Difference between revisions of "3633/The Past Revisited"

Latest revision as of 18:10, 18 January 2016

Psyber (253) has posed:
    It had been a very long time since the last time Psyber and Wo had any sort of clandestine or personal meeting between the two of them. There were numerous reasons for this, ranging from the holiday times to the fact Psyber had been repeatedly pissing off Lezard recently, plus the death of Elliana Fairchild. Combining that will recent Hikari aggression against Wo, Wo's own prolonged injury period, and Fed-Union relations, it led to bad scheduling.

    Finally, though, perhaps prompted by the fact that Wo now has a slightly more clandestine dock to use on the outskirts of Boston, Psyber was taking the time to actually set up a second meeting. Winter has finally settled into Boston after the unseasonably warm December, and the half-angel is wearing a pair of gloves and leaning against the railing for a small dock on the north end of Boston as he smokes a cigarette. Tucked under one arm is a manilla folder.

Wo has posed:
    It has been quite some time, in fact. Just as with Psyber, there were many reasons: Some are actually quite troubling ones. Aside from that, the truce period might have offered relaxation to many across the multiverse, but as with the Hikari fleet, there was no such prolonged rest for the Abyssal fleet. It was simply a time to stockpile, and draw up plans anew. Now that even that is clearing, it will soon be time to once again be put against the grindstone. Amidst that, however, an unexpected boon arrives, in the form of a formal document, assigning a permanent docking area, just inside the neutral sea port of Boston, for the Wo-class with which Psyber was best familiar. Today would be the time to make herself at home, with Psyber's own invitation.

    With a secondary goal to clear the air, and get some things off her mind, Wo surfaces closeby, a travel trunk of all things set across one shoulder. Also surfacing is an I-class destroyer, another trunk strapped to its back, and buzzing cheerfully, happy to be of use to a big sister even in this less glamorous role. The two drift in, mere inches over the surface of the waters, before landfall. "Psy-ber," Wo calls, though her tone remains subdued, almost allowing it to be lost against the sounds of lapping waves. "...sorry, that we have-n't spoken, for so long." For her to be 'sorry' about something, only a year ago, that would have been almost unfathomable. It's that same kind of thing that weighs heavily upon her now, as she emerges onto the dock, with her destroyer escort following behind, and shaking off some of the sea water like a dog might.

    She stares with cyan eyes for a few long moments, her expression as ever difficult to read. It had been a long time since she had seen him with her own eyes, after all. "...a lot of things, change," she reflects, "Even if we - look the same."

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "You don't really owe me an apology, I understand that a lot has been going on," Psyber comments, one hand holding the cigarette to his mouth and the other thrust into his pocket, cradling the folder against his side, "You're travelling heavier than usual today, though. I don't usually imagine you with... luggage." He nods towards both her steamer trunk and the one strapped to the I-Class. He hopes one thing, but keeps it silent.

    "Planning another vacation to Boston? Or just planning to pick up some things you need a trunk for," He asks curiously, tilting back on his footing a bit, "Good to see you again, though. Up and about. I would have said hi during the issues with the rogue abyssal, but, I was an acting Admiral both times. Sorry if the torpedos gave you a startle, though."

Wo has posed:
    There is a moment of hesitation about the torpedoes. They still weren't a comfortable topic, especially to have head toward her, but in another life she had remained a stubborn ship despite, and perhaps partially owed, to the confusion of scuttling. "You did," she finally responds, "What you had to. ...I can't, hold that a-gainst you." It was always a complication of their working and diplomatic relationship that they were going to have to accept, little different than how Wo treats the fleet daughters that reside with Psyber in Boston. To the questions of her luggage, she momentarily gives a glance to her destroyer companion; a late model, it has stubby little legs, which it gives a hop with as it is paid notice to. "To a ship, like my-self," comes her explanation, "A dock is...a home. I should like - a place to stay, closeby." With her various factional stipends, it isn't likely hard to arrange, especially if Psyber assists her in the real estate jungle.

    Something else is deeper, however, and just under the surface. Even with her usual mask-like expression, just the slight way her shoulders are bowed and the way her eyes never seem to quite focus on Psyber, beyond that first contact: Something is trying to come to the surface. Sensing this, the destroyer buzzes inquisitively to her, as if wonder if it's okay to share such matters with a third party. "...no, it's o-kay," she responds directly to the unintelligible garble. "We can, trust this - one." But with a brave quirk of her mouth that might have been an unrealized attempt to smile, she finally looks the angel directly in the eyes again. "But - that, can wait. We should, head in-doors." The chill doesn't affect her or her escort, but perhaps Psyber's physiology is a bit more susceptible. The folder does get a brief and obvious look of her eyes, however: "...taking - your work, out of the off-ice," she wonders?

