10597/Path of Glory: Spring Clean for the May Queen

Path of Glory: Spring Clean for the May Queen
Date of Scene:	01 April 2022
Location:	The Astral
Synopsis:	The work of the JLD to seed doubt into the mind of the Archangel Michael works and he departs the astral to prepare of one final confrontation.
Cast of Characters:	Michael Demiurgos, Lydia Dietrich, Jonathan Sims, Cael Becker, Phoebe Beacon, Gabby Kinney, Terry O'Neil

---

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The trip the astral this time is as smooth as before. Smoother even, as those who helped build this corner of the world with their ideas are those most welcome and most at home in it. There the area is formless for a moment before the world around them springs to life, the majesty of the buildings and streets, the bustle of city life, and a very unrealistic peace that permeates the world at large. This is not New York as it truly was, but an odd idealistic representation of New York. For those who live there, the differences are stark, but for an angel who does not truly understand the subjects of the universe at large... it's perfection.

    Over the almost Disney-esque painting of New York is the steady tap, tap, tap of keys on what might be a typewriter. The clicking picks up and slows in a cadence that starts to form a sort of background rhythm, almost drum-like in its consistency. A steady voice starts to speak in time, but counter to its beat. The voice is that of Jonathan Sims, but slightly different, there is a sort of gravely, smokey quality that doesn't enter the man's voice often anymore, but it is his voice nonetheless. The words weave in and out as a narration begins to form the scenario envisioned for the General of the Heavenly Hosts. As he speaks more instruments enter in, the start of a piece of music, using the rhythm of keystrokes as the drumbeat of the score.  

    "New York City was just waking up, its tall spires of Manhattan reflecting the morning sun giving the streets that nice warm glow that would make even the grumpiest non-morning person cheer up. That and a fresh pot of coffee. The city is full of buzz and promise, a melting pot of cultures and races, humans, mutants and magi of all creeds all living together in a bustling metropolis. There had always been powered people throughout history, but with the exponential rise of mutants over the past sixty years, humanity has celebrated the next step in human evolution. Humanity, as a whole, has been kind, and faithful throughout history so it was only natural for God to reward their efforts by rewarding Their people with fantastic abilities. It was only a matter of time before all humans were either Homo Superior or Homo Magi, ushering in a golden age of civilization that none had ever seen before."

    Those creating this world get a typical sky-line view of the city beneath then, sweeping in and down in perfect sitcom cliche. There on the street people smile and wave to one another. Traffic is steady but not congested. And the same general peace and prosperity lingers as an almost cloyingly sweet feel. The view pans across the the entirety of Manhattan and sweeps down the south-eastern coast of the island. Crossing the East River and into Brookyln.

    The parlor of the borough is the same as the island, peaceful, serene, idyllic. And absolutely wrong in almost every way in contrast to reality. But that is what they wanted this to be. Michael's perfect world, even if he wasn't the one to create it. A perfect, peaceful, prison for him to be given a taste of what he had in mind for them. After all, Archangels weren't the only ones with the power to control reality, especially in this land of dreams and imagination. Jon's voice continues to narrate, the cadence moving to one of more specific locales and the sweeping camera moves across a number of storefronts, each given their own moment of description. Before it settles on a the grounds of a synagogue located in the heart of Bushwick.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    "If you were a young, hip mutant odds are you could be found in the suburb of Bushwick in Brooklyn. This up and coming neighborhood sports some of the trendiest food and entertainment that can be found in the greater New York area. Bistros and cafes dot the streets offering a wide variety of exotic foods and drinks. Mootant Milkshakes is located here, a world renowned ice cream parlor known for a wide variety of strange and delicious had crafted milkshakes made from locally sourced ice cream. The Saints and Sinners nightclub is here that lets you safely indulge perhaps some of your more spicy fantasies. In short this is /the/ place to be when you're in New York."

    "Today, here at the Chabad of Bushwich, is Lydia and Raven's wedding, and they have gone all out for the event. They have hired Divine Interventions, Michael's event planning service, only the best in town and trusted him to set things up. It's a resplendent affair, with flowers lining the altars and the tables, a band playing off to one side, and even a professional photographer was hired. Everything was perfect. Only... even the most perfect of affairs can come with complications."

