11858/Cigarettes, Depression, and Mirrors...

Cigarettes, Depression, and Mirrors...
Date of Scene:	02 July 2022
Location:	The Velvet Room - Gardens
Synopsis:	A productive, if worrisome, conversation is had between Jon and Rien. A friendship gets a little deeper.
Cast of Characters:	Rien D'Arqueness, Jonathan Sims

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Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
They said they would talk, they need to talk. Both of them. It's a rough time all around, almost as if fate itself were conspiring to force them all into bad positions. Which doesn't bode well for what might be coming down the pipeline for any them individually or as a group. Which means that this is a talk Rien is not going to put off. So once they've had a chance to rest and recoup, she texts Jon to meet her in the gardens at the Velvet Room.

She arrives herself, moving into the sitting room to get the booze, because this is definitely going to be a drinking chat. She grabs The Heirophant (for Jon) and Judgment (for herself), taking them both back into the gardens along with a pair of glasses. She thinks up a small tea cart and sets everything on it, includes a bucket of ice and some ash trays.

Her hair is down, finger-combed rather than brushed, so the curls are a little extra today. She's in jeans, one of Robbie's t-shirts, and a pair of slip-on sneakers. While her healing factor prevents her from actually looking tired, it's clear to anyone that knows her that she hasn't been sleeping much, if at all. Her movements are slower, sloppier. She slumps instead of relaxing. It's been a rough week or so.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon shows up wearing a black skirt and a Pink Floyd 'Dark Side of the Moon' t-shirt. You know the one, with the prism and the rainbow. With alternating black-and-red nails, his hair dyed back to black, and the black Converse on his feet he could /almost/ maybe be trying to revive some kind of alt phase from his youth. Maybe.

    He comes out to the garden and heads for where Rien's sitting. "I went looking for the Hierophant bottle but it was gone, so I figured..." A gesture, with the green hand (whose nails are also black and red) toward the cart. "I see you feel about the same as I do, of late."

    They sit down, slumping a little themself, and say, "Mind sharing one of those cigarettes you're always smoking? I keep meaning to ask, and not getting 'round to it."

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
Rien lifts a brow at Jon's attire. Not for the attire itself, but for the very... black.. theme of it. She watches him approach and gives a nod, smiling, "I remembered. Figured I'd make it easier for both of us and just make sure everything was set up." Motioning to the t-shirt, she offers, "Good album, but I liked Household Objects better." Waving a hand, she sets the bottles to pouring out a measure of liquor for each of them, floating the Heirophant drink over to Jon.

"Sure," Rien takes out the tin holding her cigarettes, offering them out to him, then taking one for herself. She lights hers without her hands, simply inhaling on it as the end flares up briefly before settling into embers. "Yeah, it's been a real shitshow of a last few weeks. Though it sounds like we're having different issues which... I'm not sure if that's a good thing or bad thing."

Shaking her head, she offers a faint smile, "But why don't you tell me about yours, then I can tell you about mine, then we can both contemplate how to best get out of our predicaments."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I've actually been listening to The Wall... a /lot/, lately. But I like the shirt." Jon reaches down to pluck at the fabric, briefly. "My parents were big fans, and my grandmother had the good sense not to throw all the shirts out when they died. S'pose she figured it'd help save some money when I got old enough to wear them."

    They take the cigarette and pull out a gold lighter with a web design--yes, the skirt has pockets--to light up before settling back with both cigarette and drink and peering up at the sky for a moment. "Mine's not really... new. More like all the chickens coming home to roost. I've been careening toward a wall for a while now--long before I became Archivist, really--and I finally slammed into it headfirst. I'm, ahh..." They chuckle. "I'm not exactly /sane/. Perhaps not the best mental state for a psychiatrist, but 'wounded healers' and all that." They wave a hand and then take a drag on the cigarette.

    "How much have I told you about... mmm. My life, and my history? I..." A pause. "I have reason to doubt my own memory, these days. Part of the issue."

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
"I... usually just make my clothes look like whatever I want them to look like." Rien lifts a shrug and smiles faintly, "What's the point of being a powerful sorceress if I can't scam those fashion assholes by wearing their stuff without every having to buy it?" Drawing on the cigarette, she blows a plume upward, then lifts the bourbon up for a sip.

Settling in when he starts talking, she watches him, listens. Her brows lift when he mentions not being exactly sane. "Not usually what an insane person would say. Are you certain? The insane are usually the ones desperate to show just how sane they really are." Rien motions towards him, "Not to say you're wrong, just... it's not unusual to question one's sanity, either."

The question has her halting, then shaking her head, "Very little, I'm afraid. We never did have that sit-down to go over each of our... origins."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon purses his lips a moment, then says, "How about this: I am mentally unwell. I came to psychiatry because I have had many, /many/ bad experiences with therapists in the past. I wanted to do better by others in the same position. My first perfectly clear memory was seeing a giant spider yank my grandmother's handyman through a door when I was eight. It should have been me; the book it came out of was /my/ book, but he'd knocked the book out of my hands and taken it from me, so Mr. Spider took him instead." He shakes his head. "And /somehow/, that was the moment I got perfect recall. I'm still not certain... why. First encounter with the supernatural? Something else? I don't... know. But it's..."

    He shakes his head and takes a drag from the cigarette again. "Anyway, it was predictably traumatic, and between that and losing my parents and being a generally difficult and pedantic child... I had no friends, really. There was a group in secondary that let me hang 'round them because I did their homework in exchange for cigarettes, but otherwise I was terribly lonely."

    He glances over at Rien and says, "As you might imagine, that makes one an /excellent/ target for a cult leader. My original mentor in magic, Elias Bouchard. He drew me into a cult with the promise that I was helping to save the world." A sigh. "Instead, he coerced me and my best friend into conceiving a child, while plotting to possess me to prolong his life. I didn't even know the half of what was going on until the last few months."

    They close their eyes for a moment. "Obviously, I got out, but everyone except my husband and me died in the process. And we fled to America, to try to get away from him. Except, how do you truly /get away/ from a man who can watch you through your mirrors?"

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
"Mmmmmmmmm, I can accept that. It's clear you're in distress, and it certainly is affecting your mental health." Rien gives a nod before settling back to listen once more. She draws on the cigarette, then lets it out slowly and lifts a brow, "Did you ever find out why the spider incident occurred? As in.. who was behind it?" She seems curious, it's an unusual thing to have happen at random.

