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intp-entj
"That's a very ___ thing to say"
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catclyst:
Catalyst has never been one for politics. She understands the point of it all, she does, but it’s never been how she liked to operate. She’s never been able to help being blunt, being honest, being loud and obvious with her opinions: everyone knows exactly what she thinks of them, good or bad. And she likes it that way. She thinks it must be exhausting, to hide your feelings, to manipulate people, to try to say things in ways that will get you what you want without just saying what you want.
It’s why she’d jumped right into this with no reasoning except that it was the right thing to do, that V had asked her to, that Jet and Dark Wing had believed in her. That she couldn’t stand by and watch this happen without doing something about it. That wasn’t politics, it was just right. And she thinks Banshee’s right, probably, that White won’t kick her out, or punish her outright for all of this, but find a way to use it to her advantage instead.
But it only adds to the sting of understanding just how much of a politician White has been this entire time. A betrayal that Catalyst feels stupid for not having understood sooner, feels naive for even feeling as something as personal as a betrayal.
Maybe V had been right. V, and Doppelganger, and Overload, and the others… it’s hard to think that, when she’s still suffering the after effects of trying to stop their stupid fucking plot to kill all of the Guardians using an army of zombie villains, but it’s tempting. To say fuck it altogether, despite it all.
“I’m sure she’ll find a way to be very persuasive about that,” Catalyst replies, bitterly, and she’s sorry that Banshee has to be the one on the receiving end of her frustration here, when they’d just been the bearer of bad news they’d been bearing for a long, long time before all of this. And god, there’s that too, on top of it, the feeling of guilt in her chest, knowing that Banshee had been kicked out, had been all but alone, and all of them had turned their backs on them.
“I’m glad Dearest was there for you,” she says, after a moment, trying to shove her frustration to the side for now. She can deal with it later. Tomorrow, maybe. When she’s slept. When she’s showered. “I mean— I’m glad you had somewhere to go. I may not like you being a Guardian, but now that I know it’s better than the alternative… well, don’t expect me to go easy on you or anything, but I’m glad I can stop taking it so personally.”
The urge to reach out and console Cat is a tempting one, as they watch her struggle through having to recalibrate her own mindset on White. They nearly reach out a hand to her, but instead they keep it tucked against their side, where their arms were still crossed against it. Too much time and too much shit had passed between them now, they still had that bitterness in them, deep down, that everyone seemed to so quickly take White’s word instead of even try to reach out to them. It was no use in wallowing in that bitterness, they know, but its enough that they feel the need to still keep themself at arm’s length from the others.
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” they add with a weak smile, grateful at least that the truth had finally been aired out after all this time. They’re curious to see just what the others will do now, now that their blinders to White and her true nature had been removed. They’re almost sad they won’t have a front row seat to it all, once it does hit the fan, but they’ll settle for hearing it second hand from whatever source eventually gets to them first.
Looking back over to Dori, they nod their head, letting her know they were just about done now. There was really no telling what the future would now hold for them all now, but they were content in knowing they at least had somewhere to land now after it’s all boiled over.
“Take care of yourself, yeah?” They look to her again, “and take care of the murder robot/maybe boyfriend.” They shoot her a weak smile before turning away from her, giving her arm a light punch for good measure before they do.
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lazarusdoe:
There’s a moment where Lazarus thinks he’s going to say yes immediately, the way the hope springs up on his face clear as day, and they can feel their heart racing with it, ready to go ahead and jump into it before they can think the better of offering something like that themself so easily. Better to do it as soon as possible; Ramses might be docile enough now, with the cat in his arms, and Cap’s hand on his shoulder, seemingly keeping him in check, but they’ve seen enough of Morrigan’s resurrections before to expect the unexpected when they’re not under her control any longer. They’d rather they go ahead and take whatever pain they’ll face from resurrecting him fully, and meet the man they have a feeling they’d get along with pretty well, than risk being covered in blood again or worse killed suddenly because they accidentally look at the cat the wrong way.
But just as quickly as they think he’s going to agree, they watch as his face falls, as it seems he thinks more about what that has to mean for all of them, if Lazarus was to do it. And they know that there are a hell of a lot of unknown factors here, that even they can only really guess at what will happen to both of them if they go through with it. It’s not like anything they’ve done before, after all, or they probably would’ve considered it before now, before seeing the way that Cap looks at him, before seeing where they made their life together, the old pictures of them so clearly happy and in love.
When he finally does answer, his tone has changed entirely, and Lazarus finds it impossible not to grow somber, too, frowning as he poses the question to them. They frown, nod lightly, as they watch Ramses lean into the touch as Cap’s hand moves to the back of his neck, like a damn cat himself, especially with the little half growl, half purr he lets out, clearly satisfied with the feeling. It would be an oddly amusing sight if it weren’t for the way Cap’s questioning keeps going. This time, they don’t even try to answer, just keep watching with a frown, considering the question themself, the potential consequences of doing something like that, without knowing what’s going to happen, the potential pain that might come, if they have to ultimately undo it again, because of the effects. They don’t care what happens to them, they’re confident enough about this that they know it won’t kill them, especially with how full up on life force they are from last night with the other zombies, but it’s true they don’t know what state Ramses would be in.
He comes to the answer with a sigh, as Lazarus watches the way the two of them look at each other, the sadness they can see in Cap’s eyes. They’re silent for a moment, frown deep, wishing that they could answer differently, say that they know how it would be, could guarantee it would be alright, but they could never lie about something as serious as life and death. They watch, as Ramses’s free hand moves to Cap’s neck, a little too rough maybe, but they can tell it’s just a side effect of operating on pure id, before pulling him down a little and pressing an also slightly too rough kiss to his forehead. And, fuck, if they don’t with there was anything they could do to guarantee the fears were unfounded.
“Yeah, you’re right… I understand, of course, I do…” they swallow hard, looking down at the floor, still frowning. “I haven’t done it before like this. I’ve resurrected someone from death before, and I know what effects that had. It didn’t kill me, and he’s still alive and well out there, five years on. But you’re right, it’s all unknown. I don’t know what happens to me or him when I resurrect someone who’s already been brought back to a sort of half-life. So I understand, too many unknown factors to risk it, when you love someone that much.”
They let out a sigh, before looking back at Captain Covert, maybe a hint of determination in their eyes now, though, knowing the other thing they can offer is a hell of a lot more dangerous to them, but also a hell of a lot more certain for the person on the receiving end. “It’s…a standing offer, though. In case you change your mind, even after he’s back in his grave. I’ve done grave robbing with Morrigan before, and I know what happens when I bring someone back from complete darkness.”
.
He forgets that Lazarus is in the room, as his attention shifts fully to Ziggy and the decision made. Ziggy’s touch his rougher than it used to be, but he doesn’t have to reach out and search blindly where he wants to place his hand, even though Samir’s invisible, he still seems to have every inch of him memorized to the point there’s little guesswork in how to reach out to him. Even when he dips his head down for a rough kiss to his head, he lands precisely in the square middle of his forehead, in a spot Ziggy had often pecked a kiss on before.
