8949/Angels on High

Angels on High
Date of Scene:	05 December 2021
Location:	The Laughing Magician
Synopsis:	8949 Jon Sims catches Zatanna up on the recent murder/induced suicides by and angelic being (not) in Hell's Kitchen.
Cast of Characters:	Zatanna Zatara, Jonathan Sims

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Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna pffts into the room, a leaf scuttling out of the portal between her feet, along with a blast of Christmas music and cold air. The magician huffs a sigh of relief, settling her bags on one of the stools and rounds the bar to pour herself something from the top shelf. No grumpy or underaged help are on hand before opening hours so she has the place to herself. The scotch she pours glints amber and gold in the tulip shaped tumbler that is kept under the bar for her. After fishing out an Ipad from her black Hermes shoulder bag, she arranges herself on one of the barstools and settles in for a comfortable read while waiting on Jon.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon has to come in by the normal route, through the front door, slipping in while irritatedly stopping himself from humming some Christmas tune. It's the eternal curse of December--he doesn't celebrate Christmas, and nor does his husband, but he /likes/ the music, dang it.

    He's wearing green cardigan and brown slacks today, with a heavy jacket and scarf over top. He pulls off the scarf and jacket as he comes into the bar. "Oh, Zatanna, you're already here." He eyes the scotch. "You might need that by the time we're done talking. Mind pouring me one? I have been..."

    He rubs at his face. "Teenagers. I have been /surrounded/ by teenagers. They kept giving me cake."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Enjoy the peace and quiet. No infernal muzak Christmas carols or teenagers here," she grins compassionately at the Archivist and fishes out another glass from under the bar to serve him. The glug of the scotch is the only sound in the room as she fills the glass then sets it in front of him.

"Cheers!"

She rounds the bar to move the black coat she had deposited on the stool next to her to make room for him and pats the stool before taking her own.

"Too much cake hurts after a certain age but /we/ don't have that problem," she looks at him drolly from the corner of her eye. "Where was that?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Ahh..." Jon hesitates, as he goes to sit down. "Gotham," he finally supplies. So a secretive sort of thing, then. "I met some of Tim's friends." So /definitely/ a secretive sort of thing. "And then he left me alone with them." He rolls his eyes, and sighs. Grabs the glass of scotch and takes a good long sip. "It was... nice, though, actually. I think I might wind up with a lot of fruitcake in my future, though." He shakes his head.

    He's not really looking at Zatanna, though. He's frowning down at the glass of scotch, trying to collect his thoughts. "How've you been?" Small talk, to let him figure out where to start.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna sips her scotch savoring the peaty aroma tickling her nose, considering how to answer, "Picking up young magicians to mentor like a snowball rolling down hill."

"I think two is my limit. Talk about teenagers," she chuckles wryly. "Charlie Gage bounces as she calls it and Phoebe broods and makes beautiful wards. As much as I thought the other John severe on her, he taught her well."

After throwing him a glance, "Nothing dark in anything I've seen her do."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon nods. "Good," he says. "That's... good. About Phoebe. I think... in /my/ experience, anyway, it can be... difficult for someone to do magic they're not suited to." He chuckles, rolls the liquid around in his glass. "Which is why I have trouble /hurting/ things with mine, probably."

    He tilts his head and peers at Zatanna. "Were you particularly worried about her? I wasn't. The other, it... I think it /cared/, in its way. And she has that Light inside of her." He places a hand on his heart, swallowing hard.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"No," another glance, "she worries that people see the his shadow on her. Teenagers can read too much into another person's absence. I've tried to explain that John drops in and out of people's lives a bit like a wild raven or bad weather," she smiles, amused at herself.

"The other one cherished her in its way." She shrugs saysing, "Almost as if he were baffled at how to break her beauty. And fortunately she carries the light."

"So, why do I think that something is troubling you, Jon?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Why should we see his shadow on her? When I went to the Village to get the Light to heal her, I didn't do it for John. I did it because... because a long, long time ago, our ancestors lived in the same lands, even if hers eschwed the world of the Pharoahs. Because there was no one else who spoke their language to stand for her. I saw /Egypt/ in her, and /ma'at/. She carries the Light of Heka within her, I think--or something like it--and that's worth preserving."

