Scene #5420:

Owner	Pose
Sombra	Early morning is always such a quiet time, a somber mood as the sun is about to start its ascent over the sky. The faint light casts light shadows from the tents, and it's mostly silent in the area as people are for the most part still sleeping in. Yet a whistling can be heard, low and just faintly there as it proceeds through the camp. The Elites have been helping out in the area after all, and there's also been somebody who hasn't been helping out much, but... she's been there, always watching and silently observing as she works on something on her many screens. Her whistling isn't anything new, so perhaps it doesn't upset people that much even though it's still early. It's more what she's whistling however... classical music isn't her thing usually, but Handel isn't the worst composer, now is he? The hacker arrives at a particular tent, all before she crouches down, pulling her screens with her as she resumes typing up something. All while she's still whistling that chipper tune.
Captain Flint	Flint looks up from his desk. "Handel's Messiah," he notes with interest. "I had the privilege to hear it on one of our multiversal jaunts last year. He hasn't composed it in our world as of yet." On the desk before him is a plate of spiced, glazed pig, but he's barely touched it. At the very least, it smells better than Silver's previous attempt and is probably edible. The captain must have a lot on his mind this morning. "What's on your mind? I presume you didn't come here to share your love of Baroque composers with me."
Sombra	So he's awake. Taking that as her cue, Sombra rises to her feet again, closing the screen in front of her as she pulls the flap of the tent inside, crouching as she ducks inside and gives it a brief look over. "Oh, lots of things are on my mind, capitane," she muses. "And personally? I must say I prefer more modern music made with more... advanced instruments." Can you fault her though? She's a child of her time, and few people enjoy tech as much as Sombra does. She walks on over, then is so bold that she sits down on the edge of the desk. "I do think that you have a lot more on your mind than I do, however..." she begins, looking down at him with a knowing look in her eyes, her tone low and dripping with secrecy. "Might there be something you wish to get off of your chest, perhaps?"
Captain Flint	Out of courtesy, Flint gestures to a crate serving as an impromptu seat--though not before Sombra takes a seat on the edge of the desk. He raises no objections towards it, at least not outwardly. Then he spots the look in her eye, catches the tone of her voice. He knows those things--she believes she knows something. Angling his head backwards as if to spy the nature of this secret, he squints appraisingly. "I have over fifty mouths to feed, eager to drink, piss and whore away their shares just as they do with everything else. There's also the prospect of imminent and immense wealth versus the equally immense risk associated with its acquisition. Yes--you might say there's a lot on my mind." Flint rises, hands resting atop the desk. "There's also the matter of the hacker in my tent, coyly hurling accusations my way."
Sombra	It's pretty clear that Sombra does whatever suits her, as she doesn't seem concerned with what's proper or not. "Oh yes, it's quite handy to have so many people working for you, isn't it?" she points out with a light chuckle. "As long as they are... loyal to you. But they're a fickle bunch, aren't they?" Here the latina lets out a serious sigh, all with a pout on those painted lips. "They talk behind your back, do you know that...? It must be hard, being a capitane without having their full trust. Then again, what else do you expect when they are promised riches that you fail to deliver. And murder those who could give you more. For what though, I wonder. You seem like a man who does value material goods... but are you more concerned about your mortal soul, amigo...?" The woman raises her hand, bringing her hands together as she brings up a photo of the letter she found in a certain desk. "At least it's good to know you have one good friend..." she comments, amusement in her voice as she arches an eyebrow at Flint, watching him intently.
Captain Flint	"I'm aware," Flint notes. "Did you talk to Turk? Morley? ...Billy? The problem with the truth is that fiction is so much more entertaining. Did they tell you about 'the Barlow Woman?'" He scoffs, then takes the photo of the letter. Examines it. His seafoam eyes dart left and right, a concentrated frown slowly souring into a determined scowl. "Well," he says. "You wouldn't bring this to me without a motive. So what is it you want? To reveal me before my crew? To show me the error of my ways?" He chuckles darkly, standing up straight and watching Sombra like a caged lion prowling back and forth.
