Penn lay sprawled out on the queen-sized bed, managing to effectively take up the entire thing. This was not such a bad thing, since Carlotta had no interest in lying down at the moment. She stood in front of the mirror by the bathroom, making sure her unmanageable hair at least gave the impression of being somewhat managed. They were both dressed, but still damp from their recent shower, which hadn’t accomplished much at all in the ‘getting clean’ area, all things considered.

“Penn, you’d better get ready,” she said, trying to figure out if her hair worked better down, or pulled up and out of the way.

“I am ready,” he insisted, watching her.

Carlotta gave him a sideways glance by way of the mirror. “I don’t think they’ll let you in dressed like that,” she said, referring to his slightly torn jeans and ghastly t-shirt. “Is Teller coming with? He at least knows how to dress sensibly.”

Penn refrained from mentioning how Teller dressed like a complete square as he pulled himself to his feet. “I dunno. I’ll go ask him.”

He made his way to the door that linked the adjoining hotel room, and pounded on it once before pushing it open.

“Hey, Teller,” he said as he walked through the door, met with the very last sight he expected to ever see.

It was big, black, and seemed, from Penn’s perspective, to be composed primarily of teeth and claws. More importantly, it looked up sharply at Penn’s voice, and with a mad snarl, leapt for him, claws swinging and teeth snapping madly.

Penn wanted to swear. He wanted to blaspheme. He wanted to say something totally obscene. He tried to do all three at once, which manifested in a startled shriek as he reeled backwards and slammed the door shut.

“What was that?” Carlotta demanded, spinning round sharply.

Penn snatched up the room key and Carlotta’s handbag, ushering her sharply to the door. “Nothing,” he insisted. “Teller’s not coming. Let’s go.”

---

This is crazy. These things do not happen. They just don't, and Penn knows it.

Except that it did happen, and Penn saw it.

Well, that's what he gets for saying something as blatantly stupid as, 'I'll believe it when I see it.'

"Wait here," Penn says, rushing for the door.

Carlotta looks up at him, stunned at the absolute disaster before her. "Penn? Where are you going?" she demands. But it's too late. He's already gone.

“Do I gotta take you to a doctor or something?”

Teller starts to respond until Penn opens the door to Milliways, and then he gets very noticeably silent again.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Penn snarls, noticing Teller’s sudden silence. “Now you shut up.”

Teller rolls his eyes, following after Penn.

“Get away from me,” Penn says. “I don’t even want to look at you right now.”

He turned his back on Teller until he finally got the point. Sighing, Teller shook his head and headed toward the door.

It was good to be back in New York. Teller loved it there. After living in England, he wanted to settle down someplace that defined America, and New York was it. Everything a person could possibly need to survive could be found within five blocks of that person’s apartment. Anything that wasn’t found within five blocks of that person’s apartment was a simple – albeit, sometimes strange – subway ride to get there. Teller could have probably been easily forgiven for assuming that, aside from the occasional trip to San Francisco, he could have lived the rest of his life without ever leaving his neighbourhood.

And aside from that frankly terrifying man two floors up, he didn’t want to.

Which is exactly why he wasn't at all surprised to find himself standing in his front room, trying to figure out what the hell to do with everything that he’d manage to pack away over the last nine years. Because ever since Penn waltzed into his life like some sort of sword-swallowing pied piper, every ounce of predictability had flown right out the window.

He did not want to go on tour. Going on tour meant changing everything. AGAIN. FUCK.

He couldn’t get rid of his books. Some of them were far too rare and valuable, and going back through them always netted some sort new idea that could be warped and twisted into something brand new that no one had ever done before.

The props he’s collected are in the same boat. He’d spent quite a bit of money on most of them, and those he didn’t spend quite a bit of money on, he’d built, either by himself, or paid someone else to do it. And those ones were for one specific bit that he’d written, so they’d be worthless to anyone else.

The piano... well, he’d inherited that with the apartment, and even he couldn’t figure out how the hell they’d managed to squeeze it in there. Far as he was concerned, the only way to get it out would be with a chainsaw.

Which did sound sort of fun, and would probably relieve a lot of stress right now.

