Participants:
| Scene Title | Zombie Club |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Chess and Silas catch one another up on the state of their respective worlds. |
| Date | June 19, 2021 |
The Pelago
There is a bar at the edge of the Pelago; once, the walls had been decorated with fading lycoris print wallpaper. The Sentinel's attack had changed that; the old bar still stands, but damage had let the salt air in in earnest, and the fading wallpaper had finally given up the ghost.
The place seems a little more festive, these days; a radio is currently playing Israel K's Somewhere Over the Rainbow from a CD, while what looks to be an actual honest-to-God pineapple plant sits in a pot under a sunlamp in a corner; no flowers, but the leaves are spreading wide, and on the opposite wall hangs an elaborate paper fan.
Silas Mackenzie sits at a corner table, next to the pineapple, nursing a shot of Pelago-brewed booze and a plate of barbecue — the latter some of his own stock that he'd sold to the place, warmed up courtesy of a microwave in the back.
Drowning a bit by a black-and-gold Boston Bruins jersey with the name CHARA above the number 33, Chess steps into the bar; she doesn’t look around for anyone like she might back home — she’s not meeting any of her friends here, and she doesn’t know any of the regulars like she might back home. The bar is certainly not the simple elegant affair of her favored sake bars, but it’ll serve the purpose.
Even if the alcohol — sake or otherwise is home brewed and domestic.
After a few moments of conversing with the bartender, she has a glass of something or another, and she turns then to survey the rest of the room, dark eyes falling at last on Silas. Chess’ eyes and her face look just like Kimberly’s, though her hair is longer, blonder, in a bid to separate her identity and appearance apart.
She lifts the glass she holds in a silent hello.
The newest arrival doesn't go unnoticed by Silas firstly because that jersey she's wearing is ridiculously oversized, secondly because Boston… and lastly because her face is familiar. Eerily so. From the Salty B, yes… but also before that.
So when she raises her glass, Silas raises his in turn… then arches an eyebrow in silent invitation. There's another chair at his table; he nudges it slightly outward with a foot. Care to join me? he seems to be asking.
The jersey she wears might have been worn by the giant Chara — it’s about that big for her — but beggars can’t be choosers. And Chess has lost all her luggage, so she’ll wear what fits and some of what doesn’t — the giant jersey is more to her liking than some of the snugger fitting things that she deemed too girly or ugly. And she never lived in New York while there was still an NHL to root for, so she has no allegiance to the New York area teams to make her feel like a traitor.
The tacit invitation draws a lift of one shoulder in what might be read as sure, why not, and she heads that way with her glass, dropping tiredly into the seat across from him.
“Captain,” she says, his last name not quite on the tip of her tongue, so she doesn’t pretend to know or remember it. She’s met a lot of people in a couple of days, and though she knows who he is, it was simply “Silas” that her friends had mourned after he was lost to them. As ever, there’s a pang of guilt when she thinks of that day, and she glances down at the clear(ish) liquid in her glass for a moment.
“I won’t go blind if I drink this, will I?” she asks, her sardonic tone and smirk returning after that momentary look downward.
"Naw," Silas says dismissively. "Chances of that are very low," he says, a hint of a grin on his lips and the gleam of humor in his eye giving away the joke. "And call me Silas. I'm not a stickler for rank, generally speaking." He studies her for a moment. "If you don't mind me sayin' so, though, miss… you look like someone who crewed with me for awhile. On your side of the Glass."
His answer draws a huff of a laugh from her, and she lifts the glass to her lips for the first swallow, apparently not so afraid that she’ll take a dainty test taste first. Her nose wrinkles slightly, and she exhales with a shake of her head. “Smooth,” is her sarcastic critique, because it’s anything but. To her credit, though, her voice doesn’t crack or grow hoarse from the drink.
The wry humor fades as he alludes to her sister, and she nods, looking down at her glass again, then back up. “Yeah, Kimberly,” Chess says. “I’m really sorry for what happened to you that day, though glad it wasn’t as bad it wasn’t what we thought happened, for what it’s worth. I know Luther and Kaylee, too.”