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber will be more than willing to find her a seaside condo or something to rent nearby, since her factional pay would make it trivial to afford. But for not, he just sort of agrees with her, "Yeah, we should get out of the cold. I think the card I gave you should also open the dock lounge, so we can at least get some coffee."


Said lounge is a small building on the dock meant for maybe a half dozen people at a time. It's open already, since Psyber is a caffeine junkie, and he steps inside, "Oh this, no. It's uh. I guess you could say, it's a present for you. I'll show you it once you've had a chance to sit down and relax after your travel."

    He pulls up a chair and drops down into it, stretching out a bit and taking off his gloves after snuffing out his cigarette in an ash tray, "You have more on your mind than I think I've ever seen you consider. I'm not used to me being the relaxed one and you being stressed out."

Wo has posed:
    Coffee. That seems to be a familiar thing, despite her being a ship. "...ah, yes," she adds, a quick study with such modern contrivances as a key card. Stepping up, it's only a brief puzzle, but ultimately a key is still a key. "I can al-so, place my things here...for now." It's doubtful that any would-be burglar would want any of her things, but in the multiverse, you just never know. "I app-reciate it, Psyber. Every-thing." Especially in response to the offer of help to find her a place nearby, though the idea of a condo somehow causes her eyebrows to furrow lightly. Did it almost seem like she found the thought amusing, somehow? There is no laugh, however. Making her way inside along with Psyber, she also takes a seat, reaching up both arms to lift the enormous flight deck from her head, placing both it and her personal trunk out of the way. The I-class, somehow, unfastens its own load in the same area, before wandering around on its own to closely examine *all* the things, with its search light eyes.

    As Psyber stretches out, the carrier remains seated upright, almost as though her internals don't allow her to relax similarly. With her 'control' staff placed across her legs, clutched in both hands, she nonetheless gives a breath outward, as a token that she's trying. The 'present' remains something of a curiosity, now, but she won't dwell on it. He wants her to speak, it's obvious, with him pointing out how much the tables have turned. She'll just come out and say it, accordingly, subtlety not one of her stronger points, "I may have...done, some-thing regret-able. Things will become, com-plicated. But...I could not tol-erate it, any longer." She gives a glance to the destroyer, which through perhaps some telekinetic link, stops what it's doing, and wanders over to the coffee machine. How in the hell is it operating it without any proper hands? Ship magic. Wo's eyes return to full forward, and she wonders:

    "Tell me, hon-estly," she wonders, "...do you think - ships are, happier...as 'fleet daughters'?"

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "That's a complex question," Psyber says as he watches Wo, tilting his head a bit. He seems to take the question incredibly seriously, perhaps because it's something he's wondered himself, "I have a limited pool of interaction, so it's hard to say for certain. I think. But..."

    "Kongou seems happier as Kongou than as Ko-Class. That's what I know. When she was given the chance between Ko-Class and returning to being Kongou, she chose to be Kongou," His answer calls back to the siege on Boston, the half-angel lidding his eyes a bit, "But that's her choice. That's why I don't try to sink Abyssals. I believe in choice, agency, and decision. What makes one person happy may not make another."

    "Are YOU happy, Wo?"

Wo has posed:
    It's perhaps not the ultimately definitive answer Wo might have wanted, but something about the quirks in her expression suggest that she didn't expect one. Perhaps she is even pleased with Psyber's answer, which is one he had even given before, in slightly different words. With this, she does at least find the ability to sit back in her own chair, allowing it to support her weight all the more. "I see...that is, a good way...of put-ting it. I agree." The I-class destroyer toddles back over to the table with two freshly brewed mugs of coffee on saucers, which it carefully balances on its back. Wo unflinchingly takes them from the top of it, giving a reasonably soft - considering her monotone, "Thank - you." Before wordlessly dismissing it back to its curious looking over of the facility. With gloved hands, the carrier sets one before Psyber, as well as herself.

    With that taken care of, she fields Psyber's own question. "I...do not know," she admits, a bit helplessly. "But - I do know, that I re-fuse to abandon...my sisters. That is why..." She gazes with her eyes down into the steam rising from the coffee mug, "I have made, an ag-reement. With their lead-er, Nagato. Any Abyssal...that shows Kon-gou's type, of preference. ...I will not, hold them back. If that...is what they want, then...even if we, be-come enemies. I want, what is best - for them." After she finishes, she is silent for a few long moments. It opens things up for Psyber to make his own comments, of course, but also hanging in the air is what isn't spoken about that kind of arrangement. That it is seemingly in direct conflict with what Samar would want. Self-consciously, the carrier lifts the mug to her lips and takes a sip of it. "...it's bitter," comes her breaking of that silence, as a non-sequitur; it doesn't seem she dislikes that quality, however. Unsurprising, as one that is still relatively new to the sensation of having a sense of taste at all.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Having maxed out his Hardboiled stat, Psyber is totally unphased by drinking black coffee, sipping it and nodding thankfully at the I-Class, "Yeah. A lot of people add Sugar or Milk to cut the flavor a bit," He advises to her before sipping at his some more. It buys him some time on how to react to her admission.

