We've Been Here Before


castle4_icon.gif ff_cat_icon.gif chess4_icon.gif ff_des2_icon.gif elliot2_icon.gif ff_erin_icon.gif eve_icon.gif ff_monica2_icon.gif ff_nova_icon.gif richard5_icon.gif ff_ricky_icon.gif robyn7_icon.gif ff_ryans_icon.gif ff_silas2_icon.gif ff_stef2_icon.gif ff_veronica_icon.gif

Scene Title We've Been Here Before
Synopsis Years after Mad Eve's Demand, another group of Travelers descend on the Pelago and face the council of captains.
Date June 15, 2021

The blackened stump that remains of the Empire State Building is a memorial to those lost in the war with the Sentinel.

In the years that have passed, matters of centralized governance within the Pelago moved to one of the settlement’s lowest buildings, rising just fourteen stories above the waves. From a distance, the structure known now as the Clocktower is clearly what remains of the Metropolitan Life Insurance Tower at 1 Madison Ave. It now serves as one of the easternmost bastions of the Pelago.

The dull gray hulls of US Navy battleships encircle the tower day and night, spoils of the war with the Sentinel. Only active captains and authorized guests are allowed within the Clocktower to ensure that the governing bodies of the Pelago remain secure and calamities like the catastrophic loss of life at the Empire State Building never happens again.

Entrance to the tower happens at a floating wharf extending off of the western face of the Clocktower, just two floors below the massive corroded clock face. The clock itself laid in disrepair for a decade before the structure was recommissioned and Lowe’s Syndicate repaired the machine. Now it tracks an accurate time in a city that rarely needs such precision measures. But it is a symbol more than a timepiece; it is a symbol of humanity’s resilience and the world’s ability to claw back from the brink of destruction.

Fourteen floors up from the sea level wharves, directly below where the great copper bells hang, is an octagonal bell tower that serves as a conference room for the Captains’ Council. A large table sits in the middle of the room with no chairs to sit at. Maps are spread out across the table detailing the Pelago and estimates of the shape of the United States’ East Coast — or what remains of it. Windows are shut on all sides of the tower to keep out the wind-driven rain that batters the building. Lantern lights flicker in the gray of mid-day and long shadows dance across the tiled floor. Birds roost in the rafters above and raised voices ring out among their nests.

No matter how much the world changes, some things stay the same.

Captains’ Council
The Clocktower

The Pelago

June 15th
10:16 am

“We don’t know them!”

Captain Ricky Daselles voice rings out down the hall. “Last time these—these people came here? Do you remember that? They took half of our fleet and left us defenseless when the Sentinel came through!”

Chess, Saffron, Richard, Eve, Robyn, Nova, and Elliot can hear part of an argument from down the spiral stairs leading up into the conference room. It creates an overwhelming sense of tension in the air as they are escorted up an ornate flight of stairs by none other than Benjamin Ryans.

“Ricky, we knew the risks when we authorized those ships to leave.” A woman’s voice replies with level-headed restraint. Familiar to the Travelers for a number of reasons, either from those who knew her from her days in the Ferrymen, to those who knew her as the Secretary of State during the Praeger Administration. “And some of them stayed. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Squeaks. For the pirate fleet we came back with!”

This world is like a dirty funhouse mirror, familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Stretched and distorted into some parody, and yet so close as if to be haunting. As Ryans leads the Travelers up into the octagonal conference room, they are greeted by a dozen or so other faces, some familiar and some not. The chamber carries the atmosphere of an ancient Roman senate where figures of importance stood and debated the politics of the age. Except here it is the ostensible leaders of the Pelago juxtaposed against a panoramic view of the end of the world.

“Why don’t we all take a minute.” Catherine Chesterfield says with a wide-eyed look over to Ryans and past him to the unfamiliar faces of the arrivals. Her gaze lingers on Robyn for a moment, then Eve with open-mouthed wonder before prying her attention away and back to Ricky.

These two captains are, in a way, diametrically opposed viewpoints of this timeline. Ricky Daselles looks like he was plucked up out of the Prime Timeline and laid down unchanged here, save that he fancies himself a man who can pull off a cowboy hat.

Cat, on the other hand, is far removed from the monotone and analytical woman of the Prime timeline. Her hair is wind-tossed, her eyes ringed with dark circles. She is dressed in a heavy wool coat and carries a fucking katana at her side. She levels a dark-eyed look at the Travelers, but then forces a tense smile and a nod of welcome.

“I… suppose introductions are in order.” Cat says with a warning glance to Ricky to not fly off the handle. “I’m Captain J. Catherine Forrest of Oar Place or Mine.” Forrest, not Chesterfield. Small details with spider webs of causality behind them. “But you can call me Cat.”

