9367/Jonathan Sims: Criminal Mastermind

Jonathan Sims: Criminal Mastermind
Date of Scene:	30 December 2021
Location:	Saint Patrick's Cathedral
Synopsis:	Cael seeks out Caitlin, to try to explain just who the young Titan is working for. Neither of them convinces the other.
Cast of Characters:	Caitlin Fairchild, Cael Becker

---

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
There is a growing cloud of celebrity around Caitlin Fairchild, and it shares an epicenter with the eye of the storm forming over St. Patrick's Cathedral.

The presence of a celebrity, one of the original Titans, certainly adds credence to many of the doubters who insist the angelic sightings are merely weird phenomena. But more than that is the utter conviction with with Caitlin speaks, and her eerie precision in predicting the next burst of heavenly lights. Reports of visitations are increasing, not just in New York City but other boroughs and even entire cities. Some angelic, some infernal, but all definitely tweaking at the senses of the Wise. The Host is coming, and soon.

There is a little more activity than normal tonight. The church atrium is crowded and there are many vigilants and worshippers filling the pews even absent a sermon.

One of the transept altars is taken up by a woman kneeling in a single pew in front of a statue of the Virgin Mother. It seems some of the adherents are conspiring to give her some privacy, even posting up outside the transept to keep people from walking in there. In simple black ballet flats and a calf-length maxi dress of midnight blue, it is hard at a glance to guess at why some of the faithful feel a need to protect the sanctity of her private worship.

Cael Becker has posed:
    As Cael approaches the church - dressed in her usual leather jacket, with a high-necked grey sweater beneath it, and a pair of jeans and black boots - it's a little disconcerting for her how easily she's pointed towards the woman she seeks. Perhaps it shouldn't be a surprise to her, her target is a Titan, a literal celebrity and a member of this community, but given the number of people here? Yeah. It's a little unnerving, and implies just how heavily at the heart of things this woman may truly be.
    At Cael's side walks a large white dog, a great pyrenees puppy, his presence unquestioned thanks to the 'Service Dog In Training' vest he prominently wears - but the dog was certainly not present during her one brief encounter with Caitlin. Her blonde bob-cut hair, with bright rainbow hues dyed into the lower layers of her hair is unchanged, however - and rather distinct.
    As she steps up to the transept and is stopped by Caitlin's self-appointed honor guard, she brings herself to a halt, managing a friendly smile to the people standing in her way. She's not going to get anywhere by being confrontational here. "I just need a few minutes of her time," she offers, keeping her tone relaxed. "I have some information I'd like to share with her, is all. But I can wait a bit..."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin's hearing is apparently pretty acute. She turns her head when she hears Cael's voice, clearly recognizing it as familiar, and then looks over her shoulder at the woman. A few beats to put the face to a place, and Caitlin flashes a smile at her.

The redhead turns back to the altar, finishes a murmured prayer, and crosses herself before rising and turning back towards Cael. She does indeed look for all the world like a sunday school teacher-- though even in flats she's taller than almost everyone there, and with some obvious muscle that can only come from many years of disciplined exercise.

"It's okay, everyone," she tells the 'guards'. "I've got some time t-t-to ta--AACHOO!" She manages to twist her body around so the recoil of the sneeze doesn't stagger her, but it's almost gunshot loud and people flinch reflexively.

Caitlin grabs a box of Kleenex and blows her nose into it.

"Sorry. Ahhlergies," she sniffles at Cael from behind the thin cotton. "Need muh meds." An official Titan's Licensed Tote Bag nearby apparently belongs to her (bleached from many years of regular use) and she starts rooting around inside of it looking for something.

"You're, uh, you're with-- wi--" she manages to hold back the sneeze. "Dr. Sims. Right?" she says, speaking through the congestion.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "We're friends," Cael confirms simply, her gaze folllowing the woman as she moves towards her bag to retrieve her medication. The oversized puppy at Cael's feet has taken a seat beside her, leaning up against his owner, while his tongue lolls out in a friendly, cheerful expression.
    "Is there somewhere we can sit and talk for a bit?" Her gaze flicks over the rows, and rows of pews - wondering if the woman will insist on sitting there, in view of everyone. If so... she'll simply have to deal with that.
    Hell. It might be better if others overhear what she has to say - though she doubts many here will actually listen.