    Approaching the synagogue is Michael Demi, himself. The wedding planner looks only mildly disheveled but even so the appearance is actually stylish on the man. He approaches the doors of the synagogue, and stops, blinking suddenly. He shakes out his blonde locks, as if to clear the air of confusion and moves to proceed further. Just inside, the final process of the wedding itself bustle and move with the almost hectic atmosphere of something that will come down to the wire to be absolutely perfect. Even the suspense is something of an act, and the musical score beyond--an ever present background track--is indicative of this.

    To the JL Dark members (and allies) lending their power to build and fuel this world, they can feel the weight of the Archangel slam against the confines of his prison. Their trap worked and more than that it's locked the Archangel into the role they prepared for him. A clever, clever plan... but you cannot hold one such as I forever, he thinks into the void. Even as he flails to escape the trap, his interest is drawn to the scene being portrayed. Curiosity on what exactly this trap is meant to be and why he is being given a place of... normalcy instead of some tortuous dungeon.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    While guests are filing in and the string quartet gently serenades them, Lydia is pacing back and forth off in the wings, half in her wedding dress. "Where /is/ she?" she asks, trying very hard not to pull at her perfectly styled hair. "She's supposed to have been here by now but she's not answering her phone!" She pauses in her pacing to look out into the lobby desperately. "Do you think she had cold feet? I know she's the one that proposed, but her last marriage ended in a disaster." She starts shaking her hands in frustrated anxiety, "Oooohhhh I hope she's just stuck in traffic."

    The 'she' in question is Raven. Usually known for being punctual, her absence is something that has gotten the entire staff up in a tizzy. She wouldn't be late. She /couldn't/ be late. Not for her own wedding. Not unless something happened to her. Maybe traffic was bad.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The band, for their part, are still setting up, doing sound checks and testing equipment. When not much is ever likely to go wrong, the worst thing that can happen is microphone feedback at the wrong moment. Lydia and Raven hired a string quartet for their perfect affair, and were promised that the musicians could pull off anything from classical to jazz to something heavier "because Brian is an /excellent/ beatboxer along with his skills on the cello." How is there jazz in this world that's never had the pain and hardship that musical genre was born from? Who can say. There just is. A truly perfect world would be one where we can have beauty without the hardship, right?

    For now, one of the violins is playing a solo to provide background music while the conductor and MC, who refers to themself only as "Jonny," oversees equipment checks. They're dressed in a tuxedo jacket and a skirt of colors perfectly matching the wedding party's, and their hair has been recently dyed a deep violet, the curls styled to fall fashionably over one shoulder.

    "I don't /care/ if you've already checked it, check it again, and then a third time. This is the wedding of the year, and if we do this right we'll have couples lining up 'round the block."

    The violist frowns at the MC. "But, Jonny, Ms. Darkholme isn't even--"

    Jonny waves a hand frantically. "Shh! That's why we're /playing calming music/, right? Right." They lower their voice. "But, uhh, pull up the 'consolation' playlist just in case? I'll go... double-check that the caterer's got /plenty/ of alcohol to console the poor jilted bride." Pause. "Well. Not jilted yet. Maybe-jilted. Fudgesicles, I /hate/ when this happens."

    Okay, left at the altar, /that's/ the worst possible outcome here.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Outside of the synagogue, and a few doors down, Cael is watching over a group of young teens, a stern expression on her features as she watches them - paint, paint brushes, and scrub brushes in hand. In an act of youthful indescretion, the children had decided to advertise for the art club they were putting together - by literally painting a mural incorporating some information about it on the large, blank wall of one of the shops. Cael has ended up with the task of making sure that - not only to the children fix their mistake, but that they beautify the neighborhood by scrubbing some of the walls, and sweeping up the streets.
    They've gotten a good start on things, but it'll be a while before they finish - it had taken longer than anticipated to get them started. Taking out of phone to check the time, she tell the teens sternly, "Make sure you finish everything up properly. I'll be back to check on your work later."
    As she walks away - the first refrains of music begin to filter through the street, as the children sing while they work.

