9121/Digging Up The Past: La Canela, Interlude I

Digging Up The Past: La Canela, Interlude I
Date of Scene:	14 December 2021
Location:	Casa del Alabado in Quito, Ecuador
Synopsis:	Tim and Jon visit one of Quito's museums and talk about their complex relationships with religious belief.
Cast of Characters:	Tim Drake, Jonathan Sims

---

Tim Drake has posed:
    Casa del Alabado, the museum of pre-Columbian art that is now the final resting place of whatever artifacts Tim repatriated back from his father's private collection, is only open Wednesday through Sunday. Which means they're the only ones in the building aside for the staff who have graciously opened it for a private tour as a thank you for the return of the items from La Canela, as well as the tidy sum Tim donated along with it.

    He'd begged off an actual guided tour, though. That they're already coming in on one of their days off (or at least one where they don't have to deal with the general public) to give them access is more than enough, and besides... well, Tim's too private. He can act like everything is normal around strangers, but it's just that. An act.

    Besides, it's literally down the street from their hotel room. The historic two-storey colonial building that now houses the museum has been visible from the terrace this entire time.

    Like many buildings of this style, there is a central open-air courtyard in its middle, and the permanent exhibits are framed around three main themes: funerary rites, the relationships that the pre-Colombian tribes had with nature, and art. The temporary exhibit is "Sellos" or Seals, focusing on the stamps used to decorate ceramics with images and even encrypt messages.

    Tim stands in front of a cylindrical stamp on display that, when rolled across clay, would leave behind an imprint of several stylized animals. It's far from the only item that depicts local fauna. "Do you think Angela's theory holds any water?" he asks, distractedly.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon's glad to comes to the museum with Tim, and his opinion of museums seems to be /much/ higher when the museums are dealing with artifacts from their own countries and cultures instead of ones plundered by foreigners. After all, if modern Egyptians want to present the treasures of the Pharoahs in rooms open to the public rather than the tombs of the dead, that's not really entirely /Jon's/ business, now is it? The same goes for the Casa del Alabado--many of the people running the place and currently on the dig are descendants of those who lived there, so again--who is he to tell them to go put all the artifacts back?

    Of course, it also gets into the two competing motivations of the Archivist--to serve the gods of the dead, while gathering information for the living. Or maybe that's one reason he, and the Archive, exist at all--to allow the past to be known without having to dig it up. But it's not as if he can run around putting himself on display, now is it?

    Jon examines the stamp Tim's looking at and says, "Hmm... potentially, yes. Martin said there were strong ley lines there, and he seems... sensitive to those things. Plenty of mystical and religious buildings are aligned to the stars--the pyramids were aligned to Alpha Draconis originally, did you know that?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    There are something like a dozen museums within easy walking distance of their hotel, and truthfully Tim could spend an entire week going from one to the next, if he had the time. He never has the time, though, not unless something forces the issue. Silver lining of the trip, maybe.

    You know, aside for the delicious food, stunning views, and all that.

    It's not even that he has any particular interest in Latin American history (if he were to go anywhere in Ecuador based on his interests, it would be the Galapagos) but it's here, and it's knowledge, and Tim might not have a literal God-given urge to go out and explore, experience, and learn, but he's still... obsessively interested, once it's in front of him.

    "I've always wondered about that. Do you think ancient people had some sort of knowledge that led them to those places, or do you think the gathering of human belief influenced the development of ley lines?" Tim asks, though it's spoken in such a way that it's clear he's not actually expecting an answer. Instead, as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket, he shrugs. "I wasn't aware. The great pyramid at Giza is aligned extremely precisely with the cardinal directions though, isn't it? And isn't there one that lines up perfectly with the setting of the sun on one of the solstices?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Actually, given what I've learned of late, I would /suspect/ that some of it might have been the remaining homo magi using their knowledge to gather mystic power where they could find it in a world with waning magic." Jon smirks. "Which... well, given that they were active members of those societies in the same way the Zataras are, would mean that yes, they did have knowledge that led them to these places. As to whether human belief shapes the ley lines...? I don't know."

    Look, Jon actually know about mystical stuff, and a surprising amount maybe. Did Tim /not/ expect an answer.

    "It is, I was specifically thinking of Khufu, and admittedly there were a variety of alignbments involved, depending on the purpose of those building the tombs. But you see, this was when Alpha Draconis was the pole star. That was the idea--step outside at certain times of year and see the pole star, with the constellation of the world-snake coiling about it high in the sky. I wonder if they meant it to guide the soul of the dead Pharoah to Duat? To act as a waypost for the journey of the sun through the Underworld?" He shrugs. Speculation, that.

