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closingwaters · 1 year

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PARTIES: @ronin-for-hire @closingwaters

TIMING: Current

SUMMARY: Teagan sleepwalks again and runs into Fang on the bridge while she's out on patrol.

WARNINGS: Parental Death and Sibling Drath mentions

Teagan tossed and turned in bed, sweat beading on her face. Her expression contorted into one of worry and fear, and her breath labored over what lay beneath the surface. She was having another nightmare, running as fast as she could through the trees in Hay. Just a few yards away, Teagan could see her childhood home. For a moment, she paused.

Deep down, she knew the end. She knew going back in would only lead to that closet, to the blood pooling under the door. Still, she couldn’t change the ending, no matter how much she tried. It was always the same. Either Teagan ended up behind a door or she could never quite reach the house. She didn’t know which one was worse.

Just as her body walked in the dream world, so too did her body in the physical realm. Teagan, while still asleep and in her pajama bottoms, tank, and no shoes, maneuvered out of bed and found her way outside. She walked and walked, trying desperately to get to the house, but it looked like it was one of the nightmares where she wasn’t fast enough. The path constantly grew longer, and never-ending.

Teagan choked out a cry, urging her feet to move faster. They wouldn’t respond, feeling like they were trudging through molasses. Meanwhile, Teagan’s physical—and unglamoured— body had managed to find itself on a bridge toward Old Town. She couldn’t know that though. Not until she woke up and had evidently pushed someone onto the ground.

It hasn’t been a good week for Fang. In fact, it has been one of those horrible weeks that felt exhausting and at the same empty. She wasn’t behind on her rent this time, but the worry and concern that she hasn’t been on a job in a while, which could make her behind her rent next time, weighed heavy on her head like the crown of a haunted queen who did unspeakable things to remain on the throne. It’s also been a week filled with period dramas, a weak attempt from her to alleviate all that stressful thinking.

So, tonight, she tried to remedy that fact, going on a run in her slayer get-up. They called her the Fanged Oni, which was both ridiculous and a little badass to her. Fang was pretty sure it was because of the oni facemask she wore, though maybe the katana helped reinforce that persona as well. She tried to remember if she’s ever spoken Japanese to any witnesses, but as far as she could remember, she’s only over done so before beheading an undead bounty. No witnesses there.

As she arrived at the bridge that connected the two halves of Wicked’s Rest, or at least Old Town to Downtown, she took a breather, looking over the waters that solemnly crashed against the structure below. It reminded Fang of home, of her past life, not her first life as a child unaware of the dangers of the night but her second life of ascending to what she was now, prior to getting trapped in this part of the world. Like the bridge, she stood her ground against the waves of undead she had to slay to keep Tokyo and Osaka safe. Like the waves, she threw herself at the monsters, but it never really feels like any effort she made slowed them down, slowed their threat and danger to a useful minimum. “Gotta love existential bullshit at night.”

Fang’s reverie was interrupted by a body shuffling toward her. On instinct, she unsheathed her katana, ready to strike, but when a tiny little voice at the back of her head told her to take a second look, she restrained herself. She didn’t look undead. She looked like something else. Like something she’d encountered before but never really killed. Because they weren’t undead. The woman didn’t even look like she was in control of anything as well. What was going on?

“Are you all right?” Fang slowly sheathed her blade in its hilt, using her gruff, Batman-esque voice to speak to the newly arrived, taking a step back each time the other woman took a step forward, closer to her. “Do you need help? I don’t want to hurt you, but if I have to—” It took a lot of control to keep herself from harming the creature but Fang held true to her decision, even as she was pushed down on the ground.

The pain never got easier. It was a feral and hungry thing, in need of devouring every last bit of whatever host it lay in. Most days, Teagan felt like it was a ball of energy that bounced inside her. She could feel it. The aches, the stings, the heaviness. It moved with her. It grew with her. She wasn’t sure it would ever stop. It persisted even when her growth spurt was over, and it was persisting then. It was ravenous and all-consuming. Asleep or awake, it didn’t matter. The grief would eat at Teagan until it was satisfied, slow her world until there was nothing left.

Was there anything left?

