Teague's wanderings had been quite limited as of late. He looked maybe a tad sleepier than usual, from boredom. He might know the city from top to bottom, but staying in nearly the same place , and knowing he would have to remain there for awhile, was enough to drive him crazy with boredom. He strummed idly at his guitar, pausing every time he finished a verse.

Being in a better part of town, he'd made something of an effort to look more respectable. He was wearing clothes with fewer rips in them than usual, and had tied back his messy dark hair in a grey paisley kerchief which just about concealed the slightly pointed tips of his ears.
He was going to be glad when this waiting was over.

Hunter, as he was called, fitted like a square peg in a square hole in this part of town. His pants, pressed. His shirt, pressed by artfully mussed. His hair, dark, neat, shiny. Probably attacked by hair gel.

Around his neck, tattoo of red and white roses, a wreath. On anyone else, it would have clashed. On Hunter, it was a fashion statement.

Hunter sauntered along, not a care in the world. The day was beautiful, the sky was blue as blue could be, people were out enjoying themselves... ah, sunshine. The mood of the season was decidedly perky.

Seasons don't have destinations. They have journeys.

Still, on this journey, it could be said that a large part of it was visiting Teague for a chat.

Hi, Teague.

Teague blinked, lifting his chin off his chest, where it had been resting. One doesn't learn to listen to the wind's speech without catching the meaning of such a peculiar summer breeze. He turned to peer at the approaching man (technically, man), squinting slightly.

Oh, hell.

"Hullo," he said guardedly.

Oh, you mean that summer breeze?

...imagine me whistling innocently. Because neither me nor Hunter know anything about that warm, heady breeze that's following Hunter around like a puppy.

Nothing at all.

"Hello." Smile.

Greeting for greeting- an old game.

Still fun, though.

Hunter's stopped moving. Standing, now, rather than walking, in that lounge-in-place way of his (well, Hunter's; other personae stand differently).

Teague didn't say anything more for a moment. He just watched. He wasn't sure what to expect. He generally didn't expect anything unless he knew it was coming, and this situation was somewhat unnerving. Not only did he know who he was facing, he knew of their connection to a certain girl who he was currently waiting on...

Finally, he cleared his throat, readying himself to speak.

"Nice day, isn't it."

"Very. You like?" Pride?

Indeed.

Now, hopefully they'll get past the pleasantries and I-know-that-you-know-that-I-am eventually.

"Yeah. Certainly. 'S far better than in midwinter, when I'm trying to play-" he lifted the guitar briefly, "-but my fingers are too numb to feel the strings."

He played a few chords to punctuate the statement. Then he blinked up at Hunter again, and gave a deep, long sigh. "So. Need I guess why you've wandered this way today?"

Hunter looked pensive. Artfully pensive, even.

Sometimes, you had to hit them over the head with the emotion for them to notice it.

But anyway.

"Sad, Teague? It's supposed to be a happy occasion. Circle of life. Joy. A time of togetherness. Hope for the future." He would continue to list the cliches, but does would it really be necessary?

Why, yes, Hunter is rubbing Teague's mistake in. Hunter has a dearth of little demigods running around for a reason.

He smirked bitterly.
"That's what they say," he said, turning away from Hunter as he put the guitar in its case and closed it. Then he turned back to face him. "I'm not sad so much as feeling that this is all a big screw-up, and wondering what exactly you want from me. That's assuming you're here for a reason other than mocking me."

Smile. Hunter has nothing hanging on the outcome of the conversation. He doesn't care.

Which is why he's so relaxed about it.

"Well, for one thing, I was wondering if you'd already come up with name ideas for your daughter. If not, I think I'll have to offer Jetta some suggestions...."

That'll be fun.

"For another, if I need another reason," eyebrows up- he's a god, he doesn't need a reason, "I thought I might be of some assistance. She is the daughter of my Jetta, remember?"

Mine, mine, mine.

Gods never leave the 'people as possessions' phase.

"Daughter?" Teague blinked, surprised. He hadn't known that it was going to be a girl- how could he have not known that? How did he miss finding that out? Oh well. So it was a girl. "No, I'll admit I hadn't thought of any names yet. I've been preoccupied."

He paused to take a deep breath, and let it out. If he didn't he might - gasp! - start getting agitated.

"Your Jetta... yes, well, she's definitely more yours than mine, and welcome to her," Teague smirked, "Some assistance would definitely be welcome, though... it might depend what kind of assistance you have in mind, though."

Smile (again). He's perpetually sunny today.

Which raises the question, is he affecting the weather, or is the weather affecting him?

Either way.

"Well, in that case, I think Jetta and I need to have a chat." Yay.

"As to what kind of help, why, I have no idea. Haven't decided yet." No hurry, after all.

