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With the assistance of Ianthe, Sigrun was able to fashion quite the billet of modern day Damascus steel. Close to 400 layers eventually resulted from the stretching, folding, restretching, and refolding. When she finally reheated the billet to forge out her blade, the hardest part of the work had already been completed. Her autohammer was given quite the work out, as was her hammer-hammer. The resulting blade blank, whorled through and through with its pattern of light and dark metal, is beautiful in its own right. After an acid bath, a whole lot of grinding, sharpening, and strapping, it's deadly too. She fixed the handle with briarwolf bone, wrapped it in the black leather claimed from their hides, fixed quillions and crossguard, and carved her triple tiwaz rune into the ricasso. Its a work of art as much as a weapon of war. And with the pommel knot finally set into place, she walks out of her forge with a watermelon under her arm.
This is going to be fun and possibly delicious.
For the past few days, Teagan has been sleeping. A lot. Like, a lot a lot. After you've had some really shitty dreams of someone else's, the instinct may be to escape from the reality of the conversations you're going to have to have, and the reality of the dreams, by going into a place over which you have total one hundred percent control.
But now, they happen to be awake, if barely so, wandering out the back of the house in loose sleep shorts, a tank top, and carrying a mug of coffee. Their pants and tank top are rumpled, and they've got serious bed-head going on. In fact, pretty much all of Teagan is a walking sleep rumple right now, and they lean against the frame of the door leading out of the basement, yawning broadly. Sigrun is carrying a watermelon and a sword, and right now Teagan's brain hasn't started enough for them to put together what's about to happen.
"Morning, Teabutt," even though it isn't actually the real morning. Morning is a relative state of being in Teagan's world. Once Sigrun is a good distance away from anything important, she balances the watermelon on her hand, does a gestured three count with her left hand which holds the watermelon, and then heaves it up into the air.
As it begins to fall, Sigrun spins the blade up and to the ready, waits for the watermelon to descend into range, and then slashes it once and then twice in the opposite direction. The melon doesn't seem to notice until it lands the grass in four quarters. She flicks the weapon to the side to clean off the juice, stoops down, and plucks up a quarter for a massive bite, leaving juice and pulp on her cheeks. She offers the hunk towards Teagan, "Watermelon?"
"Morning, Significant," Teagan answers, taking another swallow of coffee, and yawning expansively. They're recovered just in time to watch the spectacle, which totally distracts them from whatever it was that they were about to wander off about, and the corners of their mouth curl up in slow delight.
Their lips part, their breathing goes briefly shallow, and then they shale their head once, twice. "... I cannot think of a more disgusting combination than watermelon and coffee with cream, my love," Teagan answers. "But that was powerful, powerful sexy. It will keel." Because of course they watch Forged In Fire.
"Meet Sigsverd," Sigrun proclaims, lifting the blade in demonstration. She's pretty. "This was the design I was working on all this time. Ianthe helped me with the billet for it. I figure with Sigsverd in hand, I won't have anything to fear in New York. I can't get armor working for Laura in time for the trip, so we're putting that off until after we get back and can dedicate time to making it into a token." She ambles back towards the forge, taking another chomp of her watermelon along the way, in order to get herself a rag to clean the juices off the blade. "Wassup?"
"Well, good, because we're almost ready to go to New York," agrees the Mirrorskin. They wrap their long fingers around their mug, watching Sig talk about weapons and armor, and that smile stays on their face, lazily gracing the conversation with their smitten satisfaction. Yes, this is good. And then they finish off their coffee and set the mug down on the ground by the door, the better to take it back in. Barefoot, they pad across the backyard to kiss Sigrun at the corner of her mouth as is their rite and custom. They're no more afraid of coming into range of Sigsverd than they would be coming into range of a hyacinth stalk in Sigrun's hand. Both of them pose the same amount of danger.
"I need, like... a lot of hugs. That is what is up."
