17196/On Finding and Writing Books

On Finding and Writing Books
Date of Scene:	18 February 2024
Location:	Beyond the outskirts of Gotham
Synopsis:	Billy, Corben, Donna, Lara, and Michael help Clara retrieve the second in a series of magical books related to paper mastery. Only the book (and the woman retreiving it) had to have their stories a bit more fleshed-out before this could be done.
Cast of Characters:	Clara Jennings, Lara Croft, Corben Kelly, Billy Batson, Michael Hannigan, Donna Troy
Tinyplot:	Rock, Paper, Scissors, Ink

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Clara Jennings has posed:
    In a place that is only remarkable for being unremarkable, a small group shall gather. Clara, as the greeter for this little expedition, arrives first. She is waiting near a hill on which the shabby remains of forest still cling. It's a lot of moss and overgrowth that winter has slain, but not cleared. The scent of Gotham's various exhaust and exotic chemistry reaches here, but there's enough distance and presence of nature to stand out.

    Clara is looking at the face of a wall. Or something like a wall. It is covered with a variety of strange shapes. Dials or perhaps even little clocks, gears worked into the stone, and strange writing. Some might wonder how this could be here and never get remarked upon. There is no immediate answer, but this is rather out of the way and things like this have a way of hiding themselves until the time is right.

    As for everyone else? They were called, after a fashion. Strange notes, generally, that show up in places that they were not easily ignored. Some from Clara herself, some just showing up. Those who are friendly to Clara were not given any promise of payment. Others would get something in return, which might be knowledge or some obscure item of interest. All the guests would be called by a group called the Conservatory of Antiquities and given this strange location.

Lara Croft has posed:
The note that Lara received came to her post office box, and she'd almost overlooked it until she happened to be drinking a cup of coffee at her kitchen table, and found it poking out of a journal that it had gotten tucked away within. The next few minutes were spent reading, and mulling over the content of the letter, before she'd set out to research the eventual location that she found.

Her curiosity had been piqued.

Fast forward to the present, Lara's black and silver Jeep Wrangler had arrived not far away from the site. Lara had spent a few moments finalizing a few leads on her smart phone, before she popped out of her vehicle, and pulled a black leather jacket on over her shoulders, while then swirling a off-white scarf around her neck. Setting off from her Jeep, Lara uses her phone to navigate to the indicated location, the note tucked away in a side pocket of her jacket, her hair tied back and gently blowing in the cold winter wind behind her shoulders.

Corben Kelly has posed:
The heads up message Clara delivered was a good thing. Having advanced warning of a situation means he has time to actually prepare, and prepare he has done. Almost around the clock research and potion mixing might have left him pretty loopy with exhaustion, but it also left his coat pockets filled to capacity with potions and powders a plenty. In addition to a few of his usual fare, Corben also has a wide variety of stuff meant to open magical doors, check for magical traps, check for magical curses, find portals, open portals - preferably not to hell, he's had enough of that lately and the magical mixture equivalent of Babelfish. He's pretty sure none of them are going to accidentally blow everyone up or make it rain salamanders or turn anyone into toads.

Taking all those things into consideration, he slides one vial out his 'Use Me' pocket and slips it into his 'Good God No' pocket on the inside of the jacket.

It's a really good thing that he can carry anything that he can keep in his pockets along with him in raven form, because that's how he arrives.

Corben lets out one CAWCAW from overhead before circling in for landing, even as his feet hit the ground, he's almost immediately human again - a fully clothed human, sorry ladies (and maybe gentleman).

"Good, I'm not late. I couldn't find my boots," he comments once he's adjusted to being human again. He sniffs, his nose wrinkles and he adds, "Wow, smells like a toilet or a meth lab. Sure glad I didn't decide to settle in Gotham."

Billy Batson has posed:
Billy Batson finds Gotham distasteful. There is a sort of roiling spiritual ennui. the city's spirits, magic, that sort of thing, spirit if you will doesn't want to be bothered and is liable to lash out at those troubling them. this is very apparent to Shazam. Shazam he is as he comes in for a landing, turning from horizontal to vertical to drop feet first and remain hovering. Shazam nods to the others, sees the wall and ponders the shapes and sigils. Very odd.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
As the small group gathers, an unseen presence joins the group. Not ominous, but cautious. A note had shown up asking for help. And in of all places his Tea tin. Which was a bit disconcerting as it wasn't in the tea tin ten minutes prior the last time he had gone to make himself a cup of tea. Nor was it his housemate's handwriting.

So yes, he was curious.

Once the group gathered and he determined those involved already know who he is. (Assuming Clara was the note sender) Mike just pops into view with the hood of his hoodie drawn low like there's nothing at all WEIRD about that.

They're all used to this, right?

He looks over to Clara. "In the tea." He comments, head tilting curiously, "Really?"

Donna Troy has posed:
    The note for Donna had caused her to grin a little when she'd found it slipped under the door of her room at Titans Tower. Who'd send a message this way, rather than just sending a message via the T-Com systems? Well, Clara of course. She's a papyromancer, after all. Of course she's going to favor a note written on paper.

    The note hadn't exactly been terribly informative, but that's fine. Donna knows a good few magic-users, and in her experience they just can't help themselves when it comes to being mysterious. For her the important thing was the message that hadn't been written down but was implied instead by the very existence of the note. The newest recruit to the Titans had reached out to her for help, and therefore the newest recruit to the Titans was going to get her help.

    Without any real idea of what to expect, Donna simply does what she knows best, and equips herself for potential battle. Her armor, a blend of high-tech and Amazon metallurgical expertise, is light and flexible but strong, covering from her boots to her neck in interlocking plates of black enamelled metal over a technologically advanced armorweave base layer, decorated with silvered stars, the colors she has used on more than one outfit in her superheroing career. On her back she carries a mid-sized round shield, similarly black enameled with a silver star in the middle, and a spear as tall as she is. At her belt she has a scabbarded sword on one hip, and the loops of her golden lasso on the other.

