Casting Stones


abby4_icon.gif bennet_icon.gif cat_icon.gif colette_icon.gif doyle2_icon.gif eileen_icon.gif else_icon.gif hana_icon.gif

jonas_icon.gif joseph_icon.gif kaylee2_icon.gif magnes_icon.gif raith_icon.gif robin_icon.gif rourke_icon.gif

sable_icon.gif scott_icon.gif susan_icon.gif tasha_icon.gif ygraine_icon.gif

Scene Title Casting Stones
Synopsis The Ferry convenes below ground by boat to discuss proposed changes to the network's structure.
Date June 18, 2010

Below Midtown: Sunken Highway

One twisted section of New York City subway has been flooded since the first days following the bomb, long before the great storm and the melt waters that now course through the underground network of tunnels. Dourly known as the "Sunken Highway", this stretch of tunnel is accessible only by boat, lit by torchlight and utilized so rarely by anyone — Ferry or otherwise — that the domed chamber at its end makes a perfect place to hold clandestine meetings like the one Eileen Ruskin has called.

Inside the chamber, the water appears ink-black with ripples of gold running through it where the flames from the torches are reflected in its oily surface, making it impossible for anyone to guess how deep it is. Oars do not touch the bottom.

Wooden rowboats with rusty metal trim make up the bulk of the floating platforms, but there are a few fat canoes scattered throughout the assembly large enough to fit two or three operatives, most of them bundled in coats and scarves in spite of the warm weather sprinkling down rain outside. In the dark below ground, it's cold enough that the earliest arrivals clustered around the torches for warmth, leaving latecomers to squeeze in against the graffiti-covered cement walls, smooth like marble.

The only sound louder than the sloshing water is the murmur of conversation that echoes in the chamber's high ceilings. Not only is this a controversial meeting, but an unconventional one as well; squeezed into boats piloted by seasoned operatives with individuals they may or may not have met yet, people occupy themselves while they wait for the meeting to start by getting to know one another and quietly speculating about what's going to be discussed.

It's surprising how cold it is down here, surprising that this deep below ground the cold from the great storm still permeates through concrete and earth, hasn't yet been worked out of the ground entirely by the hot sunlight of June. The contrasting temperatures means those smooth walls weep with perspiration, makes them glisten and shine, reflecting the torchlight around that expansive chamber. Old graffiti from years too long ago is pattered in faded color high on the ceiling, on the walls and where the water-line marks the wall darkly.

Situated nervously in the middle of the rowboat that brought her down here, Colette Nichols looks uncomfortably tense. The black denim jacket set over her shoulders isn't worn, just loosely tossed over her, arms not in the sleeves but rather folded across her chest. Black brows are furrowed together, mismatched eyes angled down at her feet and the carnation red color of the scarf she wears is hanging loose enough around her throat to hide her bare neck from the chill.

Colette can't swim, and that's a fact most people in the Ferry aren't intimately aware of, or even remotely aware of at all. That inability to so much as tread water is what has her huddled in the boat, chewing on the inside of her cheek and staring down at her lap. Of all the places to meet, on deep water was not what she was hoping for.

Hana is one of those with a canoe, although she doesn't adsorb to the zone of radiated heat; the clothes she's got are warm enough, black jacket and equally black jeans. If her passengers are discomfited by the subterranean chill, it won't do them any actual harm. She uses the oar to adjust position slightly, granting one of the other arrivals a little more maneuvering room; and for her part, simply waits, having no interest to strike up conversation. The technopath has enough to listen to already.

Baseball cap over her hair, work jacket to keep her warm over her uniform, Abigail's in a boat with other members after having met up with the lot and jumped into a boat. It's fairly creepy, clandestine, humid and she doesn't really very much like it. Claustrophobia taking a bit of a grip on the edges of the EMT but she's breathing through it. In through the nose out through the mouth, keep it going. The thermos of coffee gripped between her palms and wedged between her knee's. She cranes her head this way, that way, looking to see who all has shown up, who's noticeably absent.

Colette's not alone in her nerves. Sable hasn't been on many boats. She's not totally comfortable with all this, and though she refused to make a fuss or openly admit her fear as she was directed to board the rowboat she's currently huddled in, the hesitation in her first step and her insistence on using Magnes' arm as a support betray her true feelings. She has the vertigo-sufferer's bad, habit, too, of leaning over the edge of the boat as it coasts along dark water, glancing into the impenetrable depths before rather hastily pulling back, a maneuver that rocks the boat enough times to get her a polite but very firm reprimand. After that, she just kept her eyes set on the low curve of the ceiling, picking at a hangnail on her thumb and trying not to think about what might lurk beneath the gently rippling surface of the water. Which never works, you know, trying not to think of something.

As they enter the main chamber, however, and her eyes find the torches, casting dancing light on the scrawlings, like modern day Cro-Magnon art, she is finally distracted from her trepidation. "Fuckin' right on…" she says, with a near-child-like awe. She tugs at Magnes' arm again, though this time for very different reasons. "Imagine the fuckin' acoustics down here, man," she says, keeping her voice low, out of respect for the church-like dimness and size of the place, "This'd be a kickass venue. I mean, if it weren't bein' used f'r whatever freedom fighter thus and such we're here for."

Boats are familiar things for Cat, given time spent going back and forth from Staten Island. Never mind that it only took once to become so. She's rowing her way along with Abby as passenger, keeping thoughts to herself. Lower temperatures mean she's got a hooded sweatshirt and jeans for attire. Using the oars, she also experiences a minor flashback to her college days, watching a rowing match between Harvard and Yale.

Cat's craft might even have had room for Colette and Tasha.

Lying on the side of one of the pillars, gloved hands behind her head and one leg bent at the knee, a figure in black leather looks rather as if she might be enjoying her ability for once giving her a noticable perk over others in the Ferry. The high-tech goggles Ygraine wore to help her get here are now slack around her neck, the flaming torches providing a more pleasant form of vision. Her expression as she watches the boats arrive is curious, and distinctly thoughtful - the woman clearly taking note of each passenger.

This was first for Kaylee, so there is a slightly amused look on her features as they float there in the boat underground. Her body sways slightly from waves created by other boats send out. Eyes traveling over the architecture above them.

Dark blue scarf is wound around her neck, and wearing a worn brown leather jacket. Kaylee holds her injured arm close to her body, while her fee hand grips lightly as the railing of the boat she's in. Her gaze drops slowly from the architecture to the people surrounding her in other boats.

As more people join, the murmurs she hears internally increase in volume, her eyes traveling to each new arrival.

Magnes doesn't bother with the oars, what's the point in putting so much effort in rowing when you can just gently nudge the boat along with gravity? Instead he's looking up at the walls Sable suddenly turns his attention to, nodding. "Would be nice accoustics, but I don't know who we're gonna get to come down here and listen. And I'm really not liking half the stuff I'm feeling under this boat."

One of the only people in the chamber with her feet on solid ground — Ygraine is another exception — is the diminutive Englishwoman dressed in a navy coat of wool with burnished brass buttons, and a deep violet scarf worn over darker clothes with textures and patterns that would be easier to identify in better light, but include tinted nylon stockings and a pair of smart black leather shoes with flat soles. A concrete block at the head of the assembly rises out of the water, providing a squat stage upon which she can stand and address those gathered here without requiring people to strain their necks in search of her.