Sombra	"Now what good would I be without my sources? A girl needs her secrets," Sombra says with a shrug. "Of course they told me about her. So I checked it out. Is it true? That you are having... moral concerns about your current life? It's so strange, you know. No matter how much I looked, scoured and searched... Capitane Flint didn't exist for a good while. Until you suddenly just appeared out of nowhere." There's an unspoken question there as she watches him. Reaching behind her, she tears a piece off the pig, picking at it with her nails as she daintily begins eating. "Truth is what you make it to be, in my opinion. There are many truths, and it all depends on who you ask. What is /your/ truth in all of this? Care to elaborate? I would so hate to be on a ship, knowing that I'm likely to get stabbed in the back. The same with mi amigos." Her eyes narrow. "Tell me what you really want in all of this, or I'm out, simple as that. I mean, I doubt you would be worth blackmailing about this. Nor would your crew be able to offer me much. So consider yourself lucky, capitane. All I want is my own safety and the safety of mi amigos. I might even have to tell them, and you seem to be awfully short on competent crew as it is." The last is said as she scrunches her nose a bit at the taste of the pig.
Captain Flint	"Of course," Flint says. Piracy isn't just about one's brutality, or one's drive. A captain is also a representative of his crew--which lends itself unfortunately well to power plays and games of intrigue. "It isn't true," the captain explains. "My truth is, Miranda is a Puritan woman with whom I share a home and a love of books. She's desperate to leave this place and will say anything to get me to leave with her. Our relationship is a complex one--something even I don't understand at times, but I have no desire to seek a pardon." "As for what I really want? I'm taking it. After the Urca has been secured, and the money warehoused before distribution... I intend to sequester a portion of it. You and your compatriots will still receive your fuil shares, and immediately, at that." "My men, however, will, thanks to my prudence, finally have a chance at something better than... this, absent their chance to waste it all as they're prone to do. You must've seen the effects English rule has had on Nassau. The Lords Proprietor are perfectly happy to let the streets stink of piss and garbage as long as the money keeps coming in." Flint pauses to listen to the cry of seagulls and the distant conversations of pirates preparing to leave. "Most of us would settle for a governor we could trust, but it's plain that won't ever happen. Twice, we've been raided, razed to the ground by Spain--with virtually no help from the crown. With the money from this haul, my men could be rich, in a safe place, rather than dead thieves on a long rope. What's more, we could purchase ships to defend the harbor, hire men to work the land. We could implement a universal basic income--or perhaps do away with money altogether. The possibilities are endless, with that much wealth, even after your shares are deducted. We could make Nassau a nation in and of herself, free from the tyranny of the English noose and Spanish sword. /That/ is what I want."
Sombra	So the letter does not hold the real truth? Not so unsurprising, really. If Flint wanted a pardon, then there's no way that he would plan a heist like this. "Ah, amor." Love is complicated, isn't it? Sombra continues eating as she listens, watching Flint as he lays out his truth about this entire deal. This is a good chance to fill her stomach while he talks. She has the time. The question is... is his time running out? "It seems you care more for your crew than they do for you, honestly," Sombra finally states, chewing on the meat. "It's well and good that you're taking what you want, too many people hesitate... but is it really worth doing it for /them/?" Typical. Here you get a person who cares for the people under their command, and the ones they're leading dislike them. Oh well, it's bound to happen. Finishing up the last of her piece, Sombra can't help but shake her head. "You're idealistic... but sadly naive, capitane. What you dream of has been attempted before. From what I know, and take it from me, I know a lot... it's always failed." The hacker sighs as she slips off of the desk, then peers down at him where he sits. "Perhaps she is right, you know. And perhaps all of this is not worth my time..." With that Sombra cants her head, all while purple light and hexagons dance across her body as she disappears from sight...
Captain Flint	For once, someone is on Flint's side--someone besides Gates and Miranda. Even the two of them fail to see the bigger picture from time to time. If there was a lot on his mind before, then there's even more now. His brow furrows as he contemplates what Sombra has said, watching as she disappears from sight. On the one hand, his crew seems to make a habit of being ungrateful shits. But can they be blamed? Almost everyone who sails the black has been slighted by society in some way--some, like Billy and himself, far more than others. If he doesn't give a shit about them, who will? If they choose to misinterpret that--if they fail to see that he really and truly does know best? They can move out of the way. As Sombra disappears, Flint is left to contemplate the photo. Miranda's been getting more desperate lately. His jaw settles and he slips it into his jacket, leaving the tent. It's time to have words with her. As he strides purposefully down the beach, Gates approaches him, keeping pace and walking alongside him. "Captain," states the quartermaster. "I came to the tent to bring you the duty roster... and I heard your conversation." Flint maintains his composure, boots still trudging through the sand. "And?" One auburn eyebrow arches expectantly. Gates stops. "You're lying to them," he says incredulously. Flint stops, too, wheeling around. The past week, everyone from Gates to Billy and even Eleanor has questioned his motives. Enough is enough. "And if I don't, who will?" he fumes. "Everyone's lied to, for their own good--every mother who tells their child that everything will be alright, every soldier who's told by his commander that courage will see them through, every subject who's told by--" "His king?" Gates smiles dangerously, his head tilted as if he didn't quite hear Flint. "Is that what you are to us now? A sovereign? Levying a tax?"
