that tidemark on your throat

“Teleport?” Temeraire asks as he steps out the doors, curious- “I do not know what it is, to ‘teleport’. And I do not know what a ‘gryphon’ is.” He expects, of course, that she’ll explain herself- she’s been kind enough to in the past, with only minimal prompting from him. He hopes that will be a behavior that persists, truly. It’s ever so satisfying, to have things explained.

At her question, he promptly shifts his weight to flop down onto his stomach, turning his head to watch her curiously. “If you would like,” he offers, seeing clearly her problem, “You may climb up from my tail and use it as a slope.” He’s used to only having people aboard who know how to climb, but he has been ridden by people who have had to be lifted up instead of climbing themselves, and he always thought using his tail would have been a more efficient solution.

“Normally,” he says, “you would also have a harness, and there would be carabiners on your harness which you could then attach to mine, so that you would not fall, and if you did you would not go very far. But I am not large enough for my harness to have proper points to attach to.”

It’s very satisfying explaining things as well, though she cannot very well go into some specifics the way she would (did, once, and that thought still hurts, a deep ache like a bone badly set) with an apprentice. 

 “Gryphons are animals half like eagles and half lion. Traditionally they’re mounts for the dwarves, but they’ve spread across the Alliance now. I believe they’re descended from wyverns, somehow? And it’s fine, I can manage like this, thank you.” 

With Temeraire lying down she can pull herself up without any undignified wriggling, the higher parts of the harness within arm’s reach for support. Jaina takes a moment to make sure she’s comfortable, then sets about securing the leg straps. She thinks she could manage without, but she’ll be good and do things right this time at least.

“All good,” she tells him when ready, and pats his shoulder above the wing. There’s powerful muscles there that she can feel shifting. She wonders how fast he can go, if he puts his mind to it.

“I apologize for the intrusion, and the hour.” Laurence says. “I am Captain William Laurence, of Temeraire’s crew. He tells me I owe you a great deal of his happiness.” He makes his best leg, conscious of the incongruity in the situation but unable to think of any other way forward, and offers her the flowers.

“These are entirely insufficient, as far as returns may go, but I woke here only this morning, leaving me entirely at my wits’ end for better, I pray you’ll forgive them.” Having made his way through the speech he’d prepared on his way over, he sighs in veiled relief, privately glad that despite the odd scenery, he’d yet to bungle his words.

Curiously, he takes in what detail he can of the woman, soft hair to stern bones, and thinks to himself that (though appearances could hardly the the end-all) there could be far worse company for Temeraire to have fallen in with, if his first impression is correct. Certainly, she seems well mannered, at the very least.

Oh. So this is Temeraire’s Laurence. That makes the situation a lot easier to deal with than the other option, though to be frank she had expected this meeting to happen with Temeraire around, possibly dragging either one of them in like a very proud, very big dog.

“It’s quite alright, Captain, thank you.” She can accept the flowers now that she’s reassured it’s not some unexpected courting gesture — what she would have done with that she’s not quite sure — and so he will look a little less awkward standing there in his stiff coat. “Did he tell you how we met? Temeraire has been very good to me as well, be assured. He spoke much of you; it’s good to make your acquaintance, despite the circumstances.”

“No, surely not,” Temeraire says easily, and he starts moving towards the stairs- it will wear him out to pick his way down them, but it is only one flight, and he’s too eager to wait for the elevator to reach them from whatever floor it’s on now. (He believes there are 11, or perhaps even 12, by now!) “If I were my full size, it would be impossible to fly so low, but my wingspan is not so large as to be a problem right at this moment. And should it be, we can simply fly above the tree-tops until we reach the station.”

His tail sways back and forth as he walks, as clear a sign of his pleasure as the way his ruff is at a perfectly relaxed angle, or the cheer in his voice. “I would very much like to introduce you to Laurence,” he adds. “I hope that you will like him! I am very sure that he will like you, as Laurence does not often dislike the people whose company I enjoy.”

At the bottom of the stairs, he pauses for a moment before continuing towards the doors. “You have flown, though? There are no carabiners for this harness, so you will have to strap your legs on with the buckles.”

"Well, usually I teleport, but I’ve flown on gryphons, and a few times with the dragon I told you about. Never with a harness like this, but I’m sure I’ll manage.” 

She steps ahead to press the button that’ll slide the doors open, lets Temeraire get through before following. The sky’s mostly clear with only a hint at fog, a light breeze rustling through the leaves. Better than the storms that have blown through on some days, the weather just as strange as the rest of the Ark. 

