8090/Birthright: Game, SET, Match

Birthright: Game, SET, Match
Date of Scene:	10 October 2021
Location:	A desert in Egypt.
Synopsis:	With the help of friends and allies, John summons Set to find out more about Phoebe's situation.
Cast of Characters:	John Constantine, Zatanna Zatara, Jonathan Sims, Marc Spector, Phoebe Beacon

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John Constantine has posed:
    The meeting point was the Laughing Magician Pub. John had put out a call for help with something Really Big, but without much explanation other than that really, perhaps a few here know his plan. Well, just about everyone has an idea, except maybe Zee - he really didn't want to have the 'you're nuts, John' battle so he figured get her here and ask forgiveness later?

    Phoebe, he brought along reluctantly.

    Jon - when he showed up it might have gone a little like this:

    "This doesn't concern you, it's not about your assassin issues."
    "But I want to help."
    "No."
    "But I want to help."
    "No."

    ... and after a dozen or so rounds of that, finally John relented with a snipped, "Fine, but you do as I say."

    Now everyone is in Egypt via a portal John opened that was not through the House of Mystery and he's smack dab in the middle of creating a Big Ass Circle in the sand. He's almost finished and with each sizable piece, he's added a bit of will to make the sand itself hard, heavy, immovable.

    When he's finished that really is a Big Mother Fucking Honkin' Ass Huge Circle, he sands to check his work, walking the circumference of the thing slowly. It took about an hour. Through which, he's said nothing. He was focused on that BMFHAHC.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zee rummaged in the closet and chose the lightweight ensemble minus the tie and tuxedo shirt for desert weather before getting ported to Egypt. Nothing like the desiccating winds of the desert for the complexion. She mumbles a word to herself, and a bright red silk scarf appears in her hand, suitable for magic tricks and tying back her dark hair, which she promptly does.

"That's one big ass circle, John," she says, turning in place to admire his work. "What have you planned that you didn't want me to know?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Somewhere in the midst of the "this doesn't concern you" discussion was "Look Khonshu Himself told me to go I am not arguing with a god" though it surely took more than that to convince John. The Archivist actually kind of sort of looks the part, wearing some kind of kevlar armor in green and black and carrying a staff with an ankh as the headpiece. It's only a breastplate and bracers, and it's worn over a long-sleeved cotton shirt and cotton combat trousers. Desert wear. It really doesn't look all /that/ bad, but Jon has looked grumpy about it the entire time. Like a very disgruntled cat forced to wear a stupid sweater someone thinks is cute.

    He has a hat, too, because reasonable people wear a hat in the desert, the sort with a strap to keep it on if it falls. Which it does as the man stands there watching John put the circle together, stock still the entire hour. Now that it's done he blinks and shakes himself. "What--" A pause. The woman now in the red scarf asked the question for him, so he turns to look at John curiously.

Marc Spector has posed:
    A trip to the desert is not Mr. Knight's show. It's Moon Knight's show. The tall, athletically built man is wearing a bodysuit in white. It looks to be made of kevlar with a crescent shape on the chestpiece. There are filaments of dull silver metal woven throughout the kevlar. A utility belt complete with a number of pouches and pockets is wrapped around his waist, there are several crescent shaped shurikens locked into place on the belt (perhaps magnetic). Bracers of a brighter metal encase his forearms to the elbow and his boots are lined with metallic looking thread as well. His face is hidden by a full head mask with a crescent shape in the forehead. Hiding his features even more is the hood of a long white cloak billowing out behind him.

    He's carrying a truncheon made of a dull metal that looks like it can extend if the cascading levels of the handle are any indicator. He steps up beside John and looks at the circle. "Who's the mark?" he asks. This isn't the first summoning circle he's seen, even if it might be the biggest.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe had returned not ten minutes before Go Time, picked up by Chas from the drop-off. John Constantine's student, her hair in braids as she squats down a bit to the side of the circle. She had elected not to wear her armor, because John makes fun of it, but she was wearing good clothes for the desert, and had a bluish scarf with a hood on it that was protecting her hair from getting sand in it. She's got that Uncomfortable feeling again, watching as John makes the circle, build it up, and then examine his work.

    "He's owed a favor." she states to Moon Knight quietly, and then she looks to Jon.

    "... who's he?"

John Constantine has posed:
    One more trip around the circle just to be sure and without a word. When he finally stops in front of his group of gathered friends and allies, John reaches into the pocket of his trench coat - did anyone thing he *wouldn't* wear it into the desert? - and pulls out four amulets. Each one of the is an exact replica of the mark burned into his right hand, the mark of Set.

