9000/Considerations of Justice

Considerations of Justice
Date of Scene:	07 December 2021
Location:	The Laughing Magician
Synopsis:	Sara, Cael, and Jon have a discussion of who to set out as bait for the angel terrorizing Hell's Kitchen--and then Sara and Jon discuss who might have summoned the angel in the first place.
Cast of Characters:	Jonathan Sims, Sara Pezzini, Cael Becker
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

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Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jonathan Sims is /furious/.

    He shouldn't be watching the news report /again/ while he walks into the bar, wireless headphones giving him the anchor's words in stereo. He's drafted an entire rebuttal to everything that was said: they /are/ taking this seriously, they /do/ care about the victims and residents of Hell's Kitchen, and... well, okay, no, Jon /doesn't/ have prior experience doing this, but... but...

    Well, no. He doesn't. Not even as Archivist, really. So he can't refute /that/ point, so he can't /stop watching/.

    He's glowering at his phone as he pushes through the door to the Laughing Magician in puffy overcoat and scarf and wireless headphones, looking every inch the distracted millenial despite the grey in his hair.

    It's a good thing he had his time with his husband and spoke to Agnes at the Midnight Mission and met with the Outsiders... he's not going to have time for anything but /this/, except whatever research he can do from the Laughing Magician.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Furious does not describe Sara's mood, the word just plain isn't strong enough for how drop dead, pissed off, fuming angry the woman is. Hell's Kitchen, just like anywhere else in the New York, meant a great deal to the New York born detective and it wasn't like she could report that some kind of brain twisted angel was murdering people for some false sense of balance. No, she couldn't report any of that because reality versus the blinders 'muggles' had to wear never went together.

At the end of watching the news report she punched a wall in her bedroom and would be paying to repair it. Then as she replayed the report while she paced her room and finally, she kicked her television and stormed out.

She had intended to just ride her motorcycle really fast, vent out the anger with speed. As she wove in and out of traffic, muttering and cursing, she suddenly found herself driving to a specific location... The Laughing Magician.

With no idea why she was there, but accepting the subconscious choice, she pulled up into a parking spot, yanked off her helmet and headed inside. Even her walk was pissed off, almost storming, but since it was a public location she kept as much of it locked inside as she could. How dare... just, how dare them! It was alright to rag on her, to blame her, to accuse her, but to go after the people helping her? No, that's uncalled for.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael was already here. She'd seen the report as well - on her phone, and was leaning back in her chair waiting it again when Jon, and then Sara storm in. "News travels fast?" she remarks in a dry, almost amused tone.
    "I'll tend bar, how's that?" she asks, letting the front two legs of her chair crash to the floor. "Scotch all 'round?" she suggests - making her way towards the bar.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Huh?" Jon looks up and blinks on realizing there's anyone else there. Well, then. "Oh, yes. Scotch would be... yes."

    He doesn't throw his phone down. That would be ridiculous and probably break the thing. So instead he just drops into a chair at one of the tables and glowers at it.

    "Do they /really/ think we don't care?!" he bursts out suddenly. "Or are they just... pushing some... bloody /agenda/?! Can they do that? I thought they couldn't do that. I mean, okay, the /Post/ does that, but..." He's not used to the media attention to his actions, at all.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Once inside Sara comes to a stop and looks first at Cael, then over at Jon... oh good, their pissed too. This should go well.

"Scotch is perfect," she grumbles, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket to avoid punching anything in the place as she heads to the bar.

"Political agenda," she states bluntly once she has sat herself down. "That what it is. See, there are people on the force who don't like me, who didn't like my father. I made detective very early, and some believe it was because of my former captain playing favorites and my father pushing the right buttons."