    He shakes his head. "At any rate, that's not... why do you think that something is troubling me?" He laughs uneasily. "Because it is." He huffs out a breath and takes a long drink of scotch. "Have you... been aware of the murders going on around here? Victims nailed to crosses, bodies mutilated..." He shudders.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Ma'aat, indeed, there /can/ be that peace about her. I saw that in the Village when we returned recently. The Village gifted her a dog, you know."

"Why? Intuition," she responds and takes a drink watching him in the mirror behind the bar.

Zatanna rounds on him with a frown drawing her eyebrows together, then turns on the barstool to face him. "No, No. I haven't. And that sounds occult or like someone deep in psychosis. Tell me. Do we have an idea who is committing the atrocities?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "An angel," Jon says softly. "I pulled statements from seven different crime scenes, Zatanna. This thing, it... it convinced them they /deserved/ what they were getting. It treated a /shoplifter/ the same as murders and rapists. Somehow it mind-controlled them into nailing themselves to the crosses."

    He closes his eyes. "It threatened us," he says, tone still soft. "Me and Phoebe, Detective Pezzini and Agent Becker, Chas' new girl, Lasariel Weiss. Said... said one of us might be 'fit' to be judged by it. If the pattern's continued, there's another body in Hell's Kitchen somewhere, and we've had /no/ luck trying to track it down and stop it."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"None? Not even the Blade? Or you? There are gods who won't take kindly to an angel becoming judge and jury. Seven already," she frowns looking down in thought, pulling at her bottom lip, then impatiently pushes back a wing of the dark hair that falls forward over her cheek.

"Wait! You saw it? And talked to it?" She slowly shakes her head in disbelief.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "There are eight, we just don't know where the missing crime scene is. Probably nine, by now. There's a clear, accelerating pattern." Jon sighs. "I saw it in the statements I took from the ghosts. Saw their last moments. And it... sort of... spoke to us at the first crime scene, through Enochian writting on the walls--Ms. Weiss can read it, evidently."

    He lifts his gaze to regard Zatanna. "Yes," he says, "there /are/ gods who won't take kindly to that. Mine are among them. I... it's odd, I just... /knew/ that this is..." He hesitates, frowns. Trying to find the right words. "This is why I exist. Why the Archivists were created, back before they were called Archivists. I'm starting to get an idea of how the Archive came to be, and... some of it's a legacy gifted to my ancestors by the homo magi before most of them left this world. But they /chose/ my ancestors because they already took statements, and they took statements to do this. To judge immortals and angels and demons and gods. Beings that get out of balance, /particularly/ the 'light' sort. There's fewer people around who deal with them, you know?"

    He sighs, and smirks. "Which means I couldn't ignore this if I wanted to. But I wouldn't--and I knew you wouldn't either."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Nine already," she sighs."Yes, I wondered when you would evoke the history of our respective houses. I'm glad you exist, but have never understood why the Homo magi chose to retire from the world and go elsewhere. But then who but the Gods of the Underworld or the hands of Thoth could sit judgement on an angel?"

After knocking back the rest of the scotch in the glass, she looks into its empty bottom. "You were right? Feel like another?"

"Some of us will in danger, you know. For real or perceived crimes." She slides off the seat to go behind the bar.

"Behind the bar, she takes down a bottle, looking at him in the mirror. "What did the message say exactly?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "From what I've come to understand," Jon says, "magic was disappearing from the world. Some things just cannot /exist/ here anymore, and so the homo magi, en masse, traveled to another dimension. I've... been there, actually. Nilaa. It's..." He hesitates. Smiles for a moment. "There's magic in the /air/, Zatanna. It's /brilliant/."

    He shakes himself. "But that's... well. Not immediately important. The message was 'You are close but still so far. Perhaps one of you is fit to be judged by my hand.' It was definitely meant for those there at the time, though it's entirely possible the angel will target someone else. Of everyone standing there in that moment, Ms. Weiss is the only one I'm aware of that has /no/ 'crimes' in her past. Unless it's not going to judge Pezzini." Which... implies Jon does? And Phoebe and Cael. "I put together a mental ward for Becker... I can probably hold my own long enough to call for help, and I'm sure the others can, too. I wanted to give Becker that fighting chance."

