9215/Old and New

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Old and New
Date of Scene: 22 December 2021
Location: Hell's Kitchen
Synopsis: When Atrun-Rai arrives outside the Laughing Magician, he's confronted by a curious but protective Phoebe Beacon, and then a furious and protective Zatanna Zatara.
Cast of Characters: Phoebe Beacon, Atrun Rai, Zatanna Zatara




Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The streets outside the Laughing Magician are currently a wreck. The door has DANGER - DO NOT ENTER! tape slung across it and has likely been boarded up, along with the ground-level windows. The door to the apartment above was locked and warded. The hole in the roof covered with a tarp, more than likely. The tenement building next door with 'THE CURIO' etched in stone over its arched doorway is also locked securely, its lights darkened.

    Both buildings had been her home for most of the last seven months. Eight months. What even was time anymore?

    Across the way, on top of another building, a figure was keeping a lonely vigil. A circle was traced in chalk on an air conditioner unit, though unactivated. Some of its lines have been erased and re-drawn. A couple cups of coffee sat, still steaming on the rooftop nearby, along with a collection of bodega-grabbed snacks and energy drinks. The maker of the circle was sitting, cross-legged on a blanket, a worn leather-bound book in her hand as she mumbles to herself. A stud sparkles on her left nostril, and her ears are sporting tight silver loops and ball studs.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Hell's Kitchen is a place of many, many people - different faces, different walks of life. Take the man walking down the street, for example, wearing what looks at least /somewhat/ like pastoral garb; a youngish man, vaguely Mediterranean or Middle Eastern, his wavy long hair and plaited beard makes him look more like Xerxes' hipster cousin. But then again, hipsters are like that, right? Always taking things from the past, making it new, probably trying to sell it as a fucking NFT. He slows as he passes the ruined structure across the street, stops. Turns toward the facade of the collapsed establishment and partakes in the time-honored tradition of staring at anything with police tape around it.

    

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Hipsters, with their fuzzy faces, their rounded cheeks, their pouch-- no wait, that's hamsters. We're cool with hamsters.

    Phoebe takes notice of the figure who's halted, and she pauses her inner discussion. Her eyes narrow a m oment as she draws up to the edge of the building she was hanging out on, and watches as the vested person pauses at the door and the tape.

    She breathes out a moment, and she brings her hands up, holding her palms out, her eyes half-closing as she tries to open her senses and see if the man was magic -- who knows if the Archangel has agents who would try and wreck their lives further.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Is he magical? Perhaps, but then again, perhaps not - like a thumbprint on a camera lens, his nature is somehow oddly blurred to magical senses, albeit a tad dark around the edges. He does not radiate malice, or doom - just...that strange, indeterminate 'smear' over his aura.

    Presently the fellow walks to a bench along the street, one not yet claimed by the local homeless at this hour. He sits down, then, crossing his legs and settling back. He takes from his pocket a packet of cigarettes, lighting one and taking a small drag - encircled by steely smoke, he seems quite unbothered by the cold of the December night.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Well. That's weird. The young mage lowers her hands a moment, wrinkling her nose, and she looks to the circle she was working on, and then brings out her phone to take a picture of it, then squirts water from a bottle on it to wipe it away before she hoists her pack, her coffees, and her snack bag, and comes down the fire escape to the side of the building.

    She looks both ways before she crosses the street, and the teenager leans against the back of the bench on the other side.

    "Gotta light?" she asks.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    The appearance of the teenager does not surprise him - after all, she's coming across the street. This close, the smell of cloves and other herbs surrounds him like the smoke, or possibly because of it. "You're a bit young for smoking, aren't you?" A rich, warm voice. Accented, as vaguely Eastern as he appears. Dark eyes sparkle as they fix upon her, drinking in her aura, but he holds out the red plastic Bic nonetheless. "Here you are."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    She pulls a rather crushed pack of cigarettes from her pocket, and she draws one coffin nail out, and lights it. Just regular tobacco, and she hands the bic back to the man.

    She doesn't really inhale, but the scent of it gives her a bit more bluster.

    "Saw you looking in the pub. Got pretty wrecked the other night." she explains, looking sidelong at the man, still trying to feel him out.

