Participants:
| Scene Title | Murder Mysteries |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Remi and Silas discuss their futures in this new world over a midnight snack. |
| Date | January 16, 2019 |
Secure Facility, Kansas City, MO
The hour is late; midnight has long since come and passed, and most of the people at SESA's Kansas City facility seem to have already turned in for the night… but the sizzling sounds and the smell of frying meat coming from the kitchen make for a definite hint that someone's awake, at least.
It's been a while since the travelers had arrived here from New Mexico; exactly how long, Silas Mackenzie can't say for sure… but then, he's not too worried about it, either. The SESA guys are running their tests and poking and prodding and evaluating, and that's a bit tiresome… but they're also letting him sleep late, footing the bill for his stay in a nice room with hot water, and generally going to lengths to try and keep him — all the travelers, come to that — fairly happy. Movies and music and a well-stocked kitchen, huzzah!
Which is a lot of the reason Silas is puttering around in the kitchen at this ungodly hour of the morning instead of staging an escape. He's reasonably sure he could get away clean if he actually wanted to, but there wouldn't be a whole lot of benefit to it… and it'd also mean leaving behind a group of people that he's all but marched through hell with. So instead of plotting a jailbreak, he's frying chicken for a late night lunch.
Not to mention, having come from a world where dry land was dangerous and uninhabitable, where tall buildings with questionable structures below the water were the only solid ground you’d find unless you were conducting a supply run…the solid ground here feels like heaven. That along with hot showers, dry and warm accommodations, and food that she never dreamed she would get to enjoy again, and Remi is happy as can be to stay right where the government wants her — even with the frequent screenings.
With a book that she coerced one of the agents to bring her in hand, Remi slips into the kitchen, intent on getting a snack and some tea. It’s not all that surprising to find Silas down here — and the smell of fried chicken helps temper her reaction, as well. “Did you ever think that you would be able to eat fried chicken again?” She grins, moving over to a counter and setting her book, The Illustrated Man by Ray Bradbury, down next to her as she leans against it.
“Books that aren’t printed on plastic that you’re allowed to take with you wherever you go, that still have that old library smell because their pages aren’t waterlogged,” she gestures to the book, before moving over to the area designed for crafting hot beverages, snagging a styrofoam cup and a tea bag. “And coffee. I have been jittery because I can’t get enough.” She laughs. “It’s…so good to be here.”
Silas doesn't look up at the sound of footsteps; it's not until Remi actually speaks that he looks up, raising a spatula in salute. "And the air doesn't smell like salt and damp all the time," he adds, grinning faintly. "Yeah… it's great, isn't it? The big Flood never happened here, apparently; they stopped those assholes from blowin' up Antarctica. Doesn't mean things are perfect — people are people, and from what I've been hearing they've had their share of troubles over here 'cause of that. But… yeah. Things seem better here, in a whole lotta ways."
He turns his attention back to the pan; he hadn't really been expecting company, but honestly, if you're cooking for one anyway it's not a lot more work to cook for two. "So. Want some chicken with your drink?"
“Oui, fresh air,” she replies, smiling. “It’s not perfect, but what is?” She taps a foot on the ground. “It’s been a while since I’ve set foot on solid land without feeling a need to keep a gun out at all times.” She smiles, pouring some hot water from one of the machines and setting the tea bag within. “I get to take warm showers every day, and I don’t need a mountain of blankets to feel some semblance of warmth when I sleep at night.” She chuckles. “It’s far better than what we came from.”
She glances down at the pan, grinning. “Would I ever,” she replies, raising her brows. “If I never eat fish again, it will be too soon.” She chuckles, idly bobbing the tea bag in the cup while she waits for it to steep. “If I end up getting a house, I’d like to find something with a back yard large enough to have chickens. Fresh eggs and meat.” She grins.
"A farmhouse, huh. Can't really get much more terra firma than that," Silas chuckles.
He's silent for a moment. "You know… it's the weirdest thing. I never really liked the sea," he says. "I mean, I could enjoy it, some days, but I could never really like the sea. Never really forgive it, I guess. But now… sometimes, I catch myself almost missing it. Just a little. The sound of the surf, the smell of the salt; they've been there for years…" Silas trails off… then laughs. "Crazy, huh?"
