9366/A Dark And Friendly Guest

From Heroes Assemble MUSH
Revision as of 03:33, 2 January 2022 by Michael Erickson (talk | contribs) (Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2021/12/30 |Location=Shadowcrest Manor - Bristol Township |Synopsis=A brief visit to Zatanna to discuss things. Constantine is met, and Meggan is s...")
(diff) ← Older revision | Latest revision (diff) | Newer revision → (diff)
Jump to navigation Jump to search
A Dark And Friendly Guest
Date of Scene: 30 December 2021
Location: Shadowcrest Manor - Bristol Township
Synopsis: A brief visit to Zatanna to discuss things. Constantine is met, and Meggan is seen again. A grand day out.
Cast of Characters: Zatanna Zatara, Atrun Rai, John Constantine, Meggan Puceanu




Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Servants bustle about the already immaculate mansion. Dust covers float into the air like ghosts at a Halloween ball while the chefs in the kitchen make the hob sing as food bubbles in their magic cauldrons for the incoming members of the Justice League Dark.

Zee is sitting behind her desk, a family heirloom used by Da Vinci himself. Pen poised in hand, head in hand, raven hair shadowing the page, the magician goes down the long list of things the servants need doing in preparation.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Somewhere, out on the grounds, a tree begins to shudder as if struck by a solid wind - vibrating as if trying to draw itself out of the ground, the oak's bark sears, smokes with cold vapor as a simple black triangle begins to spread across its surface. The violence with which the tree sways is matched with the breadth of that triangle, which - blacker than night, standing out against the darkness of the evening - unfolds off the contours of the trunk into the air, hanging like a mirror.

    Atrun-Rai steps out of this sudden shard of ink, stepping onto the grass, which frosts and dies away upon his first footfall before he clears the portal. Behind him, reality seals, and the tree stops as if it had never moved before; dark eyes twinkling, the magus takes off across the grounds toward the enormous house, hands tucked behind his back. And as he reaches the front door of the grand mansion he knocks politely, waiting to be receieved.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
At her desk, Zatanna looks up, nose in the air, for all the world like a scent hound alerted to prey. Magic wafts on the air, tingling her senses as a tree quakes to life on the grounds of the mansion. Not a blade of grass stirs on the estate without its mistress knowing.

A servant speeds down from the library on her orders to intercept the man on their doorstep. In the house livery, a formal coat with tails, black knee-breeches and white silk stockings, a man of indeterminate age opens the door, "Mistress Zatanna asked me to take you to her in the library. Please follow me."

He opens the door to an entry hall of polished wooden floors of intricate marquetry, leading to a wide staircase with a curving banister that invites the eye upwards. The walls are lined with portraits of Zatara ancestors between them, rococo tables with tall vases of flowers exude their perfume.

The servant precedes him and opens the door to the library.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    So does he follow, that ancient man of Atlantis, dark eyes moving hither and yon as he walks the length of the house, the tables and their flowers, the faces immortalized in the portraits as he is conducted to the library. And then, wreathed still by the flowers' perfume and a faint tang of ozone, he enters.

    "Mistress Zatara," announces the sorceror then, bowing slightly and making his gesture of formality. "Atrun-Rai visits you."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna stands behind her desk, finger tips touching the leather blotter as he walks in. She gestures to the couch and chairs in front off to one side of the room. "Please. Can I order us some tea or something stronger? I'm so glad you could come."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "No," he says with a shake of his head, lifting a hand. "I thank you, but no. You are most generous. I simply wished to see your home - and, as it was the two of us, to apologize for the unpleasantness of the evening. I had no idea that speaking truth would cause such a stir."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The homo magi inclines her head, agreeing, and comes around the desk to join him. "It had to be done. I'm glad that it was. If it had been from me, it would have seemed self-serving. Nothing you said was untrue or meant to wound and I think it was accepted at face value. You and J'onn created a little revolution."