    He glowers. "I sort of /hope/ it comes after me. Bloody git." He drains the glass and holds it out. "If you don't mind?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Yes, I know that history. The ones who stayed don't talk about it. Tracing Charlie's history led me to some of the history in our archives. She doesn't seem to be related to any of the homo magi I know or even the Hidden Ones of my mother's tribe for want of a better word." A couple of fingers of scotch gleam merrily in the glass she hands him.

"Oh, he/she/it sounds like they want to be found. A classic psychotic tease but you would know that."

Back in her seat, she cradles her chin in the palm of her hand, elbow on the bar. "How can I help? Both John and I likely could give them a run for their money."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Well, once we track it down, we're going to have to subdue it. Send it back where it came from, I suppose. Keep it from coming back here." Jon sighs. "Have you faced angels before? Other Archivists have. Some fared better than others, but I can't get many details."

    He shakes his head. "Relief from the bad dreams seems like a good idea until I can't get the bloody Archivist dreams. I'm going to have to just put up with the lack of sleep, I think."

    He takes another drink. "But, yes, I hung behind to tell it off and I felt a sense of... I don't know... acknowledgement? Like it saw it as a challenge. Probably a stupid idea, I just... I can't... the woman was a /shoplifter/. That was all. She stole expensive clothing, so what? And anyway, does even a murderer deserve to have their eyes gouged out, to nail themselves to a cross? I don't know. I think maybe vengeance just... makes things worse."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Angels of a sort. Psychopomps, demons and Gods of the Underworld," she wrinkles her nose and waves a hand. "Small Fry."

"Hell will take whoever it is, and imprison them. What does the one you speak for say?"

She fixes him with a piercing look, "Not even an inkling of who it is,then?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon shakes his head. "I haven't taken its statement yet, so I don't know for certain, beyond... I have to do this. Track it down, stop it. I know some of those it condemned would have been judged unworthy of the afterlife, but some..."

    He shakes his head. "This isn't a /demon/, Zatanna. It's not a god. It's an angel, of the old sort. I don't quite know where all of that fits in with everything, but..." He shrugs. "I can't tell which, or even if it has a name humans would know. There's something... I don't know... fuzzy? Maybe it's just because I'm seeing it through the eyes of dying, mind-controlled mortals, and that's tampering with my ability to tell what it is beyond 'angel.' But I also have the feeling..."

    He chews at his lip. "I get the feeling it'd be doing more, if it /could/, and something's holding it back. Call it a hunch."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Leaning intently toward him. "Jon, how could you take its statement without it going after you? Or do you think it wouldn't try to judge you? Besides, aside from the moral transgressions, it's a question of power, the source of the power, isn't it?

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon slams his hand on the bar. "Damn it, Zatanna, this is what I'm /for/! This, this here," he stabs a finger on the bar, and then points toward the door, "what's going on out there, that's why I /take statements/ in the first place!"

    He shakes his head. "Of /course/ it would bloody well try to judge me! I'd never intend to take its statement /alone/. I /fainted/ the first three statements I took from its victims! But I had Pezzini and Becker with me, which," he laughs, "Becker /insisted/ I get checked out at a medical facility." It had been the SHIELD one in Westchester, of course.

    He runs his hands through his hair. "But that... doesn't /matter/. It can judge me for all I've done, every wrong I've committed." He waves a hand. "I don't care. Let it. I have a duty, to my ancestors and my friends and the people it's already killed. Nobody... /nobody/ deserves to die like that. I don't /care/ what they've done." His tone is firm.

    "The source of the power... I don't know. I don't know. It's light and creation and cleansing energy. It thinks it's /cleansing/ Hell's Kitchen. But what if it starts coming for /us/? Where does it... /stop/? These things, they... they don't /think/ like we do, Zatanna. That much I'm certain of. They think in absolutes, and nature doesn't /work/ that way, not really."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna makes a wry face at Jon beating the bar, "We know what you do! I'm offering to be there when you /do/ take its statement, Archivist, beloved Archivist. I'm not belittling you. Thank you for the warning, John should know as well, so we can hunt this thing and protect each other. Protect you. What did the docs find?

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon hesitates a moment, then leans over to give Zatanna a brief hug. "I'm sorry. I know, you'll help, John will help, I'm just so..." He sighs as he pulls away. "Bits of my past are coming back to haunt me, of late, and it's making me... self-conscious, I suppose. And I'm /terrified/, Zatanna. What if I can't do my job properly, because I'm not trained? Well, I'll have your backup, but it still leaves me feeling... I don't know. Frustrated."