This time when she looks up, her eyes shine just a little more, the word Luther pulling up tears that always sit too close to the surface these days. “I’m Chess,” she says, though she’d introduced herself at the meeting with the captains – if she can’t remember his, she doesn’t assume he’ll remember hers. She offers him her hand to shake. “They’ll be very happy to know you made it here alive.”
Silas shakes the offered hand, a faintly bemused look on his face. "I'm glad to hear that everyone made it out alive. I kept an ear out for any news, but you know how rough landings here can be."
"And for the record — I don't blame anyone on that boat for what happened, and I hope they don't blame themselves," he says, looking to Chess. Then he snickers, raising his glass to his lips. "Not the first time I've died, anyway," he murmurs to himself.
Chess’ cheeks grow a little pink as he picks up on the feelings of guilt she clearly radiates, but she smiles and lifts a shoulder. “You can blame Adam, even if that particular outcome might not have been his fault,” she suggests. “Not that that’ll do much good, but if you need a target.”
She picks up the glass for another sip, this one a little smaller than that first bracing swallow. “You too? I’m a member of Zombie Club myself. There’s quite a lot of us these days. Not sure how many are both clones and zombies, though, so I might have an edge for the number of yearbook pages yet.”
Chess gestures to him with her glass. “So you came over back when the others did – Richard’s wife and Magnes Varlane and some of the others, and you got kicked back here? Did anything… did you see anything when it happened, did it talk to you, tell you why?” she says, voice dropping a little as she speaks of the entity.
"Zombies and clones? You're an overachiever, I see," Silas notes drily. "We'll see if we can't get you a few more yearbook pages before all's said and done."
"But yeah; I came through at Sunspot," he nods. "The way I see it… jumpin' across timelines with no way back kinda qualifies as dyin', doesn't it?" Silas asks, peering at Chess to see if she agrees. "You're leavin' your entire world behind — everything and everyone. Your life… your past…"
"When I jumped through at the Ark, it was a half second in front of a nuclear explosion, and… it was a trip. Went though…" he trails off for a moment, trying to find the right words. "Felt like… falling into the backstage of reality." He shakes his head. "I caught a glimpse of… another place. Another life. Not a good one."
"Then, I came staggering out the other side, and some kinda goddamn lightning monster jumped out and started… blasting people. Exploding them," he recounts soberly. "I remember…"
Abruptly, he laughs. "I remember I was pissed. All of that… all of that trouble, and hardship, and death, and now… now we were gonna get zorched by some kinda freakin' lightning monster?" Silas asks in a low voice, and it's not hard to hear the echoes of that long ago anger in his words. "I remember that I decided, right then and there, that if I made it… I was gonna live. To live, for everyone who deserved that chance but didn't get it. To make the most of every day, for all the people who didn't get that chance…"
He stares mutely at his glass for a moment before looking back to Chess, smiling. "And I did my best. So… no blame. Not for Adam, not for Eve, not for anyone. I've died twice and it hasn't stuck; the game should've been over a long time ago, but I'm still living in overtime," he says, his grin broad.
That grin fades as Silas considers the rest of Chess's question, though. "No," he says after a moment. "No, she didn't say anything to me." He is silent for a moment more. "I had… a lot of time to think about things, after I arrived back here; I caught a ride on a ghost ship, rode the currents for months. When she — the Dragon — first arrived… I thought she was speaking to me, then. She was looking in my direction, at least, but now… now I wonder. Because it wasn't me she was lookin' for there. It was Adam. Kensei."
Chess tips her glass in his direction, smirking at the jokes, but as the talk turns more philosophical, the smile lips and her expression grows pensive. She looks away, her eyes focused somewhere far beyond the room, but when they return to him, they hold no tears but a deep sorrow that goes deeper than sympathy, somehow.
“That’s a good philosophy. I think I’ve gotten it a bit backwards, myself,” she says wryly, though she doesn’t offer an explanation on whatever that means.