    Gotham is not a place Donna goes all that often, for all that it's just across the river from Titans Tower. It's the Domain of the Bat, after all, and he gets all grumpy about overt shows of superpowers on his turf. That's not enough to stop Donna from arriving at the rendezvous site by air though. It's technically just outside the city after all, he has no grounds to complain. She comes down to land shortly after Shazam, flashing him a grin as she does so before giving nods of greetings to the others.

    Then, down to business. "Are we waiting on anyone else?" She asks Clara. "Or is it time for a briefing?"

Clara Jennings has posed:
Clara greets everyone as they arrive. This is a lot of curtseying and introducing herself to those who do not know her and just saying hello to those who do. Lara is a new face and gets a smile. "Thank you for joining us, Ms. Croft. I have heard a great deal about you!" The young woman is holding back. She has so many questions for Lara but now is not the time for stories. "I hope we might speak in the future." A pause for Clara to do her usual over-thinking, "I mean not in the immediate future, but after this is all done. But obviously, you would need to rest after, so maybe a few days from now. Or when it is convenient for you!" Smoothly delivered, no doubt.

    "We need to open this door," Clara explains, once everyone is gathered. Also, with her usual talent for socializing, she adds, "Umm, and thank you all for coming here. I appreciate it." On the plus side, she is not wringing her hands yet. She is just shifting her weight from foot to foot.

    As for the door, it radiates magic (to those who can sense it) and there is no sense of danger or traps. It is just locked. It also has no apparent handle.

Clara Jennings has posed:
    While the door is being figured out, Clara spots something odd on the ground. It's an envelope with her name on it. Backwards. In her handwriting. She looks it over and says, "Sorry, I was told to read this." A pause to look around. "Did anyone else hear that?" To the more mystic-minded, there was a very strange whisper in the wind requesting the note to be read.

    "In any case," Clara begins, then opens the envelope. "A book half-written cannot be read. Also, do not speak to yourselves," she reads aloud. She looks at the note, rather distracted. "How odd." This does help jar Clara into the script she had prepared for this.

    She smiles at Mike apologetically. "Well, I know I would not miss a note in the tea," she explains. And then to Donna, a greeting made warmer by familiarity. "Thank you for coming! And oh, right. Yes. Yes of course. Briefing."

    She's rattled a touch. "My powers to control paper came from a book known as the Codex Papyrum Arcanum. But it is just one book of seven, each of which conveys certain powers, extracts certain costs, and will, they say, allow me to continue my story. How is not terribly clear, and where they are is never easy to work out. But the Conservatory-my organization, that is-found the second one. This is the Manuscriptum Libravellum. It is past this door. That is about all I know, honestly. The first book, I am told, was simply collecting dust in an old archive when it was found. This one, however, is a more exotic case. I am told the first expedition seeking to reclaim it never returned. That was some time ago." She frowns. She does not know why they waited to send her and others.

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara is not terribly familiar with all of the famous super heroes around the United States, there are simply too many to easily keep up with. The basics? Superman? Wonder Woman? That is easy, but all of them? Who has the time to memorize each and every one of them! That's not to say she can't spot one when she sees one, even if they weren't showing up via flight powers. Those who she finds at this place, each get a soft smile from the woman who feels a bit confused, and out of place at whatever is taking place here.

With one hand still clutching a drink cup, Lara lets her eyes wander to the runes etched upon the doorway's edges, while she listens to Clara speak.

Corben Kelly has posed:
Will Corben ever stop feeling under dressed for these things? First Captain America, then SHIELD agents, now Shazam and an Amazon woman? People that like to throw around important sounding words like 'briefing' where he'd likely just ask, 'so what's the shit and whatcha need me to do'? Here he is, just a little potion slinging slacker raven no name shop owner.

He returns nods offered and resists the 'S'up' he wants to add with each nod.

Ahhhh! But then there's Mike, a familiar face other than Clara's. Both of them at least make him feel a little less small and insignificant, not because they're small an insignificant, but because he /knows/ both of them and likes them. Friendly faces, nothing like them to calm the butterflies.

Corben is already inspecting the door, it drew his attention almost immediately truth be told. It's the writing he hones in on first. Not one to think about consulting anyone before taking action, he reaches into his pocket for a vial. It's a fine powder, a deep shade of magenta. He dumps a little out into the palm of one hand and rubs it between his fingers until it begins to trail out in a find mist. He twirls the fingers of that hand in a circle that grows larger with each pass, faster the hand moves, larger the circle grows. For the grand finale, he blows out a breath into the growing circle of mist and it spreads out amid the group.

Don't worry people, it only tingles a little and when the tingle subsides, everyone in the party will have the ability to read anything, literally anything, readable put in front of them - no matter the time period, no matter the language, no matter the origin. Clocks ticking though, five minutes is the maximum amount of time each person will have to study the door.

Corben has to fish around in his pockets for his next trick but he does it while reading the door's story himself.

Clara Jennings has posed:
    The language translates into this rather unpleasant script:

    Morrilyn, you greedy cow. I hope you realize now that it will be forever beyond your reach. This clockwork, you see? It has to be at a time you will never reach. Hah! You timeless bint with your stupid, ageless face. Everyone loves you for it. I just wish I could see you now. What's it like finally touching power and knowing you'll never progress beyond a novitiate state. Sound familiar? That'll teach you to prevent my acceptance into the high school!" A break in the writing continues below and gets, well, incredibly rude. There is no doubt that the author rather dislikes this Morrilyn person quite more than a bit. Somewhere amidst this tirade the author indicates that the clock must be set to the current time and a simple jolt of magical energy supplied. Followed by some very rude suggestions on what Morrilyn should do with all the spare moments she has. It's enough to leave Clara blushing, at least.

