8648/The Archivist Courts Death

The Archivist Courts Death
Date of Scene:	12 November 2021
Location:	Forgotten Sanctuary, Hell's Kitchen
Synopsis:	The Archivist visits the Sanctuary of Lady Death and not only manages to leave with his life, but a new ally as well.
Cast of Characters:	Hope Svelgate, Jonathan Sims

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Hope Svelgate has posed:
The night is dark, with the only light coming from the half full moon hanging in the sky. It's meager illumination silhouettes the shapes of the dark clouds against their even darker backdrop. Decay seems to hang in the air of this place, palpably. This part of Hell's Kitchen lives up to its name, it is a place that urban development and revitalization have long since abandoned. Here stands the ruins of a decrepit church. It is a building forgotten by the city, forgotten by its faith, and even forgotten by the locals.

It has not, however, been forgotten by the dead. Earthbound spirits cluster here in numbers rarely scene, drawn by the thinness of the veil between world. No longer completely in phase with the mortal realm, it is a place those without mystical means cannot even see or find. Yet it is here that those seeking Death must come.

A stray newspaper is blown down the empty street cartwheeling end over end at the mercy of the chill breeze and the old structure creaks, looming ominously in the moonlight.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jonathan Sims is not seeking out Death particularly. He /is/, however, seeking help, or maybe information-of course, in his case, information usually /is/ help. There is a problem in Hell's Kitchen, a potential rot that has nothing to do with Death. And it has occurred to him that it's entirely possible some other power was already here, long before John Constantine started moving in buildings from across the pond. It is, in fact, almost impossible to imagine that some Englishman in 2021 was the first major power to lay claim to this part of the city. So he has his Sight open as he walks, doing his best to ignore the brief glimpses he gets of bursts of emotion from inside houses and focusing on the strange, the unusual, the things he'd only see with this other way of perceiving.

    The abandoned church is one such sight. Mortal eyes slide over the structure, ignoring it because, particularly in this day and age, they ignore death and pretend they can live forever. To the Archivist, whose connection is far more to the gods of the dead than the living, whose long-forgotten purpose is to ensure that not even the immortal can avoid the judgement of the gods of the underworld, the spirits clustered about the space stand out like a bright light against a dark sky.

    Jon stops, hands in his jacket pockets. Eyes the structure. He swallows, and says to himself, "Well. You wanted help, right?"

    So he walks right on up to knock on the door, if there is a door to be knocked upon.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
"I don't know if I'd do that if I were you." Comes a calm world weary man's voice from behind John. Should he turn, behind him is an African American man with short hair wearing a long grey trench coat, the sort an NYPD detective might have. "Nothing but Death waiting on the other side of that door." He adds as he lights a cigarette with a match, before tossing the match aside.

Only the match never hits the ground, just fading from existence the further away from him it gets. On closer inspection, there is a ghostly almost translucent quality to the man as well.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon turns to regard the man, frowning slightly as he looks him up and down. "If some power of Death has laid claim to Hell's Kitchen then I need to speak to them," he says. "Or are you saying that only the dead get in?" He raises a brow. Is it worth pointing out the man himself is dead?

    After a moment, he says softly, "I need help, and I have no inherent qualms with the realms of the dead."

Hope Svelgate has posed:
The ghostly detective shrugs blowing out a long stream of smoke, "Some power of Death, you could say that. Oh you might be able to get in alive, how long you stay that way is an open question though. Your funeral I suppose. She isn't too fond of most visitors, especially living ones.

Virgil finds a place to 'lean' against a convenient street light, "Just thought I'd warn you. If you're set on this, then by all means."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs, eyes the doorway and then the man leaning against the street light. "Who is 'she'? And who are you?" A pause. "I'm Jonathan Sims. The Archivist. And you... are a ghost. Did you also come to pay a visit and wind up dead? Or are you like the rest?" He gestures at the other spirits in the area, vaguely.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
"And you can see me." Virgil smiles a weary smile, flicking ash off the end of his spectral cigarette, the words implying Jon isn't exactly normal either.

