Athwart History (Closed)

Avenhart's brows crinkle. "Wandering Jew is a name I'm familiar with, though not the villain it seems to come attached to. It's the myth of a Jewish man who taunts Christ on the road to the crucifixion, and is cursed to wander the Earth until the Second Coming. His name is variously given as Matathias, Buttadeus, Paul Marrane, Isaac Laquedem, and Ahasver."

"I'm also concerned about the - lethality he evidently possesses. I'm not aware of - any fatalities, recently, in your industry except the ones you've listed. What makes him so much more deadly that the other threats you've faced?"

The interviewer's head inclines, worry lines deepening across his forehead. Avenhart is older than Ronnie, just entering his sixties, and without makeup the dark lines deepen across his face. "You knew the other two. Wards from the Tower?"
 
“-and Ahasver."

The young heroine loses quite a bit of color in her russet toned face, silent, somber. It was a marked difference from her demeanor at the start of the interview. A difference from any other time she’d been in the public eye. Velocity was always quick with a (usually cheesy) one liner, seemed to be perpetually in a cheerful, friendly state of upbeat vivaciousness-there were photographs upon photographs of her giving a jaunty salute before vanishing, of that unabashed full grin.

She gives a mute, single nod about the Wards. She hadn’t known either very well, but she had known them. Ashley had been the head of Ellie’s wing. She’d always been kind. Maybe affording a bit of a blind eye to Ellie’s ‘unauthorized’ outings.

She wished she had gotten to know her better. Before she had chosen ‘the pyre’.

As for Paul Marrane-Jenna struggles with what she should say, just how much detail she could go into, or whether she had any right at all to go into the crimes of a monster. She thinks of the shellshocked expressions of Miss Marie and Elias. How bloodless his face and lips had been, how tightly strung Marie herself was. A blackhole of anger, rage-horror. Horror in both of them.

“Ashley and Barry weren’t his only victims.” Jenna finally says softly. “Nor Modal and Maestro. He’s claimed others. Quietly and largely unnoticed in the background, he’s…” Jenna trails off, an empty gesture with her left hand. She doesn’t know a lot about how he’s done it, or who covered it up, or why-but that short list on Protagonist’s monitors flashes across her brain, and the much, much longer one full of greyed out names comes shortly after.

“...Wandering Jew, Paul Marrane, Ahasver-” The last one makes her mouth dry. “Whichever, and whether or not he’s really some mythical entity-he’s a monster. Other villains are at least flesh and blood people, but this guy- I don’t think he’s human anything, not anymore. I know he can swap bodies, snatch the forms of others. He wields destructive, killing magic of some kind and can control an endless gauntlet of-of modified insects, just wave after wave of them. Cornered, not very many people would stand much of a chance against him. Not alone.”

Jenna pauses, another slight shake of her head and a glance away. "Even I've mostly gotten lucky."
 
Avenhart watches Jenna's face crumple at the name, and then as she lists off the casualties. Whatever he is - whatever he calls himself or itself - this thing is clearly no joke, and his somber tone reflects that. "I'm glad you're alive to say that, then. I didn't realize - it was that big of a problem. I don't know if anyone does."

Avenhart leans back in his chair, his face grim. "Perhaps it's different for you, connected in the way you are, but even I hear nothing about villains - proper villains, not the car-stealing vandals that get broadcasted on Tuesday nights, that Heroes programme that the Tower puts on. I am old enough to remember the Volk, running riot through West Germany before the wall came down. I remember the cladestine operations Her Majesty and your government ran together, trying to uproot the cartels as they reached their way up the heartlands of North America. I covered the mass killings the Las Dovos conducted in the deserts of New Mexico, the police departments they depopulated and the tiny towns they emptied to use as drug depots, coring them out into underground hives for the cocaine and heroin produced in Columbia by the Sinaloa."

He inclines his head. "My point being: monsters are commonplace, Miss Jenna. Those that would tear down humanity and pick the remains, they don't go away because no one looks at them; that just makes the job easier, and they've sat there in the valley of the shadow, consuming and fattening on those men have too easily forgotten."

"I think it's time to remember who they are, and call their names out. It's time to know our enemies for what they are, and understand they are not just the opposition of the heroes, but an existential threat the sort that all of us have tried to forget about, in these last eight years."

Avenhart's fingers lace, and he leans forward. His mild demeanor belies the total, unforgiving bent of his brow. He is a man at war.

"But I've talked long enough about one man. Let's deal with the elephant in the room; Senator Gillesby's bill, the AAND Act. Since it's passed, El Cid has taken in almost a hundred new Wards, and more are filing the paperwork, but what I find curious is the lack of older applicants; no one older than, perhaps, twenty-four has opted to join. In particular, the entirety of the old League, save for Miss Sarah, has gone off the radar."

"Far be it from me to judge your choices in morality; I just wonder what it is, in particular, that your - faction? - has chosen to oppose, and represent. I hear all I need out of Mister Cid, quite frankly. You and yours have been rather more circumspect."
 
“I said at the start that I can only really...speak for myself, for the most part. Rookie, and all. But I know part of our current mission is to find and confirm the safety of the veteran heroes who survived Rahab. Because you’re right-a lot of them went dark.”

That long, long list of names…But that’s not for her to just up and reveal on national television. Families might not know. Sarah...Sarah didn’t know. There’d be a time to go public with that, and she doesn’t think that time was now. Leave that to the generation that had suffered the hit.

“That’s the primary thing, their safety. Second is recruitment, a call to arms so that yeah-heroes can get after the villains who, like you said-never really went away. We’re having to deal with distractions instead of the bad guys right now, though-and so do a lot of potential allies, old and new.”

She’s leaving the grim thoughts behind, refocusing on what was right, what she’d come here for. “I don’t know how much detail I’m allowed to go in before anything official gets out there-Rookie, remember?-but like I said-the League is able and willing to offer asylum to any metahuman reaching out. I will personally run to wherever the heck I need to to escort at risk metahumans to that asylum. Whether they’re interested in herowork now or in the future, whether they’re not interested at all-we will help them. We’re not content to turn our back or leave them to the Tower. I know that much for sure.”

“That’s...that’s part of why I’m here, pushing what is very much League agenda-that parahumans have a place of safety to turn to, an option to consider. We’re with them.”

“The other half of why I’m here is-well, I started in on it earlier, kinda-and if what I just said didn’t make it obvious...” She’s absently slipped a glove off, was threading her fingers through the empty silver ones as she frowns down at them. She knows where she stands. There’s no politeness to be had here, not without weakening the message.

Jenna looks up again, earnest determination back in full force.

“I’m here to tell you and the rest of the world, to tell Senator Gillesby that AAND is reprehensibly immoral, and I cannot in good conscience comply with it. That I will not comply with it.” Somewhere across the Pacific Ocean, she can just imagine her mother’s heart attack, the ensuing massive freak out.

Sorry, Dad.

“I don’t want to be a criminal, Mr. Avenhart.” Jenna admits, spinning the smart watch around her wrist again. “And I don’t want to encourage people to be ‘criminals’ with me. But there have been times when the only just course of action was to turn your back on unjust laws-and this is one of those times. ‘Don’t lend yourself to the wrong you condemn.’”

This. This was the truth. “And that is what my silence or participation would be- lending myself to this racist wrong, perpetrating it. I won’t do it. I don’t work for Gillesby. I don’t work for congress. I don’t even work for the written law, though I certainly respect it. I stand and I work for justice, just like the heroes that came before me.” Miss Laura. The Catalyzed heroine had plead for the cause. A ghost or an echo trapped and forever running in some empty plane, ‘out of phase’ and lost-but still worrying about the little guy, still believing in the Good Fight. Enough to charge her with it. Trusted her to do what she couldn’t, anymore.

Jenna wouldn’t fail her. She wouldn’t fail any of them.

