12110/Pinkeye

Pinkeye
Date of Scene:	22 July 2022
Location:	The Velvet Room - Sitting Room
Synopsis:	Lydia tells Cael and Jon about her recent dream - then she and Lydia continue to talk about their changing natures, while Cael visits France.
Cast of Characters:	Cael Becker, Lydia Dietrich, Jonathan Sims

---

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael emerges into the sitting room with Bear on her heels, rubbing a towel into her damp hair and leaving it a tosseled mess of mixed, rainbow colors. Where she found a shower in the castle was an open question - but apparently she'd wanted one after training, and the Velvet Room had provided.
    She makes her way over to the bar, reaching under it blindly and- coming up with peanut butter filled pretzels. "Nice," she says simply. She follows this up by reaching for a beer, which she pops open by perching the cap on the edge of the bar, before striking the bottle sharply. The bottle cap goes flying off, an she ignores it as she takes a seat on a stool.
    She doesn't waste any time, then, before pulling out her phone and starting to scroll through it slowly. She's been researching Rien's life - trying to find more opportunities to uncover analog records that just might finally prove her memories correct.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    Lydia is in the library, doing a bit of research into a new project that she has going on. When she hears Cael out in the Sitting Room, she pokes her head out. "Oh, hey, Cael!" she says cheerily. Whacha got there?" She emerges from the library with a stack of books in tow behind her, floating in her starry aura.

    Lydia is dressed in a plain peach sundress with strappy sandals. Her hair is loose and is falling like a cloud down to her shoulders. The only thing about her is that her eyes are this off pink color. Not quite the color of blood, which is usually indicative of when her Predator is in the forefront. It's more.... fleshy than that.

    "Peanut butter pretzels? Nice." She sits down at the bar, next to Cael. "So, other than the spiders and weird warped reality houses, how's your vacation going?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon is only very slightly buzzed as he comes through the door into the Velvet Room, but a little blinky and wide-eyed. "Well, /that/ was an... experience," he comments, coming down the stairs to head over toward the bar where Cael sits. He's got his sunglasses on, to hide his eyes--he often does, even around Cael, now. He goes over to give her a hug and kiss on the side of the forehead. Lydia gets a smile, which becomes a blink as he notices the eyes. Hunh.

    "Hello, Lydia. The vacation is officially over," he notes, brow furrowing slightly. "I was actually just doing some research, in a way. Stopped in on Ms. America, who is overly casual about just... taking people to other universes. Fascinating place, though, the multiverse." He can't quite hold back the giddy grin that comes over him. "That was... /cool/."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "What's with the eyes?" Cael asks bluntly, in the wake of Jon answering the woman's questions for her. She gives the woman a dubious look - she's not //into// the changing eyes. Or- well. At least she's still Lydia. She still looks like Lydia - regardless of the eyes.
    She reaches out to put an arm around Jon, her smile turning a bit amused as they explain where they've been off to. "Did you get to see the diamond Manhattan? It was so trippy."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    Lydia's brows furrow in confusion. "Since when do beauty pageant winners go universe hopping?" She waves a hand dismissively, "I mean, don't get me wrong. I'd /love/ to see other universes, though, this one is weird enough as it is."

    She blinks at Cael. "Eyes? Oh! Yes! The Elder Gods gave me a visit a few nights ago." She shakes her head. "Terrifying, really, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. Gave me an idea for a project, though." If anybody were to look at the books she's selected, they're all anatomy books.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "No, America Chavez, she's with the Titans, she--" Jon cuts off as the implications of what Lydia's saying hit him.

    "The Old Ones came for you? Which one? Or ones?" He pulls down the sunglasses to peer at Lydia quite firmly. "What happened, exactly?" His tone sounds... worried, more than anything.