Still, she falls quiet and lets him continue, giving a nod about loneliness. That's something she is -very- well acquainted with. Same with the cult. Only she was born into and raised in hers. And she still calls them family. There's a faint frown, but then she shakes her head to clear it. Not her turn. Focusing on Jon again, Rien murmurs, "And your child... Agnes survived, as well."

When he mentions mirrors, though, she cringes, shuddering and shaking her head, "You get rid of them. No mirrors. I made Robbie remove the one he replaced in the bathroom. And I've been putting up those window films that tint a window so that the inside isn't reflective." She looks back to him, "Is he still after you?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon swallows. "No. I... ahh... see..." He huffs out a breath. "He's dead. Cael killed him, actually. I was..."

    He shakes his head. "I was /stupid/. Cocky. There was a threat on Cael and Agnes, and they told me to go alone. I left instructions for a tracking spell, I left my hair, but I couldn't... I can't /lie/, so I couldn't risk showing up with backup and someone asking, you know? And I thought it was... I don't know, people mad at me about the bloody angels. Instead, it turned out to be Elias, and a crony of his."

    He sits back, slumping. "I found out that 'Elias Bouchard' is actually Jonah Magnus, a... distant relative. A former Archivist, actually. He's been trying to get the Archive back for over a century, hopping from body to body. And there was some business with... I don't know, probably trying to summon Apophis? I don't... know. He wanted me to declare this poor sap the avatar of Ra, and he... he got through every mental defense I had, and... and then it turned out he'd implanted some /code phrase/ in my mind and..."

    Jon has to stop, and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. "I cut the strings. I... I /broke/ myself, somehow." He pulls his hands away, shaking his head again. "Whatever I did, it cut out something that's been core to my thinking for over a decade. And then, because I wouldn't do his bidding, he shunted me into a nightmare, and I realized my memory's been modified. My memories of the night Agnes was born... they've been /altered/ somehow. And... maybe that's tied up with Mr. Spider? I don't... know. I haven't even been /looking/, presumably because I've been manipulated or worse. Like a... a puppet. And I mean, it makes sense, thinking about it. I wasn't supposed to be Archivist. Someone or something killed my mother and her siblings, intervened to make me Archivist over my older cousin, drew me to New York, drew me to certain people, made sure I was in place to be Gaea's Champion and die and become Ma'at's avatar and..."

    They're babbling, in a way that borders on gibbering, and they have to stop, and take a long drink of the scotch before setting the drink down and clenching their hands into fists. "Sorry. Sorry. I... I mean..." A shaky laugh. "Are you paranoid if people actually /are/ manipulating you and spying on you?" A beat. "I warded the mirrors. He's dead, but I kept them warded. It's, umm, it's better. It's better, because you can't... reflections, they're on windows, too. And shiny fridges, and... and... it's easier than removing... I tried, you know? Umm. Ruined a security deposit, in a flat in London. Before we moved here. I covered all the windows and started putting duct tape on the taps because I was /sure/ I could see Elias watching me. Martin--my husband--was... not best pleased."

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
Rien listens to him, sitting there in that pretty garden, though the darkness haunting them both is certainly starting to creep in around the edges. Flowers turning black and withered-looking that shouldn't be. Light being eclipsed by shadows though it shouldn't be dark in here. And not everywhere, either. It's started at the edges. Creeping in slowly closer as they talk. Whether its an outside force or the path of their own thoughts that's doing it...

She draws in a breath and lets it out slowly, lifting her glass for a hefty swallow of the bourbon, then adding another finger or two for good measure. "I don't know, I've just always assumed that I'm being watched and/or followed by some evil entity or another. Curse of a demon-hunter, you tend to end up on the Evil Being Hit List." Then she pauses and adds, "I can't... ward them. It wouldn't work. Not against this." Rien lifts a shrug and looks back to Jon, "So, let me ask you this. Being Gaea's champion, Ma'at's avatar... those aren't things that I would think you should fear. Not that they're things I think people should seek out either, but more... I don't see how that meshes into... the sort of mental torture you're expecting."

Lifting a shrug, Rien offers, "Maybe this is good, though. You're been sort of... de-railed, but not in a train wreck sort of way. You can -see- that you've been pulled off the rut you were in. This is a chance for you to make some decisions. Not because someone is manipulating you to do it, but because it's what you want."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon shakes his head. "I /died/, Rien. And I know people keep going 'oh well, people die and come back all the time!' but this was... I should not have come back. I was /dead/ dead, prepared to pass on to the afterlife. I'm not even sure my body is a human body anymore, because it was destroyed. And I was tortured before that. And what happened to me with Elias... Ma'at just... took over my body. I didn't want to do something, and she forced me to do it anyway. Or, well, used my body to do it. What I want doesn't entirely matter, and never has, really. I don't get... choices, anymore, in the way most people do."

    He shakes his head. "With Ma'at, I can negotiate for more autonomy, and I'm going to, but really it's 'be Ma'at's avatar or be dead.' And maybe that in itself isn't so horrible, but... who or what wants me in this position? Why? There was a point when... Michael was in my dreams, trying to manipulate me, and I kept thinking, if he was doing this /subtly/? If I didn't know, if I didn't warn someone... what might I compromise? What might be risked, because I was a liability? I had a spy in his ranks, right up at the top, so I knew everything he was going to do, and that's part of why we /won/. Who or what might be... watching us through my eyes? Spying on us? Manipulating me? And to what end?"

    He frowns down at the cigarette and flicks off the ash. "What Elias did to me, the... mental violation, would've been bad enough, but the rest of it's just been..." He sighs and rubs at his face. "I haven't been okay for /years/. And I just... can't pretend that I am, anymore. But at least now I know where to start looking for answers. I need to find the woman I handed Agnes to, Annabelle Cane. In my nightmare, she... changed. I always thought she was an avatar of Neith, but... but she looked different. And I /knew/ her. And it brought up all these little things, discrepancies, that I've never seen before."

    He sighs and takes a drag on the cigarette. "But what's bothering you? Because, see, ahh... this?" He gestures down at himself. "This is pretty much me. Has been for years. I just... hide it. Suppress it. But you seem... unflappable. And you are very definitively flapped."

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
"So... I know I treat death rather cavalierly... when its my own death. But I also recognize that the vast overwhelming majority of people are -not- immortal and will, in fact, actually die if they die. So I can appreciate that you are, technically, supposed to be dead. But I can also appreciate that something intervened to bring you back." Rien sighs softly, "When I... came to this universe, it was 1944. My mother was still a child, my father didn't know who I was, and it was right at the messiest part of World War 2. When I tried to connect with my father, an agent fromt he TVA showed up and told me that if I wanted to stay in this timeline, I would have to stay away from Logan for... an undetermined amount of time. So that I could 'acclimate' to the timeline."