Instead, it’s the last comment he makes that she replies to. “She found him.” Her words are flat. Bitter. “He succeeded in that, but the rest of his plan backfired. Ironic that he was willing to make everyone a casualty, but I don’t think he expected to be one of them.” Her brows draw together and she lifts her glass for another hard swallow of the clear liquid inside. “I’m not sure if I feel sorry for him or not — I imagine some part of him is still conscious, since Eve survived her possession.”
One hand lifts to wobble back and forth. “Sort of,” she adds with another of those guilty glances away.
That sudden bitterness sees Silas study Chess for a moment. "He probably didn't plan to punch out, no," Silas admits. "I know that the Old Man did some terrible things… and I imagine there are a lot of things he did I have no idea about. The only thing I can say…"
He frowns, pausing to consider his words. "I dunno how much of this you've heard, but… when we found him, he was in some kinda life support pod. Looked like… you ever seen Star Wars? The last one?" Silas frowns as he realizes that may not be an ideal descriptor, given how different cinema seems to run in the other world. "Uh… Return of the Jedi or whatever. You remember the Emperor? How he looked like someone had… kinda melted his face or something? Adam looked like that when we found him, except worse. He looked like something that should've died a long time ago. Sounded like it, too."
"The Dragon came down and started doing the Darth Vader mindchoke thing on him; Eve tried to stop her, but the Dragon just… slapped her down. But the thing I remember most was that when the Dragon was standing there, glaring down at Eve… Adam popped up behind her and just grabbed her by the neck."
Silas shakes his head. "He had to know he had no chance. He didn't, because three seconds later she just… dissolved him. It was like watchin' a fog burn off; one second he was there, the next… gone." Silas toys with his drink for a moment. "I'm not gonna say for sure that he jumped the Dragon to try to distract it from Eve, to draw its ire; Kaylee might be able to say for sure, but that ain't my trick. Even if that was why he did it, I'm not gonna say it even comes close to making up for what else he's done — either in general, or in specific," he says, nodding to Chess and whatever bitterness she seems to carry.
"All I can say is that at the last, he did manage to distract the Dragon for a little while. Drew its ire away from Eve, bought Kimberly enough time to make it to the boat, whatever his intent might've been. And he died fighting." He regards Chess for a moment longer, then shrugs. "I'm not sure what knowing that is worth to you… but I thought you ought to know."
Silas hesitates for a moment. "If you don't mind me sayin'… seems you've got some feelings on the matter. What was he to you, if you don't mind me asking?"
Chess listens, eyes downcast as if she’s studying the liquid in her glass, while Silas speaks. She nods at the Star Wars allusion, then shakes her head. “It doesn’t. Make up for it,” she says quietly.
Her eyes return again to his face, and she lifts her shoulder. “Genetic material donor? Biologically speaking, he’s my father, but he had nothing to do with it – his DNA was taken while he was in the Company or Institute or whatever group had him at the time. Kimberly’s not my twin sister, but my clone, if you want to get technical. There were 27 of us.”
She lifts her glass to take a swallow, washing down the pain that goes with the past tense of that sentence. “I’m not sure if that version of him was connected to the others or not, being all melty and whatever. I don’t know exactly how that all worked, except his other clones were all connected. I, uh. Accidentally killed one myself.”
Her gaze flickers away – he wasn’t the only person she killed that day, and the other person didn’t have spares. “Friendly fire. He pretty much shrugged it off, because he saw everything as justifiable in the war he was waging. Needs must.”
Chess looks back at him, dark eyes both sad and weary. “He was complex. There were times I liked him, when I got to know him. I think sometimes he liked me. But he was arrogant and has no regard for other lives – when you live as long as he has, I guess you see everyone like sea monkeys.” She huffs a short, unamused laugh. “He was willing to kill everyone to beat her – innocent people along with those of us who signed up to fight alongside him. I thought I was doing the right thing, that he had a plan that wasn’t fucking genocide, but-”
Abruptly, she cuts off her own words, and shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. We failed. It’s part of why I’m here to try to put things right, I guess. That sounds arrogant, yeah? Chip off the old block,” she says with another short huffed laugh. “But I have to try.”