    As he peers at her, an odd thing happens--an actual third eye opens in his brow, between the other two and up a little, peering at Lydia with the same scrutiny as the other two. And all three glow that bright green. He doesn't seem to notice.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael frowns at Lydia, her hand tightening around the bottle of beer as she asks, "Wait. You got visited by those assholes - and it turned your eyes pink? //Why//? What the fuck does it-" she turning towards Jon with this question, and her eyes lock onto that //third eye// on Jon and she lets out an immediate, "SHIT!" She jerks, knocking over some of the pretzels. They fall to the floor - and Bear looks at them hopefully - looking to Cael, and then to the pretzels again - but he doesn't eat them yet.
    Cael doesn't seem to have noticed Bear's ptretzel-based desires, because she's turning her phone to selfie mode once more to offer over towards Jon.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    Lydia flinches when Jon reveals his third eye. The bright green eyes she knew about but that third one? That's new. "What the hell, Jon? When did you get a third eye?" She very deliberately doesn't answer Cael and Jon's questions.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks at Cael and Lydia, and then peers at Cael's phone. He reaches up to put a hand to his forehead, over the new eye, and sighs. "Well, bugger all. That's... not ideal." He takes a moment to close the Third Eye, thereby making it disappear. "Side effect of wresting control of a creepy eldritch horror, it would seem. My Third Eye is now /quite/ literal."

    He rolls his real eyes and pushes his glasses back up his nose, hiding the glowing eyes. "The Watcher wants people to be afraid. It consumes fear, to power itself. I'm not afraid enough, so it'll do things to make other people afraid of me. That's what it gets out of the deal." A pause. "I'm sorry. I'd try to muster up more of my own fear to give it if I could, but it's just so laughably /obvious/, it's almost juvenile. 'Oh no, creepy eyes, wooo, spooky.'" Jon actually waggles his hands in the air, jazz-hands style.

    "Did you at least get names, Lydia?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Yeah, well - not a fan," Cael mutters as she puts away her phone - but she also gives Jon a little squeeze, to take out any potential squeeze. She's still here - she's not going anywhere. After a sigh, she goes to pick up a pretzel, and sees them scattered about. It's now that she notices Bear's hopeful looks and the pretzels on the floor. "...oh, fine. Go ahead." Bear does //love// peanut butter after all.
    She looks back to Lydia, while Bear devours the treats, asking simply, "What can you tell us about the dream?"

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    Lydia laughs along with Jon, "I mean, one of our members literally /sets his head on fire/. Now /that's/ freaky. Lets just hope that it doesn't try to grow more eyes on you. Like... all over your face and body." She shudders. "That would be creepy."

    "Viscera and..." she squints, trying to think of the name of the eyeless child who took her face. "Too Close You're Suffocating Me? Something like that. I really wasn't in the right mind to remind myself to remember her name. It was..." she shudders remembering the walls closing in on her, making it hard to breathe. "It was /terrible/."

    Lydia turns her flesh pink eyes towards Cael. "I was in a cavern, in the dark. It literally swallowed me and I had to dig my way out."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon leans in to give Cael another kiss in apology and then moves to go behind the bar, to grab down the things to mix a Manhattan with. He's been practicing, partly due to an interest in alchemy, and while he doesn't make /great/ drinks they're at least better than Chas' used to be. "Viscera and Too Close You're Suffocating Me. I'll pass those to Chas, see if he can actually say either one, or figure out a variation on the latter he can't say. We have to find an actual proper /name/ of one of these things eventually."

    He sighs as he sets the glass aside to chill. "That sounds... awful," he adds. "I can't say it wouldn't have frightened me, too. But you got out? And you have... odd eyes in the process. Did anything else happen?" There's a tension in his voice, as he starts to pour the ingredients into a shaker.

    "Everyone else... Rien broke all the mirrors in her house, and did so /again/ after Robbie fixed one. Robbie burned down his apartment. I gouged out my own eyes. You... well... your eyes changed. And your aura's... well, they've definitely taken bites. I just..." He bites his lip. "Is that all? Nothing else happened?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    A shudder runs through Cael at the thought of having the claw her way out - as it easily conjures images of a small, wooden room with no exits - or a tunnel that suddenly sealed itself, with decaying bodies inside. Or a tunnel that collapsed around her as she tries to flee ahead of the explosion they couldn't escape.
    Yeah. She's not a big fan of enclosed spaces.
    "I don't see why that would change your eyes," she remarks - holding out a hand towards Bear, who nuzzles into it - still chewing on the peanut butter. "Hopefully it's just, uh- the one dream."
    But why would they stop?

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    "You, ah, /stir/ a Manhattan," Lydia corrects when she sees Jon pouring it all into a shaker. She shakes her head and lets out a chuckle, "It's okay, though. I appreciate the effort. It'll just be a little more watered down than usual."