Billy Batson has posed:
Shazam ponders the door. He's usually the hit them till they give up -in his head at least. But his efforts could bend steel, or change the course of mighty rivers. He's learned to be careful. Very magic. That is obvious -that feeling you get a moment before you walk face first into a spiderweb. He wonders if it's as simple as display of magic?

He smirks a little and asks in a timid voice, "What is the Elvish word for friend? If you can set the clock, I'll supply the jolt. Do these pictures move?" He extends a hand, a spark crackling from his finger. Careful is his watch word. Thunderbolt said Shazam was the nice one. Not quite true, he just took longer to ramp up to full power than his big sister.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
As Clara goes through a roundabout explanation for what they're doing here, Mike's eyes are also going round about. It looks to the door, to the persons gathered, and then back to the door. The runes mean little to him, which leads to him looking to the group once again. This time around he catches the s'ups going around.

While the hood is pulled down low, the mouth isn't that obscured, revealing a bit of a smile forming in response. His head tips forward in a nod of acknowledgement to the other drummer.

His attention switches back over to the door as Corben approaches it. But as he turns and blows something their way, the smile fades and he unconsciously takes a step back.

When the sensation hits, he shakes his head, before glancing back to the door. This time apparently able to understand what was written on it.

Huh.

"Well. SOMEONE was in a mood when they wrote this..."

Donna Troy has posed:
    "Mellon," Donna tells Shazam absently. There are just too many Sci Fi and Fantasy nerds who hang around Titans Tower for her not to know that. "But I doubt that'll help. This isn't Elvish workmanship. Workelfship?"

    Apparently Donna is not taking things too seriously as yet, but then there's nothing here for her to punch as yet either, and that's kind of her thing. Let the wizards do the wizard stuff.

    Turning the hands of a clock is something she can do though! Well, a normal clock anyway. This clock face seems to be made of stone which makes it potentially harder and raises the issue of damaging the delicate carving. She extends a finger and pushes at the hands delicately just to test it out, and when the hands move to her touch she quickly checks the precise time on her T-Com and then sets the hands.

    "It occurs to me to wonder which time to set it to. I mean your gang is from Britain right, Clara? Maybe we should be setting it to London time rather than Gotham time. "

    She steps back from the clock face and gives a shrug. "What do you guys think, ready for some Shazamming or should we try it on a different time zone first?"

Lara Croft has posed:
For Lara's part, her eyes sweep from person to person, as they investigate the runes. Her right hand passes off her drink cup to her left, then dips inside a jacket pocket to retreive her phone. She flips it on, and raises it up to grab a few images for record keeping. She even turns her phone on to its side, to avoid being one of those heathens who does otherwise. Listening to the others investigate, the SHIELD agent simply quietly observes, sweeping her eyes between the photos she's taking, the situation playing out before her, and the other heroes gathered here-in.

"Whatever this is, I'd advise caution. Tampering with things, such as this, can often lead to grave consequences. Some situations have broken out, because these types of relics are not taken as seriously as they should be." She speaks from experience, to say the least.

Corben Kelly has posed:
"Ya think?," Corben comments to Mike. "Chip that size, person carrying must be two inches tall under the gravity of it by now." To answer Shazam's question, he says, "Well, it sure the fuck isn't Morrilyn." Whatever Elf made this door certainly doesn't consider this Morrilyn a 'friend'. If that door required a magical password it would probably be 'Morrilyn has herpes and smells like it too' "Who in the hell /wants/ to get into high school? I was home schooled and still fought for four years to get out."

"If we stand around an yap about it too long, you'll have to change the time again," Corben points out. He somehow manages to make that sound merely helpful and not the sarcastic snark it could be construed as.

"Hey!" Corben exclaims in Lara's general direction before he brings his hand up in front of his face. "Those better not wind up on some Facebook or Twitter or TicTok somewhere!" He seems serious about that, about not wanting his image out there on social media. It's like the man doesn't want to leave a footprint that can be tracked.

"Hit it Jimmy, or I'm gonna," he tells Shazam. Corben, man of little patience and less self-control.

Clara Jennings has posed:
    "Oh, local time, I think," says Clara. The time is then set, the lightning is then thrown.

    With a groan like an old body forced to move at last, the door opens into a vast chamber. In the middle of it is a rough dais, overgrown with moss. It is perhaps ten feet across and oval. In the middle of it is a long, flat platform, large enough for a person to lie down. At one end of this is a lectern, holding a book. To those with magic, that book radiates a strange power. To those without, it still looks beautifully made and is big enough to be at least a thousand pages in length.

    Not waiting for the group, Clara just rushes in, on up to the oval, slipping over to the book, and she's in a grabby mood. However, upon opening this tome she finds out that it is, indeed amazing!

    "It's? amazingly empty," murmurs Clara. "Not so much as a letter!"

    "Drat. I was so hoping this would be easy." She flips through the book and to everyone else looking that way, it is obvious that there are some things written, but one gets the impression that Clara cannot see them. She sets the book down and sighs.

    There are many things in this room to look at. There is some more script, which is more of the same as was on the door. Clearly, the author was very, very upset. There are creative poems and insults that must have taken a lot of time and energy to craft. Further, there are (among those who look in various alcoves) human remains. Bones, specifically, dry as can be. There are numerous bottles and decorations and very snazzy red velvet furniture. This is all lit with lanterns of the Aladdin style, their flames a myriad of colors and each somehow brightens the room far more than it should.

    Everything is magical. And the dome of this room is magical, too. As soon as Clara touches the platform, that magic is immediately obvious. At least a dozen tendrils of black ink stab down around the platform on which Clara lays, and dozens more lash out at any companions who followed her inside.

Lara Croft has posed:
With the door opened, Lara watches Clara rush inside. A frown momentarily crosses her features, before she regards Corbin. she smirks softly at him. "I'm a WAND agent. All of this is going in to WAND's databases. Unless you'd like a nice social media bump, then perhaps I can tag you in at least one." She chides the man before she follows the others in to the odd chamber within.

