abby_icon.gif barbara_icon.gif bennet_icon.gif cardinal_icon.gif cat_icon.gif daphne_icon.gif delilah_icon.gif eileen_icon.gif joseph_icon.gif kaylee2_icon.gif melissa_icon.gif quinn_icon.gif reynold_icon.gif sable_icon.gif susan_icon.gif tasha_icon.gif

Also featuring:

colette_icon.gif elisabeth_icon.gif patrick_icon.gif raith_icon.gif tien_icon.gif ygraine_icon.gif

Scene Title Cannibalize
Synopsis Some cultures eat their dead. When the Ferry come together to mourn theirs, they do it to the living.
Date August 28, 2010

Staten Island Boat Graveyard

Exactly where land gives way to water at this point of the island's edge is uncertain - first because of the saltgrass growing everywhere, both on dry earth and in the shallows, giving the illusion of solidarity; second for the structures visible in the distance, drawing the eye away from the deceptive ground, suggesting its reach extends beyond its grasp. Even if the structures are still recognizable as ships, and nothing that ever belonged on land.

There are a multitude of them, abandoned hulls of salt-stained wood and rust-pitted steel, dying slow and ungraceful deaths as wind and water claim their dues. Some still appear to rest upright, braced upon the debris of older, lost relics below; others list to one side, canted at an odd angle like someone who just struggled to the surface in search of a desperate breath. There are no hands to pull these hulks from the water, no ropes to save them from drowning; each has been surrendered to the sea, left to the ravages of unmerciful time.

At low tide, some of the closer ships can be reached - not without getting soaked, but such is the price of daring. Never mind that the rotting metal and splintered wood are the stuff of nightmares for any germophobe, definite hazards to the unwary. The more distant ships are distant indeed, beyond the reach of all but the most bold - and are all but submerged besides.

It had been almost dawn, when they'd first come to make presentable the space for the service. Garden gloves and plastic bags, spears to hunt stray pieces of garbage, waterlogged and reeking, rakes run through grass and sand to turn up pieces of glass, cigarette butts, plastic rings. Since then, there is a cleaner quality to this patch of shore without ruining its integrity, and the chill of morning has been staved off into a hot day. The warm sun makes the water both glitter and smell stronger than usual, but it's the smell of foreshore and beaches, earth and water, not so unlike a true graveyard if you replaced the fragrance of flowers with salt.

For twenty-nine names remembered, there had been a swiftness to the service, maybe due to the deliberate care taken to a respectful, secular quality, even if the man who conducted it is the one who makes the Ferry council say a prayer when the meetings are done. There are Catholics and Buddhists and agnostics and aetheists present, and room to remember the dead in their own way.

Among the tasks of cleaning out the trash, there'd also been the makeshift gravestones. Weather eroded and as tall as a man's shoulder, this spot had likely been picked for the immense wooden pillars buried deep as oak tree roots into the ground, passed the saltgrass-polluted segmented sand, down to where the earth and rock backs deep. There are two to three images, the ones they could collect, tied by ribbons to occasionally flag up in passing breezes to otherwise hang and show the portraits of the fallen. Freshcut flowers have been periodically laid at their bases, both before and after the service.

It's after, now. Some have drifted by most remain. A couple of Ferrymen and the family of such have migrated down the length of beach to study the broken ships and boats rotting away in the shallow water, one child restlessly through a pebble at a bird, gull both taking flight and pebble shattering on impact against rust-red hull.

A couple of vehicles wait a distance away to help cart people across the island, and one is adding the growl of its engine to the audio landscape of the place. Joseph glances back to the shape of the retreating Volvo, moving off to stand where the water vaguely draws its territory across soft ground, boots sinking in.

While Melissa didn't come to help clean this morning, neither does she look too very different from a corpse herself; face pale, dark circles beneath her eyes, which look a bit glassy. But appearances aren't what matter. The fact that she came to honor the dead is.

She stands near the edge of the crowd of people, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her black pants, staring at the makeshift gravestones. Her blonde hair is tied at the nape of her neck, keeping it from blowing around in the breeze, but it also keeps it from shielding her face. She doesn't seem to be in any hurry to leave, or to track down anyone for conversation. Not yet anyway.

Kaylee Thatcher is dressed nicely, still wearing a pair of nice jeans, though the work done that morning , left smudges on the knees. She doesn't care too much, it there for a good reason. She wears a dark red buttoned shirt, the fabric a little lighter then cotton, it clings to her as the breeze pulls the fabric against her.

"Did a good job, Joseph." She offers moving to stand with him, keeping a small space between them. The telepath's eyes are still red and a bit puffy, from the words spoken and remembering of those around her. She has a weird perspective of things thanks to her ability. Others thoughts and their pain, loud during things like this. "I think you honored them pretty well."

Fingers lift to pull a lock of blonde curls out of her face, as a gust pulls it across her cheek and into her eyes, blocking her view of the man. She turns her back on the water, it always makes her feel weird to stand on the shores of Staten, since her mid-winter swim. "This was a really good idea." She adds after a moment, watching the other people present.

Having said goodbye to Colette, who had been among the first to leave after the service in order to make a work shift, Tasha has found a rock to perch on near the gravestones, a bit away from where most still congregate, offering one another consolation. The small teen's eyebrows knit together, her face otherwise a stony mask, but for the fact her long eyelashes are still wet from tears spent during the actual service.

Tasha wears a black shirt dress, despite the summer's warmth, with a green scarf tied around her neck to hide the only physical wound she bears from that night. Her thin arms wrap around her bent knees, and she stares down at the white toes of her black Converse — they may not go with the dress, but Staten is still a dangerous place. One never knows when one might need to run.

A lone cigarette rests between Reynold Williams' lips as he allows himself to mull things over. One of those very bodies could have been his, had he of even been there when this whole thing had gone down. He grumbles slightly as he glances over at the weeping widows and children who had lost thier fathers or mothers. Families who lost their loved ones, and for what? Taking matters into their own hands to make a difference? "Twenty nine people. Just plain stupid.." Years of being alone have a bad habit of allowing one to speak their thoughts aloud, and the returning Ferryman is no exception to this rule.

His jaw clenches slightly as he quickly pulls the cigarette from his lips and tosses it into the waters before him. He glances towards the priest, and the people who now approach him to congratulate him on a job well done. "Asskissin'…" He mumbles this under his breath before turning his gaze towards the child that threw the pebble at the gull. "Was it really worth it.."

Greiving in a group is something unfamiliar to Sable, making her feel unsettled, tending towards small unnecessary adjustments to her outfit, as if the suit she wears doesn't quite hang right. Untrue - it's tailored down to fit her diminutive frame, and with a hat and a pair of what must be new(ly bought) dark sunglasses, she has a sort of blues thing going. The best she can do, for colors of mourning.

Fidgets with hands and feet persisted through the service, however short, along with nervous eyes motions between the pastor speaking and the gathered Ferrymen. Like she's not sure what's more important, the great shared sadness, or the voice that speaks for and to all of them. When it's all over, she's sort of relieved.

It's much, much easier for Sable to deal with sadness one on one, so when she spots Tasha out on the borders, she sidles over after only the briefest hesitation. When she draws near, only a few paces away, she stops, tilts down her glasses as if she's confirming her identity, and looks over the dark lenses at the girl in the black dress. Not the only one, surely.

"Y' know many 'f those gone, gal?" she asks, voice low, though not quite murmured.

Delilah, despite herself, has been here a good deal of the day. At this point, however, she finds herself perched on a makeshift bench- there are a few, gathered around- rocks, old crates, pieces of logs stood upright, one old bucket seat out of an '85 Vic. People take what they can get, after all. The redhead has literally been flopped out on the bucket seat for a while, watching the crowd undulate with numbers, coming and going, talking and becoming as quiet as church mice. Even at a time like this, she is able to tell which social groups are which.