Silas listens silently, giving his entire attention to Chess's story, nodding in sympathy when she cuts herself off. When she accuses herself of arrogance, though, an eyebrow rises. "Oh, maybe a little," he says offhandedly. "But I'd say there's a little arrogance in any big venture, wouldn't you? To say you can succeed when all the odds say you should fail; to know what you're up against, and try anyway. Whether it's journeying off the edges of the map, or trying to save the world. Hell, even just trying to live on after the world's drowned," Silas says, a gleam of good-natured amusement in his eyes as he raises his glass and takes a drink.
"Maybe you need a little arrogance sometimes," Silas says, his grin fading to something more thoughtful as his gaze drifts off into the distance. "To get up out of bed in the morning. To see the world and still dream of a better future." He shrugs again, looking back to Chess. "Don't you think?"
His words this time draw out another huffed law, but this one is of a softer quality. “You make it sound a lot prettier, nobler, than it really is, but thanks,” she says, a smile finally tipping up the corners of her mouth.
Chess gazes out the window where the lights of the harbor below twinkle like stars in a dark sky. “Luther back home, he’s family to me. Chosen family, you know? I wasn’t allowed to tell people where I was going, but Asi figured it out. Kaylee, too. Luther didn’t know about it on his end, and I wasn’t able to tell him, only that I might not return. I wish I had any certainty that we’ll succeed – if I were more arrogant, I would, yeah? But I’m not. I’m hopeful, but enough that I could lie to him and say for certain I’d see him soon.”
A tear slips down her cheek, and she brushes it away with one hand. An apologetic smile twitches up on one side of her mouth, then slips off again. “Sorry. For a tough girl who blows shit up, I sure cry a lot,” she says wryly, before gesturing to him. “Is there anything back there you want to know about? I can’t promise it’s all good news. The fight with the entity – the dragon – it did some weird things, awoke powers in some people who had been negative before, gave some people second powers.”
Silas smirks just a tiny bit when Chess says that Asi figured it out, but it's brief; his expression turns more sympathetic when Chess sheds a tear. He starts to shake his head when she asks if there's anything back home he wants to know about — he's resolved his regrets there, thankfully — but when Chess talks about people getting second powers, he frowns.
"Second powers?" Silas asks, tilting his head.
Chess nods, glancing down and chipping away one of the last remnants of nail polish that’s somehow persisted this long despite the bad habit.
“There was a sort of explosion, and that was the result. But it’s not like the Gemini project – it’s stable. So far, anyway. I don’t think there’s anything to indicate it won’t remain that way. Not everyone who’s SLC-E suddenly has two, but some people do.” She makes a face. “I do.”
Her dark eyes rise again. “I admit, it’s nice to have something that isn’t destructive. It’s saved my life. But it’s very similar to one of my sister’s, and she died that day.” She huffs out a short, brusk laugh. “I don’t think the entity chose what happened to who, who got what, but if she did, she has a really terrible sense of humor. Or maybe sense of justice. Or karma. I don’t know.”
Her brows draw together, and she looks out the window for a few seconds, then back to Silas. “Do you know… is Adam here? This world’s Adam?”
Silas frowns, taking a moment to silently digest what she's said. "That's… wild," he finally says, though his tone is one of unease more than any kind of admiration. He considers for a moment longer, but opts to answer Chess's question before putting any more forward.
"No," he says, glancing to Chess with a measure of sympathy. "I went looking for him when I got back, but… he died. Killed by the Sentinel, I think," Silas says. "I knew him in passing, though there isn't a whole lot I could tell you about him — he was good with a sword, British, kind of a jerk, and a lousy tipper. Beyond that… he sailed with Ryans on the Cerberus, so if you have any questions, he'd be the one to ask."
He frowns for a moment, considering. "I wonder. Was there any kind of common factor as to who got these new powers, as far as you know?"