Sombra	When you make your living by being stealthy, you learn to be light on your feet. As the thermoptic camouflage kicks in Sombra stillts her breath, silently stepping aside near the wall of the tent, watching Flint as he regards the photo with what appears to be much concern. Now it's time to observe after delivering those words, to see what happens. As Flint slips out of the tent, the unseen shadow follows in his footsteps, keeping some slight distance, making sure to tread in his footsteps as they walk on the beach. Better not leave any tracks. With Gates approaching Sombra turns her head to look at him, curious about what news he might bring. So he was listening in, was he? No matter. It's not like she didn't say anything that would risk what she's planning either way. There's certainly tension here, that is certain. Even between Flint and Gates, whom he should be able to trust in all of this. Flint might mean well, but... well, he's arrogant and naive. It's a shame, really. But this is a situation he's brought on himself. Is it a situation that can be salvaged? Making a mental note, Sombra decides that later she will have to figure out just what the crew are thinking about all this.
Captain Flint	"Hal, listen to me. Who loses? Absent their worst instincts... their pride, their greed, their suspicion, in the light of pure reason... who says no to this?" Flint's eyes are bright with ambition. That, and naivete, can be dangerous things, put together. Gates gives a resigned sigh. "The crew won't see it that way." He extends a thick, callused hand, offering the duty roster to Flint. "Here's the roster. I'm going to help Dufresne take inventory of our stores." Flint takes it, flipping through the parchment and nodding. As Gates turn to leave, the captain's hand reaches out and grabs the burly quartermaster by his thick pole of a wrist. "Wait." Gates looks over his shoulder, turning to face Flint with a wary expression. "I need to know you're completely on board." "I'll help you take the prize. I'll keep your secret, too. I would strongly suggest you take Miss Sombra's observation under advisement." The two men share a tense, silent exchange--but it seems that's the end of it. Flint then makes his way to the island's interior, following the familiar dirt road that leads to the Barlow homestead. The path he takes is long and circuitous, not the most direct way to get there. It's evident the man values his privacy--perhaps a luxury too costly for a man in his position, given the rumors floating about regarding his intentions. Either way, he arrives at the place and enters, swinging the door open forcefully. He steps in to find Miranda sitting sedately at her table, sipping tea from a fragile china teacup. She looks up at him, a warm smile on her face--only for that smile to fade when the fuming captain throws Sombra's photo onto the table. "Do you know what you've done? What madness possessed you to write that letter?"
Sombra	Gates... now there is a man who knows how to think. Cautious, calm... qualities one can appreciate in a man like that. Qualities that ensure that you live longer. After the few words exchanged between the two men, Sombra continues in Flint's wake, following silently behind him as she walks on light feet. It's amusing how he tries to be stealthy about it all, really. It's too easy to follow him, and it's quite easy to guess just where he is headed. And his business isn't quite as secret as he would hope them to be, far from it. It's easy enough to tell that he's furious all right, considering how he opens the door. Slipping in behind him, the hacker watches the scene unfold before her as he takes the photo of the letter and presents it to her. Now this will be interesting, she muses as she leans back against a wall, observing with great curiousity.
Captain Flint	"I tried to tell you," says Miranda coolly. Her long brown hair is tied back into a simple bun. She is a fair woman, with an elegant, angled face and an air of grace quite uncommon in Nassau. Her dress is plain, but neat, and she wears it well. Like Flint, Miranda seems to have appeared from nowhere, with virtually no information available on a 'Miranda Barlow.' Perhaps the two have a history together. Despite Miranda's calm demeanor, Flint still seems incensed, closing the door behind him and firing back. His voice is low, conspiratorial. "Sombra found it. If she'd have shown anyone before confronting me, but for dumb luck, I'd be dead." Miranda's brow wrinkles with worry. "I'm sorry," she softly replies. "You know I would never intentionally put you in any kind of danger." Flint closes the distance, looming over the Puritan as she sets her teacup aside. "What was your intent? /What was it?/ To destroy everything we've tried to build here for the past 10 years?" He fumes for a moment, his chest heaving with anger. When next he speaks, his composure returns, posing a question coldly. "Or was it just to embarrass me?" Miranda rises from her seat, unwilling to be intimidated by Flint in a way that few people in the captain's life can manage to do. "To show you a way out," she pleads. "To free you." "A way /out?/ Have you no memory of how we got here? What they took from us?" Miranda's eyes begin to water, as the question evidently pierces her armor. "What does it matter what happened then if we have no life /now?/ Because there is no life here. There is no joy here. There is no love here." "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!" It's the first time Sombra will have heard Flint raise his voice above conversation tone, and it's a furious bellow at that. His demeanor changed so quickly from cool indignance to bellicose fury... it's no wonder some of his crew are frightened of him. But then, his voice falters. Wavers. He shows something else besides anger. "What do you think I'm out there fighting for, if not to make all those things possible here?"
