Teagan and Archer and Open
That was either far more subversive than she could ever hope to be, or Archer was being dull on purpose for some reason. No costume at a costume party seemed like an unforgivable faux pas to her, and she looked around to see if anyone had noticed, yet. Maybe she was the first to ask, and in a position where she could rescue Archer from social humiliation. As his job - his duty, as she understood it - was to protect her (as well as everyone else at the Red Door) from everything else, it seemed only fair for her to at least try. Her face went expressionless, but the scent around her started to smell a bit like burning leaves. The oxygen was being joined with carbon in her determination.
"We'll fix this," she assured him, as if there were a horrible wrong that needed righting as soon as possible. But how to fix it?
Her eyes scanned him, unblinking, combing over his outfit. Black was boring, but black was good. Black didn't have any immediate associations, did it? Black could be anything. Black also made the red bag he was holding pop nicely. The eyes flicked back up to Archer's face, and the face shifted. Corners of the mouth ticking upwards again, stretching into a full grin. Heroism was all well and good, but easy heroism was the best thing ever.
"Nobody has to know that you don't have a costume," she told him, triumphantly, and the carbon dissipated, replaced by a sweeter smell. The oxygen again, with the mild hunger-inducing spores (which at least smelled more like melon than corpse, and didn't induce rage, or fatigue... Teagan was hard to be around during some of her moods, and downright dangerous to have around in others). "You're my helper!"