Scott Harkness, Noah Bennet and others are somewhere out there. She's yet to pick out Moab's shaman from the crowd, but Eileen has faith that McRae and his followers are here. Susan Ball and her entourage were a little easier to find — she's the only woman in attendance whose fiery red hair competes with the flames leaping off the torches.

She places a hand on the elbow of the man at her side and parts her lips into a request too soft to be heard over the din by anyone but him.

Sitting nearby Colette, Tasha holds the oar on her lap, her eyes seeking out those on the platform acting as a stage. "This feels like a Disney ride meets dystopian post-bomb society movie of some sort, though none in particular come to my mind," she whispers, to try to shake some of the fear from the other girl.

"Pretty much any of them. Oh, wait, we are a post-bomb dystopian society, I forget." She lets go of her oar to take one of Colette's hands, squeezing it to reassure the other. She may not know the other can't swim — it hasn't really come up — but she can tell Colette is nervous.

It's pretty much fine that no one except for Raith can hear Eileen's request. He's the only one that needs to hear it, replying with a nod and turning his attention to a small satchel at his feet and kneeling down just long enough to withdraw an item from it. "Everyone!" he calls out, standing up again. With arms outstretched, he strikes the end of a magnesium flare (carefully pointed so it will not cause burns or start any fires), filling the air with a sudden, sharp hiss and bright red light. "Everyone, eyes this way, please." It's enough, at least, to keep those nearest to quiet down and focus, actions which will spread through the rest of the crowd like a wave, if it does not achieve the desired result immediately.

Eric Doyle is being fairly quiet, and staying very, very still in Kaylee's boat. He may float well, much as whales do, but he's a little nervous that he might overbalance or tip the boat. The less movements, the better. The sudden call and the flash of red light brings the bearded, coat-muffled puppeteer's attention from looking around for familiar faces, brows raising a little as he focuses in that direction through the gloom.

"You know," he murmurs to Kaylee, "I have to— I have to admire their sense of drama at least."

Mismatched eyes track over to Tasha as Colette's fingers squeeze tighter around the brunette's hand. Worry about sinking due to her own inability to swim is secondary to the nervous wonder in the back of her mind if the weight currently settled on her own conscience would help drag her down. It's probably the most metaphorical thing that Colette's ever thought about, the most abstract way of approaching her feelings, and internally there's a tiny bit of pride over it.

While her back is to the rowboat with Abigail and Cat in it, Colette can still feel the way torchlight reflects off of pink hair, and that much elicits a raise of one dark brow in thoughtful consideration of just how uptight Abby might not actually be.

Twisting, Colette looks up to where Eileen is standing and the sound of Raith's voice. Swallowing nervously, the teen looks up to the man plying the rowboat with a long, bent piece of metal pipe like a Venitian gondola pilot. Andy Rourke's askance look back to Colette and Tasha comes with a faint smile before he turns the boat sideways for ease of viewing Eileen and the topic of this flotilla-arranged meeting.

Looking across to Catherine's boat, Andy's eyes lock on the blonde seated beside Abby, and Else Kjelstrom's silence implies a small amount of nervousness in listening to this, even as the musician tilts her chin up and looks towards Eileen, her fingers wrung together tightly and tongue rolling across the inside of her cheek.

Further in the back of the chamber, the pairing of Noah Bennet and Scott Harkness slouched into a flat-bottomed skiff seems like two old retirees going fishing, were it not for the fact that neither of them are dressed for a lazy afternoon out on the lake and neither of them thought to bring a cooler full of beer.

"Naw, man," Sable insists, "We'd make it seem all fuckin' hip 'n' stuff. I mean, mebbe it's a little, like, goth f'r our sensibilities. But just fuckin' imagine it, y'know? 's long as no one got drunk 'n' drowned, it'd be a fuckin' bonanza. People would love this shit." Viewing it now as she views it, Sable is suddenly remarkably unafraid. Envisioning it alight with lofted lighter flames replaces dread with excitement. She's about to give into the urge to test those acoustics, a whistled refrain from Terrapin Station already on her lips, when Raith's voice picks up, both demonstrating the impressive acoustics and obviating the need for Sable's test. She makes an ill tempered face, but holds back the tune, eyes turned obediently towards the ring masters running this particular circus.

Magnes nudges Sable, then points to Else. "You know who that is, don't you?" he asks, a little surprised himself to see her there. But before he can really get excited about it, Raith speaks up, and the gravity manipulator promptly quiets down.

The boat Cat pilots is brought to a floating halt, oars and arms ceasing in their movements, after turning it to allow a view of the stage and the speakers thereon. Roaming eyes take stock of persons present and their locations, then train on Eileen with Raith. She's certain Else and Abby are still with her, given the absence of splashes and screams.

Still lurking in the gloom on the side of her pillar, Ygraine turns her attention from the floating gathering to focus upon the little stage. A scuffle of leather on concrete accompanies a change of position, as she shifts from her relaxed sprawl to a much more attentive cross-legged position - albeit one that has her at right-angles to the rest of the world.

"Ya think?" Kaylee murmurs, leaning closer to the puppeteer — helped by the fact his side of the boat is a bit lower then her's — so her voice doesn't carry too far, a grin playing on her lips. "I keep expecting to see a man with a mask peering from around a corner." Her blue eyes dart to the flair of red, eyes squinting against the intense light. Straightening, she presses her lips together firmly, curious about what could possibly be discussed and needing such a place.

Reaching across with her good arm, Kaylee pats the larger man's arm and gives him quiet reassurance they will be fine.

Magnes was onto something when he drew Sable's attention to the chamber's unique acoustics. As conversation tapers off, reducing the ambient noise that Eileen is competing with, she does not have to speak very loudly in order to be heard — and maybe she chose this place for this exact purpose. Her voice is low, hoarse and lacks the power it had when she called for Emile Danko's execution many, many months ago at a meeting not entirely like this one, but what she lacks in volume she makes up for in quiet conviction… as much as it sounds like it's stealing all the breath from her lungs.

"Thank you for coming," is what she says first. "As most of you already know, there's been talk of restructuring the network to protect it from outside forces that its founders never could have conceived when they were still laying its foundations.

"All of us have been touched in some way, but the only real commonality we have is the Ferry." She pauses, either to give what she's said so far a chance to settle or to catch her failing breath. The hand at Raith's elbow drifts back to her side. "You're here because you understand the importance of protecting others, so I'm hoping you'll understand just as well when I tell you that we can't unless we learn to better protect ourselves. If we don't, this network is going to fail."

Glancing around and behind at the various boats, Tasha shivers a little. It really is a bit creepy down here, and the small teenager only wearing a hoodie over a t-shirt for warmth, the fleece already damp enough to chill her more than keep her warm at this point. Her eyes move back to the front, to where Raith is calling out for their attention and Eileen begins to speak. She brings her thumb to her teeth to chew that nail, perpetually shorter than the rest of her short nails, currently painted in a glittery navy blue. "Who's that with Scott?" Tasha asks, nodding to the man in horn-rimmed glasses when Eileen pauses in her speech.

