9227/A Meeting of Bloodlines

A Meeting of Bloodlines
Date of Scene:	22 December 2021
Location:	Marrakesh
Synopsis:	Revealing himself to Zatanna as a sorceror from out of time, Atrun-Rai requests Zatanna's assistance - but the sorceress of legend is not so comfortable with what's required...
Cast of Characters:	Zatanna Zatara, Atrun Rai

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Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The Atlantean had settled it for her. It had rocked her so hard that, mind turning over faster than she can put her intuition into words, she makes several rapid-fire decisions. One, to leave Phoebe at her post, two, to reveal a part of her magical abilities to this utterly strange yet familiar man. She might be taking a leap of faith by calling him a man. He is like looking at something through brightly lit deep water, he never quite comes into focus.

With a whispered word they are in Tribeca. The little Cypriot place she had first thought of where men played dominos at all hours had closed when the elder Spirotakis died. So, northern Africa would do, not so far from where she suspects he comes from. More assumptions, more words whispering in her blood.

"Please," she extends a hand to the door, playing the host. "After you."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He takes notes.

    The shape of the magic, the flow of energy. He follows her quietly through space and time, feeling the angles of Creation bend until they are elsewhere. "Ah," he says, now abandoning English entirely - speaking the more 'modern' Atlantean that Zatanna wielded, albeit with the accent of the old. "Yes, this will do nicely. I do apologize for causing trouble, it was not my intention. I did not expect the girl to come out and try to face me."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Affection for the young girl softens Zatanna's guarded expression, "It's her home and she guards it for the people she loves. She has already lost so much for someone as young as she is." Her vowels and the lilt of the language have the childhood influence of Italian shaping them. "I..." she pauses looking for the correct form of the verb, "would expect no less from her even as young as she is. It keeps her out of other sorts of trouble."

A waiter takes them to an alcove surrounded by potted palms. In the tiled nook, softened by hand knotted hangings, is a copper table surrounded by colorfully embroidered cushions. She orders tea and assorted pastries for them. When they are alone. "Trouble? Well, yes," the magician frowns, "she would have attacked you and I regret to say, and without knowing you I'm not sure of what the outcome would have been. I wouldn't have let you hurt her."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "'Shepherd girls, come down from the hillsides, lest the wolves finds you.'" It's a singsong recitation, bright and ancient. He moves to sit across from her at the table, settling into the cushions there. "Reminds me of home." He looks at her for a long moment. "I am...Atrun-Rai. Sorceror of Atalyente. Of the city-state of Lantalla. I lived....forty-four thousand years ago, when Atlantis was just the greatest of our cities, and not an empire." A fragile smile. "I died. And now I return. To help preserve reality. To save Creation."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
It is the blood singing in her ears that tells her the truth. He is real. His words are real. She meets those brown eyes and falls into them for what feels like hours. The click of a tea tray being laid on their table brings her back to the present. "I...am overwhelmed and honored that you've returned to us. We can use the help of someone as powerful as the famed sorcerers of Atalyente, my forbearers. What woke you, sir?" The old language they share requires honorifics, the young chose words to honor the old.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He is, indeed, the truth. Real. The words ringing with truth. But he frowns when she begins to use honorifics, and waves these words away with a broad hand. "No, sister," he says, his accent making /her/ version of Atlantean sound strange with its age. His version laps hers for age by millenia. "You are more powerful than I, and I have been dead many years. I was in my thirties when I passed, anyway; theoretically I'm not /much/ older than you. So." He drums his knuckles once on the table, the copper ringing softly with impact. "Let us speak as colleagues. Let the honorifics stay where they belong, in the past."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna nods, giving herself time to rearrange the formal you for a more familiar version, thinking familiar equals family and in some distant way we are just that.

"Does the power we wield decide how we treat one another?" She waves the question away, trading it for another question. "How did you pass away so young? And if, it is not too familiar," that word again, she thinks, "how is it that you are once again alive?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "No," he says with a chuckle. "It does not. But please, no. Speak with me as if we simply worked along at each others' side - which we do." He pauses to squint and wave for a server. "I was killed by monsters, alas. Creatures of the Great Void, that which you would call Nullspace. Atalyente was in peril, it was the only way. As for how I have returned..." He shrugs. "I am needed. That is enough."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
There is more to the story, much more though he hasn't lied to her yet. The kernel of the truth is there. She nods, still holding his eyes, wondering how delicate she should be about asking more. For a moment, the unknown crowds out any other thought, "Monsters? Like the ones before the Gates of Heaven? You sacrificed yourself for Atalyente, it seems."

