8221/Archival and Archivist

Archival and Archivist
Date of Scene:	13 October 2021
Location:	The Laughing Magician
Synopsis:	Phoebe and Jonathan Sims make better acquaintences of each other. Phoebe is ever hesitant to let one more person in, and Jon does his best in recognizing Phoebe's trauma.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Jonathan Sims
Tinyplot:	Birthright

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Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The Laughing Magician, in the mid-afternoon, is pretty dead. Emphasis on the 'dead'. Rather than be upstairs in the heavily warded rooms that she's just cleaned out, Phoebe was sitting in one of the booths in the back of the bar, not minding the door too much. She has a backpack on the floor by her, a couple of notebooks, and a couple of magic books in front of her as she's comparing notes and doing some research on rituals for opening -- and closing -- portals. Her hair is in a blue wrap today, with silver stars and swirled planets, and she's wearing a comfortable sweatshirt against the chill of the back of the bar, and a T-shirt that has the hands from 'The Creation of Adam' as a pair of skeletal hands, with little butterflies errupting out of it.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon could not stay in the House of Mystery all day, or even all morning. He went out and bought groceries, brought them back and hoped the House wouldn't just eat them (har har). Tried to think of something to cook with the things he'd just bought. Even turned on the stove. Then gave it all up as a bad job and went back out to (maybe inadvisably) go to the library and check out books on mystical... things.

    Naturally, twenty minutes into /that/ endeavor it occurred to him that if mystical truths could be found at the public library, more people would be flinging spells down Fifth Avenue.

    So it is that his steps draw him back to the Laughing Magician. When he steps in, he's tense for a moment before he actually relaxes. There's hardly anyone around. That's... reassuring, somehow. He heads toward the bar, not quite noticing Phoebe right off as he pulls out a cigarette and his spiderweb lighter, lights the thing absently. He gives Chas a bright smile and says, "Can I just get a Coke?"

    He's wearing the same clothing he wore to Gotham University yesterday--a slightly-too-large green sweater, blue jeans, heavy boots. Good for the weather, but there's still flecks of blood on the collar of the sweater. Maybe that explains the odd looks he's been getting all day.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe looks up at the arrival of Jon, and she takes a breath as she leans back, and reaches up to rub at her shoulders.

    "-- how are you feeling after last night?" her very, very American accent sticks out in the very, very British bar, and she purses her lips as she looks over at Jon, her eyebrows rising up.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon has spent so long in America that in truth the bar is what feels out of place. He turns on noticing Phoebe and mentally tamps down the urge to put out the cigarette. She's John's (sort of) daughter. She's sitting here in the bar. She's seen worse.

    So he takes a drag on the cigarette, glances to make sure Chas is out of earshot, and says, "/Fine,/ actually, because John is a meddlesome git." He puts a hand to his face, where tiny scars have appeared. "I still have a headache, but the rest he healed."

    A pause, and the man's brows furrow. "How are you? That looked, ahh... it looked... /unpleasant/." To say the least.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    She has seen worse. She doesn't smoke, though. Some habits she can't bring herself to imitate. She gives a little smile, and she gives a shrug. "You kinda... get used to unpleasant, I guess. I've felt worse. Been through worse."

    Nothing beats the cursing out she got at the end of it. That part sucked giant bollocks.

    The teenager gives a wane smile. "The coke'll help with the headache, and if you want I can try to take care of the scarring." she offers, and then her shoulders rise up "I mean, as long as it's not going to trigger anything with you. I remember when my powers were new, they scared the crap out of me at first."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I don't think..." Jon hesitates, then says, "I don't think it's... /natural/. It's..." He trails off, frowns a moment, grabs the Coke with a thanks to Chas--and presses a ten-dollar bill on him with a murmured 'well put it in the till then I know this place needs money,' and then walks over toward Phoebe's table.

    "Mind if I join you? We... haven't really been properly introduced and I'm evidently going to... be around, so. Might be a good idea."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... we all had metallic alien bugs burrowing into our skin last night." Phoebe states, her eyes closing as she closes one of her books. Her stomach rebells slightly.

    "I don't think natural describes... pretty much anything. Especially..." she trails off her thought, and she motions to Jon to sit across from her.

