At ten on a Monday night the streets aren't empty, but in this part of town there are very few people are cars on them. Right now, in this part of Tamarack Falls, the only other people who seem to be around are those in the other cars pulling up to the same four-way stop that Teagan is, at about the same time. As her Civic is coming to a stop, even if it's just a rolling stop, a figure breaks away from the shadows that concealed the doorway of the shop on the corner and takes quick strides across the sidewalk and leans down to tap knuckles on the window. It's a figure of absolute darkness, surrounded by a thin white corona of radiating Wyrd and draped in blood-red fabric, peering through the passenger window with eyes like two nebulae. Speaking through the window her weird, ethereal voice seems to come from all around, instead of just from within her. "Hello Teagan. May I come in? I have something to show you." Totally normal, right?
They were on their way back to Green's house, after picking up groceries, which for Teagan usually means beer and smokes. But also this time actually like, food, to feed Green with, because Green mostly eats microwave dinners and Teagan is getting kind of sick of those. Anyway, when they pull up to the four-way stop and Calm's tapping on their window, they blink a few times, then push their unlock doors button.
It doesn't work.
They end up leaaaaning across the car and pushing the button manually on the other door. "Hop on in."
Calm slides into the car, moving like someone dancing with every gesture, and gathers the fabriv of her cloak to be sure it doesn't get caught in the car's door when they shut it again. "Thank you. You should turn right," she says without looking over at Teagan. "We have twelve minutes, eighteen secondsd. Is it safe to assume that you have your machete with you, since you're a Squire?"
By this point someone else has pulled up behind the car and they give their horn a quick chirp of a honk. The other two cars have both gone.
"... okay," Teagan agrees with the estimate of time that Calm gives. They don't rebut it or disagree with it: generally speaking, disagreeing with someone who is the void of space about time is ... not the most intelligent of answers. And while Teagan isn't particularly mundanely educated, they are absolutely very well-educated in the ways of Lost. "Twelve minutes, eighteen seconds until what? And yes, I have Baby with me. Which way am I going to whatever destiny has in store for us?" Reflexively, Teagan's left hand comes up and flips the car behind them off.
"There's a tattoo on the back of your right wrist," Calm says, turning to look over at Teagan. "Is it true?" She points to the right, as if it indicate what way Teagan should go. "We have eleven minutes and forty seven seconds to the park on the shore of the Tam by the Meadowhame Cottages if you want to stop it. Do you know how to get there, or will you need directions?" She doesn't sound like she has any sense of urgency herself, beyond the precision timing that she seems to be able to offer. Like this doesn't really matter to her, though it seems like it matters enough that she came to get Teagan.
There's a sudden ... blankness that comes over Teagan's face, then, followed by a none-too-subtle shifting of their expression. It's not even ... a shifting of their expression so much as it is that their face changes. At first it becomes only subtly less Teagan, after which point it becomes completely less Teagan, their hands gripping around the steering wheel of the car. "It's the only thing about me that's never changed," the white femme who's now behind the wheel answers, gripping their hands tight around the steering wheel and shaking her long, sleek red hair: they slam their foot down on the pedal and tear away from the stop sign like the very bats of hell are chasing them. (As opposed to Ziv and other non-hellish bats.)
Calm watches all of this with features difficult to read, given that all that's really visible of her face is its shape and the colorful glow of the myriad points of light that make her eyes. When Teagan speaks Calm's head tilts, like she's curious about something, and the car is already under way at that point. "I see," she says, and then she turns forward again and leans her head back against the rest, watching where they're going. "If we get there before they do it, are they rapists yet?" She asks like it's an important philosophical question, and one she's interested on Teagan's take on, but before they can reply to her she says, "slow down for a couple of miles. There's going to be a patrol car. Once we're past them you should be clear the rest of the trip."
They ease off the gas, their hands still gripping the steering wheel like... well, like it was someone's neck, let's be honest. Teagan-not-Teagan's eyes narrow, their much-fuller-than-usual lips pressing together. "Yes." They don't even need to think about the answer to that question. Maybe some things exist in a greyscale where morality's concerned for Teagan, but this isn't one of those things. It exists in black-white, yes-no, and the why of it follows up: "If they exist in reality in such a way tht you can forsee that shit and give us a time frame? If they have that shit in their fucking hearts?" They hunch their shoulders. "Fuck." It's hard to not slam the gas pedal down: Teagan's Mantle turns the inside of the car into essentially an oven set to broil, with over-and-over radio calls echoing back and forth, more and more urgent. medic, medic,
If only Calm could harvest the emotions of other Lost, the anger that's working on turning the car into a sauna would be delicious. So, too, would probably be the desire to do something about it. Those emotions aren't hers to soak up, though. As for her own, Calm's emotions fit her name, at least as far as she lets on. "I can see your point of view, and I share it," she says. "That tends to be my perspective as well."
Sure enough, at an intersection ahead a police cruiser rolls on past, right where they would have blasted through in front of them if they had been speeding the whole time.
Calm's, well, calmness, doesn't help much. Teagan stays broilingly angry the entire time that they're in the car. The fact that the cop car pulls out in front of them exactly on cue? That's not actually surprising to the Harbinger -- though it may mildly surprise Calm that Teagan doesn't even react. Some people see the future. Sometimes one of those people is Teagan. "Okay. Can I floor it now?" Because Teagan is beyond antsy.
Once the car goes by Calm says, "as far as I've been able to see, we should be set. We have plenty of time still." And as the car undoubtedly picks up speed the moment she says they're clear, she continues to speak. "I was born on Jekyll Island, in Georgia, in the spring of 1862," she says, like it's apropos of something. Maybe it is, but she doesn't explain further. She doesn't clarify, or continue the story. She seems to think that says, or implies, everything that it needs to. Maybe it does. Teagan has seen her with her Mask strengthened, and knows that she's a black woman, not just a scary void.
And the miles fly by as Teagan pushes the Civic to its limits. Calm doesn't seem to be nervous about the driving, even though she isn't wearing a seatbelt.
"Ah." Actually, it does tell Teagan everything that needs telling, to be totally honest. They get it. "South Philly. We're not sure how long ago," Teagan answers. "Long enough." Their hands tighten around the wheel, and while they're thinking about it, that changes too, those hands becoming more delicate, pale-fingered. The scars across their hands? Those never go away. The machete's mark on their palms is forever. "Long e-fucking-nough." The car speeds up, and Teagan tears through the streets as fast as the shitty old Civic will let them -- but they stop a block away from the address, shutting off the engine. What, like they're going to drive their seriously recognizable car up to an asskicking?
|