The straps and buckles seems straightforward enough, now that she’s looking closely. Much more secure than what she’s used to, flying mounts with tack barely different from a horse’s and nothing at all on the few times Kalec had taken to the skies with her, but maybe those who came up with the design are people without spells to slow their fall. 

Even affected by the Ark Temeraire is bigger than a gryphon, however, and Jaina is... not tall. There’s places in the harness that could serve as stirrups, but it’s still a long way up, and she’s not eighteen anymore. 

Temeraire happily butts his head into her hand when she reaches for him, and then twines around her like an exceptionally sinuous (and smoothly scaled) cat, a deep rumble of pleasure starting up deep in his chest and vibrating up his throat. “Laurence has come,” he says, bright, brimming with glee, and he even lifts his head to rub his face against hers, careful of his whiskers, before he steps away and flares his wings out.

“And I have become able to fly again!” He prances a few steps, unable to help himself, childlike in his showing off, then glances at her as if for approval. “If you wish,” he says, quite magnanimously he thinks (and entirely transparently, as it shows just as much as a wish of his own as it does an offer), “we might fly to the trains? I believe that you are correct, and the Sea of Nectar would be a very good place to find suitable attire.”

Jaina’s a little startled once again by how eager and open he is about physical affection, but she understands better when he tells her his Laurence is there, and the surprise changes, now more at not being actually bowled over by the extent of his joy. “You’ll have to introduce us one of these days,” she tells him, repressing the petty twinge of envy that twists in her belly (there’s no one who would ever be so happy to find her, not anymore, is there?). 

His suggestion of flight is a distraction she takes gladly. There’s nothing changed about his wings that she can notice, but the harness strapped around his chest is new, buckles gleaming and intricate enough he must’ve had help putting it on. Laurence, no doubt. It looks close enough to the kind flightmasters strap onto their gryphons, though without a need for reins. She’s glad she opted for pants today, though; a skirt might have been uncomfortable.

“I had been, but backup sounds just about perfect.” Meagan says, sighing. “I didn’t want to run the risk of scaring anyone I might need later off so soon by bringing them along.” She’s been carrying her holophone with her, despite finding the thing vastly useless, and she pulls it out now to tap the surface with a single fingernail. 

“Your information is in this thing, right? Under Jaina Proudmoore?

 "I’ve never blown a train before, but I can’t think it’ll be too hard. If I’m willing to risk the splashback damage, I could light whale oil with just my bare hands. I was going to use this buyback voucher, for it. I was hoping for some kind of bolt, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get my hands on one in any kind of time.”

She spins the phone with two idle fingers, clearly used to constant motion, and says “I was thinking about using the protests for cover. I don’t know if you were planning to attend, but it seemed smarter to me to avoid that sort of public spectacle unless there’s measurably something to be learned, and I don’t think they’re going to get anything out of this.”

“It should be, yes. Should that not work, you could always find me in Lampadias. I’m not usually out long.”

She shifts in her seat, listening to Meagan speak of what she plans. Doesn’t like the sound of splashback damage, to be quite honest, so she interjects: “Does this whale oil require a flame, or is it volatile enough to explode if hit or thrown with enough force? I would have a safer solution, if it is the second.”

Jaina raises a hand to demonstrate, pulling on the thin threads of her magic, and a moment’s focus calls one of the heavier tomes from the top of a nearby shelf to her, enough speed to make it whistle through the air, slowing down to thump gently against her palm. A controlled way to get Meagan her explosion, without requiring her to put herself at risk or lose any more limbs.

“I thought about going as an observer, in case they managed to prompt some sort of response. If they manage to pull in a crowd, who knows how the powers that be might respond? I’m not sure there’s been a concerted effort to get people together before.”

Tsuya laughs, self conscious. She really was taking this in stride, wasn’t she? “I have some experience waking up in strange places with little memory of how I got there.”

“Still, that’s something, isn’t it? To have gathered all these people… Makes you wonder what we’re here for.” She frowns. Even when she’d been in the realms of gods they’d let her keep her abilities - let her have a fighting chance. So what’s the point of taking them now? She hadn’t even heard a whisper from a restless spirit, can tell if she reached out to Jaina’s soul she’d have nothing to show for it. And isn’t that what she’d wanted all along?

Shaking her head, she focuses again on Jaina. Those are thoughts for another time, surely. “If you find out anything about who’s doing this, I’d love to hear about it. Might do some more exploring, myself.” Remembering her manners, she says, “Thanks for taking some time to explain things for me. I appreciate it.”