“If that means engaging in some civil disobedience, then I do so proudly.” She finishes decisively. “I have the honor and the privilege to work for the little guy, and supposedly so does Congress.”

Jenna’s eyes flick to the camera a moment, addressing the people she had been steadfastly pretending weren’t there. “So I’m asking people to write to them, to call them, to peacefully protest-to let them know how they feel. Because this is a government ‘of the people’, and that’s where their power is, that’s where my power is-its in the people.”

Her gaze returned to Avenhart, a nod.

“I’m pleading with the -American people- not to stand for this law, because its a law that benefits no one, and violates everything we stand for. I’m telling them not to send their kids to a prison. Telling parahumans not to sign themselves up for one. That we as a people don’t report our friends, our neighbors, our coworkers, our fellow students for existing as something slightly different. That we just...don’t. That we do not stand for this, because this isn’t who we are. Mr. Gillesby isn’t who we are.” The bridge of Jenna’s nose scrunches up, a very clear look of disgust. “He’s no friend to parahumans, and no friend to the American people, either. Racists never are-I’m not subhuman because I’m fast, Jim.
 
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Avenhart smiles. It's a bare thing, but there. "Well said and considered. I think we'll close on that. It's been a pleasure to hear from behind the mask, Miss Jenna."

He leans back and pauses for a bare second as the cameras wind down and the studio lights dim slightly, and then exhales. It's not that he relaxes, precisely, but he de-calcifies, some of of that legendary English verve softening into more congenial shapes. "Hopefully that knocks some sense into some skulls," he mutters, pulling a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and dabbing his forehead with it. The studio lights are bright and hot enough to make people sweat, even in the air-conditioned room. There isn't any on him - it just looks habitual, unconscious. "I tell you now, Jenna, I don't know where the support Gillesby is getting comes from. He's an independent senator without a party line, but whatever he throws in front of Congress just flies on through, and it's not because of his oratory. I'm trying to get an interview with him as well, and with this as bait - he'll want to refute your points - I might get to peer at what makes the machine tick."

He shrugs. "But that's all future business. You have my respect and my best wishes, Miss Jenna, in your chosen course. Should there come a way I might aid you again in the future, get in contact. It's been a delight."
 
“Or at least illuminates the heck outta the issue.” Jenna agrees, on her feet in a blur-and suddenly back mid blink with a pitcher of water and some plastic cups borrowed from backstage. She’s still ruminating over her wording a little as she pours herself a glass, but honestly-she’s said everything she’s had to say on the subject. And now it’s done and out there, and she feels...good. She feels good taking that stance, encouraging others to do the same, and about letting other metahumans know they were there for them. That they’re not in league with Gillesby, or a government willing to stomp on parahuman...no, American- no, human! rights like that.

Firmly opposite of El Cid, too. Yeah. Yeah, forget him.

The water’s cold, and tastes pretty good.

Jenna glances back at him as he talks, considers.

“Yeah...I don’t know if much can be done about him, but I’m not Daniel Avenhart.” That grin again. Heavy topics, but she’s hopeful and back to her usual energetic pepped friendliness. Her cards are on the table.

“So I hope he does ‘grace’ you with his presence. In the meantime, maybe congress will be less keen on supporting his line of thinking if it starts losing them votes.” She clearly had a lot faith that it would. She downs the rest of the water and sets the glass back down with a cheerful flourish of completion before extending a gloveless hand to him.

“Same, Mr. Avenhart. I really appreciate-well, everything, and I’ll pass on what I can.” It’s genuine, and a stroke of serious as she continues. “People deserve to know what’s going on.”

~*~

“That was great, Jenna.”

Claire Thompson was having a late night, tapping away on her last minute addition to tomorrow’s paper, the story she’d post to her blog tonight. The curly haired college junior was alone in the campus ‘newsroom’-an admittedly messy narrow but long room built on to the library. She and other journalism majors worked on the university’s newspaper here, and she’d recently snagged editor after the last one graduated. Only her computer screen lit the space right now, shining on her freckle dappled face and illuminating both her sharp grey eyes and the smart phone pressed against her right ear.

“I think so too. Got everything out there and-”

“So many good soundbytes-” The reporter interrupted, scrolling through various social websites, reading hashtags and retweets, the buzz that was building.

“That uh...that sounds bad.”

“No, it’s good! Easy to carry thoughts and ideas, memes are great when it’s trutheful stuff. Twitter’s going nuts, anyway. You’re usually trending, but now you’re trending. I mean, up until now, everyone just thought you were oh so wholesome.”

“...and now what, I’m the salt of the earth? Counter culture or something?”

Clarice laughed. “No, you’ll never shake off that squeaky clean image because you’re you-”

“Gee thanks-”

“But no one knew you before, not really. The actual you. They just saw this newbie sporting an old school costume-you let everyone draw their own conclusions because-”

“I was busy with schoolwork?"

“Snrk-that, and then El Cid was drawing them for you. I think you've been this convenient poster girl for people to plaster on things. But now people know you’ve got a brain in your head and a shiny spine. You being willing to call Gillsby out, and stating point blank you don’t work for Congress? Not THEIR poster girl, OR the Tower's, damn."

“Big kid stuff, I guess.”

“And this is a cause everyone can see, can fight, and you trotted that out to them in public. Look at these-” She shared a few screenshots and Instagram photos, people smiling, people flipping off the camera, people looking serious, friendly, and otherwise, all with captions echoing Jenna’s parting message. Clarice read off a few as she scrolled down.

“‘I’m not subhuman because I’m Chinese, Jim.’ ‘I’m not subhuman because I’m short, Jim.’ ‘I’m not subhuman because I’m young, because I’m black, because I’m blonde, because I’m fifty-! Snrk, it’s not even just young people. That was gold Jenna, people are running with it, it resonates.”

“I didn’t even mean to say it, it was-I got a little carried away-”

“And that’s why it stuck! That’s probably why he ended it there. It was real and it encapsulated your entire argument, that metahumans are people, that this is racism through and through. It WAS a fuck you to Gillesby.”

“My parents are going to kill me.”

“Maybe if YOU HAD actually told Gillsby to fuck off-but you can’t help where ‘America’s youth’ is taking things.” Clarice lit up, tabbing out. “We should make shirts! Shirts on the website, with a fill in blank just like these people are doing-silver text on blue.”

“Oh my God, they really will kill me-my mom, she’s going to freak out. ‘He’s a congressman Jenna! Now you have shirts!’...I’m going to get my Dad one, he’d probably think it was funny.”

“We’ve got to keep spreading awareness, get people involved, and that’ll be another way to do it.”

“And launch a lawsuit.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely step two.” Clarice nodded, clicking back out to give the website one final, last look before finally publishing it live. The phone to her right went green. “As soon as anything comes in on the hotline or in email, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thanks. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Hey, we gotta look out, right? And...I’m still your friend, Jenna, Velocity or no. It’s good to be talking to you again, really.”

“Thanks, Claire. Thanks a million times over.” Both of them were quiet for a moment, feel good feelings palpable on the line. “And stay tuned for tomorrow too, newshound-pretty sure Deep Blue’s going public on just what that offered Asylum is-and what Adamant’s been appointed to, too.”
 
Two days later:

The pinstripe suit was rather chic on the amazonian woman’s streamlined build, perfectly presentable, professional. The thick patch of blood red hair high at the back of her head was in it’s usual ponytail, a thick band of shaped metal at the base of it. Three large blue stones shimmered in the bright fluorescent lighting, along with some sort of crystalline brooch pinned to her lapel.

Otherwise, Lana of Atlantis, once better known as Deep Blue-bore no jewels or finery befitting a princess. She had a much more important role, serving as one of two emissaries for the mythical city that was Atlantis.

