Scene #9579: Same Boat

Owner	Pose
Timekeeper	The presence of a warpgate makes it much easier now for nearly everyone Vertin associates with to travel in and out of the suitcase without her direct action, greatly simplifying the process of using it as a staging and social ground. Despite all of her impulsivities surrounding Schneider, though, one thing Vertin certainly can't do is give her the coordinates to teleport any number of Manus Vindictae agents quite literally into her home and the palm of her hand, because knowing that at all would place Schneider into a terrible position. Which means doing things the old fashioned way instead. A series of phone calls leads to someone who doesn't know either girl giving Schneider a letter with a box number and a key, leading to a postal box with an address and a time, leading to a door in an alleyway that leads to a small, unstaffed telephone operator office. There's only one other room inside, a closet-sized makeshift apartment with a cheap mattress for the girls to sleep on during overnights. There's a bible on the bedside table, and a suitcase hanging open into a starry void on the bed. Stepping down the staircase inside it leads Schneider into a black starry void, descending what feels like multiple stories until it ends with a heavy wooden door. Sunlight streams through the crack when she turns the handle, and then she steps through, and she's there. It's a feeling that's only somewhat familiar from having passed through warpgates, but it's still mind-boggling. The city of Chicago is gone, as is the entire rest of the world; in its place is a worn-in, luxurious manor of the likes that Schneider has been in once, maybe, when visiting Ariel. Compared to the chill of the city, the air in here is warm and a little heavy, library-leather and thick rugs and the fresh scents of plants and flowers, a glass door outside propped open with spring smells coming through on an occasional breeze. The sunroom is decorates from top to bottom and front to back, carefully esoteric with every choice. Records, books from eras in the future or the past, televisions stacked on top of each other, flowering plants in pots and vines draping around the walls, a half-finished puzzle on one table, tufts of straw on the floor. There's soft leather chairs in corners, angled towards each other to talk or read or nap, with a white sheet crumpled up on one of them. Art deco windows make up the entire far wall, making the room as bright as if it was outdoors, with a wildflower-covered lawn extending to a thick forest past it. Inside, at a table, Vertin has set out a platter of tea. She's poured her own, but is just fussing with it in her hand and looking out the window rather than drinking it. The door creaking open makes her jump, even though she's obviously aware of the time, based on the big nixie tube clock laying on the ground that shows it. Vertin hurriedly stands up, bumping her tea and nearly spilling it in a display of uncharactertistic gracelessness. She rights it and swallows, holding out a hand to her side to gesture at the manor. "Ah- hello, Schneider. Welcome to my home."
Schneider Greco	There are always things you don't want to know about someone else, and things you don't want them to know about you. That's ordinary. Creeeeaa-- thunk. "Careful, my-lord." The tip of Schneider's handgun- she'd crossed the room with a long, quick step- taps the table to brace the teacup, and she nudges it back upright with the gun's side. "Hmhmhm. Have I given you reason to be anx-ious? I'm so sorry, my dear lord..." she teases softly, reorienting herself after the little lunge and smoothing her pearl-and-maple-leaf headband back into place. Only just now, after pulling her eyes away from Vertin, does she soak in the room and its ambiance... and breathe, pleasantly, and... "... You did not tell me you were rich, my-lord," she says, another little tease. A pause. "It's nice. When you des-cribed this place... I did-not imagine it so worn and warm." Her eyes linger for a moment on a picture of an astronaut. She doesn't look shocked- of course, she knows what the next century holds- but it still enchants her. ... Her other hand has deserted its familiar firearm, to carry a little basket instead. She puts it on the table, as an afterthought; its covering-blanket hides some things, but shows a plain metal lunchbox, a bottle, and aboxed board game. It seems she didn't want to presume too much hosting of Vertin.