Out of ideas, Teller gave up with trying to figure everything out for now. Maybe he’d just call it an early night. It wouldn’t be productive, but at least he could put on a record or something and read for a little bit.

He opened his bedroom door, and gazing at the sight before him, was struck by a sudden bolt of lightning.



Problem solved?

There's nothing more awkward than watching Penn try to flirt. The girl on the ground floor of the Cryptic office wasn't really helping matters by flirting back.

“You know,” she said, leaning back in the chair behind her cluttered desk. “I think you two could do well if you went full-time.”

Penn laughed. Teller rolled his eyes.

“Oh, yeah?” Penn asked. “And, uhm. Who's going to arrange something like that? You?”

Carlotta smiled. “I'm not a babysitter.”

“Isn't that what you guys are?” Penn asked as he sat down on her desk. “Professional babysitters?”

Oh, for crying out loud. There had to be somewhere else Teller could go to right now. Maybe he could go upstairs and help someone deface some record sleeves or something.

He got up and wandered out of the office, leaving Penn and Carlotta to... do whatever the hell it was they were doing. Upstairs, he did find one of those weird guys with an airbrush, using it to paint his toenails.

In a way, Teller was almost surprised that these guys had toenails. They looked just human enough to pass on a cursory glance, but if you really looked at them, they started to look very strange. Features sort of pulled back in odd, unfamiliar ways.

Still, this was better than watching Penn do disturbing things with that girl from accounts. He wandered over to the abused sofa and sat down on the far end, watching with a sort of odd curiosity. It occurred to him that he didn't even know the guy's name – or if they even had names. For all he knew, their stage personae were their real names. Not that it helped matters, since they never showed their faces when performing.

It didn't take long before Teller was noticed. Apparently satisfied with his very messy paint job, What's His Name put down the air brush and reached for a bowl of candies, which he offered to Teller.

Teller wasn't sure what they were, but it was a common tactic he'd employ, himself. He took one and popped it into his mouth, immediately wishing he hadn't. Practically choking on the taste alone, he spat it out and threw it at the wall, where it left a very bright blue mark. Rather like the sort of mark a bug leaves on a wind shield.

What's His Name looked at the splotch for a few moments before picking up one of the candies and throwing it against the wall.

Oh, yes. These things were much better as a graffiti implement. What's His Name began throwing the candies all around the room. It wasn't long before Teller started joining in, throwing the candies at various surfaces around the room, different colours creating a mosaic of splattered, running colours.

“Hey, Teller--”

As Penn walked into the room, What's His Name hit him in the face with several of the candies. They exploded with colour, covering his glasses and his hair as Teller and What's His Name erupted with a howling laughter.

“We gotta talk,” Penn said simply, turning to leave the room.

SFO is one of the most confusing airports in the country. Trying to get from arrivals to the taxi bay is an exercise in extreme problem solving.

This goes doubly so after arriving at midnight, from a six-hour flight from New York.

With Penn all but falling asleep on his feet behind him, Teller had taken to all but wandering aimlessly through the terminal. Not entirely sure how it had happened, they eventually found themselves in International Departures.

“Teller, do you even know what you're doing?” Penn demanded finally.

Admitting defeat, Teller shook his head. He stepped aside, letting Penn take the lead as he turned back around to walk down the long corridor back to security. The good thing about being in an airport at midnight is that the security lines are very small. Penn walked straight to the front of the small line, dropping his suitcase loudly on the floor.

“This bastard over here's been leading me around for twenty minutes, and we've gotten nowhere,” he said, pointing over his shoulder at Teller. “Where the hell are the taxis?”

The security officer wasn't quite sure if he should call someone over. He hesitated slightly, and then pointed at a wall behind Penn.

“It's just on the other side, there,” he said. “Go back toward International Arrivals, and then at the end of the wall, come back this way, on the other side.”

Penn stared at him blankly. “What?”

The man pointed and repeated himself, as though he'd made himself perfectly clear the first time. Before Penn could say 'what' again, Teller turned to try to follow the convoluted directions. The corridor on the other side of the wall was so small, that it was no wonder he had missed it the first time. He whistled loudly, getting Penn's (and everyone else's) attention, before disappearing down the corridor. It didn't take long for Penn to catch him up, and they were soon outside, standing on a long, curved sidewalk.

