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“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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