A scowl of her green eyes as she looks at the surface of the bar, "But how fucking /DARE/ them attack and go after the two of you. Believe me, /that/ I won't let lay. I intend to go in tomorrow prepared to scream and get retractions made."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Oh, they didn't go after me. I'm the Knight in Shining Armor, here. The Federal Government, come to save us all from the inept NYPD," Cael says easily. She fetches the bottle of scotch, some glasses, and a scoop of ice, setting all this on the table. "Help yourselves, I'll start the coffee as well," she says easily.
    "Of course, we still //don't// have a viable plan to catch this asshole, and people //are// dying. That's the real bitch."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I mean... they're not /wrong,/" Jon replies, still glowering at the table top. "About me, I mean. I /don't/ have any prior experience, not even when you talk about the magical side of this business. It's just... it's not like there's another Archivist running around out there." He gestures vaguely, then starts shrugging out of his coat. He's wearing the suit jacket he usually wears around the Triskelion, and trained eyes would be able to tell he brought a sidearm. Probably an ICER.

    "I'm seriously considering laying someone out as bait. I can't ask anyone else to do it, but I've been working on shielding. Should have both physical and magical trackers involved." A pause. "I mean... it's that or find the missing crime scene, although I don't know what /that/ will tell us that we don't already know."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Sara finally removes her pea coat and tosses it on the stool beside her, but it leaves no where for her hands to be so she starts flexing them a few times to try and work out that 'punch it' desire. She has a shoulder holster on, with her police issue pistol locked in place, but it just hangs there ignored. Punch it, not shoot it.

"Witchblade is ready to be the bait," she states quickly when Jon finishes speaking. "We have to stop this, because they're right, it just happens like clock work, every three days. We aren't any closer to stopping it, so yes... I'm the bait. Make the plans and let's get this going."

Two ice cubes into the glass then she pours the scotch, and offers to pour Jon's as well.

"I've worked for the NYPD since I finished the academy. I worked along side my father who walked the beat for thirty years, and I've worked with some of the greats in the department. This... this sort of news report makes them /all/ look bad, but thank god they called me," she sounds sincere about that part. "So I can take the blame for the failures and not have it all aimed at the department as a whole."

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael's back was turned to the others as she measured grounds into the coffee machine - and though she says nothing for a moment, tension begins to creep into her shoulders and back. God, she hates //that// idea. So fucking much.
    "What sins you got on yout plate - that you think the angel would be interested in?" she asks in a dubious tone. "What do we do to ensure your safety? That we can get to you in time?" she asks uneasily.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon glowers at Sara. "/I'm/ the one that called it out," he snaps. "And Becker's right--do you have skeletons lurking in your closet? You, not Witchblade? I mean... hell, would an angel even /target/ the Witchblade?"

    He hesitates a moment. Sighs. "It's... you're more durable than I am," he concedes after a moment. "You'd be more likely to survive long enough for help to come. But would it /work/?" He doesn't /want/ to go be bait, he's not stupid and nor does he have a death wish, it's just...

    He glances over toward Cael. "Trackers," he repeats. "Magical and physical. I'll ring some people up on the latter, I'm sure I can scare up /something/."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
First Sara takes a sip of the scotch, so that she doesn't in fact bellow at the man. Emotions were running wild, she got that, she was pissed off too, but there was no sense in yelling /at/ each other. Once the sip is taken, the glass goes back on the bar.

"You want to know my sins?" She says more calmly. "Let's look at this from a Judeo-Christian stand point, even a Catholic stand point, using the ten commandments of God. One, I am the Lord thy God! Thou shalt have no other Gods but me! Me, Sara Pezzini, don't buy that for a minute. One commandment broken." She looks between the two of them for a moment, then continues.

"Two. Thou shalt not take the Name of the Lord thy God in vain. Do it at least three times a day. Two commandments broken. Three. Thou shalt keep the Sabbath Day holy! Break it every Sunday, cause I'm working. Four, I honor my parents, so don't break that one. Five. Thou shalt not kill. I kill. I have done it before, I will do it again. Six and seven, adultery and stealing. I don't think I've committed adultery, and I don't steal. Eight, no idea... bear false witness against my neighbor?" That one seems to confuse her, so she moves on.