    "I need one of you at each point of the circle, North, South, East, West. Put the amulets on." Then the damned bastard takes one step back into the circle, bends quick as lickety split to mutter a word and the whole thing lights up with a bright orange glow before settling back to dark once more. He's sealed himself *inside*.

    *Asshole*.

    He looks down at his hand, the one with the mark and mutters a few more words under his breath. Everything magical he's done or said has, obviously, happened in Ancient Egyptian. The mark begins to glow, bright white, hot... and he grips that wrist with his left hand for a moment. Because it hurts, until whatever he just did settles, it hurts. It doesn't last long. When it does settle he asks, "Everyone ready? If it's too much, if I'm taking too much... just reach up and take the amulet off and you'll be removed from the circle of energy going into the spell."

    Finally, FINALLY, he officially answers the Big Question. ...as if the answer wasn't obvious already. "Set, I'm summoning Set. I need to ask him a few things."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"You what? I bet you do, you daft bastard!" explodes from Zee. Of course, that was the more controlled response. Gripping her bottom lip between her teeth to prevent herself from adding to the litany of expletives building in her head, she holds out a hand then bites off the words, "Give.Me.South."

"It might be incumbent on you to tell me who you have brought into the Circle of Summoning, John," she says no less angrily. Turning to the others, she nods to each in turn, "I'm Zatanna Zatara, a magician. Good of you to support this maniac."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Jonathan Sims," he says aside to Phoebe and Zatanna as he takes the amulet from John. "The Archivist. I--"

    And then he /looks/ at the mark on the amulet, and looks up at Constantine, and opens his mouth. "Jo--" Fuck. /Fuck/. He swallows, eyes very wide. His hands shake as he reaches up to slip the amulet over his head and move to his point in the circle, placing himself in the North. He's shaking so hard he looks like he might get blown away in a stiff breeze, but he grips the staff with his hands--one still bandaged--firmly.

    "Some day, you and I are going to have a /long/ talk about your narcissistic need for self-sacrifice." It's said in a strained tone, and John at least would know that it's covering fear, for Constantine himself.

    To Zatanna: "I am a hereditary servant of the god Thoth, although I'm /entirely/ new in the position and most of what I'm meant to do is /record/ things. John is an old friend, and he," he gestures the staff toward Moon Knight, "is... well. Thoth and Khonshu are interconnected. I suppose we're colleagues now."

    He shakes his head. "Set," he grumbles. "Bloody /Set/. Why couldn't we be going after something /reasonable/ like, I don't know, Yog-Sothoth? Bloody fucking /Set/."

Marc Spector has posed:
    "Oh. Lovely" Moon Knight grumbles as he slips the amulet on and moves to the East side of the circle. "Because just calling up a god for a 'favor' is just the normal thing to do, right?" At his post he stops and calls. "And you're sure you can send him back after you get your answers? Set's not the most... cordial of my Patron's brethren and he's likely won't go without a fight."

    He glances at the others. "It's not that I don't trust you or your associates. I just would hope that they are aware you are summoning a god of war for a chat. I'd hope that they were aware of the threat that beings of great power usually don't take kindly to being called up for chats and that in the event that the summoner is unable to contain said being, they tend to try to obliterate all witnesses." His gaze falls again to John as Zee answers the question of being briefed beforehand. He sighs and looks to the magician. "I am Moon Knight, the Fist of Khonshu. And while I prefer someone with a bit more... tact in dealing with his allies. I would rather not see John obliterated and causing the demise of children in the process. Manners aside, he does good work."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Hello Zatanna." Phoebe states to Zee, and she warily takes the Western amulet, and she pulls her hood down. Jon would be able to see that this is *just* a kid, though her eyes look tired as she looks up to John. "Set owes him a favor. John and I were both at a place where Apep and Set were engaging in fighting, so Set owes him. And... he's using it on me." Phoebe frowns a moment. She looks over to John.

    "Phoebe Beacon. I'm John's student." she introduces herself to Jon quietly, and gives a wan smile to the grouping, her dark eyes looking over the group of adults. She was pulled because he needed someone to stand at a point -- so she walks, clockwise, to the West, and takes a breath.

    "Could be worse. He could be doing this alone." she whispers, mostly to herself, and she felt so small, standing in the desert with Zatanna to her right, and John to her left. She looks across to Moon knight, and then to JOhn as he stands in the active circle.

John Constantine has posed:
    It's a barely there little thing, just the slightest little upturn of the left corner of his mouth in a faint half smile. It might be a little smug? No, that's not right? Fond? A genuine smile on his face, no matter how small, is so rare that it's really hard to say. John knew, you see, that if he got Zee here and *then* announced his plans, she wouldn't leave him high and dry and missing a point to the power circle. Their relationship is a tangled mess of bad words, good times and hurt feelings, but they *still* can count on one another most of the time. "Thanks, Zee."