If they didn't want to taste watermelon, they probably shouldn't have smooched Sigrun's face. Which is covered in it. But so it goes. She smiles in the wake of the smooch, providing the requested hug with both arms. One of which is holding a watermelon quarter, but so it goes. The hug is a full body thing, and one that lingers long past the confines of casual hug hello. It becomes 'holding Teagan', which is what a lot of hugs translates to in Sigrun's world. "I'm sorry you've been run through the wringer lately. If there's anything I can do to make this easier on you, let me know."
There's a difference between tasting watermelon and eating it alongside one's coffee. The Mirrorskin licks their lips lazily after the smooch, and leans in to the hug. It's sticky, there's watermelon splatter, and they're all gross from having just slept through the last couple of days with a break for whining at Johnnie and making brief sojurns out. "This is nice," Teagan answers, after a while of that full-body hug, as if to say 'this is part of what you can do. "It's... " A pause. "Yeah, it's a lot. But that's part of the deal, isn't it?" They bury their face in her shoulder, hiding their broken-mirror eyes against her glowing-bright skin. "I did the dream thing. I got the answers. So we're... ready to go."
"You need a shower, stinkyboo," Sigrun murmurs into Teagan's hair, despite the fact that they are stinky. There is good stinky and there is bad stinky. At the moment, Teagan remains on the good side of stinky. "Though a bath might do you more good. We could head into Downtime and relax in the spring pool, crank up the heat a bit, add some bubbles. Maybe a little Indica for pepper." She draws back the slightest bit so she can cup Teagan's face and place a smooch squarely on their lips. Mwah. "Yeah, that's the deal. I'm just sorry my stuff has been such a burden on you all. I'm hoping to get past it soon. Like. Really soon. I haven't even gone to the shiny hats to ask for more responsibility yet. All of this is like a sea anchor. I'd go right now if we were all ready."
"I do need a shower," admits Teagan, sniffing at themself, and taking another breath in of sweaty-Sigrun-with-watermelon, which definitely comes under the category of 'good stinky.' "A bath sounds even more incredible." That comes with a long, content sigh, and they loop their arms back around her shoulders, just sort of clinging at the moment, until Sig pulls back. The kiss makes their eyes glitter, and not just because Sigrun literally puts off light which causes the broken mirrors to shimmer.
"It's not a burden, babe. It's just hard. I'm good at dreams. I understand them. And I'm -- close -- to Sturm." Closer now than they were before, but that's what happens when you relive trauma with someone, isn't it? "There's a difference between a burden and difficult. A burden implies I'm not willing and happy to do the thing. It's just ... real shitty. To see both sides of a fucking tragedy just so you can confirm what you already knew in your fucking heart." Big, heavy breath out. "Her dreams kind of conflated you and her brother. We had to untangle it. Getting away from an abusive dad, getting away from... " A puff of air. "The sooner, the better. You two need to do this together, and I'll be glad to be there and see the end of it."
"Now please take care of me for right now."
"Gimme a sec to put Sigsverd away." Sigrun delivers another smooch and then heads on over to fetch the scabbard and frog she'd designed for the weapon. She slides the blade home again, grabs her weapon belt from the wall, and replaces her old broadsword with her new longsword. She tries it on for balance on her hips, spins her hips this way and that, then does a few hops in place to test how it rests. Satisfied, she unbuckles it again, wraps it up around her arm, and starts to head for the backdoor of the house. After a murmur of the password and an expense of glamour, she opens a door not to the house, but to their hollow. She passes through to begin the preparations of the water inside while Teagan fusses with their own entry.
"Sigsverd just means 'Sigrun's sword,' doesn't it?" Teagan asks, dropping their arms to let her step back and take care of the blade. They prop their hands on their hips, head canted to the side, watching her show off a little bit. Absent gnawing on their lower lip, black flesh caught between white teeth, as she shows off. "I mean, it's very direct. Therefore, I like it for you." They trail after her, pausing to make their own expenditure of glamour and whisper the password to one of the windows instead. Why? Who the fuck knows, with Teagan. But sometimes you want to crawl in through a window rather than walking in through a door.