"Nine. Do not let thyself lust after their neighbor's wife. I assume that also means husband, yep... broke that one. And Ten I haven't broken."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Yeah, well..." Cael says uncertainly. She doesn't like this. She doesn't like //any// of this. But what can she say?
    She keeps her back turned, her hands gripping the countertop where the coffee maker sits as the brew slowly drips through it. "No one's going to be bait," shae says quietly but firmly. "Unless we have a very solid plan on how we're going to monitor. On how we get to them in time. On... on how we even deal with a fucking angel. We need every possibility mapped out."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon, having tugged off his gloves, finally takes the glass of Scotch, but doesn't drink yet. "So we figure that out by Friday," he says softly. "Because... on Friday, someone else gets attacked. Better one of us than one of the public."

    He sighs. "I will concede that you have sins the angel will look at. And in terms of /surviving/ you're the better choice. And... this is your case. Not solving the case is making your people look bad. It's become personal now, and you want to end it." He looks over at Cael's back, expression concerned.

    Then he sighs again, heavily, takes a drink, and looks to Sara. "But will it come for you? It almost /has/ to know about what you can do. You know more about Witchblade than I do--would an angel consider you too difficult a target? If we put together a plan, monitor, dangle someone as bait, and the angel won't come... then we've wasted the effort, and someone else dies."

    He swallows. "...Of course... there's another question that I keep... rolling around in my head. Why /here/? Why /now/? Did someone... did someone or something /summon/ this thing?"

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Tapping her fingers on the table lightly, Sara thinks intently about those questions because everyone of them was a good one. Witchblade stood against Christianity in the purest sense as he was the child of Gods, or primordial forces just as powerful as gods. By himself he could likely be classified as a demi-god, but he was limited by the endurance of the wielder. He could enhance endurance, strength, keep the wielder damn near invulnerable to attacks, or he could choose not to do any of it. That did not however, answer the question of if he /could/ deal with the power of an angel.

"Witchblade was created to maintain the balance," she begins, still lightly tapping her fingers on the surface of the bar. "For the most part that has meant monsters and creatures from the hells and other dimensions, but there is /nothing/ in the memories I have about an angel. There is one memory..." she pauses there a moment, taking a sip of the scotch as this one sucked.

"Princess Raquel was found worthy to wield him, and she used his powers to lock the soul of Bast into a statue." She shifts uneasily on the stool, not liking that she remembers that as if it were herself doing it. "So I would say he has the ability to deal with the angel, or at least partly deal with it. What he can and can't do is not commonly known however, among the other deities and powers out there, but it is possible the angel knows his capabilities. We're running out time though, and I will not let either of you risk yourselves."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "And if that's the only way to get his attention? If that's the only way to put a stop to this?" Cael asks. Honestly - she doesn't like the notion of any of them being 'bait.' Everything about this makes her uneasy.
    She stares at the pot, watching the coffee dribbling through - wishing for what might be the first time in her life that she smoked. Somehow, a cigarette just seems like a great idea at the moment.
    Pushing away from the counter she says simply, "I'm going to go for a walk. Alis'll know how to find me if I'm needed. Don't get yourselves killed in the meantime," she says in a dry tone, starting for the door.
    

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Becker..." Jon half-rises, then slumps back down into his chair, sighing. "Damn it," he mutters. The anger's drained right on out of him. Who cares what the media is saying about him? People are dying, and more might yet, and it might be people he knows. People he /cares/ about.

    He sighs, and starts digging in the pocket of his suit jacket. "Bast is not comparable to an angel," he says as he pulls out the pack of ciagrettes, "Not because she is any more or less powerful, but because my gods do not /work/ on that dichotomy. This business of Heaven and Hell, good and evil... we don't /think/ that way. It doesn't make /sense/ to my ancestors--and I've been digging in the Archive on this quite a bit. We serve balance, but not in the sense of mediating between two extremes. We serve the natural order of things. The rhythms of life, the harmony of society." His tone turns wry. "I have to wonder what Bast did, to get locked in a statue. Or was it merely an aspect of her?" He shrugs, pulls out his lighter.