Timekeeper	It would take someone very close to Vertin to notice the slight betrayal of their voice wobbling. Right now, Schneider is within arm's reach. "Not at all." With their hat on and the top of their outfit being the sort of white fabric that Vertin's classically wearing under their suit, it's not until they're standing that it's clear what they're actually wearing. For the first time around Schneider-- since the Motherlobe's survival gear hardly counts-- Vertin is wearing something besides their Timekeeper uniform. A dress, mostly white and blue-grey with black accents; one that would be scandalously short in Schneider's time but conservative in the 90s, poofy and ruffled around her knees with sleek calf-height boots. Her blue gem broach is still there at her throat, and the sleeves of the dress puff out around her elbows before buttoning tight around her forearms, and there's a dark blue lacy draping ribbon coming off of her lower back. Vertin laughs lightly, following Schneider's gaze around the room. "I hardly have a dime that isn't spent back into this place. I was lucky enough to not have to build the manor itself too. I'm..." She trails off briefly. "Proud of it, so I'm glad you like it." Hosting is basically one of Vertin's favorite things to do. This sunroom radiates it; even without seeing the rest of the manor, this is clearly a central room for its inhabitants to gather. There's tables outside in the yard too, enough for a gathering of a couple dozen if all the seats were filled, and Schneider can see a bar attached to the sunroom through a door. Still, when the basket's placed on the table, Vertin accepts it with a sincere, "Thank you." But, despite all of that evidence of regularly having people around in here, today Vertin is more uncertain and filled with nervous energy. "Is there anything in particular you might want to do? Or would you rather have something to eat first? I've asked the others living here to make space for today, so it's quite alright if you'd like to look around."
Schneider Greco	Schneider, just the same- although it's hardly apparent with her side turned to Vertin; only just now swishing into view as she faces her fully- is wearing that silken white dress beneath her black jacket. It's finer and more glamorous than the one she'd worn to the funeral a few days prior; airier, covering a bit more skin than her usual red feathers, but still much less than will be decent in the future, and far less than is decent now. It feels like the 'comfortable', in 'let's slip into something more comfortable'. "Of course I like it, my dear lord," she says smoothly, tilting her head back to look a Vertin fron the corner of her eyes while unpacking the basket. "To garden..." Does setting furniture and nixie-tubes and newspaper clippings count as 'gardening'? She thinks so. "... is art. And ev-ery work of art, is a self-portrait, so I've heard. What you ar-range, just how you place it, it is of you, right? My-lord, I feel you've laid yourself out for me to examine." Not that she isn't examining her literal self. Schneider dismisses her gun to reach out and touch the gem at Vertin's throat, wondering; and the ribbon at her back, marveling; and then... "Hmhmhh... my-lord, you're still so tense." A tiny pout. She finds she can't just ignore that, to touch and fawn. Schneider pulls away, and pulls up a seat, and softly sighs. She's laid out that metal lunch-box; and a worn board-game; and some cookies and candies that'd go well with tea; and most hidden of all, under the sheet, a PlayBrick that looks like it's barely been touched. "I helped my moth-er make a nice caponata, my-lord, and you will have a bite while it's warm. And then you will take me on a walk through those gardens, right? And we'll see what-else we have the time for." ". . . But you are ex-pec-ting that I'll scold you, for the Walden. So," neutral slight-frowning in what might be concern, "shall we do that one first, my-lord?"
Timekeeper	There's proper gardening, too: even though outside is wild and natural, and Schneider couldn't know this, the abundant houseplants inside predate the wilderness, taken care of by Vertin's own hands for years. It all gives off the same impression, though; whether the art in question is gardening, sculpting, bonsai, or interior decor, it's as easy to imagine Vertin caretaking every inch of this space as it is to imagine her sitting at that easel in the corner and painting it. "My-lord, I feel you've laid yourself out for me to examine." "I suppose I have." The faint pink flush to Vertin's face when she lifts it up and to the side to give easy access to the gem radiates heat onto Schneider's fingers when they come close. She is tense, for a dozen different reasons, ranging from the deeply mundane to those that pertain to the fate of the entire world. Even though they'd suspected it, having Lilian confirm that the Foundation was investigating their relationship with Schneider only a day or two ago makes this a phenomenally risky venture, not to mention how much risk there is for Schneider too. And all for the goal of.... "And we'll see what-else we have the time for." "I'd love that, very much." The smile can't last long, though, when the worry behind it is directly drawn out. Vertin sighs and leans back in the chair, lacing their hands in their lap where they were tracing their way to the lunchbox at Schneider's indication. This is an expression that's more stable and less happy, without the uncertain difficulties that attempting to relax brought on, but they're visibly anxious to get it out of the way too. "One of many things on my mind, but it seems unwise to not acknowledge it whatsoever, yes. During the time in the Motherlobe, we didn't have to think about the troubles that our opposed factions might bring, but now it's certainly not as if I can go on ignoring it. I'd feel... ingenuine, if we didn't mention it at all."