“Who or whatever rules here seems content to leave us to our own devices so far.” Uncomfortable as that thought is, being watched, constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I don’t think there’s any common thread between all of us either. Your previous experiences didn’t end up too badly, did they?” 

She’s curious but she won’t prod for details unless Tsuya volunteers them. Once is unpleasant enough, she can’t imagine it would be fun to have it happen several times.

Meagan hums at the objection, brow furrowing. “Thought it might be like the Void, back home. Men survive just fine in it. Why would it be fatal?” Space is a mystery, still, in Meagan’s world, their studies nowhere near advanced enough to know the dangers. “As far as stopping the train goes, I’ve been planning on trading my back home object voucher, for a tank of Whale Oil. It’s the energy source, from my world, and it’s coincidentally very explosive.”

Her lips thin for a moment, before she admits: “I still haven’t worked out how to make the maps work. I’ve just been keeping my own mental map. If the ones they give are untrustworthy, though, that might be for the best. I could trace out the map I have, and we could compare them, maybe. Might help narrow down the areas outside the sea centers to get nosy about.

“And any magic you can bring to bear is more than I had before–I don’t have any, not anymore. Used to, but it was always a gift granted to me by my mentor. My partner.”

The discussion had already been sober, but at the mention of Daud, Meagan sobers further, the familiar wrench of guilt in her chest burning for just a moment. Then, she forces a smile. Her baggage is her business, and absolutely shouldn’t be brought to a proposal of alliance.

“I’ve been finding anyone I can with skills that might prove useful to getting out. It’s not much, yet, but it’s been under a week, so I’m hopeful that we’ll attract people, once enough of us have signed on.” She hesitates. “If I got the oil. Would you be amenable to coming with me, when I try it. Any magic is better than no magic, yeah?”

"The Void’s not safe either, at least where I come from. It’s hard to tell which rules apply at this point so... be careful, I suppose?” She doesn’t know much about space either, to be fair. The planet always felt like enough to deal with. And if the Void Meagan speaks of resembles hers, or the one here... it seems to have worked out for the void elves (mostly), perhaps it’s worth a shot. 

On the matter of explosives she has less objections, and as for the maps she can only nod in agreement. Comparisons seem a good angle to take. The slight hitch when Meagan mentions her partner doesn’t go unnoticed, but Jaina is too familiar with loss to prod; she pushes the part of her curious about this sharing of magic down, to ask about later, maybe. 

Jaina’s caution is warranted: after all, they don’t know if they’re being surveilled, or how, if so. For all she knows, Meagan could be a plant. Then again, for all Meagan knows, Jaina could be the same. Freezing up in face of uncertainty will only leave them immobilized, all but doing their captors’ work for them. She extends a hand to shake, firm, certain.

“I’ve been here less than a week, but that’s about a week and a half longer than I wanted to be stuck. I don’t have any magic of my own, nor any tools half as advanced as they do here, but before I was a smuggler I was an assassin, and exit plans are a specialty in both professions.” She flashes a smile, all teeth and unselfconscious mirth: if Meagan thinks assassination is anything to blink an eye at, she’s sure not showing it.

“I’ve been considering seeing about breaking a train window and climbing out between stops, just to see what the places we’re not meant in look like. See if there are weaknesses that’re the reason we’re not meant to pass.” She sighs, and then invites herself into a chair, gestures for Jaina to join her if she wants. “It stinks of futility, but I’m not going to just sit back, you know? I have things to do.” She flashes to Sokolov, old and weakened by his latest captivity, and her lips thin. “I have people who need me. I can’t stay here.”

Jaina shakes the offered hand, smiles back, tight and polite. She’s met assassins before, though rarely ones that just announced it outright, and retired ones even less often. Not her favorite sort of people, even if she can recognize their usefulness, but she won’t be too picky when offered help, and she has manners besides: she follows Meagan in sitting down, legs crossed and hands folded over her knee, leaning forward slightly as she listens to the other woman.

“It’s just space around the train tracks, and their protective shell, isn’t it? Sounds like a good way to get yourself killed. Maybe if you stopped one of the trains first, so you could be sure not to be crushed down the line...” she makes a bit of a face at the mental image. “Testing the boundaries of the space we’ve been given is a good idea though. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but the maps get nonsensical if we stray from the centers of the seas. If there’s things they’re hiding from us, they might be there.”

Which is how she finds Kindling. It takes a minute for her to fill in the blanks of the profile with only the basics and swiping past pictures of various people, and a little more time for her to realize exactly what it’s meant for. 

You have a match! the program announces right then, and she rolls her eyes to herself but doesn’t throw the entire thing into the ocean for some reason.

