Teagan’s Saturday night odd encounter(Preston)
Date: 2025-11-08 21:19
(Teagan’s Saturday night odd encounter(Preston):Preston)
[Sat Nov 8 2025]
In Old Port Warehouse/span>50F(10C) degrees. The mist is heaviest At Panama and Sidney/span>(Your target and their allies have been tasked with convincing a retired and burnt out faction member to come back to the fight.
)
The warehouse is empty in that echoing, even perhaps kind of creepy way. It is, at least, clean. That’s been the first step of Teagan’s work on it since she signed the paperwork. Does she have time for a store? Who knows. But the plan is slowly coming together. Today she sits at a folding table (in a folding chair) with a notebook and pen: sketching out some ideas, making notes. She squints every so often out at the large space, chewing at her lower lip, before going back to her writing. It’s cold and while she has a jacket on, she does shiver every so often. There’s no point having the heat on yet for a space this big and open.
And soon that cold gets just a little bit colder. There’s a loud thump on one of those big warehouses door.
THUMP.
THUMP.
Two thumps in fact. Perhaps Teagan hasn’t fully secured the doors, or someone is a lot stronger than that door, because soon, it’s sliding open, and in steps a man – clutching a hand to his stomach. He looks rather beaten down, scars across his face, hands. His coat is muddied and a little bloody. There’s a bandage wrapped around a rip in the jacket of his arm, and he staggers in, and falls onto the floor with an exasperated grunt. “I’m sick of this shit.” He mutters, not really even noticing Teagan yet.
Engrossed in her planning of layouts and starting to devise what she’ll need to start turning this space into an honest-to-god shop, Teagan is startled by the sounds. She squeaks, dropping her pen. Getting up from the chair to retrieve it, she’s crouching down to pick it up as the door slides open. The pen is pocketed as she returns to her things slowly. “Hello?”
There’s lights on, but not a lot of them. A puddle of light here, there. But she grabs her scabbard (just in case) and retreats to the bank of switches on the wall, flicking them all on (as she hasn’t memorized which goes to what area) to flood the place in light. “Who’s there?!”
In those puddle of lights, the man’s face might be seen, just a little. He’s on the older side, maybe about mid fifties? Early sixty? It’s hard to tell exactly, but he’s got a weathered face, six o’clock shadow, and a messed up nose – from definitely one too many fights.
A barking laugh escapes him. “Of course there is..” that man says to himself, voice rough like sandpaper. “There’s another person here? Don’t mind me, girlie. I’m not going to hurt you.”
The scabbard is strapped on all the same. Teagan isn’t taking any chances. This is technically 63rd territory. She pulls out her phone and moves to stop a short distance away from the man: out of reach, but able to get a gauging look at him where he lies on the ground. Her mouth twitches slightly. “Yeah, I own the place. Do I need to be worried about someone following you in here?”
A hand comes up, just sticking straight into the arm – and he gives a thumbs up. “You, girlie, are probably good. You should see the other guy.” That puddle of light would reveal a grin on his features – there’s a small pool of blood that seeps from that wound on his stomach – a crimson pool beneath him. “I’m good. Just let me be. I’ll try my damn best to not die on your floor, girlie. Give me a second.”
“Right.” Teagan takes another step back, still considering her phone. She starts dialing in the number for an ambulance. She doesn’t dial it yet, but she at least gets it dialed in. “I really don’t want to have to explain this to anyone. But uhm-” she does look toward the open door, then back to the man: to that grin. Unsettled enough by it that it concerns her more than, well, the fact that he’s bleeding on her floor. “The other guy, 63rd or not?” Because she doesn’t need their welcome wagon just yet.
“Yeah, probably,” Preston explains to her, blinking his eyes. “Look, girlie, I’m tired.” He tries to sit up, but struggles a little bit, groaning. “I’ve been fighting for a while.” As he shifts, Teagan might spot a necklace he wears, on a gold chain – glinting a little bit in the light. “I’m just tired. Defeated. I think I should just lay down, and let whatever comes to me, come to me.”
“Fuck.” Teagan can’t help but let out the invective, moving (skirting, really) past the man to the rolling door, pulling it down firmly and making sure it’s latched. She still has her phone in hand, but is now weighing if an ambulance will cut it. Or if she should call someone else. Or… Her other hand falls to the blade at her hip, settling on the hilt.
“What’s your name?” Teagan asks, moving a few steps to try to get a better look at him, eyes briefly dropping to the chain.