Hoarse though her voice is, Raith does not speak for, over, or even with Eileen. What does do is stand by her and wait, half his attention focused on the crowd, and the other half on Eileen. She doesn't sound so good, and up close, she doesn't look so good, either. It may well be that he is standing there in case she needs help with anything, but aside from a particularly nasty day for her asthma, nothing here is amiss. That's right, everything is fine.

The ex-spy lowers the flare in his hand and carefully drops it onto the concrete that both her and his apparent partner are standing on, now that he doesn't need it anymore. From its lowered position, its light casts eerie shadows on the wall behind the pair, and the red glow illuminating them gives a distinctly 'horror' feel to the event.

"I wonder if they'd let me put on a… a…" Wait. Waaaait. Doyle's whispering trails off as he stares through the crowd of drifting boats, paling a bit as if he'd seen a ghost. He couldn't have seen that face, right? Only half paying attention to Eileen, he's craning his neck and looking around towards the back to try and get another look at who's in that skiff with Scott. Surely that wasn't who he thought it was. Right?

When Eileen begins to speak, Scott sits forward on his bench seat in his boat and rests his chin against his closed fist, brows furrowed and eyes focused on the young woman, scrutinizing not her speech but the way she's carrying herself and how something feels off. Bennet is distracted, admittedly, torchlight reflecting off of the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses when he turns to meet Doyle's stare. Bennet's brows raise, a hand lifts and his index and middle finger make motion to his lenses, then point to Doyle in the universal I'm watching you gesture.

Unaware of that tense exchange, Colette's focus is divided between Eileen and Tasha, cradling one of the brunette's hands in her own, leaning sideways against Tasha's shoulder for support. It's only when she notices movement from Ygraine that she realizes that the lump on the periphery of her light-sense isn't a piece of stone but rather a person. Brows furrow in scrutiny, lips part in confusion and "Ygraine?" is breathlessly whispered under her breath in surprise.

In one of the darker patches of the underground lake, Joseph Sumter is keeping to himself — it's really not hard to do so, in this set up, the little individual platforms of rowboats scattered across the black water. A nervous bundle in the wooden rowboat, he has his arms wrapped around his midsection and feet braced against the low belled floor of the boat. He shares this space with the two GCT twins, one of which is enjoying the novelty more than the other.

Neil Milburn remains focused and almost critical of the hoarse echoes from the speaker, while Robin shifts where he sits to share a whisper with Joseph, who, at whatever is said, only shakes his head mutely with a touch of a smile, before he has his dark eyed attention drag across the gathered crowd — as hard as it is to see from this vantage point.

In part because she has precious little idea of the identities of many of those present, Ygraine is splitting her attention between the pained speaker on the platform and the audience bobbing gently in the gloom beyond. A quick head-count of the number of middle-aged men and young women (and girls) prompts a raised brow, before the Briton returns her attention to Eileen, frowning worriedly in response to both the words and the manner of their delivery.

Leaning forward, Kaylee rests arms on her legs with a soft sigh, settling to listen to what is said. Brows furrowing a little she watches Eileen, but her head also slowly nods in agreement to her words. Of course, Doyle's actions has the boat moving and it draws the young telepath's attention. Straightening, she glances first as the puppeteer, then slowly turns to look the way he is. Spotting Noah, her brows lift slight with curiosity, not really knowing who that is.

Instinct has her looping an arm through Doyle's, maybe to remind him he's not the only person in the boat and hopefully keep her friend calm. "I'm going to guess you know him?" She whispers, studying the man in the horn-rimmed glasses.

"I'm putting together a council of operatives to lead our organization here in New York," Eileen says. "Noah Bennet and the other head organizers you already know hold seats. So will Joseph Sumter, Dr. Catherine Chesterfield, Susan Ball and myself." As she speaks, she acknowledges each name with a beat rather than seek familiar faces out with her eyes. It's too dark, and she has at best an approximation of where people sit. "We'll be taking more nominations for the next fourteen days, and on the fifteenth a complete council will meet for the first time to appoint branch heads to the following sub-organizations within the network."

She had Susan's interest before, but there's something predatory in the redhead's eyes that wasn't there a few moments ago. She flattens her mouth into a thin, neutral line and leans over to brush her lips against the ear of the man seated beside her.

"Logistics and Communications," Eileen continues, unnerved, "will arrange cross-border travel for operatives and refugees, maintain contacts with Ferrymen elsewhere in the United States and other countries, and ensure that all paperwork that passes through the network's hands is up to date and capable of passing government inspection. Shortages, whether related to supplies or personnel, are to be relayed directly to this branch, which — with the Milburns' consent — will operate out of Grand Central Terminal."

None of this is news to Bennet or Scott in their boat. They've heard it all before and know what's supposed to come next. When Eileen relayed it to them, she didn't stop to cover her mouth with her hand, but this small detail is largely irrelevant. From where they sit, it looks like she could be politely clearing her throat. What Raith hears is a wet sound, followed by a sharp intake of breath hissed through her nostrils.

Given that everyone else named is present — including Joseph, Tasha notices, and she offers a small smile in that direction that is probably not noticeable in the torchlight — Tasha guesses the man with Scott is Noah Bennet. Her eyes dart from boat to boat, watching others' reaction. So far, it seems rather expected — nothing to merit the strange and ominous meeting place. Another shiver runs through her, and she makes a mental note to wear something more damp-proof next time.

Raith continues to maintain his silence. Right now, his job is to look important. Or at least professional: We are all adults here. Even the kids here are adults.

A drift of the boat lets Doyle make eye contact with the man in the glasses, and those eyes widen further - and then as that hand lifts and points, they enlarge until the whites of them are clearly visible. Then his head quickly ducks back away from where he's looking at Noah, turning to look up towards Eileen.

"No," he hisses under his breath as Kaylee's arm slides through his, "I don't. And neither do you." That, it seems, is all he's willing to say on the subject, for all that the sight of him has the big man's hackles up. As he's named by Eileen, Eric tenses up just a little more.

This isn't what Colette expected the meeting to be about, though to say she's not sure what she expected the meeting to be about at all is relatively fair. She's read the bulletins, but being wrapped up in her own personal problems has made her work suffer, and finding the facts of structural changes being outlined for her has tension running up and down her spine. Eileen's voice at some point becomes like one of those muffled-trumpet sounds in a Charlie Brown cartoon, because Colette's tunnel-vision is focusing on Joseph Sumter.

Squeezing Tasha's hand, Colette looks to the only slightly younger brunette, then flicks her attention over to Joseph again, having missed the interim memo that Joseph was back and safely in Ferry hands. To say she has a lot to talk to him about might be a gross misunderstatement.

In the same boat, physically and not mentally, Andy Rourke's attention is transfixed on Eileen, though the wary look he affords Noah and Harkness is admittedly accusatory. Change has always made Andy nervous, and knowing that fact is what keeps Else's attention fixed on the man she used to help run the Brick House with.

Change is scary, and Andy's beginning to wonder if the others gathered in this makeshift flotilla beneath the ruins of Midtown are feeling that tremor of anxiety that he is.