"Virgil Solomon." He straightens up from where he was leaning as he introduces himself. "Formerly of the NYPD. No, coming here isn't what killed me. We've just formed," He pauses considering his phrasing, "A working relationship. Who is she? She's Death. Lady Death."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks for a moment, and then says, in a slightly different voice, "The White Witch of Scandanavia. The usuper, a Hell Lord who challenged Lord Mathias and Lord Satanus for their domains. Supposedly connected to Asgard. Was her name Hope? Was she deserving or innocent...?"

    He shakes his head. Shakes himself. The Archivist turns to look at the door. "If my information is correct--I could definitely use her help. Even if it means risking my life." And then he firmly, resolutely, knocks upon the door.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
"Good Luck." Virgil seems sincere enough as his cigarette is flicked away into nothingness and he too vanishes once more.

The sound of the old brass knockers of the massive church doors echoes in the gloom. For a long moment nothing seems to happen. Perhaps nobody is home. Really it looks like it's a miracle the doors don't just fall inward when knocked upon, and they probably would were it not for the spirits holding this place together in defiance of the ravages of time.

But just when that moment feels like it is stretching out a little too long, when doubt might begin to creep in, the doors creak open, seemingly of their own volition.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The Archivist takes a long, steadying breath and murmurs, "Thanks," to Virgil--wherever he's gone. Squares his shoulders. His ancestors have walked into worse.

    Then he steps on over the threshold, and on into the church that may not even exist on the mortal plane any longer.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
The interior of the church doesn't look so much closed down as abandoned. Like people just stopped coming back one day. Nothing is covered, save by dust and cobwebs. Nothing is looted, just ravaged by time. Silence reigns here.

That is until the sound of footsteps can be heard upon the stairs that lead up to the Belfry. Emerging from the gloom is a tall Scandinavian woman, easily over 6', with long blonde hair flowing down her back, wearing a flowing white dress. She certainly doesn't look like 'Death'.

She stops at the bottom of the stairs, looking at Jonathan expectantly.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The Archivist takes a moment, in the silence, to look around, noting details. The dust, the cobwebs, the otherwise intact nature of the church. Then he turns at the sound of footsteps.

    On seeing the tall blonde woman, he clears his throat. "Ahh. Hello. I am Jonathan Sims. The Archivist." A pause. "I presume you must be Lady Death?" He looks her up and down, with nothing leering in his gaze; it's almost clinical, as if he's recording all of this for future review.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
There is a shift when Jonathan actually says the name Lady Death. The illusory mask that she was wearing melts away like so much gossamer. Where once stood a blonde Scandinavian woman, now stands Death. Tall, a flowing mane of bone white hair, the palor of a corpse, glowing white pits for eyes, and an outfit more appropriate to the infernal temperatures of Hell that doesn't leave much to the imagination.

"An Archivist?" She seems almost incredulous, this is definitely a first. "And why does an Archivist seek Death?" Her eyes flicker with what almost looks like blue flame.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The Archivist raises an eyebrow at the transformation, managing to hide his emotions despite being startled and more than a little afraid. "Well, for one thing, we're neighbors of a sort." He's keeping his tone even, because there's /power/ in this woman, and he's not going to be disrespectful.

    "I am an associate of John Constantine. I'm certain you must be aware of his... presence here in Hell's Kitchen." There's a wry twist to his words. "He's certainly not been shy about the wards and the... well. Translocation kicks up a lot of metaphysical dust, I would think."

Hope Svelgate has posed:
The fiery blue mystic power of the Energy Arcane flares in Lady Death's eyes when The Archivist declares himself an associate of John Constantine, expression contorting into one of displeasure. "The insolent gutter wizard who uses innocent little girls to shield himself?" Her opinion of John seems to be marginally higher than ...well not much.

"Likes to mess with the veil in ways that no mortal should. Thinks he can hide behind the skirts of demons, like that will save him. And you are an associate of his?" Virgil's warnings might be coming back right about now, her tone is dangerous.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The Archivist takes a deep breath. It's a shuddering thing, because that fire is terrifying. He has to step carefully. "He is an old friend. One of the few I have that still live. You can understand loyalty, I hope? I care about him, but that doesn't mean I always /agree/ with him."