    "Samar will be unhappy if she finds out. Lute will, as well, be distressed to find out you no longer agree with his desire to sink all the Fleet Daughters," Psyber comments, shifting in his chair and steepling his fingers, "I suggest you keep it a secret until you have made appropriate arrangements for a worst-case scenario," He adds with some finality, resting his elbows on the table.

Wo has posed:
    There is also the matter of that I-class wandering around while this is being discussed. It didn't seem concerned, though, and does not seem to be consciously following the conversation at the grown-ups table at all. Even if it were, though, Wo discloses, "...yes, you are the first, to know, out-side Nagato and some of mine." She holds her mug in both her hands for the moment, then glances over at the ever-inquisitive destroyer again, this time hopping from one stool to another. "I have...a few, that feel as I - do. If it, were to come...to it. We have some sites, scouted. Hope-fully, it won't." It's clear that she had put some thought into it already, before taking that step. The mention of Lute causes a soft sound to rise from her throat. It's half a grunt of frustration, but also a sigh of worry: "Lute...is mis-guided, but means well. I will, keep it to my-self, for now. But, hope-fully, he can be made to un-derstand...this is more com-plicated, than right or wrong."

    After that kind of tense subject, though, the tension seems to ease from her shoulders and the rest of her posture, somewhat, even if she does remain seated in that almost unnaturaly upright way. Another drink of coffee is given, as she shakes her head to another earlier point, "No - it's...fine. I like it, like this." And then, "Thank you, Psy-ber. Having someone else...helps, I think." But then, it's time for her curiosity to get the better of her, as she once again glances to that folder. "You said...that was some-thing, for me?" She utterly can't imagine what it would be, much less how a present comes in the form of documents. Outside that, she doesn't pressure, however.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "I remember... I forget if it was you or Darwin... or Kongou. That told me it was that Abyssals fought to be remembered. So that people wouldn't forget what they'd done. I wanted to show you something, but it took me a while to get, I'm not a naval historian," Psyber muses as he starts to open the folder. He begins laying out paper after paper on the table in front of her. Some of them are news articles, some of them are ship reports, some are various US Military files.

    "Uh, sorry, this is awkward for me. I'm still not sure where to start," He frowns, "Your name is the CV-8 USS Hornet. Your were laid down in 1939 and completed in 1940. You were commissioned on 1941 for active duty and sunk in 1942. You were... your crew was trained in Norfolk, Virginia, but after Pearl Harbor, you transferred to the Pacific Theatre." He rummages through some papers.

    "Your first major claim to fame was the Doolittle Raid. It's considered an incredibly important raid, because it was the direct retaliation for Pearl Harbor. No one thought the US could bring a naval presence to the Pacific, but the Hornet's bombers showed that not only could the US field a Navy, but that we could strike Japan and bloody their nose back. It was a major boost to morale."

    He rummages for another sheet, "You also participated in the most important battle in the entire Pacific Theater," He pulls up the almost iconic picture of one of Hornet's Douglases running on Mikuma, "A battle which turned the tide of the entire war. But your own fighter wing, VT-8, suffered colossal losses and received a Presidential Unit Citation for bravery."

    "After the battle of Guadalcanal, you were the only active carrier in the entire Pacific and you defended it on your own for several months." He seems to furrow his brow, "Your final deployment was the Battle of Santa Cruz Islands. It was here, with some irony, that you met Zuihou, though she was fighting Enterprise at the time. You severely damaged Shokaku and Chikuma, but your power and engines were knocked out by torpedo strikes. The US tried to tow you clear of action, but you were hit by torpedos just before you could be repaired. You took a fatal hit and the US had to try to scuttle you, but failed."

    He sighs a bit and then turns over a final sheet of paper, "Despite this, your name was given less than a year later to an Essex-class to carry on your legacy. You were a ship of fresh-faced recruits that spent two years holding the Pacific Theater against a nation famed for its Navy. Every battle you fought, every action you took shaped carrier tactics, even your mistakkes. You, Yorktown, and Enterprise stopped a juggernaut no one ever thought could be halted."

    "I spent a lot of time researching who you used to be so I could show you that the US never forgot who you were or what you did. And I think if I can tell you one more thing, I want it to be this:"

    "You were the last Fleet Carrier the US ever lost. We never repeated that mistake."