Schneider Greco	"Alright, my-lord. Bus-iness before plea-sure, right?" Schneider's lips press, slightly, into a wry smile. Her eyes are still more soft-concerned, though, than 'scolding' should mean. R Shffff, click. She pushes the tin lunchbox- they looked almost like miniature toolboxes, back then- across the table towards Vertin, and then pops the buckle with her delicate fingers, an invitation to open the lid if she might need the fortification. It smells like a rich olive-y ratatouille. But, without much wait: "What were you thinking, my-lord?" The softness hasn't left her, but she is now at least a little impassioned. "Had I seen you, they would have made me shoot you. With a gun, my-lord. You've seen it, right?" She slightly leans over the table in her side-draping way, voice slightly hushed even though there's no-one to overhear. "Have you some arcanum that makes you bullet-proof? Nothing would re-lieve me the more to hear! Or are you on-ly not afraid to die?" ... Her hushed half-urgency is spent. An uneasy, not-quite wry smile comes back as her eyes slide away from them, across the table. She jokes: "... And how do you think killing you would have made me feel, my-lord?"
Timekeeper	"I've never learned any other way," Vertin says, like it's a joke. Their hands lay on top of the lunchbox and they fiddle with the latch, hesitating on whether or not to open it. In the finite number of gifts they can share between each other, it seems too sad to let one mix with the context of talking about business; but in the finite amount of time they can have together, it seems too sad to spend it waiting. "I've seen it. And I've seen how skilled you are with it as well. Believe me, I don't have any illusions about that." Last time, it was Schneider toying with her opponent on stage to give a show even in a life or death scenario, and before that, it was watching her fire precisely through Flamel's brain during the PsychoPortal project. She's not worried about the gun now, of course, but in enemy territory, Schneider was the sole factor as to why Vertin's instructions were to flee if they were spotted. "Awful, but you'd do it, I know. I know you would, and I'm aware you would have to." She meets Schneider's gaze, as firmly as she can through the small wince that pinches at her lips. "I don't want to die. But what would be the alternative?" "I won't run away from the Storm. And when it comes to field missions, I won't ask anyone to take my place just for the sake of personal safety. I'm already lucky enough to be safe from the single greatest threat that faces everyone on the planet, I can't ask others to take on more danger for my sake." She grips the lunchbox clasp harder, causing it to flip across her thumb and clack against the metal side. "The arcanum I have already makes me Storm-proof. I can't ask to be bulletproof as well when others aren't." Easing off of that almost-guilty tangent, she shakes her head, finally flipping open the lunchbox lid. "I hadn't known you were going to be there, and I am sorry for putting you in that position. Have your wounds from that day healed? ... This smells delightful, by the way; do you cook often?"
Schneider Greco	Schneider hadn't really expected that Vertin had a Foundation-issued Bullets Immunity Potion, of course. But the confirmation that there wasn't one, and that the plan was simply "don't get seen, and run if you are" after all, makes her slouch slightly with eyes still side-cast. Her hand squishes her cheek, nearly catlike. "So, it is like that. You have your... 'unfairness'. And for this, you must push yourself, right?" She sounds... not quite disbelieving. "... The wealthy, my-lord, they do-not atone for their wealth. The strong don't atone for their strength. It is the stupid among the commoners who say, 'the lords will take good care of us'. Noblesse oblige. That lie, I nev-er, never believed it." "But you, you must atone, for... for being on-ly as lucky as everyone else in this multiverse. Right." 'And who profits from your sense of obligation?', she doesn't add, but it lingers around her like smoke, in the pause afterwards where she might exhale. ". . . I do for-give you. I am sorry I was there." Topics turn lighter. She can meet Vertin's eyes again. "I've healed fine, my-lord. I would not let them hurt me badly." "I don't have time to cook much since I was a child, but this was special, right?" But, just as Vertin's hand is about to open the lunchbox, Schneider places her delicate palm gently over Vertin's knuckles and stops them. One more question wells up, before they set this topic fully aside. ". . . What you were there for. Do you think . . . it got you closer to stopping the Storm, at all?"