    "I helped him defeat Apep when the Gods of Death were at war," John explains as if he's reading off the ice cream menu at Dairy Queen. "...He placed this mark here himself." He turns that right hand palm out to show said mark, That's no longer a scar but as fresh as the day it was made. "I had to ride him to do it." Isn't that usually the other way around? Gods riding humans, not humans riding Gods? "I was in his head, he's not... *that* bad."

    Without further discussion and lacking fanfare, John walks to the middle of the circle and raises his arms in the air, palms up. Each and every one of them will feel it when he begins to chant; that tiny tug on what makes them 'special', the power that resides in side of them. The mark on the Laughing Magician's hand begins to glow. ...and that tug continues as the amulets begin to glow in kind.

    As always, the individual words, spoken in Ancient Egyptian, aren't important, it's the meaning that matters, the intent. 'I call on thee as a friend, not a foe, I beseech thee...' Blah blah. Nothing along the lines of 'favor' comes into the spell, nothing about owing anyone anything. John's not that stupid as to enrage a God by sticking his tongue and and saying 'you owe me one'.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Hi, Phoebe," the magician says gently. "Be careful. I wish we could do this differently. One side of her mouth tips upward, acknowledging John's smile and the long history it holds between them.

After fixing the amulet around her wrist, she muses aloud, "So he is not completely crazy, is he? The allies of two Gods on this magic ground. Twisting to look at Jon, Zee studies him a moment, "We need you for your patron Thoth's divine balance, ma'at, he who is erudite and beloved of the Gods and those that worship him."

Feet still planted in place, she turns to look at the Fist of Khonshu, murmuring, "Traveller and the one who lights the darkness of night."

"John might appear to be out of his mind, but he chose his allies well even if he is a self-sacrificing jerk calling on the power of Set for favors.

Then it begins, the Homo magi straightens and braces herself for the divine winds of magic.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon frowns slightly, gaze flicking between John and Phoebe. Ohh, there it is. All of the vitriol goes out of him on seeing how /young/ Phoebe is. Whatever the specifics of what's going on, he seems to understand now. The glance he give John as the spell starts is full of something that's not /quite/ pity. Worry, definitely. Resolution, maybe? It's hard to tell, without context.

    He nods aside to Zatanna. "Yes," he says. "I understand /why/ I am here. I just..." He sighs. "It's been a long month. But no, no, Thoth and Khonshu are reasonable allies to have in this business. John isn't crazy." A beat. "Not entirely mentally healthy. But not crazy. I have an actual degree in these things, I should know."

    You hear that, John? The shrink says you're not crazy!

    The tug on the power, for him, seems to be a thing that makes his eyes sting; he blinks several times before he gets used to the whole thing.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Moon Knight nods to Zatanna. "Good to know that he is still ackolwdeged by some." He rolls a shoulder as the power starts to travel from him to the circle work being engaged. If it bothers him more than that, he's not showing it.

    "One just hopes that Set recognizes our positions as much as you do" he says dryly.

    "How long does a collect call to a god of storms take John?" he calls to the center of the circle, the mildest of amusement in his tone.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe gives a smile to Zatara from beneath her blue, a smile to John, and to Moon Knight (the Fist of Khonshu!) and she stands in place. "I can do this." she whispers to herself, and she focuses her Will, drawing up on that Light inside of her, holding it in reserve -- though when John pulls against the power of all of those around him, surrounding the circle, she feels the pull hardest. She was supposed to be guarding his body.

    Set is not just the God of Storms, he is also the God of Chaos. Murderer, defender, and usurper. He who murdered his brother and distributed the body of Osirus. He is the unknown of the dark desert. Protector of Kings who had been named in his honor.

    The reason phoebe picked west may be apparent; the wind picks up. It carries with it the fine sand of the Saraha, lifting dust and silica and grinding away at the stones and buildings around them all. Inhuman howls, like beasts trumpeting in wild galavant sound through the night's darkness as John finishes his "invitation".

    And then, there, in the middle of the circle, standing with John, is Set. He has deigned simply to be 'taller' than everyone else around. His chest is barrel like and bare, the whipping sand doesn't touch him. His skin is black as coal, his eyes holding the reflection of the stars that have fled before him. The bull-like tail whips behind him in the wind and sand, and in a deep voice, bass rumbling through the chests of all who are present he replies:

You have invited me, and I have answered, John Constantine.

John Constantine has posed:
    John's only taking enough, *just* enough, from everyone else to keep him on his feet. Moon Knight's question gets no answer. Whether or not John is crazy is debatable, but one thing is certain now, he's lost in that spell, hearing nothing but his own words, feeling nothing but the magic flowing through him. To break his concentration now could be disastrous, he could wind up with God knows who trapped in the circle with him. It would be epic amounts of Bad News if, for example, Apep weaseled his way in instead; that's a God with a score to settle against John Constantine.