She sighs tiredly, suddenly aware of the sorrow and panic that she is trying to keep at bay.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Another smile. "What is that they call you? 'Homo magi', yes? That you can use powers of sorcery because you have a bloodline which connects you to Atalyente, to 'Atlantis'. Yes?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Yes", Zee snorts derisively, "Another step in human evolution. Compare us to the Neanderthals, we have not been very successful but can breed with the dominant strain of humanity. I don't think of myself as a savior of mankind, I just hope I can help."

She pours him a cup of tea in the traditional manner, holding the pot high above the cup, concentrating on the stream of tea, then pushes the filled cup to him. A gesture as old as Atlantis, perhaps, saying, here we are together, sharing a moment of sweetness. She edges the plate of sweets toward him, too, taking a powdered sugar crescent for herself after she pours another cup.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "There was no such thing in my time." He shrugs as he takes the cup, smiling ruefully. "There were no chosen ones, no special bloodlines. /Everyone/ had the capacity for magic, and it was used to great degree by even the meanest citizen." He takes the teacup, nodding in thanks, and takes a small sip of the steaming liquid. "A time of miracles, mmm? Miracles aplenty. Certainly, it become ever more so in the milennia after my death, but in my time the mystic sciences were still..." Another sip. "The terms are still new to me, but the phrase 'Wild West' comes to mind."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Leaning forward to keep from sprinkling powdered sugar, Zee takes a bite of her cookie. "I could pretend our small community was like that. Everyone!" she smiles imagining it, gesturing largely with her free hand, "how did you keep people from abusing magic and taking advantage of each other? You obviously had class differences from the way you describe things. "Wild West" makes me think of sheriffs and gunslingers and posses hunting criminals."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Everyone," he affirms with a nod. He takes another sip. "You are a teacher, yes? Who taught you?" There's a story brewing here - the foundation, though, requires questions sometimes. Extensive questions, on occasion.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Teacher," she has to think about it for a moment before nodding, "I have two young magicians learning from me. One is a homo magi in need of training, the other, you've met, Phoebe. But teacher? Guide, maybe." She looks faintly troubled. "My father taught me about being a stage magician, he was gone before he could teach me about magic, I learned in the wild, so to speak. I learned somethings from my mother's folks. My real teachers were dark and wild and one came to a bad end."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He nods his head, that apparent magus of Atlantis; he does not yet touch the cookie. Most attention is on the tea. And her. "When I was young," he says, "My family was a merchant house. My father sold, my mother ruled the accounts and merchantmen with an iron fist. My sister led the household. They used magic, in minor forms. And I did not."

    He laughs softly, taking another sip of tea. "There was an incident with a goat, I barely remember it. At any rate, when I was five years old, I was taken by the Wise Maidens, a society in Lantala who sought out children of great magical potential, and take them to the Red Palace. The Red Palace, by the by, was the primary schola of sorcery in the lands of Lantalla. Call it...what, the Hogwarts, if you want, of the kingdom. I trained there for twenty years. Twenty years, drilled every day, taught, made to focus, practiced in what was the greatest magical traditions of the day. And outside, people just..." He gestures. "Did things. Let their will manifest without all of that. Can you imagine what sort of things people would get up to?"

    Atrun-Rai reaches for a cookie now, finally. Breaks it in half. No powder on his fingers. "It means that there was...a great deal of trouble. Things in the night, things that people, often well-meaning people, loosed upon the kingdoms. Demons, wicked spirits, all that sort of thing. So. There needed to be sheriffs. Deputies. Soldiers of wizardry. It was, of course, my honor to step forward and take that mantle, to become one of the Amatakoi when reached the age of twenty-eight. The Amatakoi, you see, are an order - and this will come up, we Atlanteans love our sorcerous orders - of exorcists and spiritual soldiers. Banishers of evils, slayers of monsters. Mmm? The Wild West, in the proverbial flesh. Oh, and there was, as I said, /much/ to see to, much more than even I, who trained in the Red Palace, was ever aware could take place!" A faint smirk, an impressive look, and he takes a bite of his cookie. "Mmmm. The foundation of our race, even then, was vastly imperiled by uninformed and uneducated magic. But...as a natural ability....what could one do but fight the after effects? Certainl one could not easily, if at all, affect the source."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Face intent, Zatanna forgets her tea, letting it cool while she listens. She smiles at the mention of a goat, the smile fading into a wistfulness for something that only exists in children's fiction now.