Saturine-Frey, Hunter, whatever name you wish on him, added "For one, I thought I might help alleviate the boredom."

Ah, mind reading, is there nothing you can't do?

"You do that. Only, if you decide on a name, don't pick anything stupid."

He raised an eyebrow. Oh, lovely, he could read minds, too?

"Alleviate the boredom? And how do you propose to do that?" he asked. His presence was more than enough to stir up Teague's uneventful day. "And what makes you think I'm bored,... maybe I'm just alf-asleep for no reason."
Sarcasm. Now he's annoyed.

He's a god. He can do anything.

Well, he can.

He just doesn't want to do lots of them.

"Was that rhetorical?"

Actually, most of those statements were pretty rhetorical. Hunter was a bit bored.

Maybe he'd give Teague a sunburn or something... annoying boy....

"Yes. It was," he said, shaking his head and adopting a benign sort of smirk. He could be more sarcastic than that, far more,- but it wasn't really that intelligent to go around tyring to annoy a god. It's bound to end badly. "Neevr mind. What do you mean, alleviate the boredom? Seriously this time."

Badly? Whyever would you think that?

It's rather like tempting Fate or wearing copper jewelry on a hilltop.

Taunting gods, that is.

"Iunno. D'you play cards?"

Hunter does not take Teague's plight seriously. Horrors.

"It's happened that I've played," Teague shrugged. Card weren't his kind of game. He doesn't cheat, exactly, but it's difficult not to listen to the little breaths of air that know exactly what the other player's cards are. Teague would avoid playing cards with a god, anyway. Nothing's stopping them from cheat- , ahem, stacking the odds in their favor, after all.

"I'd suggest Go Fish, but that's a more formal get-together kind of game. You can't play Go Fish with mortals, it isn't done."

Hunter looks serious.

Only, well, he doesn't. He never does. He never is.

"Not poker. Not my kind of game. Rummy?" Hunter likes rummy.

"As you wish," Teague shrugged a shoulder, trying not to look too terribly disinterested, "I'm not much of a card player."
Well, he isn't if you don't count that he knows the other person's hand.

"But what I would really liked right now is to get back to my music. If you don't mind."

Please. You think the god of summer is incapable of preventing breezes from touching his cards?

"Of course, of course. Please, do."

Hunter is now the attentive audience.

Dum dum dum.

Teague smirked and nodded. He opened the guitar case, took out the guitar, started playing, and-
ignored Hunter completely. After so much time playing on the street, he could ignore with the best of them. Well, ooked like it, anyway. Pretending that he was completely oblivious was a good way to get people off his back.

Hunter, well, relaxed.

Warm day, guitar music, nothing to do but laze....

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

At some point, he'll phase out of italian-stylish and into a more comfortable look. Curly brown hair, innocent face, wide brown eyes with hints of hazel, a broad nose and constantly-shifting vine tattoo coiling lazily around his neck. Jeans. Green t-shirt.

Antlers.

He kicks back on the sidewalk, head pillowed on arms.

Look: clouds. Just a couple, but enough for some quality cloudwatching to theme music.

Joy.

Teague's gaze flicked briefly over Hunter - he didn't need to look, but he was hoping he'd left. Finding that he hadn't, he bent his head over his guitar and continued to play. He wasn't one to be easily annoyed,- or unnerved, for that matter - but the god's presence was getting to him. He wished he'd thought before he let this whole mess happen. He'd even known that Jetta and Hunter were, so to speak, dating.

But, not even the thought of a god's wrath was enough to deter him. When drunk, Teague really just didn't give a damn about anything. He was lucky Hunter wasn't particularly wrathful, at least. And that the worst he had to worry about was his daughter (strange thought, that) ending up with a weird name.

Hunter spoke quietly, voice overlaying the guitar without interfering. "It'll be a nice name."

Well, it will.

From his perspective.

"You've already decided on one?" Teague inquired.
He should really be honored that a god is taking this much interest. Really. He's even trying to feel honored. But it's not working that well because in a way, it feels like meddling.

And, though Teague has mentally started calling the child his daughter, he isn't even sure if he will keep her. He can't know whether it would be better for her if she was given up for adoption...

"No. I just won't suggest bad ones." Simple, huh?

As for meddling, it could be argued that Teague was meddling in Hunter's business by sleeping with Hunter's girl.

I mean, honestly. Bad form.

And as for adoption. "Penny for your thoughts?"

He wanted to respond to them, after all, and continual mind-reading got tiresome after a while.

Hm. No bad names? Well, he'd just have to trust Hunter's judgement on that.