Luminescent yellow eyes looked over the few notes and rolled pieces of parchment before her, prim and proper and utterly at ease amidst the murmurs and rustlings of the senators around them. If anything, she felt energized-in her chest was a rising sense of purpose, even elation. Years and years ago, she had come to the surface dreaming of making contact, bridging the gap between the surface world and her people. She had found the greatest friends a person could hope for and memories she treasured even now-but had left with the bitter taste of defeat and betrayal in the aftermath of rehab.

Now though, now she stood as an official ambassador between peoples, and she did not stand alone.

“You ready?” She murmured, eyes sliding from her podium to her partner’s before up to the man himself. Despite her six feet of height, she still had to look up.
 
Adamant struck a more recognizable figure: A-2 horsehide jacket, blue jeans, blue collar and casually ruffled, in comparison to the knife-edge fashion and professional dress prevalent elsewhere in the room. No one could take it from him, though - it's the same uniform he's worn all the way through his career as a hero, taken straight from a pin-up from the fifties, his style contemporary with Marlon Brando or Robert Redford. Heavy boots don't do the carpeting any favors, either, but lend his tread an intimidating reverberation, audible throughout the chamber with each strike of the bootheel. He's here on business just as much as any senator or representative, but the proclamation his attire gives is this: his business is not politics.

"I don't need to psyche myself up for this," Elias says. There's peace in his voice. He's smiling, and it has a hard edge, as he stares out at these men and women that have chosen to ignore his family's need, then prosecute them in their suffering. Folded jackets and suits, scattered papers, grey hairs and lined faces. They slouch in their chairs and chatter, eyes darting, smiles absent. The low susurrus of speech in the room is tense and stressed. No one is laughing. No one comes to talk to them. This is a place that hates itself and the people that run it. Only the craven prosper. Elias meets Senator Gillesby's eyes over the heads of half the room, where the politician is seated in a back corner of the room with a coven of allies. His nose is wrinkled, neck arched back. His mouth curls downward, even across this distance.

Elias's shoulders roll, and his stance squares up. His smile widens visibly, teeth glinting white beneath his lips.

"Oh," he says, soft, "Long, this has been coming. For you, and for me, and for all those like us. It is time to be heard."

He reaches up and clasps Lana's shoulder in companionable reassurance, steps up beside her shoulder. The room fails to quiet down, ignoring Jenna as she stands at her podium. It's a snub as clear and dismissive as locking the doors on them.

Elias's hands come up, and blur together. The crack of flesh colliding and air displacing ricochets about the room, the clap loud as a gunshot. It draws flinches from all across the room, and the echoes are audible even as they bounce down the connected hallways. Silence rings with a dial tone.

Adamant's smile is sunny-bright, as he turns and inclines his head to Lana.

A throat clears, and one man rises to his feet: Vice President Gail Torrence, a heavyset man in his early sixties, elected to put a moderate balance on his young firebrand President's card. His silver hair and perpetual faint bemusement has always lent him a grandfatherly air, and now it makes him look startled and docile as he blinks at the two heroes awaiting introduction.

"If I may call this session to order, then?" he asks into his microphone. The room is still even now, and he waits a couple of seconds before realizing that the dead silence is going to persist. "Well - then - the Floor recognizes Ambassador Lana of - er - the city-state of Atlantis."

It's clear the sentence fumbles in his mouth, slightly incredulous as he says it, but equally that he can't deny she is clearly not human. Atlantis's famous reticence to involve itself in surface affairs has been interpreted as a sort of public disregard, and since they don't accept inspectors or ambassadors of their own, no one really understands its size or even really, how much of it exists. It's a mystery to this day.
 
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Charging into battle with Adamant was as invigorating as it was alongside any Atlantean, and but standing in the middle of these bureaucrats with him made the troublemaker in her a little giddy, too. One of those sharp toothed, shiny grins steals across her face before she ducks her head and smothers it, taking in the room with a final predatory glance. The flared fins on either side of her head flatten back as he raises his hands-and claps.

That did the trick, in a hurry.

Kingdom of Atlantis.” Lana corrects the beleaguered older man smoothly. It’s a bit too nationalistic to be gracious-there’s pride and maybe even offense there, though city-state was honestly an accurate description. In her grandfather’s day, no one would have blinked at it. Laurent would not have blinked at it. But she would not have these men sit here thinking her brother was little more than a mayor rather than what he was-King under the sea. The world wasn’t as it once was-nations spanned continents rather than the smaller walled fiefdoms before her birth, and the even smaller lands before then...save a few supposed deviations.

She had never bothered to study terribly much on it.

“Kingdom, of Atlantis.” Vice President Torrence repeats with an owlish blink, the blue scaled woman’s luminescent yellow eyes holding his gaze for several heartbeats-before he almost absently sat down. Her eyes finally left him, moving from person to person with a slightly more neutral, fair expression.

“I thank you for the audience senators, especially on such a historic occasion. It has been several millennia since a representative of Atlantis has stood in greeting with so large a political body of the surface. My brother the King sends his regards.” A slight incline of her head before her already straight posture impossibly straightened yet further.

“Regards, and a few important declarations. For I stand here not just with my friend and comrade, a man I know you all know very well.” Lana turned to consider Elias fondly a moment, a hand to his shoulder. “But I stand with King Laurent’s second appointed ambassador, a man recently adopted as one of our own. This man is an Atlantean same as I, now, and where Elias Halwell and I go, the will of the King goes with us. Where we speak, the King speaks. You are now so introduced.”

She released him and turned her gaze back to the vice president, no longer fond-and then to Gillesby in particular. In the back of her mind Anhinga’s voice echoed, sardonic and idle and flat over the communicator so many years ago.

They’ve called us here to martyr ourselves.

They were all traitors, these men. All of them. If she had it her way, she’d take the newly adopted Atlantean parahumans, descend-and never give these men and women the time of day ever again, save for, perhaps, combat.

It wasn’t that Lana wished to do them bodily harm, exactly...it was just she doubted any of them would speak and act as they did if the threat of a duel was looming overhead.

Ah, well.
 
Senator Gillesby leans over and murmurs something to another Senator nearby. After a moment, that man stands and waits to be recognized: Senator Kevin Townshend, a relatively new appointee from Arkansas, elected on the same platform that his senior now represents: tighter civilian control, immigration restrictions, a reduction in foreign aid; the Border Party, to match the Border Patrol. Its proponents aren't fond of anywhere outside the States, and anything they can't control.

"The Senate welcomes the ambassadors of Atlantis," he says, unctuous. There's something unsettling about this man; Gillesby wears his prejudice and his oaths on his sleeve, but Townshend is the sort of man that calls votes on Thanksgiving Day, that slips the amendments onto the bill at the last second and bogs proposals down in debate chambers and committees rather than have a record voting against them. He is a career politician, through and through, despite his youth. The distinct gelled black hair and flat, photogenic smile match his character. "Though, given that ambassadorial appointments are an internal matter, the Senate wonders what the thrust of your motion concerns, as you do not require our input on such matters."

Elias's mouth seals into a firm line. The tack being taken, then, is that he never had any legal records in the first place, and thus the government owed him nothing. The rest, perhaps, but who is left to owe indemnities to? The only government-recognized hero left, of course: Cid. If he raises the specter of Immolation, they will graciously agree to every statement he makes, and hand Cid every weapon he will ever need in the name of men and women he has disrespected and, now, sent to their own graves.

The Senate, as ever, exists to deny others the power it has gathered for itself.

"Don't worry," Elias says. He doesn't bother to wait to be recognized, and Torrence doesn't call him down for it; the hero speaks from the bottom of his lungs, not shouting but loud, resonant, and he can be heard clearly over anyone else in the immense room. "We're here, as representatives of a sovereign nation, to offer our aid in these trying times to a beleaguered people."

Gillesby gets it first. His face transforms, ugliness rippling across the silver-lined features as his hands clench together, fingers laced. For all that though he doesn't move, well aware of how the game is played.

"Lana?" Elias says, turning to his compatriot.
 