    "They offered me a taste of their power which... I had to use to dig myself out. I was able to effect the /meat/ of the walls like I could ectoplasm." She averts her eyes so she doesn't have to look at anybody directly. "I know that was probably a mistake, and was how they did this," she says motioning to her eyes. "But, in the end once I realized that it was a dream, it was easy to refuse them and wake myself up."

    "Thing is they didn't take back that little bit of power they gave me," she says. She gestures to Cael, "Like... I /feel/ her body like I would a ghost. If I concentrated real hard I could, I don't know, change her skin color, or hair color, or remove the ink from her tattoos."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Oh, I know you--" Jon blinks down at what he poured the ingredients into and sighs. "That," he says, "is /not/ a strainer. Bloody--" He shakes his head, sets the shaker aside, and pulls out a /strainer/, starting the whole pouring process over again. He's going to do it /right/, damn it.

    As Lydia speaks further, though, he frowns. "That sounds... dangerous. You should... maybe speak to Chas? Just so he can keep an eye on you, like he is me. I mean, that's how they get you, you know? They give you a taste of the power, and you think 'oh hey I can give Cael purple hair without the bother of the salon' and that's fine--but if you're not careful, you start pushing the limits, and..."

    A pause, and then he seems to mentally back up. "Alright, well, that's not entirely the problem. The /problem/ is--do you /want/ to do anything like that? It's alright if you do--I will freely admit I sometimes ponder just cracking into people's heads with my telepathy so I don't have to ask what's making them hurt, so there aren't miscommunications and fights if there don't need to be. But once I accepted that I could reason my way through the problems with the idea. That it means they don't get the choice, that it's an invasion of privacy--but they also don't get the /catharsis/ of speaking the words. That it actually /hinders/ what I truly want. You know?"

    He glances at Cael, as if trying to judge how she's taking this.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "...yeah. I don't want my body changed in //any way// by the power of //those things,//" Cael remarks rather flatly at Lydia's proposed changes, a frown pulling at her lips. Also: what the fuck? Walls made of flesh?
    She adds, under her breath, in a weak attempt at humor, "Though she could make Rien at least //look// like I remember." Which honestly wouldn't help things. It still wouldn't be Rien.
    Her attention shifts towards Jon as she adds, "Jon knows I'd throw his ass onto the mat even //more// frequently in our next sparring session if he went into my head without asking."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    Lydia shrugs dismissively. "I'll be fine," she says. "I don't have any plans on opening a salon any time soon. I mean... yeah? I kinda want to play around with it some, but I'm not going to just go up to people and start messing around. And besides, you're probably right. The more I use it the more likely it is that I'll want to use it more."

    She chuckles at Cael. "I remember how much becoming a werewolf bothered you. You've got nothing to fear from me. I'm not about to experiment on my friends."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon's brow furrows for a moment, as he summons up ice cubes to put into the strainer, and stirs the whole mixture. He's quiet while he strains the drink into the chilled glass and then pulls out a cocktail cherry--where does the Velvet Room even /get/ any of this, anyway?--and hands it over to Lydia.

    "I hope you're right," he murmurs. "I don't want to lose anyone in all of this. Just--be careful, okay? And we're here, if you need to talk." Then a smile. "I'm glad they didn't really get to you all that badly. Maybe--maybe we'll be able to hold them off, yeah?"

    He looks to the books while he grabs one of the pretzel bites Cael found, and says, "So what ideas did it get you? I mean, doing some kind of project to process the nightmare might just be a good idea." He pops the pretzel into his mouth and chews toughtfully.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Friends. Right. Cael still has to remind herself of that sometimes - just how many people do consider her to be a friend - she's not sure if it'll ever stop being strange to her. "Yeah, well... I appreciate it," she remarks.
    Then she adds in a firm voice, "We're definitely going to beat these things. It's just- a question of what the cost'll end up being, really." Had it alredy cost them Rien? That was the question.
    "Uhh - look, I had some more leads I wanted to follow - can you open me a portal to Aubagne, France, Jon?" Cael asks - without explaining for Lydia just what she was researching. "I'll give you a text when I'm ready for a pick up?"

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    Lydia gratefully takes the Manhattan and takes a tentative sip. Really, it's hard to mess up a Manhattan so she nods in appreciation and takes another, more substantial sip. "When am I not careful, Jon? Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

    She shoots Cael a grin. "Stay safe. I'll catch you later."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon frowns at Cael for a moment, then sighs and leans over the bar to give her a firm kiss and then press his forehead to hers, like he's emphasizing that he's fine. See? No worries with the forehead. It's fine.