De Colores, De Colores se visten los campos en la primavera.
De Colores, De colores son los pajaritos que vienen de afuera.
De Colores, De colores es al arco iris que vemos lucir.
Y por eso los grandes amores
De muchos colores me gustan ami.
Y por eso los grandes amores
De muchos colores me gustan ami.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe Beacon, wedding photographer, takes a look at her watch a moment, tilting her hand a moment, holding her camera to her chest a moment. She was wearing professional black clothes -- slacks, a black tie with a button down fitted to the female form, a black vest and an elegant, plain shawl out of respect for the place she was working in. She was making good with the crowd, grabbing a couple of candids with the kids playing in the aisles, capturing some close-ups of the flowers.

    "Twenty says she's been picked up by the fuzz for jaywalking." she jokes with the band leader as she passes behind him, and makes her way to where Lydia is pacing.

    ... probably a bad time to ask for a picture.

    So instead, she heads for the wedding planner.

    "So, what's the good news? Did they find the other bride?" she asks of Michael Demi, and then gives a smile, and introduces herself, presenting her business card.

    "Beacon Lights & Images, how do you do?"

Gabby Kinney has posed:
The newest, youngest person in the astral plane for this particular endeavor was one Gabby Kinney. Gabby, who had hoped to help SOMEHOW, and suddenly finds herself faced with the world scenario that the others had built up to trap Michael in.

This was serious. She'd seen the destruction the Angels had wrought on New York. Thought she had lost one of her sisters to the attack. And now? Now they were dealing with an archangel captured and... and...

It was a WEDDING.

Even as Michael batters against her mind, she can't help but to feel pure, unadulterated GLEE. She'd never been to a wedding before! And everything was so picture perfect. The giddy energy she felt is enough for her to endure through his attack even as she findsd it almost amusing that he wasn't finding this as amazing as she was.

"Oh, what flowers do they want? And what color dresses? Wait are they dresses or tuxedos or a tuxedo dress!? Raven's Southern isn't she is it gonna be like Gone with the Wind?" Even as she gushes with such excited questions, her mind is exploding with ideas for being an AWESOME flower girl. Glitter mixed in with the petals? Metallic confetti? Edible flowers for if people wanted a snack?! EEEEE! She was bedecked herself in a cute dress with a puffy skirt though it was more innocent lolita than southern.

Given the tension brewing with Lydia she's doing her utmost to dance around to the music being horribly cute in an attempt to distract. As soon as Michael shows up at the entrance though? Her eyes light up along with a grin, and she dashes over to him with the basket of flowers (nonmodified so far) hanging off her arm. Without warning or fear she reaches out to grab his hand tugging him in with all her short might.

"Perfect you're just in time we need help! She's freaking out! Do you know where Raven is or could you calm Lydia down until she shows up? Pleeaase you know how to handle this stuff, right?"

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Jon's narrative tone turns snarkily amused. "Isn't that what you wanted? A perfect world. No wars, no real hardships. A world where the worst thing that will ever happen to a Jewish mutant is that her beloved is late to their wedding. We thought we might show you /our/ version of your perfect world. New York as it could be."

    The tone grows wistful. "We could make it likes this ourselves, you know. It's what we're working toward. A world where Lydia and Raven can be married and nobody blinks an eye, nobody remembers that a little over a decade ago they couldn't have done so legally? That /would/ be a perfect world. But, well... nothing's ever /truly/ perfect. True perfection would be stagnation, terribly boring. What's a story without conflict?" A pause. "Where /is/ the other bride? How will they handle this worst of all possible snags? I suppose you'll just have to see...."

    Jon's tone goes back to something more serious. "At any rate, what's a poor eternal bachelor to do, trying to help solve the relationship woes of his clients? Michael Demi never has gotten married, hasn't even dated really. He's too busy with his business, helping everyone /else/ get their happily-ever-after. After all, who else could /possibly/ make sure everyone's perfectly happy besides Bushwick's premier wedding planner? But it always leaves him a little out of sorts, when relationship woes rear their head at these moments." A pause. "Maybe it'd be better to spend some time chatting with the photographer, hmm? Try to ignore that nasty emotional storm brewing."

    As Gabby pushes Michael toward Lydia he gives a look of alarm and then Pheobe is accosting him with the news as well. "You're kidding. She's not..." he winces. "I... I thought she'd be here. I... she will be here. There must be a reason she's not." He is sure that the situation will resolve itself and all will be well.