"So you were Amatakoi. What else could you do if everyone or most everyone was magic, right? Maybe schools for everyone to teach them the civic duties of magic wielders? But...?" She asks letting her voice trail into silence, the question in the lilt of her voice.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I was Amatakoi," he affirms around a mouthful of cookie. "Mmm. If it were me? I would treat it the same way drinking or ownership of a firearm is handled in this country. Train in theory and practice through youth, wearing a supressor to keep them from practicing until they reach that age and it can be removed. Something iconic, like...a diadem or a crown, perhaps." A chuckle. "Perhaps something like what you saw me wearing at the Silver City, in appearance if not in function. But I digress.

    "So, even then, it was clear that there were problems. The Amatakoi roamed the Seven Kingdoms, dealing with the troubles that came up when they were asked to - sometimes by individuals, sometimes by kings. I saw a great deal of the nations of the Altantean League - and, yes, that means Atlantis itself." A knowing look cast her way as he goes to fill his cup once more. "But also the cities of Teloi, Amkara...spent six months hunting nightgaunts in R'lyeh, but this of course was long before it was made Cthulhu's prison." A faint sigh. "Shame. I wish I had been there to help. In any case, this is what I saw, everywhere: slow, obvious poisoning of the land. Creatures. Ego unhinged. And then I came back, and His Towering Majesty Estuan, King of Lantalla, Fourth of His Name, summoned me. That's quite a name, isn't it? King of Lantalla." He snorts. "My parents, they were very...keen. Bless them."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Did anyone else see what was happening? Is that why you were called to the King's attention?" She takes another cookie, engrossed in the story and powders herself with sugar.

"How did you manage to catch up on everything that happened after you left? You know, I've never been to Atlantis, only have read about it. But have never met any of the living Atlanteans."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Something like that." He picks the cookie apart, now, laying the bits on a napkin on the table. "The King...his daughter. The Princess, Jalusa, is one of those whom I had described earlier. She invited a creature into her life, into her bed. It soon possessed her." Atrun-Rai makes a faint face. "The young royals of the time...lonely creatures. It's a lonely life."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Well, that is a salacious story. It would make for a penny horror/romance. Though," she shakes her head contritely, "I don't mean to poke fun at it. It's...." she gestures for him to go on. "You were called on to help, I take it. And being royal and alone, is a sad thing. Wasn't there anyone paying attention to her?

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Lots of strange things in my time," he says with a chuckle. "Our current situation, while much greater in stakes, recall those days. Perhaps that s why I seem less surprised at what takes place here." He takes another bit of cookie, pops it into his mouth. "Well, without getting into the details for Her Highness's sake, I drove the beast out - Xaja'uul the Sorrow, it called itself. I don't know if it is in modern demonological sources, or perhaps it goes by a different name. But at length, and this is a story in itself, of course, I drove it out. After that, His Towering Majesty requested that I become the magician of his court, and I departed the fellowship of the Amatakoi. My duty in that way was done...for a time. I had Lantalla, its sorcerous problems, to consider."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"So there you are with proud parents and you are the King's sorcerer. Do you know the story of Merlin? You were likely the first in the world to be in this story. Did Lantalla have more problems than other kingdoms?

She sips her tea after topping it up and flipping through her memories of demons she has read about or met. "No, I don't think I know it. Please go on."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "All sorcerors of my day knew of Merlyn," says Atrun-Rai. "A celebrity in our day, mmm? But Lantalla did not have 'more' problems so much as when one becomes the court sorceror one makes only Lantalla's issues your focus." He shrugs. "At any rate. Over time, things got worse, and worse. You felt it as much as you saw it - people falling into idleness, embracing little darknesses, little exertions of negative magics. I, of course, was not the only one to see it." Another sip of tea. "You recall, I said that Atlanteans love their secret societies?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"What do you mean they knew of Merlyn?" she scoffs. "That is British folklore not more than a fifteen hundred years old." She frowns, a smile breaking across it as she says, "You mean, that is a much older story than I thought? Alright."

