8962/Social Media Hangover

Social Media Hangover
Date of Scene:	05 December 2021
Location:	The Laughing Magician
Synopsis:	Several members of the Justice League Dark meet at the Laughing Magician to discuss plans of just what to do about the
Cast of Characters:	Jonathan Sims, Phoebe Beacon, Lydia Dietrich, Meggan Puceanu, Cael Becker
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

---

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    There's really just no one in the Laughing Magician that isn't at least tangentially attached to the Justice League Dark, these days. Not since the evening news did a story about the Hell's Kitchen murders and... and the New York Post emblazoned 'Papal Killer' on the top of their website, including pictures of Jon in full Archivist costume, though the pictures are blurry and from a distance. Nobody /knows/ it's him, but /Jon/ knows it's him.

    Plus, there's been another murder, and they didn't find the killer in time to stop it.

    So he's sitting at a table in the Laughing Magician, and Chas isn't around at all tonight, so he's just got a bottle of Scotch in front of him while he scrolls through the comments on his phone. He should not be reading the comments. He should /not/ be reading the comments. But he is, because he's a damn fool.

    "It's... it's not... it's not a /hat/," he says to his phone, tone a little bewildered. Maybe he should write up an anonymous comment himself? No, this is a terrible idea. But should he?

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    No one really in the Laughing Magician makes it difficult to barback if there's... well. No one there to back. So Phoebe had been doing some scullery work in the kitchen, because goodness knows that she doesn't have enough otherwise on her plate.

    "Could be worse." she calls out to Jon as she straightens up, and looks through the kitchen door to the floor of the Magician, and she grabs a dish towel to wipe her hands on as she makes her way out, wearing a bleech-stained brown shirt tonight over ripped jeans, hair pulled back and then up in a wrap. Not like there's many people to serve, or contend with. She reaches for one of the glasses beneath the counter that she's stashed, and pours herself a sprite. She looks over at the Archivist.

    "So, The Papal Killer. That's what they're going with?" she questions, leaning on her elbows.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
It's been a while since Lydia has been to the Laughing Magician. She's not entirely sure how she feels about the rag tag group of mystical misfits that the demon wearing John's skin put together has folded into the Justice League. While on one hand, it'll give them access to resources that they definitely could use, on the other hand, she's a member of the Brotherhood which, by all accounts, is still considered a terrorist organization by most people. Still, she thought she'd check in /especially/ since the murders that keep happening in Hell's Kitchen.

When she arrives, she's wearing something that's typically modest for her. A charcoal grey woolen ankle length skirt covers tasteful boots, and on top a russet brown sweater. As always motes of black ectoplasm fall like ash about her.

"Jon! Phoebe!" she calls out when she sees them, giving them a slight grin. "What's the latest." She makes her way up to where Jon is sitting and leans over from behind and gives him a tight hug. "For last night," she tells him. "I know how hard that must have been."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Nine murders counts as a serial killer and probably has every armchair detective from here to Miami full of speculation and posturing. Not the kind of news a girl wants to hear when roaming into Hell's Kitchen by her lonesome, and a newsfeed jammed by commentary has Meggan looking into her phone rather than for other crucified bodies in the streets between a certain law office and the Laughing Magician. So much for staying indoors. Moving in groups, too. "'Tis the season for sus costumes."

Obviously, she's no victim when stepping into the bar. Another multiplying of the sparse population might make more work or conversational options. Her arrival is announced softly: a frisson of glossy boots and slightly torn stockings, humming to Portishead's Roads. Walking, doomscrolling, and humming make her instinctive maneuvering around chairs and Jon a thing of running on empathic autopilot. Right talent that is. "Evening!" The bright tone brings a spark of sunshine, tinted by a melodious clash of Welsh and Scottish pieces stitched with bits of English. "Bit dramatic, but that's New York for you. Surprised they didn't go with The Hell's Kitchen Ripper or something."