    It's not entirely lost on him, what *could* have been done with this 'favor owed', what a fourth, much more pleasant, mark on his soul could mean. An out, at least for his most recent deal with Nergal; he only agreed, after all, to negate the deals with the other two Hell Lords, not Set. The tiniest, minuscule little part of him that's considered it is squashed and silenced.

    The girl's more important.

    His heart thuds violently in his chest when Set appears. If anyone thinks the Laughing Magician isn't *terrified* whenever he does something like this, they're dead wrong. But he's not known for being a poker faced conman without... being able to wear that poker face when needed.

    He appears calm, collected, as if he's standing in the circle in the company of an old friend. He tips his head in Set's direction, respectfully, and says, "You have, and for that I'm grateful. I need your help, but just in the way of a few answered questions, to save a child who's important to me."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Well, they have that straight, Zatanna glances at Jonathan with narrowed eyes, then straightens her face and lets all tension go. There can be no contention between the pillars of this spell or working against each other.

"Persephone, Lady who walks between two worlds," she prays under her breath, "please hold my hand steady and lend me strength in this endeavor." Zee had chosen the south, knowing that it was Set's direction. God of the Desert, Ruler of the South!

Her red scarf flutters in the divine wind. Zatanna looks up into the face of the God towering over them and feels her knees tremble.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon stands to the North, the direction in which his ancestors left Egypt after the fall of Alexandria, the direction where all the most recent Archivists are buried, the direction of his place of birth. The direction in which the Nile flows, toward which the natural order of the world moves.

    He stands firm, despite his shaking fear. To be in the presence of a god possessing a man is one thing; to be in the presence of a god in itself quite another. He's terrified, but though he does not have a poker face he /is/ the Archivist. As Set appears, that enrgy takes over and his shaking stops as he stills, staring wide-eyed at the God, /watching/ these events.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Moon Knight chose the East, for that is where the Moon begins its travel across the night's dark sky. The direction from which all wanderers of night look for that pale sliver of silver to guide them through the darkness. He would be that sliver for those gathered even if it cost him his body this day. It would not be the first time he paid the ultimate price.

    The appearance of Set is not as unnerving to him as he anticipated. Sure, the god is imposing. Sure, he is a violent creature. But the Fist of Khonshu was a living vessel for a god of the heavens. Respect was due, but fear was not something he was accustomed to feeling, this situation was no different.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The Child that stands at your back, to which Fate has wound her string to your ever-turning wheel.

     Set considers a moment, not needing to confirm as he sets his staff in the sand, the butt of the staff burrowing down into the desert floor, and those dark eyes level down at John, then turn around to look at each in their turn.

    Zatanna, in her prayer. Moon Knight and the Archivist, devotees and blood of his own blood. And finally, clear over John's shoulder to the girl wearing the blue shawl to keep the sand out of her hair, who was hiding.

    The bestial head of Set draws up then, and his voice rumbles like thunder.

    Ask Your Questions.

John Constantine has posed:
    John considers and decides to just take the most straight forward path this go around, not his usual MO. "Why does the Necromancer Leksandria want her so badly?" He swallows the lump rising in his throat, the bile... the urge to vomit, but not because he's sealed in a circle with a God, but because his heart hurts. He shouldn't have brought her. What if the answers are something Phoebe shouldn't hear?

    "...and how do I stop her?" He looks from one person to the next to the next standing outside the circle. Jon's the last to get his attention, the one that knows *all of it* and is still standing there.

    When he shifts those faded denim blues back to Set he amends. "How do *we* stop her using my... *daughter* for whatever plans she has laid?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Part of Zee's unspoken prayer beseeches John not to let his hubris fuck this up. Take what you need from me. I'm trusting you in this, Constantine, for Phoebe's sake.

Zatanna inclines her head to Set when he turns his eyes on her - hoping that he will intercede for the sake of John's apprentice and chosen daughter. Tears sting her eyes along with the desert sand at the memory of her own father's sacrifice.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The Archivist stands firm under the god's gaze, does not move, does not look away. John's shift--from /I/ to /we/--is enough, however, to shake the Archivist out of the trance for a moment. An almost grateful glance is flickered at the magician. He /knows,/ but knowing is not entirely /understanding/. The word 'daughter' also gets a blink, and then a nod, as if a piece has revealed itself and slotted into place.