    Then he thinks for a moment. "Aubagne... alright, I /hope/ this is close enough." He snaps his fingers and a door appears in the wall. "Be safe, love." He watches her go with a faint frown, then turns back to the bar to grab out things to make himself an old fashioned.

    "How's the book coming?" That's a safe enough topic.

Cael Becker has posed:
    The kiss is returned, and Cael is more than happy to linger in that moment of closeness, her forehead pressed to theirs, her fingers reaching up momentarily to toy with their hair.
    But they do part, because she has to track down whatever clues she can. "Lydia, take care. See you soon, love."
    And with that said, she and Bear disappear through the portal, Bear's 'service dog' vest held in one of Cael's hands.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    Lydia watches Jon and Cael with a rather blank expression as they show affection to each other. Her only movement is to take another sip of her Manhattan and watch as Cael goes to run her errand. "You too, Cael."

    "Slow," Lydia says with a sigh. "Especially since I'm really writing two books at the same time. The mass-market easily digestible one, and the one that shares uncomfortable truths about the world."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Well, while I am tempted to say 'just drop the truth on them' I know all too well that doesn't always work. Truth can be a tricky thing." Jon's still frowning at the wall where the fading imprint of a door still lingers.

    "She's still convinced Rien is... wrong," he says, and sighs, going to muddle bitters and sugar for the old fashioned. "It's starting to worry me, I'll admit. Why would they just... /stop/? But then again, how could they trick me? Trick /Chas/? I don't know." He shakes his head. "Maybe they're just not as bad as I've worried about, you know? Maybe. But I told her to try to find proof, and now that's all she's bloody focusing on. Which worries me all over again. Is she /right/? Or am I feeding a delusion?"

    They huff out a breath and start conjuring ice for a glass, pouring in scotch and muddled mixture. "Any progress on fixing your... heart issues?" A quirk of their brow. "Compassion and empathy might help you keep them at bay, you know."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    "If people are interested in learning the truth, they'll find the other book. I'm leaving clues and riddles like..." at this, Lydia chuckles wryly, "a real DaVinci Code. Except I'm sure mine is better. They might not be able to read it because I'm writing /that/ one in Hebrew. They'll need to work for their knowledge."

    Lydia purses her lips, "I don't know. They're beings of unimaginable power. They have enough power to do /things/ to us." She runs a finger along the rim of her glass thoughtfully. "Look. There's really only two possibilities here. One is they messed with Cael's head, which seems to be the most likely case. It's odd that she hadn't been given a nightmare like the rest of us were, though. The other is that she's /right/ and somehow they've messed with the rest of us. As unlikely as that seems, if that is the case then she /should/ be doing what she's doing." She shakes her head, "Either way, what she finds will give us a clue as to what's happened."

    "'Heart issue?'" Lydia says with a quirk of the lips. "I haven't really had much time to think about it. I honestly think we've got bigger fish to fry than worrying about that."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon frowns at this last, then picks up his old fashioned and takes a sip while gathering his thoughts. "I'm just worried about her. You're right--she hasn't had a nightmare yet. Which makes me worry they're still coming at her in some other way. I have to believe she's strong enough to handle it, and that's--" A soft, wry chuckle. "It's not that I don't trust that she is. She's very strong. I worry she doesn't know how strong she is. And it's part of the, umm, Shadow self I'm learning to accept. I want to take the people I care about and wrap them up in a nice safe cocoon to keep them safe. It wouldn't help, though. She'll have to handle it on her own."

    Then he looks at Lydia rather directly, quirking a brow. "Which is precisely why making sure you have head and heart in the right place is important. They're not coming after our bodies--they're coming after our minds. They're making us face our worst fears, and they won't stop with a single nightmare. I have control over the Watcher because I'm firm in myself, in my heart, because I'm not afraid of it and I'm dealing with the things that make me such a good target for the Mother of Puppets. But that's not--it's not /easy/."

    Finally they sigh, and furrow their brow. "Look, I--I just worry. That's all. I worry about my friends, and you're my friend, so I'm going to worry. You can't really get away from that." A pause. "You're doing okay for blood, yeah?" He idly reaches out for another one of the pretzels--for a whole handful, actually, and says, "I've been, uhh, discovering I don't eat like a human anymore, either." Maybe a safer subject, weirdly enough.