Teagan pondered on that as she looked around the old Welsh Cabin, at the massacre she had to help clean up. The bodies twitched, and she swallowed, taking a step back. Like her grief, it appeared her family was hungry too. Their mouths opened impossibly wide, a void deep in their throats and eyes dead and vacant. For a moment, Teagan thought they may crawl to her and rip her apart to consume, but something arguably worse happened.

They screamed for her.

The calamitous wailing snapped Teagan’s heart. No matter how hard she pressed her hands to her ears, the sound didn’t dampen. She had to run, she thought. Run!

Bursting into a sprint, she felt a wall stop her, and she crumpled. Cold, hard ground welcomed her, and the blurry world around Teagan came into view when the claws of her dreams set her free. “W-what?” Not again, she screamed in her head, looking at her surroundings to find that she was on the ground with someone in a strange outfit. Fight immediately took over, and Teagan dug her claws into the stranger.

In retrospect, Fang would have sliced the woman’s head off. But she wasn’t undead. Nor was the slayer being paid to waste such a good kill. Rule number one of being a slayer-for-hire: Never kill anything for free. Especially when you’ve got rent to worry about, and Fang always had rent to worry about. Even when she didn’t.

Fang groaned when the creature attacked her. A quick, brief scream of pain followed but was immediately ended when the slayer channeled the pain to fight back, striking the fish monster with her katana’s hilt. Once was a warning. Twice was to get the fuck off of her. Finding an escape by rolling to her right, Fang ended up on one knee, staring her attacker down. The slayer gritted her teeth, clenching her jaw, as she took a moment to check her wound. “That wasn’t nice,” she growled, before pointing her blade at the damned thing. “Final warning: Come at me again, I’ll slice your head off.”

Even as the bluff left her lips with ease, she knew she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. The last time Fang encountered something similar to this creature, she was still in Japan. She had tracked another yokai in Fukuoka and had made a mistake of chasing after it alone. When she came to, she was being resuscitated by a kappa, Sir Mix-a-Lot. She was the one who gave it that name. Because kappas like big butts and that one couldn’t lie. At least not to her.

But Fang’s current attacker was no kappa. It was similar but more beautiful in a strange way. There was something about it that made the slayer stubbornly not want to hurt it. Even though it was hurting her. Something she just quite couldn’t put a finger on. At least not yet.

The hilt to her stomach wasn’t unwarranted, Teagan knew that much. She had attacked with no regard to who was in front of her, and now she was staring at the sharp end of a…sword? “S-sorry.” She swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath to let her glamour cascade over her body. She looked human again, and was wearing what was obviously sleepwear. Finally, Teagan began to explain. “I got startled is all. I was asleep in my bed and now I’m here.” Looking around, Teagan tried to find any markers she recognized. All she saw were trees and the bridge she was on, but she could decipher the sounds up the river just beneath them. She couldn’t be far from her home, she thought.

“Where are we?” Teagan tilted her head curiously, brows creased together with confusion and worry. She needed to get back home. How did she get out anyway? The shackles should’ve–the shackles! Teagan raised her wrists to her eyeline and saw just how raw and bloody they were. Okay, so the shackles were out now.

With a groan, the nix let herself fall back on the ground and covered her face with her hands. Frustration was mounting over and it was all Teagan could do to force herself not to cry. At least the getup the person was wearing was a good enough distraction. She decided to focus on that. “What are you doing out here in that outfit anyway? Are you some sort of superhero? Never seen one before in the flesh.”

Fang slowly lowered her sword, squinting as the creature transformed into a more familiar form. Too familiar. “Do I know you?” It was the least important of the questions she could have asked, given everything that her now-human former attacker had shared with her, but Fang was a less troubled by the sleepwalking and more curious about her identity. The slayer did just encounter a dream eater not too long ago. Was this Ariadne’s doing?

And then it hit Fang. Just like that. While her mind had taken a step down the lane of recently familiarized associates. “You’re that pretty girl online. With the different-colored eyes.” Also the confidence of an expensive sugar baby, but that was beside the point. Or was it? “We’re on a bridge. Not sure what its name is but it’s the one that connects two halves of the town.” Not the very best description. More vague than she intended. But that was all that came to her at that moment.