    Then he is back to his trance. It is not his place to pray, or hope, or judge, though the part of him that is Jonathan Sims /does/ hope that Set will agree. That part is not in control just now, however. For now, his duty is merely to record.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Moon Knight only nods in polite greeting as Set's eyes move over him. John's inclusion of the 'we' in this endeavor strikes him and there is a tug underneath the mask. A smile perhaps? It's a start in his opinion at least. A good one.

    At the consideration of Phoebe he tenses, ready to leap to the girl's assistance should it be needed magic circle be damned. The numbers are running in his mind, how long could the Moon hold off Chaos. Winning wouldn't be an option, he'd die. He knows that, but he would come back. He always comes back. The others... they just have to get away. That's all the time he needs.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Daughter? *Daughter*?

    Phoebe's dark eyes go wide as her heart thuds in her chest at that word, and she turns her attention to John's back. Her hands draw up, covering her mouth as she takes a sharp intake of breath halfway between a gasp and a hiccup, but strains not to be heard. Her knees tremble a little bit, her eyes squarely ont he back of that trenchcoat..

    <<The Necromancer Leksandria has eliminted all of her blood-relatives, known and unknown to the Village in the Way of the Reeds, until only the child you have taken as your daughter remains. She is the last of a bloodline stretching to before the Dynasties and before my war with my brother and his son. The Light within her is the key to her mechanations, and as long as her breath flows, so will The Light.>> Set replies.

    <<As long is breath is drawn by one with their blood, their ka cannot progress to my brother's kingdom, nor to any life beyond what can be seen between the worlds.>>

John Constantine has posed:
    "So, she wants Phoebe to keep her alive..." John repeats, quietly to himself really. His tongue darts out to lick sand dried lips, it does no good, his mouth's too dry. "But if I kill her, Phoebe only needs to stop breathing for a second to free the others bound." Still more to himself than to Set, just... processing. He doesn't look at the girl, he can't. Not now, he'll lose it if he does.

    "No..." Soft, but then a little more loudly. "No... There has to be another way to free them. I can't do that. I can't risk her not coming back. I won't. Please..." Give him another way, one that doesn't involve his daughter's *heart stopping*.

    Once more, his gaze travels over the circle and those around it, all but Phoebe. "There has to be another way."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The hatred that would drive someone to obliterate an entire bloodline sickens Zee. She feels her stomach twist and tries to keep the grimace from her face before the God. What need drives that sick passion, she wonders. Jealousy? Fear that Phoebe could usurp her place in the pantheon of sorcerers?

Then, she hears John pleas to preserve Phoebe from even a passing moment in Death's arms. Finally, she feels Persephone's gentle push at her back and steps forward.

"I'm not afraid to take her place if it can be done. I can be brought back because it is not my time. I trust you to that." This last spoken to everyone in the circle.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    /Fury/ rises in the Archivist at Set's words, strong enough to burst out in a wave of energy that pours mostly uselessly into the desert about him; he's not close enough to anyone else for them to be caught in the backlash of the Archivist's emotional aura. But a pulse of energy fires through the amulet into Constantine, and it's certainly obvious in his posture and on his face, the way every line goes tense and his eyes glare.

    The Archivist's gaze tracks from John to Phoebe and settles there for a moment. Sympathy, and then he... focuses and then blinks and then his attention is tracking to Zatanna as she offers herself.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Moon Knight frowns, a drawing of the mask covering his feartures down a bit. He had possible solutions, but none that John would take. Stopping a heart was a simple thing, and bringing a person back from that point even simpler, but John's emotions were in the way and he wasn't going to trample on them for the sake of this mission. There had to be another way.

    "If it's that simple I can offer my life as well in her stead. Khonshu has brought me from the brink of oblivion time and time again" he says plainly. "I doubt this would be any different. Transfer the connection to me. Kill me. And I will return as always."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe's legs give out. She sinks down into the sand, her chest tight.

    "I know he won't let me die. He'd sacrifice everything else first." she whispers in response to a voice in her ear, distracted. Drained. Knowing that Everything would probably also include everyone. Zatanna volunteers to take her place. She looks to Jon as he stands in the North, and she shrinks back a little bit, kneeling in the sand.

    <<Not every Death is so *Kind*, Zatanna Zatara.>> Set replies, and the light of the stars leaves his eyes. They glow a dull red. <<Nor does Khonshu have any light to shed on *this* subject, Fist of the Moon.>> Set stands, and looks to the South.

    <<There is a door to the South that is guarded by the rarest of elements in this desert. There will be a rendering in the Earth, and a different path will be made clear. Now.>>

    Set turns back to John. <<I am quickly running out of patience with the squabbles of mortals. Have you other questions, John Constantine? THink quickly.>>

John Constantine has posed:
    John's attention snaps to Zatanna. "No, Zee," but it's not a protest made in anger or defiance, his voice is soft and even grateful. But there's a reason for it, that protest. He turns back to Set and says, "She's my daughter, maybe not by blood, but that doesn't matter. She's my *family* and should anyone have to take her place, it should be her family. Me." Or Chas who still has a few dozen lives to give and would gladly give one of them up for Phoebe. But Chas isn't here, is he?