"Victory sword," Sigrun corrects, though it amounts to the same thing. An invocation of herself, in the very least. "But, yeah, you're on the right course, there. It's just a little more in depth than all that." Sigrun answers after Teagan crawls in through ... a window. Into the hollow. She eyes Teagan with amusement, then shakes her head. She's already started to spin the water hotter and provide bubbles, which means there's now plenty of condensation and steam to contend with. Which isn't so bad if you want a hot house bath. She sets her weapon belt down once her work is done, and then begins the process of getting out of her clothes. Which, having been in the forge, amounts to a tank top, a sports bra, leggings and undies. Not her usual ordeal, at least.
Sometimes you just need a little variety in your life and to keep your window-climbing skills sharp. Of course, Teagan has left a window open into the basement, which they will have to fix later. They sigh, letting out a long breath and stretching their arms up over their head. "You made a victory sword to take to New York. I ... really like that. I mean not just to take to New York but definitely to take to New York. Sort of like, uh..." They pause, then. "Like speaking into the world what you want to see."
They step back, letting Sigrun handle putting together the bubbles and steaming up the Hollow, and then shuck off the wrinkled pile of sleepytime cotton that was their clothing. "Thank you."
"That's exactly it. I don't go into matters with the intention of failing. We're going to go. We're going to find my shield, and maybe one of my Icons, and then we're going to come back and I'm going to be better. I'll spin my sword, or maybe token craft it, I'll bring the tale back to the court, and I'll make it clear to the power that be that I've conquered the parts of myself that I found needed conquering and am ready to get back to work." She has A Plan. She hasn't had A Plan for a while now. The fact that she now has A Plan should be viewed as a good sign of progress. With that all settled, nekkie Sigrun goes to fetch a Yuengling and a horn of mead, passes the bottle to Teagan and retains the horn for herself. Then she steps into the bubbling misty water and wades out to the sitting rocks to settle down and relax back against the backrest. It's even hair day! So she's not fussing over getting her braids wet.
"Well I didn't think you intended to fail, but yes." When the water's ready, Teagan steps down into it, lurking slowly down until they duck underneath the water, coming up only enough to let their plastered-down black hair and broken-mirror eyes show above the water. CrocoTeags. They lurk there, listening, while Sigrun goes about gathering drinks. They come up for air when she steps into the bubbly water, and when she's settled? They take the beer and then climb into her lap, resting their head against her shoulder. Now is the time for all good Teagans, and some that are only okay, to be very smol and drink a beer.
Sigrun grabs the soap to begin scrubbing at Teagan's back. If they want to sit in her lap, they're going to stop smelling like sweat and sleep. That's just how that's going to go. Once there's a good lather on their back, Sigrun scoops water up with her hand to rinse it all off, starting the process anew with one of their arms. "I'm going to have to wash my hair tonight," more of a reminder that she can't just cuddle the entire time they're in here, "but once that's done, I can just let my hair dry and not worry about braiding it until tomorrow. So you get wavy hair Sigrun tonight." Which is one of Teagan's favorite Sigruns, as it happens.
They do smell like sweat and sleep, at least temporarily, but the scrubbing begins to change all that, at the least. Teagan takes a good long drink of their beer while Sigrun cleans them, and they lean in against her for that process. There's a brief sound of protest when it comes to the idea that they can't just sit in her lap until they become a slightly-drunk raisin of a Mirrorskin, but that is ameliorated by the fact that Sigrun dangles the idea of wavy hair Sigrun in front of them. "Mmm, wavy hair Sigrun gets hair pets," Teagan opines, taking another swallow of beer.
"Wavy hair Sigrun DOES get hair pets. Non-stinky Teagans generally enjoy wavy hair pets, I've discovered." Sigrun's only real vanity, her hair. Her hair care regimen is a matter of religious practice now, quite literally. And boy does she dote on her mane. Just not right this second, since Teagan's armpits need scrubbing. And their everything else, for the most part. The scrubbing and suds and rinsing are all done with the careful doting patience she's used to exhibiting. Once it's time for a second rinse, Sigrun resumes splashing water on Teagan and sluicing it all away with her hands thereafter, making sure as little soap remains on their skin as possible.
