17237/Notes from the Dark

Notes from the Dark
Date of Scene:	20 February 2024
Location:	Basement Apartment (The Curio)
Synopsis:	Tim Drake and Essix explore Phoebe's study at the Curio
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Tim Drake, Essix

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Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    https://youtu.be/KY8E-O7LCog?si=WMPjnfuF25b_eO_M

    Phoebe's private study was almost as personal a place as the village of Iaru-Weyet, someplace that few have ever gone to. Located in the basement of the curious building called the Curio, once in Merseyside, once in New York, and now in the Cauldron neighborhood, the lights in what used to be the bar area have been dark for months.

    The building still has the tingling, electric buzz of magic about it -- but it's muted. Like hearing music in the next room.

    The door to the basement study is locked. The electric lock has a keypad, and a microphone. There is possibly also magic and wards guarding the door, which seems uninteresting at the first look -- just a door marked 'BASEMENT - No Entry'

Tim Drake has posed:
    There are certain parts of Phoebe's life that Tim could never truly be a part of. Magic, chiefest amongst them. He's never had a lick of magical aptitude in his life, never will, so even that fading brush of Phoebe's power, still lingering behind, is lost to him.

    At least he never had it in the first place to miss. That's one less thing for him to carefully not think about, right now. He's already keyed in the code, uttered the word "Mellon," which is, of course, the Elvish word for friend -- an old in-joke that fails to so much as get him to crack a smile in these dire times -- and stepped inside.

    To say he's subsequently turned the place upside down is... both an understatement and not quite accurate. The path of his searching is methodical. There's nothing thrown about, no mess, just ordered stacks of books and papers slowly coming to occupy the emptiest corner of the room he could find. His coat and hoodie have been shucked off and draped over a chair, the sleeves of his sweater shoved up to his elbows.

    It's clear that Tim is searching for something.

Essix has posed:
After spending a few hours with Damian, a young man who seemed so troubled and sad that Essix couldn't fathom why, the little alien had sensed in his offered explanation a series of half truths. Was Phoebe out of town dealing with something on her own? Why would that lead to Potato being with Damian, and where was Idu?

These questions had led her to doing something she wasn't supposed... she accessed Nightwing's computer. After searching out the communications of the past several days she landed on the truth. Phoebe was dead.

The concept of death was something Essix was struggling with. Her people didn't die, they just kept going and going, much like TVs Energizer Bunny. Hundreds of years from now she would still exist, as she did now, but humans weren't so lucky. For reasons unknown, they had a time limit, but they were meant to die old, after having a long life. Phoebe didn't get that.

Not able to fully wrap her thinking around the concept of Phoebe being dead, the little goopling had gone out in search of answers, or as she preferred to think of them, pieces of the puzzle. Her first stop had been Phoebe's apartment. No Idu, and no Phoebe either. Confirmation that Idu was in fact just as missing as Phoebe. Was he dead too?

From there she went to other locations she knew Phoebe to habit, which brought her to the Curio. She had started at the top and worked her way down, which is how it was that she oozed into the basement while Tim was turning the place upside down in his own methodical way.

Another piece, Tim. She had not seen nor heard anything about him a long, long time, yet here he was now. She had no idea he was Red Robin, that he had been there that night when Phoebe was killed, but she could tell he was a man on a mission, even if it was a mission she was clueless about.

Remaining silent and just watching him methodically look the place over, she finally flowed up into her human form in the corner of the room. "That was my corner," she comments with a tilt to her head, stepping around the books. "Do you need some assistance?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The study has been methodically searched. Most of Phoebe's notes about magic, her powers, and the powers of others is in carefully written Diaetic Egyptian -- basically 'cursive Heiroglyphs'. There are some words that repeat. The cypher for her coded notes was pinned inside the water closet. There are pictures here -- her and Tim in their costumes and hanging out on top of some building or another, another of them in Peru, at the dig where Phoebe punched a Conquistador. Her and Robbie leaning against the Hellcharger. Phoebe with singed eyebrows and 'Babby's First Fireball'.

    Tim had come across, however, a folder marked in Elvish, because it was a shared conlang that they both could speak and read.

    The folder was simple. It had INTO THE WEST written on it (because it made all the sense in the world).

    Inside there was poetry. Translated. Notation.

    ... all in Middle Egyptian. There were little pictures of moon phases above it.