    Her? She's got a binding spell active on her. She trusts that it's keeping her hidden from similar scans that show him as a smudge.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Taking the lighter back and tucking it into his long jacket, the older man nods as he looks back at the pub. "It is a shame," the man replies. "I have not been in this city long, but there appears to be very accident-prone." He takes a drag from his clove, then, the end of it a glowing cherry coal. "Aren't you cold?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe sits on the back of the bench, perched there as she regards the wreckage of the building. The Silk Cut hangs from her lips in an unfamiliar fashion, and she frowns a moment.

    "Nah. I have coffee." she states, setting her coffee down, and her bag down on the ground as she tucks her legs up a moment.

    "You new around here? I haven't seen you in the neighborhood, at least."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I am on holiday." His voice, rich and warm yet still, issues from deep in that bearish torso as he looks down the other side of the street now. "I am obviously not from here, mmm? Not American." He reaches up to scratch the side of his hawkish nose, then, regarding Phoebe curiously. "I am sorry," he begins. "Have I done something wrong? I know that Americans are often suspicious of new people in their neighborhood, or so I am told."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "This is New York City. They've got all types." the girl replies, and she takes an exprimental pull off the cigarette. And immediately regrets it. Her eyes water slightly, and she gives a cough.

    "I was a barback in the bar. I'm keeping an eye on it to make sure no one messes around with it." she explains. "It's my dad's business, so... I'm trying to mind it while he's gone."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
A little wind whirls down the street blowing the grit from the recent hole blown into the tarmac. A black-clad woman, hair an ebony wing falling to her shoulders appears in its wake and walks purposefully toward Phoebe and the stranger with the odd beard sitting on the bench. Zatanna stops, facing Phoebe, an unspoken question in the interrogative lift of one eyebrow.

"How's it going?" The question directed at the teenaged girl, who is a competent magician in her own right, the sub-text being, 'are you alright?'

A nod for the stranger who is a cipher to her magical vision. Zatanna feels that odd little physical fizz when she is in the presence of another magic user. She studies his face, wondering where she knows him from, that hooked nose could be anyone of her mother's family, the color of his skin has a spice of the Mediterranean to it.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    But though he migh have a fizz, his aura and nature is a mystery to a simple look - like a thumbprint on a camera lens, a peculiar blur suffuses his aura, makig it only vaguely mystical even to a magician of Zatanna's caliber. He takes another puff from his clove cigarette, quirking a brow at the sudden collection of people closing in on him.

    "You are a good daughter to do so, then," the stranger says to Phoebe, then looks to the new woman who has arrived. Tilts his head a tad. "Hello, miss."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    As Zatanna approaches, she might pick up the smell of silk cuts. Phoebe, in panic, pinches the cherry off the cigarette she was holding, and tucks the cigarette into her coat pocket, along with the squished package.

    "Zee -- no, nothing, just making acquaintences, keeping an eye on things." she states, and motions to the chalk-drawn ward that remains on the front door of the bar. "After all, the 'keep out' tape can only do so much." she explains, looking a mixture of embarrassed and a little bit afraid.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Miss, in this day and age is stilted and culturally inappropriate enough for Zatanna to blink and blow a little snort of amusement at it. Politely, she doesn't correct him. They have a mystery shrouded in a black braided beard and archaic English before them.

The man's clove cigarette doesn't quite cover the hallmark stench of Silk Cuts, known all to well to the magician. Zee's mouth tightens as she puts it altogether and marks it for discussion later. No way will she let Phoebe go the way of Constantine with his black lungs and demon bargains. That thought sharpens her look on the stranger.

"New to the neighborhood, are you?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I am on holiday." His smile remains, the brown eyes that sparkle so flicking between the two women - amused, certainly. So, /so/ many magicians in the area! Another drag of smoke; it licks over his dusky skin, a steely, fragrant halo. "Is this the truth of America already made to me? Two American women corner a foreign man sitting peaceably upon a park bench?" He shakes his head, pinching out the end of his clove and tucking it into his long, loose coat. "Very well. I will find another bench to sit upon."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "No need. Like I said, I was was a barback in the bar." Phoebe motions back to the bar. "I was there when an angel went through the roof." she breathes out. Oh gods. The smell of the silk cut is just stuck in her nose.

    "You're wondering about that, aren'... aren't.. a-ahCHOO!"

    Phoebe sneezes, and there's a fluttering of sparkles that comes out her nose, and she wrinkles her nose, and scrunches up her face and she says:

    "Don't tell Chas about that, Zee. He'll be upset."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna's sapphire eyes fix him with a skeptical stare, "Cornered? Odd that you would vacation in this neighborhood. No, it is not something American women do unless someone threatens them. Are you threatening us?" This last question asked with such benign politeness that he should be suspicious, especially considering the asker.