Once inside, Lara notes the large book, the mossy altar, but does not rush toward them, like Clara does. She gave her warning about such recklessness...

Instead, Lara stays to the outside, slowly moving and recording images with her phone. She's muttering words under her breath, likely speaking what she is seeing initially, her device likely picking up her verbal notes for later research. She's aiming her phone at one of the dry bone piles when the black tendrils become visible out of the corner of her vision.

"Shit..." Lara mutters, as she glances toward the book and the altar, then to the others in the room. "There's far too much power in this place for us to simply rush in. This is obviously some kind of security measure to stop tampering." She states with a fair amount of British scorn laced upon her otherwise elegant toned voice.

Billy Batson has posed:
Shazam finds a tendril around his wrist. It extends and grabs his neck. The inky rope is fantastically strong. However he has two hands. His free, left hand blurs and cuts through the tendril like a sword. He untangles the rest from his wrist and finds it still animated. His eyes bulge and then lightning courses through him and the inky death dispersing it. He coughs and rubs his throat.

"Don't touch anything else without us taking a look at it!" he snaps. He sees the tendrils and looks to see who may need help.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike gives pause as he listens to the question about the desire to go to high school. "...Those who had people preventing them from going." He murmurs in response. He drifts to silence watching as the others work upon the door.

As the door is opened and the group filters in, Mike lingers to the back, shoving his hands into his pockets as he quietly observes. Watching Clara bolt over, Mike's eyes widen as his hands slide out of his pockets, finding new purpose in holding his palms upwards in a 'WHY?!' motion. But Clara's mention of the book not having anything written in it causes for him to give a bit of a surprised look. Because he sure as heck can sees something. Mike narrows his eyes. "...Ah. That's how they made sure Morrilyn doesn't get th-"

The thought gets paused as a tendril shoots over, grabbing him by the ankle and flipping him upside down. The hood isn't so low as it shifts, allowing for long hair to fall out. "...I do not like this place."

Corben Kelly has posed:
Human remains, lets not look at the human remains. They're just very realistic Halloween decorations. Halloween decorations, that's what Corben tells himself as he walks through the door. Looks like someone hired Indian Jones, Elvira and a Genie to decorate the set. What could possibly go wrong? Corben raises both hands in front of himself in a 'wellll' kind of gesture. "Full disclosure, I'm really not much a fan of doing battle with tentacle like tendrils of smoke. My last roommate had a whole collection of Hentia, disturbing that. In fact, I'm not a fan of doing battle at all."

Yet he's digging around in his pockets almost frantically. Where /is/ that bottle. He knows each and every one by feel alone, they're all different. "Yes!" he exclaims for his own benefit. "Found it." His hands are shaking and he's running his mouth more than usual. He's obviously nervous and hiding it behind snark. Clara's over /there/, everyone else is over /here/. He likes Clara, maybe more than he should after only one meeting.

It's time to man the fuck up and save the girl! Or maybe blow everyone into another dimension where Barney the Dinosaur is the evil overlord that lords over all the plushie people in the land.'

He slams the bottle onto the ground near the general area of the tendrils nearest to Clara, breaking the glass and releasing a bright green gas. If he got it right - and he might not have because this one was tossed together as an afterthought right after twenty three hours without sleep and four pots of coffee, black - but if he was right, it's a dispel magic potion or at least maybe a 'beat the magic down a little bit' potion.

Corben squeezes his eyes shut tight and then opens one just a crack to see through. He might as well have his hands over his eyes and be peeking through his fingers like a toddler watching a horror movie.

Mike's plight has him digging in his pockets again. "I fell ya man! Just try to hang in there," - he lets out a little nervous laugh at his own joke - "I'm working on it!"

Donna Troy has posed:
    Donna has never worried too much about rushing in. Rushing into mysterious places full of strange and eldritch magics and then hitting those strange and eldritch magics over the head is a pretty large part of her job description, honestly.

    Not that there is anything to hit over the head at first. There's enough time to do a circuit of the place, taking in details, before anything untoward happens. Enough time for her to say "Those lamps are either being charged up by residual magic, or they're an inherent part of a spell. Which may be a binding spell, so don't put the lamps out. On the other hand they may be part of a summoning or enchantment ritual, in which case putting them out would be good. No magical shenanigans, leave them lit. Magical shenanigans, put them out."

    However the first real sign of magical shenanigans is an attack by creepy ink tentacles, which has the effect of distracting her from lamps in the short term. As one slithers out of the shadows to grapple with Donna she draws her sword and turns in a single fluid motion, slicing the thing in two.

     The main part withdraws for the moment, and Donna stamps on the still-wriggling severed section, which rather than being crushed in the way you'd expect a tentacle to be crushed, splashes into a puddle. Donna raises an eyebrow at this but doesn't slow down, coming forwards to slice a couple more times at the tentacle that had reached for her before turning her attention and her sword on the ink tentacles reaching for Clara.

Clara Jennings has posed:
    Clara is already quite comfortably asleep as the tentacles try to essentially jail her off from the rest of the group. But Corben's magic has rather ruined that attempt. Half of the would-be 'ink cell' pools uselessly to the ground, as do two more tentacles that were attacking him.

    Shazam and Donna find the tendrils to be quite responsive to both a sound pummeling (and stomping!) The ink doesn't even stick to Donna's boots! The tendrils given the old lightning treatment just break up completely. Some of the ink reaches the floor, but most just evaporates.

    Michael will find himself swung around like a weapon, aimed right at Corben. It is clear that his magic has in particular attracted the ire of whatever mind guides this ink.

    While there is more resistance in the remaining ink that is now flowing its way ever closer to Clara's sleeping form, it is not able to resist Donna's blade. More cutting (and maybe more stomping!) will deal with those. This leaves a few stragglers, some of which Shazam is blasting to bits to keep Lara ink free.