Leaning back, she sighs, "So the black magic crept into your lives, you all were frogs put in a slow pot coming to a boil."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Merlyn is a contemporary of Atlantis," he replies, brows quirked. "Did you not know? As I said, quite a celebrity in sorcerous circles. Briilliant man." He drains his cup, then goes to fill it again. "Never met him, of course. He was down in Atlantis." A beat. "Where was I?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The magician's black eyebrows arc mildly in surprise, "Why, frogs in a slow pot of boiling black magic, I believe."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Ah." Another smile, a flicker of one. "Well. The slow boil. Most of the frogs, so to speak. Ten years or so, I was court magician. People began to just...start weeping tears of pitch, Zatanna. Have you ever seen that? Naptha, hot and burning, weeping from their eyes as things consumed them from the inside out. Screaming. To death." A flicker of something across his face. Haunted. "The 'Crisis of Black Tears', they called it. Ten years, it took to build up, until one evening, a man came to me. A comrade from Premoi. And that was when he invited me to join yet another secret order, one that I would be a part of until I met my end. That was when I joined the Mestales, the 'Salt Brotherhood'. A group entirely focused on wiping out whatever was causing the actual problem. What was causing that rot...that we sensed. That we /all/ could sense."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"I have seen things that I don't want to talk about. Someone has always seen worse. No, matter," said replies, shrugging sadly and toying with an uneaten cookie.

A waiter stops at the alcove entrance and she points at the tea, "Another please and a menu, if you don't mind. I need strong tea with sad stories. I have never seen anyone weep tears of hot pitch. I'm so sorry that visited you. Go on, please and tell me about the Mestales."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Well..." He clucks his tongue. "The Mestales were what the Amatakoi sought to be, but at a factor of...." He lets out a long breath. "Put a number on it that isn't zero, and it applies. This group, all these intelligent men and women, they came out from under every foundation. And they all had the same stories. Stories that trickled together into a single conclusion: something existed under the surface. /Under/ the continent. Something physical."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna rubs her arms against the chills that crept up them. The waiter returns with menus which he lays in front of them and more tea. He refills their cups, saying, "We have everything on the menu this evening. I can recommend the lamb tagine this evening.

"So you have a group of intelligent practitioners that point to something beneath the surface of you world. What did you do?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Lamb!" Atrun-Rai looks up at the server, beaming bright. "Yes, please. Lots of lamb, please. I am a starving man." And with the tea refilled and the server departs, his pleasant demeanor sobers once more. His expression settles once more.

    "Well, what could we do? We struck our banners, moved in procession, and marched as one through translationary portal into the bowels of the Earth - where we, of course, went looking for a fight." He chuckles. "We're trained as soldiers, you know. The men, in all cities. The women if that city is suitably enlightened. Cities then, they had no armies. So. Imagine, if you will, a double row of armored, robed soldiers, long spears and shields and armor. Lamps hanging from the socket-collars of their spears. Can you see it in your mind? Mmm?" Another bite of cookiee. "Is it firmly in your mind?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The magician can hear the tread of feet on a stone path deep under the earth. She can imagine the trickles of sweat on the brave, competent soldiers as it wets the robes padding the armor from the heat underground. Shadows sway out of time with the marching feet as they bravely march on.

"Yes, I think, I see it. Go on."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Good," he says, and his voice...changes, now, takes on a hollow, cold cast as he continue. "Now, imagine what we walked into. What was supposed to be a small cavern was a void cut into the rock - smooth, polished. Licked clean of anything that was alive. And the angles..." A soft sigh escapes him as he reaches for his tea once more. "...I believe there's a literary device that explains such phenomenon as 'non-Euclidian'. I cannot begin to explain to you what that is like, save for it is at once highly confusing and terrifying as well. But they were there, ready for anyone. For us.