    "Phoebe Beacon, of Gotham. I think. Last week it's been... a little complicated." she replies, leaning her head forward, and she scratches at the leather strap around her left wrist. Jon would be able to see that it's a dog's collar; it's still got a tag on it that says SCOUT and lists a Gotham City address.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sits down, snagging an ashtray and slumping a bit himself. "Jonathan Sims. The Archivist. Of... Queens, by way of Oxford, by way of Bournemouth." He does indeed sound like the BBC crawled up into his throat and died there, particularly when he's being pedantic; surely even an American who's never seen a single episode of a British TV show can hear the difference between Constantine and the Archivist. People have actually accused Jon of faking his accent, it's so stereotypical.

    "I meant my scars in particular though. I think they'll stay, regardless of any attempt to heal them. They are... a marker of experience." He sighs, rubs at his head. He's trying hard not to look at Phoebe in an Astral sense, to not just peer at her (to him) soft blue-and-yellow Light to try to figure out what she's thinking. That's /rude/.

    He does flick a glance down to the dog collar at her wrist and then asks, "How long have you been doing this, Phoebe? The, ahh... not-natural business?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... if you mean how long I've been using my powers? Three, four years?" Phoebe replies, her eyes narrowing a moment, but she toys a bit with the collar. "But I think it's been longer. Just going back through things. My dog was hit by a car after someone tried to grab me. He was... he was fine. Completely fine. Like nothing had happened."

    She looks up to Jon, eyebrows lifting as she takes off those blue acetate glasses.

    "You're new to it all?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon frowns at Phoebe for a moment. She's seventeen. She's been doing this since... fourteen? Thirteen? It still bothers him, the casual way people accept that literal /children/ run around fighting villains and crime. What does it say about the state of the world?

    He sighs and waggles the hand holding the cigarette. "Yes and no. Much of my experience has been treating people who've gotten wrapped up in this sort of thing accidentally--that attack on Gotham University yesterday, people prone to it might wind up with PTSD, and that's... what I do. I'm a psychiatrist. The first responders and the heroes, too... they need help dealing with the aftermath. My husband, he is... he was... an EMT, he was injured in the attack on New York three years ago. So I've been... /adjacent/ to all of this for... much of my life. Longer than I realized, considering that John used to call me rambling about vampires every other night, until--" He stops. He doesn't know if Phoebe knows about Ravenscar, and he's not about to be the one to tell her.

    "But... having powers /myself/? That started maybe three weeks ago. Magic is... new. Vampires, demons... I'm not /surprised/ but it's... new. What I am, the Archivist..." He frowns. "I'm... still learning what it even is, let alone how to control it. And... I'm sorry, by the way. I think I accidentally read your mind the other day and I certainly didn't mean to."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Until... he had to go away." Phoebe euphemises gently. "Chas told me about what happened. A little bit. About why he is... why he is." Phoebe gives a small frown, and taps her fingers against the table a little bit.

    "My dad... real -- first adoptive dad. He was an EMT. Became a fireman. He was actually the first responder who found me. So I've heard a lot through him. I grew up with first-aid and aikido lessons along with my ABC's." she gives a smile.

    "I used to think that it was all kinda fake, except what I could see in Gotham."

    Phoebe gives a little grin over to Jon, and she offers her hands, palms up.

    "My powers are centered around healing. I don't know if you know about the Breath of Asteroth, but apparently it's really awful. I came to John asking for help, and ended up getting a crash course in power separation. It doesn't hurt me to heal."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon's eyes go distant for a moment. He's... /not there/ quite, he's inside or in the Astral or... something. Then, in an emotionless voice, "The Hellblazer gave the Archivist that story. Demon dogs, and Balm, a Beacon, a Light in the Dark. Screaming and blood and hellfire. He pushed too hard, demanding answers. He would have made a good Archivist himself, she thought. Shame it had to go to her granddaughter, not at all suited for the task."

    Jon blinks himself out of the trance. "Sorry. Christ. I... know more about you than I thought I did, evidently." He frowns and takes a /long/ drag on the cigarette.

    "Healing. Right. That... makes sense. Did it hurt you to heal, before?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    ". . . I didn't use that name with him. That's... not a name for what I'm doing here." Phoebe states quietly, and she drops her hands, and rectracts them a moment, wrapping her arms around herself defensively.

    "You know the story, but that's just... I don't know. I don't know." she breathes out, giving a shudder.

    "That was a bad day. I could have run away. Asked the Justice League, but John..." she frowns, and she closes her eyes.

