11234/The Voice of the People

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The Voice of the People
Date of Scene: 18 May 2022
Location: Queens
Synopsis: Jon and Cael fill in for Moon Knight on a patrol. Cael brings up the tape of Javier's death, they run into werewolves, and Ma'at asks Cael's advice. No really!
Cast of Characters: Jonathan Sims, Cael Becker




Jonathan Sims has posed:
    With Moon Knight still out cold, there's no one to take over his patrols--and particularly, to make sure that the werewolves he's been tracking and fighting, the same pack they nearly wiped out on Sunday, don't find the Midnight Mission and decide to come after the Heliopolitans. So Jon, after making sure Agnes is settled in for the night, heads back out to Queens to patrol the streets for a couple of hours. He'll be back in Chelsea overnight, but by the time the gibbous moon is high in the cloudy sky he's standing on the roof of the Mission, wearing his new armor, wings out and staff extended, ready to patrol.

    He peers around the street, looking for anything that shows up to his magical Sight, traces of people that might be worrisome. Finding none, he shrugs and starts off along the rooftops, heading generally toward the area where they ran into the werewolves. He's got a comm in, so he can talk to his partner on this patrol, down on the ground. <<Supposed to rain tonight,>> he comments. <<Hopefully we'll be done by then. I should've asked Steven to include a hood in this getup.>>

Cael Becker has posed:
    <<"Afraid of a little harmless water - Your Royal Godliness?">> Cael counters - amusement in her voice that Jon might have such a concern. Given her position at street level, she's dressed like //blatantly// than her partner - having opted for what looks like her usual sort of attire - though the leather jacket she wears is not her favorite, on the off chance it gets ruined, and tucked in under it and her shirt is a thin armored vest. Her gun is tucked out of sight - though she lacks ICER bullets now, and the collapsable lance she'd used during the previous fight was also tucked away out of sight.
    <<"Maybe it's from growing up in the desert - rain was infrequent, and welcomed, but I've... never minded being out in the rain.">>

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    <<"It's not that I mind rain as such,">> Jon replies, pausing to gauge the distance and then hop from one rooftop to another. They manage to do this without even fluttering their wings, but it isn't a very far jump. <<"I grew up in England, I'm used to dreary miserable rainy days. But I don't much look forward to trying to find my footing on slippery rooftops.">>

    The smirk in their voice can almost be heard over the comm. <<"It might surprise you to learn that I've never actually done this before. Usually Moon Knight patrols alone. But it feels... I don't know. I find myself liking to be up on the rooftops, lately.">>

    Another hop, the brownstones still close enough together not to be too much of an issue. They're not precisely moving at running speed either, though.

Cael Becker has posed:
    <<"It'll be good practice, then - and you have //wings,//">> Cael points out easily - holding up a hand to acknowledge a car that's stopped for her, as she jogs across a street about half a block up from Jon's current position, before turning left to continue flanking the blook he was on.
    Her gaze remains alert as she moves, watching for unexpected signs of movement, or anything that looks out of place while she also listens for unusual sounds. Nothing seems to alarm her just yet. As her gaze locks onto a figure further up to the block, something in the man's posture flashes her back to an image of the last time she'd walked these streets at night, seemingly alone - a man standing on the sidewalk, fist at his side, a weapon gripped in his other hand- But Javi was dead, and the figure ahead of her shifts, raising a hand to hail a taxi before trotting off - freeing Cael to breathe in relief, and keep moving on her patrol.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    <<"I... suppose I do, at that. I suppose I /could/ just... fly, but... that would be terribly obvious. People are relatively used to vigilantes on the rooftops around here. Those vigilantes /flying/ is an entirely different story.">>

    Jon picks up his pace a bit, jogging across the rooftops and jumping the distance between the brownstones without too much difficulty. Training every morning has gone a long way to making the movements relatively easy, though surely the wings probably help in some subtle sort of way.