    The Archangel's retort is bitter and direct. "And so you build a scenario where the bride doesn't show up?" he replies. "I see. It's a game. One where I must see to it that all goes well and everyone is happy regardless the lack of one of the major players being in attendance." It's a broad assumption but, he feels confident that is the trick.

    Even so, his emotions flitter along the edges of his cage: Concern. Worry. Panic. There is so much about this world that -is- like his own idealized image. But if a complication like this could still happen. How could he give his subjects the happiness of matrimony if one of them was not going to arrive?

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jonny comments, as Phoebe passes, "My money's on her spilling something on the tux and needing last-minute dry cleaning. Want to get a pool going?" They smirk, and then as Phoebe moves to intercept the wedding planner, they head off toward the kitchen to check on things with the caterer. And maybe grab a glass of champagne. Definitely grab a glass of champagne.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    "Michael, /there/ you are," Lydia breathes, coming up to him to take him by the hands in a friendly greeting. "Have you heard from Raven? Nobody seems to have been able to get a hold of her and she's running /late/!" She lets go of Michael's hands. "She's not the type of person to ditch me. If this was one of my books she'd show up last minute and shower me with kisses because she lost her phone and had to save a kitten from a burning building. This /has/ to have a happy ending. This just /has/ to."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
And then, there is Terry O'Neil.

Terry isn't in the best frame of mind, considering what happened at the Tower. This manifests as a rather stressed expression, and the mad lunge he makes for Jonny, grabbing one arm with a shaking hand.

"Those ralph spooners! Look! Look!" The redhead holds up a little platter for Jon to see. It contains...

Bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches.

"They foozled up the order! /This/ is for the Alpha Beta Beta Kappa Gamma Ray fraternity up at the U, for their big fundraiser!" he huffs, hands on his hips, "And that /means/ there are several dozen platters of kosher food and hors d'oevures on their way /there/. And they are /not/ answering their cell phone. Look, I tried calling-" sixteen times, by the screen he holds up. "What /are/ we going to do? There's apparently some sort of massive pipe failure and there's entire streets that are bumper-to-bumper because of flooding."

"What on Earth are we supposed to do? I can't... I can't foist Bags o'Mystery at our guests! We'll have a daddle-full of collie shangles in our review column along online! We can't Kruger-spoof this up, it'll take one bite and they'll be mad as hops!"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I'm sure she'll be here, Miss Dietrich." the photographer says with a kind smile, "After all, her big day too." she replies friendly-like, "And you know they say Mr. Demi is the best in the business! I'ms ure he'll have a fix for it." She responds, and as Demi is conflated with The Bride, Phoebe makes her way to the kitchen, pausing to take a few candids and arrives somewhere between spooning and bumpers.

    And she just stares at the caterer, her head tilting a moment before she questions--

    "Uh... is that English?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael enters the venue, dressed //nice// for once - and it is a bit of a surprise to see her dressed in decent attire for once. It's still not a dress, as who can really imagine her in a skirt? But she's got nice slacks and a blouse in a blue color that goes well with the blue, purple, and green she'd dyed into her hair. Simple opal pendant rests at her throat, and her hands are free of any tattoos. She glances around - her gaze going automatically to where the band plays on without their fearless leader, as they wait for the official festivities to really begin. There's a quiet, anxious murmur amongst the various guests - a colorful and eclectic bunch, with this particular couple. Many of the faces are familiar, from Erik with his stark white locks, to a woman with purple hued hair in anxious conversation with a pair of boys - one of whom is wearing a fabulous tuxedo dress for the occassion, to a woman with a white streak running through her brown hair, chatting casually with a lithe gentleman with deep blue, short fur and a long tail in constant motion.
    "Where did Jonny go?" she remarks idly.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The narrator seems content to allow the scene to unfold, as chaos falls around the befuddled wedding planner. "I..." he says looking to Lydia. "I... am sure, as everyone else has said, that there is a perfectly good reason for her tardiness..." There is sweat at his brow. He -has- to make this right. Without the result would be... The word disastrous doesn't seem to do it justice.

    Terry's emergence from the kitchen does not go without notice and the man pales further. "Oh... oh no. That's... that can't be. I... but..." he takes a deep breath. He can still fix it. Right? Right.