The look of sympathy is met with a smirk, and Chess lifts her glass for a swallow of the clear liquid within.
“You don’t have to look sad about it, not on my account at least.I only knew him a few months, back home, and any rapport we had… well, his fucked up genocidal tendencies ruined that, even if he hadn’t get possessed by the dragon. Lousy tipper sounds about right – he probably still was tipping like it was 1981 or something.”
She considers the question for a moment, then shakes her head. “I don’t really know, It might be too early to tell. They didn’t all happen all at once. Some are still suddenly manifesting, I think, so it’s hard to tell, and it’s not like there’s a consistent monitoring system. It might have to do with genetics in some way, but I’m no scientist. Civil War sort of interrupted my attempts at higher education.”
Glancing around the bar, she considers her next words for a moment, then looks back to him. “Eve has a new power, too. I don’t know if it’s because of the shockwave, or because of having been possessed, but she died that day, and came back to life – not through any power but her own,” she says in a softer voice. “I wonder if the same thing might happen to Adam. The over-there Adam, I mean.”
Her brows knit together, and despite her words of not caring, Chess asks, “And Ryans here, he’s a good guy? He was with Adam back in Praxia, but he…” she swallows, and once again, her ears prick with the shine of tears. “He sabotaged Adam’s plan but he died doing so.”
Silas snorts. "1881, more like," he says, shaking his head in amusement. The news that there's no apparent common factor in those who've manifested makes Silas frown thoughtfully… but it's also a puzzle he's not really equipped to solve. She's probably got the right of it; I'm betting it is something with genetics. Mohinder might have better luck on that one, he muses. If he can fit it into his self-flagellation routine, anyway. Which even he has to admit is probably more than a little unfair.
He regards Chess for a moment at her question, considering. "Ryans and his crew are pirate hunters. He doesn't talk much, but… they've put a lot of work into keeping these waters safe. Way I've heard it told, they also played a big part in breaking the Sentinel's back — that big ol' warship he's driving around, he got by taking it from them. So yeah, he's a good guy." His eyes drift off into the distance. "Adam was his right hand man for as long as they've been here; the way they tell it, this place might not even be here if the Cerberus hadn't been fightin' the good fight."
He gives a faintly rueful grin. "So, yeah. Ryans here is a good guy."
Her brows draw together as she wonders at the differences between the two worlds, aside from the obvious difference in the water levels.
“I didn’t know him very well or for very long. Ryans, I mean. Adam too, I guess,” she says with a shrug. “But Ben did seem like a good guy. It’s strange to see him – and the others that I know over there. But I guess you know what that’s like, if anyone does.”
Chess lifts a shoulder. “Maybe I’ll talk with Ryans,” she muses, but there’s uncertainty weighing the words. “Most of my efforts to find out more about my family have been disturbing or disappointing, though, so maybe it’s best to leave it. And if it’s our experiences and decisions that make us who we are, he’s not the same Adam – that is, if you agree with counterpart theory, rather than transworld identity theory.” She huffs a laugh. “Have to wonder in hindsight if all the philosophers arguing about alternative universes just thought it was a thought exercise or actually knew something, huh?”
Her hand lifts to wave away her musing, and the other lifts the glass to finish what’s inside. “Sorry. I read philosophy but not because I’m any good at it.”
Silas frowns thoughtfully for a moment… then he grins. "I never really studied the different theories of it, but I'd bet it's more philosophizin' for the sake of it. Some people just like talking, especially if it's something no one knows anything about."
The grin fades quickly, though, a more pensive expression following in its wake. "If you want my take on it, though…" he begins, only to trail off for a moment, his gaze slipping down to the table as he remembers the passage the Travelers had taken through that eerie vortex to arrive at Sunspot. "The different versions of people in the different timelines… they're all different possibilities, just like everything else," he says at last, looking back up to Chess. "The very same set of dice, just thrown on a different table… and that makes all the difference. Or… reflections of the same thing, cast in different mirrors."