Sable tries really hard to pay attention, as early as the word 'operatives', her eyes begin to glaze. This is so radically over her head and outside of her interest that she has to deliver a short slap to her cheek at one point to try and stir herself from torpor. Unfortunately, that's about when Eileen starts talking 'logistics', which is about the end of the line as far as Sable's attention span is concerned. She turns to Magnes, eyes imploring, and mouths the words 'kill me now' while pointing her index finger at her temple, thumb hammering up and down.

Change is a coming, wanted or not. Abigail looks over to Cat at the mention of the woman being named one of the new leaders in the council that was forming. Sensible, logical. The woman was the living breathing encyclopedia cattica. "Congratulations" The pink haired EMT offers very quietly to the lawyer, careful to not let her voice carry too far in the echoey interior. her head bobs in acknowledgement of the others and of Joseph's appointment at well. Eileens was inevitable.

Her head lifts slightly when Eileen speaks her name along with the collection of others, but Cat doesn't take action to call attention upon herself. She knows the people here for the most part and they know her. She does, however, turn a bit in Abby's direction to acknowledge she spoke without interfering with Eileen having the floor… well, the water anyway. The incline of her brunette head in the direction of that pink-haired person is solemn, saying 'You're welcome' sans words.

There isn't much of this that is a surprise to Joseph — at least not the first part, where his name is mentioned, and he remains simply still within the rowboat, arms resting on his bent knees and the dark wool of his jacket blending into the shadows around them. He gives a compulsive shiver, before tracking a glance towards where he almost feels eyes on him. His own don't focus on any particular face, however, either missing or unable to see through the crowd and what the torch light doesn't cover.

At the news of the Terminal's role in organisation, Robin is the one that remains quiet, deferring to his brother with a quick glance. All Neil says on the subject is, "Thank Christ," murmured just loud enough to travel, dryly good humoured.

Ygraine is among those for whom this is news, though the wry smile on her lips suggests that it's at least somewhat welcome. Twisting around, she quickly glances over the floating crowd to assess its reaction, before looking back to Eileen once more - frowning slightly as she does so.

"Of course, I don't." She murmurs sending another curious glance Bennet's way, before turning back to look at the man in the boat with her. "I don't think I've really seen him before." Kaylee gives his arm another soothing pat, gaze turning back to the front.

Eyes travel across the boats as she does, catching a glimpse of a familiar form… or maybe it's the mental hum, unique as the individual that owns it. In a setting like this, it's easy for them to blend together, but then you just happen to hear a snippet of one in particular. It's the mention of Joseph's name that jerks Kaylee's attention from him and back to Eileen and Raith.

The blonde telepath's brows lift just a touch at the news, her head tilting with curiosity. Her arm sliding from Doyle's again so she can lean forward and listen, head turning towards Eileen's voice.

There was undoubtedly a time when Eileen might have been able to sympathize with Sable. Right now, all her energy, emotional and physical, is focused on getting through her speech so the floor can be opened for questions, but that's not to say she isn't aware of the apprehension Andy shares with many of the operatives here. Although no one has interrupted her yet, hushed and fretful voices have begun to join the water lapping against the boats and the chamber's walls. She raises hers a only a fraction in response.

"Forgery of documents required to ship supplies, equipment, personnel and those under the Ferry's protection across borders falls under the purview of the network's new Intelligence branch, but operatives who opt to lend their assistance here will also be involved in surveillance of network property, espionage against this country's government and maintaining lists of potential allies who have not yet been brought over to our side, as well as our enemies and individuals who pose a threat to our mission statement.

"Intelligence will be operating closely with Special Activities, our militant arm responsible for protecting our safehouses from raids staged by the Institute, Homeland Security and Humanis First, alongside training and familiarizing our members in firearms and self-defense, two areas where we are sorely lacking—" That hand is over her mouth again, and all of a sudden Kaylee can hear the Englishwoman's voice in her head. Not now. Please not now.

"Lastly," she says aloud, "the network's Medical branch will be responsible for the physical and mental health of Ferry personnel and the people under their protection by establishing and operating makeshift field hospitals in times of crisis, ensuring that wards under the age of eighteen are up-to-date on their immunizations, distributing H5N10 vaccine when it becomes available, and monitoring of the network's negation drug supply. Dependents, by necessity, fall under Medical's jurisdiction. We'll be looking for operatives with strong academic backgrounds to provide them with an education, but we strongly encourage anyone who has a desire to work with children to contribute."

The susurrus of voices has only increased in volume over the last few minutes, and for once Susan doesn't interject even when Eileen asks the dank, open air, "Are there any objections?"

The words 'forgery of documents' has Tasha looking a little more alert, as document forging and creation was the niche she'd fallen into back in Boston, her artist's eye for details a benefit in such operations. But then words get more serious — she knows what the Ferry does but hearing it so bluntly worded as 'espionage against the government' makes her a little nervous. Her brows twitch when Eileen looks like she's about to throw up, and she glances over at Colette to see if she noticed.

Raith looks to one side, as if to survey that portion of the flooded tunnel for anyone ready to leap up and ask a question. It's half-true: He also does it to get a better look at Eileen in his peripheral vision. If she looks even half as bad as she sounds from this close, there is a very real chance that the meeting will be cut short so he can carry her out to find a doctor.

But he only holds his gaze there for a moment, before sweeping it back in the other direction, this time only looking for raised hands (or raised weapons?), perhaps. He, himself doesn't raise a question, concern, or objection yet, giving everyone else a chance first. He's done the insurgent thing before, and knows how these things work. Everyone else is another story entirely.

"He's nobody," Eric whispers to Kaylee without looking to her, "Just somebody from a former life."

As the various organizations are described, the puppeteer frowns a little, fretting quietly, "I'm not sure— not sure where I fall in there. Logistics, I guess?" A hesitant bit of a smile as he looks to the telepath beside him, then back up. It's easier if he focuses on something other than the guy in the glasses.

It's an unfortunate world where Colette both isn't surprised by the espionage commentary. Given what happened beneath Pinehearst and her direct involvement in getting Phoenix in to the building, the idea of something like spying seems easier to swallow. The matter-of-fact expression on her face might inspire confidence in Tasha, were it not for the downward turn of Colette's lips that has nothing to do with the meeting's topic, and everything to do with Eileen's obviously flagging health.

"So now we gotta' go through 'ow many people before we get requests filled?" comes from Colette's boat but not Colette herself. Andy Rourke's head-shaking expression has seemed tense before the meeting even began, but now he looks frustrated. "There's still three solid feet'a water in the basement of th' Brick 'Ouse an' there ain't been nobody around t'help. I've put in two requests for aid, an' now you're tellin' me we're goin' t'have middle bloody management?"

Eileen probably should have requested that the questions come one at a time.

"Exactly who voted for the current people in charge?" Comes from somewhere in the back of the chamber, boats containing Ferrymen operatives from Staten Island. "I don't remember voting for Eileen Ruskin t'be the one to tell me what to do. I've been with the Ferry for four years now, an' last I checked she was one of the people we were fighting less than two years ago…"

Colette jerks her head around to try and tell where the voice came from, but before she can there's a frustrated sound from men in another boat. "Who're you to be telling us how to do anything? Why isn't Grace or Alistair up there? Where's Doctor Young? You can't just come in here and get the approval of two people and just start making changes. We're not a spy network, we can't afford to put that kind of spotlight on our actions, we have children in our safe houses."