    One of the shelves above Phoebe's desk had a moon light.

Tim Drake has posed:
    It's not very Bat-like, the way Tim wheels around abruptly when Essix announces herself. His breath catches in his throat, a curse half-uttered, but when he sees who it is, he relaxes.

    Though he doesn't seem to have an answer for her. "I don't know," he says, after a moment or two of silence. The way he pauses to look around the room as if with new eyes seems to make him deflate, a little bit, and then he runs a hand through his hair, wishing privately he had something to tie it back with. Maybe he should get a hair cut.

    Then he hates himself a little bit for thinking such inane thoughts when he has more important work to do.

    "Phoebe is a planner. I made sure of that. I just need to figure out what her plan *is*, before we go off half-cocked and really screw something up." He looks over to the desk, where he's left the folder with the Elvish writing on it.

    And he keeps staring. "Moon letters!" he says, out of nowhere, and he's about to check his watch when the big white sphere on the shelf catches his eyes. "If this works, Phoebe, I'm forcing the entire family to sit through the extended editions with us." He takes the moon lamp down, the remote coming with it, and sets it down on the desk. Without really even thinking about it, he side-steps slightly to make room for Essix to join him there, and then with his breath stuck in his lungs, he flips open the folder to the Egyptian poetry written inside, and hits the on button for the lamp.

Essix has posed:
Invited or not, Essix steps around the books that Tim had moved and walks slowly toward him. She's good at reading human body language, a full year of nothing but observing humans in their natural habitat had given her the gift. Tim was agitated, frustrated, angry, and in pain, this was all clear from the language his body was speaking. He was also determined, which was the loudest words from his body the alien could find.

"Lord of the Rings," she says when he blurts out moon letters, stopping just in his arms reach but not hugging him. She'd hugged Damian, Tim did /not/ look like a hug would go over well.

"So it is true then," she continues, looking to the folder in his hands and the light shining on it. "Phoebe is dead." She nods a few times, then a few more times, sniffles then clears her throat.

"Tim, I need to be involved, tell me how I can help. Tell me what you are looking for, what you need, what I can get for you to make this easier for you," she finally rattles off.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The other lights in the room flicker off as the moon light comes on in Tim's hands. Essix's plaintive plea seems to have helped, the flickering lights come with the familiar smell of black pepper and roses with that bit of citrus, and Tim and Essix would be able to see the following, at the top of the page, fading in like a breath: Hi Tim!

    It continues, in similar glowing text: You probably found this folder among my study items because you are in need of it -- and for that I'm sorry, because it means I failed to keep my promise of not dying.

Tim Drake has posed:
    "That's right," Tim confirms, when Essix mentions J.R.R. Tolkien's seminal work. "We taught ourselves Elvish, from the books." He stares down at the folder, wondering what mysteries it holds, and he grinds his teeth together.

    What Essix says next doesn't get a comment, because all that would happen would be Tim lashing out, and she doesn't deserve that. Even at his lowest moment, he can't be that person, it's just not who he is. But when the moon lamp lights up and the words begin to spell out that very same sentiment, he chokes out a breathy, "No!"

    It takes him a moment to get a handle on himself, his eyes staring a hole through the magical paper. Suddenly, he swallows, and he gives the tiniest shake of his head. "Not for real. We're going to fix this." Tim looks up at Essix then, at her determination, and he sees something of his own in it. "I'm out of my depth," he admits, with a hoarse bit of noise that might have been an attempt at self-depreciating laughter. "Magic is... difficult. I know the theory, and the history, but I'll never be able to truly understand it. So whatever Phoebe has planned, we might have to puzzle it out together."

    His feelings once more under control, Tim turns back to the folder. "Okay, Phoebe. Whatever it is you have to tell us, we're here. I'm here. Spell it out for me, because we're going to bring you back."

Essix has posed:
It doesn't take much to realize that her question upset him, and in that moment Essix laid her hand on Tim's shoulder to offer what ever comfort she could. She really wanted to hug him, it was an all consuming thought rattling around in her simulated brain.

"I know nothing about magic, only that Phoebe would wield it," she offers sadly with a sigh. "If I could find more books to read on the concepts of magic, I might be able to help in that regard."

Keeping her hand on his shoulder because she couldn't hug him, she read the words on the page and watched Tim go through another moment of pain and anger, so much deeper that is struck at the aliens simulated heart. She had seen grief before in other humans, but never in someone she actually knew.