She glances away, "I hit some pretty low points. At one point, I walked out into the Nevada desert and... found an atomic blast site. Then I just... waited." She looks back to him, "You've seen Hiroshima pictures, I presume. There wasn't even a shadow of me left. But across a few weeks, I slowly, painfully, regenerated an entire body. What you see now, what I am now... is not what I was born with. Not any part of it. But... that doesn't make it any less me. Just because it's not what you started with doesn't mean it isn't you. We all change as we grow and age, some of us more... viscerally, than others. Don't question your body, it's just a body. It doesn't determine -you-."

She leans forward, resting her forearms on her knees, "You know that I'm here, if you need help. If you -want- help. I'll help you find this Annabelle Crane, and we can figure out a means to go through your memory, find out what's been altered and how, so we can strip it down to the truth. We're here Jon. Just because you're going through some shit doesn't mean we won't have your back." She offers a brief, quick smile towards him.

Clearing her throat at the shift in topic, she nods, "You mentioned chickens of the past coming home to roost. Well, I'm getting some of that myself. I'm having terrible dreams lately. Not bloody or gruesome, it's the worse kind of horror. I don't even necessarily have to be asleep for these dreams to get to me, I wasn't when the first one came. I was brushing my hair, I had just brushed my teeth, I was getting ready for bed. And then... I wasn't. I was in this cold, dark place with a lot of... nothing. Some fog near the ground but no landmarks, no people, no creatures of any sort except me. And... me. But, not me. Different. And it spoke. Trying to get me to... to renounce my life, to walk away, to just... give in to my fears and become what I was meant to be... I don't... I suffer from a... lack of identity. I don't exist, in many ways, in many important ways. I don't know what I am. Who I am. And frankly, the idea of going through eternity alone terrifies the shit out of me." She looks up to Jon, "And this.. thing. This.. Not-Me... is playing on that. And I don't know what the goal is. But now suddenly things from OUTSIDE my dreams are... noticing me. Like that thing with Elizabeth in the tower. When she said I was the gateway and asked about the mirrors? That's not the first time that's happened. The Empress mentioned something similar. Something in this place is recognizing something about me that I don't know about..."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "/I/ intervened to bring me back," Jon says quietly, frowning down into his scotch. "I researched, and I led troops in battle, and I did the rituals I needed, and I somehow convinced the gods to let me walk the Path of Kings. It wasn't easy." A pause. "And... now I don't know if it was even really my idea. Maybe, if I'd been entirely in charge of my own choices, I would have fought harder to avoid dying. But that's just it... I don't /know/ anymore." He presses a hand to his chest. "If I didn't know that Ma'at is literally incapable of such deception... I might truly believe that Jonathan Sims is dead, and I'm Ma'at pretending to be them for their family." He shakes his head. "I know that's not the truth... but it nags at me. Even more, now."

    They smile. "Thank you, though, for... helping. For being here. I'm taking Cael and Agnes to England, for a vacation, and we'll check out the last place I saw Annabelle while we're there. I'll call people before we do." A smirk. "Bit of a 'working vacation,' I suppose, but I haven't been back to England for any real amount of time for years. It'll be nice."

    Then he furrows his brow, listening and thinking. "That's... disturbing," he agrees. Rubs his free hand on his knee, plucks at the fabric of the skirt, then finishes off the cigarette and looks for somewhere to put it out. "Do you think... I mean, is this just a manifestation of your fears? This place," he waves a hand around them, "seems to have a bead on one's personal issues. If you're just having self-doubts, because of things like... new relationship, new leadership position... then maybe Elizabeth would just... know."

    He frowns at Rien. "Or do you have other reason to think it's... external?" A pause. "I mean, I can try to see if I see... something around you. Attached to you."

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
"Let me put it this way then... what if the purpose of the memory alteration and everything is specifically to make you start questioning everything you thought you knew and believed in? What if it, or them, or whatever, needs you off your game so you don't notice what they're doing?" Rien leans back and drapes her elbows over the back of the park bench she sits on. Pulling on the cigarette even as she lofts one of the ashtrays over to Jon. She inhales, then exhales and watches him. "What about the other Gods in the pantheon? Ma'at can't be deceptive.. what about the others? Anyone else in there that has the motive and ability to foist all this shit on you?"

She pauses, then smiles and gives a nod, "Anytime. We're friends before we're anything else, Jon. If I can help, I want to." Once his cigarette is put out, she lofts the ashtray over to herself, taking a final drag before crushing hers out as well, then sending it back to the tea tray. "Well, if you need us, or even just me, I can be there in a heartbeat." Pausing, she reminisces and smiles, "I haven't been to the UK since.. the early 70's. I wouldn't mind going back."

THen it's back to her own dreams and she shakes her head, "That's just it though. None of these dreams are happening in here. They're happening on the physical realm. At the apartment. How does the VR, does Elizabeth, know about something -I- don't know about, in connection to dreams I've been having in -another plane-? She called me a gateway. I have no idea what that means. I don't... I know that whatever this is, it's preying on fears I've had for -decades-, long before the JLD even existed. Before Robbie was even born. So it isn't just insecurities about a relationship or new position. These are very deep-seated intrinsic fears that I've held for a very, very long time."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon frowns. "Maybe Apophis. /Maybe/ Set. But... I don't know, this all just feels... mmm... /different/. Not the way intra-pantheon conflicts would happen. Maybe a different pantheon, I don't know. Trying to take advantage of the shakeup from Ammit's change...?" He frowns, then shakes his head.

    "What I mean about the Velvet Room is... the Fool room showed everyone pictures of their past. The Magician knew what we were each good at. The High Priestess knew our deepest fears. The keys are attached to our souls. This place, it /knows/ things about us. Which..." He pauses, then goes on slowly, "Which isn't... great, actually, because she /did/ call you 'the gateway.' That's..."

    They turn to regard Rien for a moment, and then focus. There isn't a /literal/ Third Eye that opens but that's certainly what it /feels/ like as they properly /look/ at Rien in a way they normally keep closed here in the Astral Plane. Because here, /everything/ is magic, after all.