Saying goodbye to him now wouldn’t be as hard as it was the last time, that he knew. Even though Ziggy looked younger, with seemingly another life ahead of him, the Ziggy he knew was still missing. And he still wouldn’t risk bringing that Ziggy back, not when he couldn’t know for certain just what kind of impact that would have on him. He didn’t want to give him the same terrible sentence of never aging, like he had, even if they were to carry that sentence out together. Ziggy had lived a full life, despite the struggles they both faced, and he deserved to have his peace.
“Until we meet again, hayatım“ he says to him quietly, stroking his hand across his face one last time as he looks into his eyes.
Leaning forward, he brushes a soft kiss against his lips, soaking up every bit of this second goodbye of theirs while he can, before finally looking back over to Lazarus.
“We’re ready,” he says with a sigh. He doesn’t want to think too hard on the other offer they gave him, not now. Perhaps later, once this all has passed and he’s come full circle again with his grief he can consider it further, but he doesn’t have the energy or willpower to do it now, not with being only moments away from losing him again.
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catclyst:
It’s not the answer she’s expecting to hear, though she isn’t sure what she is expecting. It’s… it’s a fucking shock. There’s no other way to describe the feeling when Banshee says it—that, after years of all of them thinking that Banshee had chosen to leave them all, because of Dearest, had picked the Guardians over them, that it had been White who had forced the choice, who had made them leave.
That the betrayal Catalyst has been stewing over for years wasn’t ever Banshee’s betrayal. It was White’s.
“What?” she says, but there isn’t any actual confusion in her voice, or disbelief. Because it isn’t the answer she was expecting, but she has no reason to doubt them, and she feels immediately and instinctively that it’s true. That maybe a part of her had known it, somewhere in the back of her mind, all along.
She feels sick, for just a second, and then she feels furious. She has to take a step or two away, turns around, kicks the wall had with the toe of her boot. And she’s probably lucky she’s too exhausted from holding up Guardian fucking Tower to do anything more than that, because there are people in here who need the building they’re in to not blow up just because Catalyst is mad about something.
But… it’s White’s fucking fault, that they all lost Banshee, that they’ve all had to fight them for years now, and it’s White’s fucking fault that all of this happened, for jumping to drastic measures and releasing the identities of the villains who were trying to stage a coup. And… White hasn’t exactly been a maternal figure, to Catalyst, that would be taking things a step too far, but she’s been a role model. Someone Catalyst trusted. Someone she looked up to. And fuck, she feels stupid, for ever letting that be the case now.
They hang back quietly as Cat processes the news they’d just delivered her, and goes through the motions that they once went through themself. They’d long accepted what had happened, they had to in order to actually move on with their life and not stew forever in the anger they’d felt when White forced them out of the manor. In the years since their departure from the Collective, they have managed to pick up the shattered pieces of the life they once had, and made it into something new, something that was theirs now.
When Cat turns back to look at them finally, they shoot her a flattened smile, sorry that they had to burst the bubble for her, but knowing it had to be done- especially considering everything else that had been going on lately.
“She said it was in the best interest of the Collective, which I would imagine is what she’ll say if you or anyone else confronts her about what’s happened tonight, and what led up to it.” And perhaps White was right to a certain extent, but they can’t agree with just how she’d done all of this, especially when it has clearly led them all to the shitstorm they just went through.
“What happened tonight... your role in this,” they let out a small sigh, uncertain just how to best warn her for what may come. “I doubt she’ll kick you out for this, not with so many others tied to it. At the end of the day she’s a politician, and she’ll try to twist this in whatever way she can to make herself still look favorable in the end.”
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catclyst:
She nods along with Epoch’s assessment of things, the plan to talk to Fortune about what happened on the roof, her assumption that Mind Master won’t have much information beyond what he’s already been able to give, given his state. She’d be interested, herself, in hearing how he ended up in the state he did, given that her plan shouldn’t have allowed for any of the Guardians to end up almost dying, especially not one who was already prepared to cooperate and expecting help from the Collective, but then again… it was Hyde .
And she doesn’t exactly preen at the compliment, though it’s a nice feeling to be appreciated by someone with such a legendary and prolific career. Epoch seems like the kind of person Catalyst wishes she’d run into, when she was just figuring out her powers. If something like RESCUE had been an option for her, before she turned to the Collective… well, it would have been the ideal thing for her, exactly the kind of work she’d wanted to do as a hero, exactly how she wanted to use her powers, as fun as it is to break into bank vaults and blow up hockey stadiums.
But what Epoch says next takes her by surprise—she’d expected more questions about Velocity, maybe, or something along those lines, something related to what had happened in the Tower or what had led up to it. She isn’t expecting a question about Danny.
And Catalyst has to choose her words carefully, for a moment. Because Danny’s story isn’t really hers to give. But… if he looks familiar to Epoch, maybe she knows something about his family, about who did this to him, who turned him into Reaper. Maybe she can give them a hint of where to look next, as they try to figure out how to get Gabe back. Maybe she can bring something back to Danny to help.
“Danny,” she answers, after a second. “I mean, yes, Reaper was his name when Dr. Green found him and brought him back to the Collective. But he was brainwashed, basically, into following orders, his whole personality shoved down underneath programing and stuff. He’s… more and more of himself, now. Danny. And the other one, the one Judgement brought with him, that’s his brother Gabe. I don’t… actually know where he came from, but Dr. Green might know more than I do.”
“Why? You said you recognize him?”
The half mechanical man with the pained eyes that she had glimpsed, on security footage, and in the aftermath had a name. Danny. It was a remarkably normal one. The kind of name that any man might have, if you ran into him on the street. But he wasn’t normal. He was a victim, at the end of the day, of something too horrible to name. Brainwashing, being reduced to a machine that was built to carry out orders for whoever got their hands on him. It makes Lena distinctly uncomfortable. And even more unsettled than she would be just by the fact itself, because she knew that face. She never forgot a Guardian.
And The Creator was someone hard to forget. A genius. With a striking personality. And a face, just like Danny.
“I think so. It was –– He looks like Manuel Castillo. The Creator. He was a Guardian, during the 1950s.” She lets out a huff of a breath, and then shifts, pushes herself up and walks over towards her desk to type on her computer and pull up a picture of the Guardians line up from that era, zooming in so that his face is clear as day. She pushes the screen around so that Catalyst can take a look at it, arching her eyebrow in question. She wonders if she’s right, for a second, but her memory has always been good. It’s like every moment is frozen in time, hers to access when she needs to reach back and see something. She remembers Manuel.
“His power was Super Intelligence.” She explains, as she waits for Catalyst to examine the picture in front of them. “He designed another member of the team, Mr. Mechanical. The worlds first ever AI superhero. It was pretty impressive. I never actually worked with them much, I’d moved on by that point, was getting RESCUE up on it’s feet. But I never forget a robot obsessed weirdo’s face. And believe me, he was weird.”
Weird enough to bring someone like Danny into existence? She wasn’t sure. She didn’t even know how he would start. But if it was possible, Manuel could do it. He always had been obsessed with himself. And he’d always been obsessed with code, with AI, with the merging of mechanical and personhood.
She glances over, to examine the look on Catalyst’s face. “What do you think? Am I crazy, or... do we have identical triplets with a decades long gap between them on our hands?”