"We will figure this out," she says firmly, almost with the usual chipperness to her tone. "If there is a way to undo this, then we will undo it, it is as simple as that."

Looking back to the words on the page, she cants her head slightly as she re-reads the words. "She knew you would come looking, she knew you would not let it go. This means that she knew there may be a way..." Now she focuses entirely on the pages in the folder. "I have never talked to a piece of paper before, but I am assuming it is a part of Phoebe and her magic, so please... tell us what we have to do so we can do it and make this right."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    I'm going to have to spell it out for you if you want to try to bring me back. It may not work the way you want it to. I'm not 100 percent sure myself. Necromancy is a sticky subject. Here are what my ancestors had to say: With some notes.

Start in the direction of the unmoving star and place your marker to the Earth. Encircle five cubits by three and one fifteenth, and so your marking starts.
(Pretty sure this means the North Star. Five cubits is about 6', and then *p for the circle for diameter=pir^2. Math! This is your first circle)

A second measure and marking, one span beyond your beginning and in the direction of Nubia do you begin, tracing along Re's route and back around to where you began this second time.
(Second circle about four inches outside, but you start this one on the South - Nubia was Sudan and some other areas around the Nile and its headwaters.)

Round from where the sun doth rise, adjoining but not following its track in sky, trace the first arch in counting the falcon's eye. Pierce not either embankment.
(Start on the East Side, but arch to the North. Did you know that Ancient Egyptians counted fractions using the Eye of Horus?)

From where Osiris wisely rules his court, trail again towards Nubia (dark and fertile) and rise, upon finding your way blocked, towards the realm where resin rises. Trace along your path the name of your beloved you wish returned, encircled and protected twice.
(Into the West, to the South until you hit the barrier circle. From what I know about circles you probably want the lines to fully reach the first circle. You'll probably want my Real Name here).

The Line of the Nile will guide you here. Return to Lower Khemet and trail slowly towards the land of Keftui with their bulls. Beware being too much like their serpents.
(Lower and Upper egypt were switched from what we'd look at it in the US. Lower Egypt was the Nile Delta. Upper Egypt was the Nile Headwaters-ly direction. Keftui (/Kef/tshoo-ee) was a word for Crete, hence the bulls. This should be a straight line)

Repeat the patterned line and tracing by three quarters, each way, until you return to your origin.
(turn three quarters and repeat the lines, not the outer circles, keep going until you find yourself at your original markers)

Within the barrier circles, profess your binding and demands, and appeal to those within who have the power to allow to pass.
(Ask someone to bring me back. You'll write in the space between the two circles who you want to try and contact. Maybe not St. Michael. He's still not happy with me.)

Then put the offerings to blaze, encircled by a full year of full moonlight's candles and call to the akh, the ba, and the ka.
(Thirteen moons in a year. Akh, ba and ka are parts of the Egyptian soul. My Akh is damaged (YES BECAUSE I WAS STUPID). This is what keeps me from being able to access Duat. There's a not zero chance I would have been fed to the croco-hippo-lion. Calling to each probably means repeating what you want to say three times, appealing to each part)

You already have my promise to come back to you.

And if you do not find this, or you find that it cannot be done, I love you regardless. You have always been my most steady rock. No matter how many lifetimes, or universes remain, I will always find you.

I promise.

Tim Drake has posed:
    It's a lot of information. Tim reads it once, and then rereads it again, taking in Phoebe's notes in her own words without letting him think too hard about them. About how this is his best friend's voice coming back to him from beyond the grave.

    Deep breaths. He focuses on deep breaths. "Okay. There are... things I need to get, before we do this. And we're probably going to have to track down Jason, too." His lips purse together, and he lifts his gaze, staring at some faraway point with his eyes unfocused.

    "Though I think I know where he's going to take her."

    Tim reads the note one final time, committing it to memory, before he closes the folder and turns the lamp off. "I can track him down. I need some things of Phoebe's from various locations around the city... things familiar to her. If I wrote down a list, could you get them for me? As fast as possible? I don't know what our timeline is but I suspect it's short," he says, looking at Essix, and all of the emotions he's horribly repressing are visible in the watery shine of his eyes. All of that buried grief masked below stubborness.
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Essix has posed:
Essix reads through the explanation once, then twice, and instantly her photographic memory recalls every word on the page. Just because it is forever burned into her memory however, does not mean she understands it. What it does mean is she can repeat it if needed, like a walking dictionary.