    "Besides," once again turning his attention to Zee, "We all know death doesn't stick to me." The little lopsided grin offered is more present this time and it comes with a wink.

    Then he's slammed with that *fury* from Jon. His fists clench at his sides, Hellfire flashes in his eyes and engulfs those clench fists. "No one's killing Phoebe, not even for a second and no one is dying in her place but ME, her *father*, because a FATHER IS SUPPOSED TO PROTECT THEIR CHILD!" Oh bother, seems that projected fury has tapped into some of John's 'daddy issues', dunnit?

    It passes, that moment of fury. The flames die out and John just looks tired again. So fucking tired.

    But even with the rage gone, the words spoken still ring true. It's his *job* to protect her, as it should have been his own father's to protect him. Thomas Constantine failed at his job. John won't.

    "I'm sorry," he mumbles quickly, head bowed in Set's direction. "Tell me about the water, the village, the lake, the light... the earthquake... what does it mean? What do they mean? What did Paisi mean?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Jon's fury echoes through the amulets hotter than the desert wind rifling her hair. Zee has had moments where she could prophesize the future but not today. Not now. Not since the moment in the back alley of New York where Persephone appeared to Zee and whisked her to Mexico into the maw of Death has the Goddess taken an active part in her affairs. The observer inside Zee notes how calm she feels, though a tiny voice inside asks, 'What is the Goddess up to'?

Then Set refuses her offer and Spector's as well. Blood rushes back into Zee's face as she steps back into her place in the circle. Gods be damned! She won't let John take her father's route. "What mineral, Set?" she dares to ask or is it the Goddess's question?

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks, shaken out of the Archivist trance at John's outburst. He has /got/ to learn to control this. He didn't even know he could /do/ that! "Sorry," he stammers, "I--" No. No, this isn't the time, Set is growing impatient.

    But he said the wrong thing to Phoebe (not that he even really /meant/ to, but he cannot quite control the telepathy yet). So he has to fix it, to /help,/ because there /is/ another way, and Set is offering it to them. And so he sends another thought, and it's meant for Phoebe, but it spills out, too sloppy in its execution, though anyone with wards up might not hear it.

    It is a firm belief, a Truth: ((You need not despair, Phoebe Beacon. The Archivist has seen his life in its entirety, and Thoth has judged him worthy. If anyone can save you without sacrificing the world, it is John Constantine.))

    He manages to keep back the nagging worry that there /isn't/ a way that leaves everyone as happy as a 17-year-old would like them to be. He's trying to bolster morale here.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Moon Knight frowns at the dismissal but then he perks up. A quest. Quests are often matters tailored for those sent on them. But what does this element have to do with anything? A token for the god, proving our worth? Or is there something more mystical to it. There is a wry twist to his mouth under the mask that says he is waiting for the latter.

    He clenches his fists tightly as he waits for the details. He will help this child and her father, even if the man is overly self-sacrificing to a fault.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    <<The last holder of The Light meant precisely what she meant, but allow me to demonstrate, Johnathan Constane.>> Set states, and he reaches down with inhuman quickness, his hand coming over John's head, and then Set disappears.

    Phoebe is breathing heavily, her hand falling down to the sand as she supports herself, tears falling from her eyes.

    John, on the other hand, gets to take a trip. It's not a good trip.

    John gets snippets, like someone trying to cram too much shit into a too small sack. Breaking items at the seems. Armies of mages. The Dead rising from tombs in confusion and then rapturous joy and then strict command. Warfare. The breaking down of countries along Africa's east coast, women and children struck dead in the streets. Demon dogs and creatures that he has not encountered, being bred like horses for war, imbued with powers.

    Phoebe, alone in the dark, screaming.
    Ripping away of tendons and flesh, to be reformed. Hearts grown along her limbs. Her legs broken, rebroken, triggering shards of bone to regrow into femurs.

    Aching darkness.

        <<Asenath does not want to use the Light to prolong her own life. She wishes to use Ahmesket to create new life beyond what her powers can reach. The mother gave you all the information you need. In two weeks, you'll figure it out.>>

John Constantine has posed:
    When Set vanishes, John falls to the ground, he just crumples and lays in the center of a the now mundane circle, still. Is he even breathing? Not even a twitch. Did he go through all of that just to have Set kill him in the end? Seriously, the man looks *dead* from a distance.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Ignored by the God and ignorant. Zee's mouth drops open as John is ripped from their plane of existence to someplace else. Does she dare? She does. The magician whispers, ".si eh erehw em wohS (Show me where he is.) Zee might regret asking to see the path he has been launched on.