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fortunexfinder:
Her next question surprises him, he thought- perhaps a bit naively, that she’d have already known the cause of all of this. The Guardians seemed to, at least Mind Master did, what with how often he seemed to be inserting himself into every crime that directly involved Zander and Judgement’s plans. With Dimitri gone, and Mind Master still hospitalized somewhere, he supposes Epoch really only had the accounts of the Courtneys to go off of, which can’t have been the most illuminating.
“His real name is Zander Dole,” he says first, because somehow he felt like that was the most important part in all of this. That everyone else needed to know that underneath the larger than life villain Hourglass has now become, there was still a person in there, who was hurt and angry at the world for that hurt.
“He first joined the Collective in the spring of 2012, the same time I did. He grew up near Missoula, Montana and was the first in his family to have powers.” He’s oversharing, he knows, which is a rarity for him, but he can’t help but feel that someone needs to tell this part of Hourglass’s story.
“He was in the Collective for about a year before he was captured by Mimic. At that time Mimic was experimenting on heroes and villains, to try to… I don’t know… understand his own powers I guess. Zander survived the experiment, but it became clear very quickly he no longer had control of his grip on time. He never even came back to the manor after they found him…,” he lets out a sigh, before taking a sip of the coffee in front of him, “he was sent to one of those homes for people with powers they can’t control- or powers that have been deemed too dangerous for the public.”
He lets his words linger in the air for a moment before continuing on, feeling uncomfortable sharing such details with a stranger, but knowing that for Zander’s sake it had to be done.
“That’s why he’s angry,” he says finally, “because he felt like everyone at the Collective failed him when he needed us most… Which… we did.”
She worries, just slightly, that Fortune Finder might want to hold back from her. Lena has talked to her fair share of people who refused to share the truth, or the full story, no matter how much she insisted that she was trying to help people. The fact of the matter was that a lot of people in the world didn’t trust the ones who were supposed to be the heroes. Part of her blames the Guardians for that, as much as she had loved being one for a brief time. Some of them were wonderful, some of them wanted to change the world for the better -- but far too many had been allowed to abuse their power over the years. But Fortune opens up, as reluctant as he may be, and she likes him infinitely more now than when he first sat down.
Zander Dole. He tells a hell of a story -- and it’s a sad one, one that makes her distantly ache. Because she can’t imagine losing control of her powers. Her powers have allowed her to live this life, to help as many people as she has over the years. She’s been happy, she's fallen in love, all because she had perfect control over herself and the way time flowed through her and around her. Zander hadn’t been allowed to have all of that, and had been deprived of it. So she can understand why he’s angry, why he’s furious, why he wants to hurt the people who hurt him. But she doesn’t understand why that would really extend to the Collective. He felt that they had failed him, but surely not every single person could be held responsible for something like that.
“Thank you,” She settles on, after letting the silence linger for a moment. She’s softened, over the explanation. And she leans forward to look at Fortune Finder, to examine his face, to look into his eyes. “That’s a very helpful biography.”
She watches him for another moment, adjusting her cup of coffee on the table. She allows herself to sound softer as well. “Do you think that Zander is… wholly responsible for these plans? Or would you assume that outside parties are taking advantage of a damaged and heartbroken man, bending the anger into something new? Dr. Judgement seems to be a ringleader here. He’s quite adept at manipulating emotions, isn’t he?”
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catclyst:
It makes sense—it sounds like what V had said, and even what Dark Wing had advised her, although their opinion on the matter had been less a matter of not trusting White to do anything about the situation and more to do with being able to handle things themselves. And given what she knows White did, causing this whole problem in the first place by releasing the identities of the rogue villains the second she found out they were dissatisfied with her leadership, Cat knows it was the right move. Knows V would probably locked up in a holding cell right now, if anything.
She’s heard enough of it from V and from Jet to understand some of why this is all happening, and what White has to do with it. And she’s somewhere firmly in the middle of things—she wouldn’t have for a second gone along with a vote of no confidence against White a year ago, not when it came down to everything that had happened with Mimic and Hourglass and Tempest. She may be biased, but she thinks in that case that White made the right choice, that bringing Mimic in was the best thing she could have done in the situation, and that it’s payed off in the long run.
But putting a half dozen Collective members in direct danger, and leading to all of this… she can’t agree with that.
And yet, it sounds like there’s more to what Banshee is saying than just that. She doesn’t even know if they know about what happened to Velocity and the others, what the story is, but they seem to have their own reason for not wanting Catalyst to trust White, their own story. I had to learn the hard way, they say, and Catalyst isn’t sure what they’re referring to, with that, what happened to lead them to that conclusion.
“What do you mean, you had to learn the hard way?”
Their curiosity over whether Jet had told any of the others about their conversation in the lounge, is soon resolved once Cat speaks. And the same old sting comes back again, the sting that came with the realization that everyone back at the manor seemed to collectively agree that they had betrayed them all somehow- that they chose Dori over all of them without even a second’s thought. And fuck... its a harder pill to swallow with Cat than it was Jet, even though it made sense given just how hostile Cat had acted towards them in the past when they faced each other before.
They glance back up to Cat for a moment, before they answer her, curious to see if she seemed to have even an inclination what they were about to say before they do. Knowing Cat like they feel like they still do though, they figure she’d prefer them just to rip the band-aid off in one clean swoop than to try to get her to come to the conclusion herself.
“The choice to leave was never my own,” they answer finally, after taking a long sigh. They know how much Cat looked up to White, but they also knew it was time she learned a little more about who the woman was that she called her leader. “She found out about Dori and I, and had me removed from the manor.”
“Dori managed to get me into the Guardians shortly afterward.”
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lazarusdoe:
The appearance of the cat doesn’t bode well to them, and it’s clear that Captain Covert is thinking the same, the opportunity to do this while Ramses was still asleep apparently taken from them before they could even get that far. They only really manage to nod, frowning as they watch him pick up the loudly purring cat, who doesn’t really pay them any mind, before they hear heavier steps following, and their heart starts racing despite themself.
It triggers an immediate wave of panic, when Ramses steps out into view, considering the circumstances under which they last saw him. Despite the lack of a blood shower, he still fucking intimidating as hell, looks even taller and muscle-y in such a normal setting, without the other distractions, even if he does seem much more docile now. Lazarus partially puts it down to the fact that they have no idea if he might go entirely feral at a moment’s notice, especially seeing someone who Morrígan had labeled an enemy when she resurrected him.
That doesn’t happen, though, he seems weirdly normal, even if it’s still clear there’s not really anything going on behind those eyes. The focus is very clearly on Cap, and the effect that the pet name they can’t translate with their limited knowledge, clearly not French, has on him is clear. They don’t think they’re reading into it too much to think there’s something a little soft about how he looks at him, even if he can’t speak, or even think much more than basic, primal urges.
It is disconcerting when Ramses does turn his focus on them, though, at the mention of his disgusting temper tantrums. He just looks at them for a second, tilting his head slightly to the side, as if considering, and it feels kind of like a challenge, like if they look away they’re gonna find themself being swarmed by fleas or locusts suddenly, so they just kind of shift uncomfortably, but keep eye contact.