    "I didn't ask about the ability to /deal/ with an angel, though." He taps the side of his head, then goes about lighting his cigarette. "I have memories of prior Archivists facing angels. As you noted, /most/ of those who deal with supernatural problems focus on fighting 'darkness,' but we existed before that dichotomy was prevalent in society. I see little fundamental difference between a demon and an angel, save its purpose. One is meant to cleanse, the other meant to corrupt. But, see, corruption is /natural/. Rot is necessary for fertile soil. Darkness is needed for rest and recovery. /Anything/ that goes out of balance is a problem, to us, angel or demon or faerie or what-have-you. So, we've faced them before, when they've gone out of line. Taken statements, judged them. It's never pleasant--even the least of them are powerful. But it's been done."

    He takes a long drag on the cigarette, eyeing Sara rather frankly. "My /question/ was whether you're too powerful to be good bait. I'm not eager to go about doing so, and I'm /not/ going to allow Becker to be such--she's too vulnerable." He frowns thoughtfully. "The thing /does/ seem awfully sure of itself. It's possible it would come for you regardless of knowing your abilities. You're likely the best choice, in that case--enough sins to be a tempting target, strong enough to defend yourself until the rest of us arrive. But Becker's right, we need a firm plan."

    He doesn't bother commenting on Sara letting him risk himself. He's /going/ to risk himself. It's what he does. But there's no point in doing so needlessly.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Sara shifts as Cael heads for the door, green eyes following the woman. "Cael..." she starts, then shakes her head. "Just be safe, alright? Walk it off if you have to, but don't go looking for trouble." She'll leave it at that, nothing more to say really. She worries about Cael in situations like this, when everything is so far over the woman's head. She wanted to help her, and perhaps soon she will have something to help out, but for now, she let Cael walk away.

"Jon, you and I are built for things like this," she says to him once Cael has departed. "But I do agree that Cael is right that we need a plan. It really pisses her off that she can't be more help, can't be more involved because so much of it is out of her reach. I've been looking into possible ways to arm her against things, but something like an angel?"

Another drink of scotch, because this was also something Sara didn't know. "Balance isn't just good and bad, that I also agree with. The balance is all the aspects you listed, and that is part of what Witchblade is for as well. /He/ chooses to go after the obvious things, such as demons running amok, or magical monsters eating life force, and because of that, /that/ is all I know. I'm willing to learn about all the angles, and to be of use in any way that equals balance."

Looking down, she turns the silver bracelet on her wrist a few times, apparently listening to Witchblade as she does. "Ours is a partnership, he just screams louder," she finally says. "A lot louder really, but he's still willing to help with what I want to achieve as well."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs. "I... lord, I wish I knew how to let her help. There's magically enchanted weapons we could get her, but other than that...?" He shakes his head. "I wish I knew." It's bothering him, not being able to help her. It's his /job/, and so much of Cael's thought process is focused on defending herself... so either he needs to help her defend herself or help her be used to the helplessness, and how can he do either?

    "It's not just that, though," he adds softly. "She's worried. She cares about you. Doesn't want to see you get hurt." He brushes off the idea that she might be worried about /him/. He's just her therapist, right? And anyway, that would imply they're friends, and they can't be friends or he won't be able to help her anymore. Ergo, they are not friends. Logic is a wonderful thing.

    "I... happen to have been looking into some of this anyhow," Jon adds. "I've... there've been... rumblings. Things happening in Westchester." Which means SHIELD, which he won't talk about here, even with no one else in the bar. "I'll compile a dossier, share what I know with the Justice League Dark more generally."

    He hesitates, then says slowly, softly, "...One thing I keep running into in my research... angels need /permission/ to act on the mortal plane. They can't just... come down here willy-nilly. Unless there's a demonic incursion, they have to work through a mortal." A pause. "Which... implies that either there's demons running around and we don't know about it, or someone summoned this thing."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
While listening to him speak, Sara swirls the scotch in the glass a few times, mixing the water from the melting ice with the alcohol. She worried about Cael, about protecting her against the things that have come into the woman's life but also about educating her about them.