Grimacing, Colette ducks her head down in the time it takes for Scott Harkness to pinch fingers at the bridge of his nose and offer an askance look to Noah, who'se head shaking seems to indicate that he may have felt this resistance coming. "If you want to complain about this go right ahead, but this network needs to mature and change and adapt or we are all going to die. We've seen a record number of kidnappings from among our agents in the last two months, between what happened at the Armory and other isolated attacks. The government already has the spotlight on us, we need to adapt our tactics."

"Is that why Pierce isn't with us anymore?" Comes a frustrated shout from a redheaded teenager in one of the back boats. Jonas Regan has been a vocal member of the Ferry ever since the raid on the Armory, and the weathered old Chinese man sitting in the boat at his side seems content to watch in silence while Jonas gets some things off of his chest. "You're the one who screwed us out of a good operative and didn't have the balls to apologize to her, and you expect us to just go along with this? Fifteen days to put up new names, who votes on this? You? We can't even trust you to be straight with us!"

Mismatched eyes flick towards Tasha, and Colette ducks her head down nervously, then looks up to Andy who seems to soften his tone with so many others chiming in with confusion and discontent. No transition is ever smooth or easy, this one is no exception.

"Grace and Alistair," comes a voice from the back, snapping through the chamber all too much like a whip, "have better things to do than listen to you whine." Hana doesn't move her boat any closer, but the Israeli does climb to her feet that the motion might finish the attention-gathering her voice started. She doesn't mind the boat, or the water — or at least doesn't let any evidence of either slip. The end result is the same, as the lioness' gaze sweeps the room and all the people in it.

"The network will not survive if we continue as we have been," she continues, seconding Scott's words. "The heat is turning up, and it will do so whether you watch it come or bury your heads in the sand." The line of Hana's mouth is grim and unyielding. "One rule is the same as it has always been: you know where the door is." And she doesn't particularly care if the dissenters take advantage of it.

That grim line stretches into a thin smile; those who can see it clearly find nothing reassuring in the expression. "As for Ruskin," Wireless observes, voice dangerously low but carrying clearly, "she has long since demonstrated her bona fides to my satisfaction."

So shut up. Now.

This is when things get interesting. Accusations, anger, calumny… will they get to see a vote of no confidence? Sable perks up just a little, out of sheer schadenfreude, and listens to the roil of good old fashioned emergency politics. Sadly, this is a soap opera Sable isn't caught up with. Names mean nothing, events are cited without, in Sable's mind, any sort of context. She finds herself hoping things come to blows, just so she can tune into all this on a intelligible wavelength. But if that were to happen… boats might get capsized. Her boat might get capsized. This in mind, Sable quickly prays for peace and reason to prevail.

"and mine as well" Spoken up after Hana does "It shouldn't matter that nearly two years ago, Eileen was doing things that most of us were preparing to protect others from, that some of us gave our lives to help stop. She, and others, turned on the ones who would hurt us, and at great personal cost. Besides, we don't turn our back on people just because of what they've done in the past. In her time with the Ferry, she's been an asset and a font of information that we might not other wise know. Same goes for many others who are here"

This comes from the pink haired EMT bobbing about in Cat's boat. "Y'all might not agree with what she does, what she's done, or the good she's brought us and the change that she wants to see happen, and I might not agree nor see eye to eye with her at times on issues, but she has leadership potential. The same as Pastor Sumter and Catherine Chesterfield has." She doesn't dare stand up, lest the boat be rocked in the physical sense instead of the mental sense that it is right now.

"I think fifteen days is plenty, it's a lot more than having only fifteen minutes or fifteen hours" Abigail pipes in. "Fifteen days to submit who you would like to see get on this council. It's done in other aspects of life, in politics, why not here? Maybe with this organization, this shift in how things are run will be for the better, things will get done faster. Organization is something that any group needs. So that possibly we won't be a couple days out and realizing that people got taken. Hana already deals with making sure bulletins get out fast to us, but that doens't happen until someone lets her know."

Straightening in her seat, jaw tightening a fraction. "Change, is change, and I miss Melissa and I think yes, that she got the short end of a stick, but it was her choice to walk away and I've talked to her and it's her choice to stay away. But I've made her aware that the door is always open and she knows it. Maybe time apart will help. And maybe, Maybe y'all need to just try out this new system and see if it works. Lord above, he knows it works in other places in life. If it doesn't, then.. we go back to how it was, but we can't and won't know if it will, until we try." A glance to Eileen and a nod. "You can put me down for helping out in the medical aspects. I always have been and will be glad to help"

Magnes suddenly stands up in the boat, though it doesn't rock in the slightest. He looks in the direction of the complaining boats, running a hand over his forehead slightly. "I don't claim to be one in a position to judge others, but change doesn't happen for no reason, and considering the number of new enemies this organization is probably about to encounter and is already encountering, having a more stable hierarchy cannot possibly harm the organization. Or do you like the idea of spies, and inefficient response times as well as communication systems?"

He looks more annoyed than angry, finally stepping on the edge of the boat, still refraining from actually rocking it. "I don't know how this organization works exactly, but I'll say what I personally think. If you're going to complain instead of adapt to needed change, then you don't belong in an organization, in any organization. There's raising a concern, and then there's just plain being counterproductive. Go ahead and bring up my reputation if you want to, but just know that I learned how to deal with insubordination from the best." He's been reading the Art of War again, which possibly suggests that he'd like to have capped off that little tyraid by throwing someone into the water.

She's seen something possibly similar to this before, when Pariah met after Kazimir terminated Cameron Spalding and became two groups. One of which would later be very much wiped out by the police, because so many of them in her judgment couldn't hold tempers in check. If this becomes a moment of that kind, so be it. Cat isn't much inclined to argue with them. She might speak, but Hana has voiced her thoughts quite effectively. "Vulcans of the world, unite," she murmurs around a chuckle with eyes resting on the Israeli, thereafter quietly commenting to Abby and Else in just four other words.

"This will be interesting."

As the symphony of complaint begins, as it inevitably does, Joseph closes his eyes for a few moments as if to better hear it, or simply calm the beginnings of irritation. The bouncing echoes of demands, self-righteousness, entitlement— and don't get him wrong, he's been a part of it before— is more familiar echoing off the chambers within the Terminal. As Hana becomes a vocal participant in favour of the organisational scheme, he opens his eyes again and casts a look towards her, and then towards Abby. He doesn't disagree.

He can't. But sitting in the gently shifting boat, Joseph looks uneasy. And unhelpfully silent, although this may just be because he's not the only one with something to say.

"Hey, Andy?" This from his boat, Neil Milburn not bothering to try and stand, but letting his familiar voice bark across the chamber. His twin brother winces a little, shoots someone nearby an apologetic smile. "If anyone knows what a fucking nightmare organising supplies and help it is for this network, it'll be us. We're not installing a beaurocracy, okay? What it sounds like is us getting our shit together. I'll be glad for the Terminal to be used properly — and all of you who got houses that rely on us will be super glad too."

In the last statement, Joseph has worked on standing up, now, a hand bracing against the edge of the boat which rocks alarmingly— "oh goodness"— before stilling. Hhkay.