She measures him with a gaze wiser than her years, "I don't think that creating a stir is anything new for you." The sir is unspoken but weights the end of the sentence.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Ah, you would be surprised," says Atrun-Rai with a chuckle. "Jonathan is a good man, but he is unseasoned. I am pleased that he has the leadership of knowledge, but he has not enough control over himself for me to follow him in other ways." His brows arch. "But I have, in the meantime, apparently put myself in /your/ yoke, Mistress Zatara. How curious the vicissitudes of existence, eh?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
She seats herself, straight backed as a queen on the couch, one eyebrow raised quizzically, "Vicissitudes? Am I something to be bourn with then? And yoke might be too strong a word. I would prefer us to be on terms that will help us all survive what is to come. I am very interested in your opinion of Lydia's circle."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He laughs, a rich, warm sound, and shakes his head, standing before her as he speaks. "I mean no offense," replies Atrun-Rai, nodding along with his words. "I only tease you, Mistress Zatara, I promise. And as for Miss Dietrich's circle, it is a strong possibility, eh? Thus did I volunteer that which I had intended for my own tools."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Echoing the laugh, Zatanna shakes her head,"I start to mimic your English and sound like I'm from the 18th century to myself." She shakes out her hands with a grin. "No offense taken. When will you build what's needed. We are running out of time quickly. Did you see the reports of an asteroid headed for impact with the earth? A planet killer, too."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He gestures, chuckling. "Well, the asteroid, I thought, was the incarnation of the angelic threat? Wormwood, that sort of thing." A pause; he looks about the place once again, drinking it in. "We must speak with Miss Beacon and get her permission to use her blood. Once that is done, I can transmute the orichalcum and provide the League with the metal required to help inscribe their circles."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Yes," she sighs, her blue eyes fixed on him. "Not a damned thing mystical about it. We will find her as soon as we can. I'd like it to be today if possible."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "As would I," replies Atrun-Rai. "It is as it must be. Be at peace, Mistress Zatara. We will proceed to victory nonetheless."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
With an angry sniff, she challenges the Atlantean, "How dare you talk to me like a child? There is no certainty that we will come through this with the earth still in its proper orbit, much less humanity surviving. At the very least, New York will be devastated and a lot of lives lost. The thought of that...Phoebe has lost so much already. The circle builders will likely be among the first." Ruefully, "I'm ready to do that, I won't lie to myself."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Her reaction catches him by surprise. Atrun-Rai looks at her with heavy brows lifted, clearly not expecting the challenge she provides. "I speak from confidence," he replies. "Because I believe we will succeed. I intend to do what is necessary to succeed in this challenge, so this is my belief. I do not intend to insult you."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Mollified and embarrassed at the calmness of his reply, the magician looks down at her hands knotted tensely together and nods. "I'm sure that was not your intent. I wish that I had your confidence."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "We either succeed," he replies, "Or we will not remember that we did not. I have confidence. And our comrades are of great potency - as this is a challenge, it would not be made if it was not believed that we had a chance. Besides, it may well be that this challenge has succeeded before, eh? There may be history to it. We have more research to do, more preparation, but I believe we will save this universe."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"You understood that, too? When we were at the Gate? Not a fair challenge, mind you." Her eyes lid and she frowns derisively, "The odds are very much on the angels side. No, we certainly won't remember our defeat in life but may rue it forever in the afterlife if you believe in that."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He lifts a hand, then. "I beg you remember, Mistress," he reminds her. "Uriel said that more faith is had in our success than that of the Hosts. They know something that we do not, I expect. This only adds to my confidence - not certainty, mind you. I do not have the arrogance to assume that victory is absolute. But my confidence grows higher by the day as matters play out."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Her black eyebrows pinch together in disbelief. "I would very much appreciate it if you would help me see things as you do."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "We learn more and more," Atrun-Rai replies. "These angels are all very helpful, yes? As are the other divinities. They cannot /directly/ help us, but I very much doubt that anyone wants for this universe to end. So long as we are not fools - and do not die - we will succeed. I believe this. We will find the way."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"If we are not fools, is not reassuring. Already we've been fools. I was shocked," she underlines the words with a slicing gesture, "at whoever was fool enough to hurt Michael and ruin his wing. Not that it can't be cured by his very distant father. If they helped, there would be a war in heaven so they temporize, intelligently, and just give us hints. Is this a test of faith?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "We will do worse than that in the end." Atrun-Rai says it with a tight smile, grim but certan. "And perhaps. Or a test of worth. Or perhaps, the Presence has no other idea how to handle the situation and they must do what they can without Its notice. We shall discover the truth." He gestures to her. "With you, Magus Constantine and Doctor Sims to lead us, I am sure we will excel."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Magus Constantine," she snorts. "Dr. Strange more like, I don't know that John will be there, I think he doesn't believe after two failures that we will overcome them or reach a detente that saves the Universe."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Then that is his problem." No worries with our man from Atlantis, it would appear. "There are plenty of others, if he elects cowardice."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Atrun-Rai sits facing Zatanna on a couch in the house library, a large room lined with tall shelves of books. There is a lively fire burning behind them in the ornate fireplace.

At Atrun's last words, Zatanna's eyes flash, "He is no coward. Believe me. A realist perhaps?"