Silas grimaces in frustration; the metaphors he's trying to put together don't really seem to capture the idea he's aiming for. "That's my take on it, at least. Anyway — for what it's worth, I'd encourage you to talk with Ryans if you cross his path. Even if nothing comes of it… life's too short to regret things left undone." He looks back down for a moment at that.
"Say, though… I do have one more question for you. Your trip across… what was it like?" Silas asks, curiously. "Not counting the landing — I've got an idea what that was like. Just… the crossing. I've made two trips, and they were pretty different."
Chess chuckles and nods. “That’s a lot of what philosophy is, I think, especially when it comes to stuff that they probably always thought was just theory. There is an idea, I forget who said it, of a base essence, and then experiences change it – either slightly or drastically – along the way. That happens in a single world, but by comparing the various versions of a person across worlds, you see how time and experience changes things – sometimes that core remains undamaged. Other times…”
She looks away, considering how the same analogy might be applied to Adam, or even her sisters.
The question draws a rough laugh. “Besides traumatic?” she says with a smirk. “Honestly everything after was so dumpster-fire bad, I sort of pushed it aside, but yeah, I don’t know. I guess I got a glimpse of some other me? Somewhere else. Not here. There was better tech than here.”
Silas looks thoughtful at that. "Yeah… I've Traveled twice, and every time the landing's sucked. The second time, it was just… a flash of light, an explosion, and suddenly I'm underwater. I thought I'd just gotten thrown off the boat at first." Until he'd realized he didn't have pants anymore, anyway, but that's a detail he's fine with omitting from this and every other conversation.
"But the first time…" Silas folds his hands together, eyes slipping off into the middle distance. "The first time, coming from here to your place… that was different. A longer trip. It felt… unreal. Like I'd stepped backstage." He hesitates. "And yeah, I saw a vision of another me, too. Dyin' in an alley behind a Chinese restaurant of all places," he says, wrinkling his nose in rueful amusement. "I mean, c'mon, I like stir fry as much as the next guy, but…" He trails off with a sigh and a shrug, because he really can't make a good punchline out of that.
Chess’ brows lift and she can’t help make the punchline. “Well, I guess shēng mǐ zhǔ chéngshú fàn,” she says, lips curving up at one corner of her mouth. “That is, the rice is cooked – meaning what’s done is done. Chinese proverb.”
The small joke made, she offers a more sympathetic look. “Mine wasn’t that bad, but I was being fitted with a robot hand or something,” Chess says more seriously, glancing down at her own, moving the fingers as she had in the vision. “Certainly hope it was a different timeline, not a premonition, anyway.”
She looks back up, any worry replaced by a tired smile. “It’s nice to find a friend of friends here, Silas. Next round’s on me.”
Silas looks amused at that; there's no way in hell he's gonna nail the pronunciation on that one, but the translation earns a nod and a faintly rueful grin. "The rice is cooked," he agrees.
The talk of robot hands draws a thoughtful frown, though. "Hopefully not a premonition… though if it is, there's something to hope for in that, too," he says seriously. "Because you'd be more likely to get a hook hand than a robot hand around here, so if it was a vision of the future… might mean you make it somewhere else," Silas points out, his expression serious.
Then he grins. "Besides. One of the most badass people I know has a robot hand where you're from, so you'd be in good company, if nothing else," he points out, waggling his eyebrows while grinning. "In any case; never let it be said that I've turned down a free drink, so if you say the next round's on you, I'll say thanks. And… if you're hungry, they've got barbecue here tonight. Not bad, if I do say so myself," he says with a grin.
A brow ticks upward at the spin on the worrying vision, and she tips her head in concession. “That’s one way to look at it. And you know, same, regarding badasses with kickass prosthetics,” she says with a smile.
Chess reaches for both of their empties to bring to the bar rather than wait for service. “That sounds amazing. Don’t tell Nova, but I’m so sick of fish.’” The comment is punctuated with a small wrinkle of her nose.
She grins over her shoulder before she heads over to the bartender for refills and refueling. “It’d be nice to eat some protein that had legs at some point.”