Disclaimer: No, I don't own Chrono Trigger. Blah blah legal technical stuff blah.
To Lost Epochs:
"I still do not understand this confounded contraption. Which buttons do we press?!" squawked Frog in frustration, taking into account the many, many levers, knobs, and buttons sprawled across the ship's ample dash. It was all fiend's language to him.
Marle, who was seated between Magus and the amphibian in the front seat, cocked her head to the side and thought aloud. "Well, there's the era... thingamabob. We'll know we've done something right when the needle starts to move... right?"
Magus leaned forward to examine the machine, mumbling to himself with a low huff, "If only that goggled girl were here, we'd be well on our way by now. I'm surrounded by simpletons."
"If you are so smart, can you not start the thing yourself?" the green-skinned knight inquired, finally turning his head to give the ashen wizard a stern look before proceeding. "Lucca is not present, and so we must figure this out amongst ourselves. Try pressing that button there?" A gloved finger pointed to a red button just below the Epoch's temporal gauge.
Marle figured it looked obvious enough. The princess's slender wrist, adorned by a large golden bangle, made a beeline for the same red button, only to be seized – with an unnecessary excess of force – by another gloved hand.
"Hey, what's the deal?! Magus, leggo! Th-that hurts!" winced she as her elbow locked reflexively. Really, did he have to be so rough? He'd already screamed in her ear, and now this.
"Look, Your Highness, spontaneous combustion is not part of our plan. We cannot prance about fiddling with this or that switch without putting a little more thought into the process. Do you not recall the instance in which you all destroyed the Black Bird?" The fiendlord's tone was surprisingly singsong as he voiced a very valid point.
Epoch's sleek interface, as they all had discovered the hard way, masked a legion of lethal weaponry, and everyone knows the giant red button spells doomsday. The redhead conceded, eyes down, as she pulled her sore wrist up to her chest.
"W-well... Yeah. I guess you're right..."
Frog would have also agreed, but his regards had been drawn to a more pressing issue. He was, to no one's surprise, the least apt of the seven heroes to take such unwonted acrimony from Magus lightly – Crono coming in a close second, namely when any given situation involved Marle or Lucca. Ergo Glenn warned the wizard, his amber eyes aflame with ire, "You shall not lay another hand on Princess Nadia, fiend, or I'll take your life this very minute. No right have you to handle her that way."
As expected, this threat rang hollow and amusing in the surly ex-prince's ears; everything the frog mouthed sounded so... so... cliché to him.
"Such a laughable hypocrite you are, amphibian. Would you care so much for this girl's well-being if she didn't resemble your beloved queen? Not that they share any other assets..."
Magus was just bumbling to get his rival's goat – a skill he'd honed long ago – though he'd hit a smidgen below the belt this time. It would soon prove to be a regrettable, fruitless jab on several levels as Frog began to fume.
"... What?!" Glenn's wide mouth creased into a dark snarl, and he felt his blood pressure skyrocket as he attempted to shout without croaking. "No! It is the simple principle of respecting a woman, cad! And how dare you--?! I... I care dearly for each and every member of this team as if they are my own kin! If you're searching for a fight, you are most certainly on target!"
Pearly canine fangs exposed themselves through a smirk while the warlock countered post-haste. "You would risk avenging Cyrus to try and slay me?"
"I needn't try more than once, you pompous--"
But the retort was drowned out by a resonant bang. Marle slammed both fists repeatedly, like a justice with two gavels, against the machinery in front of her; beads of sweat trickled down her forehead and along her jawline. Her green cohort's protective intentions hadn't gone unappreciated, but they were in the worst possible place to start scrapping: a metal tuna can with wings and sensitive equipment capable of surpassing the speed of light. And exploding.
"STOP IT! We're trying to save the world, and here you are bickering like little kids! Can we please just try to figure out these controls? Duke it out once we're in the Middle Ages, at least!"
The Guardian's heated strike had been a fatal mistake, however, and as she yelled, the area she'd impacted immediately began to throw sparks. She didn't notice until a treble, ear-piercing alarm sounded.