Lana sees that flicker of ugly. Her pupils dilate in response, and it’s all she can do to resist baring her sharp, shiny teeth at him. No, she was better trained than that-but the faraway dream of a duel continued to be appealing.

Elias gives her the floor, and Lana’s shoulders remain perfectly straight as the merwoman lifts the appropriate scroll of parchment and begins to read.

“The King’s declaration is this;” When she speaks, it’s not the voice of diplomacy, but one of confident declaration. This, was Lana of Atlantis, daughter and sister of kings-she’s not here to argue, do battle, or even negotiate-she’s here to declare Laurent’s will. These petty men with their underhanded, endless rhetoric-she had no use for them. As Deep Blue she might have, once-but they had repaid that loyalty with treachery long ago.

“‘I, Laurent of Atlantis, King beneath the Sea, hereby proclaim the persecuted metahumans to be my people. It is to them I extend ἄσυλον-the right of asylum. Should they so choose to invoke it, the sanctuary that is every Atlantean’s birthright shall be afforded to them, for they too are now Atlantean.

As my forebears have so ruled, no monster, no man, and no usurpers shall lay claim to the Atlantean people greater than that of their King’s. So is the law of Laurent of Atlantis, King beneath the sea.’”

Lana repeated the declaration in Spanish, in French, and finally-in Greek.

She then allowed the parchment to roll back up with a snap before she returned it to the podium. “I understand the United States does not limit dual citizenship.” She tells the gaping room. “It pleases my brother to do the same.”

Bomb. Dropped.
 
There's a rumble of discourse in the Senate, too many voices muttering to get a good sense of the room entire, but faces stand out. Gillesby's face turns red and his hands clenching until the knuckles turn white. Townshend, still standing, face impeccably polite. Torrence, the Speaker, rests two fingers upon the bridge of his nose, talking a long breath. Down on the junior benches, another Senator stands, this one young and hard-nosed; his suit lacks the tailoring of the others, and there's weight on him, that distinct muffin-top look of a man wearing pants he's too big for.

"The floor recognizes Senator Jack Laurent, of New Mexico," Torrence says, without particularly looking up.

"Do you have accommodations fit for surface people?" Senator Laurent says. No preamble, no statement of acknowledgement. His question is just thrust out there.

"I live there now," Elias replies, for all his booming volume, conversational in focus.

"Is Atlantis prepared for the education necessary for the unique nature of their guests?" Laurent probes further. His face hasn't changed, still grim and stress-lined.

"I am," Elias says, and his tone is final.

"Alright then," Laurent says, and drops back into his chair heavily. There's no irritation or denigration in him; perhaps his manner really is just that abrupt. In comparison, Townshend is still standing, and Torrence indicates him to speak next as he checks his own notes.

"It's interesting that Atlantis has determined to make citizens of another nation its own as its first act of diplomacy with the surface," Townshend says, bland. If he's disturbed, he doesn't look it; he has exactly the same polite smile as before, unaltered even a whit. "While your King is certainly entitled to extend that invitation, citizenship carries with it both rights and responsibilities, and there are those among us that have yet to satisfy theirs."

Gillesby stands. Townshend grants him a nod and promptly seats himself; Torrence announces the change of speaker, and now Gillesby stares at Lana and Elias, totally fearless. Either of them could kill this man where he stands, but the force of his disdain pushes back that reality; he looks at them like children.

"Is this invocation individual, or shall our citizens be given pardon by fiat of foreign nations?" Gillesby says, with biting sarcasm. "You cannot merely poach the people of another nation, Princess Lana. Unless you care to be Somalis with a crown, I suppose."
 
Gillesby stares at the two emissaries, disdainful and condescending, and then he begins to speak. Lana’s pupils dilate even further, her eyes little more than the thinnest of strips of luminescent yellow and holes of reflective black. Now she smiles, shiny, sharp, flat walled teeth fitting together in a solid shield of predatory mean. But when she speaks, she’s almost bored sounding-a bureaucrat.

“You speak of pardon?” Lana gives Elias a thoughtful look, the predatory smile dropping off. “I wasn’t aware the metahuman citizens of the United States were prisoners.” But that’s neither here nor there, and she returns her attention to Gillesby with a shrug.

“What you choose to do with your people is not our concern, nor are we in the business of forced Atlantean citizenship-piracy, as you so mentioned, has always been a surface dweller phenomenon.” A forgiving smile before she taps the scroll. “Regardless-my brother the king has made his declaration. Atlantis is now a metahuman birthright, and should they choose to invoke it, sanctuary is theirs.” Lana taps the scroll again, this time a little more pointedly.
 
"Good," Gillesby says, shortly. "Then I move to have the ambassador barred from the United States, on the grounds that the only diplomatic contact this Atlantis has had with the civilized world having been to blatantly attempt to harvest the citizens of another nation. This Senate has enough issues without dealing with bad faith actors."

He drops back into his chair, staring at Lana balefully as whispers break out among the Senate, but the effect is somewhat ruined by Elias immediately breaking into laughter. His echoing cackles reverberate about the chamber, and steal much of Gillesby's thunder just by how genuine they are - the man himself is almost doubled over, and he straightens himself up and settles his jacket back onto his shoulders with a shrug, still chuckling.

"Oh, man," Elias says, unintentional, though the microphone picks it up. "Alright, next guy."

Torrence clears his throat. "Well, personal opinions aside, mister Halwell, that is a legitimate proposal that must be addressed by the Senate."

Elias gives him a look. It's the sardonic stare; it's ten thousand years of are-you-fucking-serious, passed down in the genes of the human race and deployed against idiots and genetic dead ends in a last hope to change their course and save them from their own stupidity. There are those immune to it, but Gail Torrence today is not, and his eyes flick down against the intensity of the disdain present in that stare.

"You got a basic problem in your execution there," Elias says, and then nothing more, content to let Lana illustrate the fault in their reasoning processes, that being, what are they going to do about it? None of the Senate have the ability to bar the League from going anywhere, just based on the fact that no conventional forces can really stop them. Unless they plan to carpet bomb Lana or throw tanks at her, there's nothing that can stop her from doing what she wants.
 
The only diplomatic contact?!

This time, Lana's teeth DO bare-or nearly, because before her lips (or lack there of) fully pull back, Elias bursts into laughter.

She pauses, gaze and upper body turning towards him mid bristle-and the extreme offense passes, the insult rolling off of her. These men are beneath her. Just-salt of the earth beneath her. Her pupils contract back to a normal dilation, and the tension eases out of her.

Partially webbed hands lightly, almost gracefully grip the edges of the podium-now that she's sure she won't end up splintering the wood in temper-as she turns back, composed. It was good Elias was here-she might have thrown the damned thing, otherwise.

Basic problem in execution indeed-and more than one.

"I understand, Speaker." She graciously allows, businesslike. "But while the United States and international law certainly allow for the expulsion of those afforded diplomatic immunity, my banishment would actually take two votes."

It was Lana's turn to be patiently condescending. "Because of course, 'The Atlantean Peace Act of 1997' would -also- need to be overturned, should you decide to expel Atlantean Emissaries. I assume it escaped Mr. Gillesby's recollection, but the bill was introduced and made law after, with the help of my teammates Invincibelle and Velocity, I defeated Warwick Somerville, in my efforts as Deep Blue." She inclines her head towards the senior senator of that state. "He was ripping through Manchester, I do believe. We also helped with the relief efforts."

More murmurs.

"My time as Deep Blue,". Lana says, and her voice becomes tight as her eyes move from senator to senator. To think she had once, years ago, dreamed of building a bridge between peoples, for the bounties of Atlantis and the wonders of the surface might someday be shared.

To think she had risked exile, life and limb for them. These men who had sent her friends to die for them. Ignored what was left in the aftermath.

Traitors.

"Was absolutely Atlantean diplomatic contact. Everything I did as a heroine, from 1996 to 2008, was Atlantean diplomacy, and an act of love. The service and sacrifice of my comrades, of metahumans in general-these too, were acts of love."