“Yeah, I’ve, uh, never really been big on bugs…pretty cat, though, I do like cats,” they say before they can think, like that’s gonna keep this undead Ramses from attacking them. But maybe it does, something closer to a smile crossing his face, before he growls and turns to Cap and said cat, rather forcefully taking her from him, though she seems more than content to be passed back and forth. They try to focus, though––easier said than done with this large, deadly zombie trying to show them his hellcat––because seeing him only makes them think it’d be almost easy to finish the resurrection, make him Ziggy again, if Cap wants that instead. Not an easy topic to bring up, but they figure they were here to send him back to death, anyway, so nothing’s really off the table. They look back at Captain Covert.
“You know, um, I’ve been thinking…there’s another option here, besides just sending him back to his grave. I’ll do whatever you want, but just so you know, I could bring him back fully as easily as I can give him peace…”
.
Ziggy in the state he is in now, is still something he’s getting used to- not that he much wanted to get used to him this way. There were remnants every now and then, of something sparking vaguely behind his now glossed over gaze, but they were just remnants- pieces left behind but nothing more. When Ziggy does finally step out of the hallway he braces himself for whatever reaction his undead partner may have to seeing him and Lazarus in their living room. He figures after everything that had happened the night before, the chances of him either manhandling him in front of their guest, or turning on Lazarus and ignoring him entirely, were about even.
Neither ends up happening though, fortunately for Lazarus in both regards. He sticks close to Ziggy though, once he takes Bastet from him, and he doesn’t swarm Lazarus with one of his stomach turning plagues. Resting one hand on his shoulder, he uses the other to lightly scratch behind Bastet’s ear as Lazarus speaks. He was expecting them to start going on just how they planned on doing this- but instead their words take a turn which immediately pulls his attention from Ziggy and the cat in his arms, and back to Lazarus.
He’d be lying if he hadn’t considered- no prayed that such an option would exist. That Lazarus’s powers would work both ways, and that they could just as easily return life, real life, to someone just as they could take it away. And he nearly jumps into sputtering out a thousand yesses, because of course he’d want nothing more than to have Ziggy back fully, and not just this shell of who he was that was standing next to him.
Just as quickly as the urge to say yes comes though, his face falls, because things were never that easy. Life couldn’t be given without some kind of a price, and what that price could be for either Lazarus or Ziggy would be his fault alone. If that price meant that Ziggy would never age, or die, he could never do that to him, even though he was living through a much similar life sentence. If Ziggy were actually there, he knew he’d tell him to go with it, to fuck what costs he might have to bear, because being together again was worth it. And Samir is glad, for once in his life, that Ziggy wasn’t actually standing there beside him.
“I...” he starts before stopping again, giving himself one last chance to back out of the choice he was about to make, before he decides to go on with it. When he speaks again his tone is far more somber, a far cry from the light and boisterous air it usually carried with it.
“I would assume that you’ve never done that before, yes?” He asks quietly, although he didn’t really need the answer he was certain he already knew. His hand that had been on Ziggy’s shoulder, has moved up to the back of his neck now, where he lightly scratches at the hair he finds there.
“Since that offer was never made to the others, or to me earlier when I told you about Spencer, it seems a fair assessment it was because you hadn’t considered it until this moment. And that should I be correct, you also aren’t sure just what kind of effect that process would have on either you or him?”
He’s showing his years, he realizes. He may sound like someone in their early thirties, but in reality he was just over a hundred, with a life’s worth of some hard earned wisdom that came with it.
“And if all of that were true, and I wasn’t simply jumping to conclusions....” he sighs before glancing back up to Ziggy and that piercing gaze of is, his hand moving to trace against the stubble along his jawline as he does, “then I would imagine you’d understand, why I’d have to decline the gracious offer, no matter how much I’d like to do the opposite.”
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fortunexfinder:
He had been hoping, when he’d been trying to prepare himself for whatever this meeting would turn out to be, that Epoch would settle with asking him direct questions. That he wouldn’t be left to decide just how precisely he would describe the entire scene that unfolded on the roof, but rather he could make small decisions as each question was asked. That doesn’t seem to be the case though, unfortunately, as Epoch asks him to start from the beginning- which Christ, the definition of “the beginning” was a rather vague one in terms of anything involving Hourglass.
For his own sake, he chooses to decide to define the beginning as what first brought him to the roof in the first place. “Well, obviously you know what happened to Mind Master,” he begins with a sigh. “He was the one who told me that Hourglass had Dimitri and that they were heading towards the roof. I left my partner with Mind Master, as I headed in that direction- which was where I then encountered Daydreamer, Nightingale, and Firebrand. Given Nightingale’s skillset, the decision was quickly made that they were to go with Daydreamer to help Mind Master, while Firebrand then decided to go with me.”
He’s leaving out a lot of the fine details, he knows that, he’s going for the simple statement of facts, and leaving out some of the messier bits- such as why Firebrand went with him, and why he made the decision to hunt down Hourglass. But if she wanted to know more, he figures she’ll likely ask him anyway.
“When we made it to the roof, Parasite and Hourglass were carrying Dimitri to a helicopter that I would assume they used to get to the Tower in the first place. Firebrand and I had a brief altercation with Hourglass, and tried to stop him from taking Dimitri- but obviously we failed. And then Hourglass and Parasite escaped with Dimtiri in the helicopter. I couldn’t tell you what direction they went, unfortunately.”
He stops his story there, because sees no point in detailing his and Kaz’s exit from the roof. Looking to her, he steels himself for her next question, knowing it likely won’t be one he’ll enjoy trying to answer.
Fortune continues on with his attitude, with the sigh that escapes from his chest. She can understand, with some kind of sympathy, why he doesn’t want to be here. She probably wouldn’t like it either, if she had been up on that roof and then someone else wanted to question her about it all, about a situation that she had never really asked to be a part of. Fortune wasn’t a rogue, and he hadn’t planned for any of this. But he undeniably held peices of the puzzle. And she was going to get him to hand those peices over, even if it was the last thing that she would do in this town.
She listens with careful attention, soaks up every word, and tries to parse anything that might be hiding behind them. She nods her head at the mention of Mind Master’s injury. It was unfortunate, that he had been shot. He might have managed to do something if he had gotten to the roof. She understood that Lynx had some sort of protection against telepathy, but it was still frustrating for her that he hadn’t gotten into the same room as Hourglass with enough time to read his mind. But she couldn’t blame him for that, when she had the benefit of hindsight and the luck to have no bullets currently embedded in her lung. Daydreamer staying behind to play babysitter for the other villians was another point of contention for her, here. She didn’t understand why they would waste a man who could literally warp reality. But she supposes that she wasn’t there, and didn’t fully know the situation at hand.
Fortune doesn’t tell her anything that she doesn’t know, but she nods her head regardless.
“Up, up and away.” She muses, wryly. Lena pauses to take a long sip of her coffee, still perfectly warm. The Phantom Zone was comforting to her now, in a way it didn’t used to be in the earliest days of her powers. She wondered how Fortune Finder felt inside of it. And she licks her lip slightly, a thoughftul movement of her head, as she fixes her gaze back on him.
“Can you tell me about Hourglass, please? I’m aware of some of the basics. He lost the ability to control his powers. I’d like to know how, and why it’s made him so angry with the rest of the Collective.”