    "Oh, gods," they whisper, unable to hide their shock. "Rien, there's... there's... pieces of your aura that are just... /gone/." They reach out a hand, feeling at the air around their friend. "Not even black, just... void. There's nothing... there."

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
Rien shakes her head, "That's just it though... It knows things about us but it isn't -creating- anything. The Velvet Room isn't giving me these dreams. Something else is, and the Velvet Room can -see- it." She lights up another cigarette, because its that kind of day, blowing the smoke out away from Jon.

She sighs heavily and rubs at her eyes, then mutters, "There's something they see, something they know, about what's happening." Rien pauses, then looks up slowly, "...what? You mean like... like pieces of my -soul- are missing?!" For all that it sounds bad, her tone is flat, almost... devoid of anything but the heavy burden of exhaustion and the toll the fear has taken on her.

"I... wish I could be more surprised. But, as I mentioned... one of my fears is... oblivion. Of being nothing. I have no identity, Jon. No name. No True Name for that matter. Nothing. Who and what I am has always been wrapped up in what I was created for. I'm not a person so much as... a tool. A construct, real in nearly every way... but not in the important ones. Because how do you -make- a person?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I can't tell... all I'm seeing is the aura. Not your soul, directly, more like... the emotional energy around you, the magical energy you carry. But whatever's going on, it's definitely not natural. It looks almost like something's been taking bites out of it. Out of /you/." Jon stares at her for a moment, blinking in shock.

    Then suddenly he reaches out to grab Rien's hand, if she'll let him. "You /are/ real. I don't... I don't /care/ what your bloody family did to you, or whether you have a name. You're my friend, and that makes you real. Okay? Don't... don't give into this... thing that's coming after you. It's /wrong/."

    He swallows, hard. "I think... maybe a group of us should come over to your house and take a look at the place. At the mirror that started this. See if we can get a bead on what's going on. Me and Chas, definitely. Someone who'll look at the mortal side of things like Cael or Red Robin. Hell, maybe we get Mike to look at your dreams. So we can fix this."

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
"That... also tracks." Rien lets out a sigh and can't seem to summon up the energy to even be upset that something seems to be -eating- her -essence-. She draws on the cigarette and blows the smoke out, "Probably some demon or demons that I've pissed off across the last.. century or so."

She blinks when he grabs her hand, but she doesn't pull back from it, just looks at him, "Jon. I don't -exist-. I don't even belong in this universe, this timeline. Something is getting to me, but it was already there." She looks down at her hand, then sighs, "I'm so tired..." Looking back to him, she frowns, "I'm trying to stay. I want to. But something is pulling at me."

Rien lets out a small laugh and shakes her head, "Can't. I shattered that mirror after the first dream. Robbie had to put up a new one. And you'll have to get his okay to come over. It's his apartment. Probably move Gabe to the safehouse until it's done. But... I don't think it has to do with location. I think if I went to the safehouse myself, it would still be happening." She waves the cigarette-holding hand lightly, "But we can check with Robbie, if it's okay with him, then it's okay with me."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I think it'd be worth looking at. Because even if they're after you... look, if someone shot at you in your house, you wouldn't tell us not to come and look at the scene, right? Someone would come 'round and pick up shell casings, see if they could figure out where the shooter was, things like that. So if Robbie's okay with it... I'd like to come look at the house. And if he's not, if you at least have the pieces...?"

    Jon sighs, and pulls back, to pick up his glass and take a long drink. "You exist, Rien. I know it's tautological, but if you didn't exist, you wouldn't be sitting there wondering if you exist." He sighs. "But that's not enough, is it? I can tell you that it doesn't matter if you 'belong' in this universe, but that doesn't make it better, the doubts you have inside."

    They press their lips together, then say, "But look... you know the real reason I gathered an army and fought Michael and got tortured and died? The /real/ reason, aside from notions of saving my city or the world or any of that shit... I wanted my friend back. That asshole archangel took my friend to Heaven and I wanted him back." A pause. "The fact that he hurt my girlfriend was part of it, too. I just mean... whatever we have to do, whatever lengths we have to go to, to track down whatever demon or whatever is taking chunks out of you... I'll be there. Okay? You're not alone. Even if it feels like you are."

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
"You have a point. I don't think Robbie will have an issue with it, but I want to make sure he's part of this. He's been floundering too, dealing with his own issues, I don't want him to think I'm trying to... to distance myself. I'm not. I don't want to. I want nothing more than to have him and Gabe in my life permanently. Just... have to convince him..." Rien draws from her cigarette, giving Jon's hand a squeeze before he pulls back. "So yes, we'll have you guys over to check out the apartment. See if there's anything there."

Lifting her glass for a swallow, she watches him, "I live, Jon. That's different from existing. You, of all people, know that there's a BIG difference from having life and having existence. I live, but I don't -exist-. Maybe that's why I can channel Null Energy so much more easily... maybe that's where I.. originated." She frowns faintly, "I wasn't just -born-. I was... fashioned. Sculpted. Made into what they needed me to be. Even before I drew breath, I was being shaped." She looks up at him, "Do you know the odds of having gotten my father's -exact- mutant abilities -and- the sort of magic power I wield? Mutants that have magic have it through their mutants genes. But not me. My magic is indepedent of my mutant-ness. If you took one away, the other would still be there. I was made to be what I am. And I think that means they.. took things from me too. Things they didn't think were necessary for my... raison d'etre. So that when I was born, I wasn't... whole. I wasn't... a person. I was.. nothing. Just the payment of a debt they owed."

Blinking, Rien looks up at them and smiles faintly, "Thanks Jon. I don't know what's going to happen, or what's going on but... I'm glad to have you as a friend through it." She chuckles dryly, "And here I was thinking to help you with your problems, and instead it's about mine."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon clenches his fists for a moment, as Rien talks about how Clan D'Arqueness made her. What they might have taken from her. "Fuck them," he growls. "Just... just... /fuck/ them, anyway." Eloquent, but succinct.

    He shakes his head. "Well, their timeline's gone now, and you're here." He hesitates. Frowns. Something in there bothers him, but he shakes his head again and unclenches a fist to pick up the glass and down the rest of the scotch within.

    A faint smile, and then they add, "If I thought I really could /help/ someone... maybe that would help my problems. I've been struggling with... I had to stop practicing psychiatry. I don't know if I really helped anyone, as a therapist. I have to kill people, as part of what I am now, and I... I just... I /can't/." He huffs out a laugh. "/Garfield Logan/ showed up at my balcony door the other day to berate me for asking Terry to kill someone because I couldn't. And he was right. It's my burden, to figure out what to do about... killing people."