Cael Becker has posed:
    Having briefly disappeared into the ladies room, Cael re-emerges - dressed in her usual attire of jeans, boots, a shirt, and a leather jacket. She pauses as she spots new people at Jon's table, then resumes her stride, slipping into a seat, and picking up her glass of scotch. She eyes the woman surrounded by falling ash (sure - why not a constantly-falling-ash woman?) then studies her glass to see if 'something' has gotten into it, before taking a drink.
    Leaning over to glance at the photo she remarks, "They could've at least gotten my good side. Geeze."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks rapidly and actually /squeaks/ as he's hugged from behind. "Oh! Lydia! I... yes, that was..." There's a shot through him, that Meggan would sense, of grief and guilt, a streak of red-black pain a mile wide. He should be at the Midnight Mission with Agnes. He should have been with Agnes all along. He sighs, and says aloud, "Is she alright? I should check in on her, I just..." He waggles his phone.

    He looks up at Meggan, and smiles broadly. Summer-bright again, fire and red and gold, and it lifts his spirits to see her such. "It's my fault, I think." He holds up his phone, to show off the blurry picture, a rarity in these days with camera phones at such a technology level, but it was taken at a distance. "The cape and the crown bit, and the crosses... well, 'Papal,' there you go. I wonder how long /that/ took to workshop in the newsroom. Do they still have newsrooms?"

    He sighs. "Have you all heard about this? What's... what's /actually/ behind these killings?" He glances toward Phoebe, who was also in the picture.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I was on Team Lead ordered off day. And getting my bike fixed." Phoebe states, holding up her hands "And other than the notice Chas asked me to put up on the Curio, I've not said anything else to anyone else." she states. There was a small smile to Lydia as she comes in, snowing ash instead of ectoplasm, and a smile to Cael as she makes her way out of the ladies loo.

    It's when Meggan makes her way in that Phoebe gives pause, and scratches absently at her chest, right over her sternum where the T-shirt's hem begins. She looks to her left wrist, still wrapped in the leather strap, and busies herself a moment with some spot-cleaning. "Good to see you Meggan." she states, and then looks back to the room.

    "I think it's all either digital meetings and distance or unpaid interns these days, but I'd have to ask someone else to be sure. Not my forte."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Ah! New people! Well, she's see Meggan before, but never really introduced herself. "Hello," Lydia says, addressing Megan and Cael. "I'm Lydia. A member of... what are we calling ourselves now?" she looks at Jon for an answer. She notices Cael's eyeing of her mutant power and gives her a helpless shrug. "It's ectoplasm," she explains. "I'm a mutant, so I'm constantly generating it. Perfectly harmless and evaporates into nothing if it touches anything solid."

"I haven't heard anything other than what the newspaper has been telling me," she tells Jon, sliding into a seat. "It's why I'm here. I figured one of us would know what is going on. I would have come sooner but I've been busy tending Agnes and my duties with the Brotherhood."

"Agnes is... fine, I guess. She's coming around slowly, and I'm doing what I can to keep her from getting too bored." She shakes her head, "That's more difficult than you think. She /is/ a teenager after all."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Lovely to meet you, Lydia." Meggan tries not to be distracted by the flakes of ash falling around Lydia like a personal snowglobe, but the effect proves a bit fascinating. Better to look after it afterward. "Meggan Puceanu, but just call me Meg or Meggan as you like," she answers. The surname turns with a delicacy. "I'm partly one myself. Mutant, that is, far as anyone can tell."

She slips her phone, screen off, into the pocket of her coat. Nowhere else to stow it other than on a table, and she wouldn't dare be so rude. Better yet to claim a seat and give Cael a friendly finger-curl hello and then offer the wave to Phoebe. "You aren't too busy back there, I hope."