    He frowns. "There is something... wrong with him. Not that... look, John Constantine is a con man and a liar, but I can't imagine him actually using little girls to shield himself." He holds up a hand. "Not that I don't believe you. But... I suspect that whatever you met either was not John, or was... John possessed. By a demon, by something else, I... do not know."

    Beneath his words, his tone, pain. Deep, deep pain. A pain that Lady Death might sense--the pain of a man who's lost almost everyone they know and love to death, and is terrified of losing yet another.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
That blue flame-like mystic energy begins to surround her hands as well when Jonathan calls Constantine a friend. "Still lives, for now." She says like she has a mind to do something about that.

"A demon?" She takes her time considering this. "If it was, it was one able to fool my senses. Which means it was no mere imp. "So what you are saying is the disappointing sack of shit I met was not the real Constantine? And given you've come to me, that you want him destroyed?" If she is swayed by the pain of another in this case, it doesn't show.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "If that is indeed the case? Yes. Whatever it is, it fooled Zatanna Zatara as well, who is an accomplished mystic and knows him intimately. If not for an outside opinion and the prodding of my gods, I wouldn't have noticed myself."

    The Archivist hesitates, then asks, "What did he do, that angered you so? What--"

    And then he blinks, eyes widening. "You came to his bar. He took your gold, insulted you--from his point of view--" It's /Jon/ that bites off, "/No/. No I am /not/ going to let that... /arse/ use my voice to keep /insulting/ higher powers." His jaw shifts, clenches. "He didn't think much of you, whatever he is. But he was, and is, an arrogant fool." He looks almost surprised at saying that outright.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Lady Death scowls as The Archivist seems able to simply recall events he was not present for. "That's a neat trick. Last time it was only the girl that he hid behind that saved him. This time, there will be nothing left. You may bear witness to his utter destruction, Archivist."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon shudders, with the Archivist mask dropped away the fear comes into his expression. For once in his life he /actively/ takes the role back on, and it might even be a clear and visible thing--the way he pulls it on, mystically, like a stole or a jacket. Or like the robes of a temple priest.

    So he's the Archivist again when he says, "It's what I am. Whatever you met, that creature called the prior Archivist and gave her a statement. Thus I have that statement in the Archive." He taps the side of his head. "I have other information about you as well. The Archivists have heard of Lady Death. I may known your mortal origin, though I would not presume to guess in front of you."

    He hesitates, and then says, "Whatever it is there, whatever /he/ is... he's hurt people." (He hurt me. He doesn't say it. He can't admit it, yet, but it's there. He hurt /me/.) "Some of them I haven't even met. He's hurt /Phoebe/, by impersonating her mentor. And he's done it wearing my friend's face. I would relish seeing him destroyed." Again, surprised by his own vehemence.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
The fear Jon shows almost seems to amuse the Hell Lord before him. "Fascinating, this Archive of yours, what secrets it must hold."

Whatever mirth she bore however fades quickly when her 'mortal origins' are brought up, expression turning severe again. "Hope is gone, Death remains."

"Hurting people? I could case less. He has offended me and hurt an innocent child, that alone is more than enough reason to destroy him." There is an inhumanity to her, what may have once been a frightened little girl, falsely accused, was forged into something else entirely during her time in Hell. Something other. Hell has little room for mercy or kindness, not for those who would seize true power. And yet that the lives of innocent children still manage to strike some chord in her, there must still be /something/ there, some lingering vestige of humanity beneath it all.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The Archivist sighs. "You were human once," he says softly. "Perhaps you don't remember. Perhaps Hope truly is gone. But I wonder what the world has come to, that the psychopomps and lords of death no longer care about the living. You did, once, or your predecessors did. Long ago, when the 'underworld' was not a place to be feared but a fine land ruled by a finer king. I suppose it says something that no one's ever tried to make Osiris out to be a demon."

    He looks around the place. "Perhaps it's because the living try so hard to pretend you don't exist. Or perhaps it's just... power." He shrugs. "Regardless, we do not have to have the same reasons in order to have the same goals. If insult and hurting Phoebe is enough for you, then... I will thank you for your aid." A pause. "Is this a thing that will require repayment of some kind? Or is answering the insult reason enough?"