    <<"You alright down there?">> He can only get vague hints of emotion down the line, and it's easier to read in her voice, but he's at least aware of the burst of... something.

Cael Becker has posed:
    <<"I, uhh- I thought I saw something,">> Cael replies with hints of tension lingering in her voice. <<"I was mistaken. I'm fine,">> she insists, resisting the urge to shove her hands into her pockets. Better to keep them free, and ready to grab for weapons if they're needed.
    She takes a deep breath in, letting it out slowly as she reminds herself that she's //fine// - and perfectly safe with Jon, though it's no real surprise her mind goes wandering back to the tape she'd listened to earlier.
    <<"Why record his death, Jon?">>

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The question so surprises Jon that they trip and nearly miss the jump from one brownstone to another; they recover mostly by dint of their wings, and float down to the next rooftop, glowering slightly over in Cael's general direction.

    <<"That's hardly appropriate conversation for a patrol, Becker.">> Oh, that tone is /defensive/. And clearly aware that it's a ridiculous thing to say. Maybe he's giving himself time to think.

    He hesitates at a corner, seeming to decide whether to cross the busy street or turn and follow it; they'll need to turn eventually, but do they want to do so here?

Cael Becker has posed:
    <<"And how many times have I caught you singing showtones mid-mission?">> Cael counters in a dry voice. <<"What was it the last time? Something about 'sexy boots'?">> As Jon stops - she pauses at the window of a Bodega, pretending to be interested in some of the flyers in the windows, waiting for Jon to pick a direction and continue on.
    <<"So answer the question, huh?">>

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    <<"It's called /Kinky Boots/ and the music was written by Cyndi Lauper. Everybody loves Cyndi Lauper.">> Jon's taste in music is, it might be noted, rather eclectic and wide-ranging, but he has an enduring love for peppy female pop singers. Cael has surely had to endure more than one session of Jon singing Carly Rae Jepsen while cooking. A Cyndi Lauper-written musical is practically catnip for him.

    They sigh, noting that there's no way to avoid crossing this street if they're going to get where they're going. With this intersection mostly empty for the moment, Jon backs up, takes a few steps to gain speed, and makes a broad leap off the roof of the building holding the bodega, flaring out their wings in an attempt to look /something/ like a cape. With luck, anyone looking up will just think it's a cape rather than wings.

    They hit the roof of the building across the street--this one hosting a Starbucks--and grunt in surprise at the lack of impact. Shaking it off, they continue in that direction, heading for a quieter side street to turn up. <<"Javier's death was part of what happened. Why /not/ record it? State executions are often recorded, the better to review procedures if something should go wrong.">>

Cael Becker has posed:
    <<"Uh-huh,">> Cael replies in a voice that sounds entirely unconvinced as she begins walking forward again, one hand tightening at her side for a moment - before relaxing again. <<"And what exactly is going to go wrong with... Sekhmet 'scouring' him from existance?">> she counters. <<"Preserving a man's pain and suffering in his last moments for generations of Archivists to review at their leisure is- you don't think that's fucked up?">> she asks bluntly. She never glances towards Jon as she talks, instead, letting her gaze continue to scan the streets ahead of them.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon doesn't answer right away. They go back to jogging across the rooftops, then running, leaping from rooftop to rooftop with surprising grace. When they don't think about it too much, they're really quite capable physically. Of course, the wings and the magic help.

    When they reach the next intersection--a smaller street, one that won't be too hard to leap--they stop, and sigh. <<"Maybe I made the wrong choice, with the way I killed Javier. Maybe Agnes or one of her children, or one of /their/ children, will come up with something better. Maybe one of them will decide to stop killing at all. I'm not preserving it for them to review at their leisure. I'm preserving it because I killed a man, and I should not be able to do that without some kind of oversight, even if it's after I'm gone.">>

    A pause, and they frown. <<"If I never questioned how prior Archivists did things, I'd never have joined SHIELD. I'd never have given Javier a second chance, either. I'd be trying to do everything myself, and I'd still be using negative energy channeled through Ammit to outright destroy anyone the gods judged unworthy. I owe it to my descendants, and the people they will judge, to leave a record of what I've done.">>