    Then he pops the whole handful of pretzels into his mouth, without really seeming to think about it.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    "Shadow self?" Lydia asks curiously. "I mean, I understand wanting to protect them. I want to protect the people that I..." She frowns. "Well. You know what I mean. I want to protect the important people. She's been through a lot and has a lot stronger will than you or I, I suspect."

    Lydia reaches over and takes Jon's hand in her own. "I know you do," she says softly. "But having done this has brought me a kind of clarity that I wouldn't have had. I don't think I would have been able to break through the nightmare if I didn't have that kind of clarity. I could've been sucked in by that fear, but I was able to rationally /think/ my way out of it."

    "I'm doing fine for blood," she says, letting go of Jon's hand. "I've gotten a hang of the Vampire Mind Whammy, so all I need is to get somebody in a dark corner, and take some from them, and then just kind of /erase/ their memory of the event. Better than going on a murder spree, don't you think?" She gives Jon something of an off-kilter grin, "Besides. I've got an idea that will mean that I won't even have to do /that/. I have to do some more research though."

    She watches in fascination as Jon manages to shove a handful of pretzels into their mouth. "No," she says. "You eat like a friggin' snake. It's like you just unhinged your jaw there. Are you sure /I'm/ the one you need to worry about?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks for a moment as he chews and swallows the pretzels. "I--they're really good. Very... filling. Umm." He blinks, and looks around. "Where did Cael even..."

    He peers at the container. "Magic," he says suddenly. "Or, well, the stuff of the Astral. That's why I--we found out, recently, that my body isn't really /human/ anymore. My blood disappeared when doctors tried to take it for testing, and they thought the MRI machine was broken because it seemed that I didn't have a /brain/. We figured out that I eat so much because nothing's really /satisfying/. Human food isn't working anymore, no matter how /good/ is tastes."

    He's speaking rapidly now, that excited tone he gets when he's suddenly figured something out. "But my water, it makes my food more filling, and things people make for me /specifically/ is more filling, but I'd bet--you know, I'd /bet/ that the nectar of the gods and ambrosia and all of that is made of Astral stuff too. So--eat like a god. The stuff of the Astral, and offerings. I think maybe that's the key."

    Humming happily, he grabs some more pretzels--to eat them one by one, this time--and sighs. "Gods, it's nice to feel /full/, you know? Well. You know." He eyes Lydia for a moment, then says, "I suppose if you're only taking a little blood from each, and erasing the memory--it bothers me, somehow, but you know me and truth. Better that they were willing but--better alive than dead, I suppose." A pause. A frown. Clearly he's worried, but he puts that aside, rather than lecture her further.

    "What's the idea, then? Are you working on getting willing subjects?"

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    "Well that explains a few things," Lydia says with a small sigh of relief. "I didn't mention it because I thought it was all in my head, but after you came back with your new body I thought I could sense... something. Like you know how I can sense ghosts, and ectoplasm that's not mine? It was kind of like that but really low key. I mean, I just..." She shakes her head, "I thought I was just all in my mind, you know? You weren't a /ghost/. You have a heartbeat, and you have smells and... hell... I've /eaten/ your blood. So I just kinda started ignoring it."

    "Buuuuut," she says drawing out the word, "I know what you mean about human food. I know /exactly/ what you mean about it. It's tasty, but not /yummy/ if you catch my drift. Nothing I eat or drink is satisfying. Except for blood, and even then I have to take it right from the source."

    "Something like that, yeah," she says about her idea. "Had an encounter with a woman in a nightclub and it got me thinking."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "An 'encounter,' hmm?" Jon can't help but smirk at Lydia, for just a moment, then coughs and shakes his head. "Sorry. That's, ahh--don't want to assume. That's rude. I used to be--for an ace person I used to make a /lot/ of sex jokes. I find the whole process terribly amusing. And teased my friends, a lot, but--sorry. I shouldn't presume it's okay."

    He eats another peanut-butter stuffed pretzel, and nods. "I think I know /exactly/ what you mean, about blood. I think if--I'm so /terribly/ tempted to summon all the ingredients and have Agnes whip up a batch of snickerdoodles or something. I think it would be... /amazing/. You know? Because I do find that even though normal food isn't satisfying, the right stuff is /better/ than satisfying."