Some of them, in the very least, had the decency to look ashamed. Lana doesn't care. They martyred her friends. Her people. And she had zero illusions that they wouldn't do the same cursed thing should another disaster arrive-only this time they'd send a tower full of children.

Lana drew back to her full height, the tightness leaving her voice. "Assuming, of course, you gentlemen are indeed lawful representatives, I will wait to hear the results of your votes. If not, then by all means-arrest us."

Lana coolly gathers up her notes, the invitation frankly laughable. "In closing, I should also like to note that expelling King Laurent's emmissaries would unfortunately render the previously assumed, open border agreement null and void. Close your borders to our diplomats, and we will be forced to close ours to surface dwellers without formal treaties. We shall arrange these country by country should that become the case."

"And where exactly are your borders? What seabed lands would we possibly have interest in?" A middle aged man inquires, incredulous.

Lana had already started packing up, sliding papers into her attache case-but on this question she stopped, blinked at the case-and then and cast him a disbelieving glance, clearly finding the question stupid.

"The -ocean-, sir. My brother is King OF the sea. He may rule from beneath the surface, but rest assured he -does- rule it, as has my family for millennia. You currently traverse the waters with his blessing. Those are our lands. Atlantis is our home, but the ocean is our domain."

And frankly, it was about time someone said it. She was past the point of wanting to share it.

She snapped the bag closed and turned to leave without waiting for a dismissal.

"Do let us know the results of your vote, senators. My brother will be most interested in the result."
 
Elias patiently waits for Lana to get everything ready, then steps forward in his own right, and looks around at the august body that has ruined so much of that which he loves, in this dreary chamber. Ten years passed, and he can look at the names that haven't changed; perhaps half the Senate is still the same, but even with the new blood this place is still sick, necrotic with indifference and apathy. He takes a good, hard look at this place, and finds that what he feels is a hapless, dismissive irreverence. There is nothing left for them to ruin. They can spit at his shadow as he departs, and that is the limit of their power. They can deny benefits they never gave, and withhold recognition of names they never bothered to learn. In this room, invisible though it may be, is the parasite that drew the noose tight about the neck of the League, and strangled it in its time of need, and in the shadow of that deed there is no wound they can inflict on him now worth merit.

Worse, there is nothing here to help.

"Listen," Elias says, soft, into the microphone. He doesn't have to speak loud. He never does. "You're on your own now."

Then he turns around and walks away with Lana when she goes, and that is the last and only time that Adamant speaks to the government of the United States.

~*~

It's back at Marie's bunker that they reconvene. Elias shows up with an entire stove on one shoulder, not the little camping edition he'd left here for Marie, and sets up in a corner, baking something that completely overwrites the concrete-and-steel sharp odor of this place with the warm scent of bread and cherries.

"It's one thing to know that the Senate passes whatever Gillesby wants, and another to stand there and watch him try to disbar Lana for giving people somewhere to go," he says casually. The crisp pop of plastic spatula and ceramic bowl echoes about the place as he mixes together something else, checks the oven again, and whirls back around, apron flailing wildly as it tries to keep up. "I mean, there were a few guys there that didn't look on board, but they didn't say or do anything, so I mean, fuck 'em."

He glances over at Marie and Lana. "Still, at least we know they can't do anything about it. God, can you imagine them trying to come in scuba suits to arrest you? How long do you think that'd last?"

Atlantis is well below the diving distance for anyone without a submarine, and he well knows it, but the image is still ridiculous.

"Very decisive of you, Lana," Vivienne says approvingly, from where Elias has leaned a portrait of herself in a corner. "Zesty, appropriate. You looked professional and prepared."
 
Marie had about had a conniption, his carting in a full blown fucking -oven-. She had glanced over from the dozens of monitors, distracted-and then taken an almost humourous double take, a dart of her eyes and a sudden head and shoulder turn all. Her mouth had opened to say something-and then closed with a furrow of her brow as Lana started in with her debriefing, and asked Marie for a transcript of Jenna's interview with Avenhart. By the time she'd gotten that and what she had on the grassroots outreach and protest movement popping up, Lana's brief spiel about their shared message-he'd settled into baking.

It was her own fault, really. There's also something somehow concerning about it, and his outburst over these corrupt assholes comes to mind, then passes to note the current high energy-shes not sure what she'd call it. Compulsion, maybe.

Well, if he wanted to bake in his shitty (but since eclipsed) consolation prize, let him. That he'd brought Vivienne and Lana here rather than a communicator briefing wasn't lost on her either-but that was fine too, for now.

If it makes him feel better.

And now the place smelled like yet another appealing thing she doesn't deserve, but this was infinitely worse than the arguably healthy soup. This was baked god-damned grandma goods, and it was mucking up her lair's coldly efficient, constructed misery.

If it...makes him feel better. That was the current mantra running through her head, still determined to -try- to be something less than shitty a person to and around him, a friend. No more excuses.

"So far she's brought three individuals down, gone and gotten them herself. Laurent's taken great delight in appointing what's basically a tour guide, and vetting tutors himself to then present to you, Elias.". Lana comments, leaning against one side of the console and flipping through the printed information about the volunteer organization that had sprung up seemingly overnight with the help of Jenna's friend. She can't help but feel a little proud, and maybe even a little wistfully nostalgic. But that's neither here nor there.

"We'll want some kind of record of who the hell's down there." Marie notes, still a little irritated-and impressed-with that particular initiative. "Some sort of vetting process, a neutral ground to conduct it in. For those in immediate danger of conscription, we should have a surface staging area."

Lana follows Marie's train of thought. It's not so much paranoia as prudence, and she falls in with the thinking immediately.

"And with that static teleporter we've set up, the technology isn't much at risk. No one but us have personal ones." Lana notes, an old and clear consideration being given to protecting their tech-the Front had always been more cloak and dagger of League subsidiaries.

"So long as coords stay hardwired." Marie grumbles. The interface down there was pretty basic right now-an LCD touch screen with scant few options. Eventually, she'd put someone on the task of approving new location requests as they came in, but it could wait. Peter's moved on to more important, complicated tasks-so it'd have to be some other kid's job, she's got him plenty busy as it is.

"Yes, no accidental ports to the bottom of the ocean, agreed."

Lana's eyes flick to Elias as he speaks, and she gives a shake of her head and an unsurprised shrug of her shoulders. "There's a reason I left. They were just as dismissive about aiding survivors, and Gillesby? Down right acidic. Launched into a diatribe about secret identities and other distracting nonsense."

"Politicians are always dirty." Marie intones darkly, ever a ray of sunshine. "People seek power to specifically to abuse it, or are put in puppet positions so their masters can."

"I'm sure there are some genuinely wholesome idealists who rise to public office. It's just that none of them are senators." Lana distractedly chimes, picking up and reading through yet another compiled report.

"They don't stay that way." Marie's doing her own work, what she can with the distraction of people in here. Her voice is flat and factual, a gesture to an old CCTV monitor of various Samson locales. "And here, we kill the 'good ones' before even the corruption has time to set in."

"Water's sake, Protagonist."

The vigilante only shrugs. It's no wonder her outlook's particularly bleak on politicians however-Samson was a den of organized crime with a government rife with corruption. Recent events in the last ten years not withstanding, Protagonist and Gideon had always thought the government borderline fraudulent.

Elias' statement draws Lana's amused gaze. "At those depths and outside our protective dome, the strongest of human subs would be turned to recycling." She teases.

"And that's why when Warwick tried to behead me, his sword thunked rather than sliced. We Atlanteans evolved or were created to withstand those immense undersea pressures.". Thoughtful a moment. "Probably also why Rush cut to the chase and tried to vibrate me to death. Sure wasn't built to withstand THAT."

Vivienne surprisingly compliments her, and everything about this here, even almost Protagonist-feels good. Comraderie.

