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Teagan stayed out late last night -- even for Teagan -- and came back around sunrise; they stumbled in, kicked their boots off, and fell asleep in the sleeping area in Downtime.
Now that it's nighttime again, Teagan slowly sits up, rubbing their face with both hands, and call, as if they expect an answer: "Johnny?"
"So I feel like it's important to admit," comes Johnny's voice from roughly behind Teagan's head, where Vorpal's lying on his back at the edge of the bedpit, turning Sigknifr this way and that in shadowhands above his head. "-that I was dearly tempted to lean on that old "there's no Johnny, only Zuul" joke, but it hit a little too close to home and I opted to skip it. Morning, gorgeous."
"That is such a bad movie," Teagan answers, mumbling, rubbing their hands over their face and stumbling out of bed -- still wearing their coat, still with Baby on their left hip, it's not the first time they've fallen asleep with a weapon attached to their person -- to the icebox in the hollow. They grab an off-brand cold coffee out of the fridge, some strange flavor that never existed, like mango peppermint or something, and chug it.
They can't read the label, after all. Their face twists, and they grunt twice. "Wow, that was worse than the movie." Their throat clears.
"Talked to that Sturm woman last night. The Jotunn."
"Okay, so let's agree that there are good movies, and there are fun movies. Good movies don't need to be fun and fun movies don't need to be bad. If we agree on that, I will one hundred percent agree that it's a bad, fun movie."
He suppresses a snort at the face. "Yeah, it's kinda folgers roulette with those things. Caffeine, though. Sometimes you gotta bite that bullet."
"Oh?" He sits up, studying Teagan. "You don't LOOK bloodspattered and/or bruised."
"I take it that it went well?"
They shake their head again like a dog shaking water from its ears. "Holy shit, I don't know what that was, but those flavors should never have gone together. Gluuuuh." A little shake of their head, desultory, and they take another coffee out of the icebox. This one is a little more traditional -- peppermint mocha -- and after Teagan chugs that, they wander back over to near where Johnny is.
"Please. She's big and all, but she's Winter," Teagan answers, adding, "And I'm good at talking. It's another means of warfare. Talking. Saying the right things at the right time to the right people."
"I got her to agree to stop being a shit, as long as Sigrun stops being a shit."
"I'm just sayin'," he says, grinning, "Summer ain't got a monopoly on badasses. That said, you don't really fight to get hit, so. That's why I mentioned bloodspatter."
"I- really?" He perks up, surprised. "That's- a fuckton more than I managed. Wow! That's super good! Well done!! I would never have had the words to point out they were both being awful to each other."
"Clearly not, because you're not Summer. But, still. Winter." They settle down on the ground next to Johnny cross-legged. "That's because you think like an Autumn, and not like a Summer, my love," Teagan answers, leaning their forearm on their knee. "And there's an awful lot of Sigrun's ways that have overlap with Summer ways, which is why it worked, I think."
"The thing is," and here Teagan seems for a moment like they might be winding up for a long explanation, but instead they just frown mildly and say: "If they fight each other, Glad-of-War, or the One-Eyed Assbutt Them pretending to be Glad-of-War? He wins. Every moment where they're aimed at each other rather than at him? He wins. Every time they're trying to tear each other down instead of building each other up? He. Fucking. Wins."
They spread their hands lazily. "And there's nothing that I know Sigrun wants less than that. I think we'll be able to sort this. Though they'll probably holmgang or whatever they call 'fighting it out, but with rules.'"
Teagan knows just how to keep Vorpal's ego precisely the right level of preening. He beams, and tips his head at the comment they drop, waiting to hear how Autumnthought wasn't up to the task of resolving all this.
"Oh." That's a very accurate perspective, and not at all one Vorpal had considered. "I see what you mean. That's totally an angle I'd never have hit on. But- yah, I suspect you're right about them fighting. It'll be neat to see, at least."
He rubs his chin a moment, other hand over the forearm on his knee. "Should I start trying to egg people into furious rages?"
"... probably not, huh."
There's more than one form of warfare, and one of its forms is flattery. Teagan unhooks Baby from their hip, digs in their pocket for the whetstone, and starts slowly riding it down the edge of the blade they love so much. That slight preening has the corner of their mouth curling up, just so.