The chair actually isn't necessarily since she sits above it, rather than on it, leather-bound ankles crossed and almost ladylike while floating in space. "I have heaps of social media stories, Jon, but not a proper telling of why. Before I actually go talking to Hell's Kitchen, maybe best to ask 'round here to see what you know."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "The Brotherhood?" Cael repeats. "The one people like to call 'The Brotherhood of Evil Mutants'?" She looks from Lydia, to Jon. Is he hanging about with a terrorist? "Yes, lovely to meet you, Lydia," she echoes Meggan, with a dry note in her voice. "And you too, Meggan. I'm Cael," she says simply.
    She takes another sip of her scotch, but doesn't offer any explination as to the nature of the problem facing them. Instead, she looks to Jon to do that, her gaze curious. After all - she doesn't know who he trusts, or how much he trusts them...

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Did you not see the press conference? The one where they're not 'evil' anymore? Anyway, Lydia's wonderful, regardless of anything else." Jon says, firm in his belief. "And we're the Justice League Dark now, which..." He makes a face. "Chas says there might be banners. I... lord, I don't know. It's something. Official... ish." He waves a hand.

    "I don't think any of /us/ called it in," he notes to Phoebe. "I'm surprised it took this long, if I'm being honest. But, well, rather than ask you to go out and ask Hell's Kitchen directly..." He sighs.

    "It's an angel," he says. "I've been to every crime scene we've found--I'm certain we're missing one, given the accelerating pattern--and taken statements from each of the victim's ghosts, before they were... freed." By Witchblade, but she's not here to say so. "It's an angel. I'm not certain which, or if we'd know its name, nor how powerful. It's threatened several of us, including Becker and Phoebe and myself. Pezzini and Lasariel Weiss. It may have meant the threat for the whole of us, though. Hard to say."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Unless someone suddenly orders a lot of food instead of bottles of scotch, going to be a dead night. Chas asked that I not touch the alcohol to give this place *some* semblance of normalcy." Phoebe states to Meggan, and she gives a shrug, idly scratching at her sternum again as she looks out over the gathering, and then looks to her watch as it gives a buzz. She purses her lips, reading the message.

     "Doesn't threaten me any. If I go, I go through the trials of Ma'at and I know for a fact my heart's too heavy to go past the gate. Already seen that fight once." Phoebe makes a face in rememberence, and then scratches at her chest again, as if at something in irritation.

    "I'll be back down to make sure everything's locked up in a bit. I should make sure Idu's all right. Shoot me a text if there's anything I can help with, Jon." she comments, and goes to exit out the back for the Curio.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Cael gets a roll of the eyes. "Yes. /That/ Brotherhood. We're not as evil as you think." She folds her hands in her lap and straightens her back a little, looking prim and proper. "I, for example, haven't murdered anybody /or/ committed any acts of terrorism."

"An angel?" Lydia asks, surprised. "Why would an angel be going on a murder spree like this?" She shakes her head, "Any commonalities with the victims? Maybe that could give us a clue."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Meggan smoothes her fingers over the pleat of her kilt, tugging the pin a bit tighter to ensure that everything lies smoothly. "Categorizing any group that big is a tricky task. I don't hold an opinion one way or the other, but you seem nice enough to me," she asides to Lydia, picking a moment when speaking up will not interrupt Jon's flow of explanation or the conversation rising out from it. Her flame-licked hair swishes as she settles in, and rolls around the information provided.

"Angels threatening a fair few people. I'll sound bit dead from the neck up, but you figure any common targets?" Tactfully not supplying any or lost for ideas, she moves on. "Were they all right, Ms. Weiss and Ms. Pezzini? I hope they weren't hurt? Or you, Cael, if you were there?" Priorities, after all! Though they could well waver when Phoebe makes her immediate exit. The frown gracing her lips is a brief thing, a bit shaded by mercurial emotions rippling as fast as watercolour paints in a cup.

Giving her head a slight shake, she murmurs, "Everything okay with her?"