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catclyst:
She can’t help but let out a laugh, at Epoch’s response, and oh, it seems like the two of them are going to get along, for whatever limited contact they have over Epoch’s attempts to track down the missing Guardian. She wasn’t nervous—Catalyst didn’t do nervousness, not really, just like she didn’t do dishonestly—but knowing that Epoch has a sense of humor does set her at ease, makes this feel more like a normal conversation than a high-stakes interrogation of some kind. She eases back into the armchair a bit, as Epoch looks at her. And if she was younger, she might preen a bit under the compliment, but she doesn’t quite, focusing instead on the task at hand.
“Of course,” she says, nodding, trying to decide where to start, trying to think how much detail she can really provide, about the rollercoaster of the past several weeks, given the circumstances.
She lays it all out as clearly as she can. Epoch listens patiently, attentively, and that helps, lets her feel like she can take her time with it. Starting with Velocity texting her and meeting her at the bar, the information that Cas had gotten when he and Mind Master had paid Dr. Judgement a visit. The day the zombies had been raised, the information V had been able to feed her while she started to put together the plan.
And she knows there’s a point at which her information will become of limited use to Epoch. She wasn’t the one on the roof, at the end of the day, wasn’t the one who had seen Dimitri when he got taken, hadn’t seen Hourglass at all. She hadn’t seen a single one of the rogue villains who had actually planned to stay rogue, no one who would have any idea what the next steps work. She’d already talked to V, and to Overload, and even to Doppelganger, but it seemed Hourglass was keeping things close to the chest.
“I was the last in and the last out of the Tower,” she says, “but I was in the sub-basement the entire time. There was too much structural damage to risk leaving it until I was sure everyone was out. Dimitri was up on the top floors, they told me. Things were kind of a mess up there, from what I heard, but I think Fortune and Firebrand were the ones who found Hourglass, though Mind Master was with Dimitri before that.”
It’s strange, to hear it all laid out so simply, the chaos that has been her life since the second she got a text from V cryptically asking her to meet up. There are still too many pieces to make sense of it all, but it boils down to far less than it feels like.
Lena smiles, when the laughter bubbles up out of Catalyst’s chest. That was nice. It was good that they could relax about each other. She didn’t want to feel like the bad guy, here, like she was intimidating some relatively-innocent supervillians into spilling all of their secrets. Really, things were much better if they just opened to to Lena, shared their stories and let her do the job she had been hired for.
Her gaze is intent, as she listens to Catalyst’s story. Everything beginning with a text message from one of the rogue villians. Velocity. Lena needed to talk to him, at some point, during all of this. Him and Overload probably had the highest chance of pointing her towards Dimitri. But it’s better right now to get an idea of what the Collective had known, what they had been dragged into by their far more reckless rogue counterparts.
She arches an eyebrow, when they get to Catalyst’s part of the mission. The sub basement, flooded and collapsing around her. Catalyst had done something remarkable, at the end of the day. Lena couldn’t help but think that someone like Catalyst would be well suited to her own team. Her powers could do wonders, out in the field. It wasn’t an appropriate time to try and poach Collective members, and she could kind of tell just from looking at Catalyst that she probably wouldn’t take Lena up on the offer. But it was one she would put out regardless, when the time was right. It would be good to leave it there, so Catalyst could take her up on it if the winds of fate ever changed for her –– and it would be nice, Lena thought, if more of the villians knew that Lena didn’t discriminate. If someone wanted to join RESCUE, and they could prove themselves strong and honourable enough, she would welcome them with open arms.
“Good,” She says, finally. “Well, that sounds like a whirlwind few months.” She considers it. “I’ve set up a meeting with your Fortune Finder, to discuss it further. To see what happened on the roof, what he may know about the rest of it all. I can’t say I have much interest in Mind Master. For all his power, I don’t imagine he’ll know much of anything.” Her voice is dry, near the end there. It seemed like a waste, that Mind Master couldn’t have gotten to the roof, or at least read the mind of someone involved to discover what the plan was. But she supposes she couldn’t blame a man, for getting shot. “I can’t say I’m overly impressed with whatever this grand plan of theirs is.”
“You, though. I have to say I’m impressed with you.” And she means that, she really does. “And your team, the way you led them all.” Her mind sticks on something else, a question that’s been lingering in her head. Because she’d seen a scrap of security footage, of two of the men that were in the tower. Familiar faces. “There was one more thing, I wanted to ask you. About your team. It’s part of the reason I brought you here, actually. There was a man. You call him Reaper, right? I’m not sure if my mind is playing tricks on me, finally, after all the years... but he looked remarkably familiar. Do you know where he came from, Catalyst?”
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lazarusdoe:
Of course, theoretically, they knew that Captain Covert had had a whole life with Ramses, that the zombie that had nearly killed them with Mordred had been a real, living, breathing man, who had had his own life, too, one clearly full of love. But knowing it theoretically, and seeing evidence of that firsthand is very, very different, especially when they’re about to send him back to his grave. On one hand, it’s sweet to see it, and they can imagine so clearly that those two were probably the sort of people they would’ve gotten along with well if they’d been in the Collective at the same time. On the other hand it makes them fucking sad, knowing that it’s over, even if everything has to end eventually, knowing that Captain Covert was given this brief, very real reminder, and now is about to watch him die all over again.
They’d felt that to a lesser extent when they’d dealt with Medusa’s old piece last night, but that was different. They didn’t walk into their old home together before doing it, didn’t see pictures of them alive and well together. She hadn’t stayed around to see them do the deed. But this makes it a hell of a lot more real, even as they’re joking a little, trying to keep things as light as they possibly could be knowing what’s coming.
“Well, hell, I’ll have to come back some other time, get the fuckin’ baby powder out; I’m a sucker for dimples,” Lazarus says, raising an eyebrow. They’re not surprised to hear that he did go feral in a very different way last night, can’t say it’s not an image they’ll keep coming back to, what the hell that must’ve been like. “Good for you, glad to hear you both still got it.”
The tone can’t possibly stay light, though, especially as he leads them into the living room, heading to where Ramses must be sleeping. They grow serious again, too, when he does, wanting to make this as easy as possible.
“Yeah, very quick. It went well last night, painless for all involved. I just, uh, have to touch skin to skin, and then I’ll take it slowly, gently. As quick and easy as falling asleep; just drifting off peacefully,” they nod, quietly, seriously. There’s another thought, though, one that had maybe been brewing quietly since they heard the old Shadow Man somehow wasn’t entirely a brainless zombie anymore. Because that’s something they can do, too. It’s something they’ve done before, after all. And they don’t think it would be as harmful to them now as it was with Matteo, who was fully dead. Morrígan’s done the hard work, raising him. They want to see him first, though, before they suggest it, want to make sure they’re sure they could actually do it in his state before offering. “Is he still asleep?”
.
Medusa had told him as much, that Lazarus would be able to return Ramses back to his eternal slumber with relative ease. But he’s still grateful to hear the confirmation from them himself. The selfish part of him wanted to keep Ramses around for longer, and hold off the inevitable, but that wouldn’t be fair to Ramses, and would likely only make it all the more harder to do this in the end anyway. His lot in life had always been a difficult one, but he’d get through this, he had to tell himself. He’d lost Ramses once before already, what was going through it a second time?