    "He needed me to keep him alive. That was more important."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I'm sorry," John says, almost stammering. "I... I didn't mean..." He stops. Takes in a long breath, lets it out. "I'm sorry," he repeats, more slowly, and downs half the coke in one gulp.

    It doesn't help the headache.

    "I... hmm. You're involved in the business of the Ennead somehow. What do you know about the Egyptian gods or Ancient Egypt in general?" Get the conversation off of Phoebe, and what he knows about her, at least for a moment. "Before you tell me anything else, I think... it would be right for you to understand what that means. To tell me... much of anything, these days." There's a sorrowful tone to his voice.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "You're some kind of supernatural collector of stories?" Phoebe hazards a guess, and she breathes out, and closes her eyes.

    "I don't even know what mine is. Two weeks ago I was a kid abandoned in a liquor store that got adopted by a fireman, and suddenly boom, powers mysterious. Now I'm some kind of last man standing of a mystical bloodline wiped out by my cousin, and as long as I live none of my relatives can move past the astral realm and into the Duat. You heard what Set said." Phoebe states, and she hugs herself harder.

    "... and that's not fair. That's not fair to John because I know he'll choose me." she frowns, and she reaches down to her bag, and pulls out a large water bottle, and sets it on the table.

    "All right, so... what does it mean to tell you anything?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon looks at Phoebe with profound sympathy. And then doesn't answer the question, or at least not immediately. "I met John... oh, years ago, I was still in uni, in Liverpool. In this very bar, actually." Maybe Phoebe knows about that, maybe she doesn't, but it's not the weirdest thing Jon's heard of so he forges on. "My then-boyfriend was upset Manchester United lost to Liverpool and wanted to go start a fight and I followed him, against my better judgement. And then there was this... wreck of a bloke, falling down drunk, clearly shouldn't be out on his own. So we took him to our room, made sure he slept, got him a cab. I gave him my number." He chuckles. "Worst mistake I ever made, I think. He used to call me at all hours, rambling about vampires and demons, until... well. Until... he stopped." He frowns. "We thought he was dead."

    Jon finishes off his cigarette, puts it out on the ashtray, and immediately lights another. "Evidently, he started calling my grandmother instead. She was the Archivist before me. I don't know how he knew her--I don't recall introducing them, and I /would/. I remember /everything/. But..." He shrugs. "He called the Archivist once a week, and told her what was happening to him. Up until she died, every week. And I'm the Archivist now. So I have the stories in my head, all of them. I've been... dreaming them. His life, and so the things he's done with you that he told my grandmother."

    He sits back with a sigh. "The position of Archivist goes back before the Old Kingdom. We are hereditary servants of Thoth, tasked with collecting experience to aid in his judgement of souls. There is a door in my mind behind which is the entire collective knowledge of all the past Archivists. If an Archivist has seen a thing, or heard its story, it is in my head. When I die, that knowledge will pass to the next Archivist. So... that's what it means to tell me something. Whoever comes next... they get the knowledge, too. John didn't know." He frowns. "Knowing my grandmother, she never bothered to warn people."

    He frowns at Phoebe for a moment. "To hazard a guess at yours... Isis comes to mind? Healing and magic? Or Horus, or..." He sighs and rubs at his face. "I could probably help John figure it out if he'd let me, I'm /certain/ the Archivist would have run into your bloodline before, but getting him to accept help is like getting a cat to come when you call--possible, but it takes a great deal of effort and they probably have to want something."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe was absolutely hanging on every word. She was almost hoping that she would hear about a fistfight. She's seen Chas throw a fist a couple of times, but hearing John barfights would be of interest. Academically speaking. Since she was trained by Bats and there's always a chance she'll have to fight someone.

    But when the words 'he stopped' comes, her expression softens a little. Her heart tightens for the man that fancied himself one of her 'dads'.


Her expression is gentle, attentive, hearing about Jon's grandmother, and she brings her hands down to her lap, fiddling with the collar under the table.

    "I don't know. John hasn't... I know my mother had tattoos? And she and John met each other. And John met my cousin, who tried to kill him, but I don't... he doesn't tell me anything. He just moves on and I don't know anything about them. Some names he got out of the corpse of my uncle who was sent to kill him?" she ventures, and she brings her hands up, and puts her forehead into her palms.