She curls her fingers, the pale white infinity knot on the back of her left hand flickering, misty shapes flexing of their own accord. "Angels can bring down vengeance and wrath much as demons or devils can. They don't sit there strumming harps on clouds, much as sometimes I wish they did. Could be many reasons."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Ah, yes, the boss apologized aftr decades of atrocities and terrorist attacks. I forgot, my apologies," Cael remarks.
    Yes. The statement's every bit as insincere as you might expect.
    "Oh, the angel's decided that we needed to be cleansed of our sins - such as shoplifting. Thou Shalt Not Steal, you know. So shoplifters deserve to be nailed to a cross, have their hands and eyes removed, be burned alive, and have their souls shackled in place to suffer for all eternity. ... it's some seriously fucked up shit, and I can't believe I honestly just said all of that."
    A moment later, she looks over her shoulder to add, "Shut up," to the empty space behind her.
    Towards Meggan she adds, "None of us were physically harmed. Sims had the roughest time of it, really."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I mean, you know how--well, maybe you don't," Jon muses. "The statements, they... I experience events as the statement-giver does. The angel mind-controls them to nail /themselves/ to the cross, except for the last nail, and then it... punishes them in some way it seems to deem appropriate. And they're alive the /entire/ time." He sounds like he wants to be sick, and pours himself another glass of Scotch from the one sitting on his table. Downs half of it, wincing at the burn, before he goes on. "What kills them, I think, is the fire that burns them from the inside out as the angel fully reveals itself."

    He gestures with his glass toward Cael. "It's treating shoplifting on the same level as murder and serial rape. Regardless of attempts at atonement or mortal justice being meted out, regardless of the /actual/ severity of the transgression. The magic feels... it's /dirty/ somehow. This angel, it's... it's doing something technically in line with its general purpose, yes, but it's going too far." There's a firmness in his voice Lydia and Meggan, at least, hadn't heard before. "We need to track it down and stop it. I've been given consideration to baiting it out, but... that's a difficult prospect."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
"My God," Lydia breathes in horror as she hears the kinds of atrocities this angel is committing. "It need to be stopped. This... this isn't what God would want." She's firm on this. While her God might be vengeful at times, their punishments always seem to fit the crimes committed. "I have a hard time believing that an angel would be doing this without any kind of outside interference. Something must have corrupted it."

The thought of trying to baiting the angel causes her to blanch though. "I don't like the idea of using one of us as bait. What if we don't get to them in time?"

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"They what?" Meggan's soft, generally sunny voice scores disbelief and icy disgust in equal measure. She might just reach for one of the bottles behind the bar and leave a note for Chas to add it to John's tab. Fighting with the very answers and bubbling reactions has her at war with fundamental forces so much bigger than herself and some decidedly not. Body and seat collide with a thud, soft but present, as she refuses to float. Her pointed ears vanish, rounding out, as the spell awakening on her wrist checks the passions emerging from their dark, hoarfrosted sleep.

"I'm sorry." Apology comes quick, though she grits her teeth and nods to support Lydia's statement best as she can. "Sorry again. Not trying to make a scene." Clinging to fact has never helped, but she can throw a lifeline between Jon's reactions and Lydia's firm foundation to stop from falling onto impulse. "The news something would do that is awful, inconceivable. Angels serving God could turn us all to pillars of salt or scare us half to death, but punishments out of the Old Testament fail to remember God's love -- and the pact made at Golgotha or Gethsemane, if much of it was true. Even if it wasn't, you saw what happens when deities get imbalanced. Angels by rights fall into the same. John told me about Lucifer, I'd half say I can bounce over there and have a word, but he's probably retired from much concern."

The rapid cant of her speech stills. "Um. That is, if you want help. Or you need bait?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "On the one hand - baiting it out could save... who knows how many lives?" Cael remarks. "This thing is only accelerating. How many victims will it claim? How long will we let it continue? On the other hand... yes. The risk is great. To the volunteer, to anyone who cares for them... And it has to be someone with some sort of past sins - but really, that's like... pretty much everyone, isn't it?" She still clings to that. "Christ, who doesn't take 'the Lord's name in vane' these days?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Hey, hey, it's okay." Jon looks up at Meggan, eyes very wide. There's something ancient and terrible and /angry/ down inside him, too, an old old power that's there to see to the balance. The feather of ma'at upon his brow, even if it's not visible just now. Truth and justice, balance and order--not rigid order like the Lords of Order, but the rhythms of nature, the turning of the seasons. The river flows to the sea, eroding the land beneath but providing life and a travelway. The yearly floods destroy all in their path, but without them crops do not grow and soil is barren and dry. That is what he serves, what he /is/, and it understands Meggan's anger and disgust. It shares them, in equal measure.