    They frown down at their hands. "Not sure I have a choice, really. People keep trying to help me come up with other solutions, but the Archivist is an executioner. It's what I was meant to be. But it's not what I /want/ to be."

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
Rien chuckles softly and shakes her head head, "It was my aunt really. Once my grandmother died, she took over, and she -hated- my mother, and thus, me. She felt that it was mother's fault that I was necessary. That their mother had doted on mine more than her. She was bitter and jealous and hateful. But because my mother was 'chosen' over her, she couldn't do anything against her. But me... that was a different story. She got to vent all that bitterness against me. She's the one that named me Reinne du Rien... Queen of Nothing."

Letting out a small sigh, she shakes her head, "It isn't gone, it still exists. There's just... nothing there for me. -My- parents? Are gone. A stone statue in Hell that acts as a lock to a cage holding two versions of The Truth. The one from my time.. and the one from this time. It was the only way to stop them." She lets out a small sigh, "The Clan.. accepts that I am who I say I am but... I try not to bother them. They're very... wary.. around me. Around what I represent."

She pauses then, and looks twoards Jon, smiling faintly, "Well, if you can help with mine, please do. I'm not too proud to take help when it's offered. And.. I want to stay here. In this time. I want to... stay with Robbie. With the JLD. This is the closest I've ever felt to belonging somewhere... ever." Rien lets out a breath and looks at him sidelong, "Maybe you should try to pass on the Archivist role to someone outside your direct bloodline? And.. in the meantime.. you can ask me. I'm no stranger to having to end lives, Jon. And unlike Terry or Garfield, I'm neither naive nor young nor inexperienced."

Rien looks at him, "Then don't be. What did we tell everyone in Magic 101? Will is one of the strongest forces in the multiverse. Make your own fate. Your own path. And don't let any Gods stand in your way."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon shakes his head. "That's not how it works. The Archive. When I die--or when I pass it on--it goes to Agnes. She's already got the marks of the next Archivist. And... she's already more ruthless than I am, at 13. I'm trying to train her to be a little more, umm, compassionate, actually." He sighs. "But in the meantime...? This is what I am. It's..."

    He hesitates a moment. "I don't /know/ what I believe. What I /really/ believe. Whether I think I ought to be merciful because I believe in that, or because I got... mind controlled into thinking that. I can't make decisions about that kind of thing until I know what's going on. What I've forgotten. And then... we'll see, I guess."

    A pause. "I... can't do magic outside the Astral Plane right now," he adds softly. "Not a damn thing. No portals, no summoning my arm, not even the simplest spell to light my cigs. I don't know if I just blew out some circuitry when I pushed through the containment field Elias had me in, to draw the tiny bit of power that let me cut the strings he had on me, or if something else is going on. But I have this terrible suspicion... Ma'at and I aren't... talking right now. If my power /entirely/ comes from her, then it doesn't matter how much 'will' I have, does it?"

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
"Clearly that's not always the way it works, since that Elias-Jonah person was manipulating his way into getting back to it. If you, or Agnes, weren't available. Who would it go to next? Surely the entire thing doesn't end if a single bloodline does?" Rien lifts a small shrug at him and draws on the cigarette before letting it out slowly. "Are you sure you should be? If she's meant to be Archivist after you, and you aren't looking to take your family out of the running for the office... maybe she needs to be ruthless."

Rien looks for where she left her drink, lifting it for a swallow, then looking sharply back to Jon, "That's not how magic works. You are homo magi. You were -born- with magical ability. Long before you knew Ma'at. And those abilities don't tie to a -body-, they tie to an -essence-, to a -soul-. So I don't think that works either." She pauses, then sighs, "But she -is- a Goddess and -could- be blocking your access to your innate magic. This is why I try to stay away from the Gods."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "There's some... second cousin twice removed or something. Someone came through and did a /number/ on my closer relatives. But I don't think you understand... my family has /always/ been the Archivists. I'm not a direct descendant of the first, but it's pretty close. The Archive has almost always gone to the oldest closest relative, like some kind of mystical primogeniture. The last Archivist had two living grandchildren. The oldest of us should have gotten the Archive--but Neith intervened and made /me/ Archivist instead. And I don't know why." Jon shakes his head. "I had thought it was because Sasha made a deal with a demon... but it turns out she made the deal to try to wrest the Archive from me. That I was chosen when I was eight, and Thoth was forbidden from telling my grandmother."

    He sighs. "I just... is it /right/, to be killing the things we judge? I don't... I don't know. That's what I have to figure out. Maybe it's better, now, if we judge and have someone else carry out the sentence. Maybe one person /shouldn't/ be making those decisions. That's what I keep getting from people--that it doesn't matter what the gods think, that I shouldn't be going out and doing the thing I'm /meant/ to do, and it's just... gods, I don't know. I don't."

    He bites his lip and frowns. "As far as my magic? I /know/. I... I realized recently... I kept Agnes' mother alive for an extra hour, long enough for her to give birth. I killed the Frost Giant that killed Lyra--my other daughter--with a burst of pure force. I've /always/ had magic, like... like I'm fucking Harry Potter, except not with a transphobic author." He rubs at his face. "Maybe it's just the depression. I... I've been... I've had suicidal thoughts. I told Cael, I told my therapist, I'm working through it, but maybe that's enough? I don't know."

    He frowns. "Which brings me to... we need a third. We're both having issues, you know?"

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
Rien sighs faintly, irritably, pinching at the bridge of her noise, then looking at Jon, "You're not listening. Forget what's -tradition-. If you don't want to be Archivist... then don't. If you don't think Agnes is ready, or wants it, then search for a solution to that. Stop worrying about whether you should be doing it this way or that way if it's the job that you hate, then whatever way you do it, you're still going to hate it." She points towards their chest and says, "You have to resolve the conflict in there. You have to determine if it's the -job- that you hate, or if it's -rules- of the job. If you love the job, realy love it, then it doesn't matter how or why you were chosen. You got it. Now do it the way -you- think it should be done. But if it's the -job- itself that you hate, then no amount of changing how you do it is going to make you hate it less. So before you start looking at different ways to do the job, figure out if you -want- to."