Cat looks at the others gathered in the chamber. “If we could all go around and make introductions, maybe then we can learn about our guests and all be civil?

Ricky slides his tongue across the inside of his cheek, taking the opportunity to go next since he’d already sucked most of the air out of the room with his hot headed rant. “Captain Ricky Daselles of the Trawler.”

The small woman in a long coat has her blonde hair dishevelled from slapping her hands on the table, leaning forward with the intent to lay into Ricky, only to have her objections stayed by Cat. She breathes out slowly, comes to stand straight again and nods her head. When the metaphorical talking stick is passed to her, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and introduces herself. “Captain Destiny Mas, The Featherweight.”

Standing somewhat on her own, as on her own as she can be in this circular room, Monica wears her usual costume: billowy shirt, rough work pants, boots, but now with a black ribbon tied around her left arm. Her outward signal of the mourning she and her boat are in. "Monica Dawson," she says, not quite ready to call herself captain, "Forthright." She looks over at Eve, giving her a deep nod. "And for what it's worth, The Forthright wants to hear them out." Which should surprise no one.

"Silas Mackenzie. Captain of the Second Star," Silas says, his voice heavy and grim. The last time he'd addressed this assembly, it had been to speak of hope for the future, of a new dawn… but this time, his bearing is solemn, almost funerary. His attire fits the new bearing as well — black coat, black shirt, black jeans, black boots, no hat.

His introduction made, Silas's gaze drifts to Monica; he gives a slight nod in sympathy, but then his gaze drifts away — to the captains gathered here, and then to somewhere in the middle distance.

After motioning the travelers to join them to stand around the table, Ryans moves to his spot at the table. Age makes him a creature of habit. The old Captain leans lightly on his cane, resting one hand over the other, eyeing the travellers. He gives a nod to each of the other captains before addressing the group.

“Captain Ben Ryans of the Cerberus,” he offers, even though they know him, his voice gruff and seems to carry with little to no effort.

The former “Dread Pirate” Sawyer leans back in a chair where she’s been watching Ricky’s rant with what might be — though it’s hard to tell — amusement. One brow ticks up at the mention of the pirate fleet that returned to fight the Sentinel in lieu of those who went with the travelers to whatever lay beyond this world, with Elisabeth, Lynette, Mateo, Miles and the others.

“Sawyer,” she says when the invisible conch comes her way. No “Dread Pirate” epithet, nor even a Vee or Veronica. “The Tempest, formerly the pirate fleet.” There’s the smallest uptick of one corner of her mouth to hint that the latter is said with some irony and humor.

As Silas speaks his name, Chess can’t help but gasp a little, her dark eyes settle on him curiously — she hadn’t known Silas back home, but knows he was on the boat with Luther and the others. She knows from Eve that he was from here — if it’s the same man. Her eyes, still red-rimmed over the death of an older version of her friend, move from face to face as each captain introduces themself, and she swallows nervously, glancing to her fellow travelers.

Nearby, Nova stands a little apart from the travelers — she is with them, but she is from this world. If she’s nervous, it doesn’t show. If anything, she seems a bit like a curious cat, glancing around the room and taking in its details; there are no buildings like this where she’s from.

“Stephanie Winters,” A voice speaks up from the back. The figure is seated, dressed mostly in black, face shadowed, but the husky voice is recognizable by many of the travelers as belonging to someone with a very different name. It sounds like Gillian Childs. Who had been born Stephanie Winters. The last name matched the name of one of her biological brothers, that some of them had known of. So it made sense.

She was cleaning her fingernails with a very, very long knife. “Captain of the Nine Tales.” It was a play on words, no doubt.

Then she adds a gesture in the direction of Ricky with said very long knife, “Sentinel was going to destroy us with or without the ships, Captain Daselles. And you know it.”

Among the travelers, but silent, Agent Castle is recognizable by at least a few of those present. Those who had been on the Ark know them as Saffron Mas. And at least Monica knew them as Eve Mas’ child. She had been one of the few who had been in on the secret from the beginning, whether they knew it or not. Saffron. Basil. They had many names. They might have spoken up first…

Under any other situation. The last few days have been rough on them, and they looked it.

Robyn has managed to keep quiet through most of this, despite Ricky Daselles being fucking Ricky Daselles, despite the revelation that there's more Mases out there, despite the presence of Cat Not-Chesterfield, despite the intense surrealness of almost all the other faces to be found here around her.