His words prompt Zatanna to reach out to the two whose power and acumen (at least in magical matter when it comes to John) she trusts implicitly. Her sapphire blue eyes close as she searches for those two minds. "Well," she observes, after reaching out to the two telepathically, "we will ask both he and Meggan. I won't speculate in their places."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Inaction, then, if not cowardice. It amounts to the same if he does nothing." Atrun-Rai is, well. Smiling. As he usually does. Pleasant, cassocked, hands folded in his lap. Direct from Atlantis and all, you know.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"I will not speak for either of them. Speculate to your hearts content. They are among the most powerful in the world and have their reasons. For my part, I wish to die next to them if it comes to that." With a wry tilt to her head and a shrug, "They may not share the sentiment."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "A romantic notion," says the Atlantean with a nod. "But I am rather certain that everyone else in creation would rather you meet your end in the field, fighting, if you must." His brows arch a tad. "Reality must be preserved. For the good of everyone."

John Constantine has posed:
"A hundred fuckin' miles," John can be heard loudly complaining as he shoulders open a linen closet and forces his way into the hall at Shadowcrest, "And the door's fuckin' jammed. Magic is shite. Bet this bollocks doesn't happen to Reed Richards."

A moment later, he calls out even louder: "Zee! We're here! Have you got your fishnets on? We're gonna - "

It's then that he rounds the corner and spots Atrun-Rai, realising only now that Zatanna has company.

"Who's this?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna's face is a picture of contradicting expressions. She blinks looking dismayed and rises, turning away from her guest and taking a step toward John with an exasperated look, that brooks no more foolery from him, as if that ever were sufficient to stop him.

Standing between the two, she holds a hand out to the seated man, saying, "May I introduce the mage, Atrun-Rai of Old Atlantis." She indicates the disheveled man,"This is John Constantine who we were just speaking of."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
In John's shadow is someone who doesn't care a whit that January means arctic blasts and snow squalls to Gotham, poised against the Atlantic as it is. Who else would bother with a midriff-baring shirt and slinky midi-skirt whiplaced all the way up the back, unless they were totally a slave to fashion or liberated from the cold? Any guesses to which applies to Meggan?

"Bristol isn't that far from civilisation. Ruddy Metropolis and getting anywhere, that's another story," she chides him lightly. Slipping out from the linen closet like it's the size of a runway, the elemental dusts her sandals against the ground and then casts a lush-lipped smile skirting just this side of a grin up to the house. A hand goes to the wall, and she allows a pulse of warmth announce herself to the place -- an empath saying hi in her own way. Shadowcrest might not know her after a fashion, so only fair.

Atrun-Rai and Zatanna don't seem to surprise her to be together, though she hovers off John's left shoulder in all her icicle-winter graces. Tilting her head slightly gives the greater starkness to her hoarfrost-swept eyes, only the vaguest impressions of humanity retained in rounded pupils that wouldn't generally be there at all at this hour. Winter is as winter does. "Ears were burning, aren't they?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    The magus and his faerie friend. Atrun-Rai rises as the newcomers arrive, brushing broad hands upon his not-quite-cassock and giving the two a slight bow of his head. "I am of course familiar with the name of John Constantine," the Atlantean says in his rich baritone, awash in the flickering glow of the flame that blazes in the hearth. "I am pleased to meet you, sir." Then, a nod to Meggan, whose frost-kissed figure he of course knows well. "And to see you again, Meggan. Hello."

    

John Constantine has posed:
"Ohhh," John answers, eyes still locked on Atrun-Rai as he strides up to Zatanna and plants a kiss on that nebulous place between the corner of her mouth and her cheek. He looks back towards Meggan for the moment, brow furrowing at nothing in particular, and then turns fully to face the mage.

"Old Atlantis? And what? Fate just spat you out here because you're needed? Can't say I'm complaining. I tried my hand at this Michael chap and I've got nothin'. Figure we were just gonna go duck away into Faerie until it blows over."

John returns the bow himself, although it's a little over-the-top and not a little piss-taking.

"That's me. The old family line doesn't run all the way back to Atlantis quite like Zee's here."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna accepts the kiss with a smile and a light hand to his shoulder. Then, she steps to Meggan to greet her with a kiss to both cheeks. "And so they should be burning since I invoked your names and wished for your presence. Thank you both for coming."

Zatanna indicates the love seat, large enough for two, facing the couch where the Atlantean magus sits. The fire replenishes itself with a gesture from her and leaps merrily in the Tudor fireplace.