    "Set said it was older than him. What's older than Set? Net? Gub? Heka?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Nut or Heka seem more likely than Geb," Jon muses. "Heka... existed before duality came into being. I... could check, if you like. It would be difficult, maybe, I'm... not used to going through the Archive yet, but there might be some clue to what we need to do in there."

    He hesitates, then adds, "I... understand that. With John. He just... does things, and refuses to believe anyone else can help, that anyone else can possibly..." He frowns at her. Then, suddenly, "He told my grandmother, and now I know. I... could possibly tell you what John's found out, that information is closer to the surface, not even behind the door. If you want to know. I would understand if you don't. Not everyone has an ibis on their shoulder poking at them to ask dangerous questions all the time."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... I want to know who she was. When it was just me being abandoned, I didn't care because, y'know, forget them. Kids get abandoned in Gotham all the time. The foster system's awful and I was so damn lucky that I didn't question it... just when my next set of parents were going to go." she states, and she rubs the back of her head a moment, looking over to Jon.

    "So does that mean if someone wants your opinion on something, it's a Penny for your Thoths?"

    She gives a cheesy grin "Is that an Ibis over your shoulder or are you just happy to learn something?" she asks.

    Dad Joke Defensive Mechanism. She's a *nerd*.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
Chas probably groans at the stupid jokes from behind the bar where he's probably polishing glasses.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon actually /laughs/ at that, properly laughs, full smile and from the chest and everything. "That... is all probably true," he manages, with a grin. He looks like he needed to laugh. John may have healed him, but it's not going to stop what's happening to him. The dreams, and everything else.

    Then, still smiling, he says, "I... I think maybe I could... the Archivist collects Stories. Not just from experience, and not just from people telling them. If I'm understanding Gran correctly--and I might not be, this lucid dreaming business is still very new--I can... extract Stories from places? Objects?"

    He grows more serious. "If you... had something of hers, I could perhaps get her Story from it. Or a part of it."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe gives a smile at the reaction to the jokes, and gives 'obivious cheesy wink' and finger-guns at Jon.

    "Thanks. Last time I cracked a joke like that at anyone... iiiiit was a bad reaction." she gives a smile, and leans back in her seat, opening her water bottle and considering. "I don't. She... died. Apparently a little bit after I was born. The only thing I really have of her is half of my genetics." Phoebe gives a shrug. "I don't even have much of my own stuff. House fire last year took out most of my belongings. Most everything I own now I've gotten in the last few months. Including the boots." she states, and she leaaans back to show off her sturdy, well-made boots. "Chas insisted I get the leather ones. Easier to keep." she tilts back over, and lamost slips out of her seat before she sits back up.

     Here... can I try to heal the scars?" she asks in offering, and she holds out her hands, palm up again. "And I'm sure I've got a sweatshirt that doesn't have blood on it, if you want to change into something else."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks at her. "No, no, it's... they're... they're marks. They're..." He reaches up to run a hand through his hair. "That Lantern, the, uhh, the brief story he told us about the... insect things? That was my first... /Story/." He gestures to his face. "I get marks, for the occasion. A physical indication, a reflection of my /ba/ and /ren/ on the /ka/. When I die, it will be there... probably even on the /akh/ if I'm so fortunate as to create one. I'm... not certain people actually do, anymore, not with all the old rites stopped." He smiles briefly. "And yet life goes on, somehow."

    Then he considers Phoebe for a long moment. "Perhaps we could go to... the place she died, if you know where it was. Or the place you were left. If I was there, with you, I might be able to pull her Story from the stones. Particularly if she cared, and she would want you to know."

    A pause. "...Why the hell hasn't John summoned up her gh--" Oh. Oh. The 'stuck on the Astral' bit. Jon's eyes widen a moment, and then he buries his face in his hands. "Good lord," he whispers. "I'm so sorry." Not that it's his fault.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... I don't know. Everyone who has ever loved me has either died or... maybe she loved me once. And she gets away with third degree burns over her body. Maybe John's immune to it."

    Phoebe straightens slightly.

    "He's been sparse on any details," she draws her legs up, and then wraps her arms around them as she sets her chin on her knees.

    "The place where I was dropped doesn't exist anymore. It's some sort of retail medical place now instead of a liquor store. But... I have... a question."

    She draws her eyes up to Jon.