    The Archangel seems to pace like a restless tiger in a too small cage. Foolishness he thinks. Were I in power such things could be fixed with a wave of a hand and a call for assistance. Even as he voices his solution, other thoughts race in filling the silence of his confines. But free will is essential, even in the world of painlessness I would create. We were not told to create automatons. Most of our kind were that already. That is the beauty of those who live. The difference between us and them. Free will. Forcing happiness, can that truly be called happiness in the end? Or is it a poor imitation?

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    The doors to the Synagogue suddenly burst open, revealing a figure who /would/ be dashing if it wasn't for that fact that it looks like she just sprinted a mile on foot. Which is precisely what she had done. "I'm here!" Raven shouts, panting, resting her hands on her knees as she tries to catch her breath. "Can you believe it? There was a major pipe burst and /flooding/ in the streets. Traffic was backed up everywhere, and I was already stuck in traffic when I realized that I had left my phone at home! So I left my car and ran all the way over here! Am I late?"

    Lydia hears the doors as the slam open and Raven's voice and she immediately dashes out from the wings and flings herself at her lover who catches her in a spin as they kiss. "Oh, Raven! I was sure you weren't going to make it. Come. Let's get you tidied up and get my dress on, and then we can finally get the show on the road!"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jonny gapes at Terry for a long moment. "Okay, mate, you're gonna have to go back a tick, because I have /no/ idea what..."

    They stare at the sandwiches, and it finally gets through. Bacon. In a synagogue.

    "Oh, boll-weevils." Just doesn't roll off the tongue the way 'bollocks' does, sadly. The MC reaches out to grab a glass of champagne and downs it in one go. "Well, this is just blindin' terrific. The second bride's shown up, but we've got /bacon/ to feed people with, and now I'm out a twenty on the cause of it all. At least the booze is decent." They make a face. "Alright, let me just... get Mr. Demi, I'm sure he'll be able to--"

    There's a /squeal/ of feedback from the main room, a spark, and then a hiss. The string quartet all stare at each other with wide eyes; one of the amps is sparking. Jonny spins around, eyes widening. "My /equipment/!" they shout. And, shoving the empty champagne glass into Terry's hand, they rush back out into the main room.

    "Hi, Cael, love, no time to talk, everything's /fine/, it'll be fine!" They stop to give Cael a kiss on the cheek, and a momentary frown at only /one/ chain worn around her neck. Where's her amulet? The one she got from Scathach? But they need to stay in character, so they say, "Can you go find Mr. Demi and tell him the catering's all foozled and I need... five minutes to fix the sound system? Thanks, dear, I've just got to make sure the whole place doesn't get burned down." Another kiss, on the other cheek, and then they're buried in checking over the band's equipment, while berating the musicians with 'I told you so.'

    In the meantime, things get quiet, except for that vague sound of clack-clack typewriter in the background, a potential backing rhythm for other music that might rise in the absence of the string quartet.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael grabs Jon's hand, giving a squeeze as she's kissed, flashing him a broad smile. "Of course love. You've got this," she reassures him, as her eyes start scanning the crowd. Her gaze lands on a young woman of mixed heritage - with black hair, and fold-less eyelids. She tries to ignore the ache in her chest as she calls out, "Alis! Can you check the equipment with Jonny?"
    "Do you remember what happened the last time I tried to do a sound system?" she calls back.
    "Just try, please!" She leaves the pair to it, while she strides off towards Michael - her hand clenching at her side for a moment before she forces it to relax. They're not here for a fight today. They're not here for a fight.
    She passes by the magenta-hued woman, and the woman with a white streak through her hair as the pair join Raven. Simultaneously, the two boys - one with purple splotches on her deep brown skin, wearing an impeccable suit, and the other wearing a FABULOUS tux-dress - both join Lydia, linking arms with her and leading her away.
    "Mr. Demi!" she calls, before abruptly lowing her voice to a hushed tone. "Apparently there's osme sort of disaster with the catering, I don't know all- or well, any of the details, but I gather you're needed in the kitchen. I'd help, but the last thing we need is for the whole place to burn to the ground."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
And just like that, there's Terry, grabbing Mister Demi by the elbow. "Yes, we need your help!We simply can't put ourselves in a position where any old abydocomist could sling slander at us and make us look like complete zounderkites. I will /not/ be known as the goyim who bescumbered the wedding of the year by putting pork on the table!"