“Thanks,” the man calls out as at that door is pulled closed. “It was getting cold in here.” Not that it’s really much better, since Teagan didn’t she didn’t seem to have the heat on, but at least it’s not more air entering. “You can call someone if you want,” talking about the phone, “But really, I don’t plan on hurting you. I’m just done. I’m sick of this shit. I’m sick of it all.”
“Can just call me Ed. That’s my name.”
“More debating getting you some paramedics,” Teagan says to ‘Ed.’ And it’s the truth, at least. But she still hasn’t dialed it. Her thumb hovers over the call button. “Sick of what shit, Ed? Wanna tell me what’s going on? ‘Cause if you killed some 63rd or pissed them off and they know you’re here, I’m gonna have to deal with it and I’d really, really like to know ahead of time.”
A gesture of his hand, “This. This City. These factions.” A sort of grunt, sitting up. It doesn’t seem like he’s bleeding out too much anymore though – perhaps he’s already healing, just slightly. “I’ve been doing this shit for a long, long time, girlie. Probably even while you were still in diapers.” Though, he should know that doesn’t mean anything. Teagan could look young, and be hundreds of years old. Ed’s just guessing. “You will be fine. Believe me. Nobody’s going to come looking for me.”
There’s a sort of flicker of… something in Teagan’s mien. Like she, for a brief second, considers actually pretending she is hundreds of years old. Would anyone even be able to prove she’s wrong? But a slight shake of her head and Teagan files that thought away for the future. “The city’s been around less than a year,” she quips, a bit of that Fae assholery slipping in. “Are you part of a faction? Is there anyone I should… alert, if you do die? I mean, body cleanup isn’t something I have any.. uh… experience in.”
“You think I’ve only been doing this shit here?” A little upwards lift of his eyebrows. “Knew you were a youngin, a girlie. I was right.” But he doesn’t linger on that really, “Yeah, part of the Order. But, I don’t have a family. Kids don’t like me, I’m five ex-wives down.”
“Nah, but you named the city. I know there are… offices all over the world.” Teagan looks disappointed that he took her so seriously. But she does change how she’s dialing. There are a handful of Orderites in her phone now. She chews on her lip for a moment as she considers them. But there is one that, well, has that kind of… *Fixer* charm as it were. And so she sends off a text to Preston.
‘130 Colonial Ave. Someone named Ed. Says he’s Order. May be bleeding out or something.’
“You didn’t learn your lesson after ex-wife number two?”
Teagan wpuld get a response back from Preston that reads ‘k, omw. you call an ambulance?’.
There’s a massive grin at that. “You’d think so, right?” Preston tells Teagan, “But, nah, hard to change. Going around fighting monsters, or evil things, really takes a toll on your relationships. I’m not perfect.” Preston mentions to Teagan.
There’s a sound of wheels pulling up outside now, and a big knock on the door.
‘No. Guy seems kinda opposed,’ Teagan texts back, but shrugs and makes the call to Windermere Teaching Hospital. She keeps it quick: “Yeah, 130 Colonial. Uh… sixties, male, dunno. Talking? Look, gotta go.” The questions! They’ve got the information they need. Please stay on the line- nah, fam.
“You married the wrong people,” Teagan tells Ed bluntly as she pockets her phone and turns toward the door. She opens it part-way to make sure it’s Preston out there. If it is, she opens to let him in. If not? Well, then she’s closing it back up damn quick. Or at least trying.
It is in fact Preston standing out there, “It’s me, Miss Calls People Boring.” If it wasn’t clear it was him before, now it’s definitely more clear that it should be Preston out there. “I’m big, are you going to make me crawl under this door, or what?” It’s casual, teasing, light.
Ed looks to Teagan from the floor. “You think? I’ve traveled around a few places, different countries. There’s sometimes some pretty young thing. If you can find me a wife who likes that sort of thing, then, you might be a miracle worker.” Ed doesn’t even seem bothered by the fact he’s probably admitting to cheating on multiple wives.
“What were you doing when I texted?” Teagan asks Preston as she opens the door fully, stepping back to let him in. She gestures toward the man on the floor.
And then as if she didn’t just let someone else in on the scene, she continues the conversation as she makes her way back over. “They married the wrong person, too.” Clearly she has a ‘great’ opinion of anyone who would marry this guy in the first place. She crouches down in front of him, but still far enough away that she should be able to evade any attempts to grab her. She squints at the gold chain he’s wearing. “So you planning to retire, then, Ed? Go live in a condo in Florida?”