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Eyedrops, a nasal spray, and two pills are taken in short order. Caitlin washes it all down with a gulp of water and turns to face Cael. "Sorry about that," she says, sincerely. "No cure for allergies I guess. C'mon, there's a place we can talk over here," she offers, and beckons Cael over to one of the side altars. It's not exactly guaranteed privacy but there's at least less chance of an earnest conversation being accidentally overhead. Caitlin gestures an invite for Cael to sit and finds herself a spot on a stone bench, making sure to sit as close to one of the sturdy support legs as she can.

"Your dog's very cute," Caitlin tells Cael. "What's his name?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael follows Caitlin readily - settling onto a bench, while Bear sits in front of her, resting his head on her knee - his tail giving a few thumps against the floor. Cael rubs at his head and ears automatically, smiling first down at the pup, and then over to Caitlin. "His name's Bear. He's, uhh... He's a recent addition. To help me cope with some challenging memories, you see. The last month has been difficult."
    She takes a deep breath in, letting it out slowly before she asks, "You pray to Michael, yeah? At the Laughing Magician. And he - well, it... answered you. I heard the voice.
    "That's- is that how you ended up catching its attention? I've heard Michael's been talking to you."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
"I do, and I did," Caitlin says, addressing two questions at once. She hooks an ankle behind the other and tucks her dress in demurely around her knees. "I didn't know what else to do," she admits. "I don't have a lot of options for handling things I can't physically touch. Not unless I've got a lab and a fab shop, anyway," she amends. "But I did pray, and St. Michael came. And then he came to me in my dreams, too." Caitlin examines Cael's face carefully, trying to weigh what information the woman's trying to extract. "He told me that Heaven needed warriors and allies, and asked if I was a true servant of the Lord. I told him I was, and he asked me to serve when the Host arrives," she explains, and rests her interlaced hands on one thigh.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "//Saint// Michael?" Cael asks. ...aren't Saints and Angels different? There's a faint frown on her features as she runs into an area where she might not know as much as she ought to. That's no real surprise - she was no expert when it comes to the Christian faith. "Are Saint Michael and the Archangel Michael the same being to you?" she asks.
    "...and is that all he's told you? Because I-... my experience with him was significantly different." For all that she tries to keep her voice and her expression calm, subtle tension begins to stiffen her shoulders, and tighten her jaw, as her hands stroke over Bear's head, letting his leash drop the floor beside him. The pup lets out a quiet whine, thumping his tail a few more times, and scooting even closer to Cael so his nearly 100 pounds of bulk press against her legs.

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin smiles at Cael's question, but her expression falters at the signs of tension gripping Cael's features. The redhead glances down at her fingers for lack of a safer place to direct her gaze while Cael manages her sudden emotions.

"Saint is a title," Caitlin says, stalling. "It means 'one who speaks to God'. That applies to angels and humans."

She smiles again but it's a flashing, wan expression, and her focus settles on Cael once more. "Did Dr. Sims send you? He keeps telling people to come to church and ... dissuade me, I guess. I don't know why he expects it'll work."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "He doesn't know I'm here," Cael admits quietly. "I'm not sure if he'd- he might not think this is a good idea, honestly. But I felt- I..." She falls into silence, trying to find the right words, her hands still loving over the dog's head and ears. It was clear she needed Bear's presence, whatever was on her mind.
    "I think you should hear about my experience. I don't know that that'll change anything. I don't know that it'll help - but I knew I'd always wonder if I didn't come and try, so... I just hope you'll hear me out. Please."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin digs a kleenex out of her dress pocket (yes it has those) and carefully blows her nose again, and nods at Cael while she's managing her sinuses. It's balled up and tucked into her dress once more and she turns her shoulders so she's facing Cael but not bearing into her personal space.