Delilah shifts on the seat stuck deep into the ground, bracing a hand on her lower back and considering the events of the afternoon once again. This isn't the first time they've lost others- but it kind of feels the same every time, doesn't it?

Richard Cardinal is talking with Elisabeth Harrison off to one side in quiet tones, a hand sliding up her shoulder to squeeze it firmly in support of whatever he said - or to reassure her after whatever she said - before he steps away from her. "…ter, okay?" A nod from both, and then he heads along over towards the rag-tag gathering of terrorists, freedom fighters, and people who just were in the wrong place at the wrong time one day.

He's dressed casually; it's Staten Island, walking around here in a suit isn't a normal thing to do. It's somber all the same, black jeans, a black t-shirt without any markings or logos on it, a pair of wrap-around shades that shield his eyes from the sun's piercing glare. At least, piercing to him. Hands folding at the small of his back, he doesn't talk to anyone else at first, not initiating contact at least, just looking over the memorial area with a grim and flat expression.

With a hand clasped around the twin crucifix pendants that hang from their thin silver chain, Joseph glances back towards Kaylee as she approaches, allowing for a tense sort of smile. "Not everyone will get a funeral," he says, his voice quiet enough so that it's only between the two of them. "Not everyone would be able t'go to a funeral if there was." He scans a glance passed Kaylee, taking in those that aren't as familiar to him, those that are. Reynold situates himself in the former category, gets a curious but not a prying once over — they've all been made vaguely familiar over the course of the service.

Familiar faces snag at his attention, and those that remain for a while, and then towards the gargoyled shape of a young woman who crouches in front of the wooden pillars, damp eyes focused on the hanging photograph of a woman roughly her age, maybe a little older. She's in an almost formal, if dowdy black dress, and isn't paying heed to the sand that clots its dark hem, her feet bare in the saltgrass-riddled sand.

Joseph couldn't say he knows, very well, the twenty-nine dead — not even Odessa Knutson, whose name and visage is strung on an adjacent pillar — same cannot be said to be true for all.

Cat's arrival had been later in the morning, sometime between 11:00 and noon, after meeting with Elaine Darrow. Clad all in black, she'd been quietly respectful during Joseph's service, letting images of those who fell drift through the mind's eye, snippets come out of memory. One of the fallen doesn't hold much esteem at all in her eyes, but nonetheless counts just the same. Odessa Knutson. She inclines her head in Elizabeth's direction, afterward seeming headed toward Joseph. Spotting Tasha, she touches the spot on her own neck which features a scar from being shot by one of Carlisle's crew.

Reynold is glanced at when he speaks critically of the operation which caused this event, but Cat opts not to speak in response.

When Sable addresses her, Tasha lifts her dark eyes and her frown deepens and she looks like she might dissolve into tears. She shakes her head, and looks away. "I was with most of them," she whispers, unsure if Sable knows this fact or not, that she was with the group that took the most losses. Her voice is strong enough now to speak in normal tones; the whisper is simply out of reverence and solemnity today.

"I didn't know them, not 'til that night, not really. In passing, when Colette and me did supply runs and stuff a couple of times, but I didn't really know any of them, not really. Just their faces. I was with them that night, but it's … it's all a blur before whatever happened. I don't remember. I … I'm alive, and they're dead and I can't remember."

The tears come again, spilling over her lower lashes and rolling down her cheeks. Tasha gives an angry shake of her head. "It's not right. They deserve to be remembered, and I can't."

Despite the fact that Robyn Quinn hadn't been involved in any of the events that had led to this wake, she was here today regardless - far be it from her to skip on paying respects for the dead. She had come with Ygraine FitzRoy, though for the moment had split off from her British companion, wandering about the crowd in her black button up shirt and dark blue skirt. She's been quietly, largely. Such solemn occasions generally were cause for her to clamp up, except to offer a comforting word.

A hand runs through her hair as she wanders through the crowd, sighing quietly as she offers nods of recognition to those here she's seen before. For now, she's merely looking over the pictures and names of the fallen. There's not anyone she recognises off hand - except for Odessa Kunston. She'd heard about her new friend several days ago, but seeing it now didn't make it any less sad.

On the periphery of the mourners stands one woman, rather casually dressed in jeans in a dark t-shirt, a hat over her red hair and a pair of sunglasses obscuring her face some. Barbara Simms has remained largely quiet as well over the course of the service, present out of respect and duty to the Ferry. Hands rest in her pockets as she meanders about, speaking with the occasional other attendee.

Sable tilts at her waist, leaning down to try and catch Tasha's eyes, to tilt into her line of sight. The sunglasses say slid down her nose, her yellow eyes watchful, a slight furrow lining her forehead. Her hand lifts and she removes her hat, setting it over her heart. "No right or wrong to it, Tash, just how things are. You got what you c'n do to make th' world right, 'n' you keep doin' it, 'n' know that's prob'ly what they'd want of you, eh?"

An arm extends and Sable sets her hat atop Tasha's head, adjusting it so it looks proper. Then she sidesteps and puts her arm around Tasha's shoulder, the reach almost an extension of her sideways shuffle. "You get all that out, darlin'. Here's th' place, now th' time."

In the back through it all, blonde hair tamped down under a baseball cap and arrived with the lot of people who ventured forth from the sweat lodge, Abigail murmured appropriate and heartfelt prayers for the ferry who died. Be inappropriate to not come despite the headache, she had voted to help Messiah and participated in the even that felled these members. The medic lingered still afterwards, to drop some cut flowers - wild that they are - down and around with others and retreat back, pause near Joseph so she can drop a hand on his shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze.

Eventually Melissa's head lifts and she glances around, noting familiar faces here and there; Quinn and Abby get the longest looks, with Cardinal and Eileen in close contest. But, still she says nothing. She does, however, start to walk over towards Abby, but with slow, careful steps. She's in no hurry to socialize.

Reynold glances once more out to the sea before making his way towards the larger group of people. He had spent so much time doing things on his own, and making sure that things went his way specifically, yet somehow, he felt as if he could have prevented this large of a loss. A lot of the faces he may have once known are no longer there, and if they are, he no longer recognizes them. He's already heard about the rumors talking about his return, as if he were an urban legend. The Bigfoot of The Ferrymen. Maybe its about time he started changing that image. He knows of the higher-ups, and makes his way towards Joseph, only to hold his right hand out towards the priest. "Reynold Williams. Don't think I've met really met you yet, Pastor.. Sumter?"

"Yeah, I know." The telepath offers softly, her head nodding slowly in understanding to Joseph's words. The tip of a finger brushes along her eyelid, careful not to smudge what little make she has on. "I hate funerals, doesn't matter who, I get teary eyed. I mean…" She glances at the pastor and then turns to nod her head in one woman's direction. The older woman, stands at one of the stone, crying over one of the dead men.

"Did you know her and her husband met on the Midtown bus?" A small sad smile touches her lips, as she watches the woman hug her children. "They had a light conversation and parted ways. They met again not long after the bomb and she found out she had never left his thoughts. They were married a few month later." Fingers of one hand play with the collar of her shirt, other arm folding across her middle to prop the other up. "She was thinking about it when you were speaking."

Kaylee turns a little and motions to another teenage who stands away from others, her face forlornly looking at another of the markers. "She…she regrets that her last words to her father were to scream about how stupid he was to go on the raid." Brows til upward with worry and saddness, something about the girls situation sticks with her.