    All he says aloud is, "You're not making a scene. It's alright." Who or what made her think these reactions were wrong, he wants to know. The anger is warranted. They should be tearing Hell's Kitchen apart to find this thing.

    Jon sighs. "I considered myself," he admits. "I'm pretty sure I've got some sins on the docket, and the thing /acknowledged/ my challenge. I could probably hold out against it, for a time. But would it come for me? I don't know. And then... yes, would people find me in time? If it were just me, I'd be willing, but I have others to consider."

    He flicks a glance to Meggan. "I'm /certain/ we'd be glad of the help. Can you subdue an angel? Corrupted or no, it's powerful."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Okay? Not really." When it comes right down to it, Meggan balances on mournful easier than rage, though the emotional inputs amplify when she cuts off the fae inheritance of her mother. Her kohl-dusted eyes lift with a fixed stare to the wall off Jon's shoulder, hard enough to ram a knife hilt-deep through the Laughing Magician's plenty squalid architecture.

As she tiptoes her fingers down the side of the chair, she trails looks between Lydia to Cael and back to the kitchen door snicked shut after one of their number departed. Green pupils fade into emerald irises, all one ruthlessly spellbound shade, as the essential question comes round, back around anew. "I have half a mind to step into the shadows and awaken terrible splendours to lure covetous angelic eyes rimed by retribution and blunted by perverted justice. Such folly might fully rebound upon me, but how tempting, despite the harrowing risk. Live a little, breathe a little." The subtle transitions in her speech come mostly in diction and meter, enlivened by a dark little laugh to answer that glance. "We all contemplate our own mortality in moments of danger. If all mankind is stained by original sin, then equally we are all certain to die before the angel's unchecked wrath. Maybe our best bet is finding an alien. The Doctor, someone not born of Earth. Are they too exempt coming from the stars, or does a being there at the kindling care?" Cherry red lips tug into a brutal line, no smile at all. "Knowing this hardly silences the desire to reflect its own cruelty until its feathers smolder and the peril of the Fall sends it back on a path to redemption or cessation. Be nice to think the latter works, but most likely would just pull it down to Hell."

"But to your point?" She checks a breath softly. "I could become it to the very last feather. Or a rank above it. Question is whether that would be much good, really, or more harm."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Despite Meggan going super scary on them all, Lydia scowls and folds her arms in protest. "The concept of original sin is a Christian thing," she says, trying to stay calm despite the beast within her rising to the danger Meggan presents. "I'm Jewish and we had angels before they did."

She runs a tongue across her teeth, noting that her fangs have dropped and makes a visible attempt at calming herself, remaining eerily still for a moment. "I could come up with a rite that would bring Gods attention to it," she eventually says. Somebody else would have to perform it, though, since I can't anymore. Somebody with faith and who has power." She shakes her head. "Only downside is that it would call God's attention on /them/ as well."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "So. Not me, then," Cael remarks in an amused voice - as Lydia cites the need for someone with faith and power. She has neither.
    After a sip of her scotch she adds in a quiet voice, "Hey, if you go and get killed by an angel, I'm going to have to find someone else to talk to who believes the crazy shit I say. You know how hard that is to manage?" She flicks a brief look towards Jon, before returning her attention to her glass. "I'd volunteer myself, but-" She winces, rubbing at her right ear.
    "Does she always talk that way?" Cael asks Jon abruptly, nodding towards Meggan.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I have faith and power," Jon muses, "and I'm not really bothered by God looking down on me. But... as you say, if something happened to me who else would do my job?" He smiles at Cael, and flicks a glance beside her. "I think it's best we just try to track it down and not worry about bait. We don't know how powerful it is--I'd rather not tempt fate."