    He chuckles. "I would honestly pay a /lot/ of money for some more Asgardian mead. Maybe I should ask Balder about it next time I see him." A shrug. "But, so, you think I'm made of ectoplasm? Or something like it? Huh. Well, having a heartbeat makes sense--the heart is the seat of the soul, according to my ancestors, etcetera."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    Lydia just whaps Jon on the arm, and gives him a smug little grin. "You're incorrigible. But, yes. Sex was involved. She liked the biting parts. I don't think I could have done /that/ if I still had my love."

    She takes a sip of her Manhattan and watches Jon eat with a thoughtful expression. "I wonder. Well, I wonder a couple of things. First thing is I wonder if I can infuse my ectoplasm into my baking. Next time I make blueberry muffins I'll give it a try. They'll become.... /boo/berry muffins!" She got something of a shit eating grin from /that/ pun.

    "The other thing is that since you're kind of a god now... a demigod? What if we build you a little altar and leave you offerings?" Another thoughtful glance and she says, "Or, since you're Ma'at's avatar, if we leave offerings for her? I bet you'd get sustenance out of that."

    "It's something /like/ ectoplasm, yeah," Lydia says. "I don't think it's exactly that? It's ectoplasm pretending to be flesh which is why I kinda feel it with both senses now."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon snickers at 'booberry muffins,' and then says, "I'd be willing to give them a try, see how it works. This is all terribly new territory for me, and Ma'at--it's not like she's hiding things. But I think she feels I need to figure things out myself, you know?"

    He hums thoughtfully, sipping the old fashioned. "An altar... I keep wondering if I should take the offerings left for Ma'at, in the Mission. Summon her forth, let her eat them or drink them, or take them home to put somewhere. Maybe that would help. As much as I'll admit I did rather /like/ the whole 'Great God Ra' thing, when I was dead, a lot of that was just--mattering, you know? Knowing that I was doing something important, knowing that I had an impact on the world. And, okay, yes, it /was/ nice to be the center of things and nominally in charge and so on." He reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. "Still, it'd be kind of... awkward, you know? It seems to work just fine if people make things with me in mind."

    A thoughtful frown. "I suppose if it wasn't my /friends/ it wouldn't be /as/ awkward. It's still strange to consider, though."

    They then shake themself. "Well, I think, really--I left a bit of my hair for the ritual to find me, remember? So that's a little odd, one would think, but then I remembered--I was slightly focused on that the whole time. That you all would find my hair, and do the spell, and come find me. So I think maybe it's that I'm a... construct, of sorts? That part of my will, or Ma'at's will, or both, is going to maintain my form. That's not as hard on the Astral plane, so maybe if I relaxed a bit and didn't worry about it so much I'd have more power here."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    "Well, that's kind of like an offering," Lydia points out. "You could argue that making something with intent for a god is a ritual of sorts. I mean, you don't have to be the /literal center of the universe/ to be important, you know? I mean, I'm just this Jewish vampire who taught herself magic and I managed to pull off something that The Nazarene wasn't able to."

    She listens thoughtfully and nods slowly. "It brings up the question, what if you relaxed out in the Material plane? It gives me the impression that you'd be more... malleable. You'd be able to shapeshift. It seems to me that the only reason why you're /you/ shaped is because that's how you see yourself. When you came back, your body had changed. It's a bit more feminine than it was. It's subtle but it's there. I think that's because you had grown comfortable with the thought of being non binary."

    "Okay. I want to do an experiment." She reaches over the counter with a tendril of ectoplasm and pulls out the jar of maraschino cherries, and she roots around until she finds a plate. "Excuse me," she says, and another tendril snags Jon's cigarettes out of their skirt's pockets. "Okay. Just..." she opens up the pack and pulls out three cigs, and carefully... oh so carefully places them up on end to form a little pyramid.

    "I give Jon, The Archivist, Avatar of Ma'at, and Speaker of Truth, this offering of food," she intones, setting a single maraschino cherry under the little cigarette pyramid. "May their wisdom bless us all." She looks up at Jon expectantly.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks at the whole ritual, flushing a bit darker. "I..." He coughs, and peers at Lydia, and then reaches into the little cigarette pyramid to take out the cherry. Shrugs, and goes ahead and eats it.

    Then blinks.

    "Oh." That's... not /quite/ a sob. Like he's holding back tears. "That's... yeah. Pretty much /exactly/ what I need. Bloody hell." He sniffles, and wipes at his eyes. "Umm. Thanks. Really. Funny that a single cherry can be so filling, but--don't they say that's how all that godly food works? Just a sip or a bite can sustain one for quite some time."