Leaning back, she lets out a breath and watches him for a long moment, "I am a terrible person to ask that about. I make my living by killing people that have been so corrupted by demons that there's no hope to get the person back. I hunt demons, send them to Hell, and take out their cults. So in my own way, I'm judge, jury, and executioner. Because -someone- has to. And I was literally made for it." Rien winces lightly, reminded of her own issues by her own words. She lets out another sigh and rubs at her eyes, then almost immediately opens them again, shaking her head, "Nope. Not sleeping. Not here, for damn sure." Her features soften as she looks at Jon, "I'm not going to tell you how to do your job, I'm just going to say you should figure out if you even -want- to do the job any more. That needs to be priority one."

Giving a nod, she motions to him, "Which means your lack of access to magic is likely not because of Ma'at. It's because of your own conflict. You need to resolve what's fractured inside before you'll get that back. I'm not a psychiatrist... but I have over a century of experience with magic and magic users, all different types and flavors. For those like us, innate magi... internal conflict plays Hell with our ability to use and control magic. We need to be sure of ourselves before we can hope to use or control something as dangerous and wild as magic. Think of it like... like working in a nuclear reactor while you're distracted. Your hands are going through motions but you aren't really reading the gauges, you're thinking about little Timmy's surgery and if you'll have to dig into Debbie's college fund to pay the mortgage again." She pauses, then offers that faint, wan smile, "I know a thing or two about being suicidal. I won't try to tell you to 'get over it' or anything. But if you get low.. if you find yourself alone and you don't see a way out?" Rien waves a hand as something like a panic button appears in the air. She grabs it and holds it out to him, "I'm a button push away. No matter where you are, you push that button and I'll be there."

His last comment has her letting out a breath and nodding, "I think we need to get Chas to agree. At least temporarily. I know he doesn't really want it... but we need him. He has experience and patience and leadership skills. He's also got better social skills than either of us."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon reaches out to take the button with a wan smile of his own. "Thank you. I... it's hard. I have this need to be... reassuring. To tell people I'll get through it. It was just me and Martin, for a long while, and now... well... you know Cael. I'm trying to encourage her to reach out to more people, to not need me so much, and she's honestly handled all of this /really/ well. But I still have that knee-jerk desire to... reassure her, even while /she's/ reassuring /me/. And that's just my own issues."

    Then he sighs. "I don't direct where the Archive goes--or not entirely. It took a /lot/ of work to get it to /temporarily/ attach to Red Robin, and ultimately I think if Neith had said 'no' that would have been that. I'm not just handing all that power off to someone I don't know or trust."

    A pause, and then, "Besides, I... I genuinely don't know who I'd be /without/ the Archive. Like it or not, I was being prepared for it since I was a child. It's who I am, it's /what/ I am. I just... the people around me keep /yelling/ at me for doing my job. Telling me how to do it. 'Don't kill them' or 'don't make it hurt' or 'you should be /more/ ruthless.' Everyone has a bloody opinion on how I should be carrying out my duties. And I feel like I want to say 'this is on /me/, this is on /Ma'at/, back off,' but I also don't like... not being accountable, you know? And a lot of this came out of... dealing with it all on Cael's behalf, and that's been... a whole thing."

    They reach out to pour some more scotch, and consider. "Chas... would actually be a good choice, if we could get him to agree. He's got all this... I mean, one, John convinced him that he's barely sidekick material, and then he's got all the guilt about what Michael did. But if we /could/ convince him..."

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
Rien quirks a small half-smile, "I know. As the reigning old person in the group, I feel often like it's on me to either know things or just be the calm one, the steady one. And for the most part, that's not too hard. But... recently I've been slipping. Something has been throwing me and I couldn't figure out what it was." She lets out a small sigh, "Knowing that it's something literally eating my essence isn't exactly... comforting... but at least now I know."

Looking back to Jon, she lifts a brow, "I'm not saying just foist it off onto the next person who walks through the door. But you need to figure out if that's something you want to continue. If you -can-. Then go from there. If you already know that you want to keep being the Archivist, then it's time to step up and tell people to back the fuck off and let you do your job." She smiles, "After all, you're the one that's been groomed for it since childhood. What right do any of us have to tell you how to do it?"

Rien gives a small nod and lifts her own for a swallow, "We'll work on him. I think this last training session I was able to at least plant the seed. If we approach it right, I think he'll step up for us. And once he's there, maybe we can show him how good he is at it and have him take it on permanently."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Being eaten is a pretty terrifying prospect," Jon says with a smirk. "I have promised Cael I will not get eaten by the Jabberwock when I go to Wonderland next, but that thing /definitely/ wants to eat me." He shudders.

    "I think... I love the Archive. When I faced down Mr. Spider I realized... I /am/ the Archivist. I have Power with a capital P. I don't have to be afraid of it anymore." They sigh. "Just a couple of months ago, I was... confident, happy, content. But then... in one night, my girlfriend died in my arms because I couldn't figure out how to heal her, and I killed two men--one of them with my own magic."

    He frowns into his glass for a moment, though, and then says, slowly, "Actually, umm. Rien... is there... I think you'd know this. Umm... does it actually... does it make a difference? Killing with magic, I mean. If... if I'd shot a man, instead of using magic to break his neck, would that... gods, I don't know. It /feels/ different. It feels like... I couldn't do it if I didn't /believe/ in it. And I think... I think maybe that's what's... getting to me?"

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
"Eh, being eaten isn't too bad on the scale of ways to die. Having one's -soul- eaten... having pieces of who you -are- taken away a little at a time... fading into nothing..." Rien stares blankly into the middle distance, shuddering. "At least if I'm eaten I just... regenerate. I don't... I don't know if I can regenerate my soul. I don't even know if I -have- a soul. I don't.. there's so much that's wrong..." She shakes her head and looks back to him. "I'm so messed up and I don't know what to do about it."

Drawing in a shaky breath, she lets it out slowly and gives a nod. "Okay. So you want to do the job. But you don't want to be told how to do it." Pausing, Rien looks at him, "Jon. Everyone fails sometimes. Everyone. Even the Gods. Maybe especially the Gods. It's going to happen. You aren't meant to do everything by yourself."

Then he's asking her another question and she falls silent for a moment, "So. I will again refer back to the Magic 101. Will. And Belief. Belief is integral to making magic happen. Your will shapes it, but its the belief that makes it -happen-. Doesn't matter what the belief is. In a God, in an ancient text, or just in yourself. You have to believe. You have to be -sure-. It's what makes the magic happen. If you falter, if you lose that belief... then the magic falters too. Sometimes it goes away, sometimes it goes haywire... the effects can't really be calculated."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I could tell you if you have a soul," Jon says softly. "I could take your statement. But... well... then you'd have the answer. And you'd know how Ma'at judges you." He sighs. ".../And/ you'd know the impact you've had on the world, for good or ill. Not that that's a sure fix for your worries, but... well... you'd know, right?"