"I think it's for the best that you don't tell Dr. Sims about this meeting," Caitlin murmurs in agreement. A hand moves in the air in a 'there you go' gesture. "But if you feel like you need to talk to someone, I... to be honest I'm not great at this therapy thing," she admits. "I've got a minor in psychology. Never got into the actual therapeutic side. You sure you don't wanna talk to Father Patrick? He's a swell guy and he's seen some crazy things," Caitlin offers.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I'm seeing a therapist, thanks," Cael replies, her tone suddenly flat and dry as Caitlin seems to completely misunderstand the purpose of her meeting. "And no - I want to talk to you. Because I'm hoping that- I don't know. That a first hand account of what's been happening can help you- can give you a more complete picture." She speaks slowly and carefully, picking her words with more precision than she's accustomed to. Everything about this conversation is uncomfortable for her.
    "I'm sure Jon told you about the Papal Killer? That we discovered it was the Archangel Michael, inhabiting a human body, and seeking to purify Manhattan of its sinners?" she asks - pausing only briefly for some indication from Caitlin before she continues.
    "Well. We were investigating one of the victims. This was before we knew who was behind it all, but we discovered that there was- you'll have to forgive me, I'm not really good at any of this supernatural stuff - there was this //angelic script// hidden at the murder scene. When it was revealed and translated, some of it said 'Perhaps one of you is fit to be judged by my hand.'" She takes a deep breath in, and lets it out slowly before she adds, "Michael meant me."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin would be a rotten poker player. Her lips thin into a line as Cael recounts the story of the Papal Killer-- it's apparently news to her, but the suggestion that Michael could be behind such a thing hits the brick wall of her preconceptions.

Still, she forces a conciliatory tone in her voice. "Look, I don't know about this angel stuff either," she reassures Cael. "I'm just following my instincts. It's ok. I won't get hung up on minor details if you don't," she offers, and makes an encoruaging gesture with one hand.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "'ppreciate that," Cael replies. Honestly - she's surprised Jon //hasn't// told this woman the whole truth. Did he think she wouldn't listen? That telling her would make things worse? ...was he right? Doubt plays across her features for a moment, as she looks down at Bear, but she's here now. She might as well continue. She //has// to.
    "Well. The truth is, I wasn't a good kid. I've hurt people. I used to steal a lot. I used to do illegal street racing - I'm sure you know how dangerous that can be to the public. ...and once I was an accessory to murder. I realized I needed to get out, so I testified against my 'friends.' They were arrested and convicted, and I was given the change to turn my life around.
    "I went to college. I got a degree in Security and Risk Analysis - and then went to work for the NYPD. And then the FBI. Now I'm with SHIELD. I've been working mostly in organized crime, trying to find kids in the same situation I was... Find the ones that want out. Get them the help they need, and hope to bust up the gangs they're in. It doesn't undo what I did, but... What else can I do? And fact is, I'm not an innocent person. I guess that's all that mattered."
    She drops her gaze to Bear, rubbing at head and scratching just behind his ears as she adds, "I was taken out of my bed. I went to sleep, safe in my own apartment - and I woke up in a wooden room, with no doors or windows - no exits or openings of any kind. Lit by little glowing bowls of light..."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin nods encouragingly. For whatever faults she might have, she is a careful and empathetic listener and there's diligent focus on her earnest features. Aside from a murmured word of encouragement or a nod she lets Cael tell her story at the pace the detective wants to set for it.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "The angel was there," Cael continues quietly. "We didn't know //which// angel is was yet. It was inside a human host, and its eyes glowed... molten gold. I couldn't escape - though I tried. It wanted me to submit to judgement, and be cleansed of my sins. It wanted to 'free me' of my burdens. ...it wanted to kill me." Her gaze is locked down on the dog now, and she seems genuinely incapable of looking up as she retells the memory. Retelling this would be impossible if not for Raphael - that much she was sure of.
    "Jon had been afraid that this would happen. He'd made me a little charm - something that would protect me from the compulsion we knew the angel used to force its victims to cooperate. And while I had the charm, it couldn't make me submit. But I also knew the charm wasn't meant to last forever against that sort of power so - since I couldn't escape, I knew I had to try to kill it, to stop it from killing me and others. It would mean killing the host, I was almost certain, but I didn't see another choice. So I picked up the chair it wanted me to sit in, and attacked it. ...I froze in place in mid-swing like I'd hit a brick wall. The chair in my hand just... ceased to exist. I was lifted into the air, powerless to move. I could barely breathe. He found the charm around my neck, tore it away from me... and detroyed it." She blinks away a few stray tears, then quickly wipes her hand across her cheeks, while Bear lets out a quiet whine, and hops up so his forepaws rest in Cael's lap as he tries to comfort her.
    After all, that was his job.