    They reach up to pull up their glasses and wipe at their eyes. "My, umm, my shape--it's sort of like that? I mean, it's sort of the... ideal I have of myself, the Platonic ideal of Jonathan Sims, if you will." A beat. "Wait, I have to remember most people don't--umm, so, /somewhere/ on the Astral Plane exists the /concept/ of, say, a marischino cherry. The perfect cherry, juicy and plump, probably darker red because the high-end ones don't use the dye--but, then, maybe there's a perfect variety of both kinds. That's what I access when I use my magic. The conceptual ideal of a door to France, or a bottle opener, or fire, or water. That's why my water is refreshing, and can heal, and clear out toxins--it's the most watery water that ever did water."

    They gesture at themself and then at Lydia. "Living, sapient beings, we /change/, and we can connect to the Astral directly, so we affect our own Astral selves. When you astrally project, you wind up with a kind of idealized form, right? The way you see yourself, maybe not /perfect/, but exactly as you think you ought to be. That's... I think that's what I did. Because part of it was that I resurrected, yes, and got the sort of body I /wanted/, subtly different. But I still didn't get my arm back. And I already knew--Michael removed my arm in the Astral. The Astral ideal of Jonathan Sims no longer has an arm, whether I want one or not."

    He smiles. "I think that's why I can't just summon up, you know, dogs or cats or copies of people. I can't summon anything that can /dream/ and thus access the Astral."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    Lydia watches with a satisfied smirk as her theory is proven right. "Now," she says. "imagine what that would be like if somebody who actually /loves/ you did it. Have Cael and Martin and Agnes build you a little shrine in your home." She gestures at the little cigarette pyramid, "Doesn't have to be anything fancy. Just something that's distinctly /you/. Next time they cook, or you all get take out, have them /offer/ it to you like I did."

    She nods at Jon and lets out a little laugh. "I remember. Back when Grand Central Station was the headquarters of the resistance, Cael came to me to ask me a bit about how magic worked. I tried... Well. What I did is I showed Cael a copy of Magritte's /The Treachery of Images/ and tried to work logically that what she's seeing isn't a pipe. It isn't even a /painting/ of a pipe. It's just pixels on a screen, and yet she understands this as a pipe, and it's this understanding that creates the platonic ideal of a pipe, and that platonic ideal is somewhere out in Astral and through it all other pipes are connected.... which is how I was able to open a door to the Duat. All doors are connected to the platonic ideal of the door, and if you know two points you can make a portal between them."

    She waves a hand, "Of course I can't just do it /out of thin air/ like you can. I need to know, like, their astral coordinates, really, in order for it to work, and then I have to tell the door what to do, and I just can't /tell/ a door that with a wave of my hand, I actually have to /inscribe/ it with instructions." She gives Jon a lopsided grin, "You know. The hard way."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Yes, well, I come from a line of homo magi who did their best to choose partners based on their magical ability and background," Jon replies with a smirk. "And it's not /quite/ so easy as it looks. It takes focus, and concentration, and the constructs are made of ectoplasm so they disappear if I stop focusing on them. I could probably learn to make them more permanent, but that'll take time. Not that I'm discounting that your way takes a lot of effort--it does. I suppose it's the difference between playing a piece by ear and transcribing it down--I do jazz, you're more classical. I think I've said that before."

    He picks up the cigarettes, very carefully, and starts to put them away. "I have to /understand/ something to really be able to do it, too. I still struggle with my healing not leaving scars--even now that I use sunlight, I still /believe/ that it should, so it does. It doesn't matter what instructions I /want/ to give, you know? I struggle with fire, with things meant to hurt or kill, unless I'm /really/ angry. I imagine even if you get your empathy and capacity to love back you could make a circle that could destroy a building. I... don't think I could summon that much power, not unless there was a /lot/ at stake. The power to /restore/ a building? Maybe. /Maybe/. It's a lot, and it'd be a stretch, but I can see growing in ability that far, in time."

    They hesitate, looking down at the last cigarette. "I'll talk to... well, Agnes won't mind. Cael will find it weird, I think. Martin... I don't know. We'll see. I'll start summoning the ingredients, at least."

    Then he smirks. "How'd Cael take that, anyway? The Treachery of Images? I can just imagine her going 'this is so much bullshit.'"