    They frown out at the garden, then. "I killed a man with magic. I didn't... I didn't /need/ the magic. But I was... we were fighting, and he came at me and hit my right shoulder, and I remembered Michael taking my arm... and I reacted. Hit him with my staff, and backed it with magical force. Snapped his neck."

    He furrows his brow. "It did precisely what I meant it to do. In that moment, I /wanted/ to kill that man. And it's... ironic, because what Cael and Garfield gave me shit for were men whose statements I'd taken. Men who had a chance to see their impact, a chance to choose to do better, and refused that chance. If anyone deserved to die, it was those three. But Munoz..."

    He looks down at his hands again. "Every time I tell anyone about Munoz, they just... gloss over it, like it's unimportant. Jump to Ma'at judging people, and whether that's right. Tell me it was self-defense. But that's the face I see in my nightmares. That's the blood I see on my hands. That's the reason I don't know if... if I can /do/ this. Any of this." He flexes his hands. "Because Cael thinks I shouldn't hurt the people I have to kill. And maybe she's right, but that means /I/ have to kill them, instead of calling on the gods. So I have to... /believe/ in that. In killing people."

    He sighs. "Unless I just... use a gun, I suppose, but that hurts too, you know? Death is /messy/."

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
Rien pauses, drawing on her cigarette, holding onto the smoke for a few beats, then letting it go. She looks at her glass, eyes the bourbon in it, then swallows it wholesale. Knocking back the entire glass all at once. Setting it aside, she looks towards Jon and gives a nod, "I'd know. I'd have it all out there to be heard, viewed, and judged. But... I'm not sure you could kill me just now if it was called for. So maybe we should hold off until you've resolved that particular issue and can deal properly with the consequences of it?" She doesn't seem concerned over her own death. Perhaps knowing she's immortal has given her a rather blase view towards it.

She flickers a brief, quick smile and nods, "That makes sense. For people for whom magic is innate? It's like someone who's trained with a weapon all their life. Or a particular martial art. It's instinctive. Its those moments we need our control the most. Because in those moments, we're hard, decisive... we believe, wholeheartedly, in those moments." Rien lifts a small shrug, then glances down at her hands, then back to him, blinking. "What?"

Huffing out a breath, she offers, "Mortals. Always so concerned with the ethics and morality of something. But oh no, heat of the moment is totally fine. Why would you worry about that?" Rolling her eyes, she looks at him, "No, you absolutely -should- feel concerned about that one's death. You don't know what his story was. If he was desparate, if he was coerced, what sort of story he was sold about why... all you know is that he was attacking you in that moment." She huffs out a breath and mutters, "Mortals get it backwards so often. If you -know- what someone has done, their motivations, their reasons... and you can safely judge them evil and deserving of death.. why would you worry about that?"

Leaning forward, Rien looks at him, looks into his eyes, "There's no guarantee that any death won't hurt, at least for a moment. Almost all death is preceded by at least one bright, searing flash of pain. Take it from someone who knows. But yes, there are methods that can minimize it."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon smirks at Rien. "How would I even kill you and make it stick? Although, if you /are/ actually a horrible scourge on the souls of mortals... then you're the sort of thing I'm supposed to protect against. But... maybe just knowing that would help you reform, hmm?" He snorts. "I /really/ doubt... I mean, you're killing /demons/. Even if your heart is heavier than Ma'at's feather I doubt you're some terrible monster that must be put down, you know?"

    But then he's nodding, almost eagerly. "Yes, exactly! That's precisely... I don't /know/. And... the person who got me thinking about all of this, Donna Troy, that was /her/ point, too. That the Amazons train as much as they do so they won't kill someone accidentally. So they don't /have/ to, because they can do /precisely/ what they mean. And part of that training is mental, it's not letting anger take over. And I just..."

    He closes his eyes. "I don't like thinking I have that in me. I... I swore an oath, and I violated that oath that night. I don't know what that makes me."

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
"Jury's still out on that. I'm sure there's a way, I just haven't found it yet... not that I'm particularly looking. My suicidal streak ended, funnily enough, not long before that big stock market crash in the 80s." Rien lifts a small shrug, then adds, "But now, I don't think I'm a scourge on the souls of mortals. Stuff like... the Alhambras? That was an oddity for me. I don't generally do people. There's plenty of metas to police the mortals. I mostly stick to demons. Occasionally other evil supernatural entities as needed."

Sitting back, she props up one elbow on the bakc of the bench and crosses her legs, "I can't give you a definitive answer but... based on what you've said... I would say you're being held to a moral standard that no longer truly applies. You're still bearing the burden of mortal ethics and morality. And yes, that does mean sometimes we're seen as monsters by the mortals. Because their psyche's can't handle the weight of it."

Rien watches him for a long moment, "I think perhaps that's what you might be going through. You are experiencing something rather unique... transition from a mortal life and belief system... to an otherworldly one. And it's leaving you at crossroads with yourself. On the one hand, you recognize the viability and value of what needs to be done by the Archivist... but on the other, you're still battling those remnants of your mortal life, the ethics and morality." She smiles faintly, "As for what it makes you? A person. Few creatures are so bound by their oaths that it will physically prevent them from taking a course of action. And quite honestly, oaths are... clumsy. They deal only in absolutes, black and white, and there's so much more nuance to the world..."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "If I don't even /try/ to uphold those oaths, then I'm not Jonathan Sims anymore. I'm just a puppet body for Ma'at to steer around." Jon shifts his jaw. "Giving up 'mortality' for me... I don't think it means living a long time. I think it means... not being /human/ anymore. Which means I wouldn't be the Archivist. I'd be... I don't know. A demigod?"

    A sigh. "And even then... I'd /have/ to uphold any oaths I take. If I make a promise, I have to keep it, or lose my power. I literally, physically, /cannot/ lie. Ma'at /is/ morality, that's her whole thing. And part of me thinks some of this is just... needing to adjust to modern morals and ethics. She hasn't had a direct avatar for five thousand years, she's adjusting too. I /hope/ that's all it is. That I can... work this out, with her."

    He frowns. "There has to be an answer. I'm sure there is, I just... I think it comes back to the holes in my memory. I can't be sure what's /me/, because I don't know what I've forgotten. It certainly would weaken Ma'at, you know, saddling her with an avatar that's confused and indecisive, right when she needs to be rebalancing the universe."