Tim Drake has posed:
    "So much of my understanding isn't even understanding, just me trying to apply logical common-sense thinking to something that defies the laws of physics," Tim admits. He's smiling, if distractedly, as he moves on to the next artifact on display. This one is a flat stamp depicting two human figures.

    And then he pulls out his phone. Not to take pictures, but to scroll through, looking something up no doubt. "Huh. Draco was even more closely aligned with the North Pole than Polaris is now." A few seconds pass as he reviews whatever webpage or textbook he has pulled up. "Higher magnitude, though. Not as bright."

    Then he tucks his phone back away. Despite his addiction to tech--nearly as bad as his addiction to caffeine--he makes frequent, serious efforts to keep from having it in his face constantly. But Tim is far too attached to the quick access to information at his fingertips to ever truly cut the cord. "Who knows. I mean, I can't imagine what it would be like as one of the first humans, to look up at the sky and see it all. Thousands of stars, the colors of the milky way, who knows how many astronomical events happening above their head and no way to understand what any of it is."

    He shuffles his weight from one foot to the other as he bends over to read the plaque next to the exhibit display case. "I guess it's either deify them or be terrified of the unknown."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "It must have been amazing," Jon says softly. "Longer ago than we think, long before Atlantis," which he says as if certain Atlantis is a thing, "and in a world far more replete with magic than we have now. I wonder sometimes, if we created the gods or merely shaped something that already existed."

    He sighs as he turns to follow Tim, peering at the next artifact. "The trouble, of course, is that knowing the gods exist doesn't get rid of that fear of the unknown. If anything, I've found it makes things worse. The universe is far larger and grander than our ancestors ever dreamed... and there is yet still so much we don't understand, /can't/ understand perhaps. It's terrifying, if I'm being honest."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Look, Batman is a member of the Justice League along with Aquaman. Tim's not going to question the existence of Atlantis, okay. "How much of magic is concentrated will?" he asks the open air of the museum. "From what I've seen of you, Zatanna, Phoebe... a lot of it is based on what the human mind can endure."

    There's no set path for them to follow, beyond circling around the museum in the way it's built, rooms stacked alongside one another to form the outline of a rectangle. "Knowing and believing are two very different things. Belief wasn't something that factored all that much into my childhood; my mom and dad were raised in different religions and they'd both abandoned them by the time they had me." He's on to the central item on this wall, now, a piece of ceramic pottery nearly fully intact, paired with the stamp that matches the geometric decorations across the ceramic's surface.

    "I don't think there's any comfort in knowing, either."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "A lot of it, really," Jon admits. "I'll often say that magic is an application of the will of the magus, extering one's belief and desires upon the universe. But then, that is also a matter of using will to shape magical energy--and there are realms where there's so much of it in the air that for one with power, it's as simple as a thought to conjure something up."

    He stares at the pottery for a long moment. "It's funny... I can do something relatively complex like healing with ease, but a simple summoning of energy to do harm... it's /much/ harder. It's not... /me/, in the way it needs to be. The idea of using my magic to kill..." He shudders. "It feels wrong, somehow. I don't even like channeling the will of the gods to destroy a thing. Martin's better at that than I am." He huffs out a breath. "I wish he weren't, but he is who he is, and I am who I am."

    He looks to Tim. "But belief... well, that can be whatever it is for you. Whatever you believe in." A pause. "Is... did the... I mean, it's an actual /angel/ we've got chained in the back of the Laughing Magician. Is that what led here?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim nods along to Jon's explanation as if it's the simplest thing in the world. "You're a healer," he confirms. "That's just a core part of you, isn't it? Someone who helps people. I could see how your subconscious would rebel at the thought of causing harm."

    His physical posture has changed, subtly shifting so he's giving more attention to Jon than the exhibit, even if he's still technically facing the display case. "To this place? Or this conversation?"

    After a long moment of consideration, he tips his head. "Maybe in part. You and Phoebe needed time away. I needed magical backup while I deal with this. And I'm efficient, so I combine tasks whenever I can."

    Notably, he doesn't have any kind of answer about what he believes in. If anything.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I don't know what to do about any of this," Jon admits. "The angel, Chas, Phoebe... trying to be a hero." He smiles wanly. "I woke up one morning with superpowers, and every time I turn around someone's piling something new onto me. One of my friends is in the back room of his own bar, possessed by an angel, and another is going through hell, and..."