    He shakes his head. "I'm fine, which I knew I was. It was just... a lot, all at once. I... got used to it, after the first few times. I don't like the implication, but." He shrugs.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"It's alright to be afraid, Jon," she leans into the hug and pats his back. "It's sane to be terrorized. What do you mean bits of your past?" Something occurs to her and she nods grimly. "Oh, gods. That."

Mouth flattened into a thoughtful frown, Zee regards him fixedly. "What training would you expect to prepare you for this? As to you getting hardened. Every good surgeon takes blood in stride. You were doing your job and being dispassionate."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I don't know... I don't know what I'm doing half the time. I should have had twenty years of combat training, magical training, I should know what the Archive is and what it's for and not have to... piece it all together." Jon shakes his head. "The fear makes sense, yes, it's sane, but it's..."

    He frowns, and then seemingly changes the subject. "I really ought to go talk to the Heliopolitans about Agnes."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"I'm so sorry you lost Gertrude early." She reaches over and puts a firm hand on his arm. "Reassure yourself with this arcane piece of advice. We all punt. Not a one of us go into a fight, a situation, saying I've got this. I'm trained. Not among magic users, Jon."

Both eyebrows rise in mild surprise, "Yes, you do. You should really talk to me about her, too. Did you allude to the fact that your past may be catching up with you?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I... gods, it's so hard to..." Jon hesitates. "I... I knew her parents. I was there when she was born. The man claiming he's her father... he /isn't/. But I can't..." He shakes his head. "It's... hard. I... it's /hard/."

    He takes in a slow breath, lets it out. "Punting. Yeah. I know. I know. I'll figure it out, because I have to. Or I'll die trying." He smirks and shakes his head.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna's expression hardens, and her eyes narrow, "Not her biological parent, maybe. But the parent of her ka and ba? If not, he is no better than a slaver, and even if he is a god, deserves no one's respect."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks at her. "What... are you talking about? No, no, everyone involved is human, or, well... close enough. Her father was a normal mortal, her mother carried a metagene... the man /pretending/ to be her father is a wizard. Powerful, but mortal all the same. Agnes is mortal, too, or, well, again... she carries her mother's power, but there is /no/ way that... /wizard/ is her father. Nor is he a god." He laughs softly. "He certainly /wants/ to be."

    He sighs. "It's... complicated. But I need to explain to Lydia, and Mr. Knight, since they're caring for her. I was going to go find another... ally against this angelic incursion, but... I think I'd better deal with Agnes first."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Chewing each word, bitter in her mouth, "A wizard trafficking in a child's life? But he's unfindable for the moment?"

She takes a long deep breath, "Well, of course, it's complicated. Everything is complicated. How do you intend to deal with Agnes? She's a dear, fey child. I'm afraid for her. But Jon, Sekhmet?

A hop off the barstool takes her to her feet to pace, "Might I ask, what ally?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Agnes is to Sekhmet as Mr. Knight is to Khonshu, I suspect. Or perhaps as Tara is to Bast. A mortal infused with the power--that's been their goal all along. The..." Jon shakes his head. "I can't. I can't /say/ it. The cult. It was a cult. I don't know exactly what to... do about it all. Have another drink or three, maybe. Loosen my tongue, so I can tell them."

    He swallows. "/Nobody/ knew about her, Zed. Not even Martin. /Nobody/. She was supposed to be /safe/. That was the deal... she was safe, /we/ were safe... I don't understand what happened. I didn't break my end of it, so how did he get his hands on Agnes?"

    He sighs, long and loud. "Which ally... she came to London when John fell out of the ceiling. Lady Death." He downs the scotch in the glass, leans over the bar to grab the bottle. "Chas owes me," he grumbles. "And I'm /never/ doing to get this out otherwise."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The pacing stops, Zatanna takes the child's relationship to Sekhmet in stride, because of Tara and Marc and her own experience with the gods. There is a trace of anger under her words, "Are you telling me that Agnes was safe in the hands of a cult? And somehow, someway was taken by this bastard wizard? That you knew of her before? Did you say you witnessed her birth? The deal, was it? Some bargains are very bad for the soul but Thoth took you over your cousin, didn't he?