Cael Becker has posed:
    <<"And there's no way to leave a record of that - other than preserving him... screaming in agony into a tape?">> Cael counters - bitterness, pain, and anger leaking into her voice. <<"Because none of that feels right. It- it feels like a bloody snuff film. It- he paid. He paid for his choices, and it doesn't set things right, it doesn't balance, but does that mean he- that he deserves for //that// - for the sound of his last moments - to be the one thing that endures forever? It feels //wrong,//">> she insists.
    She must look like a crazy person, talking to no one and pacing back and forth on a New York sidewalk. Then again, it's not like it's that strange a sight, since the invention of bluetooth ear buds.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon's voice is irritated, even angry. <<"What do you want me to do, Cael? Was I supposed to turn off the recording and /then/ kill him? Why? What good does that do, besides spare someone's feelings down the line? It's not like it's just out there for anyone to hear. It's... it's /evidence/, Cael. It's...">>

    He sighs. <<"If I were NYPD, and I walked into that house, and I interrogated a suspect, and then I /turned off the recording/ and then he turns up dead--that's awfully fucking suspicious, right? I mean, do you not realize that's precisely what I am, now? I'm a supernatural cop, /and/ judge, /and/ executioner. If I hadn't directly recorded it, I would have had to lay out the precise nature of the events later /anyway/. That's part of what I do. So, again, why turn off the recording? It's there in the Archive anyway.">>

    A pause, and then, <<"Are you mad that I recorded it--or are you mad that I /did/ it? If you'd listened to some dispassionate description of his painful agony would you be confronting me right now? Or would it have made it just palatable enough that you can look away from what happened to him? Because that's precisely the damn point. Nobody who has oversight over the Archive should look away from how I chose to kill a man.">>

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael's pacing stops for a while as she simply stands stiffly instead, both hands clenched at her side. She //longs// for something to hit. Something to take some of her focus off of this, and the ache she feels, and the roiling nausea threatening in the pit of her stomach.
    And what is there to say to that? To any of that?
    <<"The statement was over,">> Cael finally answers - in a quieter voice. <<"It was over before you killed him. Statement ends, tape goes off. Seems pretty fucking simple to me. And- and you're not a cop, Jon, because- I mean, Agnes is the only one who gets to go into that shit, and you're gone by then, and- fuck, Jon, it's different, alright?">> she asserts flatly.
    <<"...and why does it need to hurt? Why would any of them need to suffer? Was it just because he hurt me, and you were angry? He's dying and- what? Going to hell? Or- or starting over, and being born again? So- what's the fucking point of making him suffer? It's all- over. It's over, and we don't need to be like... that.">>

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    <<"The statement isn't over until judgement is rendered. His is not the only death recorded in the Archive.">> Jon sighs. <<"This is precisely what I was talking about the other day. This is what the Archivist does. It used to be worse. It used to be negative energy /tearing someone apart/. Do you remember the look on Caitlin's face when I channeled that power at her? The fear? That's what's mostly in the Archive.">>

    He shakes his head. <<"Cael, you wouldn't even know he suffered if you hadn't listened to the tape. Nobody would, except me, and eventually Agnes. So you wouldn't be able to confront me about it. It's not...">> He sighs, frustrated. <<"I record things, okay? It's what I do. And it's not my /choice/. You're mad at me for doing what I was created to do.">>

    Their tone hardens. <<"Why did he suffer? Because I was angry, and so was Ma'at, and it wasn't just on your behalf. We had to experience him kill however many people, run them down with his car, and /enjoy/ it. We were furious, and righteously so, and we called upon a goddess of vengeance to punish him. And what we gave him was not a /fraction/ of what he caused others. What do you /want/? I warned you his death was on the tape. You didn't have to listen.">>