    He smirks at Rien. "Look at us, huh? All these problems of identity and souls. At least we're not alone in the problems."

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
"Hear me out. The oaths you took ended with your death. Those oaths no longer bind you. If you choose to retake those oaths, then you'll go into it with better understanding of yourself as you are now." Rien holds up a hand to forestall him from further protest, "Any oaths you took after your death, well, those are going to be on you. But generally speaking, the dead are not still beholden to oaths taken before their death." She lifts a shrug, "But perhaps the Egyptian pantheon operates differently?"

She smiles faintly and gives a nod towards him, "Let me offer you this then... modern morals and ethics aren't always going to be applicable to the situations you might find yourself in. There's too... much. Too much of 'if this then that but if that then this and we don't ever talk about that thing over there' going on with it. It's influenced by modern (mis)interpretation of ancient religions, of rules laid out from when the countries themselves were much younger."

"Think of it this way... would you try to enforce late 1700s rules on, say... gender equality? sexual preference? race? creed?" Rien lifts a small shrug and offers, "And vice versa. There's SO much nuance to modern morality that you could spend days just working through all the ifs, buts, and ors that would come up. Sometimes you're going to need the swift decisiveness of older morality and ethics. And sometimes... that's not wrong."

She lets out a dry laugh and gives a nod, "Let's hope we can help each other find the answers we need."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Tell that to the people around me," Jon mutters. "It's not that I mind the moral oversight, it's that... I mean, I live with a woman who barely believed in /magic/ a few years ago. When I tried to explain to her that I /could not/ get out of the deal I'd made with Michael, there was..." He sighs. "There was a /lot/. And it was hard, because it meant I had to be /tortured/, so I understand why she was upset, but I couldn't manage to explain that I'd have to give up the bloody Archive to get out from under that deal in a way that didn't... I don't know. That was a difficult time, all around."

    He shakes his head. "I just... I don't want to lose the people I love to this. And I don't want to have the Justice League or the Titans banging down my door every time I make a decision they don't like. But I can't find the words to explain what I am, in a way that will... I'm just so bloody tired of... I beat /myself/ up enough, you know? I need... I need people to /trust/ me. And I don't feel like they do. And it keeps leading me to doubt myself. But if I walk around going 'no this is what's right' is that really any... better?"

    Thoughtfully, slowly, he adds, "I suppose I'd be less... tied up in knots if I really could just focus on what /I/ think is right, and not figure I'll get an earful about it from someone."

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
Nodding, Rien muses over that, then lifts her gaze to his, "So... the next question then is... how much of yourself are you willing to sacrifice for your loved one's comfort? And how long do you think you can live with it before it boils over and becomes a Thing To Be Dealt With?" She watches him for a long moment, "I'm... learning that relationships are a give and take. But when it's something intrinsic, something essential, to who you -are-... you can't compromise that or you'll eventually end up resenting the other person for it. And then the relationship ends anyways."

She lets out a breath and tips her head back, giving a small nod, "Boy do I know that. I fight against Robbie's... he still expects that I'm just going to up and walk out some day. Even after all these months. He trusts me with Gabe, but he won't trust me to stay. And it's affecting our relationship." She tips her head up and looks at him, "I understand completely. Don't ever tell Robbie this but his... lack of faith in my staying is, I think, one of the catalysts to my old fears coming back up. The more he keeps expecting me to leave, the more I think that eventually he's just going to leave and not come back... and then I'll be alone again. And I'll have even less of a sense of self than I do now... and I don't know how to handle that."

Pursing up her lips, she finally shakes her head and looks at Jon, "We don't interfere with the Ghost Riders' business, and they do largely the same thing you do. So why are they okay to do their job, but you aren't? You have the blessing of a Goddess to do your job. They're being ridden by Spirits of Vengeance from Hell."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon shrugs. "Cael didn't think much of Johnny Blaze, either. But... it's a good question. Maybe because they're more quiet about it? I don't know." A sigh. "I'm going to have to talk to Cael, I think. I didn't realize how much it's been bothering me, but... it's been bothering me." A smirk. "And, you know, it'll be probably be that this is more in my head than any real of lack of trust. But that's why I need to ask."

    He looks at Rien rather directly and says, "I'm not going anywhere, alright? Whatever happens with Robbie--you've got this. The Justice League Dark. Okay? Just... just in case you need that to hold onto. I..." He swallows. "I'm worried, okay? I've... I know we haven't known each other very long, but I want to know you for a long while, okay? So no disappearing on us, got that?"

    He lets out a long breath. "Is there anything else you need to... I should check in on some things soon, but I don't want to leave you in the lurch. I'm here. I'm listening. And you just let me know when we can get people to come help look into your problem, okay?"

Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
"I would posit it has more to do with the fact that she has feelings for you, lives with you. So she wants you to share her moral and ethical views. She doesn't care what Blaze or Ketch or Reyes do because she doesn't have to deal with any of the aftermath. That whole 'not my circus, not my monkeys' thing," Rien lifts a shrug, smiling faintly towards him as she gives a nod. "Could be. But you definitely need to find out."

Her brows lift at the next set of comments, that smile turning to wry amusement, "Et tu Brute? So little faith in me that I'm just going to.. give up the ghost? I promise you that I'm not. If you'll recall, I was the first to make it through the Empress' test. And she tried to use that exact same fear agaisnt me." Letting out a sigh, she offers, "I'm not going anywhere voluntarily, Jon... but I don't know what this is anymore than you do, which means I also don't know how to -stop- it. All I know is that the longer this drags on, the more tired I feel, the less... like myself. Like I'm a shadow of myself..."

Shaking her head, Rien waves a hand to return the bottles and dispose of everything else, "No. I should get back to Robbie anyways. We promised to talk about what we went through in the test." Rising up, she pauses, then reaches out to take his hand, giving it a squeeze, "Gather up who you think we'll need and give us twenty minutes notice. Just so we can get Gabe settled at the safehouse."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon glowers at Rien. "I'm going to hold you to that. I've lost too many friends already." He's a worrier, obviously. Asking Jon /not/ to worry is like asking the sun not to rise. It'll happen eventually--in five billion years, because it's expanded to devour the Earth.

    They stand as well, and squeeze Rien's hand. "Thank you for listening. And for talking. I'm glad you said something before it became too terribly bad. I'll give you a call, alright? We'll get to the bottom of this."