"Cael doesn't seem to understand that ninety-five percent of the time, I can't get hurt," she admits openly, though it's not something she talks about outside of friends usually. She wanted him to know, to understand that much so he wouldn't worry. "And that remaining five percent is based on the unknown. I've been with Witchblade for almost two years now, and not once, in any conflict, have I been hurt. I was buried under a glacier of ice and didn't get hurt."

Setting the glass down she looks up at the man, green eyes leveling on his face. "What /would/ hurt me is someone I know getting hurt because I didn't do something, or I wasn't there, and that includes you. I realize we're not friends, we hardly know each other at all, but you're important to this world, to Cael, and to Alis, so that makes you important to me."

It wasn't an easy thing for her to talk about emotional things, not any more. In her younger years that sort of thing came easy, but she had lost her father, three partners, and a former captain in a span of four years. Now she locked that all away, kept it in a safe in her chest, and just did her job.

"I have some feelers out for mystical items that might help her as well," she finally says after a moment of silence and consideration. "Maybe something will come across my contacts desk, he's an expert at finding these sorts of things." Another sip, and then a subject change on her part. "I was thinking about that myself. How demons have to be summoned, but I wasn't aware angels were the same. I thought they could come down for 'divine' purposes when they wanted to, or rather when God wanted them to. So it would seem that we might be dealing with someone who called this one down, or perhaps this is a fallen angel, that is another thought I had."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I heal very fast," Jon says softly. "I suspect it'll get faster, as I get more powerful. I mean, if I /die/ I can't heal, but... I've been practicing shielding spells. Archivists either have /very/ short careers or very long ones. My grandmother was in her 70's and still out adventuring when she died. Whoever killed her was powerful enough to bind her spirit and keep the memory out of the Archive." He frowns at that, takes a long drink of Scotch.

    "My point being," he says finally, "people--including Becker--think of me as a squishy nerd, and I'm not. I am /meant/ to get out and experience things. To take statements, to experience life myself, to help the gods judge mortal souls. To help them... calibrate the scales, as it were." He sighs. "So... I'll get hurt. Oh, /gods/, will I get hurt. And then I will heal, and I will go on."

    A pause. "Or I'll die. The next few months will tell. If I survive until, say, April? Odds are good I'll live a long, full life. Seems to be the way of it--don't make any stupid mistakes in the first six months or so and you're likely to have gained enough power to live to a ripe old age. Assuming you don't do something /really/ stupid." He smirks.

    "As for summoning...? Angels can bring messages, certainly. Appear to people, and so on. And like I said--they can intervene more directly when there are demons involved. But miracles go through mortals, at least, ahh... in the last couple thousand years." He rolls his eyes.

    "It's not a Fallen Angel," he says. "Of that I'm certain. On the way to Falling...? Maybe. But, no. I've /seen/ it, Pezzini, at least through the statements. It's a /proper/ angel, still has all the power. The magic itself is angelic. That's... that's what makes this so /wrong/." There's anger in his voice again, strident. "This isn't what it's /for/. If it were a demon? A Fallen? Well... that's /awful/, but at least they're... /supposed/ to be doing terrible things. This is like... like... like singing Mon Coeur S'ouvre A Ta Voix while stabbing someone. Like beating someone to death with Starry Night. It's /wrong/. It's not what it's /for/."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Others might consider him as a squishy nerd, but Sara had never really thought of him that way. She didn't know the extent of his abilities, but that he /had/ abilities at all slid him away from squishy in her mind... maybe more spongey? Could get hurt but bounced back?

In regards to his references, the Mon Coeur whatever the hell he said, she had no clue. The Starry Night she just knew it was a Van Gogh and thus priceless, so at least she could grasp at that one. She was a New Yorker, cop raised, hot dog eating woman, not much culture to her really.