"Puts a… whole knew light on things." The words spoken softly, gaze moving to Abby, giving her a nod in hello. "Anyhow… I — just wanted to tell you it was a good job." Kaylee side steps intent on giving some space for others to talk to the Pastor.

"Hey." Joseph extends a hand to touch Abby's wrist as she moves by, but doesn't bid her to linger if heading for the edge of the group is better, especially as Reynold's shadow is coming to unite with the two he and the telepath cast together. It takes Joseph a few seconds to respond to him, watching after Kaylee's backing up after she imparts her unusual brand of insight, unsure how to take it, some twitch of a sad smile following after before he backs up a step from the water's edge, and looks towards Reynold.

His hand goes out, neither hand bearing a wedding ring unlike those few who might mourn today. "'Joseph' works too," he says, as he shakes the hand of the relative newcomer. His Tennessee accent further gentles an already quiet voice, though he'd made sure that he was heard when he'd been speaking. "It's nice to meet you— Mr. Williams, ain't it? Thanks for coming." Whether he means to New York or to the service is up to Reynold.

Cardinal's chin dips in a nod to a few people as he sees them - Abigail, Melissa, Kaylee - a deeper nod to the pastor, although he suspects that Joseph is a little too busy to notice at the moment. Behind those shades, his eyes search the crowd in silence, over the grieving and the stoic and the few who just look bored and tired.

There've been enough deaths in the past years that some have grown dangerously used to it.

He's just about to look back over to Joseph, perhaps to step forward and talk to the man, when he catches sight of a familiar face with unfamiliar hair. One hand lifts, drawing the shades down the bridge of his nose a bit to look across the crowd at Barbara, staring openly for a moment. Then, sunglasses pushed back into place, he slips through the crowd in her direction.

Patrick Hale stands at one of the vehicles waiting to take people to one of the safehouses or on to Manhattan. Sunglasses shield his eyes; his arms cross his chest defensively. He is no stranger to pain and loss, though this much loss is hard to take for even the most stoic among the Ferry's veterans. He simply watches, waiting for those who want to get away from the somber scene to make their way to him — once the four seats of his truck are taken, he'll leave.

When Sable puts that hat on Tasha, the other woman laughs a little, then moves to throw her arms around the other, hugging tightly and letting the other console her. The tears come and soon after the sobs. They'd been pushed away for too long, so that she could appear strong enough for Colette and so that the others wouldn't worry when Tasha was in the triage center. She was one of the youngest victims, and she knew everyone had been watching her carefully for signs of cracking, so she kept smiling and assuring everyone she was fine.

She wasn't.

With Colette across the water for work, it's finally okay to crack. Sable's right. This is the time and place.

Late — she's usually on time, thanks to fast feet, but this time she is late because she wasn't sure she was going to come at all — Daphne Millbrook flies in from the water as a blur of black and white before she stills into a solid form on the shores, staring at the graves. She missed the service, but she can at least pay her respects. A bouquet of flowers is broken piece by piece as she puts a single flower by each marker.

Touched, parted, A nod of her head to Kaylee and Reynard when her silent greeting to Joseph is complete and her hands sink back down into the pockets of her jeans. She'll talk to Joseph another day, in private. Melissa's approach to Abigail doesn't go unnoticed and she alters her own course to intercept, surprised to see Melissa here. "Hey" Quiet as Abigail's voice may be, she offers up a brief clasp of arms around the pain augmentor. "I'll come over and visit soon, I just got back" A press of cheek against cheek with the other woman. "How are you?"

The handshake is firm, yet friendly, showing an obvious discomfort in the gesture from Reynold. "It was time to come back. I was in Florida visiting my mother for the first time in about… twenty or so years. Not to mention with everything thats been going on here, it sure is a pain in the ass to get a bar renovated, and the renovations just so happened to finish in time for me to come back." Reynold's right cheek tightens slightly as a half-smile forms on his face. "And its just Reynold. Mr. Williams is— was my father. Fine age of 97 years old." He glances towards the other guests before lowering his voice. "What the hell went wrong?"

Brown eyes drift across those gathered, noting the approach of Cardinal toward Barbara, then move along. Feet go into motion seconds later, taking Cat toward Kaylee. Facial features are grim, showing she's got familiarity with grief and loss, though she remains mostly stoic in her demeanor. It's a facade, one used to avoid showing any sign of weakness. Events such as these stir up the memories of others that came before, making it near impossible to keep focused on here and now instead of faces and names on parade within her mind.

Quiet words are spoken when she draws near the telepath. "Will you be at Gun Hill later?"

The hug is readily accepted, and Melissa's eyes close as she takes what comfort she can from her friend. "Not well. Did you hear about Kendall?" she murmurs, quietly enough that it won't carry any further than Abby's hearing. As much as she's mourning, she doesn't want to detract from the ones they're actually here to remember.

"Aw hell," Sable says, both arms going around Tasha and holding the girl in a steady embrace as she weeps. She doesn't rub or pat Tasha's back. She's firmly planted, serving as a physical anchor, some certainty to sob against. There are no more words from her for a while. No point. The best that can be done is being done, just in the sobs, or so Sable judges. Better out than in. Better open than closed up on yourself.

A hand goes up after a bit and rubs lightly between Tasha's shoulder blades, "Y' wanna stay here, 'r go see how other folks 'r' doin'? Whatever y' like. Th' only thing I ain't gonna do is leave y' t' yerself. No one oughta be company f'r just themselves here. 's us, t'gether, dig?"

Eyes on the ground, Kaylee's head is buzzing with the loud mourning thoughts as she starts into the thicker group of mourners, her path taking her towards the marker that had been set up for Odessa. The approach of another from her periphery, brings Kaylee's attention to Cat, who gets a small smile. "Hey Cat."

She motions the woman to follow her if she wants, Kaylee is determined to get to the marker and pay her respects. "I live there, so I'll more then likely be there." A glance is cast over her shoulder to the small group near the Pastor, before looking back to Cat. "Just call to make sure I am there, never know what will pop up." Like little samurai time travelers.

Quinn exhales sharply, brushing something off of her skirt as she turns away from the memorial pictures, a heavy look on her face. This clearly was not a happy day - not that she had any illusions ahead of time that this would be a terribly happy evening. But it's weighing on her normally sunny demeanor, bit by bit. A glance upwards, and then she's moving to join the group around Pastor Sumter, seeing both several familiar faces, and a few ones, and really just wanting to talk to someone to lift her spirits a bit back up. And yet, when she does approach, she only gives a wave, and specific nods to Kaylee and Cat.

Hands in her jeans pockets, Barbara is turning away from one conversation just in time to catch Cardinal's approach, raising an eye to the man as he nears her. "Hello," she states with a half smile and a nod.

What a question, and tension pulls a frown at Joseph's mouth, backing up a step into conversational distance, hands resting comfortable on his hips as he gives consideration to the shapes of the pillars and those still milling around it. "I wasn't there," he admits, his shoulders hiking up in an awkward kind of shrug. For a 'higher up', he seems uncertain about himself, about this event he's conducted — especially when the choking sounds of tears well up somewhere in the periphery of his hearing.

It's not the first time for this gathering, nor will it be the last. "So I can't say what went wrong, but it's a shame. Hurts. We got hit hard and a lot of people risked themselves — the Institute did a lot to, uh, tick off the network."

Silver winks like fish scales between black lambskin gloves. Dressed in charcoal tones, her dark hair swept back into a twist, Eileen lingers by the markers and debates the wisdom of leaving Odessa's scalpel buried in the post. It's not only the appropriateness of the gesture that has her deliberating in silence, which is questionable, but also the voice message she discovered on her phone upon returning to America yesterday evening.