When the other woman looked like she was about to bawl, her “muddied” hands on her face, Fang quickly returned her katana back in its sheath. Carefully, she took a few steps toward her, uncertain as what to say or do. “You all right? You need help?” When she heard that quip about being a superhero, however, Fang heaved a sigh. She hasn’t heard that one before, though mostly because she never really revealed herself this long to anyone that didn’t die shortly thereafter. Taking off her oni facemask, she stowed it in the inside pocket of her jacket. “No, just a cosplayer. You’re not human, are you?”

This person wasn’t Xóchitl. The only other person that was sent a picture of the nix was that odd stranger that wanted to make sure Teagan wasn’t a goatee, or something like that. Was her name Mica? Or was that the random friend she mentioned? It was hard to recall. At any rate, Teagan wasn’t sure they even shared names. They hadn’t had the chance to get together for a fun-filled night either. Although, Teagan wished they had. Especially when the other’s face was revealed. How was everyone in this town so damn pretty?

No, she had to focus.

“Yeah. Pretty girl online.” Teagan nodded, crawling slowly to the edge of the bridge, leaning against the partition so she could rest. “You’re the grumpy woman who likes to frown.” A chuckle escaped from Teagan. One that lacked any real humor in it. “Still interested?” She flashed a sarcastic look at the woman, a knowing one that said she figured the answer would be a no. “I’m Teagan. Can I have–” A pause. It was a force of habit to settle into her fae instincts, but Teagan thought it best to not bite the hand helping her. “What’s your name? Or does that only come after a second sleepwalking meeting?”

Fang snickered. Grumpy woman who likes to frown? Not the worst description anyone has even given her. Most of the worst ones were in different languages, cuss words in native tongues speakers believe she wouldn’t know. Whether it was intentional or not, it was creative. Only makes the listener grow madder in confusion. Still does its intended purpose. What were those words the Austrian spat at her after she cut off his thumb? Fang couldn’t even remember, only that once he spoke them with vitriol, it was like her katana had a mind of its own. A quick slash. No sound. Just a muscled man crying in pain like a child. Good times.

“Interested in what? You already fucked me up,” Fang thought that was creative, grinning from ear to ear as she looked the other woman over. If she wasn’t well aware of the supes, maybe she would’ve said no straight away and ran in fear like that Austrian. But let’s face it, years fighting supes, working with some of them? It wasn’t impossible for something along those lines to happen. “Fang,” she liked what she was seeing, so what’s the harm in giving out a name? Fang might regret that, but she can just add that one to an already growing list. “Maybe we should get you home, Teagan. Might be safer inside.”

Teagan chortled at the joke, tension being cut as easily by Fang’s joke as she imagined it would be for her katana to cut anything else. She was a funny lass. Cute, too. “Good one. Maybe you are a superhero. They’ve always got those good quips.” A chuckle came easier then, Teagan’s chest no longer tightening at the startling realization of waking up in a different place. Fates. She just wanted June to end.

“Well Fang, I think you might be right.” The nix groaned as she rose to her feet, legs still wobbly from the effects of panic. “Should probably get home. Fate knows who is out here.” Taking a deep breath, Teagan nudged Fang’s shoulder playfully with her own. She grinned tiredly, meaning her words to only be taken in jest. “Maybe your arch nemesis will spring out of nowhere and make the night worse. We better hurry back to my cabin. Get safe under those covers, eh?”

That chortle made Fang smile. Not the kind of smile she always did for others, the polite business-like smile, but the kind of smile she didn’t even know she makes. Shaking her head, she tried to brush that superhero comment off. It just wasn’t her style, even though she’s gotten it from others, including Sara. Superheroes do things for others, lay their lives on the line for useless ideals. Fang would only do things for others if she was getting paid. Maybe years ago, sure, but these days? After her mentor’s death? If there had ever been a superhero inside of her, she was long dead.

“No arch nemesis, fortunately,” Fang feigned a cough before fixing herself up, dusting her clothes off of the dust that had settled on it during their scuffle. If there were even any left. “No lovers, too.” She took one long look at Teagan again, not even the least bit concerned of the woman’s other form, and licked her lips. It was that kind of night, huh? She deserved a break every now and then, especially since the last one was, what? Like a year or so ago? “You do owe me a massage…or something else.” A wink and a grin and they were off.

#wickedswriting #writings #waving words #fang and teagan #c: fang #unburned bridges #parental death tw #sibling death tw

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