Billy Batson has posed:
Shazam says, "Holy Moley, Ms. Croft, let me help you out!" She's the baseline human after all. He tries to remember, did Shazam ever meet Ms. Croft? Billy knows her from school. That dodge about knowing people's names as a superpower didn't really fool Mary. He throws some lightning sparks around for effect. Magic kills magic and all that. He would have brought the Wizard but someone had to watch Season 3 of The Mandalorian. Also he insists Billy handles such things himself. "You'll have Champions of your own one day, boy!"

Then he notes the meteoric musician and attempts to catch him safely!

Lara Croft has posed:
The intention of the tentacle tendrils was somewhat unclear, but when Lara was pulled to the ground by two on either of her legs, she didn't care to find out. Her phone was dropped, its case being put to the test, as it clattered toward one of the chairs within the chamber. Lara's hand had shot in to her leather jacket, retreiving a long black bladed knife that she was quick to whip down toward the tendril clasping her right ankle. With rapid strikes, and dedicated cutting motions, Lara grit her teeth, and growled with anger as she couldn't cut through the black magic.

Her right wrist was suddenly enssnared, and her knife was pulled away from her hand by another sweeping, wiggling, black streak!

She was in trouble, at least until Shazam arrived to aid her. The combined magics seemed to do the trick, and soon each of the swirling shadowy arms were dissolved in to puddle of ink upon the floor around Lara's form. "Thank you..." She says with a heavy exhale chasing her gratitude.

From her seated position, she starts glancing around the room, before she motions toward Donna, and the lamps. "I would say try taking them and extinguishing their flames, just as you'd indicated." She says as she starts to rise back up to her feet, gathering up her phone and combat knife.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Well, well, well. Now's a perfect time to cast a spell, right?

Right?

Well as much as it may delight Mike to quickly come up with a spur of the moment chant to resolve the current problem, there is the factor of him being upside down and the general sense of being swung. So instead other approaches must be done.

There's no telling what Corben's seeing at the moment, but if someone has the time to watch the incoming star without having a panic attack, they might notice the slightest of changes as the exposed facial features mirror themselves.

If one is a Corben, they may also notice as the Mike o none tails is flung his way, there's not even a brush of air from Mike's form as he instead swings THROUGH Corben in a rather intangible state. Landing on the other side, free of the tendril, Mike glares at the offending tendril as shadow starts wrapping around him. His nails quickly burst out into claws.

Corben Kelly has posed:
Duck, Dodge! He's good at that. It's during a slide /under/ the tentacle and Mike that he pulls his next trick out of a pocket. His coat really must be a Kinder's Bag of Holding. The trick isn't magic at all. It's nothing but a Zippo lighter, flame placed at the thinnest point of the tendril that's the closest to Mike's ankle. Burn baby burn! Or at least he hopes the flame is enough to burn through that thin bit. "Huh, well, that was unnecessary," he offers along with a wink in Mike's direction. "Cool move."

But he's distracted like a gnat darting this way and that. Corben hadn't even noticed the book really. He hadn't noticed much outside the human remains before the tentacles struck. He was too busy praying to the Fates that he doesn't end up like them.

Now his attention's been drawn to the book and he moves toward it, following in Donna's wake. If he has to, he chooses option C in regards to the ink tendrils, he ducks and dodges - leaving out the final stage of runs.

When he makes it to the book. He reaches out a hand and pulls it back again only to reach out once more. He obviously doesn't want to do what he's about to do, but in the end, he simply trails his fingertips over the book's binding. "Show me your secrets," he murmurs under his breath even as he's silently asking the Fates to show him what needs to be known.

If he gets the answer he's seeking and doesn't have a stroke in the process, he might just get them some answers.

Donna Troy has posed:
    Donna intends to get to those lamps if nobody else gets to them first, but for now she's on ink-tentacle hacking duty. Rather than relating this fact to Lara she apparently has other ideas.

    "You're Lara Croft, the archeologist right?" Donna asks her while smashing a tentacle with her shield at the same time as keeping another at bay with her sword. "I read the pre-print of your excavation report on that Nabatean temple last year. Fascinating. My people never really had much dealings with them. I hadn't realized their influence had stretched that far. A trading mission, you think?"

    There are those who might think such a prosaic discussion is unsuited to the occasion, but Donna is not one of those. Ancient history is her passion after all, and with two decades of extreme dedication to combat training, she doesn't necessarily need to reserve all her concentration to battle.

    Chopping at these tentacles with a sword is effective, but perhaps not the most effective thing. Though they are damaged by the blows, being some dark inky liquid means that the narrow edge of her blade is perhaps not the most effective weapon, so Donna considers a change of approach. When there's a lull in the battle she sheathes her sword and takes out her lasso instead, which glows golden in her hands. She lashes out with it and catches up one of the larger items of velvet-covered soft furnishing, yanking it back to smash it down onto a tentacle, where it will hopefully not just cause significant crushing damage, but the soft padded fabric will wick the liquid out from the tentacles it hits, absorbing it like a sponge.

    Donna repeats this maneuver a few times with other items of furniture, before turning her attention on the lamps at last, flicking her lasso out whip-like to try to douse the colored flame coming from the lamps, and see if that has an impact on the magic.

Clara Jennings has posed:
    This is definitely a group that lives the rock star lifestyle. They are positively trashing the place! Between the variety of attacks and thrown furniture, the ink is breaking up. It falls still and lives on only in puddle form for the moment.

    The sense of overpowering magic is broken with the last extinguished lantern. There is a sense of disapproval from the room. It also plunges into darkness, but only until one of the many people present decide to correct that with light of their own.

    Clara slumbers on. She's probably the only one in the group that is relaxed at this point!

    On the lectern, the great book opens once more, its pages fluttering. It comes to rest open on one of the many pages that is only partially completed. It does not pull away from Corben's touch, and this opening may indeed be a reaction to it.

    "Fill the gaps in her story," intones a raspy, unpleasant voice, "I shall record it in her mind, heart, and soul."