Timekeeper	"It is a lie, of course. But in an ideal world, it'd be true." This first argument is weak, and Vertin knows it. jedem nach seinen Bedurfnissen, after all. From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.")] Obviously, it's right there on a bookshelf in sight. "... But I'm not everyone else in the multiverse. This is my world. These are the people towards whom I have an obligation." The question of 'who profits' is one that doesn't need to be asked for Vertin to have an answer for it. Unfortunately, that answer is, in Vertin's mind, the entire world-- and, not lost in the sea of generalizations, a quick flick of her eyes directly over to Schneider herself. "Every era, there are people less lucky than me. If the Foundation had a thousand soldiers invulnerable to bullets and arcanum, I'd still have to push myself just as hard, and allocate myself where I'm needed. And one day, every era, those soldiers would still be unable to do what I do." When Schneider looks at her again, the effect on Vertin's tension is palpable. Her shoulders, which had drawn tighter, loosen, and her chin tilts upwards just the fraction of an inch necessary to be level, which somehow changes her whole demeanor from 'the Timekeeper' to 'Vertin'. The hat's shadow is expertly wielded, possibly unconsciously. "That makes it more special, doesn't it? I hardly ever cook myself, unfortunately." When Schneider's hand covers Vertin's, it doesn't quite induce that same shift backwards. Her thumb lifts up just a little, brushing against Schneider's fingers for a moment, and then sinks back down.")] "No." The answer comes on the back end of a breath out. "But," "Wrangling the Foundation's support for Parson's project cost me quite a bit of goodwill I have to earn back. I'd describe it as a quota of loyalty in action, and leave it at that. Parsons has shown the ability to jumpstart Laplace's research into the Storm and Storm Syndrome by considerable lengths, and securing his cooperation with the Foundation is something that I believe provides our first genuine lead towards the possibility of ending the Storm." "To end the Storm off of that..." She shakes her head, unhappy at how indirect the bureaucracy of it all sounds when shared out loud. "I've never lost sight of my goal, but I'm not happy with how small the steps are along the way." "... Would you mind, though? If I told you of another one of my plans?"
Timekeeper	After they've eaten-- Schneider can tell from the moment they pick up their fork that it's Vertin's first meal of the day-- Vertin takes Schneider out into the gardens in front of the house. While there's spaces cleared for the tables, or stones laid for paths, the vast majority of it is untamed and naturally colorful. There's a greenhouse around the back, attached to the manor itself, but Vertin leads her to a grassy hill instead, one high enough that their sight line lifts just above the treetops. And there it all is. An island out in nowhere, unreachable, uninhabited, stretching for miles and miles of forests, lakes, and even snowy mountains, with the manor facing all of it from this edge of Vertin's domain. The sun up here is bright and warm, the wind unbroken by the trees, and Vertin holds her hat while both of their dresses are tugged on by the breeze. "You're right, of course. Finding our niches to live in with these factions still puts us at their whims just to survive. But I'd like to-- I will change that. If the rules the Foundation has in place are too rigid, then I'll provide another option. If the Manus's tactics are too abhorrent, then I'll be a shelter in their place." Her hand drops, and then reaches out to Schneider. "All I need is some goodwill from them. Their permission, their small allowances on putting a better face forwards to the arcanists of the world. Being their Timekeeper has to earn me that much as long as I keep at it." Vertin's expression morphs just slightly, the reflection of light in their eyes coming across as faintly insecure, with a self-conscious smile. "... I can't help myself from dreaming of caviar, I'm afraid. I hope you'll forgive that. But I don't want my place in this world to just fall to taking on bullets and risk as penance. This is what it's for, too. You shouldn't have to choose the simpler of two evils."
Schneider Greco	"Every era, there are people less lucky than me..." "Anyone could say that, my-lord," Schneider reproaches gently. "Anyone but one." Who is that 'one', the unfortunate among the unfortunate, who owes nobody anything and has nowhere to punch but up? If Schneider is being selfish, she could imagine it's her, the girl this name wears. Of course that can't really be true, she knows; because she has money, now; and friends, now; and because the least fortunate person on Earth is someone already dead. . . . The savory veggie roast could really be a hit-or-miss- it's sweet and sour and a little nutty and a dozen different textures- but, fortunately, it does hit. Schneider eats, if Vertin can't finish; but she waits and watches warmly to see how far they'll get on their own. "So it is like that," she says, about buying loyalty. "I had to tell them," her bosses, "you were there. For the same reason." Of course she doesn't mind, being told about anything at all. She smiles. . . . On top of that hill, in the warm sun, something beautiful wells in Schneider's chest. Her hand squeezes Vertin's, as a long, unwinding sigh comes up from her chest and blends with the breeze. She has been more relaxed than she is, right this moment; on lazy mornings and long rainy nights. But there is one particular muscle, right by her heart, which has perhaps been clenched all her life or at least since Sicily, that finally twinges and relaxes. It staggers her a little to remember that it could. "You don't have oranges, my-lord," she says, as the feeblest and only criticism. "I'll bring you some. You should." "Being their Timekeeper has to earn me that much..." Then that muscle tenses again. The up-welling warmth ebbs a little. Schneider looks at Vertin, beside her, stricken with concern. Vertin can't really mean that, can they? 'Has to'? 'Earn'? The Foundation's shown a kinder face to them than to her, perhaps, but even so, to be that naive is-- "Of course, my-lord." She smiles. "I can more than forgive it." ... This is a nice dream. And there is still time.