"If we don't want what happened to Melissa to happen again," he starts, and for someone who is naturally quiet, he at least knows how to make his voice carry without strain, a natural public speaker, "then this is what we need to do. We can't possibly lead the network as individuals and what happened with Summer Meadows is a result of that. This is the only way we can let everyone be heard properly without dependin' on who has the loudest voice.

"Besides, we're not putting a spotlight on anythin'. We're not a spy network, but hell, the government's been striking at us for a while now. We need to keep our eyes open and know what's going on — we need to be prepared. Beach Street, what's recently been— been happening," losing momentum, a little, "this'll just keep going unless we adapt."

Good grief. It really is him. Ygraine stares at Magnes as he rises, then frowns as he delivers his admonitions and threat. Shaking her head, she sighs, gaze flickering to and fro between the assorted loci of unhappiness.

The words of the pastor and… whichever of the Milburns it was who spoke up do reassure her, however, prompting the Briton to bounce to her feet - and realise somewhat belatedly that she really is going to look very odd to everyone else. Still, she speaks up. There's a little tension in her voice, but she seems to have had some training in projecting her words to a room.

"We've got a chance to nominate whoever we want. And nothing I've heard from those proposing the changes suggest that disagreeing with now them will be seen as 'insubordination'." A glance is fired in Magnes's direction. "We're all free to leave if we want, and we're all free to work to help people as best we can, in or out of the Ferry. Personally, I think that we'll achieve more working together. And I hope that you all agree. We've all got a chance not just to accept change or walk away from it - but to shape it. Let's take it."

"Andy…" Kaylee starts, speaking up a bit, reluctantly pulling her attention from Eileen to look at the Brick House operator. "Think about this. Instead of us all running around doing everything… Neil pretty much said it. We're getting our stuff together, it'll be specific people, doing a certain job." A hand lifts to beg patience as she states, calmly. "Maybe with a communications group focused on things like that, we might actually hear about your need for assistance." She glances around her, not really focusing on anyone. "How many of you got the message about Brick House needing help?" Her hand presses against her chest as she looks back at Andy. "I know I didn't, so there is definitely a need for better communication. Now I'm wondering just how much is lost along the grapevine."

Brows lift and she gives the safehouse operator an apologetic look, "Cause you know I would have come help you, Andy. If I knew. I see tasking things out a good thing. No more spreading ourselves thin."

Her head turns where the protests about Eileen come from, brows furrowing, but her tone doesn't hold any anger. "Everyone I've heard, mentioned by Eileen, to lead this thing… all of them… I've seen nothing but dedication. Each in their own way… They are some of the best of us — even Scott, it wasn't even his choice alone to keep Melissa in the dark — and I doubt a lot of us can say we haven't done questionable things or even made mistakes. Just existing we're wading deep in it."

Kaylee doesn't normally speak up this much at meetings, tending to try to keep her head down but not this time. Her gaze drifts to Joseph and what he says, her look thoughtful, before she looks at the other boats. "Change isn't without it's growing pains, but supposedly human's have gotten this far in the world cause we can adapt to the changing world. What we got isn't working anymore, sure… it probably did at the beginning of the networks life… but everything has changed in a major way…" Her hands spread apart, her gaze dropping to the bow of the boat, he head shaking. "… things are getting worse, not better. Time to update the business plan."

So many voices.

Eileen recognizes participants in the rapid-fire conversation by cadence and pitch rather than sight, and though her eyes move from each speaker to the next, there's a transparent quality about her gaze that makes it appear as though she's looking past people rather than at them. It hangs on Joseph, and at such close proximity, Raith might catch the corners of her mouth tighten around a smile too faint for anyone else to detect without access to an ability like Kaylee's, which by its very definition gives her access to more than the porcelain-pale mask the other woman wears on her tired face. Quiet gratitude for Hana, Abigail.

She doesn't say anything. Judging by her shallow breathing's serrated edge, this is hard enough.

Chewing her thumbnail again, Tasha's eyes dart from boat to boat, unfamiliar with many of those here except for brief one-time meetings or none-at-all. The accusations thrown at Eileen make her brows raise, and she glances at Colette questioning. "Eileen used to be our enemy or something?" she whispers, cupping her hand around the other girl's ear so that the strange acoustics of the tunnel don't have those whispered words carried farther than she intends.

"Enough bad shit's happened that obviously what has been isn't effective. That's all there is to it. We can try a new way, and if you want to be one of the people leading, then put your name in for consideration," Tasha says with the bluntness and brashness that comes with youth, though she trembles slightly against Colette as she says it, knowing she's among the youngest of those present.

"Milburn's nailed it," Raith says loudly, in a prime location to have his voice carry throughout the tunnel. It really is no secret why Eileen picked it. "Thatcher too. Basement floods, and who do you send a help request to? Who's job is it to help? Who even got the message?" So far, Raith is being careful not to pick on any one person. However, picking on a particular situation is totally kosher in his eyes.

"Flooded basement is a logistical problem. The request is sent to Logistics. Is processed by Logistics. Is taken care of by someone from Logistics. And is taken care of before it causes lasting damage." That's it in a nutshell. "This organization has reached a critical point. We aren't small enough that we can tackle our problems as individuals. Not anymore. All this restructure does, is provide us with clear lines of responsibility, and establish a level of accountability. We have a system right now, and sure, it works, but we need something better. We need a system where we know exactly who to contact for help with a flooded basement, or emergency medical attention, or, insert your favorite here. This restructure is that system."

As everyone's voice raises at once, Eric just rubs a hand to the back of his neck; remaining mostly silent for the moment, either not having an opinion, or feeling that it's already been spoken. He looks worried, but it's hard to tell if it's because of Noah or the topic of conversation, or if he's just realized he really needs to take a leak.

Raith may have a point, does have a point, but Magnes has riled Andy up enough that the Brit still feels the need to snap at the younger man. "Oy, we should just roll over an' do what we're told then is that it, Magnes?" Andy grouses from the front of his boat. "You think just because we're told it's in our bes' interests that this get done that we do it? You can pop and twist it, if that's what you think. Fine, here's me doin' what'm told because a little girl seems t'think it's best." There's a slow shake of Andy's head as he rubs his hand across his forehead.

"What about Pastor Sumter? I'm sorry… I know we're all arguing different points, but why isn't anyone concerned about his, uh, nomination?" The question coming from one of the Staten Island boats in the back of the hall makes Colette sit up straight and furrow her brows. "Exactly how many times has he been kidnapped or gone missing? I don't think I need to even remind anyone that he is a recovering Refrain addict. I know we're all about looking past our histories, but this isn't something that I want in a leader. He is recovering from an addiction to a powerful hallucinagenic drug, compounded by the fact that he may have been mentally compromised by any number of government agencies during his captivity."

"You shut the hell up!" is the mature response Colette gives to that, bolting up to stand in the boat and pointing a shaking fist towards the far side of the chamber. "You row your boat over here so I can smack that smug look off your face you asshole!" The whole boat sloshes and rocks, and Colette's arms windmill as she spreads her booted feet apart in an effort to maintain balance as she shouts. "Nobody says that about Joseph!"