They're here to mourn the dead, and if Elisabeth is to be believed then Dr. Price is still among the living. She tucks the scalpel back into her coat's silk-lined interior, a shimmer of pearls briefly visible at her throat when her fingers part the collar and expose a sliver of the white blouse she wears beneath. This is the second memorial she's attended this year, and the dramatic irony is not lost on her; the people they'd grieved then returned from the hereafter, so why not Odessa?

The ocean breeze tugs a few strands of her hair free when she eventually turns away from the fluttering photographs and piles of flowers laid at the base of the posts, a tiny rock crab picking its way through the stems. Her booted feet crunch wetly over gravel as she passes Susan Ball and her entourage, one of the larger groupings in attendance even with its fringes shaved off now that the ceremony itself is over. Like Eileen, she has not spoken a word to anyone since setting foot on the sand, but Abigail's hand on Joseph's shoulder has the muscles in her face growing tense and her eyes dark.

Tien, who doesn't number among Susan's people but stands with them nonetheless and speaks in quiet tones with the wife of one of the deceased, either fails to notice — or pretends to.

The slightest of smiles tugs its way up at the corner of Cardinal's lips in return to the one he receives, although this isn't an occasion for smiles - it fades swiftly enough. At a polite distance for conversation (which at a memorial service like this is fairly close) he stops near Barbara.

"I know you're not Niki," he says quietly, "And you're definitely not Tracy. You must be Barbara." A pause, and he offers a hand, "Richard Cardinal."

"I've been out of country, taking care of some things" Abigail confesses to Melissa. "I'm staying on the island till I'm sure I'll be fine to head back home but I can come on by, if you need me to. Bake some things or the like." The medic reaches up, tuck some stray strands of hair of mels behind her ear.

"Okay," Tasha murmurs to Sable, standing and taking the other's hand. "I don't want to answer questions and assure everyone I'm okay, so you do the talking." She's not okay and she's tired of lying, but she doesn't want to add to their worries or burdens. "Maybe I'll pretend I have laryngitis again," she quips, her defense mechanism of joking in play.

The peroxide-blond speedster's eyes alight on those she calls friends in the gathering. Placing the last of the flowers on the last of the markers — Odessa's, and she knows that one is a lie — Daphne glances at Eileen and gives a tight-lipped smile before darting over to Joseph in a striated streak that ends with a near-tackle of a tight hug around his middle, apparently none too worried about interrupting the conversation the pastor is having with Reynold. "I'm so sorry," she mutters into his chest, her voice muffled by his shirt. Next on her list to tackle-hug are Melissa, Abby and Delilah.

Melissa nods to Abby's offer, and really, she does look pretty miserable. "I'd like that. Ling keeps trying to shove food down my throat, and Raquelle's promised to come over with ice cream, but…" She doesn't even seem to know what should come after that, so just shrugs.

Eyes drift toward the marker set up for Odessa as Kaylee wanders in that direction, and amid the din her telepathy is subjecting her to the blonde may well catch snippets of ambivalence about that particular woman. Images of being involved in a kidnapping and a feeling of general hostility which gives way to a grudging mental acknowledgment of Odessa redeeming herself in some measure before she died. Of Cat having chosen not to slay the woman herself when she had the chance.

She chooses not to approach the markers further, stating instead "I'll see you there soon, Kaylee." Then she's moving away slowly, eyes once again surveying. Quinn's gesture is sighted and returned, the superfast blonde from the dreamscapes is noted as she lays out flowers, and attention moves on toward Eileen's retreating form. The panmnesiac makes no approach to anyone else, however, choosing to place herself at a spot where she can observe and either be spoken to by any who choose. Or not.

A slight scowl crosses Reynold's face as Joseph states he doesn't know. "So, what you're telling me is that they were so sure of their —" His sentence however is cut short as Daphne suddenly latches herself onto the pastor. "We'll talk later. I won't ruin this already sorrowful event, but there damned sure better not be another thing like this again. Especially since I'm back. Twenty-nine people is twenty-nine too many. Especially with the information we can gather." He keeps his voice low and directed solely at Joseph. "I'll make sure this doesn't happen again. Personally."

"Oh, darlin', don't you worry," Sable says, grinning sidelong at Tasha and squeezing her hand, tugging her after herself, "I'm more th'n capable 'f talkin' f'r th' both of us. You take it easy. I'll handle stage banter, dig?"

Delilah's gravitational pull seems to dictate Sable's vector as she draws Tasha across the grass towards the bucket seat - a finely chosen perch. Sable does a quick casing of the area, seeing if she can figure out a chair to snag for Tasha as well. She's fine with standing - in fact she prefers it. Easier to fidget when on your feet. She pulls up into Dee's orbit and goes up to try and tip her hat… only it's not there. So instead she reaches over to Tasha's head and doffs it. "Evenin', darlin'. Mind if we pull up 'longside? Nice spot y' snagged, here."

Barbara looks rather surprised as her expression dips alongside Cardinal's, the smile having been offered merely as a gesture of greeting. "I… was not expecting to meet someone who knew my sisters here," she remarks quietly. "Or me." She shakes Cardinal's hand, gaze still centred rather squarely on him. "A shame we have to meet under such circumstances."

Watching is an ordeal in itself, when one goes to a thing like this; Delilah keeps largely to herself for the interim, only seeming to be caught up by Reynold's exchange with Joseph, which she cannot hear. Regardless, it looks important. Or dire. Maybe both. Imagination wanders until Sable's pull slings her into sight. Dee looks up, blinking once to the two girls before sifting out of that weird little reverie.

"Oh, of course. There's room on here if one of you want to-" There are a couple awkward rocks and seat-shaped crates, otherwise. Dee sits up, one hand on herself as she adjusts position there on the old carseat. "I daresay nobody is willing to snag it from me, hm?" She smiles, an absurdly bright expression amidst the situation.

There is a short nod of Kaylee's head at Cat's comment, before continuing her journey to the pole. Eyes darting to Eileen as she leaves and the curious blur of another as she zooms off. It doesn't prevent her from coming to a stop in front of the marker. The blonde studies the picture of Odessa posted there, turning a little thoughtful. Cat's thoughts about the woman were not missed. While others harbor hatred, the telepath has the woman to thank in part to her being here still.

The reason Kaylee is standing there, is more then remembering how Odessa got her out of a bad situation and into the Ferrymen's care… Kaylee saw her in the memories of a man back in 1945. Blue eyes search the photos as if it would hold answers.

Joseph starts as arms wrap around him, and the bushy blonde hair of Daphne Milbrook is against his chest. His shoulders slump a fraction, but he easily puts his arms around her in a squeeze that's meant to convey it's alright while his words are leveled towards Reynold. "Sir," he says, with a crooked kind of wry tone, "I feel compelled to believe you, and I'm sure we'll appreciate your efforts. No one's disagreein' that this can't happen again. Whether it won't depends on what we can learn from it." The words are easy and diplomatic, but spoken in earnest, too.

The woman crouching at the pillars moves for the first time in the last few minutes — her hand goes out to snag the photograph of the woman she's been weeping over, and steal it from the memorial, separates, cuts away. Ribbons hang loose from the photograph, crumpled now in the clutch of her hands, and she stands, sand sheeting off the black skirt of her mourning dress.

Jaw narrow, her other hand goes out, and she begins to tear the photographs down, one by one, letting them flutter and fall.

She should be cluing into something, she really should, with Ling doing what she's doing and Raquelle coming over. Had Kendall gotten hurt during something? "Tomorrow. I have things I need to do, I'll come over after church" Susan and the hairy eyeball that she gives Abigail don't go unnoticed and another squeeze of shoulders from Abby, and an apology from her, she parts ways from mel so that she can approach Susan, hands back in her pockets, making her way to the other councilmember.