The taxi queue at midnight was almost non-existent, and the two of them stood in a confused silence as they tried to figure out their next move. After a few moments, Teller spotted someone jogging in their direction, and tapped on Penn's arm before directing his attention to the person, before moving to put Penn between the two of them.

“I was starting to think I'd managed to miss you boys somehow,” a southern accent called, out of breath, at them. “Where'd that little guy just get off to?”

Teller stepped out from behind Penn, confident that they weren't about to be mugged.

“He's right here,” Penn said simply, moving to follow their host. “I didn't know you were gonna be picking us up. We could have taken a cab.”

Their host laughed. “They keep me up late, anyway,” he said. “Fox is on day shift right now.” He led them to a waiting car, which would have already been towed, had they been in New York.

“Well, we appreciate it,” Penn said, opening the back door for Teller.

Teller climbed inside, shut the door, and immediately fell asleep, content to let Penn and Homer rattle on for the rest of the night.

Teller sat backstage, nervously peeling paint off of a metal pole that ran up along the wall. Just ten minutes before they were supposed to be on stage, Penn finally walked through the buffer doors.

“Ready, Teller?” he whispered.

Teller nodded. He watched one of the new players — Jon, he thought was his name — play a film critic on a fake television show. He tried to imagine that this run was just like the one before, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that the cameras were recording this time. This was for real. A screw-up off-Broadway was easily forgotten. A screw-up in front of umpteen skadillions on national television could be career suicide; especially when one’s career is only just getting started.

“Hey,” Penn said, putting his hand on his partner’s shoulder. “This is gonna be fun,” he assured. “You fixed the problem a long time ago. Don’t worry.”

Teller inhaled deeply. Penn was vamped; he was ready. He had a way of making it all just seem like a fun game.

Jon’s sketch ended and the show cut to commercial. In a mad rush, the crew scurried out to change the set. Penn & Teller didn’t get any special backdrop for their segment, so this was the first time either of them had seen the beige flats that would stand behind them. For all they knew, the flats were just a generic guest background; neither of them had watched the show with any regularity at all. Friday nights off were rare.

The show’s announcer quickly informed the crew from his booth that the show was coming out of commercial. This was show-time. Someone on the floor counted down from five, cueing the disembodied voice to announce Penn & Teller. In their excitement, they jumped their cue slightly, entering a few beats early.

“Good evening,” Penn said to Camera One. “My name is Penn Jillette, and this is my partner, Teller. When an NBC talent scout recommended us for this show, he said we should do a card trick. But the thing about card tricks is that they’re lousy for television. We can see the trick, and the people in the first few rows can kinda see the trick, but you people up in the balcony and the cameras can’t really see it at all.”

Teller nodded and walked off stage. Without missing a beat, Penn continued.

“We’re gonna give you something to look at real soon, but first, I need somebody to come up here with me…”

While Penn looked around the first few rows for a suitable victim, Teller rushed over to Bill – their Director of Covert Activities -- and climbed up into the tank. He quickly submerged himself, taking a moment to tap on one of the joins Sameth had fixed before resurfacing. Bill handed him his SCUBA mask from his perch on the ladder, and as Teller situated himself, Bill pulled the lock from his pocket.

“Penn told me about the new change,” Bill confirmed.

Teller nodded. He dunked himself back under the water and let Bill lock the lid shut. The SCUBA regulator was passed down through the bars, and as Teller put it in his mouth, Bill stepped in front of the tank to wait for Teller’s signal. Teller checked himself out, not noticing anything out of the ordinary. Just as he got ready to give the signal, he noticed a small problem. A problem that hadn’t been there a few hours earlier. He raised his left hand, debating between which signal he could give. The problem was small, and Penn had already gone on.

After another moment’s hesitation, Teller gave the international SCUBA divers’ code for “Okay,” and Bill handed him the dummy key and prepared to wheel the tank out. The victims had been chosen, and the premise of a television magic trick explained, so Bill took his cue and wheeled the large tank out to the stage. Even through the water and glass, Teller could hear the eruption of laughter. He couldn’t help but smiling just a little. Penn saw, even behind the mask, and giggled a little bit.