Then Stef/ makes her presence known, and Robyn's eyes widen in surprise. "No fucking way," she whispers, only loud enough for those closest to her to hear. "No one told me there would be politics. And now this? I don't like this." She knew she would see all these familiar faces in some context or another. That doesn't make the actual occurrence any less disquieting. A hand clenches into a fist at her side, and she steps forward like she's going to speak - but she doesn't. She knows well enough to wait for introductions to finish on their end before interrupting.

Stef’s presence explains something that’s been slithering down Richard’s spine like a bead of water since he reached the top of the stairs. It isn’t the awkwardness of hearing his Gillian’s voice coming from a stranger, but rather the growing sense of dread and vertigo that pulls at all of his senses. As if he is at once standing within and without of himself when she comes into view. For the briefest of moments he sees a glimpse of someone standing at Stef’s side with a hand on her shoulder.

Peter Petrelli.

But in the next instant he’s gone, and Richard sees the pale blue color of Stef’s eyes. Pale, cold, unnatural. He’s seen those eyes in so many faces now, but never would he have expected to find them in hers.

The sense of vertigo subsides but the dread lingers. They truly are all in uncharted waters here now, and there is no path but the one straight ahead.

They were familiar faces, even voices, but Richard knew they weren’t the same people; not quite, at least. Still, he stood silently with the gathered as the captains introduced themselves, taking them in one by one and making silent notes of what their manner and introduction said about them. Trying to pinpoint that feeling, that something he’s feeling in the air… and then Stefanie steps from the shadows.

He sucks in a sharp breath, shock weighing heavy in his gut, gaze locked on the woman in black. Still silent, but no longer paying attention to the discussion ongoing.

The one who's usually the loudest in the room hasn't spoken much since arriving in the conference room, standing near Castle and Chess alongside the rest of their group with a contemplative expression on her features. The Eve that stands with them is not a decaying corpse or an ornery old woman on her last breath, she's something new. Blood red glowing eyes slide from the faces of many she knows closely back home, Cat gets a brief but warm smile that's triggered by more than her own emotions for the woman. At Monica's declaration of support the former seer can only nod back softly in acceptance and gratitude but the feelings of sisterhood are tenfold, even here their bonds were strong. Poppy was nowhere to be found, someone had seen her drowning in a bottle on The Forthright.

The ends of her dark overcoat slap against a sturdy looking staff that the woman leans against, like a totem keeping her chained to the current reality as one of the most familiar faces to Eve reveals herself.

"Gilly," The first words said in an hour. Those eyes. Eve's world tilts and she's briefly back in one of her visions of Gillian and Chess with cool blue eyes, changed. There isn't much time to marvel at Stef before Robyn is displaying her displeasure to which an eyebrow arches and the tall woman tilts her head. "And how else are we to gain their aid in keeping it all from imploding, Red?" Maybe she was high.

"I'm Eve Mas," she waves lamely with a small smile at the captains who consider them all strangers. "I'd like to thank you for the shelter and to ask for a moment of silence for our dearly departed Mad Eve." Eve is… weird, like herself but carrying a stronger energy, comfortable in this space that she's never been. For the moment though the dark haired woman bows her head for a moment without seeing if anyone else follows.

Three seconds go by and Eve lifts her head again, "…she cared about a lot of people in this room. I can feel that." Dipping her head again before falling silent.

Elliot enters the room last, hands in the pockets of a waxed canvas rain jacket. His hood is down, owing to people in power generally disliking being around those who hide their identities. He keeps behind and to the side of the other Travelers.

Elliot's eyes widen when one of the first introductions comes from Ricky of all people, a man whose number is stored under Garbage Bandit in his crime phone. The man who Elliot got some of his best swears from. He's too tired to fully hide a bemused smile at the baldfaced absurdity of it.

"Holy shit," Wright says, boots scuffing the Fort Jay conference room carpet to stop her spinning office chair. "What are the odds?"

He looks around to match faces to names, but otherwise rides on the trail of failing to introduce himself that the others have blazed for him.

And then there’s Erin Gordon, an agricultural scientist, standing against a wall, wearing worn-out flannels and accompanied by a companion, an Australian shepherd. “Erin Gordon. The Colin. Named for this little guy.” She adds, tilting her head to her right where the Good Boy sits at attention. “We call ourselves a research vessel but really I’m just on a houseboat trying to figure out how to grow plants asea.”

“This is some cursed bullshit,” Ricky says with a motion toward Eve. “We can’t—”

Ricky.” Cat strains the name through her clenched teeth and Ricky sucks in a sharp breath and throws his hands up in the air, stepping away from the table a little. Closing her eyes for a moment, Cat pinches the bridge of her nose with forefinger and thumb. “Okay, obviously—there’s a lot going on right now. Tensions are a little high, and I get that. But we need to stay civil here.”