"You heard what Hana said Andy. You don't like it, there's a door. They don't hold a gun to your head and make you stay, not back when you hooked up with em, and not now. We're all here by choice and we're getting a choice in this whole thing. So you can sit down, and choose someone that you feel will be serve your interest in this evolution of the Ferrymen, and the best interest of the people who come to us for help."

Abby looks over to Colette, pursing her lips. "And Colette, Yelling ain't gonna get anything done. There's harsh words being spoken by people who are obviously passionate and care for what we have all made with our bare hands. And we'll keep making it with our bare hands. Pastor Sumter can't help what's happened to him, no more than I could with what's happened to me in the past. Or Cat, or any one of you here." Abigail stands up now, tilting her head to Andy, levering a hand in the direction of Raith. "Flooded basement. Who do we call to help? There's those of us who if told, could go and rent a pump and bring it, but like it was pointed out, we didn't know. We're not all mind readers like Kaylee and even she doesn't run around doing that all the time."

She's on her way to sitting back down, careful in her movements before straightening. "And while he may have hit up the Refrain, he hasn't now and he's been clean. So if I were you, I'd reign your temper in please and be more civilized. Last I knew we were Ferrymen, not a bunch of hot headed nits who lost our minds and turning on the people who have done nothing but shown kindness and compassion and care about the people in this network. Much like you have"

"I disagree with all the complaining, though I do agree that past Refrain use is a relevant concern." Magnes offers as some backup, crouching in the boat in a way most people really shouldn't, with both forearms dangling over his thighs. "Clean or not, if it's only been a few months or so, there's still enough of a chance for a relapse that it could put the group into a vulnerable position, or worse, give us an opening that the enemy can exploit. We can't put personal feelings, loyalties, or whatever above the group itself. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

"Joseph Sumter," Cat begins, "is fully capable of speaking for himself." Her voice isn't raised much, not needing it with the location's natural acoustics. The tone of her voice and the way she uses it suggests time spent performing on stage as a musician does. Or as it was taught in law school classes and political science debates. Maybe some of each. She stands carefully in the boat, displaying a grace and poise taught to her as a child by a now assassinated mayoral candidate who posed for two decades and then some as her mother.

"But it bears mentioning just the same… his history with Refrain didn't come of his own free will. Are you suggesting he should be penalized for having survived torture by Humanis First? Or is that simply forgotten in your objections?"

Expression thundery as argument takes, for Joseph, a personal turn, he manages not to simply fold and sit back down, hands splayed a little in unconscious instinct to balance himself on the rowboat and squint across the crowd to pick out who said that, before he puts out a hand towards Colette as if to implore her to calm down. There's no helping the crawl of heat flushing up from his neck high up his cheeks, for both defense and argument. Fortunately, the low and shifting torchlights take care of this to a degree, with their slightly golden cast and deeper shadows pooling in eye sockets.

He glances to Cat, gratitude understated, and a reluctant pause follows his cue to talk. "I've been in with and working for the Ferry for what's goin' on a year now. Been living with it for half that time. Humanis First put me on a path I ain't proud of, no more and no less. I can— step down from the nomination that's been handed my way if folks don't think I'm cut out for sittin' in on the council.

"But know I want the same things we all want. Refrain never changed that, and anythin' to do with me don't change the fact that this change is for the best." And with rickety balance not solely due to the boat beneath him, Joseph sits down again, hands gripping to metal rimmed edge.

"If we were primarily concerned with conformity and following orders, none of us would be in this particular club", Ygraine says dryly still standing on her pillar, at 90 degrees to the rest of the world. She pauses a moment, somewhat worriedly eyeing Joseph as he unsteadily settles himself, before lifting her gaze to the rest of the floating gathering.

"We're here precisely because we're willing to think for ourselves, judge what's wrong, and then try to do what's right. We've got a chance to do exactly that - and fifteen days to sort out what issues need to be discussed and who it is that we individually want to see helping to direct things. I say that we take the time. Tempers are frayed, and there is no need to resolve everything immediately. We've got two whole weeks to talk things through. Heck, if you want confidential messages run to and fro among yourselves about this, I'll gladly take them for you. Delivered sealed and unread. But whatever we do, let's not try to sort out the details of structure and personnel tonight. Let's give ourselves a chance to breathe, and think, and talk it through calmly."

Colette! Kaylee snaps at the teen mentally, even as Abby and others do so out loud, brows furrowing. Her gaze drifts back to Joseph brows tilting up in worry. That isn't helping.

"Okay… so what? He was picked up. So have I. He's not the only one to be kidnapped." Her eyes slowly shift from Joseph to the speaker, but Kaylee stays seated, her and Doyle's boat already a balancing act. Her eyes drift over the crowd, her hand sweeps across it. "Refrain or not, I trust in his word more then anyone else here." A small glare is sent Magnes' way, before she looks at the shadowed form of Joseph, Kaylee's head shakes slowly. "I don't think you should step down, we need your brand of guidance, just like we need the others. Just one faucet of a very, very diverse group. More importantly, despite all that's happened as a member of the Ferrymen, your still right here. You're supporting us… inspiring some. Giving us guidance and not running away when things are tough like I've seen others do."

Kaylee faith's in the man is laid out right there for everyone… but then she's always backed him in one way or another, even at Danko's trial and she saw into that cold reptilian-like brain. "Your cut out for the job just fine."

"If there's anyone who knows anything about addiction, it would be you, wouldn't it, Andy?" Susan asks from her boat, one hand tucked under her chin, lips crooked up into a lazy smile that dares him to disagree. She rolls a lazy look in Magnes' direction, blue eyes dark, and drums the tips of her fingers against her jaw. "We have a doctor working out of Gun Hill who was a morphine addict until a few months ago," she says. "If we're going to deny Joseph a seat on the council based on his history, then maybe we should tell her to pack up and leave, too."

It's not a serious suggestion. Her tone is light, almost facetious, but the undercurrent running beneath it crackles with a strange kind of energy. "While we're at it, everyone who's ever attended an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting can also shove off. Mr. Shibuya Incident over here thinks you're putting the rest of us in a vulnerable position."

Ygraine's call for an adjournment — a chance to breathe — rouses Eileen from her silence. "An organizational council without Joseph Sumter on it is an organizational council that does not accurately represent the diversity of this network," she says, because it bears saying. "We can convene again soon. In the meantime, anyone with concerns like Rourke's can bring them to Bennet, Gitelman or myself. You have my promise they'll all be heard."

The literal rocking of the boat makes Tasha's eyes widen and she reaches up to grab the waistband of Colette's jeans and tug her downward before she capsizes the boat for both of them. She exhales, watching the tempers escalate, her fingers curling around Colette's to squeeze reassurance into the other.

"I… I'm not religious but there's something Pastor Sumter could tell us about people casting stones, and I'm pretty sure, like Kaylee said, all of us have things that we're not proud of in our lives. The fact he's strong enough to keep returning, to keep trying to do what we all want to do says enough. Plus, he has seen things the rest of us haven't. He has wisdom from those experiences that most of us don't have — we need to use his experiences to make all of us stronger," Tasha calls out, maybe not quite loud enough to reach the farthest in the group, but loud enough for most to hear, thanks to the acoustics.