Cael Becker has posed:
    <<"I //did// have to listen!">> Cael shoots back - anger and pain in her voice, and making her more than a little careless with her volume - for a moment. <<"I did. I'm //involved.// Maybe- maybe I'm not at //fault,// maybe I'm not responsible, but shit doesn't turn out this way without me. Without me helping lock up his brother. Maybe Juan would have insisted on Javi bettering himself, you know? They do that sometimes - instead of having their little brother's follow their footsteps. Or maybe Javi just- wouldn't have had as much to prove, and he definitely wouldn't have run afoul of //this// fate if not for- my involvement with you, and you think I should just- I should turn it off, and close my eyes, and plug my ears and pretend none of it fucking happened? I didn't want to listen to that. I didn't want to hear that, but- had... to listen. I owed it. I'm involved.">>
    Cael grits her teeth tightly, still standing still on the street below Jon, only periodically remembering to scan the street in case of trouble. <<"Look. You just said - you just told me that I'm often right, yeah? And I'm not saying you should listen to me blindly - you fucking shouldn't - but this isn't right. None of this feels right. And they don't need to suffer just because they made people suffer. Just because- because he did awful things doesn't mean that you need to. It doesn't feel right.">>

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs, and suddenly sounds tired. <<"What do you want, Cael? I mean it. Do you want me to promise never to kill again? I can't do that. And I can't promise not to hurt anyone, either. People get hurt, in battles. You enjoyed the other night, right? Those werewolves? How many of them did we kill? How many suffered, in dying? Do you even have the faintest idea how many of them might have been forced into what they are?">>

    He shakes his head. <<"Maybe it isn't right, but what would have been? You keep bringing up how his life might have gone differently, as if he never had a choice. As if he wasn't a grown-ass adult who decided to become a /serial killer/. Seriously, Cael, didn't you listen to how many people he killed? Brutally? To the number of women he raped? And you think, what, Juan being alive would've made it all better? There are plenty of people in that life who don't /revel/ in it like that. You're not wrong that you're involved, but this insistence you have on seeing 'Javi' instead of 'El Toro' is...">>

    They straighten, start moving again. <<"I'm listening. I am. But you have a double standard and it's rich for you to tell me 'this isn't right' as if I didn't /agonize/ over this, when you had no qualms killing werewolves the other night. I am /tired/ of you trying to make excuses for that piece of /shit/ while you cling to your anger and hate at people who try to make up to you. It's... maybe you're right. Maybe it /isn't/ right. But there aren't easy answers. Again: what do you want me to do? Right now? Right here? Why do you think I've been agonizing over how much I /hate/ this?">>

    A leap, to cross the street, and then they're turning to follow up it toward where they ran into the werewolves on Sunday.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael's posture remains stiff with tension as Jon speaks - her gaze flicking momentarily back the way they'd come. ...but abandoning a mission partway through was not something you did, no matter how hurt or furious you might feel. Even if it was just a patrol. She forces herself to move forward instead, her steps jerky and unsteady at first.
    <<"Is it so wrong to wish things had gone differently?">> she answers quietly. <<"I heard it. I know he was a... monster. I know he would have killed again. I know you saved lives when you killed him, I get all that. But- there's a difference between killing werewolves in the middle of a fight when they're attacking you, and- and ending someone's life when- Just because he'd done awful things, why inflict suffering, Jon? Isn't there another way? Is Ma'at incapable of delivering her judgement... without pain?">>

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs, stopping to rest against a piece of ventilation work on the roof he's on. <<"It's not wrong to wish things had gone differently,">> he says in a softer tone. <<"I do too. But in the end... I killed him because any choice I made led to his death or his gaining more power. There was no road I could see where he'd atone. Either he died in prison, or gained power in prison, or escaped serving time entirely. So I killed him, because I should bear the burden of that. Because compelling him to turn himself in was as good as killing him anyway.">>