Hope Svelgate has posed:
The fiery blue glow of the Energy Arcane intensifies as if her power is mirroring her emotions. "Human? And what of it? Oh, I remember all right. That child was betrayed, condemned." The anger seems to mount as she continues talking. "Her mother who tried spirit her away from the cruel fate that awaited her was murdered by the father who should have loved them both but was too busy sacrificing souls to try and claim a slice of Hell for himself instead. The villagers, the clergy, who could have saved her? Instead burned her at the stake, assuming her father's sins must also be her own!"

By this point the glow in her eyes and around her hands is intense, and appears around her feet as well as she rises off of the ground. "One does not simply forget such grand betrayal. To be left for dead, but I didn't die, I survived. I raised an army, seized power, put my father to the sword and toppled the domain of the Archduke Satanus himself. Everything I have, I do because I took it and you expect me to care about the wretches that would subject an innocent girl to that? It should be enough that I no longer plot their extinction. She at least had a good point about that, without life what is death? But that doesn't mean I need to care about them. They are but grain before the scythe, tended until it is time to cut them down." Who that last 'She' is, is anyone's guess.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon has this problem, where his 'fight or flight' instinct is mostly stuck at 'fight.' Where he stands in the face of the thing that terrifies him. And Lady Death is /terrifying/ right now, but it's flipped the switch in his brain that says to stand his ground. At least he's not foolish enough to actually try to /fight/ her. That would be sheer madness.

    "That is /precisely/ my point," The Archivist's voice snaps. "Do you think cruelty exists in a vacuum? It comes down from the powerful and spreads through society like a disease. A society that sacrifices children at the stake--or asks them to fight crime--does not deserve to survive. But humans have not always been like this, and there are /plenty/ who would say that what happened to you was wrong."

    Then he /visibly/ gets control of himself, taking a long breath. Composing himself. Even bows his head a little. "I did not come into your domain to offer you disrespect. I apologize, for my tone. I respect your power, and your will to survive. I am not asking you to care about anyone or anything, and I do not ask your aid for myself."

    He clenches his hands into fists. "Last night, I had to tell Phoebe that the man who claimed her as his child might be possessed. Might be a /demon/. That she's lost /another/ parent. And she... she just said she's /bad luck/ for people who want to be her parents. Like it's /her/ fault."

    Oh, gods damn it all, now he's /crying/. That's not going to help anything. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, to let the tears fall, to be rid of them.

    "Think what you will of humanity. Maybe you're right--maybe we're all wretches that don't deserve to live. But, please, just... help me show that child she's worth more than what /one/ man thinks of her, whoever he is. Take vengeance on the creature that hurt her. I already know what /my/ gods say." He puts a hand to his chest. "I can /feel/ Ammit's hunger for its heart. But I don't know if I'm strong enough, on my own, to deal with it if it comes to a confrontation."

Hope Svelgate has posed:
The terrifying form of Lady Death seems almost impressed when the Archivist stand his ground. "Such a society does not deserve to survive? Archivist, it almost sounds like you are endorsing Megadeath." There is a wicked smile on her face as she says this and she clearly doesn't mean the heavy metal band. That might not have been the best argument to use on someone who at one time was actively trying to wipe out humanity.

When he wills himself under control Lady Death, too, seems to de-escalate. "That girl, he will pay for abusing that girl. But she too needs to learn what this world is. It is not her, it's them and I will not see her sacrificing herself for scum that will only betray her." Lady Death watches the tears, though her expression remains unmoved. "I will teach Phoebe what she is worth and just what she is capable of. In the end she must be strong enough to stand on her own and choose for herself."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Society can change without everyone dying. My ancestors witnessed the fall of the Ptolemaic Kings, the end of a three thousand year civilization... and yet, here I am." The Archivist sighs. "The world is indeed cruel to those with compassion. Those who would help. It can be difficult, to hold onto kindness in the face of all that darkness and cruelty." His shoulders slump a little, wearily.

    "I ask but one thing, on her behalf. Not that I have the right, but her birth mother handed me a piece of her own heart to save that child, and I have to do right by her." He looks up at Lady Death, almost stubbornly. "Phoebe carries a Light within her that goes back at least five thousand years, and I suspect farther. The name 'Heka' may mean nothing to you, but she /was/ magic, to our ancestors, and I think it is Heka's power that Phoebe carries. And that power would be terribly easy to corrupt. Whatever plans you have for Phoebe... /please/ do not let her go the route of... Hell Lord. Help her do better."