There’s a grunt from Preston, “I’ll have you know, I was busy.” Though with what, he clarifies, walking into the warehouse, and not even bothering to close that door. “Who’s he?”
Ed looks between Teagan and Preston now, “Oh, hey, I think I know him, Order?” But he continues to chat with Teagan all the same. “Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking about. Maybe Cabo. Or some nice fucking island. Far fucking away from here.”
“This is Ed. Apparently he’s done with this shit. Says he’s Order, but no one cares about him. Pissed off some 63rd from the sounds of it.” Teagan glances back over her shoulder to Preston with a brief raise of her brow that says ‘doubt’ of his being busy. “Thought you should know.”
“Maybe take him to a mirrorgate if he’s serious about being dropped on an island.” Teagan looks back to Ed, frowning just a touch. “And get the Order to pay for my floor to be cleaned.”
“Why?” Preston says, to all of it in general. “Why are you trying to leave? I mean, yeah, you can just fucking quit if you want. That’s some real good team spirit there Ed.” Lifting his shoulders in a shrug, “I mean, I don’t know what you want me to say. You wanna move to Florida? Or some island, sure, go on right ahead. Just go on ahead and prove the people who think you’re a shitty person right.”
Then to Teagan, “It adds some character, keep it.” Grinning wildly at her.
Ed listens to Preston, his face frowning. “Fuck you.” He spits, “You don’t know my life. You don’t know the shit I’ve been through.”
“I am not gonna have the kind of shop where blood on the floor is part of the aesthetic,” Teagan grouses to Preston. “This is gonna be a classy place.” She straightens and rolls her shoulders back a bit, looking between Ed and Preston, arching an eyebrow at the latter. “If the guy cares so little, kinda seems like he never had the team spirit to begin with.”
“A classy place, in a warehouse?” Preston asks Teagan, lifting his eyebrows at that – almost judgmental. “What’s it gonna be?” That little bit of back and forth banter, before looking back to Ed. “You might be right, can’t imagine doing something for so long, defending people. Protecting people, you’re just done.” Rubbing at his face with a hand, “I guess that’s fair. You want me to call you a helicopter? I’ve got some connections. Can probably get you, drop you somewhere.” Preston might just be lying, or making shit up. Who knows?
Ed keeps that grimace on his face, “Fuck you, both of you. You especially, girlie.” Jabbing a finger at her. “I’m just fucking tired.”
“Yeah, we’re all tired,” Preston mentions to him. “You can take breaks. You don’t have to try to fight the world on your own, yeah?” Reaching a hand out, he looks to lift him. “You don’t seem like you’re dying though. So, I’m sure you’re fine.” Looking to Teagan, “We can get out of her hair, if you want? Go get a drink or whatever, and if you feel like punching me, I’m sure that’s fine too.”
“Warehouses can be converted. Right now it’s got… potential.” Teagan scoffs at Preston, not answering the rest of that question. He’ll just have to find out with everyone else! She looks to Ed sharply, a hand going to her chest with a sense of: ‘who, moi?’ “What did I do?”
With an offended sniff, she does move in nearer to Ed finally (with Preston here, at least if the guy tries something…) and reaches a single finger out to hook under that gold chain. Because if he’s gonna be dragged out of the place, she’s gonna at least get a look at it. “Preston does look very punchable,” she agrees.
That gold chain isn’t really anything fancy, not in the traditional sense. It’s a bit weird though, attached to that chain is a sort of dogtag kind of looking thing. But, it’s not dogtags. There’s a list of names on it – engraved. A hand comes up, grumbling angrily at Teagan. “Did nobody teach you manners, girlie? Don’t touch.” And he pulls away from, lifting himself with the help of Preston. And he leans in after, towards Preston, to tell him something.
“I’d sure like to teach her some manners.”
Preston lifts him, and stares at him for a long moment. “Alright, yeah, we’re going to go have a chat.” It’s pretty clear that Preston is bigger than Ed, and a hand comes up to grab a little at his jacket, where he begins to half-drag, half-lead him along. And from over his shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do about the blood. Enjoy your night, yeah?”
“Sorry, sorry,” Teagan says as she draws her hands back and holds them both up in a ‘fine, fine’ sort of way. She steps aside as Preston lifts Ed, but there is a sort of circling near to both of them. She pats Ed on the shoulder as they move past. “Good luck with wife number six when you find her, Ed!” And she pulls her phone out of her pocket as it buzzes. There’s a sigh as she snaps a photo of the pool of blood on the floor and goes to start packing up. Won’t be anymore work done tonight.