Jetta has decided that she completely despises being pregnant. Not that that's anything new to anyone who knows her, especially since that stupid mistake back in June, but this is ridiculous. She hates it.

She can hardly wait to get rid of this burden on her body and get back to her old self again.

It's funny, because she's actually prettier pregnant. Not as cruelly perfect, at least in appearance. She is, however, quite as cruel.

"Oh, Teague, darling, I need to talk to you."

She doesn't know how it works, but she knows it does. He hears her call him, whenever she does.

Convenient, that.

About a quarter of an hour later, Teague turns up on her doorstep.

While it doesn't take long for him to get her messages, sometimes it takes him a little while to actually get to her.

He has a sort of hangdog look on his face, which he promptly erases as he reaches up to knock at the door. Jetta's calls have never meant anything good for him, and he doesn't expect that it's going to be any different this time.

"Come in."

She's a trifle annoyed. He took too long to get here, the naughty boy. She won't go easy on him.

... actually, she never does, so the point is moot, isn't it.

She's reclining on her couch, one arm draped casually over the bulge that is Teague's daughter.

He slips inside and quietly (as always) closes the door behind him, then leans against it, crossing his arms. He's cleaned up very nicely over the past few months - he even looks presentable.

Which is rather a shame, because scruffiness suited him much better.

"What do you need?"

"I've been thinking, honey."

She smiles at him cheerfully.

"Maybe I do want to keep the baby after all."

His neutral expression changes, but only for a fraction of a second. It's barely a flicker.

"Oh?"

His tone is so forcedly calm that it's unnerving.

"Why would that be?"

"Oh, I don't know. I've gotten a bit attached to it, you see."

She's practically purring. She knows she's getting to him. Nine months of tormenting him has given her experience in reading him.

"Besides, you couldn't possibly raise a baby properly."

"You don't know until you've tried," he shrugs.

A sigh.

"Okay, Jetta. What is it you really want?"
There is no way she'd actually want to keep the baby, not with the way she's been saying how eager she is to be rid of it.

She laughs.

"You don't believe me, honey? Awww."

Still, he is right.

"I rather like having an errand boy."

"...Right. And?"

Can't blame him for wanting it set out clearly. Not that she couldn't change her mind at any time, but he likes to know exactly what he's agreeing to. Jetta is sneaky.

"And I think I'll keep you around."

She smiles.

"You get the baby only when I feel like it. And I won't feel like it if you don't behave."

Teague suddenly feels like the contents of his stomach have turned to ice. A dark, ominous scowl replaces his careful, neutral expression.

"No."
There's a hint of bared teeth.
"You are not doing this to me."

"You can't force me to put your name on the birth certificate, honey."

She smiles. This is amusing.

"Come to think of it, I don't even know your name."

Glare.

"I can. And, if I have to, I will."

That pretty voice of his isn't only good for singing.

"Oh, don't you?... Well, that never bothered you before. I'll write it out for you later."

... pause.

"What, you going to try to blackmail me again, pet?" She looks him over. "I can give the baby up for adoption. While you're in jail for stalking me."

So there.

"Nothing nearly so mundane," he smirks, "...And I'd dare you to try it, but then you would."

Pause.
Ominous pause.

"And then you'd be in an awful lot of trouble."

She looks at him skeptically.

"What can you possibly do to me, honey?"

He has, after all, been fairly meek in her acquaintance with him. (She has conveniently forgotten how scary he was when he informed her that she was not to have an abortion under any circumstances.)

"There's quite a lot I can do to you, but I don't think you really want to know," Teague says evenly, shaking his head. There's a threat in his eyes. "Just because I can do something, doesn't mean I should do it - which's an idea you should learn, by the way. There are things I could have done to you long before now, but didn't."

As they say, knowledge is power. Teague's not telling her just what he'd do because he doesn't want to give her time to find a way to counter.

"Aren't you just full of hot air."

She is skeptical!

((And that must be the longest wait for the crappiest post /ever/.))

His lip curls, ever so slightly, then fades into a smirk.

"Am I?"

Teague stands up straight, no longer leaning against the door. He gives a charming smile.

"Here, why don't you do something for me. Go to the kitchen and find a pair of scissors, hm? And bring them back..." He taps a spot on the floor, immediately in front of him, "And I want you to stand right here."
His voice is coaxing, calming, the voice of a best friend,... and layered heavily with magic.

Jetta... obeys.

This is highly disconcerting, or will be, when she figures out what in the hell is going on. For now, she goes to the kitchen, digs out a pair of scissors, and comes and stands right in front of him.

... this is odd.

"Good. Now, take a few strands of your hair,..." He does this part for her, holds the strands up, and then gestures to a spot an inch or two above the ends. "Now, cut it off, from here. When you're done, give me the scissors and go sit down on the couch, there's a good girl..."

Frendly, friendly... aren't they getting along so well?

Jetta is going to be furious.

She does as told.

Again.

This is, for the record, a rather bizarre occurrence.

"Still think I'm full of hot air?"

His 'normal' voice returns, sounding harsh in comparison. Or maybe it is harsh - he's not very happy with her. Teague twirls the scissors on his fingers, a faint frown creasing his brow.

"I could have made you do anything, at any time,... instead, I've put up with you. And I'd say I've done pretty damn well, considering the circumstances."

Jetta looks at him with an expression of mingled fear and anger. The fear is to think what he could do to her. The anger is that he dares presume to do it.

"Get out, you... you..."

She snarls something that I really don't care to repeat and flings a cushion from her couch at him.

"Out!"

Teague catches the cushion.
"Ah-ah. Not quite yet."
He's not smiling anymore - he looks rather grim now, really.

"Listen. I'm willing to compromise. I'll stay on as your 'errand boy', as you put it. But you are not going to take the baby from me. Ever."

"Forget it. I never want to see you or this thing again after it's born."

She does not like that he has the ability to do that to her. Therefore, she will have nothing to do with him at all, lest he do it again and remind her that she is not completely in control of the universe.

"Now get out!'

"Fair enough."
He certainly won't mind.

He turns to leave, dropping the cushion on the floor. Then he pauses and turns around.

"Oh. By the way. Name's Eamon Touchstone. Teague's my middle name."
And then he's gone.