    Then he smiles at Cael. "She does indeed. Meggan is... special." It's for her to explain what she is, more than him. He's not going to blurt it out the way Chas did. "You get used to that sort of thing, though, moving in these circles. People come from different places and backgrounds, they use the language in different ways." For his part, he seems to like it. He's rather fond of Meggan.

    "It may be of use. I suppose we'll have to see. I don't know that I'll do much good--I'm supposed to go after it, I /have/ to go after it, but I honestly don't know... I've been thinking it over, and I can't figure out what I can /do/. The power of the Eater of Hearts that moves through me has never been... much." He frowns, and glances down at his phone. Sighs, and tucks it away. "But, then, maybe I wasn't doing it right, before."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia nods thoughtfully. "Still something to keep in mind, Jon. I'll work on the ritual and keep it handy until we can think of something better." It'll give her something to do other than just... waiting.

She purses her lips. "If anybody's going to volunteer to be bait, it should probably be me. I would think one of the damned would be an awfully tempting target for a rogue angel of justice. Plus nailing me to a cross wouldn't be quite so fatal as it would one of you."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "It's not the 'nailing to the cross' part that's fatal," Cael points out. "It's the burning alive from the inside out' part. Are you immune to being burned alive?" she asks bluntly.
    After finishing the scotch she's been sitting, she pushes her glass away before asking, "And what do you mean, 'one of the damned'? What the hell does that mean?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "/No/, Lydia. You're more vulnerable than any of the rest of us, simply by /virtue/ of being a vampire." It's not like it's a secret Jon's throwing out there. "And anyway, it threatened the people at the crime scene, so if anyone's going to be bait, it should be one of us." He frowns. "Pezzini might /survive/ the longest, but..."

    He shakes his head. "No. No, it's too bloody dangerous. We need to just track it down before it kills anyone else. Which... has been /frustratingly/ difficult."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Cael's question is answered by Jon, and Lydia confirms it with a shrug. "How do you go about tracking a rogue angel?" She asks. Not that she expects an answer. If Jon had an answer to that they'd be doing it already. "What have you tried so far?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael's answering 'No' gets in there louder, and firmer, and more immediate than Jon's.
    No. He's not using her roommate as bait.
    She doesn't linger on that, though. Instead her gaze has fixed onto Lydia - her gaze looking her up and down, taking in her palid appearance. "Vampire, huh?" she asks. Vampire, mutant 'not-terrorist.' ... great. "Well. Never let it be said you keep boring company, Sims."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs. "Becker... I'm trusting my... best friends' child to her care, if that tells you anything about how much I trust her. Yes, she is a vampire, but she doesn't kill people--I have, in fact, seen her actively avoid the temptation more than once. She's a good person, whatever her... physical status."

    He looks to Lydia. "As for what we've tried... I've been casting about Hell's Kitchen for magical traces, but I can't find them. I might ask Meggan here to do it--" who was, presumably, keeping quiet and listening, "--and I'm considering calling in a more... powerful ally, who lives in the area."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia gives Cael a nod. "Vampire. I'm also a novelist and, at one point, English teacher. As Jon said, I /don't/ kill people." She can't stress that enough, though she finds it doubtful that Cael's mind will ever be persuaded otherwise.

"Perhaps you're casting about for the wrong type of energy?" She suggests. "There's a difference between the Divine and magic. If you cast about for traces of the divine, odds are that'll find it more than anything else. That is if it isn't covering its tracks."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I'm sorry. Do you think your company //is// boring, Sims?" Cael counters dryly.
    She looks towards Lydia remarking. "I apologize for implying you were at all interesting. My mistake, clearly." Still - regardless of Lydia's seeming vampiric status, she continues to sit in reasonably relaxed slump in her chair, eyeing her empty glass of scotch.
    "Alright. You guys discuss 'casting about for the divine' - I'm making coffee. Who wants some?" She barely waits for a response before pushing herself to her feet.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I didn't quite mean... I'm /Looking/, with my Sight. And I may not be able to see it, or... gods, I don't know." Jon sighs and shakes his head. "I feel like there's something /right/ in front of me, staring me in the face, and I'm /missing/ it. Same with Agnes. I've got so many plates I'm trying to keep spinning..." He rubs a hand across his face.