Ever pragmatic, an idea occurs to Zee. She breaks the symmetry of the circle by walking over to John's supine form and unbuckling his belt. Not that this hasn't happened before but just not in public. A certain tattoo has come to mind and it will tell her what she needs to know. The crow that rides over his hip just below his waist has taken flight telling her that John is on a "walkabout" with the God.

John Constantine has posed:
    It needs to be noted, that John's boxers? They're purple with little tiny ghosts on them and little tiny 'boos' that all look as if they glow in the dark. Why? Because a little girl got them for him for his birthday. Chas's little girll, his little sprout.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon starts running toward the fallen magician as soon as Set disappears, skidding to a stop on the sand and kneeling down next to the man. He immediately feels for a pulse, and heaves a sigh of relief on finding one, on checking for breathing and finding that, too. "He's alive!" he shouts, because there are others here who will worry. He swallows and says more to himself than anything, "Comatose, though. /Damn/ it."

    He hesitates a moment, and then, remembering the events of the night before, he stays right where he is and does not move John, at least not for the moment. Worry is etched in his face, though, and spills out of him in a way he can't quite help. Anyone who gets within about fifteen feet will feel it, the pulsing worry Jon has for his friend who, for just a moment, seemed to be dead /again/.

    When Zatana reaches out to unbuckle the belt Jon reaches up a hand to stop her, then stops himself. She's a magician. He doesn't know magic. So he asks, "Why did you do that? What does it mean?" The question comes out sharper than he intends it, fear spiking through his words.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Moon Knight moves into the circle. "We should get moving. I can carry him if need be." The waves coming from Jon seem to just float /around/ him rather than passing through him. "Set tasked us with a mission and I intend to see it through," he looks over at Phoebe. "Unless you'd rather he baked out here in the desert? You are the one in change now. As his apprentice I assume you know something more of what's needed?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe hasn't moved much. Her chest is tight. Her blood is rushing in her ears. "I... I don't. It's not... he's... kept a lot of a secret. He didn't want me to see..."

    The temperature begins to drop around them, quite sharply. Anyone not wearing a facemask might see their breath.

    "He needs to come back... he needs to come back--" he couldn't have meant it -- "-John! JOHN! COME BACK!" she finally finds her outside voice, and the little mageling finds her feet as well to get to his side. Even if everyone is pulling off his pants!!

    Zatanna is now able to see the astral vision, joining John's sight: <<Other paths exist. The total anihilation of the bloodline-->> Phoebe, face down, in black water, slowly sinking down. A way of death that wouldn't let her recover. <<The Rebellion, a Great Magician's War, and for your quarry, Constantine, she is firmly aware of all threads, but this one. The daughter of John Constantine, not a thread that was forseen, yet a new thread forged with your tumulut chaos. Use what brief turns you have to your advantage. Our Business is *concluded*>> ANd John is sent right back to his body, quick as Set dragged him out.

John Constantine has posed:
    John comes back with a gasped breath, deep and desperate. Those faded denim blues are wide, unfocused, unaware... at first.

    Then it comes back, it all comes rushing back. He shoves himself to his feet. Are his pants undone? Should he feel violated or something? He doesn't even notice. Oh ... no he doesn't notice.

    His voice doesn't even sound like his own. It's too deep, amplified and booming by magic, magic spurred and fueled by the *rage* caused by what he'd seen; by that bitch's plans for his *daughter*.

    "Leksandria! he bellows, Hellfire flaring in his eyes and as if she might actually *hear* him, maybe she will?

    "I'm going to kill you! And use your own TRICKS To keep you here and KILL YOU AGAIN, AND AGAIN, DO YOU HEAR ME?! Come on you cowardice BITCH, FACE ME!"

    Oh dear. ...and this is how it begins again, the up for days, balls to the wall, all cannons go.

    Two weeks, isn't that what Set said? It's going to be a LONG two weeks for those in John Constantine's orbit.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Look at the tattoo." Zatanna lays a manicured red nail above a lifelike crow tattooed above John's hip. Then, speaking calmly hoping to quench the anxiety that rises from Jon like heat, "It's magical. When he flies on the astral plane, it takes flight. When he is back in his body, it is settled with its wings folded."

Still crouched by John's side, she looks up at the Moon Knight, frowning, "To the gate in the South in Set's dominion? He's too heavy for me unless I port him with a spell. The only thing we need baking are cookies. I'm ready!"