Tsuya feels as though Jaina is telling a joke she isn’t privy to. “Arrived” could mean anything, couldn’t it? “Well,” she says, “I did wake up in that tree. Is that common of late?”

She reaches into her pocket, pulling out the lightweight metal square she had pocketed on her way out. A holophone, apparently. She had the feeling it was important, but not for what. Guess she was right on the money. She runs her thumb down the side, causing it to come to life. Well, she’ll have to investigate this later.

She looks back toward the woman. Tsuya isn’t thoroughly convinced this isn’t some grand plot or side effect of the debacle at Ukaizo, but that’s no excuse to be impolite to someone who’s been a help. Inclining her head, she says, “I’m Tsuya. Nice to meet you, though I can’t say these are the best circumstances.“

Jaina nods, a sympathetic wince flashing over her face. “As far as I’m aware, everyone here that isn’t one of the speaking animals, like the bears back there,” a tip of her head back towards the vendor, who waves back with a huge paw, “are... non-native, and from a variety of worlds.” 

Phone slipped back in her pocket, she idly draws circles on the side of the cup she holds, remembering the haze of confusion that’d been over her then, the smothered panic to find her magic gone, anger drowned under powerlessness. It seems distant now, though she’s sure it’ll hit her again tomorrow or the day after, and then she will be angry again instead of detached as she feels now. But Tsuya seems calm if wary, the latter of which is only reasonable, and polite enough to boot.

“It’s nice to meet you, Tsuya. You seem to be taking things rather well, really. I woke up in that tree about three weeks ago myself, and I was a mess for a third of that.” This smile is much less nice, though clearly not directed at Tsuya. “Still not happy about it, to be honest, so I’ll agree on the circumstances.”

Temeraire cranes his head to look at her, and his eyes alight with pleasure, and he says, “Very well,” with a glee that the words can’t hide. “I would very much like that.” He pushes himself back up and ever so carefully uses his snout to pull a couple of the books off the shelf, then nudges them towards her and says, “I would like these, if you also think they would be interesting.”

He shifts to wrap around behind her briefly, then, before asking, “Perhaps… you would like a proper chair to sit on, this time?” painfully eager to please, every inch of his age showing. “It is only that I am no longer very big and cannot be a very good seat, but I am happy to return to where we were before if you would like that instead.”

She is, he thinks, very nice. He would like it very much if perhaps she would not leave. Of course, she will- she is not, regretfully, one of his crew members- but… but.

Well. He has her for now.

It’s his enthusiasm that reminds her of a puppy, in spite of his size and claws and interest in physics. Bright-eyed and earnest and so eager, she’s half-expecting to have to sidestep a wagging tail. 

“You are very comfortable still, actually,” Jaina tells Temeraire, letting fondness wash over the last dregs of her brooding as she gathers up his chosen books. She can’t fault his taste, either: at best she would have gone for more arcane related material, but those seem in scarce supply.  “If you do not mind then I would prefer that. I think it would make it easier for you to listen as well, wouldn’t it?”

Really, he’s the one being nice, so thoughtlessly easy with touch. She’s a little embarrassed at how much she missed it after the past couple years, after she broke off on her own. Uncomplicated warmth, blooming safe and free of ulterior motive. 

Temeraire nods heavily, with some effort, and he pushes himself up and lifts his head, then pauses before he pushes himself onto his hind legs and presses his forelegs carefully against the bookshelf, propping himself up so that he can view the very top shelf. “Yes,” he says, as he scans the titles absently. “Yes. I will think of a way to convince him. I will not let him be mistreated as the sailors have been doing, just because they do not like that he did not let Government send the plague to all of the French dragons and not share the cure.”

And, he thinks to himself, he will find a way to get Laurence’s capital back. He will, or he will… or… well. He will figure something out, somehow. He focuses, then, and starts to read the titles aloud very carefully.

“Entropic Approaches to the Lithium Problem. Line Defects at the Center of the Galaxy. Zero Nonzero Structures.” He pauses, then drops back down and says, regretfully, “Perhaps not. Though they sound very interesting indeed, I am sure they are as vague as the Dark Calculus.”

He never really answered her question, about what he’d do after the fighting ended. Watching him, stretched up, snout lined with the books, she feels that pang of sadness again. A few times when she was younger, with a million duties and matters of state pulling at her attention, she’d thought, sulky and childish, all I wanted was to study. Curl up with a book somewhere.

Not this. 

At least she had a choice in it. 

They’ll get home, eventually. She can’t control what happens then. But in the meantime, well, they’re here, and free from obligations. She’s allowed to fuss be concerned over him, isn’t she?