    He shakes his head. "What do you think of this, though? Really, Tim? Do you believe it's an angel... or are you like Batman, do you think it's all..." He waves a hand. "I don't even know what he believes. Smoke and mirrors?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    When he's asked his opinion, Tim's hands withdraw from the pockets of his jacket to cross his arms over his chest. It's not quite a defensive posture. Moreso him huddling up, uncertainly. "My... my mother was raised Jewish, but she'd cut off contact with her parents. Sometimes she'd make half-hearted efforts to celebrate the High Holy Days but they were gone most of the time anyway so it never really had an impact on me."

    His brow furrows as he continues, "So when she died, I didn't have a strong foundation of belief to fall back on. My father was in a coma, and he'd never believed in anything anyway. So if you're asking if I believe? No." There's little hesitation in him admitting that.

    Done looking at pottery, Tim approaches the doorway that leads to the next exhibit, though he lingers there, shoulders hunched up slightly. "Like I said, there's a difference between belief and knowledge.. One is certainly a much colder comfort than the other," he says. "Whatever it is, angel or otherwise, what I know is that it's a threat."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs as he follows Tim toward the next exhibit. "That's all... quite fair. I... grew up Anglican, myself. Went to church every Sunday, sang in the choir." He chuckles. "I wanted to be a vicar, once. I suppose I am, in a way. Serving gods, serving a community, judging souls. But... I lost my faith in that God, somewhere along the way. In the Church and all it represented. In the idea of one path to salvation." He shakes his head. "It just... stopped making sense."

    He looks over at Tim. "You don't have to believe to help with this. To fight this. Believe it's an alien, if you must. Or a shared delusion." He chuckles. "Well... maybe not a shared delusion. But, whatever it is... it's a threat."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Oh, it's almost certainly an angel. There's probably some vaguely Judeo-Christian themed omnipotent being up there, looking down on us." Tim turns to look into the next exhibit, but instead of going that way, he passes through the small room separating the two and exits out into the central, open-air space of the museum.

    The weather's still as mild as it's been since they arrived. There's a misting of rain in the air but it's so light that it practically evaporates as soon as it hits skin. "Because the world's not fair. Why would we get the fun cosmology where existence is balanced upon the backs of giant elephants that then stand on the back of an even more giant turtle?"

    He stares up at the wide rectangle of sky visible. Even the clouds seem too light to really be considered storm clouds. "Ultimately, whatever it is? We'll fight it," he says.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon makes a face. "Good /lord/, I hope not. I have spent more than half my life /firmly/ refusing to believe in such a being, at least of that particular flavor; I'd hate to be proven wrong."

    He pauses, as he turns his face toward the mist. "Then again," he muses, "I'd figured the angel would come after me. 'Thou shalt have no other gods before me.'" He sighs and shakes his head. "When I found out it had taken Becker..." He stops. Frowns. Shakes his head.

    He breathes in slowly, then breathes out. "Thank you, for this," he says. "It's been good, to remember why we're alive. Why we're fighting. That trip through Nullspace..." He shakes himself. "It was /awful/. It's been good, to have a little bit of joy amongst all the insanity."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's lips press together and his nose wrinkles as he fights back laughter. "Hey, like I said. I'm pulling for 'turtles all the way down'. Doesn't change the fact you're going up against an angel. I bet he has wings and everything." The way Tim rolls his eyes suggests he thinks that would be *very* boring and cliche.

    When Jon thanks him, Tim looks away. He tamps down on his instinctive urge to brush it off, because living with a bunch of people his age who never want to "take handouts" has taught him to do so. It's just better to pretend it's all for his sake. That Jon, Martin, and Phoebe coming along has nothing to do with Tim knowing they need the break.

    "Yeah, sure," he manages. It's something, at least, though the immediate follow-up of "There's a stall selling llapingachos outside. Want to go grab some and bring it back to the hotel?" is a deflection in its own way.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "He does, indeed, have wings," Jon notes. "It's all horribly cliche, and I'm already over the entire bloody business." He smirks, and looks over at Tim.

    For a moment, he considers saying something. That it's good that he wants to help people. That other people's pride is not his fault. That deflection won't last forever. He ought to know.

    Finally, though, he smiles. "Llapingachos sound good. We'd better buy extra, though, because I know you'll try to eat some on the way and then Martin and Phoebe won't have any."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "Hey!" Tim objects. "I only do that with chips." Which is why he's no longer allowed to buy the family size bags.

    The attendants who had come up on their day off both smile at them as Tim and Jon exit through the front door. There's a brief exchange of thank yous in Spanish before the attendants head inside to lock things up. Tim pauses for a moment, after, staring up at the facade of the museum. Then he reaches into his pocket for his wallet. Whatever mood he's in, the carby goodness promised by the smell of frying potato from the llapingachos stand down the street will likely solve it.