    A pen floats down to the book and dips itself into a waiting ink well. As it does this, the ink on the floor rises and forms a ghostly image of Clara that floats above the very real version of herself. It is joined by copies of everyone here. Everyone is mirrored in inky versions of themselves.

    Without a preamble, the ink-Clara speaks. "When I was very young, I was subjected to stress, intentionally pushing me to my limits and beyond. When I was five years old, this led me to have a mental breakdown. I have always been conflicted about this. It was done for a higher cause, a great purpose, and I believe in that purpose. But at times I am angry. If this had not happened, would I be able to relate to people? If I was spared, would I still ruin my relationships by making others uncomfortable? Would I be comfortable with others?"

    This form turns her attention to Corben. And the ink version of Corben turns away, covering its ears. "You must fill in what has been lost first. How did I feel about having those I love hurting me and making me cry? What did I think when they broke my spirit to give me these powers I have?"

    The ink-Clara adds gently to Corben, "You must decide this." She turns to the others. "Be ready." It is obvious that they will all face a similar question in turn.

Corben Kelly has posed:
In a blink, Corben's hand goes from fingers trailing over the book to palm flat on it. His head jerks back, gaze locked sightless on the ceiling. He's seeing something else now, he's totally unaware of anything going on around him. Easy target for any stray tendrils. His entire body is just rigid to the point of seeming his muscles will just snap.

His entire body jerks, his eyes roll back into his head. Corben's heart is racing and his taunt muscles turn to twitching violently. It's as if he's struggling to break his hand free from where it rests on the book. Finally he manages to break whatever bond held him there. He stumbles and falls flat on his ass, one wrist pushed back painfully as he tried to catch his fall. He's trembling, pale and all cold sweaty.

"Don't touch her, don't move the book," it comes out as a raspy whisper first. He repeats himself with a little more volume and then finally he just screams, "Don't move Clara or the book!"

Who knows, maybe all of them heard him the first time? But he's still processing everything he downloaded and still isn't overly aware of his surroundings outside of that MOST VERY IMPORTANT bit of information.

But then there's ink Clara standing beside him and he forces himself up to his feet. He shakes his head. "No, nuh-uh." He's obviously hesitant at first, but he stands a little straighter and answers, "Clara, you were hurt and betrayed, devastated, but the flickering flame of hope remained alive in your tender heart. That flame grew and grew until this very moment. It's alive in you, the hope and the pride in yourself that you've /survived/ and made it as far as you've come. You have /hope/ for your happy ending and belief that it will, one day, become a reality. That, Clara Jennings, that little spark of hope is the most important thing you held on to."

Clara Jennings has posed:
    Ink-Clara smiles at this answer. "Thank you, Corben. I like this part of myself very much. I will hold on to this hope."

    The pen writes swiftly in the book, and as soon as it finishes, the pages again flip. They come to rest on a new part of the sttory. This time, the focus is on another person.

    "My parents died a few days after I was born. I know very little about them, and I no longer know what to feel about losing them." Just like the real Clara, this inky version wrings her hands, though she does not struggle to speak plainly. Just like with Corben, so now with Donna. Donna's ink form turns away, and ink-Clara speaks to her. "Donna, how did I feel about losing my parents? How can I show those who are not lost how much I appreciate them?"

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara accepted Shazam's offered hand to help her back to her booted feet. With her phone and knife back in hand, she slides them away, leaving her hands free to dust herself off. She offers Shazam a soft smile, and another lightly spoken 'Thank you' for his save and help. It is Donna who grabs her attention then, the Amazon woman recognizing her, and her work. She is silent for a moment, before she slightly nods her head a pair of times. "I would happily send you more on it all. I have a lot more than I've made public on the Nabatean. Every scratch we place upon it, we uncover more evidence that pushes back against conventional beliefs..." She explains, her voice still calm even in the oddity of this situation. "You'd likely enjoy the findings of the advanced stone work tools..." She's saying when the ink figures appear, and begin to talk. Lara listens closely, before glancing toward Donna once more. "If we survive this, give me a way to send you the information." She says with a light smirk, her right hand rising up to brush her disheveled hair out of her eyes.

Billy Batson has posed:
Shazam helps Lara Croft to her feet, taking her hands in his... when did Ms. Croft get to be smokin' hot? Why didn't he ever notice that as Billy? Well she was way taller than him until his junior year for one thing and a teacher for another...

Think of Irie! IrieIrieIre! You love Irie. Wait. What?!

Mind back to business!

Michael Hannigan has posed:
With the tendrils showing their intent, the claw wielding rocker shows his displeasure with several well placed strikes, joining with the others as they deliver their response to the attacks. But as things drift to peace, the shadowy form settles. It takes a few moments of not getting attacked before the shadow and claws fade. Mike settles down, looking over to Corben as he shouts out about not touching the book or Clara. He recalls the comment he was about to say before being SO RUDELY INTERRUPTED. "I think...they made this to where companions are needed to get anywhere with this room. Probably as a middle finger meant for what's their face who pissed off the author."

Donna Troy has posed:
    Donna gathers up the coils of her lasso in her hands, putting on a show of paying more attention to the task than she does to the words spoken by the ink figures. She gives Lara a smile and a nod. "Don't worry, we'll survive," She says. "And you can send me a message at the Themysciran embassy. Have you ever been? You really should."

    It's almost as if she's intentionally ignoring the magic!

    Not for too long though. She finally lifts her gaze to the ink figure, and shakes her head. "I doubt anyone ever truly knows how they themselves feel about losing their parents. Nor are such feelings a static thing, but rather something that changes with the seasons. I was adopted, I know. As much as we may wish to understand our own feelings about such things, we never really can. It's not something that can be written down on the pages of a book, only experienced. Seeking to have simple answers to such a complicated question is a fiction people use to persuade themselves that there is a single path forwards for them. There never is. Peace with yourself comes from acceptance of yourself, and everything else flows from that."