"Thank you, Vivienne. I'll admit though, I almost wish they HAD tried to arrest me." She might be a practiced diplomat, but she was also a warrior, this Second Born. "They were brave enough to threaten me with expulsion, I will give them that."

"They are aware you control water, aren't they?" Marie suddenly says, the same flat delivery and usual matter of fact tone she says everything. She's not terse, though. Neutral.

Lana turns back to the woman, but the question is...well, Marie doesn't ask questions, certainly not obvious ones. She doesn't look up, just keeps tapping away at something on the tablet, referencing a monitor of data-and then back down, working away.

"I don't see how they wouldn't.". Lana says after a moment. "Even Gillesby's selective memory can't have forgotten -that-."

First diplomatic contact-Lana slaps the report down on the memory of that disdainful contact and crosses her arms against her flat chest. "My skin's scaly and blue, but I'm not sure he hates me for that quite as much as he hates me for possessing powers he doesn't have."

Marie still doesn't look up, but a second flat question leaves her lips, just as matter of fact as the first.

"Are they also aware the human body is approximately sixty percent water?"

"-Neptune-, Marie." Lana murmurs, wide eyed as she straightens off the console, gaping at her.

"Brain and heart are over seventy percent water. Lungs, eighty.". The way the woman delivers it, you could almost overlook-or maybe just flat doubt-the intended humor.

But then she looks up, and there's no viciousness or dark pleasure to her, no rolling waves of malice. "Not brave." Marie corrects the earlier assessment. "Stupid."

Lana laughed, and just like that Marie returned to her tablet as if nothing had happened. But there's a level of almost comfort here-or maybe not comfort, but at least a lack of irritation, the ever present tension in her back and shoulders just slightly less than usual, a noted lack of twitchiness.

She'd only bothered to exchange jokes with Anhinga before. Occasionally dry, sardonic, sarcastic statements-but little else, not with her.

Lana feels vaguely honored.
 
"Well we always knew Jenna was going to fight a war even if she had to by herself," Elias comments, glancing up from the stove. "If we need somewhere on the surface, I still have the Coulee, that hasn't been confiscated yet, though I don't doubt they're trying to nationalize it in the Senate right now."

How they'll manage that without mentioning the League proper or that Elias and Jenna walked out on the Senate, he doesn't know. Probably just dedicate it all to Cid and Sarah, again, then ignore that anyone else was ever part of the group.

"The most important thing is to get the word out and the offer among the Tower, which is sticky," Elias says. "My running thought was to have Peter deliver a bunch of cards saying a way out will be available at such-and-such a time, and - somehow - have them self destruct, but that doesn't keep Cid's little Gestapo force from knowing what's going on. Anything else requires face-to-face communication and puts those two in more danger than I'm comfortable with. I already don't like Jenna being anywhere near the Tower. I remember what Cid said."

He shakes his head, and glances back at the other two women. "Still, it's good to have them at the back of us. Far as I'm concerned, Lana, the surface doesn't hold much for me and mine at this point. Ninety percent of the living space on the planet is underwater. It's time to expand to some new frontiers."

He taps his fingers against the stove, thinking. "I need to get Laurent and Rowan to meet somehow. It'd be tough to swing it happening, but those two? They could change the world between them."

Laurent, master of the seas, and Rowan, the cultivator of life. It makes him shiver to think about it.

"Come to think of it, did either of you ever meet the old man?" Elias asks, turning back to them. "He mostly stayed out on the Pacific Rim and kept it quiet, and I dunno if either of you ever traveled that far."
 
Jenna was committed if nothing else, Marie agrees with this. At the same time-kid’s a variable she can’t easily control. Naive, quick to act, and altogether too independent.

Her eyes flick to a black screened monitor with an unlabeled, scrolling graph-Paige’s heart rate currently the usual resting 48 beats per minute-a number that, while low, was due to her athleticism, not bradycardia-tracked across the screen in a white line. A blue one lined the bottom-no detectable use of speed force. She watches that line longer than it made any sense to. She’s tired, but when isn’t she tired? She’d slept three hours earlier this morning, it should have been enough to power through on more than fumes.

No wonder she’s hit a wall on that project.

"I could set up a shell company, use it to purchase the property.” Marie hears herself say, slowly pulling her gaze away and dropping it back to her tablet. She already HAS several shell companies, but the particulars aren’t something she plans to discuss anytime soon-better they not know just who’s money had bought most of her-and by extension their-equipment.

"My running thought was to have Peter deliver a bunch of cards-”

“No.” It wasn’t particularly forceful, or terse-it was just a flat dismissal of the idea, one Marie doesn’t even consider the merit of. It was a knee jerk, instinctive decision, but no, she would not be sending Peter on any sort of anything back into that place, direct opposition to Cid. He had suffered enough of Cid’s fucking mind games, that abuse.

He had suffered enough.

But she doesn’t like the idea of Jenna going either. Their unwitting trojan horse was now very much aware, and had just called for more government oversight of Cid’s little domain, called out his benefactors in the senate racist, and placed his ivory tower in the same vein as internment camps. He can’t be pleased.

“...but I’ll come up with something.”

She’s still brooding over this while Elias talks, and part of her idly wonders just how long it would be before he descended down there-and didn’t come back. She can’t blame him, and the world certainly didn’t deserve him. It never had, and for what was left of the heroes and the persecuted parahumans-he’s Moses in the promised land.

No, she can’t blame him-though she wants to. She desperately wants to feel angry with him, betrayed-any of the familiar, ever burning rage that had fueled her for so goddamned long.

Instead, she doesn’t know what she feels anymore, when she thinks about Elias Halwell, and how he deserved more than just a purpose, a stake in The War. Tired, mostly. She honestly tries not to think about it-there’s enough on her plate, and Adamant’s clock isn’t the only one counting down faster than she’d like.

~*~

“We went out there once- Sam, Laura, and I. When we were teenagers.” Lana reminisced. Sam had talked to him alone for a long time. She had said-not that she had attempted to meld or deep dive into it, but that his mind wasn’t so much closed to her as it was alien-she’d seen tree rings during her passive, intuitive ‘skim’. Hundreds and hundreds of tree rings.

It’s good to see Elias thinking beyond-all of this bullshit. Dazzled, wondering. He and Laurent were honestly similar in that respect-dreamers, but dreamers capable of immense things.

“I get the feeling you and he are going to be talking a hell of a lot, Elias.” The princess muses, fond. “Good luck ever getting him to stop.”
 
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Elias shrugs, not particularly bothered by Marie shutting him down. "Alright. It's your play."

He's not a tactical genius, he knows, and Marie's much better at the fiddly bits, at the precise application of power. While he doubts Peter would be in danger over doing this - he has the run of the Tower all the time, anyways - it's not his call, and Marie knows more about Peter's power and skillset than he does.

Instead, he checks back with the oven and pulls out a straightforward, no frills cherry pie, which he sets on the top of the stove and leaves to cool. A secondary container comes out, and this is just roasted cherries - he sets those aside as well, and then slings the apron over a nearby handrail. He'd done the entire sequence without oven mitts, naturally. Probably hadn't even felt it.

"We need to be talking," Elias says with a shrug. "Taking us in, it's going to be a big difference. I'd like to be more than just mouths to feed. We'll carry our weight. Pretty sure we can manage that much."

He pauses and gathers his thoughts. "We still need to pick up Gideon at some point, or at least move him out of his doomsday bunker. He's somewhere in the Blue Ridge Mountains, right? In the Carolinas? I dunno where the fuck, he thought I was a lizard person or something. The rest are on their own little fiefs."

He bites his lip. "Prospero would be a big help with getting people out of the Tower, but he ran with his own little group, that Gulf Defense Alliance."

The GDA had been a pretty detached group - rather than fight supervillains and crime, they'd focused on manipulating weather patterns and dampening the seasonal rampages of El Nino and hurricanes that pounded the southern United States. It had only ever been four or five people, and of them only Prospero and Montgolier had survived.