Ricky huffs something unintelligible but undoubtedly juvenile under his breath and leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s made his vocal opposition to the Travelers mere presence clear enough.

“What I’ve heard come in and out since you all showed up is a lot of rumors.” Cat explains, waggling her fingers in the air as if rumors was some sort of spooky scare-word. “So, let’s consider this rumor control, yeah?” She looks around the table, then gestures to the Travelers. “You came a whole fucking long way to get here, and some say it’s accident like Elisabeth, Mateo, and those others. But some say it isn’t. I don’t know which to believe, so I’d like to hear it from the source.”

Cat motions to the Travelers as a whole. “Get us up to speed. Maybe that’ll help soothe a lot of these frayed nerves.”

There's a glance to each side from Robyn at each of her compatriots, shoulders rising and falling as she takes a deep breath and steps forward. "Hello," she offers, as if this was the start of the conversation. "My name is Robyn Roux, but I'd wager some of you already knew that." Her hands clasp behind her, posture straightening as her eyes scan the captains. "Because some of you already know the Robyn Roux that lives here in the Pelago." That's still a weird sentence to say.

"To avoid confusion in conversation, I intend to go by my birth name of Quinn while we are here." Just a little bit of house keeping, in her eyes, once more glancing over friends, particularly at Richard. "I'm going to tell you the same thing I've told others that have come to me with questions - that I'm not here to bullshit you."

There's just the slightest bit of nervousness in her voice as she continues. "We're not here by accident," she admits. "We are here with purpose. Purpose that involves crossing the mainland."

"Have you learned not to wet your pants in this reality my dear Ricky?" Eve's wicked grin is thrown the man's way and she tilts her head with an eyebrow raised, clearly teasing and that look is full of knowing, though the two aren't friends in this world. But Cat is asking for answers and Robyn begins to deliver on that request. The fact that Eve appears so at ease among this group is a strange sight. "Quinn is right, this was no accident, dearies."

Robyn's vague statement draws a small smile from the woman, she was used to being the vague one.

"There is a being in our world, much like any of us here who have abilities or gifts except more powerful than anything we've seen or that you have. Not even Kazimir Volken and his Vanguard with their floods can compare." Eve doesn't shy away from the captains, her crimson glowing eyes scan each of their faces with a hard look, one she doesn't feel is totally her own. "We've been tangling with her for the last few years. I've been dreaming of her, been punished by her and now she wants to destroy our world, she wants to come to the others, she wants to destroy us all." Bitterness drips from the woman's tone, eyes narrowing to skits and the veins in her neck are more visible as Eve strains to contain herself.

The click of her staff echoes in the chamber as Eve begins to pace. "Each world is different, some of us don't exist, are dead, lost or are just different.." Her eyes rest on Cat now. The woman who, like Stef, seemed so different from her counterpart. To demonstrate the pale woman's form burst into that red cloud of energy, hovering in the air as her staff begins to fall. One of Eve's pale arms shoots out from the cloud and grabs the staff before it hits the ground, the rest of her materializing in a crouch. "And in this world, there is something that might be able to help us stop that Entity that we cannot access at home. Something that can stop it from ruining our world and then moving onto yours. And the next."

"Mad Eve warned some of you," A smile at Silas, "In oh so many words that we would come. She hoped to save both our worlds. She hoped we could work together." Curling both hands around the middle of the cold staff the tall woman bends at the knees and leans against the table. "And that's why Michelle Cardinal herself and that Big Ol' Brain helped send us here back to her home, this must be a multiversal effort my dears."

From her lounging position, Sawyer looks bored with the proceedings, but there’s a narrowing of her eyes that belies the relaxed slouch. It’s Eve’s addressing of Ricky that draws the smallest of smirks from the former pirate, and it brings her forward, her arms crossing along the edge of the table in front of her.

“Even if we were inclined to help,” she says, glancing down the line of captains, “our supplies and resources are limited. Dwindling. We have our people to worry about, other-world spectres or not.” She taps her fingers of one hand against the opposite arm. “What do you need from us, aside from a place to park your boats before you move on?”

"It's funny," Monica says, her arms folded, "but whenever someone reassures me they're not going to bullshit me, I'm never more certain that I'm about to hear some bullshit." She looks over at Sawyer, nodding to her question and seconding it with a wave of her hand. "Skip the prelude and tell us what you want from us. And why."

Her attention turns to Eve, giving her a nod and then one to Castle just after. "The Forthright is ready to help because Eve wanted to help. And since you have Eve with you. But these other Captains deserve to hear your reasons and requests."

