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Real advantages. You're taller? Than both of them, by a couple inches. Which isn't much, but it never happens— not unless you're in a pack of girls, i.e. it never happens— and sure, alright, you'll cop to it being a confidence booster. Uh. You have... beetles? Is that an advantage? You have... you have... you're trying really hard not to call it 'magic powers'... wait, you have Teddy! Shit, you forgot about Teddy. (Sorry Teddy.) In fairness to you, he's pretty discreet— no questions, no complaining, nothing. Utterly calm about some asshole hijacking his body. Perfectly willing to help when you need it.
You think you need it. An hour ago, you would've been up on that bench immediately— you wouldn't have given a damn, being high as a kite. Now you're only high as a... a something. A low-flying bird. An ornithopter. So it's not cowardice to rouse Teddy gently, to usher him back into your mind's gatehouse, to hand him the levers. Not a cop-out. A shortcut.
Teddy cricks your back, shakes your legs out, and stands. He looks over at Lucky and Arledge, who've paced some measures away, and at the bench. You flash an imaginary thumbs up, and with an air of placid bemusement he swings one of your legs up and then the other. You are standing on the bench.
Mercifully, Arledge hears your banging around and glances over, sparing you (or Teddy) the indignity of having to call out. He looks puzzled. Lucky glances over, too, and looks contemptuous. Neither of them say anything. This wasn't a good idea, was it? Even even if Charlotte <span class="mu-i">were</span> here goading you into it, and especially since she wasn't. You have to say something right now to keep their attention, some powerful opener, and for all that ruminating you didn't even think about that. Teddy has no ideas. You're speechless.
In slow-motion you watch their respective interests wane and their eyes start to flick and right then, driven by sheer adrenaline or impending humiliation or both, you grab your hand away from Teddy and flex your fingers wide open. Which is not a gesture strictly needed to fling all 400ish of your bodies as far away from you as possible, but it's cool. You need cool.
In all probability, though, Lucky and Arledge never saw the gesture. They'd be too distracted by the result: Teddy, rigor mortis on the bench, surrounded by a chainsaw-buzzing 10-by-10-foot beetle-orb. You're a little distracted, too, with your whole center of mass yanked up and stretched to breaking. A little light-headed, a little giddy. You can't feel Teddy anymore, except as one big slow heartbeat in a storm of hundreds, which poses some difficulty: you intended to use his mouth. Aw, well. "YOU GUYS NEED TO SHUT UP!" you say, and it's only a little bit clicky.
(3/5?)