He shakes his head, reaching for a spatula to scoop the two pieces of chicken out of the pan and onto a plate for Remi. "Anyway. Don't get me wrong. I've got no regrets about makin' the trip," he says, nodding firmly; he really does think this is a better world. "Just gonna take a bit to get used to. And! Le dîner… est servi," Silas says, grinning and presenting the plate, along with a fork and knife.
Once Remi takes her plate, he starts battering a few more pieces of chicken in preparation for his own plate, and soon the pan is sizzling again. "So. Aside from buying yourself a big house with some land… any idea what else you're going to do? Is a return to acting in the cards?"
“Crazy as it is, I was thinking the exact same thing,” Remi replies, taking the plate with a smile and pausing to just…inhale the scent of the fried chicken. She’s always enjoyed Silas’ cooking as it is, but late night fried chicken from Silas seems to be the pinnacle of heavenly food.
“Like, I am almost tempted to set some money aside for another ship. I don’t know what I would do with it, but…well. It’s something to think about.” She smiles softly, setting the plate on the counter to let it cool to a less melt-your-lips-off temperature while Silas cooks his own.
“All the same, I’m just…happy to be here. When I agreed to come along, I honestly didn’t know what to expect.” She makes a broad gesture to indicate the general situation. “It’s not perfect, and they have their own problems here from what I’ve read into, but…we have a chance, Silas.” She grins. “I hope that New York has a good theater, I’d love to return to the stage. Apparently, I get to pretend to be a celebrity impersonator.”
Silas offers a nod. "That we do, Sunshine. That we do. I'm sure you'll be able to make a go of it; I mean, hell, John Wayne started as a prop boy. And even if New York doesn't have a good theatre yet… that just means you'll be able to get in on the ground floor." He flashes Remi a mildly wolfish grin before turning his attention back to the pan.
"As for me? I'm thinkin' 'bout startin' a restaurant. I'll work as a cook for a while, see if I can get the place a good reputation, good cash flow… then, after that… I dunno." He falls silent for a while, letting the chicken brown and sizzle in the pan, trying to organize his thoughts. "So… still not, uh, hearing things? Still no memory of the trip?" he asks, sounding concerned.
The woman grins. “Perhaps I can use my money to buy a theater with an apartment over it.” She chuckles. “Start my own production company, oui?” Though her tone is mildly joking, it also carries a hint of seriousness — it’s definitely something that could happen, assuming she can find something for cheap enough. She’s already got a place or three in mind, depending on the scope of the Safe Zone she’s been reading up on.
Brows raise, and Remi smiles. “Perhaps we could go in on a place together. A restaurant theater? You could serve your delicious food, I could put on plays and the like. Bring art and food together, non?” She grins widely, proud of her idea.
His last question takes a bit of the cheer from her face. “Still nothing,” she replies, shaking her head. “No memories, no ability…I still show up positive on tests, but my telepathy is just…gone.” She shrugs. “I’m starting to get used to the silence. Did I ever tell you that I couldn’t turn it off? The best I could do was turn the volume down — I still heard whispers even then.”
"A dinner theatre?" Silas asks, eyebrows rising. "Interesting… personally, I'd say that food can also count as a kind of art," he says, looking back to the chicken; it's browning nicely. "Not that I'd usually say as much, but… I like cooking 'cause I get to share something I enjoy. Something I've made myself. Hmm… not sure if that makes it an art or a craft, really," he muses aloud. "But! That's just me quibbling," he says with a grin. "Dinner theater is an idea that was old back when I was a kid… which probably means it's due to come back around again if things are the same here as they were on the other side. It could work!"
Her subsequent comments, though, elicit a grimmer expression. "Hrm," he grunts; he eyes the chicken for a moment longer then nods and scoops it out onto a plate for himself, turning off the stove and taking a seat across from Remi. "I think you mentioned it once," he nods, looking distracted; after that, he falls silent for a bit. "You know, thinking about it… I hate to say it, but it might have been for the best that you don't remember the trip," he says quietly, looking troubled. "It was…" He hesitates for a moment, spinning his fork as he stares down at the chicken, lost in concentration.
