11887/Mind to mind

Mind to mind
Date of Scene:	05 July 2022
Location:	Shadowcrest Manor - Bristol Township
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Zatanna Zatara, Phoebe Beacon

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Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Since the weather turned, (even magic forests and estates have seasons) Zatanna lives outdoors as much as is practical. Every meal is either on the terrace in Tuscany or the sunporch overlooking the gardens bordered by a forest. The forest stretches for miles, becoming wilder and wilder the farther one walks away from the mansion.

Breakfast is set for two, a basket of croissants still warm, next to a carafe of strong coffee are within easy reach of the magician who is hidden behind a copy of the New York Times. Other newspapers from around the world sit on a tray. All delivered by magical methods to the door every morning.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Magical newspapers are an awesome thing when you need to know the news of the day.

    Phoebe is permitted entry to Shadowcrest Manor by portal, the ring of pinkish-gold light glowing before she... tumbles out of it, looking winded a moment. She's wearing a tank top and denim shorts, an orange headband protects her head, and she wears a pair of worn sneakers -- though she gives a wry grin as she stands up, her backpack over one shoulder before she goes to join Zatana for breakfast.

    <Z.> she signs, tracing the letter in the air, and gives a nod of her head towards the older magician.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Two immaculately manicured hands rustle the newspaper at the tide of magic swept in with the young woman; two sapphire eyes peer over its top in time to see her greeting.

<What can we get you? Help yourself.> She inclines her head to the two pitchers of juice just delivered up from the kitchen, orange juice and passion fruit juice, both fresh.

<It's good to see you.>

She shakes the paper prior to folding it and putting it back on the tray with the others, all the while assessing her guest. <"How are you?>

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe gives a wane smile, and she sits down. She's quiet, keeping her thoughts to herself a moment as she pours herself an orange juice. She's still got the collar on that mostly hides the gauze, and she bites her lip, and then the inside of her cheek.

    <I'm not okay.> she admits, bringing her fingers to her forehead a moment, and giving a slight swipe across her temple, and then looks back to Zatanna.

    And she winces, and then shakes her head, picking up a croissant and breaking in in half, worrying at some of the flakes.

    <Why let me back here at all? I abandoned everyone.>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna's hand halfway to the carafe pauses at the question; her eyebrows pinch minutely before she resumes the motion and pours herself a cup of aromatic coffee, strong enough to wake a djinn. It is hard to obfuscate using telepathy unless someone is very practiced.

<"Because we want our loved ones safe and well."> Walled away behind the statement is concern and a trace of alarm for her unhealed wound and voiceless condition. <'Thank you for telling me how you really are.'>

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    <A demon ripped out my larynx, Tim hates me, I've lost four parents in the span of five years and my methods of coping are 'rip apart my memories until they no longer hurt' or 'run away and pretend to be fleeing a bad home situation in Kansas'.> Phoebe points out. She is not very well practiced. There was a lot of fear, and anger, and resentment. Fear for her friends, anger and resentment at her own actions. And maybe a little bit at Zee herself for bringing her back.

    She is definitely convinced Tim actively dislikes her at the moment though. The amount of heartbreak she's carrying for it, there's not a word for.

    <You wouldn't need to be a magician to know if I said I was fine it was a lie.>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
<"No," she avows with a slight, pained shake of her head. <"Let me double that no, though I haven't spoken to Tim, I wager he does not hate you but hates the pain you are in.">

Head tilted to one side, affection presses her lips into a faint smile as she says, <"That was a very astute assessment of how you deal with things. You are certainly not alone in doing that. Dealing with demons doesn't engender tenderness to yourself."> Wryly adds, <"It's the nature of the things.">

Zee measures Phoebe a moment before essaying, <" What was taken away can be restored, Phoebe, including your sense of worth.">

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe's expression is flat. She worries at the pastry.

    <THe demon was right, Zee. I poison everything. Jon. Chas. Tim. Cass. I just don't have anything that isn't touched by it. Maybe it would have been better if Leksandra had just gotten me. If I'd never walked into the Laughing Magician. This could have been avoided. This could have all been avoided.>

    The pastry doesn't stand a chance, and once a good quarter of it is in shreds on Zatanna's table, Phoebe's hands are trembling.

    <I can't fix this.>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Croissants are meant to make crumbs; the best always do. Zatanna ignores the crumbs but not the hurt fueling Phoebe's anxious fingers.