A brief clasp and then the hand falls back once more, Cardinal's tone turning a bit wry as he admits, "I wasn't expecting to see you here, either… you're the only sister that wasn't on my radar. Niki works for me, and… well." An awkward pause, "Tracy… well, is Tracy." There, that's a politic way of expressing his feelings on the woman.

He glances back across the crowd, then back to her, "Have you spoken with your brother lately?"

Daphne's dark eyes throw an accusing look to Reynold for apparently upsetting Joseph. She extricates herself from the embrace and flashes a smile at him, standing on tip toes to press a quick kiss on his cheek. "Sometime when it's more appropriate, we need to chat, 'cause I wanna know who the girlfriend is," she whispers, perhaps surprising him that he apparently has one, at least in her mind. But before he can react, she's flitting away — not blur-fast, but still fast enough to catch, and she moves toward Melissa and Abby before slowing, sensing something very serious there. She still wraps her arms around Melissa, and then around Abby.

Tasha smiles and sinks to the ground rather than the seat Delilah's procured, handing Sable the hat. She crosses her legs and makes sure her skirt is covering everything necessary. "Hey, Dee," she murmurs quietly, her eyes following where Delilah's gaze had been moments before.

Melissa nods to Abby. "Alright. I'll be around." Then there's a Daph-hug, and it gets returned. "Hey Daph. You okay?" she asks, looking the woman over, perhaps a bit more critically than she would've a week before. But she's not about to have another person she cares about hurt or depressed if she can help it!

Eileen's path intersects Abigail's, and although the Englishwoman's back is to Susan when it does, it isn't difficult for her to project her trajectory. "I wouldn't," she says, but does not reach out to take the blonde's arm or even touch her elbow in an attempt to ward her off. As it was pointed out during the council meeting in which the Ferry voted to lend its assistance to Messiah and, by extension, Cardinal's group: choice is what's at the heart of the network.

She won't stop her. Won't neglect to caution her either, however, and Tien is doing the same with his eyes. One of the women with Susan adjusts her umbrella, angling it to better take advantage of the shade it provides. Her mouth moves around words, inaudible to Abigail, and for the first time Susan's lips part to reply. Whatever she says in return, it's succinct.

"Words and proof are two different things, Pastor." Reynold's voice is rather cool as he says this, only to shrug his shoulders. "But that's either here nor there. I will do this though.." He suddenly takes a deep breath, and allows his voice to carry out over those around him. "If anyone of you ever finds themselves needing a drink, or someplace safe, my place is always open. The Stop. It's in South Brooklyn. Ask around, and you'll find the place. Keep a low profile, and the drinks will always be on me." He allows his eyes to meet Joseph's once more, only to turn and make his way through the crowd.

The sound of paper ripping not far away, grabs Kaylee's attention pulling her from her thoughts. Glancing to the side, she spots the woman pulling pictures down. "Hey." She starts, the word more surprise then anger. "Whoa!"

Shoes kick a bit of the sand, she'll have to empty her shoes out before leaving, as Kaylee moves to hurry the short distance to the mourning woman. "Stop." A hand moves to attempt to stop another photo being snatched from the pillar, Kaylee's brows tilted upward in worry. The telepath is quick to move and put herself between the other woman and the photos, to try to save some of it. "There is no reason to do that." She hisses out softly, "I understand your anger, but that won't solve anything."

Abigail pauses, blue eyes under the dark baseball cap taking in Eileen's words. Her body still facing the red haired councilwoman but her face towards Eileen. They flicker to Tien, then down down down to her feet as if warring in her mind what to do. Go forward, or stay put. Reynold's proclamation distracts her and the young medic's shoulders hunch inwards. "I was going to find out from her whether we have a certain drug in stock in the Ferry." A lie. She was going to ask to talk to the woman, away from here. But maybe it's wiser not to. Given the circumstances why they are here. The ripping down of pictures gets a look and fingers tighten. "Lord" It wasn't a popular decision it seems, to join up for the raid, but some people, it seems, forgets that it was voluntary. No one was made to go or expected. She stands beside Eileen, watching.

Barbara's sunglasses lower a bit, giving her a better view of Cardinal, as well as letting him see her wary expression a bit more clearly. "I wasn't aware either of my sisters were on your radar," she replies, scepticism in her voice. "I only just recently met Niki as it is. Tracy, I-"

And then she stops dead, glasses coming off and Barbara staring hard at Cardinal. "What would you know about that?" she asks with a bit of a harder tone to her voice. "I have not. Though I know Niki seems to think she can arrange it." A pause, and a glance to the gathering around them.

Quinn's been largely quiet, either unwilling or unable to interject herself into any ongoing conversation as she hovers on the outskirts of the group not far from the memorial, the pictures. But when pictures start getting ripped down, that does a healthy amount of attention grabbing, prompting her to spin around as Kaylee moves past her.

"Tash, you should… y' don't have t' sit there on th' turf like that!" Sable exclaims, looking a little startled as the hat is returned to her, adjusting it pointlessly, just as she had fiddled with her suit previously. She glances to the spot next to Delilah, then over at Tasha, then to Delilah herself, then back to the spot. Rocking back and forth on her feet, she makes a face. "Jesus, I guess… um… thanks, babe…"

Sable slips into the spot on the chair next to Delilah, angling her shoulder so she can slide an arm behind the redhead, looping around her lower back. She grins at Dee, and looks about to say something, but the points of tension blossoming, the woman tearing photos down, the tense interchange that caught Tasha's eye, they draw her attention. Sable frowns.

"Can't dodge bad vibes, I guess…" she murmurs, "no matter how we try." Eyes cut back to Delilah, "You know 'bout all these folks, right? Think y' could tell me whatall people might be feelin'? Discreet, like, just so I know. I feel like a goddamn visitor. I wanna, like, sympathize proper."

There is a briefly confused stare after Daphne's flitting departure, but the words I don't have a girlfriend are far from the tip of his tongue in favour of blank bafflement. Joseph's attention is, only after a half a second of that, back on Reynold, standing taller as he listens with his hands coming to tuck into his pockets, a golden crucifix on his chain winking in the sunlight, just next to the one of similar size, made of stained glass and silver.

"I'll come by," he says, with a nod at the invitation and gratitude in the tilt of a smile, and lets the other man walk away, though he does say, to his back, "It's a pleasure to meet you." Huffing out a sigh, Joseph scans the group again, before he focuses on the scuffle beginning to happen.

It happens fast, just as Joseph is even noticing — the woman reacts to the telepath's reasonableness with a severe lack of her own, and a fist flies to backhand Kaylee across the face. The whites of eyes in the mourner's face show, as if maybe she didn't mean to do that exactly. But angry resolve hardens her features. "They're not Ferrymen anymore," the woman spits at Kaylee, struggling away, her bare feet making stumbled trenches in the soft ground. There's a roughly hysterical note in her voice. "They're just dead. This is my sister— I can't— they couldn't recover the body— " And her mouth goes like a black, gaping rectangle in grief as words stall out.

"Hey Tash." Delilah cannot help but play nice, even going as far as offering Tasha a soft pat on the knee. At about the same time, several other things happen in succession- such as Kaylee going to stop some minor ritual desecration, and the man Dee hadn't met before making a pseudo-announcement for all of them. Delilah jumps a little at the man's voice, in fact. She takes care enough to mention something though, to Sable and Tasha. "I think I like him already." Sounds as gregariously brusque as she does, really, save for him being a tall black man.

"Oh, no…" Now she does notice what Kaylee is doing. Brown eyes turn over to examine Sable next, low against the backdrop of the woman's hysterics, one palm offered vague into that direction. "I can't tell you. You can judge for yourself now, though."