"Can you summon an angel like you can demons? Is that even a possibility?" She then asks, since apparently it was most definitely an angel doing something completely against its nature. "I don't know much about angels I'm afraid."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Beauty," Jon says to Sara with a smile. "Creation. That's what I meant. That's what that power is for. Perhaps I could say... a massacre in a church, but that's happened." He sighs. There are other examples he can think of, but he lets the point stand as it is.

    "As for summoning an angel? Most certainly." He sits back a bit, gestures with his cigarette. Notes that he's reached the end of it, puts it out, and goes to light up another. He's nervous. Once he's taken a drag he says, "Technically speaking all an exorcism does is call upon the same power the angels are channeling. Not an angel itself, but 'in the name of the Father,' etcetera, is just a ritual to ask the power to work through a person. But... directly summoning an angel? Yes. There are ways. Someone with knowledge and power, with the right books and implements..."

    He huffs out a long breath. "Lord," he sighs, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. "I hope it's not someone we /know/--or someone who knows of us. We haven't been targeted, but maybe the angel just can't find the bar."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
For a moment Sara looks around the empty bar. He'd told her that this place existed, but the truth was she didn't know much about it. Until recently she'd been fighting the good fight on her own, not even knowing where to look for assistance or who to talk to. Angelo had opened her eyes to the other people out there who could help, pointed a few places she could maybe look, but it was nothing like this. He was the reason she had joined SHIELD, to take her abilities and skills one step further, but the magical aspects? Nope, she was still pretty much in the dark.

"I don't know what this place is," she says bluntly as she looks back to Jon, noting the chain smoking but not commenting. Truth was, she'd kill for one of those cigarettes to go with her scotch. "I don't know /a lot/ of things, Jon. Witchblade only has certain knowledge, mostly about himself and what he can do, what he can defeat or fight. Beyond that, I'm wandering in the dark. It hasn't stopped me, but I'd like to stop wandering."

She lifts the glass to her lips for another small sip, not wanting to get drunk but needing to take the edge off. "So let's look at this from the perspective of someone with the knowledge, power, and the right books. How many people out there do you believe /could/ do it? That will help us narrow down the over all search, because there can't be that many or it would be happening all the time."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon keeps staring at the ceiling as he considers the question. "This place is... a transplanted building from Liverpool. A pub I went to when I was barely 18, just old enough to /be/ in a pub. Brought here by a demon's puppet who likely wanted to saddle the man it was masquerading as with debts." He sighs. "It's become more than that, though. A gathering place for the magical community. A safe haven for the strange and unusual. The unofficial headquarters of the Justice League Dark." He smirks. "Maybe official, soon enough. Chas is talking about putting up banners. But... that's what I meant by 'us.' This place. There are two main magical centers of power in Hell's Kitchen--the Laughing Magician, which means the Justice League Dark, and... a sanctuary for the dead, claimed by a woman known as Hope Svelgate. So if there's a target here that isn't just 'sinners,' it's likely to be one of the two."

    He frowns, then, and just smokes for a minute. "Knowledge, power, right books? Most likely culprit's right here." He gestures about with his cigarette. "But John? No. He wouldn't do this. Summon an angel to ask a question, maybe, but he wouldn't let it /kill/ people. No way." His voice is firm, certain. "He's done stupid things, but he wouldn't endanger other people knowingly. Which is what makes me think maybe we're the target."

    He sighs. "Beyond that...? Hard to say. Most of the people I know of who /could/, /wouldn't/. And I'm not even sure you'd need magical power so much as faith, so... maybe someone got hold of someone else's books...?"

    His eyes widen. /Just/ slightly. Then he abruptly says, "I'm being rude, did you want a cigarette?"

Sara Pezzini has posed:
With a moment of hesitation, because she knows smoking is bad, Sara nods, "Yeah, could I get one? Sometimes... just one."