Zee takes a short breath and, on the exhale, observes decisively, <"It tried to hook you. It and Leksandra were very good at their game, preying on someone just finding their way in the world. You are not at fault, Phoebe. Listen to me.">

The magician taps her forehead and then her heart. <"Demons never tell the truth. They search for weaknesses and hurt and exaggerate them. You have walked a painful path, Phoebe B.C. Wayne. The demon wants you to forget the beauty you were born to and the mother that wanted you more than anything in the world. It wants you to forget how loved and lovable you are. I won't let it. Perhaps, you can't fix it.">

She opens her hand in invitation. <"-We- can fix your voice. Understanding who you are and your value is your path.">

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "T..th...ggk..." Phoebe stammers a moment, and then she withdraws, tears well up in her eyes.

    <It's just Beacon. It shouldn't even be that. The John Constantine that took me in was a fake. You know it. I know it. Everyone. Knows. I have no right to that name. Or Chandler. Or Wayne!> Phoebe replies, and she just shakes her head. <I failed, Zatanna.> she adds, but she reaches out to put her hand in Zee's. <I failed everyone.>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zee barely shakes her head, staying focused on Phoebe, <"Trying and not accomplishing what you intended. Everyone makes false starts. You have not failed me.">

The emotional tone is measured but heartfelt <"Can you believe me when I say: This is no end, Phoebe?" >

After topping up her cooling coffee and taking another sip, she takes a croissant from the basket and carefully tears it in two before continuing.

<If family names are more a burden than a map of where you have been, return to your mother's family name. When you are ready, I would like us to cure your voice.".

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    <It won't grow back any quicker. The less I force it with magic, the more undisturbed the healing is.> Phoebe replies, the voice quiet, distant, she looks down at the mess she's made and... slowly begins to gather it up. Pieces slip through her fingers, in such a metaphor for her current situation, and she just breathes out, and she closes her eyes.

    <Zatanna Zatara is exactly who you are. I don't even know what my mother's actual family name was. Just what they used when in Oxford. I don't know what my name would have been. I'm just a nobody.>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zee lifts an eyebrow in surprise at Phoebe's revelation about the magic. <"Well, that is a blessing of sorts."> Somehow she remains unconvinced.

<And, that, my dear, is the demon's voice. You are very much somebody. We can research your family name. That could be a healing in and of itself.>

Chewing thoughtfully, she sends, <After the demons took my father and my mother disappeared. Oh, and John left me.'> she nods deeply. With a wry twist of her mouth at her last words, <I thought I was a curse on the world. A failure for letting my father be taken. The reason my mother left.>

She snorts at her last words and shrugs, <I was very wrong but it took time for me to realize that the demons had left their mark on my thinking. Can you give yourself the time, like your voice, to realize how much value you bring to your friends?>

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe finally drinks the orange juice. It's only been sitting there forever.

    <I can try. Negative value is still technically value.> she points out, maybe being a little bit of a smart alec in the process, but she draws one leg up, the very edge of her heel resting on the edge of the chair as she sets her chin on her knee. <But if by the time my voice is back I'm still in this state, I'm... I'll go. I think it might just be better for everyone. I'm not going to wipe memories or anything.>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
<"Good one. Numerically yes. I'm counting on your innate strength to win through this. We believe in you. You merit knowing your own history, Phoebe, demons and all."> She looks past the young woman a moment focusing on a memory. <Can you let the ones who care for you decide what is better for us or not?">

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    <No doubt you all will make the decision on your own. Chas pointed out I don't have enough 'oomph' to wipe memories. I'm nothing special beyond the healing ability.> Phoebe replies quietly, keeping her chin on her knee as she pours herself another glass of orange juice.

    <So, how do we go about getting things back?>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
<Chas,> Zee's mouth puckers like she ate something bad at his name. <Demons. Never believe a demon, ever. Or the possessed. He likely was talking about himself, Phoebe.>

With a wave of her hand, she dismisses the bad taste in her mouth.

<You ask good questions. I have been thinking about it. You gave me a clue when you said that magic was making it worse. the spell is locked and we need to find how to unlock it.>

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    <He's not possessed anymore.> Phoebe protests, a little defensively, but she exhales and shakes her head. <It's because it's from the demon that captured Leksandra. That's all. When I try to force it it makes it go backwards. Incongrouous... m-magic--< she tries to think of the right phrase from one of her books, and she winces.

    <Basically by trying to make it better, I aggravate it. Like picking at a zit.>

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
<That makes sense. The bastards.> Zatanna sighs, <There are counters for knots like that. It will take some work, but we can do it, Phoebe.>

After polishing off her croissant, <As for Chas...never denigrate another's magic. It smacks of jealousy.>

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    <... I was a threat to his actual daughter, Zee. It's not possible he's jealous.> Phoebe points out quietly, but she closes her eyes.

    <Let's talk about something else -- there's not going to be anything good here -- oh! What about a harvest party? We can invite members of the mystic community. Something low-key...>