"Wh-what--?!"
Both Magus and Frog, after scanning the dashboard in a frenzy, took notice of the malfunctioning temporal speedometer – which was oscillating rapidly from one era to the next, and then back. Prehistory, Antiquity, Middle Ages, Present, Cataclysm, Future... over and over; the motion reminded the princess of Bekkler's contest with those three lookalike knights. Marle then raised her arms and tucked her head betwixt the crooks of her funny bones against the smoke that issued forth from the broken graphical display. Had she truly hit the thing that hard?
"I... I think you've flipped a switch!" Frog stammered over the persistent siren and the whir of Epoch's stalled engine.
"You THINK?!"
'But why has the engine started, anyway?'
Inertia thrust the passengers back against their burnished seats seconds later, a tell-tale sign that they were beginning to move. Indeed, the princess had flipped several switches; all that were required to jettison the vessel into a chosen time, in fact. Said switches had also been either smashed or bent, so the three were now unable to reset the settings. Chances of them arriving unharmed in the 600's – or any eon, for that matter – were slim to none, and thinning still. This prognosis struck all three warriors simultaneously.
Panicked, Magus slapped one hand against his snowy widow's peak, while the other clenched at nothing with a white-knuckle grip. All hopes of Schala's salvation, dashed to bits and pieces by a single, obscure prophesy. Neither Frog nor Marle noticed, but the Mystic was actually trembling. Nadia was busy yanking at the edges of the door above, and Frog was inspecting the smoggy dash.
Magus felt his five senses slipping like water through a grate.
"You have to be kidding me. It doesn't open with a latch?" Nadia grunted as she sank down and buckled her safety harness in defeat. However much good that would do, Entity knows. This earned a troubled croak from the sanest of the heroes.
"Quickly! Look for the..." Glenn trailed off, trying to recall the phrase Lucca had used recently in explaining the main components of the ship. "... Ah! The eject button! Look for it!"
The older man obeyed in spite of his breakdown, fanning smoke from his view to identify each label while Frog followed suit. Marle, on the other hand, appeared to be slipping into a trance of some sort, and did nothing. The ambient calamity no longer seemed to phase her.
"Nadia...?"
"Gaspar was right, guys," the teen uttered calmly, her eyes now focused straight ahead. She knew from the first mention of the group's grand plan, in the pit of her gut, that something would go awry. Her intuition, like the Guru of Time's, had been sharp as a tack. What was the point in looking for the button when they were already doomed?
"No. Not when I'm so close! I'll not lose sight of Lavos again when he's just within my reach!"
Magus, intoxicated by sheer desperation and adrenaline, looked skyward towards the glass roof and began to summon a spell. If he had to harm the ship, so be it. His prize was far too near to be lost in yet another era.
"Magus!"
In the nick of time, and as an eerie glow crept its way around his profile, Frog threw one blue glove over his adversary's lips. The spell was canceled.
Time slowed to a drunken slur of colors and sounds after that, and every twitch hung limp on gridlocked limbs; every breath hitched in their pounding chests. The frozen princess snared the men's gaze for a long minute before they stole a gander of one another as well. They, too, finally acknowledged Gaspar's heed and braced themselves for whatever loomed beyond. Two enemies, it seemed, could share the same glorious fate after all. How dreadfully ironic.
No escape.
Silence – save the racket of the vehicle – enveloped the cockpit. The ship gained momentum with ease, until the sluggish purr of Epoch's pistons quickened to a sound comparable only to the world's most deadly typhoon. That familiarly black, airless space that once invested the glass windows was replaced with a radiant yellow light...
Then all went white, and the Wings of Time shrieked once more as she towed her cargo into territory unknown.
'Cyrus, be with me.'
Author's Note: After months of neglect and a creative hiatus, I can only hope you all find this chapter to be of mediocre quality. I could do much better, but not right now. It was rushed, but criticism is still encouraged.
Chapter 3, "The Wayfarers," coming soon!