    "They were on us, all at once. Things that.." A grim smile. "Well. I don't have the words to describe them. Things from the Void, from Nullspace. And down in the pit, a physical tear, leading into that plane of existence. We had to fill it. We had to fight our way down and seal the rift."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Spine straight, hands on her thighs, her eyes closed, the magician transports herself to the cave. Zatanna sees the terror, the twists in time, the shifts in perception roiling with magic. "How? How could you?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He gives her another look, equal parts apologetic and grave. "Not easily," he replies with a shake of his head. "Half of us died almost as soon as we arrived, and while we fought our way down into the cavern, fighting our way along - hah, that was a scene you would have found exciting, perhaps. Like one of your cinemas, with the special effects." But this levity is cold as well, something tossed in to try and defuse the moment. It fails.

    "Well. The time came when they were winning, and we were all but dead. If the tear was allowed to stay open, you see, it would expand physically as well as in power. Lantalla would be a land of monsters, to say nothing of whatever else might happen before the rift would eventually be closed by others." His lips purse. "Well. I made a choice, and it killed me. But the rift was closed. Lantalla and the other Kingdoms persisted." A beat; his smile returns, this time sardonic. "You know. For a while longer."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
She had opened her eyes when she felt the pressure of his gaze and winced at half their numbers dying. The man's humor falls flat, deepening the crease between the wings of her black brows.

Her eyes close a moment as she tries to imagine what that choice had been, then flutter open with a question, "What choice, Atrun-Rai? Is it something that could help us to send Michael back to his father and free us from the tyranny of his "cleansing'?

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "No, no. Nothing like that." He downs his tea, puts the empty cup aside. Another grim smile. "I chose suicide, Zatanna. Like your young charge, Phoebe, there are ways of gathering into oneself so much holy light as to become a bonfire. Unlike with her, however, there is no self-containing. Like any other fire, the sacred flame burns one out entirely. I was consumed from the inside out."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
There is movement outside the curtain and the waiter pushes it open to ask them for their order. "Would you bring us lamb tagine and couscous for two, please along with a bottle of Excelcio, 2014."

When he has left, Zatanna looks at Atrun apologetically, "I hope you are still hungry after this."

She hesitates forming the next question, balking at the word suicide and his magical comparison using her young student, Phoebe. "Phoebe is someone that perhaps you can help me with." Nodding to herself, she launches into the next difficult question, "Was it a bargain? If others had known would they have worshipped you for sacrificing yourself for the world, do you think?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I rather think I took everyone else with me," he says, the smile taking on a more tired cast. "No witnesses to the act. And no, it wasn't a bargain." Now a laugh, just as tired. "They most certainly didn't want to go. I died screaming, and took them with me, and sealed the rift. And now, of course, I'm back, at the potential end of the world. Reality must be maintained." A glance at her. "The will can sometimes incarnate after a time, I'm told. Or it could have been a virtue of the light. Who can say?"

    He's quiet a moment, considering. "Young Phoebe," he says. "Yes. I am pleased to help with her. But I also need your permission to ask her for sometihng, concerning her. As her teacher."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Puzzled, she tilts her head and examines his face, "Well, what do you need from her?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Drop of her blood," he replies. "Well, a few. I'm going to transmute some materials I am collecting into orichalcum, which I assume you've heard of if you've the life of Atlyante in you. I'd need her to provide the fuel for the ritual, you see, in the form of her blood. The sacred fire it can produce."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
There are volumes consecrated to the subject of orichalcum - its fabrication, its uses, its meaning on different planes of existence. Zatanna's father and other magicians of his generation venerated it. Searched for it and even killed for it. Her beautiful mouth crumples into a pressed line, "Why not use your own blood? I don't like the connection it will have to her."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Because I can't focus that energy anymore," he replies, apology in his voice. "Burned out, I expect. Or comingled with the horrible energy I sealed away. Either way, she would be the easiest way to go about it. And we aren't big on time."