    They rest their forehead on the metal, gently, and close their eyes. <<"The pain... I called on a goddess of /vengeance/, Cael. My gods do not claim to be eternally benevolent. They also don't claim to be perfect. You heard what he did, but you did not /see/ it. The pain and suffering he inflicted. And, yes, part of it was because he hurt you. He hurt you, and I was furious, and we gave him a second chance that he roundly rejected, so Ma'at was furious. So we called on Sekhmet. But what else do I do? Cut off his head with my sword? Is that better? Carry a gun and start double-tapping people?">>

    He rubs at his face. <<"If it's just the recording you object to...">> A hesitation, and then he forces the words out. <<"I could record over that with my own recollection of the event. But the rest... I can't take back how I killed him, and I can't think of anything better. I'm fairly certain he's in Hell right now, Cael, and suffering far worse pain than I gave him. Will you go down to Hell and tell them to knock it off?">>

Cael Becker has posed:
    <<"I'd... like it if you recorded over the end,">> Cael admits - a small amount of relief creeping into her voice. She didn't think there were words that really explained how much that recording bothered her - and she wasn't sure she fully understood the why of it, herself.
    <<"Look, I know that- there's no question of his guilt, and as much was I wanted him to go to prison - to what end? What if he hadn't been convicted? And even if he had - he'd just be a drain on society, so... I get it. I just-">> Her steps slow as well, and she finds a lamp post to lean against. <<"I know you were angry. I know you were in pain over not- being able to save me. I just- look, whatever's happening to his soul now, because of his own beliefs - that isn't on you, or Ma'at, or any of //your// Gods. But how he died is. I just think- there ought to be a better way. I just don't see the point of you being responsible for inflicting pain on people when they're helpless like that. I think you're better than that.">>

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon laughs, and it's tinged with... crying. He's crying. <<"I don't know if I am. I want to be. But I don't--">>

    There's a scream from somewhere down the street, followed by a howl. And Cael, if she looks, can just catch the sight of someone down the road darting into an alley.

    <<"Shit! Do you see anything?">> Jon pushes off the ventilation and sprints toward the sound of the scream, leaping between buildings again.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Some of the anger lingering in Cael's chest eases as she hears the tone in Jon's voice - replaced by concern, and even hints of guilt. Had //she// hurt //them//? And if so, how ba-
    <<"Down the second alley on the right,">> she confirms quickly and quietly, breaking into a run as she approaches the alley - stopping just shy of the entance to hazard a cautious peek around the edge. Her hand got under her jacket, pulling out the lance she'd managed to secure into place before the patrol started.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    In the alley, three werewolves have cornered a young woman, who's standing with her back to them, holding up a can of mace. She sprays it in one of the werewolves' eyes, which is probably the most Queens reaction possible to being cornered by monsters. But she's about to get herself gutted if nobody intervenes.

    The way Jon swoops down on one of the werewolves does /look/ really cool. He jumps down off the building, wings spread and feet out, aiming for a double kick at the werewolf to the woman's left. He succeeds at that, admirably... and then winds up falling to the ground, tangled up with the creature. Erk.

    The other two, distracted, turn away from their prey to focus on Jon, growling in something like recognition.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael's heart catches in her throat at the sight of Jon on the ground, with two of the werewolves close on him. On the other hand... it does give her an excellent distraction for sneaking up on them. She extends the lance with a flick, closing on the creatures with quick, confident steps. Without so much as a word of warning, she thrusts with the point of her weapon into the back of one of the werewolves, effectively evening up the odds as it collapses on the end of her lance and slides to the floor, letting out a pained yelp. One left for her - and one for Jon.
    "Hey, asshole. I think there's something wrong with your buddy," she remarks coolly.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The third werewolf turns on Cael, growling in anger, and... hesitates for a moment. Then, rather than lunge for her with teeth and claws, it goes for her lance as if it's trying to disarm her. Definitely not as vicious as they're acting toward the others.