    "Coffee would be wonderful. I probably... shouldn't get so drunk again tonight, I need to be at training in the morning after all."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
"I'll pass," Lydia declines politely. Which probably shouldn't come to any surprise to anybody. She scowls in concern as Jon talks. "Training? What kind of training?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Oh. Shit. People... don't know about that. He's spent so much time around people who know he's a SHIELD agent lately that he... forgot. "Oh, ahh... well. I've been... taking some fitness classes, but they're at 7am. The instructor's good but it's the only time he's available." It's not /entirely/ a lie. The instructor is Falcon, and 'fitness' also means 'sparring with Cael' but, you know. It's still true!

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia narrows her eyes at Jon, picking up the elevated heart beat and the dilated pupils of somebody who's lying... badly. "I see," she says, crossing her arms, disapproval in her voice. "Is that all it is."

She lets out a sigh, and shakes her head, "You can't keep running yourself ragged, Jon. You're beginning to act like fauxJohn by running around without a break and taking on all the world's responsibilities. Hopefully /you'll/ listen to me when I say that you need to take a break here, soon. Spend a day of quality time with your husband. Don't worry about things for a moment, and when you're done you can come back with a fresh mind. If the world begins to end we'll make sure to give you a call first."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs. "I want to. I do! It's just... between Agnes, and this business, and... other duties... people are /dying/, Lydia, and in this case it actually /is/ my duty to deal with it. There are other things I've deliberately handed off to other people or pushed to the background. I mean, that's /why/ I asked you and Mr. Knight to take care of Agnes, while I track down this damn angel. I mean... do you think I'm not... it's the last night of Hanukkah. I should be home with Martin while he lights the menorah. I may not be Jewish, but it still matters to him. But here I am, and he's home alone."

    He stares at the bottle of Scotch. There's more to it than that, of course. There's been more to it for years. But he just shakes his head and says, "I know I need time, and I need therapy, and I need... lord, I don't even know what-all. And I /am/ trying to get it. I am. I'm not..."

    He hunches his shoulders and glowers at the table. "I'm /not/ anything like that... that /bloody/ meat-puppet." ...Right?

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
"Not /yet/," Lydia says. She lets out a sigh, and gets up out of her chair and walks around behind him. She leans forward and rests her chin on his head and drapes her arms around his shoulders. "I'm awfully fond of you, Jon. These threats... these things. They're always happening. They've always /been/ happening and they always will. The real test is one of endurance. If you let it run you around, run you ragged until you burn out or die... evil wins."

A tendril of ectoplasm surreptitiously sneaks into Jon's pocket and pulls out his cell phone, depositing it in his hands. "Go," she commands. "Call up Martin and apologize and tell him that you're coming home." She gives him a squeeze. "Spend one night being a good husband and letting your love shine bright. Let your fight against evil be one of example. Show evil that love persists."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs. "It's not that simple. Even if I go home, I'm going to be working this. I can't help it--this is what I /am/. I take statements so the gods can judge that which does not die in the normal course of matters. Immortals, demons... angels. It doesn't matter if I want to, or if I'm ready, or if I'm tired, or hurting. It doesn't matter if it's Hanukkah, or if there's a girl at the Midnight Mission I can't tell Martin exists." Maybe there's another reason he's avoiding going home, hmm?

    He sighs. "This isn't new, for us. Martin couldn't be there for our daughter's tenth birthday, because he was working. He'd miss our anniversary, because he was working. I knew his work was important, and he always made it up later. He understands why I have to come do this, and it's /his/ choice not to be here with me." He smirks. "He's... ahh... the 'Justice League Dark' is too... public for him." There's hints, in there, that his husband maybe isn't what he seems. "You'd like him, I think. I should introduce you sometime."