    "It's OK. A Jewish Egyptian Witch decided she was going to send my uncle to the afterlife before we were done talking to him. So... I have no idea what happened to him. I hope he made it, but it must be very lonely there. He had a wife. Maybe kids... all..." Phoebe trails off, and goes quiet a moment, her eyes closing and her brows drawing down.

    "Stuck."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon pulls his hands away from his face, then reaches out, stops. Puts the hand on the table instead. He hesitates, then says, "Look, I'm willing to try, if you would like. Like I said, maybe I can draw her Story from the stones. It's worth at least /trying./ But I can't do it without you, so it's entirely up to you."

    "But, okay, you have a question, and I'll answer if I can, but... I have one for you. John's been running about fixing this for you--summoning Set and all--and I know you're worried about the outcome. About what he'll do, to protect you. I know what /he/ wants out of this."

    Jon fixes the girl with a /very/ direct look. "What do /you/ want, Phoebe Beacon?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "But she wasn't there, Jon. She died. Someone else brought me to America. And I don't know where I've been before I can remember. Just... little snippets. Pieces."

    Phoebe frowns a moment though at the question. Jon gets a sort of blank look from Phoebe, somewhat because no one asked her what she wanted.

    "... I want John to be happy." she shrugs. "Which is the lamest and most impossible freaking answer, because he won't let himself be happy. But I thought..." she brings her gaze down. "I thought there would be some pressure released when he asked Set. But there wasn't. He's suffering because I chose him." she brings her head down, and her shoulders shake. There was such profound sorrow attached to those words. "He could have done something to save himself. And he didn't. And then he called me his daughter and I... I can't live with this. Knowing how much it's going to hurt him if I..."

    If she has to choose.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon frowns at the girl for a moment. "You may have chosen to come to him, but he chose to help. /He/ chose to throw himself into all of this, /he/ chose to use that favor to call up Set instead of--" He stops, and closes his eyes a moment. Takes in a long, long drag of tobacco smoke and lets it out slowly.

    He opens his eyes. "It's important, to understand the boundaries of our responsibility, and our guilt. You cannot control other people--even mind control isn't controlling /them/, just their actions." He smirks, briefly, then goes on, "If you told me you wanted to live, I'd help him save you even at his own cost. If you told me you wanted to sacrifice yourself..." He stops. Swallows. "You are old enough, I think, to make that choice for yourself. I would not take it from you. Even if John would hate me for it. I don't know that I could hold him down and force him not to stop you, but I know someone who could."

    He sighs. "There's another way, though. Set told us there was. And maybe... maybe I can help you know what your choices would mean." He holds out a hand. "She was your mother. You lived below her heart for nine months, and you carry her blood in your veins. Maybe I can pull her Story from you alone. And if I can't, well, then we know, and we find another way to find the answers."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "John wouldn't have refused a child who came to him to ask him for help. He can't refuse anyone who comes to ask him for help. My best friend's dead grandmother could shamble through and he'd probably help her cross the street because that's something new and novel for him!" Phoebe states, the raise in her voice probably drawing Chas's attention even more than the conversation (and he's probably got worried eyes hearing Phoebe talk like that)! And she takes a deep breath.

    "I... don't know if John would appreciate you pulling stories out of me before he can fully look into them." she whispers, with a cracking voice, and there was that deep sorrow and conflict again. "... I've got to trust John. I'm sure he has a reason."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon pulls his hand back, frowning, his voice sharp and irritated. "John does not know everything. John does not know half of what he thinks he does." A pause, and then, softer, "But it can wait."

    He glances to the notebooks, the magic books, and says, "I should let you get back to that." He smiles. "Need to start doing some of that myself. But... if you ever /do/ want to talk, even just... to have a friendly ear, I'll be around."

    He finishes the Coke, and stands, to go bring the glass back to Chas. "It was good to meet you properly. We'll get this sorted, one way or another. And we'll do our best to see John's happy. It's rough work, but it /is/ possible." He flashes Phoebe a smile.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe looks genuinely surprised when Jon responds in such an irritated fashion, and she sits up a bit straighter, her eyes narrowing. Of course, her loyalty to John Constantine is second probably only to Chas's, and she's taken aback. When Jon's voice softens then, she gives a nod.

    And she opens her book back up.

    "Last time I recall him being happy it involved me sucker-punching an angel." Phoebe comments back, but she has a bit of a smile. "Take care Jon. Be safe." she states to him