“Yes,” he answers them, but as soon as he does, Bastet emerges from the hallway, which only means Ramses was soon to follow. Letting out a long sigh, he looks over to Lazarus as he bends down to pick up the feline as she purrs loudly at his feet.
“Looks like we’ll have to do it in here,” he says to them quietly, before he spots Ziggy’s towering form step into the hallway where Bastet had just emerged moments before.
“Good morning, hayatım”, he greets Ziggy as he nears the two of them. The pet name had been one he exclusively used on him. While he so often called everyone dear and darling, he saved his Turkish names for Ziggy. When they first fell into each other's orbit, Ziggy was canım, his sweetheart. Then for some time he was aşkım, his love. But for the majority of the years they spent together, Ziggy had been hayatım, his life. And even after the years that followed Ziggy’s first death, he remained his life. He knew he couldn’t let himself wallow in that grief forever, but he hadn’t gotten to that place quite yet, to move on from the person he’d spent a half a century with.
“You better behave with our guest,” he chides with a warm smile, “because I refuse to call an exterminator just because you had one of your disgusting temper tantrums.”
.
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catclyst:
She arches an eyebrow back, at their comment about Specter, and it’s a strange reminder that, as much as it feels easy to slip into conversation like they used to, in this moment, there’s still a whole world of space that’s come up between them in the years since Banshee left. And… weirdly, Catalyst finds herself feeling at peace with that, which isn’t something she’s used to. The possibility of existing in a space where Banshee doesn’t have to be either her entire world or her worst enemy, doesn’t have to either fill her life or break her heart.
Banshee used to be such a massive part of her world. Now they hardly know one another. And it’s strangely okay. That Banshee doesn’t know anything about Danny. That she still doesn’t understand why Banshee made the choice to leave. That they don’t have to be everything to one another to mean something.
And then Banshee asks about White, and reminds Catalyst of the thing she’s been avoiding thinking about—the fallout that is going to come from this, now that there’s no way any of this can be a secret anymore. Dark Wing had seemed to think it was a good idea, to keep things a secret, and she trusted V’s judgement, too, but neither of those had been her own conviction. And she knows she’s going to have to rapidly come to a decision of her own, when it comes to her feelings about White.
“No,” she answers, shaking her head. “No, I—”
She pauses, trying to decide how much to tell Banshee. Because even if they’re on speaking terms again, even if she feels her grudge slipping away with every word, Banshee is still, in some way, the enemy, by virtue of the side they chose. They’re still a Guardian, and while Catalyst doesn’t think they’d use the information against the Collective, she doesn’t actually know. She still doesn’t know how much it’s safe to trust them.
“Things are complicated, right now. Some of the others had their reasons, for wanting to keep her out of the loop, and so I thought it would be best to handle things this way instead, for now.”
.
They let out the breath of air they hadn’t realized they’d been holding in, once Cat confirms White wasn’t aware of what was going on. They had assumed as much, given the fact V and the others weren’t immediately taken away by White, but seemingly carted off to a new hideaway. White would of course find out soon enough about what had happened that night, if she hasn’t already given the news coverage that was likely being blasted about the attack all over every media outlet imaginable.
“Good,” they reply finally, “you likely would have lost control over this the moment she found out, although I doubt she would have let the mission continue anyway.”
They can’t imagine White would have picked up the same call for aid, as Cat and the others had. She had too much invested in keeping the rivalry between the Collective and the Guardians intact. If she had gotten the Collective involved, it likely would have been to capture the rogue villains that had run free from her hold, with helping the Guardians being the last thing on her mind.
“I used to have such respect for her,” they confess, knowing Cat was of the same mind, and likely may still be, “but I had to learn the hard way, where her loyalty truly lies. And that loyalty wouldn’t have lined up with what you wanted to accomplish here.”
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lazarusdoe:
When Captain Covert had made his intentions clear, they’d been a little hesitant at first. There was a difference, in their mind, between managing to get the zombie version of your former partner not to kill a few people in cold blood, and keeping him in control over night, without anyone who could force their commands on him, or send him back to the great beyond, if need be. But listening to him, they understood it, something they don’t think they would have understood as well if things hadn’t changed with them and Daydreamer, Cas, so recently. Because now they understand how deep that care runs, how deep that trust runs, to know that even in such a state, the emotion was and still is deep enough to override something as trivial as commands from a necromancer.
So Lazarus didn’t argue the point when he made it clear he wasn’t going to be bringing Ramses back to the meeting point, that instead he hoped they might be willing to come to his apartment and do the deed there, where it’s peaceful, and private, after he’s had time with his old partner, even in the state he’s in. It’s not a difficult request, after all, and if that can make it even a little easier, they’re happy to offer it.
Which is how they end up knocking very lightly on Cap’s door early the next morning, still exhausted, but body healed up, thanks to the others they’ve already given that peace back to. The sight that greets them when he opens the door is a little jarring, no bandages, floating sunglasses, but they adjust easily enough.
“No problem at all. You saved my fuckin’ life last night, this is the least I can do,” they say, keeping their voice quiet, as they come into the apartment. It’s fucking nice as hell, too, clear that Cap’s got money, which isn’t a surprise, between being in the game for so long, and apparently having been with someone who wears too much gold jewelry. They can’t help but notice the pictures on the wall as they follow him inside. A lot of them have the familiar face they now know is Ramses, and they even recognize the zombie cat in a few of the clearly older pictures, as well as many other cats in various pictures, but it’s a surprise to realize distantly that the unfamiliar person in the pictures must be Captain Covert pre-invisibility disaster.
“Damn, you were hot stuff, weren’t you? You two look good together, it would’ve been a problem if I was around the Collective back in your day,” Lazarus can’t help but say, a sort of bewildered smile on their lips as they look back at Cap. “How, uh, how is he? I’m assuming he didn’t go feral on you, since you’re up and moving around…”
.
It wasn’t often he invited people over to his apartment- at least not any more anyways. Back when he and Ziggy were young, it wasn’t uncommon for them to entertain, whether it be family or old Collective friends. Anymore though, having a visitor was a rare occurrence. He’d gotten less social in his old age, even if his voice and body still sounded and felt like he was in his mid thirties, the weight of the years that’d passed were felt in different ways.
He doesn’t even think twice at first, when Lazarus slows to look at the collection of photographs that littered the apartment, forgetting briefly they didn’t know what he looked like. All of them were taken in the same couple year time span, with a self-timing camera he’d purchased back in ‘57, when it was growing more clear just what his future had in store for him. He became obsessed with documenting his and Ziggy’s life, while he was still able to hold onto his visibility. There were a few... spicier photographs littering the place, that’d caused the awkward family exchange whenever they had forgotten to take them down, when Ziggy’s family came over. The really spicy ones were stashed away in the bedroom though, along with a box of photographs that were private for a different reason. Those photographs didn’t show him fully visible like all the others did, but rather the slow progression of his condition, often with him by himself facing the camera as his bare body showed what remained of it. The pictures were a coping mechanism, and now they are a reminder of the face he could no longer see, and the life he’d lived despite it all.
“Were hot stuff?” He repeats with a breath of a life. He knows what Lazarus means, but he can’t help but tease them. “I’ll have you know I still look like that, thank you very much. Sure you have to cover me in baby powder first- but the dimples are still there.”