No one that Elias knew of had even tried to talk to them. They had sunk into isolation by the time he came back from the melting stone that marked Rahab's grave.
 
"Taking us in, it's going to be a big difference. I'd like to be more than just mouths to feed. We'll carry our weight. Pretty sure we can manage that much."

“Laurent believes this. He is very invested in helping, genuinely so, in his new people-but also excited at what sorts of cultural changes might arise from harboring them. Years ago, we dreamed about bridging the gap between peoples, bringing back inspiration, real and actual change in our static, ancient society. We thought that’d still be change brought by Atlanteans, and-”

Lana blinks, then smiles. “Well, we were not wrong actually, were we? Innovation, the change it will bring will be invaluable. You heard Laurent about that.” They’re two peas in a pod in a lot of ways, honestly. "There's a reason you commend so much of my brother's respect." She notes.

Talk turns to their scattered comrades, and Lana opens her mouth to guess, but Marie’s voice cuts in from where she’s retreated even farther into her work, now back at the console workstation and working the keyboard rather than her tablet.

“I know exactly where he is.” Marie states, flat and the terseness picked back up. Lana frowns at Elias a little, but it’s not the time to talk about that particular...subject. He’s right, of course, he’s absolutely right, and she's sure Marie would share that knowledge if Elias asked her to-she's less certain if it came from her-but she needs to talk to him, later, about it.

For now though- “Prospero would be a big help for anything we tried to do-but is that the plan? Move against Cid?”

“Yes.” Marie confirms, flat. More doesn't come.

“Laurent’s extension of sanctuary is based on willing volunteers.” Lana points out to both of them, a little troubled.

“I’m sure the Tower and the senators will graciously provide a handy list of would be immigrants.” Came the sharp, venom laced reply. Lana frowns, the earlier camaraderie she'd felt shifting to resigned disappointment. Well, Marie's good mood was nice while it lasted-Protagonist was back to business. Lana leaves it alone. She's done a lot of thinking on everything Elias had said about the small woman currently stuck in that wheelchair.

“It was not a metaphor, the last bit of that missive.” Lana states instead. “‘No claim greater than that of thy King’. It’s a right of kings to their subjects, and, more importantly in this case, a right of subjects to their king. If people invoke that right, and anyone stands in the way of it, Laurent will be furious. He is much more forgiving than I am, but he is still King, and this law is as old as Atlantis.” She looks at Elias. “He'll want to dispatch soldiers to enforce it, and then we've got an active fight with Cid, and a show of Atlantean force against surface world law enforcement or troops. The Tower is...not ideal, but I was hoping it would not come to that.”

“It’s a state mandated prison locking up and militarizing kids, and on top of that, El Cid is making the questionable decision to be in my fucking way.” Marie glances up and her gaze is that opaque, all encompassing intensive stare. “Of course it’s going to come to that. Elias is right-Prospero would be invaluable in the effort."

“And Sarah?” Lana’s not comfortable with any of this. “Just going to waltz in there and kidnap her kids?”

Marie’s expression darkens, and then the impassive mask re solidifies as her eyes flick away. “I’d like to waltz in and kidnap her too.” She mutters darkly, and that helps soothe Lana-she’s worried about Daybreak. Marie shakes her head, continues on. “We were always going to have to crack that thing, it was just a matter of timing and how best to prevent the wards tearing themselves to pieces with infighting. As for Daybreak-you can’t get much safer than Atlantis, and her husband just went and got two of their charges murdered behind her back. She’ll choose the kids. She’ll choose us.”

And then Elias would have her back again, and El Cid could go fuck himself-she’d heard Laurent’s ‘except for one’. If anything, that might make Atlantis that much more attractive to Sarah-denial or not, Marie thinks the woman knows her relationship with her husband isn’t what it ought to be.

Lana’s nodding, thinking. “Well. I don’t see why I’m sitting down with a man we’re set to betray, then.”

“Me either."

Marie responds with a shrug. Better Lana than either of them though-Elias might throw him out a window, and Marie would be altogether too tempted to demonstrate the darker capabilities of their stolen teleportation technology.

She realizes she's scowling up at a monitor innocuously still running code, Jasper daintily stepping into view just beneath it. She sits down, tail around her feet-and watches her back.

Marie exhales. "But it could buy time, give us something to use. You're the diplomat here-I've always hated him."

"Oh, we know." Lana retrieved her attache case. "Him and just about everyone else."

Marie just shrugs at that.
 
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"It's not a forcible breakout," Elias says, mouth grim. "I'd like to just give them the offer and let them think on it at their leisure, but Cid claims his authority extends over all metahumans, and he'd try to detain us just for showing up. So the invariable result is that we have to resort to subterfuge to even find out whether his people want to stay or go, because Cid isn't interested in even asking them the question."

He stands at the stove for a long moment.

"If it comes to a fight - and it will, if Cid figures out what we're doing - I will handle it myself," Elias says, abrupt. "My name is already verboten in the eyes of the law, and no one alive is seriously going to attempt arresting me. Laurent and his people can still face consequences, particularly if he sends people ashore. If I have to phrase it as setting order in my own house, I will. Cid took root and choked what is left of the heroes under my watch, faulty as it was. It should fall to me to right it."

"I cannot change the rights and privileges he has awarded himself, and I won't force anyone to leave. But if I have to pull the doors off his Tower myself and stand in the gap, so that those within have a chance to see the light of day, then that is what I will do. I will see Sarah and have an answer of her as to what she decides, and I will retrieve those that are mine and see them to a home where they will know safety."

Adamant turns and glances at the other two women, eyes sharp. "We give parley to Cid because he bore our name for a time, and it will fall to us to strip it from him should he go down this path. He will not walk with even the faintest intimation that he has my blessing in this. He will walk alone. And I will pull from beneath his feet those he has bent the backs of with the weight of his Tower."

"It's past time for us to make hard choices and find new roads, and I will have no one say that they did not have the choice, that they were left behind. The path to Atlantis will be held clear this once. It's time to ford the Rubicon, and stop looking back."
 
”And I will pull from beneath his feet those he has bent the backs of with the weight of his Tower.”

Lana had eyes on him from the moment he had started talking, but it’s only now that Marie’s flick over to him, her impassive mask in place and her eyes as focused as ever-but opaque, taking in everything they saw but giving nothing back in return.

He finishes, and Marie continues to watch him-while Lana begins to talk.

“Well-well, I’ll be behind you in whatever we decide to do. I know where my loyalties lie.” Laurent’s ‘Save for one…’ comes back to her, and the surprise she’d felt at it lingers, unsettles her-as much as the idea of throwing him out of his own Tower does. “We come up with a plan and-”

Whatever Marie’s thinking or feeling, the woman was inscrutable-save for her steely determination and that intense feeling of inescapable surveillance. She watches him for a solid five count as Lana talks-and then she looks away. The half backed wheelchair didn’t allow the crippled, slight woman to lean back-there’s no comfort in it. But she leans on one arm of it in the barest hint of her fatigue as her right arm reached across her body and pressed in on a paneled drawer to her left.

“-parlay as you said-he was League. Maybe we’re just giving him rope to hang himself with and I’ll accept that, and I certainly accept you righting the wrong that was him ever assuming leadership, Sarah or no Sarah-”

The drawer slides open and the vigilante withdrew an honest to God spiral flip book, pocketsized and battered looking. Some kind of list is written on it in small, cramped print, all capital letters. It’d been restructured more than once-there’s an arrow or two, a shift in whatever was on there.

“But Protagonist is right, we need more time to plan.”

“Do it.” Marie resolves from her console, dropping the notebook back into the drawer as she straightens, pushes it closed again. Lana turns to look at her, surprised. She’d just said-

“You and Jenna, today.” There’s no growl to the short sentences, but the full force of the woman’s unyielding will could be felt behind both. She doesn’t even glance back at either of them-she just starts tapping on keys. A message is sent through to Velocity’s alert system, and it takes all of four seconds for that blue line on the girl’s chair to spike up from the flatline it’d been at. More keys click away, and blueprints and satellite photos appear across the wall of monitors, lists of registered metahumans and accompanying details on others, flashing photos and data as everything compiles.