Hope Svelgate has posed:
The fiery blue energy fades from around Lady Death's hands as she crosses her arms beneath her chest as her intense glowing eyes continue to bore into the Archivist. She has abandoned Megadeath, that should be enough in her mind. Perhaps she is capable of more, maybe just maybe she'll heal with time, but her scars run deep. Maybe in a century or two.

"If I wanted the girl to walk the same path as me, I would have torn open a portal and cast them both into the depths of Hell, so that she could watch him be torn to pieces, and then survive or perish in the wastes." She holds up a hand and a very different light than the fiery blue energy from before surrounds it, white light sparkling with the holy energies of the divine. It makes no sense on the face of it, this power should be anathema to a Hell Lord, but there it is.

"Phoebe's light, is not unlike my own." And yet looking closely there is discomfort in Lady Death's expression as she keeps it manifested, like summoning the holy energies actually causes her pain in her current state. "But, that choice, what she will do with her power, is for Phoebe to make. I will not chain her as others sought to chain me."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The Archivist... smiles. Broadly. "Thank you," he says. "That's all I ask." He seems relieved, as if he really was worried that maybe Lady Death would just... up and try to make Phoebe some kind of proper apprentice in the ways of Hell.

    He eyes the holy energy for a moment, noting the discomfort on the woman's face. He frowns, briefly, opens his mouth to say, "How do you... I thought the, ahh, way the whole Heaven and Hell business worked was that it was... opposed in a way? Or does primary school lie to us that much?"

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Lady Death allows the holy power to fade from her hand. "Oh, they are certainly opposed. There is nothing better to battle one of the Lords of Hell with than Heaven's wrath and the opposite also holds true." That certainly explains how she is credited with the destruction of not one but two Hell Lords but she doesn't seem terribly inclined to elaborate on just why she can wield that power. Perhaps she was some sort of Saint before winding up in Hell. Maybe she drank the blood of an angel. Or maybe she has absorbed holy souls and taken their power as her own. There's all kinds of possibilities.

"Now tell me, do you know where this thing wearing Constantine's face is? Or do I need to track it down myself." One thing Lady Death is not known for is her patience.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The Archivist lets out a huff of frustration. He wants to /know/. But he's not going to push; he shouldn't have even asked the question.

    After a moment, "I do not know. If there is a way to contact you, I will tell you as soon as we find him. He's... not been around for a few days. I don't know why." He laughs, self-depricatingly. "I cannot believe it's because I figured him out." As if he truly has no concept of the power he's carting around with him.

    After a moment, he adds, "There are others who deserve to face him, and perhaps to find out where the /real/ John Constantine is. People who care about him. Maybe you don't care about the feelings of random mortals, but I do. I would ask you not to track him down yourself." He hardly feels he can threaten her into it, but maybe being polite will work.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Lady Death looks the Archivist up and down as if pondering something and seems to come to a conclusion akin to 'there's only one way to find out.' Holding up one of her hands palm facing the ceiling, a mote of that fiery blue energy appears floating above it. "With this. When you find him, I will know." And the mote is cast towards the Archivist without so much as a 'think fast' or 'heads up'. When the energy connects with his chest, it seems to simply vanish within. At first it seems like nothing happened at all, there is no burning or pain, but focus hard enough and the feeling is there of a power not his own or that of his gods.

"I have others to deal with, this wretch is far from the only one who needs to be cut down. There is still the matter of Felix Faust." She says the name like a curse, frustrated by how long he has managed to elude her. "And the Goddess Eris who threatened Zatanna. When you find him, I will know and I will appear. Now go, for while are others who have earned my ire, they will not last long and I do not like to be kept waiting for long."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The Archivist blinks, and puts a hand to his chest, looking down at it as if trying to see if she's put a hole through him. But, no, he's intact, the little mote of blue fire just... sunk into him. Odd.

    He takes a deep breath and then nods respectfully to her. "Thank you again," he says. Then he leaves to leave the abandoned church. At least this is done.