Captain Ryans nods slowly in agreement to the other captains questions, eyes intent on the travellers. “They are right. I have the same questions. But you have to understand that the last travellers came through,” his gaze settles on Richard especially, “They inadvertently brought down the whole of the Sentinel on the Pelagos.” His cane taps the floor in emphasis, jaw clenching against a fresh flash of grief. The sound of the metal cane tip was louder than he planned, but he was worried and unlike the Ben they knew, this one showed it.

Holding up a hand, the Captain of the Cerberus clarifies with a voice a little rougher with emotion, “Not that we hold it against them. They didn't plan to land here.” A warning look is snapped over at Ricky to keep his mouth shut.

“But, we barely survived and suffered immeasurable losses,” Ryans continues on, turning his attention to the band of travellers. “So forgive our trepidation when you all show up again, this time on purpose, just as we are starting to recover.”

Sighing heavily through his nose, Ben shakes his head, “People are fearing it's an ill omen.”

Elliot steps closer to Richard as the gathered captains respond to their presence. It’s a fair topic, Elliot just isn’t going to be the one to tell them. “Office wants to know the current threat level of the Sentinel and who the leadership was or is,” he whispers. Wright, again, tells the agents at the conference table that Elliot heard them and repeated what they said without her needing to say it back to them first.

That whisper snaps Richard out of whatever reverie he’d fallen into, staring at that captain in her shadowy corner; his head dipping a bit in a nod towards Elliot, a look briefly directed towards Eve, and then he steps forward.

“My name’s Richard Cardinal,” he declares as he looks over the gathered captains, “You don’t need— and probably don’t want— to know the full extent of our problems, because they’re ours. We’re not here to bring any trouble to your doors, there’s nobody chasing us, and we’re primarily here just because it’s the only friendly port of call on the way to where we’re going.”

“We’re heading on to the mainland, and from there north towards Anchorage to find what we’re looking for,” is the succinct description of their mission, “We lost some of our supplies on the way through, so we’d certainly appreciate working out a deal for assistance in getting there, but again— we’re not looking to rip your society up here.”

“You mentioned the Sentinel attack— are they still a problem out here? Who’s in charge of them now? Our intel on what happened after the battle is pretty sparse.”

His gaze briefly drifts to Stef, as he asks the question.

“Some of these people see ill omens in everything,” Stef says quietly, examining the blade of the knife she took from one of the murderers of Sentinel with eyes that are too blue to be real. And too blue to be hers. She doesn’t sound bitter, or angry, or even annoyed, just— melancholy. “It’s a shame you lost your supplies. I’m sure they would have opened many more options for you if you had trade in more than stories. And I’m the one who peddles in tales.”

Stef likes stories. She’s interested in the half truths and the bullshit that’s being tossed around, because she can read that there’s definitely a little bit of both.

And some things sounded a little too familiar.

But there’s a question addressed in her direction, whether it was meant for her or not. “Sentinel was defeated, but not without great loss. Loss I know quite a bit about, I might add.” She lost her home, her life’s work, and many close friends. “Crowley was their leader in the attack, and he’s dead. All signs point to this crippling their power structure. A few small cells might survive, but they’ll likely be squabbling for who is in charge for a few years among themselves before they manage to attack anyone else in large numbers.”

As she finishes, it is Agent Castle’s turn to finally take in a slow breath and speak up, “My name is Saffron Kelly Mas.” Yes, yet another Mas. And this was a name that at least a few of them knew. “I’m with the travelers, but I’m from here. I was born here, as some of you know. I was in the Ark when the other travelers left, and went through with them to escape the Ark’s destruction, like Silas there. But I chose to come back, to help them, because I knew they would need someone who had been here before at their side.” She left out a lot, more half truths, but— “We had come intending to barter, but our entry into this world was more chaotic than expected. But Richard is right, we do not intend to deplete your resources more than necessary, or rip up your society. But you mentioned your own problems. Perhaps we can be of aid to each other.”

Chess doesn’t speak — the others have said enough. Instead she watches what might amount to their jury, for it’s certainly not the welcome wagon. Her dark gaze slides across each face, but spends more time on those she knows (or knew, in one case) in another form — Ryans and Stef — and those she’s seen in images about the lead-up to the Civil War and the political arena after.

Nova lifts a hand in an amiable wave. If the travelers are nervous, she doesn’t seem to be. “I’m not from their world and haven’t been there, but many of you know I’ve come from Alaska. I can answer questions about what Anchor is like, what resources we have there, and we’d be happy to travel with anyone from the Pelago who wants to make the journey west.”