"Fifteen days," Jensen Raith announces, purposely adding emphasis, "To object, to review, to propose. Fifteen days, to sort out how we are going to approach the future. How, when, and if we are going to confront our enemies.

"The Institute, is our enemy. The Institute is my enemy. The Institute is Andy Rourke's enemy." And the ex-spy shows he means it, pointing out into the crowd. "Andy Rourke…" A shake of his head, "Is not my enemy. Andy Rourke is not Marges Varlane's enemy, or Joseph Sumter's enemy, or Colette Demsky's enemy. We are here, all of us-" A wide, sweeping gesture around the tunnel with his arm- "Are here now because we are not each other's enemies. And no matter how the structure changes, no matter who comes and who goes, that will always be why we can do what we do. Use those fifteen days. Object, review, propose. If we don't use those fifteen days, if we try to settle everything, right here, right now, then I promise you.

"Our enemies will never have anything to fear from us. Ever."

Oh, Christ. "Colette… sit down, you're gonna fall in," Eric's voice lifts a bit, as does his hand, although he doesn't go so far as to actually make her sit down, despite that being well within the scope of his abilities. Then Magnes speaks up again, and his hand drops as he scowls over at the young man, leaning over a bit to hiss to Kaylee, "If he keeps this up, I'm going to shut him up before he says something stupid."

Then he pauses, and leans even closer to Kaylee, "…who's the Institute?"

As Raith gives his speech, Colette's mismatched eyes drift over to him, narrowed in scrutiny while half torn between the grab of Tasha's hand and the sinking feeling she has at her outburst. Deflating from her frustration and anger like a balloon that's had its air let out, Colette slumps down onto the boat and furrows her brows, looking askance to Andy, who's silent glare to Susan Ball would set the woman on fire had he a power to speak of. Colette leans to the side, against Tasha, letting her forehead come to rest against the brunette's shoulder, squeezing that hand she's holding tightly. "Sorry…" comes off a little hushed, ashamed, tired.

Lack of sleep and emotional stress that Colette's been under, and likely the entire network's been under since the Flash, hasn't made this any easier. It's a small miracle that the harrowing future didn't get raised here as a topic, but perhaps those who did see something were afraid to bring it up. Colette certainly was.

The look that Noah Bennet affords Eileen is a slow, steady nod of his head. Despite all of the shouting and posturing, Noah's expression speaks approval for what she's managed to do here, but also converys that wordless chastisement of worry that only a father's expression can. Eileen may not be his little Claire, but he can still rebuke her for not taking care of her health like any father would.

"Let's go," Noah offers quietly to Scott, his shoulders slacking, chest rising and falling in a heavy enough sigh. The meeting has been a difficult one, but they always are, he knew it would be, but she weathered it without cracking under the pressure in front of anyone. That's success enough for Noah.

"I don't like the precedent this is setting," the woman who'd spoken down about Joseph says with a shake of her head, from her boat, settling down to sit. "Do what we're doing or you're welcome to leave. We're not all Melissa Pierce, we can't just abandon our safehouses and sever ties with the network." There's a few rousing voices from her side that join in the conversation. "We'll go along with this because the choice we're presented with does more damage to the people beneath us than good… But I hope and I pray that you know what you're doing."

It's clear from the tones passed around that the Ferrymen Network has become accustomed to the every man for himself mentality, that each safehouse operator was the final word in so many things. Adding a heirarchy makes people nervous, because it means being held accountable, means having to compromise, and means having to make concessions.

Moreover, it means change, and change is never easy.

It's Raiths final words that inwardly made the EMT cringe. She remains where she was sitting, the meeting adjourned, many things to think about as she and Peter work tonight. Change was coming, is coming. From within. For all that she spoke of it though, Abigail doens't quite know if she can go along with it.

"Fine, like I said, I can't judge, and I didn't know he was kidnapped and forced to take drugs." Magnes turns in the general direction of Joseph's voice, nodding politely. "Sorry. Alright. And I don't think that being more organized will hurt us, our enemies are organized, and look at where we are? People are being spirited away every other day. Without organization, without discipline, we may as well just walk up to the government and stick in the isotopes ourselves." He thumbs at the mark on his neck, and there's a glance in Noah's direction. His presence didn't go completely unnoticed, he's just not entirely sure if this really is him.

He does have horn rimmed glasses, just like in the comic.

The meeting is adjourned. Cat is silent at this point, wondering within the confines of her brain where these fifteen days will lead. Soon she begins to row again, turning the craft around to head the way they came. A glance is cast in Tasha's direction, she being mindful of their upcoming appointment. What was said to Abby earlier remains true.

This will be interesting.

There's a brief smile for Magnes, forced if only because this is a subject Joseph never dreamed would be discussed in a network-wide open forum, echoed off the dripping rafters, as opposed to what the young man had argued just prior. From there, the pastor casts his black-eyed attention towards those he knows, identifying Colette easier, now, and then towards where Kaylee sits with Doyle, and lastly, towards Eileen.

On the slight Briton does his focus rest for a moment, as if studying something, before Joseph breaks his concentration and goes to help the Milburns figure out how to get their boat moving in the crowded waters.

Frowning pensively, Ygraine watches the array of vessels start to depart… then turns and makes her own unconventional way up the pillar and onto the ceiling. Rather than heading for the exit, however, she moves closer to the platform.

"I… if you'd appreciate a faster trip out than can be done by boat, I can help", she says, voice pitched low to avoid her words carrying far over the water, looking chiefly to Eileen. "Just… thought I should offer."

"Like that would matter." Kaylee murmurs back to Doyle with a small sigh, in regards to Magnes. A glance goes to Doyle, brows shooting up at his question about the Institute. "You… haven't heard?" Biting her lip, Kaylee leans against his shoulder briefly, which makes the boat rock slightly. "Sorry… Remind me later when we're home and I'll tell you what I know." She gives her friend a small apologetic smile.

The telepath shifts her attention to Raith and Elieen now, brows furrowing in thought. Finally, she risks something… glancing at Raith, she says to him mentally. Raith. I'm sorry, I didn't want to draw attention to her. The apology heavy in her mental voice for the intrusion. Watch her, I know you will, but she's looking really bad… I'm worried at what she might have. We need her. Kaylee can hazard to guess, by the way she was acting, Eileen's working to keep it secret, which means it could be something very bad.

There is another moment, teeth chewing at her lower lip, before Kaylee glances at Doyle. "Let's get home, kids will be wondering." There is a thought before she adds. "Stop for a stack of pizzas? They will probably lamenting about how much they are starving."

Glancing to the boat operator behind them, Kaylee gives him a brief nod that their ready, before she glances out at the crowd as it disburses. Glances going to the people she knows best.

This was going to be a tough transition and the telepath can't help but wonder… how many will walk away before it's done?

"I'll be all right," Eileen assures Ygraine on the back of a slow exhale that could stand to be steadier, but uneven as her voice is, her legs are for the time being stable beneath her. "I've got someone to see me home."

She'll be fine. Whether or not Kaylee hears Raith thinking back at her, he doesn't care. With the toe of his boot, he kicks the still burning flare into the water, where it vanishes with a spitting hiss and makes the water churn, still burning despite being submerged. Isn't chemistry fun?

"Let's get home," he says lowly to Eileen, "You need a nap and maybe a doctor."

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