Through the bit, Teller paid little attention to Penn, and kept his eye on his secret problem. It seemed to have been doing fine. Two minutes in, and no problems. He went on as rehearsed, sinking to the bottom of the tank to keep Penn from getting the key. He’d be fine. He was confident enough that he thrashed about as planned when it came time for Penn to ignore him, but he soon realized that the thrashing had agitated his secret problem. He quickly stopped and went as still as possible to avoid making the problem any worse. He quickly threw the key into the audience and turned around. Now, with no way to look at Penn, he had no idea how much longer in the trick. He could no longer hear Penn’s shouting over the audience’s roaring laughter. All Teller could hear was the pounding of his own heart in his ears. He begged to himself that Penn wasn’t being his regular funny self. Laughs took time, and Teller soon realised that time was not something he had. With every passing second, his secret problem grew worse and worse. He knew that now, there must not have been much time left in the trick. He didn’t want to give the secret signal just before Penn made the reveal, but on the same token, he had no idea when Penn would make the reveal. He decided that he would slowly count down from ten, and if the reveal had not come, he’d make the signal. Slowly, he went down to one, trying to time his counting as best he could with his contracting lungs. Just as he got to “one” in his mind, he felt Penn grab his hand and turn him around. There was supposed to be laughter right now, but Teller didn’t hear it. All he heard was the blood rush in his ears.

He didn’t see Bill rush out from the wings to unlock him. As Bill stuck the key into the lock, Penn returned to address the audience once more. Bill pushed the lid open, allowing Teller to climb out. As soon as Teller grabbed on to the edge of the tank, Bill knew something wasn’t right. Teller’s face was almost purple and he was having a harder time holding on to the edge of the tank than when they had first started working on the illusion. Bill climbed up on the ladder brought out by one of the techies and took Teller’s hand, holding him above the surface.

“What happened?” Bill asked.

Penn turned around to look at Teller in time to see his partner whispering something at Bill. Teller never talked to Bill. Things had blown up – sometimes literally -- at the shop, and Teller still didn’t talk to Bill. Penn waited for the cameras to shut off before walking back to his partner.

“What happened?” he asked.

Teller was still panting, but now he felt like he was going to vomit on top of it.

“The mask failed big time,” Bill said as the curtains fell.

In front of the curtain, Penn heard the show’s host announce the musical guest. He and Bill helped Teller down from the tank. As soon as Teller’s feet hit the floor, he staggered off back to the wings. Penn gave a worried look to Bill before following his partner back off stage.

“Man, what happened?” he asked.

Teller leaned against one of the prop tables and threw the mask down in front of him. Penn picked it up and looked at it.

“Jesus Christ,” he said gravely, noticing Teller’s secret problem at once. He opened his mouth to ask how it had happened, but as soon as he found the words, he knew exactly what had happened. “Sonofabitch,” he muttered.

Teller either didn’t hear, or didn’t care. Plotting something evil, Penn reached into his trousers pocket and pulled out a small key ring.

“Do you think you’ll be alright to drive?” he asked.

After a moment, Teller nodded. Penn handed him the keys, closing Teller’s hand around them.

“I heard that actress-friend of yours needs a ride home,” he said. “Go be a gentleman, and I’ll take care of this problem,” he said, motioning to the mask.

Teller nodded, and after a few seconds, began to get undressed so he could dry off.

The shop Teller leads Sameth to is a typical Earth magic shop, full of completely foreign devices, fake animals, and gaffed everyday objects. Teller leads him through the shop to an office, and eventually down a flight of stairs to the basement. Down here is where Teller works on his own props, and front and centre is the phone booth from hell, as illustrated in Teller's notebook.

Sighing deeply, he looks up at Sameth, hoping this guy can do something about the epic leaks that spring from everywhere.

This is not the Teller you may be familiar with from Bullshit! on Showtime, or even any of the dozens of specials where you may have seen Penn & Teller perform*. They’ve never even appeared on Saturday Night Live. This is, instead, a very strange AU version of him. However, most of the important details are the same. He’s still an aggravating little man (who isn’t even little, but we’ll get to that in a bit) who refuses to talk under nearly every circumstance, and he still performs disgusting and startling magic.

"What's this one do?"