She glances down the line of the travelers, then back to the captains before her. “Thank you for your hospitality and taking the time to talk to us,” she adds, a toothy smile punctuating the sentiment.

Veronica lifts a brow and leans toward Ryans. “How old is that one, twelve?” she asks wryly. “Though I guess she came all the way here from Alaska in just that little boat.”

Erin shifts, no longer standing but instead on one knee, a hand on the top of the goodest boy’s head. She’s not really sure where she fits into this conversation, only that she has a boat, she has a world, and she wants to see how this plays out. Colin, who sometimes seems nearly human, has one blue eye (deaf on that side, like a cat would be) and one brown eye trained upon each person as they speak, almost as though he, too, is reading the room, the characters, comprehending, and processing. Not a growl, not a head tilt - statuesque is the canine in the room, trying to parse with his person what sort of situation exactly the two have landed themselves in.

Silas has remained silent up until now, his face growing stonier as the Travelers speak.

It's not until silence falls for a moment that he finally speaks. "An ill omen," Silas speaks, his voice still heavy and iron, "their arrival may well be. But an omen is only a warning of what's to come," he says, eyes sweeping around the Captains. "And if you ignore the clouds buildin' on the horizon, it's your own damn fault if you get caught out in the rain. They're here for a reason. They came here for a reason, riskin' death and worse; that voyage is not one to be made lightly, and for that alone we should hear 'em out."

"With that said," he says, and now his gaze turns to the Travelers. "Saying our troubles aren't your business and then immediately askin' about the Sentinel, which is manifestly not your trouble? That kinda smells, Richard."

"You did me a good turn when I arrived in your backyard; I'll do what I can to help you. But we're fighting to survive here, and most of these people don't know you from Adam," he says, eyes sharpening a bit on that last word; Silas knows well what kind of person Adam was in their world. "So if you want them to throw their support behind you, you're gonna have to quit dancing around it and tell them why. If you're going to play us false, don't play at all; half-truths and evasions tend to be enemies of survival, and anyone still breathin' here's passed a masterclass in survival by default."

His gaze shifts to Eve, and his expression tightens. "And I know about your Entity, Eve. I've seen a measure of its power, and it's fierce, aye. But I'll warn you: looking down on the Flood will earn you no favors here. Kazimir Volken killed a helluva lot more of us — has taken a hell of a lot more from all of us — than the Dragon has managed to so far," Silas says quietly, his voice gentle to try to rob any sting from the admonishment.

As the smallest among them is about to speak, her attention turns to Veronica and Ryans, and their little aside, eyes slowly narrowing. I heard that.

Destiny misses her window and finds herself having to follow in the wake of the Second Star’s captain. After only a beat to process and decide what to do with his words herself, she lifts her chin and takes in a deep breath. “We aren’t the only ones who lost people. The travelers had losses, too.” Some felt more keenly than others. “Neither you nor I would be standing here if not for…”

The blonde tucks a strand of hair behind her ear to keep from wrapping her arms around herself as she feels the cold of memory. Of the moment time stretched on in every conceivable direction and she felt all of eternity flooding her mind and then —


nothing.The Featherweight intends to escort the new travelers. To Anchor, and wherever else they may need to go.” Destiny glances around the room, just to gauge the temperature. “It’s the least of what my crew and I owe you.”

“That’ll be a tricky proposition,” Cat interjects, motioning toward Destiny, then the Travelers. “We’re entering a really nasty period of activity with the Stormfront. That’s—a super-hurricane parked off the coast of Massachusetts, if you weren’t briefed on that. It spins off regular-sized hurricanes from time to time, but when the conditions are right it turns the entire Atlantic ocean into a blender.”

“And we don’t exactly have the weather channel here,” Ricky adds gruffly, arms crossed over his chest.

“Which—is a good point. It’s extremely difficult to know when the storms will be coming and where. Some of them spin pretty far south from what we’ve heard, so one wrong plotted course and—” Cat snaps her fingers. “Davey Jones’ locker and all that, y’know, stuff.”

Wrinkling her nose, Cat stands up straight. “So, if you aren’t in a rush, you can hunker down here well enough so long as you earn your keep. Storm season should be over anywhere between nine and sixteen months from now, if the last one was any indication. The alternative is a land route across the mainland and…”

Ricky scoffs and shakes his head, then looks at Cat quietly. It takes a moment before Cat sees the look and exhales a sigh.

“The others… have mentioned that a group of settlers are looking for a route to the Anchor that—they’ve mentioned wanting to try a land route.” Cat says, hunching her shoulders forward. “It’s risky for a whole host of other reasons. If I were you I’d wait until next year, see how the weather turns.”