    "'Fill the gaps in her story'? What a foolish spell you are. She /is/ her story. All you can ever be is a recording, a feeble shadow of the truth. She will fill the gaps in her story by living her life. Nobody else can do that, and anyone else who tries will fail."

Clara Jennings has posed:
    Ink-Clara bows her head to Donna's response. All the while, the pen writes away. No matter the nature of the answer, the recording goes on.

    The inky spectre of the girl looks thoughtful. "This answer is quite difficult. But I think maybe that is the lesson to be had here. And so it is. I must think about this often, never quite sure how to feel but always considering it anew." She bows to Donna, "Thank you." And still it goes on.

    "I was one of 21 children who were in the program to create paper masters," says Ink-Clara. Her gaze is now focused on Lara. Once again, the ink version of the person asked is turning away. They are not being spoken to. "They were my brothers and sisters. Each of us was treated the same, but only I was provided a governess. Only I ever left the nursery to live with someone. Each of us in turn held the first book and now only three of us still live. My two remaining siblings, however, did not progress mentally. They are as innocent as little children to this day." She raises her hand to touch her face. "How I should have felt about such loss? And what should I feel about being the only one to become an adult? How can I honor their sacrifice?"

Corben Kelly has posed:
Once Corben's answer is received and Ink Clara moves on to the next in line, he stumbles a little ways from the group and heaves up the contents of his stomach - lots of coffee and stale donuts. He straightens again and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

Was it the aftermath of being thrown into a vision or the incredibly heavy knowledge that he just had to answer a question that will literally rewrite Clara's entire world and alter her forever. That is some seriously heavy shit. But the barfing was probably brought about by the former, as is the headache that's coming on fast and furious.

He sits on the ground, legs bent slightly at the knees and arms resting on those knees. His bows his head and might appear to be out of the moment, but in reality he's listening to every question asked and answered, praying that none of them will break her.

He looks up at Donna's answer and says, "Wait!" hopefully before Lara gives her answer. "I don't think any of you are fully understanding what this is. Or what Clara is. We are literally rewriting her life, that our answers are being written into what she will be from the time she wakes. We're responsible for /changing/ her for better or worse, it doesn't matter if we think the spell is silly, what matters is Clara and what we all want for her when it's over. Clara and that book are one in the same, she /is/ that book right now."

Lara Croft has posed:
Lara was about to respond to Donna, with regard to the Themysciran Embassy, before she was cut off by the inky figure of Donna conversing with her. Listening to the exchange, Lara fell silent, as she knew it was coming, and indeed it did come. Her own inky figure spoeaking to her in the same elusive riddle style. She tilted her head, and gave the mirror image of herself a tired expression.

"I did not come here to talk about myself with a magical guardian of a ancient tome. Spare me the psychological examination, please. I've already battled with a therapist on such things enough."

She hesitates for a moment, her eyes drifting away, before the snap back. "And my work is my honoring of those I came from. I continue the work they left behind, I continue the line. I honor my parents, and those who have helped me survive, live, and prosper. My actions are what matter, my results will speak for me forever."

The English woman turns away then, her eyes going back to scanning the room for possible solutions to ending this charade, and freeing them from this rather unusual situation.

Clara Jennings has posed:
    The pen hesitates only a moment, then writes on. Ink-Clara listens carefully to Lara's response. "I see, then. I should continue the work. My actions will carry out the will of the Conservatory to which my parents and all my lost siblings were dedicated." A smile is shared. "Thank you."

    Next Clara turns to Michael. She smiles and confides, "I imagine you did not expect to be writing a tale like this. Nonetheless... The most important person in my life is my Governess, but recently her dedication to the Conservatory's purpose has wavered. Mine has not. How do I feel about this change in her? She has steered my education and my life since I was four years old. She made every decision to lead me to the place I am now. I am now more dedicated than ever to the cause of my parents, after all." The inky eyes watch Mike curiously, awaiting the answer as the pen scribes away.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Corben's warning gets a nod as he looks over to Clara and then the inky figure. From the information presented, there's no way they can avoid NOT overwriting things. When it becomes his turn to be questioned, his immediate response is silence. He glances down, frowning.

"One thing to remember is that you are two separate people. With individuality there will be some differences in opinion. Especially as you gain different sets of experiences that will help either reinforce or adjust your current thought process. If everyone thought the same way, it'd be a very boring world to be in."

Mike frowns, "Sometimes, growth means growing together. Other times it is growing apart. But...trying to restrict the growth altogether can lead to a withered remnant of what could have been."

Clara Jennings has posed:
    Ink-Clara pauses to fully understand Mike's response. "So you are saying, then, that over time, she has grown in a new direction, and should I pressure her or lash out in an attempt to force her to believe what she used to, I could ruin the relationship completely." This seems to satisfy her, and she nods her head. "Thank you, Mike! I remember that now."

    Ink-Clara turns to Shazam last. The form shows a mixture of emotions, though the ink is rather limited in expressing them. There is uncertainty at the least, perhaps even fear, or dread. "I once fell in love with someone, but they became a stranger to me. I am uncertain how I felt about this. I am very difficult to be around. In any group, I vanish into the background, unnoticed. In conversation, I am often unpleasant to speak with. I have hope now, but my question for you is what do I hope for?"

Billy Batson has posed:
Shazam takes several moments before he answers. What should she hope for? Billy isn't even sure what he is hoping for these days! So the Champion hesitates, chooses his words carefully. What should you take more care with than a human life?

"Hope is not aimed at a specific thing. Hoping for x, y or z? No, that is a wish. Hope is an inner strength, and peace that gets you through difficult times till you can improve yourself or the world. Hope keeps you spirited so that when an opportunity does come your way you seize it. Hope that you will never lose hope, I guess. Hope you will keep striving in the bad times. Hope you will do the right thing when you can."