When she lights the offered cigarette it's pretty obvious that the 'just one' rule happens, no coughing, no acting like it's a first time or second for that matter, the woman knows her way around a cigarette. A drag in, hold for a moment then let the smoke out and visibly relax a little.

"You just described a lot of people," she admits, tapping the ash into an ashtray. "Truth is, my gut says it's someone of faith, not magic, or maybe both but the faith part is important. Look at who the victims are? Sinners. Is that the angel or the puppet master? My gut is screaming that we are looking for priest who believes he is acting with Gods words on his lips, doing the right thing with this powerful being he is controlling... or conversely, a failed/wronged priest, who is acting with Gods words on his lips, attempting to prove himself worthy of what he has lost from the Church."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon nods slowly. "Something along those lines, yes. Or some poor fool who opened their heart to something they thought was good and didn't realize what it would do." He sighs and shakes his head.

    "I'll make a list," he says, "because gods know assuming that my friends can't /possibly/ have done something /stupid/ like, oh, creating a meat puppet that a demon got hold of has worked out /so/ well in the past." He rolls his eyes. "People who have access, people of faith... or maybe people who've lost their faith..."

    A muscle on his face twitches. There's clearly something going through his head, and he's just as clearly pushing it away. He takes a long drink of Scotch, like the taste will wash whatever he's thinking out of his mouth.

    Oh, gods, what if it /is/ someone he knows? One of his /friends/?

    He closes his eyes. "Great Mother preserve us," he whispers. He suddenly slumps forward, elbows on the table, and puts his head in his hands.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Sara frowns deeply, blinking a few times as instinctively she reaches over and lays a hand on his shoulder. She doesn't know his thoughts, or what caused this sudden melancholy, but that doesn't mean she can't empathize.

"We'll work it out Jon," she offers softly. "I don't know how we can plan every possible angle of a sting like this, but we'll lure this thing out and then we'll find whose behind it."

She doesn't keep his hand on his shoulder long, just long enough to offer her presence and warmth and then she withdraws it. "And if it is a friend, we'll decide then how to go about helping them or dealing with it, alright... but your knowledge, we need that. You're the only one with enough information to even remotely plan this sting."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon pulls his glasses off and sets them aside. Pinches at the bridge of his nose. "I'm not... /trained/ for this. I'm a /psychiatrist/. I started out trying to /help/ criminals." He rubs his eyes. "It's so hard for me to think /anyone's/ past a second chance, particularly if they /want/ one. And thinking of it as a... a sting... of people I know. People I trust!" He laughs, hollowly.

    "Sorry." He shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, then sits up and puts his glasses back on. "Sorry. Rookie jitters." She can understand that, right?

    He frowns at her, briefly. "...If it /is/ a mortal behind this... you'll let us figure out what to do, and not just... bring them in?" There's a wariness in his tone that he'd kept out of it before. A knee-jerk, instinctual mistrust of the police, that he's been trying to push aside.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
There was the question Sara had seriously hoped would never come up. What happens if the person behind it all is a mortal person, not some magical being or creature. Another long drag of the cigarette is taken and the smoke released as she considers it, /really/ considers the question.

"Full disclosure?" She asks first, taking a sip of the scotch. "No prosecutor could pin this case on a single person. The evidence, when looked at from both a mortal and legal stand point, leads to a group of persons working together. I've been thinking about how it all 'looks' since the first crime scene we all saw together."

She explains that to get herself to the answer she already knew. "No one person could do the things that have been done to each victim, so if we do find a single mortal person behind all this, I know I /should/ arrest them, but that would cause the legal system to fail because the evidence just isn't there to convict. I know deep in my soul that I /should/ do that, but I won't, I can't."

A sigh escapes her as she looks to the remaining scotch in the glass. "The law can't deal with this one, so it will fall to the people of the magical world to either rehabilitate or punish this person, and for the New York Police Department... it will become a cold case Detective Pezzini couldn't solve."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon hesitates a moment. It's a relief, in its way. He doesn't have to risk losing a friend to the justice system, a friend who maybe made a stupid mistake and summoned something they couldn't control. How many people would think to set strictures on an angel, after all? Jon would, and he's sure someone like Constantine or Zatanna would, but some of the other people he knows, who might know how...?