    He frowns and peers over his shoulder. "You're going to insist, aren't you?"

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia gives Jon another little squeeze before disengaging. She makes her way back 'round the table to take her seat. "I tried, at least," she says sadly when Jon rebukes her efforts to make him go home and relax.

She shrugs, "Only if you insist on meeting Mystique. I get trying to keep all /this/," she says waving a hand to the bar and to this weird life they've taken up, "separate from your home life. It's hard to balance the two /especially/ when I'm still doing work for the Brotherhood."

"I was a mutant rights activist before I plunged head first in all this magical stuff, you know, and I'm not going to let it interfere with that." There's a steely passion in her voice when she talks about this other side of her life, the mutant side. It's the kind of voice that you get from somebody who is speaking about something they had felt passionately about for all their lives, something they will never back down from.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon chuckles. "I meant insist I go home. Evidently not. No, no, I don't /actively/ try to keep it separate. It's more..." He stares down at his phone. "There's just... always been pieces of our lives we don't share. I know if I begged him, he'd come here. But his job is... demanding. Always has been. And what I do... he doesn't like to be around 'the Archivist.' And for this... I /have/ to be 'the Archivist.' It's not... quite like what a lot of people do. It's not /just/ a... 'secret identity' or whatever. It's... something else, some/one/ else, all the ancestors, going back thousands of years. It bothers him." He chuckles. "Bothers me, if I'm being honest. But I don't get much choice in the matter."

    He smiles, then. "It's important. Mutant rights. One man's 'terrorist' is another man's 'freedom fighter,' as I'm certain the differences in history textbooks between Britain and America can attest. I don't know if I'd mind meeting Mystique, though I'd be afraid of putting my foot in my mouth... but I really do think you and Martin would get along." And anyway, he /wants/ his friends to know his husband, damn it.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
"Believe me, I know /all/ about having something else living inside you," Lydia says bitterly. "I don't show it all the time but it's there, this.... beastly predator. One of the benefits of my clan is that I'm closer to humanity than my other brethren and I can even put it to sleep for a while." She shakes her head. "But it's still there."

She chuckles at Jon's assessment of her lover. "She's not so scary around family and friends, and friends /of/ family." She gets an idea and grins, "I know! Let's go on a double date!"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon groans. "Oh good lord... this is going to end badly, I /know/ it will." But he's smiling, nonetheless. "I mean, who'd want to be seen out with the 'Papal Killer?'" He rolls his eyes. "I wouldn't mind a double date, though. You're a good friend, and I'd like to meet your girlfriend."

    "I suppose I ought to go home and let Martin lecture me for being caught on camera." His voice shifts a bit, higher in pitch, an approximation of a Mancunian accent. "'/Really/, Jon, I can't /believe/ you, letting anyone /see/ you, ever.'" He smirks, but it's fond. "And I /do/ need to be up early. If the pattern holds, we've got a day or two to find this thing. And if there's another killing... I'm going to start sleeping here, just so I'm not wasting any time commuting. So... you're right. I ought to be home, while I can."

    He pushes away from the table, and then looks to Lydia. "Hey... stay safe, alright? If the angel comes for you just... portal out or whatever you did, with the Uraeans. I..." He sighs. "Don't make me regret going home, hmm?" There's worry there. A lot. He's worried about everyone, just now.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia chuckles and stands up herself. "My sister is a teleporter," she says. "If she wanted to she could port me to the moon which is... probably not as romantic if you really think about it." She chuckles, and turns to walk Jon out. "I got what I came here for and should head home myself. I'll contact you later about that double date, and try to figure out a day that will work for all of us, okay?"

When they get outside to the cold winter air, she gives him another hug. "Go. Be kind to yourself. Have a good night." With that she rings up that sister of hers, and then disappears into a purple portal.