"I know a lot of things," Cardinal replies in quiet tones, looking back over the crowd - to the mourners, to the remembrances left for the fallen - and he adds even quieter, "Sometimes they get people killed."

A breath's taken in, exhaled, and he turns back to Barbara with a tight smile. "Not the place, I suppose. She can, or I can. We're sheltering him. I'd… suggest you not mention it to too many people," he says, a hand sliding into a pocket to produce a card, offering it over, "He'd love to see you, I know."

"Anger. Loss. Guilt." Tasha swallows hard on the last word. She was one of three that survived of more than twenty. She has to wonder why she was so 'lucky,' and why they weren't. Her eyes drift to Tien's, one of the others who survived from the group she'd fought in. Her brows knit and she considers asking him the details her mind doesn't seem to want to let her remember.

"I'm fine," Daphne says, hugging Melissa again. "I can't handle this though. I gotta run," she says to Melissa, not noticing anything wrong aside from the obvious — that 29 people have died and are being remembered today. "Call me if you need me," she adds.

"Speak with Megan," Eileen suggests, "or Francois. Constantine. Susan isn't a doctor, and she doesn't operate out of the Terminal." If she's calling Abigail's bluff, she is at least being polite about it. She doesn't turn her head or track the other woman's gaze when her attention is drawn to the drama unfolding at the foot of the posts. Her eyes, unseeing, appear to focus on a point in the distance beyond the truck where Raith is waiting while he smokes a cigar and polishes one of the side mirrors with his sleeve, but Abigail knows better: with the number of seabirds flocking around the graveyard, her focal point could be anywhere.

Kaylee looks like she has the situation under control. "I received five resignations last night," Eileen says, "and three more this morning, before the service. People are starting to make their decisions now that they've had time to think over."

The second hug is also returned, and Melissa nods. "I know. Same," she murmurs in agreement with not being able to handle this. "Come by sometime," she offers before releasing the speedster so she can leave. At least one of them should be able to.

"That's a real fuckin' shame," Sable says, drawing one of her legs up against herself so she can set her chin on her knee, her free arm keeping it held in place, "Those 'r' bad vibes, like, 'bout as bad 's they c'n get. 'n' I dig that it's needed, but…" she huffs a sigh, "Aw, fuck it all, I ain't got no right t' say. Folks should feel as ill as they like, I guess. Feelin' it their own way. If I'd lost someone real dear t' me… well, I sure 's hell wouldn't be talkin' without a fuckin' slur, I'll tel y' that. Though mebbe that's what this get t'gether needs. A little liquor. That ain't disrespectful, is it?" She glances between Tasha and Delilah, looking for confirmation either way.

"Megan" She nods, watching Kaylee try to handle the woman who's breaking down in front of others, listening to Eileen relay the news of people resigning. They knew this might happen, would happen. Abigail had contemplated it too before. "I think no less of them and am sad they are leaving but I understand. Sometimes… things change" The Ferry changed. "Off the top of my head, I don't think the Ferry has what this person needs medically wise. I'll try and visit Constantine when I get back to the mainland, if not.. I'll see if Richard maybe can't…" She hesitates to even say the words. "Steal some for her" He's good at stealing.

Not even expecting it, Kaylee doesn't even try to stop the hit, head snapping to the side from the impact, a stumbling step prevents her from losing her footing. There is not anger in the look that the telepath gives her, but brows furrow just the same, she won't move from where she's standing. "These people have the right to mourn the dead." Eyes prickle with threatening tears from the throbbing pain, her head already starting to feel the strain of so many people.

There is a grimace as Kaylee presses a hand to her already reddening cheek. "And your wrong. They're still Ferry. They died helping to get back some of ours." It might seem cruel, but the words Kaylee offers are matter of. "They volunteered for the mission, knew the risks. Don't fault them for that. We are adults and make our decisions, no matter if we agree with the choices of others." Not once does her voice raise, like the woman's, the words are clipped through and rough.

Barbara eyes Cardinal carefully for a few moments. "I'm honestly inclined to hesitance skepticism. If you truly know my brother, than I'm sure you understand," she remarks as she puts the card into her pockets. "I'll be speaking to Niki in the next few days, to be sure. And I'm sure I'll be speaking with you as well. I would truly love to see him."

Hands move into her pockets, a grimace offered in the direction of the scuffle back towards the proper memorial, a shake of her head following. "But you're right. This isn't the place."

"They didn't know shit," the woman hisses, her voice vicious in its grief, but she doesn't seem inclined to attack Kaylee, doesn't seem ready to try and shove past her to finish the job, four photographs in total getting sandy where they fall. Especially not when Joseph is moving on over, a hand out to touch Kaylee's arm and ease her back from the mourner, who shakes her head, tangled brunette hair flagging in a stronger wind that blows off the river. "We're not better than Messiah. Then Pariah! We split from them for a goddamn reason, don't— "

She spins to address the larger gathering. "Are you all fucking blind? Goddamnit! Twenty nine people!" But she doesn't seem ready, either, to take a podium, not with her heart thudding and her eyes this blurred. Her feet make furious marks in the sand as she goes to march away, saltgrass snagging at her skirt without a look back at Kaylee or Joseph. The photograph she first took remains in one knotted fist.

When the grieving woman starts to really get on her soapbox, Melissa finally seems to take notice. She looks over and her eyes narrow, and she takes a few quick steps in that direction. "And how many would've been killed if nothing had been done? How many would've been experimented on? Not us, not the Ferrymen, or Messiah. Not people who signed up to fight, but innocents? How many kids would've gotten killed or turned into monsters?" she snaps, her voice breaking midway through the last question.

"You're grieving for someone who chose to fight. That's fine, grieve. But don't you dare make less of her sacrifice. Don't you dare try to take away the nobility of what they died for, when so many people die for less! When kids die just because they were at the wrong place, at the wrong time, because they cared for the wrong person!"

Okay, so at the end she's all but screaming at the woman, but all of her grief has to come out sometime too!

"If you weren't," Cardinal points out with just the ghost of a smile, "I wouldn't be willing to let you meet him, because I wouldn't believe you were Barbara Zimmerman…" Even that sliver of warmth fades as he hears the shouting from the woman, the apple of his throat rising and falling in a brief swallow. Then others start to join in. "Yeah. Not the place at all. I'm sure I'll see you around…"

One hand lifts, rubbing against the side of his face, and he turns; moving with a dip of his head to walk away from the crowd, generally in the direction of where Elisabeth's waiting.

"I wouldn't think so." Delilah shrugs once for Sable's sake. "I think most of us could use one. Not me, of course." Maybe a fizzy juice so it seems like she is part of the club. She watches as events unfold, teeth digging unsure at her lower lip and eyes misting over. "This is getting a bit disquieted, isn't it?" She came to pay her respects- not to fight, even though it is not her who is doing it.

Eileen's mouth hooks around a small, sardonic smile. "We've people who can steal, too" she says gently, "and will do it without the expectation of favours returned. Keep it within the network if you can, and leave Richard to his own agenda, whatever it is. Failing that, there's always men like Wes Smedley—"

She stops, then, because someone is shouting, waves are licking the shore, water burbling onto the beach through the rocks, and the gulls are as raucous. Turning her head doesn't give her a better view of what's happening behind her, but she does so regardless as if she might glimpse it in her periphery.

Susan watches the mourner's retreat, moves as if to follow, then stops when Melissa's voice joins the birds. "You're right, Melissa," she says, voice carried across on the wafting breeze. "She did have a choice, and so did you: you quit. And when you did, you gave up any right to disparage our people at our gatherings. Shut your mouth or leave."