    Jon and the werewolf he jumped on roll over and over, and the way that bends Jon's wings evidently hurts; he screams in pain and the werewolf gets the upper hand for a moment, bearing his teeth in a horrible sort of grin. Jon responds by trying to punch the creature, to get some space, but mostly succeeds in cutting his knuckles on its teeth.

    "Fuck this. Cael, am I allowed to burn /these/ guys?!"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "YES!" Cael answers without hesitation, struggling with the werewolf as it tries to rip to the lance from her hands. The strength of the creature definitely outmatches her - but weapon play is not all about strength - not by a longshot. Cael moves forward with the pull, and twists the lance in the creature's grasp, trying to free it back up.
    "Neither of these assholes are helpless! Do what you gotta." As the lance finally comes free, she swings the butt of the lance around, trying to crack the werewolf in the head so she can go back Jon up.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "So what you're saying is that in future, I should challenge those Ma'at judges unworthy to a duel?" Jon summons up a ball of fire in his hand and shoves it into the werewolf's face. The creature screams in agony and pulls away from him, trying to bat at the flames.

    Cael's attempt to get the lance away is aided by the woman, who kicks it in the shin. Not hard, but hard enough to throw it off-balance and allow Cael to get the lance away. The creature starts backing away, maybe trying to get away from Cael before she can up and stab it to death.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "That's not- Is this really the time-" Cael's comment ends in a laugh of triumph as she woman helps her out. She doesn't really have the time to thank her, or congratulate her for having some fucking spunk. And since Jon seems to have his foe in hand, she closes in on her own opponant, slashing at it repeatedly as the creature struggles to avoid the blows. She finally manages to land a solid blow deep into its viscera - certainly not a quick or clean death, but you take what you get in a fight.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon rolls around and onto his feet, wincing in pain. His wing is hanging at an odd angle, which it really /shouldn't/ be, because it isn't even real. Maybe it's that he believes in it so much that he's manifested wing damage. He glowers at the remaining werewolf and holds up the glowing emerald hand, with fire around it.

    "What are you trying to do? Didn't we drub you well enough on Sunday?"

    The werewolf snarls in response and leaps at Jon, who throws fire at it; it's well open for Cael to help if she wants.

Cael Becker has posed:
    And why wouldn't she? Staying to the side and out of the way of Jon's flame, she sweeps out with the lance, taking the creature's legs out from underneath it. As it falls, she brings the bladed side of the lance around, and down onto its throat, to end the creature's life quickly. She stares dispassionately for a moment, then turns back to the other two werewolves to ensure their wounds were indeed fatal.
    The creature she'd stabbed in the back has gone still, but the one with a gut wound is trying to scoot away, an arm held across its middle.
    "...is there anything to be gained from talking to these creatures, in this state?" she asks Jon uncertainly. She knows very little about werewolves.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Evidently not," Jon says, frowning as he brings the damaged wing around to peer at it.

    He looks to the young woman. "Are you alright? If they hurt you..."

    She shakes her head, eyes shining with adrenaline, although she's clearly upset. "N-no, they... they never touched me." She looks between the two, eyes wide. "I know you. On the TV, fighting those aliens, right? The ones with the wings." Strong Queens accent, she's clearly a local.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "That's us," Cael confirms - as she drives her spear into the creature's chest. After a yelp, and a gargle - it also goes still. A quicker, cleaner end than the one she'd initially delivered to the creature. She watches it dispassionately for a moment, before turning towards the woman with a reassuring smile.
    "Thanks for the assist. I'm glad you're alright."
    Her attention turns to Jon next, concern in her eyes as she studies their injury. "Can you just... disapparate the wings, or whatever it is you do? It'll be alright the next time you need them - right?" Her fingers reaching to gently brush the brightly colored feathers of the wing, wary of causing Jon further pain.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon winces at the touch. "I... don't know. I think I'd have to bring them back out and heal them, but at least at least they can't get any worse in the meantime. S'pose the patrol's over, hmm?" He flexes his wings and then makes them disappear.

