ablativeholopleather | IC Contact/Inbox/HMD

“When he gets bored with us, he turns us into fuel.” Palamedes’ voice is quiet and laced with bitterness. “That’s what happens when people disappear. From what I’ve gathered, there have been other ‘voyages’ in the past, ones in which he has eventually tired of everyone, wiped them all out, and started over.” And whatever so-called changes people claim the Captain has gone through, Pal will never believe in their captor’s redemption until he stops grinding them into grist for his magical mill.

But that is neither a practical nor a useful topic for the time being. “In theory, if we can find a way to exit this reality and enter a different one of our choosing, we could choose to go anywhere we like,” he says. “In the event of our escape, I would recommend we all gather on some neutral ground first—somewhere, anywhere away from the Captain’s hold on us. From there, ideally, we could find a safe place in the multiverse for all of us. Or, if not safe, a place each of us wishes to be.”

The corner of his mouth tugs upward. “…Waynehose? You will have to explain that one to me.”

His expression twists and falls as he listens. "Does he not realize we're people? Does he just not care? What's the point of keeping us here on some kind of pleasure cruise if the end result us getting mulched?"

Wayne wraps his hands back around his drink, fingers laced together and pressed tight enough to lightly deform the flesh around his knuckles.

The idea of some neutral space for them all to go in the intervening time, even if they can't get back to their respective homes, is a comforting one. He nods some. "There are enough people that are content here even with all of the bad, that you could probably offer them that as an option and they'd take that neutral ground too. I know even with my own life cycle completely up in the air I'd still prefer that over being stuck here through the end."

He blinks, then mirrors that smile. He's having trouble remembering who all knows what, with as many questions as he's answered in the last month and change.

"Yeah, Waynehouse. It's a small compound where my sister and I were settled in to oversee the growth of new larvae into Waynes, and see to the caretaking of Old Wayne. It was necessary after the first Accretion- the thing that destroyed a lot of the landmass where I used to live."

“I don’t think he does. Or, at least, he has decided that people are not worth very much.” Pal purses his lips. “I think that, when some people live for a very long time, they find it easy to forget the humanity of others. It isn’t inevitable, but it might be fought. And the Captain, well.” He huffs. “He gains something from thinking of us as fuel. Treating us as things is advantageous to him.”

Before he can make further observations on the nature of their captivity, though, Wayne draws him in with the wild story of his home. “Wait, wait. Is ‘Wayne’ the name of your species? Your planet? I thought it was your name—yours alone, I mean—but I believe I may have misunderstood!”

"It just feels wrong, man. Like there should be other options. Like, I don't know, we should have some say in this." But again, what would such things matter to someone that doesn't seem to care about their autonomy as people?

He might be more than a little bit grumpy about this, for reasons that he maybe can't explain to Pal without explaining a whole lot more. If he thinks the concept of a lot of Waynes is wild, he's got a big storm coming.

"I'm a Wayne, but I'm also just, Wayne. Not all of us in my world are Wayne but the ones that look like me are. We get our own names after a while, like...we pick them. My sister's name is Decres, and I adopted a second name. I'm sure that Old Wayne also had his own name at one point, but after a while, he became Old Wayne. For example, my best friends don't look anything like me. Somsnosa's probably the closest to what you might consider familiar. The juice ranchers actually look a lot like some of you here, though their flesh is blue."

“Fascinating.” Palamedes props his chin on his hand, marveling at Wayne anew. The point about Waynes sometimes deciding upon their own, separate name, makes sense to him. And here, on the Serena Eterna, with no other Waynes about, he can see why this Wayne would revert back to his original name. “Is Somsnosa a Wayne? Or do all Waynes look like you? I mean, the yellow skin and the—“ he gestures vaguely above his own head. “Where I come from, people are mostly me-shaped, for a given value thereof, but there are significant genetic differences between necromancers and non-necromancers.”

"None of my crew are Waynes, no. We did have a larva around for a while because it snuck onto my airship when we landed at Waynehouse one day but I think they were happier just keeping the couch warm." The thought is still amusing to him, a soft smile curling up the corner of his lips. "I've noticed basically everyone here is you-shaped, for a given amount of variation based on those genetic differences. We're a little more uniform within the Wayne group, but otherwise there's a lot of serious variation between people at home. Waynes don't look like ranchers don't look like knights don't look like..." A pause. What did Dedusmuln say their people were called? Did they ever actually say? "Well, we're all pretty visually distinct. Maybe one day you'll get to meet them."

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