    Atrun-Rai pauses as the food is delivered and the wine is poured, letting her think on it in the moment.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"To forge a weapon to fight Michael?" she challenges as soon as the servers have gone. Unhappily shaking her head, "What will safeguard her if there is feedback through the weapon or it is destroyed?" She waits for his answer before touching the wine. The hot dishes are under heavy ceramic covers that will keep them warm.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "To forge a weapon to fight his angels," corrects Atrun-Rai, reaching for his glass of wine to sip from - pausing, peering at the shape of it. "I'm used to a different shape. As for resonance and contagion...it depends on the nature of her. If she's used just to light the flame, then it would be the fire, not the fuel, that does the work. The sacred flame alone."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The frown deepens, aging Zatanna ten years as she contemplates Phoebe's blood fueling the change. "It may be that her blood would only be the catalyst. But magic would identify it as the living element of the weapon and it could be traced back to her. Couldn't it?

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I don't think so," he replies with a shake of his head. "The magic is only to melt the metal, you see, to allow the materials to blend. But, of course, if it concerns you, I will look for another source of the sacred fire that I need. But it will be...difficult, I expect. As I say, I cannot generate such power anymore."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"But she can." Zatanna looks like the wine tastes like cork for a moment. "You've already talked to her, I take it?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I have not." He shakes his head. "You are her teacher. I'm sure that she would disagree, but I am...old-fashioned. I would never ask her for such a thing without your giving your leave. And if you refuse, I will understand. It will be something for me to find an alternative for, that is all."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
After a drinking most of her wine glass, she regards the Atlantean with a skeptical look and invites him,"Convince me, please. I appreciate that you are old-fashioned enough to ask her teacher first. For that, I will give you the benefit of the doubt. You may convince me."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Well." He considers. "We have a little over a week before Michael's advanced host comes to the city. I must secure sacred olive wood, transmute the orichalcum, work it into shape, then combine the wood and the metal to form the basic objects of the foci. Then, I must further enspell and refine the created objects, ward them, enchant them, and otherwise prepare them to conduct my magic. It will be...well." Atrun-Rai goes for his teacup again, giving her an apologetic wince. "Impossible to do if the fire cannot be found within the next few days."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna nods three times in succession, then sips her wine, "In other words, it is the end of the world and there is not time to quibble about the safety of my student in light of the number of deaths she could theoretically prevent from happening. I am trumped by the end of the world. You have my permission. May I be present when she gives you her blood?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "If there were other sources..." He frowns. "I could, perhaps, find a different source. Balefire. Or something else...but what would be created would /not/ be orichalcum. And I cannot guarantee it would even be usable."

    At her next question, he nods. "Oh," says Atrun-Rai whilst sipping at his tea, "Undeniably. You would be welcome at the transmutation. My laboratory is...elsewhere, however. Unfortunately, I could not invite you there. It is shut away from anyone but me, by dint of ancient ritual. Even I have no control over that."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"I want to be on hand when you ask her and when you take her blood. Thank you for being as careful as you have been and not taking umbrage at my suspicion. She is very important to me. Please let's eat."

With a napkin to protect her fingers, she removes the conical top of the tagine pot releasing a delectable odor of cinnamon and saffron. Shegestures for his plate, a serving spoon poised above the lumps of tender lamb, apricots and almonds.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Oh, certainly." He gives her a polite smile, not betraying any hint of upset if, indeed, there is any. The subject passes and he sees to his work, handing out the plate. "Please."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
She heaps succulent lamb and apricots next to a mound of fluffy couscous and passes the plate to him. Then, gazes at him as dispassionately as he looks at her. "Enjoy your meal." She takes another copious drink of wine.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He takes the food, smiling back at her. "Thank you," says Atrun-Rai, and is about to take a bite before he looks back up at her. "I have upset you," he observes. "I am sorry."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"I love her. I've never told her. Phoebe has lost most of the important people in her life already. I don't want her to suffer more than she has." She looks at her plate unable to start eating.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I don't want that, either." He's quiet a moment. "I will see what else I can do. If I cannot find an alternative, I will return to you about the matter. Perhaps...perhaps there is something else I can do."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Well, then. We agree on that. We should contact her this evening if we can and ask her permission. Don't you think?"Gesturing with her fork, "The faster the better."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    His brows lift. "Yes," Atrun-Rai says, his fork pausing on its way to his mouth. "If you are willing."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"I know that if she found out that I vetoed the fastest way of making a weapon, she would never forgive me. Besides, there is no time for you to search the ends of the earth for a substitute."