They asked to be taken care of, and so care is taken of them. The Mirrorskin mrrrrs, setting their beer down on the side of the spring and maneuvering themself -- arms raised, then lowered, head tipped this way and that, back and front turned toward Sigrun -- so she can scrub them down and destinkify her Mirror. "This is a correct fact," Teagan assures the Bright One, letting out a little puff of air, and passively enjoying being looked after. "She's gonna come talk to you, after I tell her that I did," they offer sort of aside.
The truth is, Teagans deal with difficult conversations the same way they deal with combat. Leap out! Say a thing! Run away and hide again. Leap out! Say another thing! Run away, run away. This pattern follows all other conversations they and Sigrun have had for the last three years.
Once Teagan has been sufficiently bathed, hair scrubbed and conditioned, fingernails brushed, and all the gross rinsed away, Sigrun begins the process of unbraiding her hair. This in itself takes a good deal of time, as there are many braids, and once they reach her head, the braids get more intricate. But in the fullness of time, Sigrun's hair is hanging in a loose main of wavy curls, like a blond Merida. She excuses Teagan from her lap to dunk under the water and begin the washing process, herself. Starting with her hair, natch.
Having said the things that needed saying -- yes, it was Sturm, yes, you tried to escape together, yes, she's going to come talk to you -- Teagan lets the rest of it lie for now. They talked with Johnnie yesterday about the fine details: Sigrun doesn't need to know the shit that she already knows is terrible, after all. They turn to face her in her lap when the unbraiding begins: they've got dextrous fingers which know how to handle braids, having once had very long, thick hair themself, and undoing braids is a thing that they can do together, a sort of silent communion of mutual self-care. Once the braids are undone, they slide off of her lap and pick up their beer, finishing it and setting the empty back on the edge of the tub. They pull their knees up to their chest, wrap their arms around said knees, and wait.
Sigrun is an efficient bather, but even an efficient bather has to allow time for conditioner and two proper rinsings. Only once Sigrun is both properly clean and her hair properly silky again, does she return to the sitting stones to reclaim her spot and haul Teagan back into her lap again. There's still the brushing out to be done, but that can wait for the moment. She deposits her chin on Teagan's shoulder, wraps her arms around their middle, and lets out a long, cleansing sort of sigh. That felt good. "Yeah, I figured. Well. We'll sort it out, I suppose. Hopefully this trip will give us both what we need."
They wait it out, watching the whole process with the sort of patient worshipfulness which comes from a long time of keeping the same patterns with the same beloved people. The warmth of their expression is unchanged and unwavering, no matter the circumstances. Once she's all done washing her hair and Teagan is back in her lap, their drape their arms around her shoulders and toy with some of the loose, wavy hair, depositing a trail of kisses along her cheekbone. "You will," Teagan assures her. "Surprise, you have a bond with someone you weren't counting on. Surprise, that person is really awesome. It'll be good. For both of you. I'm sure of it." The affection in their voice isn't just for Sigrun, there. That sort of thing is inevitable, though, isn't it?
"I guess I never really looked at it like that. The bond part, I mean. Maybe I've just had my head to fogged up with the myths and stories. And I let my durance color my perceptions of all that. I never really did give her a chance to be anything other than what my first impressions were. Not at first, anyway." She huffs out another sigh, her disappointment clearly self-aimed as always. Sigruns don't make big ugly mistakes. Sigruns only do what's right. That's why they're named Sigrun. Alas. "I just want it to be over. I'm chomping at the bit. I may drag some people out tomorrow to go harvest some fruits. There's one that will help me track my icon, and I figure if I have that in hand it will lead us right where we need to go. Assuming it's where it was before, anyway. If nothing else it will give me something to do while waiting on everyone else to be ready to head out."