The firefighter moves away from the truck to follow the woman at a distance, to make sure she gets wherever it is she is going to safely, a glance over his shoulder to the other council members that he'll be back. Staten Island is not a safe place for a woman to wander, especially one who is in the throes of anger and despair.

The tantrum is too much for Daphne, and she takes off, her black-clad form streaking once more into a blur of light and dark as she moves across the water, fleeing when things are difficult as she is wont to do.

"Shit," Tasha whispers, watching the hysterics and the angers as they start to flare, her eyes wide as they flit from one yelling person to the next. Suddenly she's up on her feet. "Stop it! This isn't the place! We all lost people and we're all hurt and we're all scared but save it for the meetings. It isn't going to bring any of them back!" It's the loudest she's spoken — or in this case, hollered — since she was injured, but her voice is back to full scale now, and there's no doubt she is heard. The tears come again and she stalks off toward the edge away from everyone.

"Still doesn't change the fact it was their choice." Only Joseph can hear the words, standing near her. Kaylee turns her head enough to glance at Joseph out of the corner of her eye, keeping the darkening cheek turned away from him, for the moment. Fingers touch the back of the pastor's hand in thanks. "Not that I really blame her." It's said with a soft sigh, blue eyes follow the retreating woman, before she turns back to the pole. "Won't be the last one I'm sure. " The cheek with bruise, but… worth it in her mind.

Gaze drops to the pictures in the sand and Kaylee crouches to carefully extract them, brushing grains of clinging sand from the surfaces and fixing bent parts. As arguments break out, they get a glance from the telepath, but she busies herself putting the photos back where they belong. Her head shake a little, glancing at Joseph again and saying softly. "Sorry, for the scene… just…" She glances at the photo's smoothing them as she reiterates, "They deserve to be mourned and remembered."

"I know," Joseph agrees, taking one of the photographs from Kaylee's hands, his back turned to the conflict. With a sigh, he moves to tie it back up on flagging ribbon, hands coming to rest on his waist as he glances down the line of weathered posts. A sharper look as confrontration continues to spark, defeat lining his posture beneath the brimming anxiety. It's not like he didn't anticipate this sort of conflict from springing, not when it comes to the multi-faceted entity of the Ferrymen—

But he did have hopes.

As the fight becomes bigger than just her, the mourner stands still, with her feet set in the ground but a subtle sway to her body, a hand pressed to her face and tension in her shoulders as Susan counters Melissa's reprimand. Rather than reply, she allows Susan's argument to stand, to sure up her own resolve and scowl.

Susan's remark has Melissa stiffening and she slowly turns to look towards the one who spoke, then she starts in that direction. "I did quit. Because some people in this organization were too eager to let kids be risked. But that doesn't mean that I don't respect what this organization does. That I don't respect most of its members, and all of those who have died for the cause. Because I do. And anyone who would lessen their sacrifice isn't worth being here."

A finger is pointed, almost accusingly, to the markers as Mel stalks towards Susan, grief taking away a great deal of her reason. It's been bottled up for too long, just waiting for a release valve of some sort. And, nameless as Susan may be to Mel right now, she seems to have been unconsciously picked. "They died trying to save the lives of innocent people who can't fight. People like Liette. Or the Lighthouse kids. Or K-Kendall." Tears try to form, and she ignores them. They're not important right now, and enough have been spilled in the last two days to make them easy to ignore. For now.

Mel doesn't stop until she's reached Susan, within arms reach, but not right up in her face. That won't work for what Mel has in mind. She shakes her head. "These people will have their respect, by god, or I'll do more than just talk." Then she just swings her first to punch Susan in the face, doing her absolute best to knock the woman on her ass. "You will give them the respect they deserve!" she screams at the woman.

It's hard to be intimidating when tears are running down your cheeks, but Melissa gives it a shot.

A lone gunshot goes off as Reynold stares directly at the group thats rapidly becoming hysterical, his right hand raised into the air clutching a pistol. "Stupid ass motherfuckers /forgot/ why we're here today. Petty bullshit at a funeral? How fucking stupid are each one of you? You know what? Offer's taken back. Any one of you motherfuckers step foot in my bar without my permission? I'm going to put a god damned bullet in you myself. You two especially." He lowers his arm and glares at both Susan and Melissa. "Instead of trying to move forward and make sure shit like this happens again, you squabble and fight with one and another. We have a purpose, and acting like little kids ain't servin' it. This is to pay tribute to those who were lost, not pretend this is a god damned episode of Jerry Springer."

"Inside the network first, I promise" Abigail murmurs. "I'm.. going to go get Melissa and get her out of here" Abigail murmurs to Eileen, parting away from the dark haired woman and making her way over to Melissa, her hand coming up to close around Mel's finger and draw her arm down. "COme on Mel, she's not worth it. Come on, lets take you home, lets not make a scene" She slides an arm around mel, trying to break the woman away from the standoff. Away from Reynold and his gun and her mouth full of swear words.

The old saying about lines in the sand is especially appropriate this afternoon. For one thing, the memorial took place on a beach. For another, Melissa just crossed one. When the argument escalates to physical violence and Melissa hits Susan in the face, one in the men in her company snaps his hand out, points it at her, and a moment later a concussive boom cracks through the air on the tail of Reynold's gunshot. Melissa is thrown through the air, slammed into the hull of one of the graveyard's decrepit boats with enough force to knock the breath from her lungs, then dropped into a pile of old netting that cushions her fall.

"That's enough!" a voice thunders, and it doesn't belong to Eileen, or Raith at the truck, whose hand has dropped to the pistol in the holster under his jacket. The man who shoulders through the crowd isn't immediately recognizable when he first comes into view, but then the sunlight reflects off the lenses of his glasses and Noah Bennet cannot be mistaken for anyone else. "All of you!"

The founder of the Ferrymen network jabs a finger at Reynold holding the gun, first. "Put that thing away right now, Williams, or I swear to God you're barred from future meetings until you can clap a lid on your temper." Reynold isn't the only one to invoke Noah's wrath; he's rounds on the telekinetic who sent Melissa sailing next, but doesn't have to say anything. The fury etched across his features has the telekinetic scowling, but lowering his hand nonetheless, the tips of his fingers twitching with excess energy. Susan is spared only because she's bleeding from the mouth, a hand cupped over her face, fingers smeared with red. Melissa, too, escapes further scrutiny, at least for the time being — largely because she's on the ground, tangled in a net and probably gaping for air.

It's a temporary reprieve, at best. Bennet is limping as he crosses the sands, past Cat, past Eileen, past Sable and Tasha and Delilah.

Holy… "Real fuckin' bad vibes," Sable says as Tasha leaps into action and, shortly after, the first punch is thrown. Couldn't they have brought this out for the boring meetings? She leans forward, ready to see things unfold, the instinct of a pure rubber-necker. And then… a gunshot. Sable actually flinches back, clinging to Delilah. Showing a brief yellow stripe. Gunfire… not good! "Need t' get y' clear 'f here?" she says, looking to Dee with worry written on the face behind those dark glasses.

As another hit connects it has Kaylee turning towards the sound, her fingers find Joseph's elbow and tuck there. "This is getting…" Then the gun goes off, Kaylee reacts like a woman who is a little too familiar with the sound. For once, the telepath actually cringes from the sound, head ducking to press her face against his arm, ignoring the sting of her cheek against the fabric. Her fingers cling to his shirt, an anchor of sorts to keep her from fleeing.

He first thoughts is fear that the woman is back to finish the job.

"Okay…" Kaylee gasps out softly, her heart pounding wildly. A hand presses to her chest, as if she can still it that way, than drifts up to brush at he neck. She swallows back some of that fear and hazards a look at the Pastor, looking a bit embarrassed."I - I think it might be time to leave, this is falling apart to fast."