Lana takes a step back, the sudden forward momentum of the pair dizzying. “Just like that?”

“This was always going to happen.” Marie repeats. Her eyes dart to the Atlantean, pin her in place with a look. “And I counted down the days until it would for eight years. Elias is right. It’s time.”
 
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Elias starts to smile. He pulls the apron off and sets it aside with care, glances down at the pie and cherries he'd made, and shrugs as he carries them over to the fridge. "Well, I can give them to Sarah, I guess. Call it a house visit."

The joke is lighthearted, but the razor edge of his smile puts the lie to his carefree demeanor. He pulls the communicator from his belt and sets it aside, then glances over at Lana. "We can either pretend that standing in front of the Senate and denying them meant something, or we can go and deliver that proclamation and that freedom personally. I'm not a Senator or a poster boy. I do things. I wanted to be a hero, all the way back at the start, because I believed I could change the world. And maybe I can't, but I've learned that I can still save people from it, if I'm willing to put my shoulder to the grindstone."

Vivienne sighs. "I suppose I should start work to import what assets I have to Atlantis, then. They might make a decent museum."

Elias gives her a side-eye. "Was there a reason you hadn't already? You think after shunning his first offer Cid's going to care to treat you kindly?"

Vivienne blinks. "I hadn't conceived of that, I admit."

The big cook nods, then prods in Jenna's code and lifts it to his ear. "Jenna, I'm going to head down to the Tower, tear the doors off it, and ask everyone inside if they want to leave. You in?"
 
Jenna, I'm going to head down to the Tower, tear the doors off it, and ask everyone inside if they want to leave. You in?"

“She’s already in the elevator.” Marie indicates with a gesture to the elevator camera display.

“Is THAT what we’re doing?” Jenna’s voice crackles over the comm, that familiar, undeniably buoyant energy intrinsic to the heroine. On the camera feed for the enclosed space, the costumed speedster flits corner to corner in the elevator.

“Sent an alert 17 second ago.” Marie explains with a shrug. That wasn't quite light speeds-Marie estimated about one fifth. She quietly switched the display tracking speed force generation and usage to something else.

The doors slid partially open-and suddenly a very excited Jenna was at Elias’ elbow, those silver goggles up over her hairline and that pixieish, unabashed grin. “We’re really going to bust people out of that jail, they wanna go? For real?” Happy is an understatement. "Cause if so, that's the best news you could have told me aside from like, you know, congress deciding we all deserve basic human decency, 'n all."

Briefly, Marie regrets not just sending Elias with a bag of equipment and conducting this briefing over comms-but not even Jenna’s...exuberance could detract from the thrum in her blood. It doesn't even make her all that twitchy-if anything, there was something to be said for how instantly on board the young woman was.

...and maybe some suspicion? Had they not been acting today, Jenna might have beaten them to it.

Hn.

"How we going to do it?". The speedster asks.

"How had you been planning to do it?" Marie returns, and...there's almost, but not quite, a bit of inflection to her voice. Amused? Marie stamps it out-its a good day, but no time to get sloppy. She wheels back away from the console, catching a glimpse of the kid out of the corner of her eye. Jenna's flush says all it needs to.

-*-

Jenna colors, her already red undertoned russet skin darkening-a quick cough to cover up her near sputter. Worse, she can't tell if Marie's calling her out or legitimately asking what her idea had been, and either way she feels caught. Marie moves around the console without further comment, lights flickering on in the spacious area beyond-heading for the similarly styled black panels along the western wall. Somewhere over in that direction, a printer is whirring.

Jenna turns instead to Elias and Lana, the latter of whom was frowning at her. "Hey, it's not like I was going to get crazy! We were just looking at who might jump ship a while ago, and since I can go there without incident, and we've got, ya know, teleporters...just thought that hey, maybe I'd help some folks take a permanent, "unauthorized" outing if they wanted."

Jenna shrugs.

"With everything going down recently, I just don't think it's right to wait on Sarah to fix things, anymore. She woke up for a minute there, but...but." Yeah. Jenna shakes it off, flitting to-and scooping up in normal speed-Jasper.

"Anyway, I'm glad we're going to go bail out anybody wanting to bail." She says, relieved.

"You probably won't be welcome there after this, Jenna." Lana carefully notes. "Some pushback."

"Lana, I'm done being disappointed by Cid." Jenna says, a little blunt as she pets a content Jasper. Disillusionment makes burning bridges easier, especially when that bridge just leads to some asshat jailor who says his charges are menaces to society. "He's gotten to be someone I'd hate to admit -knowing-. So I don't care if he doesn't invite me to his next birthday party, okay?"

Lana shook her head. That settled it then, they were definitely moving forward.

"Then we need to figure out how best to prevent infighting. Cid and anyone following orders may not be able to touch either of you, but they can turn around and try to stop people from leaving. Then what? We fight a bunch of kids?". The resigned fishwoman says, abandoning concerns for diplomacy and shifting to ones about safety.

"Lana's right, if we're rolling in with Laurent's enmasse invite, things ARE probably going to explode. But I don't know how we subtly offer things up without tipping the wrong people off, or missing someone who would want to go.

"As you said Elias-we will leave no one who wishes to go behind. We literally can't."

"And I mean, I'm plenty fast at evacuating burning high rises, but I don't have to stop and ask each and every person if they prefer the heat or not, either."

"We need some kind of identifier...?"

"If we can hijack a communicator system or something-"

"Cards.". Says Marie. She's filled a very small duffel bag with gunmetal colored plastic discs, about an inch and a half wide and bearing a small, simple button on the front. She slings that over one toned shoulder before removing a sheet of white cardstock from the still whirring printer.

"Jenna delivers Elias' suggested cards into the hands of every single Tower occupant save for, obviously, Cid."

She offers the piece of cardstock to Elias. Four to a page, the simple info cards clearly list Laurent's declaration, and an instruction to lift the card over their head if they wished to accept. The back mentioned those who accepted would be free to return to the surface at will. Jenna could cut a hundred of them up in seconds.

"You can phase through walls and doors, but not take anyone with you." Marie says to Jenna, handing over the small duffel bag. "Slap these on any key readers to occupied rooms. Once you've been through the place top to bottom-give them a moment to read, the doors to open-and evac the building just as you would normally, right past the doors Elias will be guarding."

"Holy crap, that's stupid easy.". Jenna blurts. "It'll be two steps practically, happen all at once."

"Teleport down to Atlantis in small groups."

"I'll head down now and let them know, set up a welcoming crew.". Lana says, fully settled. If Cid wanted to try and get in the way of Elias carrying out his own and Laurent's will-well, that was honestly on him, wasn't it?

Jenna is still curiously poking through the bag, the little deceptively innocent looking discs. They remind her of build a bear noise makers.

"This thing will override the Tower doors?". She asks, dropping it back in and zipping it up. She slings it over her back no problem.

"Today.". Marie confirms. "And then most likely never again, so make good use of them."

"You want me to tell him you said hi?". If Jenna didn't know any better, she would have sworn Marie almost smiled.

Instead, her eyes flick up and over to Elias. "When he does what he does-" the vigilante says, matter of fact as ever, flat-but there's a tinge of...something there. Not...predatory, exactly? Or even that temperamental, fiery sort of mean she had sometimes-

"Do exactly as you've promised."

Jenna has no idea what that means, and it half doesn't matter, because just the -way- she said it-it's a weird, almost inhumanly patient sort of quiet, something poised with-with-she doesn't know what. But it's the definition of minacious, and seemed much, much more dangerous.

She's glad she's on Marie's good-well, less bad-side, holy shit.
 
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