Corben Kelly has posed:
Corben has been sitting there, head bowed, jaw clenched with tension and silent through the rest of the questions. He raises his gaze again and looks from Shazam to the inky Clara and back again. While that answer is a fine one, he can't bite his tongue any longer. From where he sits, feeling the weight of what's happening around him, he adds, "You hope for people to accept you for what and who you are, without judgement, without conditions. You hope for that because you know you deserve it."

The addition was quiet, he's not even certain that it'll even be heard. Will it even matter considering it wasn't his question to answer? He might have added to each and every answer considering the depth at which he understands Clara now, after the things he saw when touching that book. Maybe he should have.

But that's something he would probably like to rewrite about himself, his indecision and self-doubt, keeping his mouth shut unless he's spouting snark.

Clara Jennings has posed:
    The pen scribes on quietly for some time, and Ink-Clara looks quite lost in thought. The pen hesitates for a time, then, with a quick script, finishes the very last of it. Ink-Clara smiles suddenly. A true smile, warm and pleased. "Thank you, friends and new friends. I think it is time for me to wake up now." says the ink-Clara, as she fades away once more.

    The real Clara opens her eyes and sits up. Behind her, the book closes and seals. It radiates with more magical power, now that its pages are filled.

    Clara swings her legs around and perches on the edge of the pedestal. Her gaze moves across those gathered, trying to gauge, as much as she can, what they might be thinking or feeling.

    She shakes her head, trying to clear it. "I feel rather dizzy. Is everyone okay?"

Lara Croft has posed:
With Clara waking up, Lara observes from a corner of the room where she'd been gathering a number of additional research images on her phone. She starts to slowly approach the young woman, a look of concern on her face. She knows the others here are familiar with Clare, seemingly, more than she is, and upon seeing her well enough in condition, Lara sighs.

"I'm going to step out, and place a call to some of my colleagues within WAND. I'd like to have a few associates come out here to confer with me on what... exactly this place is." She states, looking around to everyone, before she nods softly, and steps toward the entrance that they'd come from.

"Hopefully the black arms have gone away." She calls back over her shoulder as she departs.

Corben Kelly has posed:
It takes a moment for Corben to be sure his feet are steady beneath him when he stands. He slides a hand into his pocket to pull out his sunglasses and slip them on to guard against against the light. His head's pounding. Information dumps are always difficult, but when they have to do with an the entire life of a person in 2.2 seconds? He's going to be sleeping this one off for days.

"I'll survive," he murmurs in response to Clara's question. "Be better if I could catch a ride home with someone." A beat and he asks, "How you feeling?"

He doesn't ask if she's feeling different because he's pretty sure a rewrite might mean that she doesn't remember feeling different.

If no one offers that ride, he might just be sleeping here tonight. He definitely doesn't have the juice to make that effortless shift to an easy flight back.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Having said his part, Mike steps back as others get pulled into the questioning. He watches as Shazam speaks of hope, giving a slight nod before Corben's added thoughts lead his glance to be directed elsewhere. The musician smiles slightly for that.

The moment goes away as Clara wakes up, causing for Mike to instead look to the formerly sleeping paper wielder.

"I sincerely hope you knew what you were volunteering for when you did that." Mike comments.

Billy Batson has posed:
Shazam is silent. He gives a nod of farewell. This evening had given him some things to unpack. He walks out towards the magic door and distractedly mutters to Corben, "Here, I'll give you a lift. Good night all."

Irie... how did he feel about her now?

Donna Troy has posed:
    Donna shares a brief look with Lara. The archeologist seems to share her disdain for the path this particular spell has taken. She notices the way the woman's eyeing the surroundings as if looking for a way out. It's not a concern that particularly bothers Donna; between herself and Shazam it wouldn't take long to smash the place to pieces, after all.

    She remains silent through the rest of the question and answer session. Only when it seems to be over and the ink Clara fades away does she finally answer Corben's warning. "Not really," she says. "Like I said, she is her own story, and nobody else can live her life but she. You think a person can be defined by a few strokes of the pen? Anything that can be written can and will be re-written. Even Gaia herself can only grant souls; it remains up to us what we do with them. I did say it was a foolish spell. "

    Donna offers a hand up to Clara -- the real Clara -- since she's feeling dizzy. "All good I think," she says with a smile. "Maybe a few bruises and scrapes here and there, but nothing of significance. How about you? If you don't mind I think it would be a good idea for you to come back to the Tower and get checked up. You just got magicked and we better make sure there's no curses that need dispelling."

    "Standard Wizard's Lair number 41!" Donna calls after Lara. "That's what this place is. There's a catalogue." It's probably not wholly healthy that Donna is quite /this/ blase about magic.

Clara Jennings has posed:
    Clara accepts Donna's help with a smile. Her eyes shift to Mike, curious about his question. "I was sent here to get the book. I knew it would be dangerous, but I have never doubted the importance of my cause. I do not intend to start doing that today." In fact, she slips on gloves and goes to collect that book. It is carefully stowed away with all the reverence one might expect of a historical artifact. "This will be on its way to London under guard. It's reached its full potency."

    There is some thought, but Clara will nod to Donna's suggestion. "I think that may be best," she says honestly. "I feel healthy, though. Best to be sure. I am shaped of these powers, it seems, but I do not know how they work. Hopefully I will be free soon to check up on others."

    She gives Corben a concerned look. "I will stop by your shop once I have passed my medical exam. I am sure Caitlin will be delighted to hear that I did not break anything."

Corben Kelly has posed:
Corben doesn't reply to Donna, he just looks away. It's easy enough to read that he thinks she's wrong in this instance. But it's also easy for him to forgive all of them that folly. They don't know what he now knows, didn't see what he saw.

"Looks like my ride's leaving," he whispers softly before his gaze returns to Clara. "Anytime Origami, anytime." Open invitation. He turns to follow said ride out the door.

In a million years, he never thought he'd ever end up being able to say, 'So, there was this thing and after I hitched a ride with Shazam'.