    But something in her tone catches his attention, and he says softly, "It's hard. Balancing one world with another. Your reptuation takes a hit--and maybe you don't care about your reptutation for /yourself/, but a bad reptutation leads to problems. Makes your job harder. And you... believe you /should/ do it. You trust the system." He sighs. "It's easier, I suspect, for someone like me. I learned the system wasn't to be trusted /very/ early on."

    He looks over at her. "I can promise you that whatever's going on, we'll take care of it. Justice will be served--perhaps not the sort of justice you're used to. Perhaps, depending on the details, harsher. But, well. We're the /Justice/ League Dark, right?" He smirks. "That's what we're here for."

    He hesitates, then adds, "And... if you ever need to talk about... the balance between your 'normal' life and the life that the Witchblade's given you... well. That's what I used to do, before I got five millenia of ancestral memories dumped in my head. Counseled superheroes. So I'm willing to listen."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Sara forces a half smile on her face as she looks back up to him, making sure not to blow the smoke out into his face as she does.

"I used to believe fully in the justice system," she admits, tapping the ash into the ashtray again. "For mundanes, it still works, but with all the other crap out there?" She almost laughs, but stops herself with a chuckle/snort sound instead.

"Yeah, it's hard, but you have enough crap on your plate. I have faith in SHIELD, in the Avengers, in the concept and idea behind Justice League Dark, which is a stupid name by the way, for all the magical and alien things that bump against the law in ways an average New York City cop couldn't handle. That's what I hang on to."

Finishing off the scotch, she stands and walks around the bar to get herself a cup of the coffee Cael made. "At some point, my career with the NYPD will come to an end, because there are so many cases that have no real answer, so many reports that are faked, so many moments like this one where I take the hit to do what's right. When that happens, because it will, maybe I'll see what's on your plate and we'll talk."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon's... very quiet for a moment. Tense. Like he's debating whether to say something. Whether it will do any good. He stares down into his Scotch, thinking about the police who insisted he /must/ know more than he was saying about the disappearance of a man who'd hurt him. Who'd walked on by while other kids beat him up, ignored the threats his family would get, who'd sometimes /helped/ beat up people who looked like him. The woman who'd been so convinced he was behind a murder that she'd taken him out to the woods and almost...

    He shakes his head. None of that was Pezzini's fault. So he doesn't bring it up. She's getting there on her own, if from a different angle.

    He drains the rest of the glass and puts out his cigarette. "You're right," he says. "It's a stupid name. But it's what we've got. May as well make the best of it."

    He smiles at her then, and it's genuine. "You remind me of an old friend," he says. "She was struggling with this stuff too. I was always willing to listen to her, and I'm willing to listen to you. Whenever. If you want to wait, well... that's fine. But my door's open, as it were."

    He stands. "But... I'd better see if I can crash on Chas' couch. I don't really want to trek back and forth from Chelsea. If I'm here until we figure this out..." He shrugs.

    "Let me know how berating people about the news report goes, yeah?"

Sara Pezzini has posed:
With the coffee cup in hand, Sara offers Jon a nod as he stands.

"I'm going to drink this coffee, then head home myself," she states, adding cream to the cup. "Make sure I'm good to drive that way... stupid name or not, I'm there."

Stirring in the cream, watching the way the white liquid changes the color of the coffee, she looks back up. "Thank you for the offer, Jon. It might happen, might not. Sometimes its better to talk to someone as a friend and not a therapist, as the last therapist I saw... well... let's just say it didn't go well, I knew how to say what they needed to hear and act in a way they needed to see to get back on duty." Small sip. "Wouldn't do that to you though, if I do decide to talk to you. Sleep well, call me if anything comes up, and I mean anything at all, doesn't have to be just this case."