"You ever see the Wizard of Oz? Closest I can come is that it was like that scene where Dorothy gets sucked into the tornado. Like… flying and falling, all at once…" he says, eyes staring off into the distance. Like dying, he thinks, but does not say. "But there was more than that, too. It was like…" he trails off, frustrated, shaking his head. "I dunno. Like the sort of thing you hear about people seein' on acid trips, or… somethin'. Like… bein' in the eye of a storm of possibilities, I guess. No boundaries. No reality… just… possibilities. A maelstrom of 'em, stretching away in every direction…"
Silas shakes his head again. "Anyway. With everyone else going through it… getting all of that, from everyone, might've… might've been pretty bad for you," he says as he looks back to his chicken. It's a moment before he says anything else. "There's something else I want to ask you, Remi. Have you ever thought about what you — the other you, I mean — might've been doing with her life?" he asks, his voice quiet.
“Then it is settled. If there are no dinner theaters wherever we end up,” because it’s a given that she’s sticking around with Silas — he’s one of her closest friends, especially now, “then we will make one, oui?” She grins, offering a hand out — she’s being serious. It’s nice, planning for a future that she never thought she’d have.
The description of the trip here prompts the telepath to tilt her head to the side, a small frown appearing on her features. “Maybe it is a good thing, then,” she murmurs of her missing memories.
The final question prompts a brief look of thoughtful consideration, followed by a small frown. “I don’t really have to wonder,” she replies, lifting a hand and placing it to the side of her head. “When I was in the brig on the Ark, I had…I had visions, and from what I can tell…I was seeing the me from this world.”
She pauses for a long moment. “She worked for Monsieur Ray,” she adds. “She was married to a man named Jaiden, and had two…beautiful daughters.” A frown then creases her brow. “She was murdered a few months ago.”
Silas hesitates for the briefest of moments before shaking the proffered hand. "Well… I'm game if you are," he says, giving a small smile. I just hope you don't wind up regretting it, he thinks to himself.
Her talk of visions aboard the Ark worries him a little, but the content is the really worrying part… and the fact that they've apparently been confirmed. "Jesus," he murmurs. He taps his finger on the table, eyes focused somewhere distant as he thinks. "First, that's awful, and I'm sorry as hell to hear it. Secondly…"
He barks out an incredulous chuckle, shaking his head. "Secondly, that means both of us are gonna have to try to keep an eye out that our Hometown doubles' messes don't come around to bite us," Silas says, a grim smile on his lips. "I had a… vision… too, on the way over. A… possibility, maybe. I saw myself gunned down in a back alley like a dog," he says grimly, finally starting to cut the chicken. "I'm not sure what Hometown Silas might have been getting up to, but it's more than possible that it involved a bit of no good. There's… at least a chance that whatever it was might end up following me to wherever I end up hanging my hat." After a moment, he looks back to Remi. "I wanted to make sure that was all out on the table. So. That said… you sure you still wanna do this thing?" he asks.
Reaching out, Remi places a hand on Silas’ shoulder, squeezing once before letting go. “Well, if it is any consolation, this world’s version of me was driving home and was caught by a grenade, then some bullets in the head.” She frowns a bit describing it — actually seeing it through her alternate’s eyes must have been pretty distressing.
“All said and done, if you’re in, I’m in.” Remi smiles. “I couldn’t think of anyone better to team up with to start a new life here.” She dips her head toward Silas. “And if it means I get to continue to enjoy your cooking, I’m definitely in.”
Silas nods slowly at Remi's description of what had happened to her counterpart. A grenade and then bullets to the head? That's… pretty excessive. Sounds like maybe I'm not the only one who might have bad business follow me home…
Her next comment, though, is at least a double compliment, and one he'd be hard-pressed to say no to… so he just laughs. "Well, when you put it that way… I'm in," he says, giving his best grin. "Manhattan Dinner Theatre, here we come." And as to murder mysteries… we can burn those bridges when we come to them.
“I’m glad you’re here, Silas,” Remi remarks, smiling to the man. “I’m glad that I have a good friend who knows where I come from, and what it was like to live as we lived.” She chuckles softly, nodding toward the man.
“To good food, good fortune, and plenty of new adventures in this new world, oui?” She grins, and then the temptation to eat the chicken gets to be too much — she tears off a chunk of the leg and pops it into her mouth. Her eyes roll up toward the ceiling, and a noise of contentment escapes her as she enjoys the food.
“Oh, I could get used to having food this good available all the time.”
Silas inclines his head. "I'll drink to that," he says, giving a broad grin — one that only widens as he sees that she's enjoying the food. "Good food, good fortune, and new adventures in a new world… and, last but not least, to good company." He raises a glass of water in toast, then drinks.