As Michael is swung into his orbit, the dramatic redhead tosses an apron at him- "Come on! We've got approximately forty minutes to get some buns done! They ain't gonna be Kosher but at this point anything's better than pure chazerei!"

As he beelines towards the kitchen, a steady staccato rhythm of strings can be heard in the background.

Wait. Did somebody hire a string quartet for the /kitchen?/

And, as he opens the doors and, in a blur, sets up everything in record time for the bun-making process, it's almost like it's morning at Agatha's Bakery, and Terry sings as he instructs Michael on what to grab and what to squeeze-

~Every night there's always dough to knead

and then like bread we must all rise-
For As long as we have mouths to feed
This baker's heart will swell with pride~

There are trays, and there's dough, and the warmth of ovens and the clatter of instruments, and the imrpobable smell of home.

~All is neat like little buns on trays
as they await the master's hand
to detail, to give them shape and place,
no single fault in God's own plan!~

A tray is thrust into Michael's hands, ready to be populated, as Terry grabs a hold of a load-bearing column, which seems to function perfectly for a dramatic pivot and a camera spin as the strings slow down into a lyrical crescendo, underscoring the longing in his voice as he belts:

~And yet, at times I feel that there is more for me-
Another shore and other suns-
I long to have some hands for once knead me
that would appreciate my buns-

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    "Well, that's a relief," the narrator comments. "The second bride showed up! But now the caterer's having issues and the sound system isn't working. What /else/ can go wrong on this otherwise perfect of days?" His voice fades off at the first notes of the song comes into play in the kitchen.

    "You still have all the power, Saint Michael," Jon notes. "You wanted to set up a world where God makes everything right in the end. You're still holding on to the Demiurgic Force. Why else, if not to fix everyone's problems? They're all looking to Michael Demi to fix things. To make things right. Is he really going to let them down?"

    A pause, and then, "Or can you even conceive of fixing problems without being able to wave your hand and make it better?"

    Michael Demi is spun around and around by the bustle of the kitchen. The words alone, brink a flush to his cheeks and leave him staring at Terry with his mouth agape. Which is about the time that a splash of flour explodes in his face, sending him in to a sputtering fit.

    The Archangel's frown is palpable. Still with the continued efforts against power that was granted to me by the Father of all he thinks. You have seen His involvement. If I give it over to Him it will not afford this universe any favors. He will still be ignorant of its troubles. Its strife... he sends, the tone of his argument imploring.

    Still his thoughts flicker along the confines. Raven showed up on her own. He did nothing. And even without his power... they are going to strive to fix the errors. Have they come so far? Are they truly ready as they claim and as they think? Doubt starts to rise in the Archangel.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    Lydia is led away by the two boys, but not before catching the squeal of the sound system. "Oh, please," she begs, "Not /another/ thing." She takes a deep breath as she starts to wiggle her way into her wedding dress. Boy is it /tight/. But it looks so good on her. Raven nearly fell out of her chair when she saw it for the first time. (They couldn't help showing off to each other.)

    "Don't worry," says the boy in the tux dress as he starts to lace up Lydia. "I'm sure Jonny has got it all covered. Everything will turn out just fine, just wait and see."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Out in the main room, Jonny's asked Alis to grab them a spare amp, and everything's gotten plugged in. Jonny grins at the waiting crowd, picks up the mic, twirls it about, then says, "No worries, folks... all will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well."

    The string quartet has picked up the melody of the song Terry sings, and as something seizes them Jonny begins to sing,

~Terry, lad, your buns are so delicious
Tell me true, how could you long for more?
'Twould be a crime, an error cruel and vicious
If you left us, pursuing greener shores...

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Things are a whirlwind of activity now. As Terry guides MIchael in the preparation of the buns, there are servers coming in and requesting the p'tit fours and bakery ites which, fortunately, /he/ brought himself so they are available. At each request, Terry swivels, deposits a helping of them onto a tray, and returns to Michael and the buns.