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "No, she wasn't... she wasn't /supposed/ to be with the cult. She was... I don't know! I wasn't going to know where she was going, that was part of the deal. The wizard is the leader of the cult, and claiming he's her father. I thought... I thought..." Jon stares at the bottle in his hands. "I thought she was safe. I really, really did. I didn't know where she was, but I was assured she'd be well taken care of. He must have gotten her away from the woman I gave her to."

    He sighs. "Look, I'll explain. I promise. I will! But this is... not what I came here to tell you. Angels, are what I came here to tell you about. Agnes... we'll figure out. One way or another."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Oh, just Lady Death. I wish you luck with that." Zatanna's smile is slow and edged with ferocity when he backs away from telling her why a child in a cult was supposed to be safe and not the prey of Wizard's such as her false father.

"Have another drink. I've never seen you stumbling drunk, Jon."

Resuming her pacing, "You might tell me who the deal was with, my dear Archivist."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon takes a swig right from the bottle. "A servant of Neith. That's why I thought she was safe. Who better to protect a child than the Great Mother Herself?" He shakes his head. "I don't know what happened--did she trick me somehow? Did he--did /Elias/," he finally manages to force out the name, "track her down? Is she dead?" Another shake of the head. "I intend to find out."

    He sighs. "Martin was dying, Zatanna. Her parents were dead. I was /20/, and a whole cadre of wizards were after me and that child. Annabelle Cane... she promised me that Agnes would be safe. I couldn't know where she was, but she'd be safe. And Martin would live, and Elias would leave us alone." He closes his eyes. "Maybe I shouldn't have done it. But what else would I have done? Run, and then he'd have killed me and taken her anyway? She was their /point/. They... they call themselves the Eye of Ra. She was the point of everything they were doing. Sekhmet walking the world, cleansing it, granting them immortality." He sounds disgusted.

    "Well, we won't let them get away with it. And if you hate me for a stupid thing I did when I was a foolish child... then I understand. But... but I have to /fix/ it now. And this." He waves a hand out at the door. "This angelic bullshit. I expect the angel will kill me before you manage to."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna closes her eyes and goes far away remembering her own follies, "It was one of those dirty mistakes that we all can make, Jon. Twenty and we have it all figured out..." she grits her teeth, "but we don't."

She sighs, shaking her head, "I don't hate you. But am so glad you're grown up. One day I will tell you the story of Nico and John and I. I /know/ young and stupid, playing with fire."

"But we are here now and you need to fix this. If you have Lady Death on your side...IF...then you won't die at the angel's hand or it will be over my dead body, too."

A name he said comes back to her like a slap in the face, "Not the Elias Bouchard, the body hopper? That...unspeakable filth. I would kill him with my bare hands but you know the limit of my magic."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Th-the... the /what/?!" Jon stares at Zatanna. "He's /what/?! That..." He wobbles a little, puts a hand to his head. "Good lord. I... that... actually makes a great deal of... I'm going to have to think about this. I really, really am."

    He sighs. "Thank you. For not hating me. /I/ hate me. Please don't tell anyone." He hesitates. "Martin... doesn't remember. He /can't/ remember, not and keep Agnes safe." So he's been carrying that secret around for thirteen years. No wonder he's messed up.

    He hesitates. "You're a good friend, Zatanna. Thank you. But... I need to go talk to the Heliopolitans."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The pacing slows, Zatanna stops before Jon to place her hands on his shoulders, she puts her forehead to his looking intently at him, "I have so many secrets Jon, it will take Thoth a year to weigh my heart. I will keep yours along with them. Don't let your self-hatred make you second guess yourself too much. A judicious amount of self-hated," she smiles sadly, "might keep you from making rash bargains again but don't let them slow you down. You have to trust your heart now." A step back separates them.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon laughs softly. "My heart always leads me astray. I'd doom the world if it kept Martin alive." He smiles. "But... thank you, Zatanna. Thank you." He gives her another hug, then pulls away.

    "Keep an eye out. Tell me if you see anything odd about the place. I'll call you if I hear anything." He doesn't quite stumble, heading for the door, but he sways. It's a good thing he's taking the subway to Queens.