His mood slips back into something closer to somber when they mention Ziggy, who was still sleeping in the next room. This was going to be a nasty bit of business, but he’s glad they’re able to do this here, where Ziggy was always most at peace, to return him back to his everlasting one.
“Oh no, he certainly did,” he chuckles weakly, because he can’t not slip one more tease before they get on with this. “but that was never out of the usual for that one.”
He leads them into the living room then, one step closer to the bedroom where they would eventually need to go. Looking towards the hall that’d eventually lead them to that end, he lets out a soft sigh before glancing back over to Lazarus.
“How did it go with the others last night? Is it a fairly quick process?”
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catclyst:
She isn’t surprised, when someone from RESCUE comes calling for her, bearing an invitation to come and talk to their leader, who is heading up the investigation into the one missing Guardian her team hadn’t managed to haul out of the collapsing tower. She’s been expecting it ever since the investigation was announced, preparing for it. Honestly, she’d been using its inevitability to avoid thinking about the other inevitable meeting in her future—the one she knows White will be calling, though she can’t help but feeling a bit like White is dragging it out on purpose, just to make her squirm.
This one, however, she isn’t nervous about. Not as Haven leads her into Epoch’s office, not as she sits down in one of the armchairs there and Epoch starts to talk to her. Epoch isn’t what she expected—she looks young, younger than Catalyst, despite the fact that Catalyst knows she’s well over a hundred years old, so maybe time travel is the best skincare routine imaginable. She thinks, subconsciously, she’d been expecting someone more like Mrs. White, though maybe that’s the latent anxiety talking. She’s not quite sure what to make of Epoch, of this whole operation—the cozy mountain cabin, the private jet they’d flown her in on. This is the kind of place she would have wanted to end up, when she was a dumb kind trying to be a superhero. It’s weird to see that it really does exist, outside of her imagination.
“Well, for a team that’s basically the Paw Patrol, I can’t say that surprises me,” she replies, as she sits. There’s no heat behind the comment, though: she has no reason to get in the way of Epoch’s investigation, no reason not to help as much as she can. They’re all sort of on the same side of things now, heroes and villains, until Judgement and Hourglass are dealt with. And there’s been so much secrecy floating around that she thinks honesty—between everyone—is probably their best bet if they want to put a stop to thinks before Judgement strikes again and they aren’t ready for it.
“Seems like an awful lot of trouble to fly me all the way out here just to sit and chat. But I’m happy to tell you whatever you think will help.”
Epoch is glad when it seems like Catalyst isn’t the flighty type. She doesn’t like to waste her time with nervous people, the kind who fretted over every detail and worried about what they might be doing wrong. She hated people who pretended not to be affected by things either. Honesty was the name of the game, when you were dealing with Epoch. She’s had nearly a century to learn how to spot bullshit from a mile away, and at this point it might as well be one of her superpowers.
She can see the honesty radiating off of Catalyst from the moment she steps in the room, however. She can see the strength, as well. Catalyst is clearly a person who has had to fight to become who they are. But that was something that Epoch could apprecitae as well.
So she knew that this was going to go far easier than some of the other conversation’s shes had of late. Sometimes these moments were like pulling teeth –– especially because Epoch has grown so used to real action, instead of endless conversations. She’s been a leader for so long now, running head first into danger. Stopping forest fires. Rebuilding towns. Saving civillians from falling rubble. She didn’t waste her time with the petty intricacies of heroes and villians.
But that was the whole point of this. A rogue villian who was on some kind of strange path, some strange hunt for revenge. And for some reason, he had decided he needed Dimitri for his plans.
Epoch liked Dimitri, more or less. He was one of the few Guardians she could stomach. But that didn’t make this personal, for her. At the end of the day, it was still just work.
She lets out a soft laugh, genuinely warm. And it surprises her, because that doesn’t usually slip out as much as she would like it to. Laughter is harder won for her than it is for other people sometimes. “Behemoth’s babies love Paw Patrol. He says that it’s... what did he call it. Copeganda.” She shrugs her shoulders, easygoing. “But then again, what isn’t, these days? We’re all bowing before the altar of the military-industrial complex, blah blah blah.”
“If you’ve got it, flaunt it.” She says. “You’re one of the few Collective members I don’t mind flying all the way out here, Catalyst.” And she tilts her head, looking at the woman in front of her. “I was impressed, by what they told me about the Tower. How you put that whole rescue plan together. Stopped an entire building from falling down around you. But I’d like to hear it in your words, if that’s alright. From the beginning, in as much detail as you can.”
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fortunexfinder:
Once he heard that the Guardians had made the decision to pass along the hunt for Dimitri to someone “out of house”, he knew it’d only be time for that person to come calling on his door. He and Kaz were the last to see Dimitri alive outside Hourglass and the others, and given the rumors he’s certain that have been making their rounds regarding just how well he used to know Hourglass, he figured it would only be a matter of time before he’d get pulled into the investigation.
The fact that its Epoch of all people investigating this, is almost laughable. Because it’s clear as day just why she out of anyone else was chosen to nip this issue in the bud. The Collective and Guardians both had a problem on their hands in the form of an out of control time manipulator- so why not call in the cavalry in the form of the oldest living time manipulator around?
When he reaches the cafe that afternoon, he’s hidden Hourglass’s parting gift to him with some concealer, preferring to keep that aspect of his run-in with his old flame private. When he slips into the chair across from the centenarian who looked younger than him, he’s the picture of confidence, despite the anxiety that was bubbling deeper inside him, at the thought of having to answer questions about the night that he wished never to think on again.
Once he feels the shift in the standard flow of time, he grits his teeth through the discomfort of once again finding himself at the mercy of a time manipulator.
“Hm, and here I was thinking you just wanted to play footsie,” he replies dryly, making sure his discomfort wasn’t palatable. He was well practiced in pretending he didn’t care about things enough, he’s certain he can manage it for however long this conversation was supposed to last.
“But sure, let’s get started,” he sighs, feigning boredom, before taking a sip of the coffee that was sitting in front of him. “Do you want me to just start at the beginning or would your prefer the abridged version?”
She isn’t sure what to make of Fortune Finder, when she first sees him. She hasn’t paid much attention to their career, the way she would some of the other heroes and villians that were on the rise over the year. There were a few members of the Collective who had potential, when it came to her specific brand of life-saving. And Epoch didn’t mind people’s past, or what they did in their spare time. She had her eye on the other big player in this Tower disaster, and on a couple of the ex-Teen Terrors that had joined the Collective over the years. Surprisingly, she didn’t see much potential in the Guardians. But then again, she shouldn’t really be shocked by that.
Fortune Finder was nothing all that special, as far as she could tell. Good luck was handy, but nothing like what stood out to her these days. But he was clearly connected to what was going on, in some way shape or form. He was connected to the villians. He was on the top of the tower. He had peices of this story that had not yet been passed along to Epoch.
And she didn’t particularly care of he was uncomfortable, in this space outside of time. But people being at ease usually meant that they would do more, say more, let more past the surface. She was good at reading people, after all this time. So she smiles, despite herself, at his little joike, shows that she can play ball just as well as anybody else. “Footsie isn’t my style. At least not during the first interrogation.” She allows, with a grin and a wink. “Let’s see how this develops, and maybe I’ll change my mind.”