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    Lydia just rolls her eyes at Jon. "It takes focus and concentration, and I was bred to be a mage," she says mockingly. "Look, no offense but you're a literal god. Or demigod. One of the two. I just gave you an /offering/ like I do Isis, and it filled you up more than all the pretzels you've been stuffing in your mouth. Look. What I'm saying is that I'm /not/ homo magi. Magic doesn't come naturally to me. I'm not /literally made of magic/. I have to /work/ at it. and I'm mostly self taught."

    She shakes her head, "Anyway. That's not my point. My point is that being a /literal god/ gives you far more power than you think, and the only thing that's holding you back is you. Destroying something is simple. Repairing something? That's /hard/. That takes more control than anything else. For me? /everything/ is hard. /Nothing/ is simple. I'm lucky that I'm also a vampire and a mutant, or else I wouldn't be able to defend myself against half the shit we come across."

    She snorts. "Yeah. That was pretty much Cael's reaction. She kinda started to understand towards the end, though."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I don't--" Jon frowns, looking vaguely frustrated. "Destruction... /isn't/ easy for me. I'm not... /supposed/ to destroy. That's... that's /isfet/, so long as it's meaningless, purposeless. It's the opposite of what Ma'at even /is/." He glowers at Lydia. "And I have to work at it, too. Maybe my ceiling is higher, but it's--I have the memories of what the Archivists can do, and have done, and even as a /literal demigod/ I haven't matched my ancestors in a lot of ways. That'll take time, and training, and practice."

    He runs a hand through his hair. "Anyway, what does it even bloody /matter/? Batman and Red Robin are both entirely normal mortals, and managed to figure out how to pummel archangels into the ground. Power means /nothing/ without the will to use it, and even /then/ it means nothing without--" A huff. "If it came down to all my magic and all my power, or my friends and family, I know /exactly/ what I'd choose. Without a second thought."

    The frown deepens. "I don't entirely get the point, anyway. Are you jealous? Measuring yourself up? You shouldn't be. None of that--none of that's /important/. And before you claim I only think that because I have the power--I thought that back when I /didn't/ think I had power. Back when I'd had my memories of the position of Archivist, and of being homo magi, wiped. When I thought I was a bog-standard human psychiatrist, and most of my patients could've put me through a wall if they were so inclined. Because I saw that all those people, with all their bloody power, were struggling just as much, if not /more/, than I was."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
    Lydia barks out bitter laughter. "That's true. I /still/ have no idea how they're able to sneak up on me like that. I should be able to /hear/ their heartbeats and I can't until they're right up on me."

    She scowls as Jon lays into her. "Of /course/ power is important," she says, turning her off pink eyes to Jon in a glare. "Power and will affect change. Rien even said so in our Magic 101 class! We're /constantly/ up against universe destroying entities so we need all the power and will we can get! If I ever really want to help I need to be-" she stops herself before she can work herself up into even greater anger.

    "No," she says curtly. "Conversation is done." She reaches over and grabs her stack of books. "Have a good night, Jon." She turns and she stiffly marches her way to the door and disappears through it without another word.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks at Lydia as she scowls and her eyes change. "Lydia--that's not--you can--" But he can't get a word in edgewise, and his eyes widen further as she just cuts off the conversation and stomps off. His hand tightens on his glass, so tight that it suddenly shatters in his hand, startling him.

    "Fuck," he mutters, and kneels to start picking up the glass before he shakes his head and just waves a hand to dismiss it all. He'd summoned up the glass, after all.

    The cuts in his hand heal over before he even gets a chance to check on them. Just... gone. Maybe it's because it was the stuff of the Astral. His healing is rarely so fast as Rien or Gabby's.

    He glowers at the ceiling. "Could you ask Isis to check in on her or /something/?! This is--I'm worried. I don't know how to--explain." He sighs. "I should've... maybe I should put together a class on Jungian concepts. Maybe it'll help." He doesn't sound very hopeful.

    Their shoulders slump and they stare down at the bar. "You have hope," they murmur. "You can fight. You have /heroes/. It's not--it won't go the way /that/ universe went. And--and even they won, in the end, right? They're... okay. So... so you'll be okay."

    They swallow. "I just... please, /please/, help her. I don't want to lose anyone else." Tears drip onto the bar, and they sniffle, reaching up to wipe at their eyes.

    Then he turns to head toward the training room. It is, after all, a good way to blow off steam.