The look Robyn angles first towards Eve and then towards Monica is baleful in a way her words could only hope to convey, but whatever comments she may have to go with it don't make it past her mouth as she instead turns her attention towards Cat.

"With all due respect, Cat," said with a familiarity that likely seems unearned to Cat and the other captains, "time is at a bit of a premium." Her attention turns next to Silas, expression thinning as she regards him with a mix of respect and disappointment. "Silas, I've already told you why. But yes, let us lay down cards for the rest of the captains."

Another look is given towards Eve, before she turns her attention back forward and sighs. "What Eve says is true, in a manner. This Entity seeks to end our world." Exhaling sharply, she spreads her hands out in front of her. "Our goal is Alaska, yes. Why? Because two scientists working out of a facility there have created a means of preventing this disaster. Two scientists who regrettably are no longer alive where we come from." Said with only a slight hitch - entirely genuine, too, rather than practiced.

"Those two scientists happen to be my parents," she adds after a moment. "And if a land route is the only option to reach our destination in a timely manner, then it's the option we have to take." Her shoulders sag a bit, and she levels a look at Destiny first, then back to Cat. "As for earning our keep, that's likely in our best interest anyway. I'm sure there will be dissent from my friends here, but… truth be told?" Her head hangs a slight bit, eyes closing. "As of this moment, and as of when we decided to make this jump? There's no easy way home for us, if there is a way at all."

Chess lifts her brows as more of their mission’s details come out into the open, and she glances Robyn’s way at the word dissent, and shakes her head, and speaks for the first time since entering the room.

“Of course we’ll earn our keep while we’re here,” she says. “But yeah, respectfully, we don’t have time to wait a year or more than a year. We’ll take our chances.” She glances down the line of her fellow travelers, then back to the captains. “Most of us are probably better on land than on sea, anyway, honestly, and we’re used to dealing with adversity.”

That’s an understatement.

The captain of the Yeah, Buoy! nods in agreement. “Time’s definitely a factor. We understand if you don’t want to join us in the journey, but any helpful advice would be appreciated, kapiteins,” she says, tucking her hands in the black trench coat she’s been wearing since docking. “To that end, if you know anyone who knows the safest or fastest routes we could talk to, that would be appreciated.”

“Nobody around here,” Ricky says without the frustrated heat he’d had earlier.

“Nobody from here.” Cat corrects, eliciting a dawning look of realization over Ricky’s face. He snaps his fingers and nods, looking back to the Travelers.

“Okay, Hello Kitty has a point,” he says, motioning with his thumb to Cat who is at the same time giving him a dirty look. “There’s a guy from Delphi—that’s a uh, city down southwest, used to be Philly? They’ve got a good mainland salvage operation. Fella by the name of Tay came up from there with Silas a while back.”

“Tay’s still doing supply runs,” Cat notes, “I don’t know if he’s here right now. But he traded for an old 36-foot Coast Guard lifeboat not long after he got here. Durable thing, can cut right through the huge waves like a fucking missile. He’s been running back and forth between here and the Delphi to get us essentials for the storm season.”

Ricky nods. “Guy’s the only person I know who’s done that many mainland runs and not gotten sick and died, so he’s gotta know something. He named his ship the Little Dipper, so if it’s in harbor you should be able to find him.”

Elliot remains impenetrably neutral throughout Robyn’s outpouring of operational details. Silas does have a point, these assembled captains have no reason to trust people thoughtless enough to rocket through a hole in reality to show up on their doorstep destitute and of cryptic purpose.

When Ricky becomes suddenly helpful at the expense of the secretary of state, he can't help but pinch his hand over the bridge of his nose to contain what would have otherwise been a sudden and impolite wheeze of laughter. He reminds himself that he’s barely slept in four days, and passes the motion off as a clearing of his bleary eyes.

“That sounds like a start,” Saffron responds after a moment, not seeming to contradict anything that anyone has said so far. Or even disagree with it at this point. They are still rather— sad. But they do add, “All of us have useful skills we can offer to your community to make our way in the meantime so that we are not a burden on your society. I grew up here, but they went through a war in the time that the previous travelers were jumping across timelines, so they are versed in worlds of limited resources already.”

They aren’t speaking of abilities, so much as skills. “I used to make soaps and shampoos on the Ark, which at least Destiny there can attest to. And I know Silas helped me out in the kitchen during his short stay, and I hope he can speak as to my cooking skills with the very limited resources we had access to on the Ark.”

Because they really did have limited resources there.

They would make their way while they stayed, but they wouldn’t be staying until the storm cleared. They couldn’t.