For starters, it’s 1987 on Teller’s timeline. On this timeline, Penn & Teller are an act, but they do mostly parties. Their main income, however, comes from owning and running a magic shop in Times Square, called Mofo Magic (out of which they also give lessons and act as booking agents for other acts). Technically, Teller owns the shop, but he just lets Penn do most of the actual counter work, which seems to give the impression to patrons that Penn owns the shop, and just keeps Teller around. Teller takes care of most of the paperwork, and will help Penn demo the tricks, while Penn does all of the booking, all of the talking, and all of the transactions. In short, there’s no one in the multiverse Teller trusts more than Penn.

Oh, yeah. And there are aliens and other monsters in his universe.

While he is primarily rooted in the Invisible Thread time line and continuity, some details may find themselves crossing over. I've not been doing a whole lot of planning for the future, but I do know for certain that they will NOT be doing anything in New Jersey in 1989. At least, nothing that will get them killed. They may wind up selling the shop eventually, and taking their act on the road, and they may wind up meeting more monsters on their travels. I'm sort of just playing this one by ear right now.

Character Details

Teller isn’t short, by any means. In fact, he stands just a smidge over 5’9”. He only looks short because his business partner is Sasquatch (true story: Penn stands at just a smidge under 6’7”).

Teller does talk, as well. In fact, he takes it one step further, and speaks a total of ten languages (including Latin, Hebrew, and Sanskrit), seven of which are considered “dead” languages (the other two “living” languages he speaks being French and Greek)**. Getting him to speak to you can be a bit tricky. Since it’s in character for him to not talk, he’ll be doing an awful lot of that. There are a few circumstances during which you can get him to actually say something, though, and some are more difficult than others. A guaranteed way to hear him say something is to be around when he gets injured. Granted, you’ll only hear him swear, but it works every time (just please don’t hurt him for the sake of getting him to talk). It’s also sometimes possible to get him to laugh (which isn’t technically speaking, but it’s still a sound), and if you’re really lucky, you’ll get a wild, uncontrollable cackle.

It’s also possible to get him to go on at you in a language he probably thinks you may not understand. He does this just to frustrate you, really.

"Don't worry, Teller. They're not gonna throw all these people in jail."

If you want to have an actual conversation with him, with back and forth dialogue, that’s a bit trickier. He only talks to people he knows and trusts, and it sometimes takes him a little bit to get to that point. He does try not to make snap judgements, so your chances of actually getting to this point with him are good if you’re patient (and even then, he can still be fairly quiet). When he does talk, it’s with a rather heavy Philadelphia accent.

Unless noted, Teller will always appear in the bar wearing his typical grey suit and red tie. In instances when the bar tends to find him when he’s away from the shop, he does dress more casually, typically favouring dark t-shirts (usually with band logos) and blue jeans.

His magic tricks

Magic has always been a hobby of Teller’s, but he never actively pursued it as a career until around 1982. Up until that point, he taught Classics and Language at University of Oxford. For reasons unknown (I will go back later and figure them out should plot require it), he disappeared without warning. Two years later, he resurfaced in Manhattan, having changed his name (technically, he had his first and middle name changed. His last name, which is now his only name, remained the same) and stopped speaking. He holds two PhDs (which I will figure out later), and as well as being into language and literature, has an interest in science.

The tricks he does in the bar will be basic sleights***, which he may even teach to you if he decides that he likes you. In the bar, he’ll do mostly card, coin, and other small tricks (sometimes involving a tarantula), but his apartment is lousy with props for all sorts of tricks, as well as a very odd collection of animals.

* Since Invisible Thread was a short story written by Penn, and then adapted into script format by the both of them, many of the details in this bio will read strikingly similar to the real thing, only crazy exaggerated.
** The mun speaks English, understands a very, very small amount of French, and has a basic understanding of Latin. Teller’s insane fascination with languages is canon, however, so most of this stuff will either be implied, or have absolutely rotten grammar.
*** Teller won’t do any tricks that the mun can’t do. This is for a few reasons. I don’t want him to just be doing stuff that can’t actually be done, but I also don’t want to describe anything incorrectly. It can generally be assumed that if you pick a card from him, it will be the Three of Clubs.