"Eclaire!"
"Take care!"
"Mille feuille!"
"Enjoy!"
"Madeleine"
"Have it, then!"
"Viennoiserie"
"Tomfoolery!
"Croquembouche!"
"Hey, don't push!"
"Robespierre!"

Record scratch. Terry glances at what might be a camera. "That was a revolutionary, but I'm afraid we're all out!"

He hears the song coming from Jon, and he picks up in response:



~It is a world of troubles, and it has been- Hisnd all we can do is simply try-    here is this boy who's really really green
and he has really caught my eye-
But I feel like I'm the one he's never seen~

Terry dances through the kitchen, grabbing wax paper and streaming it behind him, eventually the servers join in a choreographed chorus, jostling Michael this way and that into dance figures, flour flying, while Terry briefly brings out his phone, showing a picture of Garfield Logan, movie star.

Cael Becker has posed:
    The door to the kitchen flies open, as servers go in and out, and Cael finds herself jostled into the doorway, and just onto the cusp of the kitchen, and she's twirled into the dance for a few moments, some force from their combined dreaming seeming to compell her to sing a few back-up harmonies to Terry's latest verse. This only lasts for a few bars before she's abruptly able to pull free of the magnectic pull of the song and dance number, and start to stride away, almost like Spike during 'Where Do We Go From Here.'
    Once she reaches the swinging doors, though, she turns to blow Michael a kiss and waggle her fingers at him. Enjoy that, Mikey. Then she pushes through the doors and back out into the party.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    "...Wait what's with the musical number, this wasn't supposed--" The narrator gets cut off by his own voice, singing, and seems to just give up. Things will go where they will!

    Michael seems absolutely out of his depth with the festivities moving around him. The dance number sends him spiraling out of the kitchen and into the main hall again, but even so he seems content with the fact that things are working out well.

    The infectious nature of things working out for themselves, without -actual- Divine Intervention seems to be getting to Michael. I refuse... his sends from inside his mental cage. I cannot accept...I... no The turmoil of the Archangel is palpable as he watches things work to show happiness without his hand's involvement. His thoughts flicker over the confines for all to see. Doubt looms heavy among them. And worry. And... loneliness. He is truly alone in this endeavor, even those he claims to want to help don't truly need him. Would it just be better to listen to Jonny and those around him? To give up the fight? After all that's been done? Was it all for nothing?

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    And finally, the wedding dress is on. Sure, things may be running a little late, and there may be a couple of hiccups here and there but in the end? She's getting married to the most wonderful person on the planet. All of her friends and family are out there to celebrate this event with her, and nothing is on fire (hopefully). Really, what more could you ask.

    "I'm ready," she concludes. She turns to one of the boys. "Go and see if Raven is ready, too. If so... then we can go ahead and start."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The music shifts to a minor key as Jonny steps forward, slowing down as the dancers stop in their twirling, a hush falling over the crowd. The MC sings in resonant baritone, swept up in this song of longing for what they evidently do not have in this "perfect" world.

~You'd think I have the perfect life
With daughters, girlfriend, husband
(not wife)
You'd think I'd have no longing for
Greener pastures, wider vistas...
Distant shores...

~And yet, despite seeming perfection
Something's missing
From this sweet confection
The final spark, a dash of glee
As if God's plan left holes in me...

    Music swells, shifts back to the major key from before, but slower in rhythm.

~Where is the magic? Where is the joy?
Things I've been wanting since I was a boy
Parchment and leather, dull though it seems
Dusty old tomes are filling my dreams

~Is it the statements that I truly need?
Tales of danger and daring and greed?
Is it the power, to change up the land?
To summon up dreams in the palm of my hand?

~...Or is it the love that I can't express
That makes my poor heart ache in my chest
This world we all cherish, that I do applaud
Has space for no more than just the one god

~Where is Truth? Where is Balance? Where is Ma'at?
(And Thoth and Anubis, haunting Duat)
Where is Neith, the Great Mother, helping us thrive?
...And what is an Archivist sans an Archive...?

    Then they shake themself, eyes sparking, and the tempo picks up, the dance number resumes, the singer's voice gets lower and rougher.

~No, this is foolish, it simply won't do
There's a show to put on, the finest to-do!
Enough with this longing, it's making me sick!
Who cares 'bout our dreams, there are problems to fix!