Sometimes spells work with a force that can turn a magician's head and stomach inside out. Set answers her spell. Careful not to get anyone, Zee turns her head and is wrenchingly sick in the hardened sand of the circle at seeing Phoebe's lifeless body floating in water. Delicately wiping the corners of her mouth with a finger, she gets shakily to her feet, "We need to follow Set's words. And believe that this will end well. I do."

John's return startles Zee back a step, "All that is holy, John! Calm down. We're right with you!

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Thank you," Jon says to Zatanna. "That's good information, I think I'm going to need--"

    Startled, Jon rocks back onto his heels a bit as Constatine wakes and stands. He looks up, takes in a long, deep breath, and sighs. Welp. He does, indeed, know what this means. And there's going to be nothing for it but to go along and make sure John lives.

    Okay, he could walk away, yes, but he has the feeling he might get haunted by family ghosts if he did.

    At least the worry is gone, replaced by an odd sort of calm confidence that radiates off of him, offering comfort to any nearby. He rises to his feet. "We are," he says firmly. "We're with you. Lead the way." A pause. "We might have to take shifts sleeping. Not everyone can go days without bothering to rest." He says it with a half-sardonic smirk.

    And then: "You worried the girl, John." Just Phoebe, yes. Nobody else was worried at all.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Moon Knight was all but ready to carry the man, it would be a task without strain for him this day and then Constantine wakes up. In a rage. He steps back, doing his best to stay clear of the raving mage. "She's not here John. You will get her soon enough." He glances to the South. "For now, let's focus on what we have to do. You have the energy, we have the means, carry your rage and then when you get meet this necromancer... *then* you can obliterate her without hesitation."

    "Now isn't the time for that though" he says calmly. "Now is the time for us to go to that door. Where the new path will be made clear, remember? We need leads John. Not mindless anger." He's trying to be a voice of reason among the mystics, he really is.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe had been at John's side, and she leans back suddenly, arms flailing out as John comes out of it in an absolute rage, and she reaches out, her hand on the sleeve of his trench, but not grabbing it.

    "John... we need a plan." she whispers gently, and then she draws her arm back, and she hops up to her feet. She teeters slightly, but the side of her lips quirks up slightly.

John Constantine has posed:
    "The bloody door isn't open yet," John snarls. "Go on then, walk across the desert for *nothing*," he adds, just as snarly. Those eyes are still flashing bright, flickering with the fire of the under realms. "It won't open until the Earthquake happens, until the earth opens up. Was anyone *listening*?"

    He doens't mean it. He's just *so* ... scared. Scared for Phoebe. ...and anger's easier than fear. So he shoves all the fear down and replaces it with what's easier.

    When he opens the portal that will let them all go back to the Laughing Magician, his rage is reflected in the opening. It's a violent tearing of the space between here and there, jagged and uneven edges, shifting and swirling and maybe a little scary to consider walking through?

     "I'm going to kill her, that *is* my plan. I'm going to end this." Those are the last words he speaks before he steps through that portal. Unlike the ones he opens to the House, this one stays open after he's through it, allowing for everyone else to follow.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Rolling her eyes, as if to say, "Here we go, again," Zatanna lifts a hand, palm up in a mute question to the others before stepping through John's angry tear in space.

"Right behind you, dear," she croaks sardonically, not always able to keep her calm in the face of his rage. "Ready, Phoebe?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon eyes the tear in space for a moment, then swallows and shrugs and heads on through the portal. "Hey, John, mate, can I ask you to tell me what Set showed you? Over a drink, if you like." He taps the side of his head. "Perhaps there's something stored up in here, some hint from the ancestors, that'll help." A pause. "And even if not... well... you know."

    The rest of his mind is racing, trying desperately to understand what's going on, to figure out how to keep up with John and take care of everyone else, make sure people stay fed and hydrated and get sleep. (He won't bother trying to get John to sleep; he knows that's a lost cause in this state.)

Marc Spector has posed:
    Moon Knight sighs and steps into the portal. He had things to look into and things to prepare for. John would be in good hands and if the man needed him...

    He turned at the window he was about to jump out of and says, "Constantine, you know where to find me if you need me for something. Listen to those around you, they have your best interest at heart." And then he's out the window and into the night.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe gives a wan, tired smile to Zatanna, and gives a nod. "I'll be fine. Just... been a week." she replies tiredly, and wraps her shawl more around herself as she tails the team through to the Laughing Magician

John Constantine has posed:
    When John steps into the pub, he looks down at his right hand and rubs at his palm with his left thumb. ...right in the spot where the Mark of Set *used* to be. It's gone now, his favor paid and a door to saving himself from Nergal's service closed.

    He'll figure it out, tomorrow, or the next day, maybe the day after that; he'll figure it out.

    "Chas!" he calls out. "Set me up for the rest of the night."