    "Thank you so much," the woman says. "I don't know what I would've..." She swallows, staring at the werewolves, and then shakes herself.

    "Do you live very far?" Jon has to hold himself back from lectures about wandering about at night in the city with so much violence on the streets.

    "Just the next block. I'll be fine. Thank you." And the woman starts to edge on out of the alley, maybe trying to get away from all the blood. She has spunk, but it's still an overwhelming kind of thing.

    Jon slumps against the alley wall, closing his eyes. "Sorry," he murmurs.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Look - make sure you talk to someone," Cael calls after the woman as she starts to leave. "This shit'll mess you up - you know?"
    She watches the woman depart, then turns her attention towards Jon - hesitation and uncertainty in her gaze before she moves to cautiously wrap them up into her arms.
    Fighting was not something they did often, and their aruguement over the com still ate at her.
    "I love you," she murmurs simply. "And I believe in you."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon crumples, wrapping his arms around Cael. "I'm sorry," he repeats. "I didn't mean--but he'd hurt you--he killed you--and I was so angry. And I... I have to make these judgements, and to feel like you don't trust me... but maybe you shouldn't... maybe it's all wrong..."

    They squeeze their eyes shut. "I'm just... I'm just trying to... I could just run around and kill people with no repercussions, and I'm trying to... to be accountable. Somehow."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "It's not about trust," Cael answers quietly, still holding Jon. She can feel tears filling her own eyes, and a lump threatening to grow in her throat. "I just- I... I think-" She struggles to find the words she's looking for to express her thoughts. It wasn't always her strongest skill.
    "They're ancient Gods, from a different time. This is the modern world. We have... different standards. Different morals. I just- I don't think the people you judge need to suffer. I think dying is enough. They're- they're helpless by the time you judge them. That's different then- then a fight. In a fight, you do what you need to keep yourself and your team alive. You don't have as much... control, in a fight. I mean- that makes sense, right? That- that they're different?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "You're wrong, you know. /You/ have different morals, different standards. There are places in the world, right now, where what I do would be considered a mercy. Lenient, even." Jon sighs. "But fine. Minimize suffering. How am I supposed to kill them without making them suffer? How are the /gods/ supposed to do that? Ma'at does not kill. The unworthy go to Ammit. Sekhmet scoured the land. It's not..." Jon sighs, and buries his face in Cael's hair.

    "Seriously, am I supposed to go around chopping off their heads? I didn't call on Sekhmet to make him suffer, not really. I called on her because that's part of what she /is/. The gods cannot act outside of what they /are/, Cael. Ma'at does not kill those she judges. Ammit would be even crueler. So what would you have me do?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Yeah, well, we gotta bring those places into the modern fucking world, don't we?" Cael says in a wry tone, still holding Jon in her arms.
    She takes a deep breath in, letting it out slowly as she tries to puzzle out some sort of answer. //Should// Jon behead them? She grimaces at the thought, but it would be more merciful - wouldn't it? "I don't really know your Gods, Jon. I don't know what they can... and can't do. There aren't any of them that could- or would... kill more painless? Can't you just- stop their hearts? Or- or render them unconscious before- God, I don't know Jon. I don't have all the answers. I just know that- what I heard on that tape didn't... sit well, with me. There has to be a better way. For their sake - for your sake... Please." She tightens her arms around him. "Please."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon pulls away, unwraps his arms from around Cael, and for a moment the circlet appears again and his eyes glow teal. "You /are/ persistent. The Fist of Khonshu named you the voice of the people for a reason, I suppose. We have changed before; we can do so again."

    It's definitely Ma'at speaking, and not Jon. "As it is now, my avatar bears no blame for the killing. He does not agonize over that death as he does the other; Javier Hernandez's death was justified, whatever the way of it. Any of the gods would create suffering in causing death, even Osiris, though his manner would likely be the swiftest. It is mortals who have found ways to kill each other without causing pain, as a way to soothe for themselves the idea of causing a death, as if it were pain that was the horror and not the death itself."