Sombra	A lover's quarrel... perhaps other people would have a problem overlooking something like this, but if Sombra had been visible, there would have been a neutral look on her face. If these two surfaced together, then that would explain why this Miranda is willing to go to such lengths to what she percieves as a way to save her beloved, wouldn't it? Showing somebody else... no, there would have been no sense in doing that. What could the crew possibly offer her in all of this? Nothing. At least Miranda isn't all meek, nor too folish. Though what she did is indeed risky, especially now that Flint has found out. It's interesting to hear these tidbits of information. No memory... what they took. Perhaps it's something she can learn about. One thing is clear; they are both desperate people. A woman who wants to protect a foolish man who in turn wishes to help the very people he's misleading...
Captain Flint	Miranda's thin lips curl into a distraught frown. "I wrote that letter to show you that you're wrong," she says. "My only regret is that it was found before it could be sent. There is a life in Boston. There is music there, and joy. And peace." "Not anymore," says Flint. As Sombra's research had shown, Flint and some other Elites had, in an effort to steal cannons for Nassau's fort, jumpstarted the Boston Tea Party several decades earlier than in other worlds. "England is squeezing the life out of it, tightening their grasp. It's the only way they know how to deal with dissent, and the people have decided to stand up for themselves--just as they've done in other worlds. The only difference is the timeframe." They're both desperate, indeed--Flint to prove some point, and Miranda to get him to abandon that crusade. "Another colony, then," she says, setting her jaw and digging her heels into the freshly swept floor. "Anywhere. I can open a door fort you, and we can go--without blood, without war, without sacrifice." "It requires an intolerable sacrifice," says Flint. Taken aback, Miranda squints at the fuming pirate. "To accept a pardon?!" "To apologize," replies Flint through gritted teeth. Miranda asks what may be on the invisible observer's mind, too--"/Who/ would you be apologizing to?" "To England!" Flint bellows. "They took everything from us. And then they call /me/ a monster? The moment I sign a pardon, the moment I ask for one, I proclaim to the world that they were right." He pauses, looking out the window as if to glare at Whitehall from across the sea. This sentiment would certainly explain the hostility he showed towards Arthur Pendragon over the radio--the young king is likely the embodiment of everything loathesome about England in Flint's eyes. "This ends... when I grant them /my/ forgiveness. Not the other way around."
Sombra	So much hostility... and it gets answered as Flint speaks, suggesting just where they came from, and what is his reason for disliking England so. It explains a lot. A man and a woman, hardly among the first nor the last to travel from the old world to the new. Sombra narrows her eyes a bit where she stands. Just how long are they going to talk? There might not be much more information to dig up here... But she pushes away carefully from the wall, watching the two.
Captain Flint	"This path," Miranda softly begins, her voice wavering as a tear streaks down her cheek. "It doesn't lead where you think it will." Flint turns his back on her, opening the door and stepping out. "If he were here," Miranda calls out, "He'd agree with me!" Flint slams the door shut and marches off into the foliage, probably on his way back to the base camp. Miranda takes a seat and tearfully reflects on the conversation. It's true--there's not much left here to discover, at least as far as the relationship between Flint and Barlow. What little the captain deigned to reveal appears to have been true, though there's apparently a long and storied history between the two of them that he neglected to mention.
Sombra	Such drama. Then again, there's nothing that she can do to fix this. Really, why should she? Just what could be accomplished by doing that? Perhaps she could learn something by questioning the woman. But after this, she might not be all up for talking, especially since Flint named her by name when he stated why he knew about the letter. Such a dramatic fool. For now their history matters little. What matters is that she figures out just what the crew is thinking... and whether joining the operation is worth it. Rewards are well and good, but not if the risk is too high. Silently Sombra moves to the door, quietly opening it as Miranda contemplates the exchanged words, and the shadow leaves the house as she makes her way back towards the camp. There's much more to listen to before the morning is over, after all.