She considers it, his sigh, the way he sips his coffee. The two optoons for where they ould start this very important conversation.
“Let’s start at the beginning.” She decides, her calm aura permiating the air around them. Where his confidence and boredom is obviously feigned, and poorly, hers was genuine through and through.” “Feel free to go as slowly as you need, Fortune Finder. Don’t spare any details. We have all the time in the world.”
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catclyst:
Half of her mind, very distantly, is processing what information she can glean from what Banshee’s saying about what happened in the Tower, desperately grasping for information she doesn’t have room to really think about right now: that Specter had been there, with Judgement, that Reaper and Dulce had gone up against him. There’s a lot she’ll have to deal with, once she doesn’t feel like her head is going to explode. But the more immediately present part of her mind is ignoring all of that, focused on the conversation, on Banshee, looking not too much worse for wear, given the situation.
“Hey, careful,” she says, joking back—because it feels familiar, to joke, feels good. Feels like how things used to be, with them, before everything got messy, and heartbreaking, and she found herself on opposite sides of one of the people she’d cared most about in the entire world. “One of those murder clones might be my boyfriend.”
And she lets out a shaky sigh, feeling a little overwhelmed as Banshee’s tone turns turns more genuine. They’ve run into each other more than a dozen times, since Banshee became a Guardian, on missions. Fought one another more times than Catalyst can count on her fingers, and each one had left her feeling a little hollow inside. They’ve talked—bantered back and forth, as they fought. But they haven’t had a real conversation since before Banshee left, since before Catalyst found out they were leaving, abandoning her without so much as a goodbye. She hasn’t heard Banshee sound like this, in all that time.
“I— thanks. I’m never fucking doing it again, though, I think I’m going to have a migraine for a week. Dearest was a huge help, though, tell her I said thanks for that.”
They arch a brow in response to Cat’s confession, clearly intrigued by the slip of information. If it’d been any other time, they would have hounded her for more details, because there were far too many questions to be asked when the words “murder”, “clone”, and “boyfriend” were just all used in the same sentence.
“You’re going to kick yourself when you see the one Judgement brought,” they reply with a smirk, assuming that the murder clone Cat was interested in was the one Dulce showed up with. Both clones were obviously attractive, but knowing Cat like they did, they knew she’d dig the beard.
And it’s weird how almost easy it is, to slip back into their usual back and forth. Even though in the field their banter always swayed achingly close to the banter they had with each other in the manor, there was still the underlying hurt woven in. There’s still a good deal of hurt now, although the kind of ache they feel in their chest now when they look at Cat, isn’t one they feel like they’ll suffocate under any longer. They’re not sure if Jet had talked to Cat, since they had their talk with him in the lounge at the Tower a week or so back. Even if he hadn’t, it still feels like something has changed in Cat since the last time they were face to face.
“I’ll tell her,” they reply with a small smile, the feeling of being proud of Dori was a constant with them, but hearing one of their old Collective friends compliment her, made their chest feel like it was ready to bust open.
Feeling like they probably shouldn’t take up too much of Cat’s time, considering just how many people they’re certain want to see her too, they nearly bid her goodbye before a thought crosses their mind.
“White doesn’t know... does she?” They ask, although the way they phrase their question makes it sound more like a statement. “She doesn’t know that you were planning this all this time.”
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( the cafe in the town near the manor, a few days after the tower attack / @fortunexfinder )
She could have met Fortune Finder at her own headquarters, the house in the mountains, just like she had with Catalyst. But Fortune Finder, she imagined, would be a different kind of case. She didn’t know what made him special, but there was something about him that set him apart on her mind. Something that made her wary of leading him into her home, around the people she trusted the most in the entire world.
It was something about Hourglass. She didn’t know the details. But Fortune Finder had faced Hourglass on the roof of the Tower, and survived it, and allowed the man to walk away with Dimitri in his custody. It made her suspicious. So she wouldn’t allow him into her base while he was still an unknown factor.
She knew more than anyone, possibly, how dangerous Hourglass could be. The stakes were different, when you started messing with time. And when you lost control, they only ramped up higher and higher. Epoch had always prided herself on her own control, the steadfast hold she had on it. The way she could bring herself in and out of sync with the passage of time. That was why she had only aged a few years, in the nearly 100 since she was first established.
So she meets Fortune Finder on semi-neutral ground. But oh, oh so close to home. His home, she supposed. But it would always be hers too, by right of blood. She didn’t feel the need to flaunt the fact that she knew exactly where the Manor stood. She didn’t want to make them feel threatened by showing up at their door –– and she thinks it would hurt too much, to see it rise up in front of her. That was her family’s home, so long ago. The estate of a beloved Uncle. And then it had been her sisters domain, before it passed to her husband. So she picked the town instead, nearby. Middle ground.
She’s waiting there for him, in the quiet cafe. With two steaming cups of coffee laid out in front of them. And she’s perfectly calm when he walks in, when he joins her at the table. She smiles at him in welcome, and under the table bumps her boot against his own shoes, the contact just enough to take them both out of the slip of time and into the Phantom version of the cafe around them.
“I think this might be better, don’t you? It’s the best way I’ve found to ensure the utmost privacy, when discussing delicate matters.” She greets, not wasting time with any pleasantries. “And it keeps the coffee hot for as long as we might need.”
“Now, shall we begin?”
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( R.E.S.C.U.E headquarters, a day or two after the Tower, @catclyst )
It isn’t often these days, that Epoch gets pulled back into Guardian business. Her days in that organisation had ended a long time ago –– but she still remembers them as clearly as they were yesterday. She supposed that somehow, somewhere, it was yesterday. She’d learned, after all, that time moved strangely. It wasn’t a straight line. It wasn’t the be all and end all, not for people like her. Once upon a time being a Guardian had been everything to her. It was her one purpose in this life, a statement that she was different, that she could carve her own path in the world. It was the place where she could help all the people she wanted to. Or so she thought.
But the Guardians were flawed system, she knew that now. Tools of a broken machine. They played at being heroes while the world burned around them –– while half of them set it on fire, just because they wanted to, just because they could. That wasn’t something that Lena could be a part of, not forever, not when she realised they would never change.
So she made a place for herself. A team of her own. A team that could focus on the important things. And she based them here, in a place they could call a home. It’s her version of the Manor, she imagines. The kind of place her sister would have liked. Hidden in the mountain, safe. But with enough resources to get them anywhere that they needed to go, in time to save the day.
It doesn’t take much to organise getting the people she needed to talk to into her little office. They were all well connected. They had all the resources in the world. So Lena is waiting patiently, while Haven leads Catalyst into the room. Catalyst, the organiser of the whole tower showdown, as far as people could say.
Haven has a kind of happy hopeful wide eyed look to him. Like he’s so happy just to be there. Infectious in his attitude. Lena arches an eyebrow, and gives Catalyst a nod of welcome.
“Don’t mind him.” She tells Catalyst, watching Haven walk back out of the room. “He’s a puppy dog.” She leans back in her chair, hands crossed in front of her. “They’re all puppy dogs at the start.”
She nods her head, at one of the comfortable armchairs. ”Please, have a seat, Catalyst.”
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