"Oh, indeed," Teagan answers, as Baby sings happily in response to the stone sliding down her blade edge. "It's a point of view that both of them couldn't really argue with. They can't make Visitor of the Hanged happy any more than I could do something to please the General." Shing! The Hedgespun delights in the attention.
"... no, you should not do that. Unless it serves a direct, immediate purpose."
"... direct, immediate, valuable purpose, right? Otherwise, could just say "so I can have fights"!" He's a smartass, but at least he gets it.
"You know the weird thing? Technically... I think the shit I do probably does please my Keeper. Everything was geared around either punishing the wicked or corrupting the innocent and I do a lot of the former."
They tip their head to one side and squint at him. "Yes, you pain in my ass," Teagan answers, but their tone is affectionate. The whetstone slides lovingly down Baby's keen edge. Shing! "Direct, immediate, valuable purpose. Do not just do it 'so I can have fights.'" They shake their head in mild amusement.
"Yeah, that is weird. I mean, not unheard of, but weird. I guess -- " They pause, pressing their lips together. "I guess probably every time I fight it would please that asshole. Who the fuck knows."
"Fiiiiiiine~" He's not fighting that hard, after all. He just grins like the cat in the cream.
"I mean... the whole place was weird. So fucking little of what I remember actually lines up with like... much I hear from anyone else, but then these fuckers are all so alien, I guess that's not even weird, in the end." He rolls his shoulders. "I don't do it to please anyone, though. I do it because I want to, and I want to help."
Another little shake of their head, there, and Teagan tips Baby up, sighting along her edge and then sliding that edge along their skin, shaving off their dry skin and smiling contentedly. "There." They return the blade to their waist, patting it gently, and then lean on their elbow.
"I mean, who the fuck knows what those fuckers think?" A vague, absent shrug. "And the only reason we need to care is to figure out who we are, neh? Or to know what's after us." Teagan adds, "Sigrun is worried. She hadn't seen anyone from Old One-Eyed Assbutt since she got out, really. And then... two, in three months? Granted, one in Miami and one in Philadelphia... but."
"I mean. Isn't that good? Doesn't that mean more are getting out?" Vorpal hazards. "I'm not saying she's wrong to worry, I just don't follow her concern personally. Could use some help getting to where she is, if you have a better handle than I do."
"Yeah. You're not wrong, it's all pretty much academic. Just- I dunno. You mentioned it. Felt kinda weird not to at least say."
"I mean, yes... " And here Teagan's voice trails off thoughtfully. "But also, if there are more? That means that there's an increased chance that Mister Grey Pointy Hat will send someone to try to get them back. Maybe one, not so much. Two? Might not be worth sending a Huntsman. But."
"That fuckface has a thousand names. How many of them are Titles? How many of them could he send? You know? Like, how many?"
"..." Vorpal mulls that over for a few moments. "... I hadn't thought of it that way. I'm not sure what motivates Them to send those out, honestly. Ambrosia never talked about seeing any of ours. I dunno what makes one so cavalier about its escapees, and another hellbent on retrieving them."
"You don't think... it could send more than one at once."
"Do you?"
Teagan leans on their elbow, wiggles their toes absently. "I don't know. I don't know how that works," they admit. "But also, do you really want them to? Maybe you could survive, but ... Sam?" They turn to look up toward the ceiling, flopping down on their back.
Look, they know Jack The Gentry-Killer. "I made her promise she wouldn't do anything stupid and heroic and try to stay behind to save us. I couldn't. I couldn't survive that. Again."
"... no. I don't want them to. I just hadn't thought about it. I'm still learning about how their Names work and all that. It's not an easily accessible topic. But I'd never considered having to deal with multiple Huntsmen at once.
Much less from the same Fae."
Vorpal grimaces at that last line and glances away. He thumbs at his nose a bit, eyes drifting, settling on Baby. They pause there. Blink.
Again.
They tip up towards Teagan's eyepits, searching.
"Yeah, I don't know," they admit. "I'm just saying, if there's anyone who is going to be able to do that, and it's like... based on ... I dunno."
"That's what Sigrun is worried about. Bringing His people here... and. Yeah." The Mirrorskin goes silent for a bit; they look away from Johnny for a second, and turn their attention back just in time to catch the shift between Baby and their broken-mirror eyepits.