There's a soft puff of laughter from Teagan, then. "Well, allow me to help you reflect," they droll. Ha ha. Reflect. Mirror joke. It doesn't hurt that this is exactly what Teagan often helps people do: reflect, reframe, see things from a different perspective. "To be fair, neither did she. But that was in part because she had already cast herself as a villain, which, if you're hopeless, that's another kind of armor." Their fingers toy with her hair, and Teagan kisses at the corner of her mouth again, leaning their head on her shoulder. It's nice to have a Hollow that has this lovely hot spring in it, innit? It will stay warm as long as the snuggles are desired.
"I know. And I appreciate that you, like, were patient enough for everything to be done right. She really needed to see things from her perspective, to really know that it was... really real... and, I think, so did I." They let out a soft puff of breath, there. "Going to harvest fruits tomorrow sounds amazingly productive and I want to do that please."
"Might be a good time for Sturm and I to try cooperating ahead of the big trip. If we've got rough edges that need sanding, I'd rather do that work locally than when we're back to back fighting off a horde of hobgoblins with machine guns or whatever." Leave it to a valkyrie to paint a casually absurd image of someone's glorious end. Even if it happens to be her own. "So, yeah . If you want to come, let's rope Sturm in. She can give that armor I made her a workout. I can break in Sigsverd, maybe. It'll be good. And I would like to get some practical battle use out of her, too, just to make certain there aren't any fatal flaws in there I should know about."
There's a contented little noise in the back of Teagan's throat at that suggestion, and they nod once, twice, against Sigrun's shoulder. "She's good in a fight. Went on patrol with her yesterday. Not just her -- Rosalyn, uh, I don't remember her last name, but you'd like her, she's like, this hypercompetent Fairest, and Johnnie, and Sturm and me. But yeah, she's good in a fight." A soft puff of air out through their nose. "Oh, and Rosalyn has this hedgebeast and does badass bow tricks from beast-back. Like when you and June do your pegasus thing. I think you'd like her. But yeah let's test the sword and get the thing."
"She sounds like my kind of Fairest," Sigrun declares with a firm nod of the head, "maybe she has hair care tips I can crib from. And she is a horse girl, so we're sure to be besties. Or absolutely hate each other. Either way, it'll be awesome." Sigrun finally does reach for her hair brush, starting the process of drying out her hair while also ensuring it doesn't tangle. It's an involved process, but not so involved that she can't still dote on Teagan now and again. "Bowfighter, too. I need to meet with Ianthe and get our training seen to. I've just been so busy lately." Writing mage wiki files.
They scoot a little to give room for the hair-fiddling, but stay within contact pretty much, like, all the time. Because they're a needy Darkling right now, soaking up all the light and turning it into shimmering silver on their skin or casting glittering light across the hollow. "I'm sure you'll like each other. She needs a new bow, though. I think she broke hers. Or maybe it was just the string."
"I don't remember. I had just had my bell rung by a briarwolf the size of a house." The fact that Teagan says they just had their bell run by a briarwolf the size of a house and says it like it was nothing... "Mmm. Yeah, you deffo need to do that, too."
"Ianthe is the Bowyer in the Freehold. I mean, I could probably work something up, but I don't have a good woodshop yet, and until I'm not pouring money down the equipment hole every week, I won't have the cabbage to afford a proper wood shop. So. If I bump into Rosalyn, I'll send her Ianthe's way." Sigrun then taps her chin and notes, "I should also probably ask Ianthe if she takes commissions for her work. She sort of implied it was just for her own upkeep, but. She's guaranteed to be a better hand than I am, I figure." A pause. "Wait. They get that big? Why didn't anyone-- you fought a house sized briarwolf and didn't invite me?" Sigrun's jaw drops, faux offended.
"Well we didn't plan to," Teagan offers back, a little scoff. "It was just a normal patrol and then shit went kind of sideways. There were four briarwolves and they almost got the drop on everyone but of course they didn't see me because I was Light-Shy of course and so I got the drop on them instead. Ares looked after me." It's the closest that Teagan has to a religion, the belief that Vigilance of Ares means that the god is literally watching their back every time they invoke it. "Mm. I gotta get caught up on my marks. I have like... six... I need to add." What is Teagan going to do when they run out of space on their arms for their hash-marks? "Anyway, yeah, we should check that area of the Hedge out again."
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