Giving a sigh, he stopped playing the guitar and let it rest in his lap.
"As if you don't know them already," Teague said, smirking wryly, "Well, in that particular line of thought, I'm wondering whether or not it's a good idea for me to keep her-" her being the baby, of course, "-I mean, no doubt I'd make a better parent than Jetta, no offense intended. But what experience do I have, either? Wouldn't it be better for her to go to a family who's prepared to care for her?"

"Jetta isn't cut out for maternal duties, truly." Hunter snorted somewhat impolitely, curly hair getting in his eyes. Otherwise, he might have been watching Teague with them, you see.

"As to experience, few mortals have experience before their firstborn." Finally having gotten the hair out of his eyes, Hunter shot an appraising glance Teague's way. "I'm surprised she's the first girl to take advantage of you."

Well, what else was he supposed to say? Hunter didn't harbor any illusions about the kind of person Jetta was.

He liked her that way.

"If I hadn't been drunk, it wouldn't have happened that way. Figures that the one time..." he shook his head. No use dwelling on that mistake - it had happened and he was going to do what he could with it. "Never mind. It's not going to happen again." He drummed his fingers on the smooth surface of his guitar, frowning.
"No, I suppose you're right. I just feel I'm particularly unprepared," he said, "I'll have to get to work. I mean that both literally and figuratively. That is, if I'm to keep her..."
He sighed. He did want to. He just didn't know if it would be the best choice.

"Don't get drunk often, do you, Mr. I have to be responsible now?" I'm not sure if that's rhetorical or not.

Work... meh. It was different when it was farming. Farming mattered. Year-round useless mundanities, though.... Meh.

Hunter, by the way, is working under the assumption that Teague is keeping his daughter.

If Teague doesn't, perhaps Hunter will try his hand at parenthood.

It would be interesting, to say the least.

Teague treated the question as if it wasn't rhetorical.
"I'm not saying I don't get drunk often. I just don't do it in the company of others, because I know I can't control myself," he shook his head, scowling. "And for goodness' sakes, don't mock me. I'm doing the best I can."

"Touchy."

In the I'm more laid back than you are contest, Hunter wins. He just does.

"I was just wondering why you would do it the hard way."

Magic is what he's talking about, if you couldn't guess.

To provide graphic example, he began plucking bills from thin air. One, two, three. Hundreds, that is.

Technically, they were from places around the city where people had had the phenomenal luck to lose them.

But perhaps his point was made?

"Because I can't do it any other way," Teague said, unimpressed. He was making an effort not act as irked as he was feeling, but it was difficult when Hunter was acting so nonchalant. He was really beginning to wonder why the god considered the baby as being any of his business, anyway.

"I'm the god of fertility, man. Babies are what I do." He's answering thoughts again (bad Hunter!). "As for 'any other way'... what, breezes decide you were a wet dishrag and leave you?"

Not that breezes would leave a wet dishrag alone. Infernal things. Never a moment's peace.

"That's not what I mean - and you can't count on breezes. They're honest, but fickle. That's like leaving it all to chance," he shook his head. "I'm going to do things a way that can be, well, depended on. Or, a way that's more dependable than wind."

It's the honest way, or so it is considered. Teague, as I think has been said before, likes to think of himself as a decent person. If he didn't have that, he wouldn't know what kind of person he was anymore. He barely knows as it is.

"Ice cream man?"

Hey, don't look at him that way. Ice cream is important.

"No offense,-" and he really means that this time, by the way, "-But that's a one-season kind of job. There's no use for an ice cream man in say, midwinter. I'd be trying something more permanent than that."

He smirked.
"McDonald's maybe," he joked. Ha. As if.
Well, if it was absolutely necessary, he would.
He wasn't looking forward to having to work set hours, but he'd do it. He'd prefer something where he could use his musical talents, but as they say, beggars can't be choosers.
If he was lucky, he might get a job singing somewhere...

Hunter flapped a hand in negation. "Sounds soul killing. How about I pay for the sprog and you keep on singing?"

Sorta his kid too. In a way.

Also? Hunter uses the word sprog in everyday conversation.

Yay.

Well, it would make things a lot easier, but...
"Are you serious?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Teague's question was in earnest. "Because I'd love to keep singing,... but I'd not do it on the street anymore. Not a respectable occupation, you know..."

Not that Teague cared about respectability, but the daughter might, once she grew up enough to notice. Teague's now fully convinced he'd be keeping her, and his mind was even making jumps towards the future. How interesting. He's actually getting into it.

"Well, yeah. You've got nine months to find such a job, eh?" Thoughtful pause. "I can probably spell you on Jetta-watch now and again, too."

Why so helpful? No clue. Probably something selfish like 'I like babies'.

As a side note? If Hunter ever met Alex, his grammar would give the english teacher conniptions.