Their shoulders hunch; their lips press into a line. Almost imperceptibly, Teagan nods.
That's enough. He moves over to them, curl round their shoulders, middle, hips. He can do that. Shadows cheat. He doesn't bring up the unspoken. He's pretty sure he doesn't need to. "You would, though. Right? If there was a sacrifice play to be made, and if you could stay and assure the rest of us got out. If it was worth it. You'd make that play, right?"
It's not accusatory. He's going somewhere.
They lean into the curling embrace, and listen to what he says. A small snort out through your nose. "No," Teagan answers, "I wouldn't. And I know where you're going with this: if you would do it, you can't begrudge Sigrun, or me, or any of the others if we would. I wouldn't stay to make sure you would all get out. I'd be focused on getting us all out. No stupid sacrifices where one of us stays behind and the others live."
"You -- didn't know me -- before June. Before Glitch."
"You didn't know me when I was actively trying to die and wouldn't let anyone get close to me at all because I knew I was going to die, soon, and I didn't want to hurt anyone the way I'd been hurt. I know what it does to people when they survive someone's valiant fucking sacrifice."
"Okay, well- I mean, maybe I was going that way, but."
"I dunno." He shrugs uncomfortably. "I haven't lived that. I can't say much on the topic. But I'd rather some of us live than all of us die. That's my take. I'm also a massive egotist and given my druthers, I will absolutely be aiming for the clean sweep, but. I dunno. I wouldn't want more of us to fall because I was determined none of us would."
"It's all conjecture, though. At least for me. You have an edge. You can retry things until they work right. So I understand the focus more from your side."
"I've heard the argument before," Teagan murmurs quietly, turning their face into Johnny's shoulder, letting out a soft sigh. They pull the machete off of its hook and turn it in their hands. "I swore I'd never let it happen again." Their hands close around the blade, gently, but just precisely enough that he can see where the scars across their palms match the blade.
"So it's not a choice for me anymore. It is what I have to do." A long, slow breath out. "Yeah. I can. Sort of. For a while. Until I run out of juice."
"It's good. A good trick, and good that you can. Not in my toolbox, but it also makes a lot of sense with your perspective. I'm just sorta rambling. I understand where you're coming from. And there'd be nothing worse than a pointless sacrifice play, too. I can understand at least a little. I'm not trying to change your mind, just..." He lowers a hand to their wrist, rests it there. "Explaining mine. It's tough enough for me to understand. Figure everyone else deserves a cheat sheet."
They leave their face resting on his shoulder, and their glittering mirror eyes go slightly dark, the way they do when Teagan's actually closed their eyes. "I know I don't talk about these things," Teagan murmurs, "But it really fucking hurts to. The only reason I talk about them, even a little, is because of Sigrun."
"And like, if I just talked about them without a reason, what's the fucking point? It doesn't help me to talk about him."
"It's okay. Information dissymmetry isn't a bad thing. I don't need to know every thing you know. I trust you to pick the important ones. And the right times. I don't want you hurting for no reason. I'll listen, when it's time, on your time. Until then, it'd just be torture for no point. Not my bag." He keeps them close, strokes their back slowly. It's hard to track his hands on them without looking. Cuz there's like a dozen.
A soft puff of breath, and they nod into his shoulder. "Only torture for a point, amirite?" Teagan noses in against the side of his neck. They curl into him closer and let out a long, slow breath. "Anyway, I um. I got Sturm to agree that if, like, Sigrun will apologize for using Paralyzing Presence on her, rather than fighting it out like they are supposed to, that she'll apologize for implying that Sigrun is a Skinhead. Because they need to clean the wounds they caused in each other, and bind them, so they'll heal."
"Probably they're gonna kick each other's asses, too."
"Well, granted," Vorpal murmurs at the last comment. "You're quite right about the rest of it, though. They'd work far better together than against each other, and if they waste energy on each other, He wins. And fuck him, amirite?" He nods solemnly. "You did good, gorgeous. I'm proud of you."
"No, not fuck him," Teagan answers, changing the subject in the way that they like best when it comes to shutting down conversations that make them uncomfortable.
"Fuck you."
Fortunately for onlookers, mobile shadows make it very, very easy to fade to black.
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