It wasn’t an option.

There is nothing by silence from the Captain of the Cerberus. Ryans didn’t have much to say, allowing the other Captains to talk. Instead he simply watches the Travellers from his spot.

"I would never think to look down on you or your home or it's people, Young Man. This I promise. She will just do, more than any of us has seen." Eve looks at Silas closely focusing mostly on his eyes but her cousin is speaking again and Eve also squints as she turns and looks at the young woman up and down.

What a strange world.

Robyn gives the story of her family and more of the reasons as to why they're here on this world. "Then we seek this Tay out." It's that simple for the woman and the less they can trouble these people the better. At least in the respect of throwing them into harms way. Taking a cue from Saffron, "My father was a mechanic and his father before him. Show me to an engine and I can make it sing."

Stef's form warns Eve gaze and though the woman tries to watch the other captains an old vision plays in her mind and then her hungry blood red eyes slide to Chess, a question in that gaze.

At that look, Chess’ brow lifts in a sort of what// expression, but she assumes Eve is trying to get her to say what she can do for the Pelago while they earn their keep.

“I, uh, can blow shit up?” she offers, tentatively. “I mean, only what you want blown up,” she adds, with a wry smile. “But other than that, any manual labor that doesn’t take an advanced degree or training is up my alley.”

Nova nods her thanks for the information. “How long does it take to get from here to Delphi? It’s been some time since I studied American geography, and the eastern states I was always a little bit terrible at. That was to the south, ja?”

When Robyn turns her gaze on Silas, he meets it impassively and without flinching. Her talk of laying down cards for the rest of the captains, though, elicits a slight nod… then another when she's finished. Good.

Beyond that, he seems content to remain silent, though not entirely without reaction. The mention of Tay prompts a momentary tightening of his expression, whereas when Eve clarifies her meaning, he nods again, a bit more deeply… and for just a moment, there's a flicker of something that might be a smile at her choice of address. Chess's 'skill' draws a faint raising of an eyebrow, but it's after Nova's question that he finally breaks his silence.

"More southwest," Silas answers mildly, considering Nova for a moment before his gaze moves on, coming to rest on Castle. "And I'll vouch that Saffron's a good cook." Which is not small praise, coming from Silas.

His expression grows more troubled as he continues, though. "As for Tay… he's been helpful. Good at finding things; maybe he can find you a path," he says… but his eyes shift directly to Richard as he says this, regarding him with an intent gaze.

“I’m sure I can make myself useful around here in some way,” Richard says with a slight shrug of one shoulder, “I didn’t come here planning to ask for charity.”

His gaze meets Silas’s in return, a single brow lifting a little. “Well, let’s hope that he can, then. One way or another we need to get there, and a guide’s better than none.”

A faint smile, “Not the first hopeless journey I’ve been on. Can’t be worse than Antarctica.”

With all due respect has Monica snorting a laugh. She waves a hand toward Robyn before she notes: "That's another thing people say when they actually mean the opposite." She doesn't mean to be a dissenting voice, but she can't resist a set up.

She steps forward when the mention of a land journey comes up. "Eve— our Eve— started preparing for going hybrid. Water and land, that is. She didn't say why at the time, but you know how she is." Was. Whatever. "So we're on our way to being ready to move on this. The Forthright can help find Tay and possibly be part of an escort team for the land journey. Obviously they're not helpless, but couldn't hurt to have more hands on deck. Maybe make it a bit less hopeless."

Cat draws in a slow breath and runs a hand through her hair. “Delphi flotilla is about a day and a half southwest from here with a good ship and clear weather, probably two otherwise. If you’re going by sail, it might take more depending on the winds.”

“If you’re going to be staying here,” Cat considers something, “please don’t take a ship out between the islets on your own without a local navigator. The waters around here are full of old rooftops, sunken ships, and all manner of ship that’ll wreck you fast. When there’s breaks in the storm the ferries will get running again, they usually offer free transport for only desalinated water.” Which she makes sound cheap and relatively easy to procure.

Standing up straight, Cat rests her hand on the hilt of her sword and looks around at the Travelers, then the captains. The roar of wind battering the clocktower demands its own direct attention, to which Cat offers a resigned sigh.

“Okay.” Cat whispers. “Okay. I think we’ve all said enough for one day. We know your peace, and you know ours. What comes after is up to each and every captain and Traveler independently. Don’t cause trouble here and trouble won’t come for you.” She says in repeat of an idiom of the lands. Her eyes dip down to the maps again, a dark through moving in the back of her mind.

“May these seas have mercy on us all…” Cat says in solemn conclusion of the meeting.

“…living and the dead.”

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