Wo has posed:
    Wo wasn't really prepared for the figurative torrential downpour. Yet, in this kind of atmosphere, and with some things she'd stored away for the past few weeks finally out in the open, this is about as good of an environment for it that she could have expected. The I-class, sensing something akin to story time, even hops up on one of the seats of the table and watches the laying out of papers, articles and photographs with seeming interest. As for the carrier herself, her expression remains difficult to discern, but she does sit through the entirety of Psyber's production. Whether it's out of stunned silence or intrigue is also difficult to discern. A perhaps positive sign is that her aqua-toned eyes glance over the spread in turn, sometimes returning to previously mentioned pieces of the collection. Placing down her coffee mug, every so often, unbidden to do so, she even reaches out a gloved hand to pick up one of the photos, in order to examine it more closely.

    "These are," she recollects, "My mem-ories." The staff, perched across her lap, begins to glow at this, and the projection that had become known as Hornet lingers in the air next to her, wordlessly at first, before speaking up, "You had already realized it, hadn't you?" The carrier's body doesn't flinch, instead answering with some detachment from the present, with so much of the past strewn on the table in front of her, "Yes... I - said, as much. To Nagato. But, to see all of this here..." While her form remains essentially unresolved, the glowing figure appears to cross her arms, "It won't change your mind though, will it? Such a difficult girl. Guess I should expect it, since you're me." Without directly responding, Wo picks up another photograph, this one of a ship trying desperately to tow the damaged Hornet away, "Northampton..." And a historical sketch, of all things, of a Japanese destroyer trying to tow Hornet, after the failed scuttling. "Even those child-ren..."

    It's a lot to soak in. Wo had definitely realized herself over the past several months, but it was the little details that still remained confused in her mind. "I was...con-fused," she recounts, "I still -- thought, I could fight. They were...only try-ing to, grant me...an honorable end." The ghost pipes up, "But so stubborn." "I wanted...to re-turn home. But..." At this point, an unfamiliar feeling strikes her, as tears begin streaking from the corner of her eyes. Not even some kind of freaky oil slick. She simply remains holding some of those old photographs for a few moments, silently. The specter isn't at such of a loss of words, though, "She'll be fine, just give her a few moments. We're both grateful you took the time to do all this! Guess I underestimated you a bit."

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber rubs the back of his head, unsure how to respond to Hornet, "It took me months to gather it all, and I probably wasted dozens of Interns time researching what they thought was totally irrelevant, but." Psyber shrugs a bit, "If her big woe, no pun intended, was being forgotten, she deserved to know she wasn't."

    "I only hope I didn't just give her another mental breakdown or something," He adds, taking a hankerchief out of his coat pocket and putting it on the table in front of Wo, "You have a hull breach, Wo. You're leaking."

Wo has posed:
    It's Wo, herself, that responds first. At least it wasn't a segmentation fault and core dump like last time. Perhaps, somewhere in all these months in between that happening and this, she had learned to handle this kind of thing better. "No, it's...o-kay," she says, gathering up a deep breath, even though it's questionable whether she actually needs to breathe. "I also, thank you...for bring-ing this, to me." She's not quite empathic enough to give much mind to the idea that Psyber had a lot of interns on this wild goose chase, though. Poor interns. The seemingly good-natured ghost grins to Psyber, or at least seems to, since her facial features still lack much in the way of definition, "Noone should forget a ship that had the guts to launch full-sized bombers. From what I overheard earlier, she's still taking risks, too." She also remarks to Wo, on an earlier point, only half-playfully, "You heard that, didn't you? You have a younger sister named Hornet. You might even get to meet her, at this rate."

    This seems to snap Wo out of it, and she actually gives a pointed look at the spirit, at this. Her eyebrows are furrowed, in what can only look like anger, "No. ...if she's, dormant. ...I don't want her - to see this, ugliness." "Hey, hey, relax," the ghost dismisses, raising both hands. Looks like they're not quite ready to reconcile some differences, yet. After that, though the carrier's physical form remains looking over the materials. She never did tend to that 'leak'; it was strangely not an uncomfortable feeling. "I...had no, idea. ...when I, a-woke. All I felt -- was that I had, been thrown a-way. That, all surface people -- are self-ish, with their care-less wars. I, still be-lieve that last part, but..." She quirks her mouth oddly again, and it creates a decent semblance of a smile for Psyber, without having to use her fingertips to pull up the corners of her mouth. "Through fight-ing, for my sisters...and even, surface people. May-be someday, I'll be able...to pro-tect, instead of just fight." The spirit has already faded, apparently having said what it was she wanted to. For the next while, Wo takes her time reading, and drinking the rest of that coffee before it gets cold. The destroyer is oddly quiet.