    Jonny actually /glares/ over at the kitchen as they finally manage to wrest themself out of the musical number. This is Terry's fault, /somehow/. It has to be.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry sighs and kisses the phone.

~It really is a lovely life, this baking
But lovely things just go so far-
My outer crust is all done, and it's breaking
My filling wants to fall apart!
Is my life simply just that?
Just a dance of sugarplums?
What I really need- I really need-
I really need a man who kneads my buns!~

The ovens flare, and it is almost as if time passes by in the blink of an eye, because the buns come out, lustrous and warm and very much not Kosher. The servers pick up the trays and twirl with them. Not a bun falls off the trays, somehow.

~I have no time to waste on that green boy's smile
We have a wedding to upright!
I'm not the one that's walking down the aisle
and we must spare those brides a fight!
But until my bridegroom's won
And he fills my life with glee,
I must do what must be done
'til my prince walks in and gets down on one knee!~

The triumphant high note is held, and then the redhead points to the door. "Charge!"

And a veritable batallion of servers come in, and then come out of the kitchens with the fresh, assorted buns and the patisserie. There may be no salty entrees, but it's better than anything, right?

After all, you did the best you could with the hand you were dealt.

Cael Becker has posed:
    After (careful) hugs from both boys, determined not to muss a single curl, or put a single crease in the perfect dress, the pair run off to check on the other half of the nuptual equation - meeting with their brightly-colored older sister in the hall, who it seemed had been sent to do the same thing.
    Both brides are ready.
    Cael, meanwhile, watches Michael as he's whirled out of the kitchen, her arms folding over her chest, her gaze a disapproving frown. Get with the program, already. Can't he //see// just how dull this world would be? How artificial and unfulfilling the challenges it poses? The last thing they needed was some helicopter parent of a pseudo-deity smoothing out their path, day in and day out.
    The only thing that draws her gaze away from him is Jonny as they begin to sing - her eyebrows going up. She looks amused, but isn't drawn into it this time. Maybe you only need to make the saving throw once to be immune. Behind him, while he's singing, Alis is still taking apart the malfunctioning amp, determined to find the fault.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Perhaps it was the song, perhaps it was the fact that everything came together in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with him. Perhaps it was a mix of all these things, but something finally snaps in Michael. The wedding planner opens his mouth to say something and then collapses.

    At the moment the planner's form collapses Michael's voice erupts from his prison. "ENOUGH! You have made your point" he says his form blooming into view over the collapsed shell of his confines. He tosses two motes of light out onto the floor of the temple and stares at Jonny, Terry, Cael, and the emerging pair of brides.

    "If it will satisfy you... then have your prize. I will play no more part in this charade you have made." His wings flex and he rises into the air a touch. "I... this entire thing... is... wrong... but I... what you ask cannot be done without one more... conflict. Find the last piece of your stair. I was unable to. Then we will decide what must be." There is a flash of light and the feeling of the Archangel vanishes from the astral altogether.

    The two motes of light solidify into their true forms: one is a board of ash wood, much like the others of the great stairway to Heaven that they have been building, the other appears be the bottom half of a blue panelled door, one that would match the other two pieces that Jon has been collecting and are currently stored in the Archive.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jonny blinks as 'Michael Demi' collapses, and then the archangel is there properly, pushing through the walls of his prison, and Jon drops the act, grinning. "Nice to have you!" he calls to the archangel's departing form.

    "...Did we just defeat Michael without throwing a single punch?" They can hardly seem to believe it; they start giggling, and look at Terry. "You know, I was /furious/ with you for the music, but... I think it turned the trick!"

    And then he grabs Cael and twirls her around, dancing. Actually /dancing/, grinning all the while. "It worked! It actually worked! Can you /believe/ it?!" He gestures for Terry to go ahead and pick up the board, to put it into the stairway. The Cheshire earned that.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael can't help it - she lets out a snort, that turns into a guffaw. "Aww, poor baby," she says in Michael's wake - just before she is grabbed, twirled, and danced around the room. She joins Jon in an energetic, skipping dance around the room, then leans in to give them a brief kiss, while beaming away happily. "It actually worked," she confirms with a broad smile.
    "...but let's get out of here before some sort of closing number bursts into existance."