The faintest uncertainty shows in her gaze as she regards Meggan and John, "Who cares about family lines at this juncture. We were discussing the asteroid approaching and the odds for us surviving - portents from angels and the circle that may be built to protect Manhattan and the world. Well, more than the world, I think. More importantly, how I wished you both to be at my side."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Summonings of the mundane sort usually involve a text message. A reversed word or the proper incantations are probably enough to bring the likes of John Constantine like a bad penny and Meggan like morning-glory. Careful what you wish for, Zee. The tilt of the cheek to a greeting is returned doubly, air-kisses a European thing she's not without.

"I am adopted," she remarks, "so good thing it's no criteria for the meeting or I would get tossed out on my ear." Her seaglass eyes, deprived of a steady hue, veer between reflections of grey and green and blue, all underscored by the ocean's cold winter clarity. Where they arrange themselves, she will be the last to settle, a feather coming to land on the precipice of John's side. In his lap if he's not careful for she cares to perch as she pleases. One must learn something of Victor von Doom once in a while.

"Circle 'round Manhattan wouldn't be that much energy. Round the world, that's a lot more. Supposedly Mum's been saying we should handle this ourselves instead of bothering the other gods or the like."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    John's piss-taking registers nary a flicker on the Atlantean's face. "Something like that," he says instead, nodding to the man as he mentions fleeing. "And certainly, you have that option."

    Then, to Meggan: "It is our errand to fulfill in the end, yes. But that does not mean we cannot ask them for information. The only rules of the game are not to lose."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Persephone has not left me a portent or a word since we returned from Heaven." Her blue eyes light on the Atlantean with a question then back to Meggan, "I suppose that doesn't mean I can't ask what she thinks. I didn't offer you anything to drink or eat. Please tell me what you'd like."

John Constantine has posed:
"Man after my own heart," John says with a broad grin, leaning back on the loveseat to let Meggan practically sprawl over him and then scooching over to one side to pat the cushion and glance up at Zee.

"Fuck pissin' around with honour and the Magician's Code and all that bollocks. String Michael up by his balls and then pop 'em out with a pairin' knife. Pop pop."

"I'm all for castratin' this fuckin' holier-than-thou cunt, if you've got ideas, Mr. Atlantis."

"Scotch, please, Zee, luv."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Oh ho ho, hospitality. Meggan replies, "Anything that will not trouble you." Debts are a finicky thing when that farflung into the seasonal aspects of her more dominant nature, the shift of her blood suppressing the silent mutation wound through the blank slate genetic code.

Her arm loops around John's neck and the fit there is as comfortable as a beloved pair of jeans. "What, you have a code? News to me."

Her empty eyes gleam, shifting pale.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I'm still working on it." A flicker of a smile; Atrun-Rai looks between the three for just a moment, and gets to his feet once more. "I am convinced that, regardless of his bluster, the Hosts and the Highest are simply a mechanism for some other challenge - visiting the Silver City not long ago, the Archangel Uriel affirmed this. The Presence, the prime mover, leveraging some kind of contest. We know that, as per Uriel, that there is more faith in our success than that of the Host." A shrug rolls through his bearlike shoulders, then. "The rules are not yet clearly known. I continue to penetrate the mystery."

    That said, the Atlantean looks between the three once more. "I must take my leave. A thought strikes me, now, and I must pursue it. Enjoy your evening, won't you?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The house has its ways. Within minutes, a liveried servant knocks discreetly and comes into the library with a silver tray, a bottle of Bruichladdich, a carafe of water, and glasses for them all. He sets it on table near the love seat. Zatanna stands to pour several fat fingers for John, and a hefty amount for Meggan then for herself. She knows it is more for the taste for our lady of the Faerie.

"Make room, will you?" She waits for them to make her a cozy seat to John's other side.

"Well, I'm not for your method, John. But if some version of that is what we have to do, we will do what we must. If Meggan and John are by my side with you, it will give me hope."

John Constantine has posed:
"Don't let us keep you, Ray," John tells the Atlantean magician with that shit-eating grin he's so well-known for, "You penetrate that mystery, guv. Like I said, we're off on holiday. But if you've got any plans, feel free to hit us all up. We're all well in the Anti-Michael camp, bloody universal beat cop that he is."

John obediently shifts to let Zee sit on his other side, taking the offered scotch and enjoying a taste of it.

"Luv-er-ly."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Silence is the measure of wisdom.

Either's missing when it comes to Meggan. She takes a try at it, though, accepting a glass from the servant without much comment except to say, "Looks lovely." Thanks is a dangerous game, one sidestepped for reasons or another. Same for Zatanna.

She doesn't drink immediately, possibly winnowing the various components of the Bruichladdich around to better smell them than sip them. Certainly no reason for a small whirlpool to form in the glass, but it does.

The better for the others to talk, then.