The sneeze makes Zee chuckle, "Don't tell Chas about it? What about me?" She holds her hand out for the pack of cigarettes. "There is nothing good about smoking. Not a single redeeming thing. I won't give you the full lecture here but will ask you to reconsider and stop, for your own sake. Though, if it takes getting upset about it, I can do that, too."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I am just taking a walk." The man stands, looking between the two women. Frowns, ever so slightly. "Nikloi ek asata. You are both entirely too obvious. If someone was watching, /truly/ watching, you would be made obvious to any coming by." He steps away from the bench, flicking his hands at them both. "Doctor Sims would be disappointed."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Oh, you already know Jonathan Sims. He knows I'm here and watching the place. If he wants to express his disappointment in me, he's free to text me." Phoebe points out. "You show up out of the blue, have a seat outside a wrecked bar and look weird to the senses. Yeah, I'm going to come down and investigate." Phoebe points out. "You stopped outside my /home/."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The magician's eyes widen in recognition at the words, as the man moves away, she spits out a word, "!potS".

Something in the man tips her into a full rage that reddens her face, it is so sudden she is suspicious of it. Taking a step toward the man, she asks through gritted teeth, "Eisai apo tin Atlantida? What gives you the right to say that? What are you? Doctor Sims, would be /disappointed/, would he? And you care about that?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "And you are a fool to approach an unknown presence at your level of ability." This said to Phoebe without malice, but with some disappointment - like a father himself. "A brave fool, but a fool nonetheless."

    He's about to leave, but then Zatara speaks that word of power; he feels it hit him, feels the air turn to water, the strength required to power through it if he wanted to. But he does not. Instead he turns back to Zatanna, his manners comported before her sudden, suspicious rage, and speaks more those unusual, vaguely Semitic words. "'Atlantida' meti ataloi," he replies, chuckling very faintly. "Sua Atlyentoi masa te." Then, leaning forward a bit, his brown eyes meeting Zatanna's brilliant blues. "Little sister, I am not having this conversation on the street. If you wish details, I will share them over tea."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    It wasn't a language that Phoebe was familiar with. She looks back and forth between Z and Atrun-Rai, and she opens her mouth, then closes her mouth, and decides this might not be any of her business. She rubs the back of her neck a moment, unable to argue his point or parse what the two are saying. She takes a step back towards Zatanna, and she draws her left hand up slightly, a circle forming on the back of it in rose-gold with two squares imposed to make an eight-pointed star. She readies her shields, in case there comes a fight -- from either side.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Hand raised to stop Phoebe from launching into a street skirmish. "No, it's not necessary. He might be a friend, no matter how strange he looks. And, believe me, she is no fool." Too intrigued to go further into explanations for Phoebe, the homo magi nods, "Well, /brother/, where should we have tea?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Strange," echoes the man, looking down at himself. "Hah." A look to Phoebe, then. "Let us go to your father's establishment. Perhaps something stronger will be needed, mmm?" A glance to Zatanna. "Astal, sorita. Astal."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe looks up to Z, questioniningly a moment, but it's clear the girl trusts the Homo magi, and she relaxes her left hand. She turns back to Atrun-Rai.

    "There's nothing there. The place was emptied, it's..." Phoebe's right hand goes to her chest a moment, and her left lets the glow out entirely.

    "It's just a shell. But, I have coffee and energy drinks."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"This man wants seriously sweet tea with mint, if I'm not mistaken. I know a Cyprian place that might suit us. We are not allowing people into the bar at present." Zatanna nods encouragingly to the young magician, then lays a hand on her shoulder. If another angel appeared in the street, the homo magi would not be more surprised - it is like one of Hammurabi's winged sphinx's had taken flight and landed in Hell's Kitchen.

"What I know, Phoebe will know, she is "I mikri mou aderfi sti mageia."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I tend to prefer something milder," replies the man, who strokes at his beard now with a curious look between the two women. A smile breaks out anew. "Very well, very well. You will lead, sister. I will follow you both."

    Indeed. A weird, wingless Lammasu manifested in finely-appointed silks, that is this man who now looks for direction.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "-- if it's all right, I'll let you two get better acquainted -- I still have some work to do on the wardings." Phoebe gives a slight smile, and she gives a nod of her head. "I'll catch up later, Zee." she gives the older magi a bright smile. It actually touches her eyes this time.