she does offer them an encouraging smile and ticks her head over towards the exit, "It's a lot. I know. But Teagan's going to order cheesesteaks and pizza, it looks like. So you've got that to look forward to? We'll get it sorted. I promise." Sigrun hefts up her weapon belt and buckles it back into place on her hips. The armor can air out in the cabin, apparently. "It's going to be okay. I promise." Sigrun's mantle flares again, because you can never be too careful.
"And you're not a woman," Bailey echoes softly with a wince-like sound as they realize they'd been misgendering Teagan, if this was all true, "Sorry."
"Dinner's good. Yeah. Good." Their hand strays back to the dog to give Oso a more reserved pet on the head. Their body language has changed quite a bit now, no longer open and playful, almost cautious of the dog.
Their shoulders rise and fall in a sort of loose and lazy way. "I wasn't. Maybe my Fetch was. Fuck if I know. I never actually thought about it before." Whether that shrug reflects their actual feelings is debatable. Oso falls in alongside Teagan, and they laugh a little bit when Sigrun says what she says about food. It's sort of a vague, distant thing. "We don't have to order cheesesteaks." It would make Teagan feel better, says their tone, but they don't have to.
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