Gasping for air? Yep, that's Melissa. Of all the immediately repercussions that Melissa might have expected if she'd paused to think about it, this wouldn't have been in her top ten. She pushes herself to her knees, but remains there, trying to refill her lungs, but the slam against the boat did a great deal to dissipate her immediate anger.

Noah's voice has Mel's head lifting to look at the man, but she doesn't say anything. Mostly because, well, she can't. Not an make herself understood just yet. Instead she just shakes her head and lets her head drop again, eyes closing.

Most have the same sentiment — though willing to break up a fight between those that grieve, the gunfire is too soon to echo and go ignored by the majority of those gathered. With a hiss of burbling response among themselves, they scatter. An older man with silvered hair moves to pick up the child who'd been throwing rocks at the gulls, who have had a similar response to gunfire and fled. Carrying son, nephew, ward, whoever the kid might be to him, the man gives Reynold a wide birth as he goes, disapproval in the lined set of his expression for not only the loosing of a bullet, but the fight that inspired it.

Joseph is also, now, paying hawkish attention to what's going on, tension setting like steel in his posture. An engine hiccups, as the second of the cars pull away with a distant roar, leaving behind marks in the malleable ground. A hand goes out and takes Kaylee's, fingers lacing through her's. "I think you're right." But he doesn't make to leave just yet, hesitating, before taking a step for Melissa — though will concede tending to her to those who know better, should they move first.

Abby's there, already having made her way when the flying into the boat occurs, kneeling down to get an arm around mel, crane her own head to look at Mel's eyes, see how badly the woman hit the boat even as Noah's barging in with verbal guns blazing. "Come on Mel, lets get you back to the house"

Delilah is not quite sure what to think of the scene playing out like a movie- she even has a couch. She notices, duly, that Sable- Sable- seems to be gunshy(the boom probably is not helping), but her attention is largely for the events. Dee didn't even blink- that says something about her and things like this, doesn't it?

At first, Sable and Tasha can hear Delilah emitting a little whistling yes, hands balled into fists and a restrained glimmer of a smirk on her face. Susan totally deserved that! Yes.

When Noah interferes, it is the cheese on her cake, and one of those fists lifts into the air- quite seriously- before zipping back down to her lap.

Farther away from the main group, Tasha cowers when she hears that gun, hunkering down by a skiff that's been beached and trembling, trying to find the source of it — she's a bit too far now to hear the voices, to hear Reynold's reason behind the shot, or to hear Noah's call to order. It's just chaos to her eyes, inexplicable and meaningless violence that makes her heart pound and adrenaline rush, and not in a joyful sort of way. Tears stream down her face and she searches through the maddening crowd for those she knows and trusts, but the tears make it all a blur. The teen stays where she is.

Everything's happening really fast around Quinn The sudden fight, the sudden gunshot, Melissa suddenly flying backwards through the air thanks to someone deciding to use their ability. Almost immediately, the red haired Irishwoman is moving to Melissa's side, a few glares offered up. "Jesus, Melissa," she intones as she arrives behind Abby. "Are you okay?"

The gun is neatly tucked into a holster on Reynold's right leg. "You know Bennet, this is the very reason I tend stay the fuck away from things like this." He stands upright, staring directly at Noah, not even flinching a single bit at the man. "You want to talk to me, you know where to find me. I'll continue to do the job you brought me in for, but right now, thats it." He starts walking away only to turn his head and stare back at the group. "Some of them need to be taught some basic manners. Maybe somebody should look into that."

All of these angry and violent proceedings draw Cat's attention, she sharply swivels around when the gun is fired and catches most of what happens from that point. Eyes darken, her features show a simmering anger, but she doesn't comment. Bennet is looked over as he limps along and bellows to bring the gathering back to some form of sanity. Hopefully.

The scene ahead of her is surveyed again for a moment before she turns away, surprised Melissa didn't get convinced she's a six year old girl and told to stand in a corner. Old school timeout, that. Along the way back to her boat there are words spoken quietly, for no one and anyone to hear, quoting from a Don Henley tune. "We have met the enemy…"

"… and he is us."

The first touch Melissa receives has her stiffening until she realizes that it's a friend and not someone else about to pay her back for that punch. Then she cooperates, letting Abby look at her eyes, then getting to her feet with Abby and Quinn's help. "I…I'll be fine," she gasps out, still working to get her breath back. "Home," she says, nodding agreement with Abby.

There's a glance to Susan, then the markers, and she shakes her head. "Shouldn't…have come."

The telepath's trembling fingers tighten in Joseph's grip, holding on for the moment in an attempt to gain some strength from the touch. Noah gets a nervous glance, but she doesn't say anything. Kaylee will hold on til, the Pastor moves for Melissa, only then will fingers slide reluctantly from his. A few steps are taken, backwards away from it all, eyes moving to the others standing around.

Kaylee's gaze finds a familiar and huddled figure, it's there that she takes herself, steps somewhat hurried. She'll be glad to get some distance between her and the scene. "Tasha." She offers the girl, she doesn't know her well, but at least she's not a stranger. A still shaking hand drops to touch the girls arm, "Come on… I think you and I should head back to Gun Hill, maybe."

Reynold doesn't flinch. Bennet is similarly firm. He maintains eye contact with the other man, which is a sign of respect as much as it is a display of dominance — he breaks it with a nod, his one concession, and then glances over to where Abigail and Quinn are tending to Melissa, then to Susan with her split mouth and blood-streaked fingers.

He won't side with anyone. That much is clear. Most of the women here are young enough to be his daughters, and Kaylee might be able to sense a ripple of frustration and grief colouring his thoughts, whatever they are — apart from this one small slip, he keeps them well-guarded.

A large, pale bird with a forked tail, glossy black neck and nape that had been perched on the skiff Tasha tucked herself behind clicks its beak at Kaylee as she approaches and makes a harsh sound at the back of its throat with a downward inflection that doesn't sound particularly reassuring, but — knowing Eileen — is probably meant to, then snaps its wings into flight. She disperses with the rest of the crowd, pausing on the driver's side of the truck to briefly converse with Raith in low tones before moving around the front of the vehicle so they can make the short drive back to the Dispensary.

The last person Bennet turns his gaze on is Joseph, and although his expression isn't any less fierce than it was a few moments ago, his eyes contain the quiet apology that he's presently in no position to voice.

He'd hung back for as long as he did for a reason. Memorial services are not his purview.

The teen is holding her throat as if she'd been shot again, and she looks up at Kaylee, dark eyes tearful and black mascara streaks down her cheeks. Tasha simply nods, reaching to take Kaylee's hand and letting the other shaking woman lead her away from her boat. "I should have gone with Colette earlier," she murmurs. She glances up as that bird flies over them both, shielding her eyes as she looks up with those tearful eyes. "Yeah, let's go home."

On the subject of manners, Joseph doesn't have much to say. There's no parting words for Reynold, undecided about what he'd even say, torn between apology or the same snappishness that Bennet delivered — he doesn't have the glasses to pull it off, however. He pauses as Abby goes to tend to Melissa, makes a decision to leave them alone, ultimately, allowing Kaylee to depart as well as he makes some choice to remain until the last of everyone has cleared the space, leaving behind footprints in all directions for the wind to turn over and clear away. He glances to Noah when the other man lands his attention his way, and can only spare the Ferry leader a regretful, sad smile.

It's still a bright, sunny, beautiful day to be in New York City.

With a lot less anger displayed previously, Joseph takes his turn to remove the photographs from the pillars, with the intent to return the ones that had been donated to their rightful keepers. If there's any of the same sentiment in this process that the mourner had displayed when she herself began this task, it's too hard to see in gentler movements and patience in stoicism.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License