    Teal eyes regard Cael calmly. "But if you wish this thing, if you think it should be done, it can be done. The Archivist can carry out the sentence himself, but then his soul bears the burden of what he has done. He could, indeed, merely reach in and stop their hearts--but /he/ would have to do so. The gods cannot, even through him. Can you imagine how many might die if the gods could kill so easily, without suffering or remorse?" Jon--Ma'at--shakes their head.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael takes a further step back as Ma'at begins to speak, a frown pulling at her lips as she tries to digest the words from the Goddess.
    Not to mention how bloody weird it was to have a Goddess just start... talking to her. And for her to simply accept that as the truth.
    "It was justified," Cael agrees quietly. "I don't dispute that." She lets out a sigh, frowning as she tries to figure out what to say this... being. And what right does she really have to place that burden in Jon's hands? "I think it should be as painless as possible. I don't see the need to cause more suffering, to make the world better and safer. But- it's ultimately //not// my decision, is it? I'm not the Archivist. I'm not your avatar. I just know that what I heard... felt wrong."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "To kill another is to have ultimate power over them. If that burden is not upon the Archivist's heart, if it goes to the gods, there must be a way to keep that power in check."

    Ma'at sighs. "Humans found a way to make death wasy and painless in the guillotine. All were equal before it. The death was quick. Easy. Mericful."

    The goddess' voice hardens. "Thousands died. Innocents, children. Men turned upon each other. The streets of Paris ran with blood. To take a life should never be an /easy/ thing, Cael Becker. It should be a thing that gives one pause."

    Ma'at smiles, a bit sadly. "I ask your advice, voice of the people. I can ask that Osiris lend his power to us and in the future the Archivist will crush the heart of the judged. It will hurt, but it is the least painful death we can offer. And the burden is on Lord Osiris, not the Archivist." A pause, thoughtful. "Or the Archivist takes on the role of executioner and kills the unworthy themself. It may be the only truly just option. It burdens them, but it can be quick and painless. And it is a human killing a human, rather than the gods interfering at all. You need not make the decision, but I would ask which you find more... fair. More /right/."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "For a time, they did. And when we discovered nuclear weapons, for a brief moment - that was even worse. Humanity makes discovers, and fumbles around trying to find a way to use them... correctly. If there is a correct way. It takes time to learn the moral way to use new discoveries," Cael answers the Goddess.
    She's stalling for time, and she's aware of it, as she starts to pace the alley. This doesn't feel like a decision she should have to make.
    She takes a deep breath in, lets it out slowly - and then winces. "If... it weren't Jon," she admits quietly. "Then- fuck. Then I'd say that the burden should be on the person, and not on the Gods." The words, in a way, feel like a betrayal. They taste bitter in her mouth. "But I also think... it's up to Jon. He would be the one to carry the burden."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Of course it is his decision. Or rather, our decision. But your input is valued." She waves a hand and a door appears in the wall of the alley, leading back to Jon's apartment. "Be well, Cael Becker. Take care of my avatar, would you? They're terribly bad at taking care of themself."

    Then Jon slumps forward into Cael's arms as the teal light dies from his eyes. "Oh bloody hell," he murmurs. "Maybe someday I'll get used to this, but today is not that day. Get me home? I'll record over the end of the statement first thing tomorrow."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I try to," Cael answers the Goddess - catching Jon as they slump towards her, concern reflected in her gaze. She puts one arm around Jon's waist, and runs her other hand over Jon's cheek, searching their eyes for... something. Some sign of how they really were doing.
    "Well. I'm here for you," she promises. "Though - what the fuck is a Goddess doing seeking my advice?" she asks in a wry voice, as she guides Jon through the open doorway.
    "We should both get cleaned up," she adds wryly. Fights could be a messy thing - and they're going to get blood and viscera all over the damned apartme- "BEAR! Down. Lady- oh, God."