"I will be able to repeat these instructions to you verbatim should you require it," she informs Tim, watching him read and reread a few times. "But I am afraid I do not entirely know what they mean. I can do further research is it is needed however."

Something occurs to her, dancing through her mind in that moment like a butterfly on the wind. "How did you know Phoebe was dead?" She asks plainly, bluntly in fact, but then she shifts to what he asked. "If you give me a list of places and things needed, I can and will collect them all in a matter of hours."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    There is the briefest movement of air. Maybe a distant open vent, with Impulse speeding past it. Maybe the ghost of a very hairy dutch shepherd dog trying to comfort the one it haunts. Maybe even the fleeting memory of gentle brushes or friendly punches, of laughing about ordered Every Single Mrs. Crocombe item on the website, late nights talking to Essix, running into the goop on runs with the dogs. The way she wept against Tim's shoulders.

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Because I'm Red Robin," Tim says, plainly. Maybe he suspected Essix was coming around to the realization on her own, or maybe he just doesn't care, right now. Either way, she's a known element to Nightwing and to Oriole, both of whom Tim trusts implicitly, and right now he needs her help.

    Because there's just not enough time. He needs to prepare for this ritual he is somehow going to do on his own, with no magical backup.

    "I heard it on comms. I wasn't there." He doesn't let those words sink in, not for himself as much as for Essix. Instead he's on the move, to where his coat and jacket are draped, to pull out a notepad and a pen. It only takes him a few moments to write down the things he thinks he'll need, primarily from the Manor, though as he begins to add a few extra things he finds his cheeks wet.

    He's not crying. He's NOT. Because if he starts he won't stop, and he has no time for that. Whatever brought those memories, those feelings, it'll just have to wait. He passes the list over to Essix and nods. "Thank you. I put all of my contact info on the bottom in case you ever need it. Just keep me updated, okay?"

Essix has posed:
One blink, one pause, that's all Essix takes as reaction to the news that Tim Drake is Red Robin. Any more thinking or debate on the topic would wait for another time, another place, perhaps there wouldn't even need to be any...

Following him as he moves to get his coat, the note pad is found and the list written. "I need express permission from you to enter Wayne Manor, and into Phoebe's room," she states firmly. "I am not permitted entry without permission. Nightwing made this very clear to me."

The reasons for the rule should be obvious. When you are a being who can literally get anywhere in a building without being seen, and this building sits on a HUGE secret, a rule is needed to keep the overly curious being from finding out things she's not meant to know.

I will bring these items directly to you," she then adds. "You need only tell me where to take them and in an hour I will have them and bring them to you."

Again she lays her hand on his shoulder, attempting to look into his eyes. "We will make this right, and you are not alone."

Tim Drake has posed:
    The express permission bit causes Tim to pause, but only briefly. Assimilating the information seemlessly is just the easiest option right now, rather than interrogating it for deeper meaning. He and Dick can talk later.

    "You have my permission to enter Wayne Manor, to go into Phoebe's room as well as my room, and if you need further permission to find anything on that list just call the first number I wrote down and I'll give it to you," he says. "As for the other items... well... we'll cross that bridge when you come to it, let's just stay in contact."

    Tim looks around the room, still as a statue except for the shifting of his gaze, and all at once he's bursting with energy, on the move. Gathering up books and papers, the moon lamp and the folder, everything and anything he thinks might be necessary. Or even slightly, potentially helpful. "I'm going to get this stuff loaded up. Thank you, really." And he finally smiles, but it's shaky. The hand on his shoulder, this time around, seems to have steadied him. "We're going to bring her back."

Essix has posed:
Essix nods just once, reads the list one more time, she writes her number on the back then without pause tucks the paper into Tim's pocket. If Tim wants to find her before she contacts him, he now has a way. "There is no item on this list that I cannot get," she states. "I text you when I have each item and am moving to the next, in case there are special instructions or permissions required."

Flowing like water down into the form of a large rat, just large enough that perhaps a cell phone could be concealed inside the body, the little creature looks up at time and says, "We will bring her back."

Skittering out the door she darts into the shadows and disappears from sight. What other forms she might take along the way, she will be carrying a small bag with the items in it... reports of the large eagle carrying a back pack are greatly exaggerated.