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin covers her mouth reflexively at the horror in Cael's story. It's a gruesome description and clearly the incident has burned deep scars in Cael's psyche. Caitlin regards the detective with the expression of someone who has a few of those wounds herself, the sort of trauma that only great amounts of time and love can ever really mend.

"How awful," she finally murmurs. "I'm so sorry you had to endure that. No one should be forced in that position. I can't imagine I'd have acted half as well as you did," she confesses.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Yeah, well... If I let myself die, my roommate would have had to free my spirit from being shackled, mute, to the cross where my burned corpse resided. And Jon would have had to take the statement of my final moments from my shackled shade. Not exactly something I wanted my friends to endure. Plus, you know... I didn't want to die - and certainly not like that." Cael looks up at Caitlin with a small, tight smile on her features, while her un-scarred hands never pause in the way they stroke the pup trying to comfort her.
    "...I wish that was the end of the story. But there's more." She takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly before she continues.
    "With the charm gone, I couldn't keep the angel out of my mind. And I- honestly, I'd never felt such peace. I wanted nothing more than to please this being. I felt loved. He asked me to sit, and we went over my crimes - one by one. I relived them. And while I still felt that love, and peace, and calm - I also felt deep regret, and pain at the damage I'd caused. And after each memory... My hands, and then my feet began to blister and burn. It was agony, and ecstacy, and I welcomed it. It was part of my penance.
    "After we'd reviewed my crimes, a cross appeared, and I knew my judgement. I would nail myself to the cross. My hands and feet would be removed. I would suffer a heart attack for every person I helped murder - and then I would die. And I- I welcomed it. I complied. I made sure to position the nails so that my hands and feet could be easily removed, while leaving me suspended on the cross. But just before the angel could nail my right arm down... my friends arrived."
    Cael takes another deep breath. Somehow, she manages to keep her gaze on Caitlin as she finishes the horrific tale. "At first - I was glad. I thought... It was right they should be there to witness what was happening, so they could finally understand - but they attacked the angel. The angel commanded me to help him so I- I removed the nails with my own, burned hands - and I attacked Jon. I managed to drive one of the nails through his shoulder and into the wall behind him just before the others bound the angel and his magic and- suddenly my mind was my own, and the strength he'd given me flet, and I could no longer feel the peace and serenity and purpose - just... just the agony of the wounds I'd been left with."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin observes a careful silence at the end of Cael's story of pain and suffering. There is no part of her that fails to express real empathy for the suffering the woman endured-- but the subtle shift of her hands and shoulders suggests a counterpoint is being built in Cait's head.

"I-- I want you to know that I believe you were hurt," Caitlin tells Cael. "Please don't take this as undermining your pain." A hand lifts and falls in apology.

"You're just... this story. None of it makes sense. An angel as a serial killer? And not just any angel, but THE Archangel Michael?" A hand waves vaguely at a stained glass portrayal of that very notable, slashing a monstrous serpent with his sword.

"There are so many inconsistencies. Dr. Sims-- Jon-- I mean that's either a bad guy or someone who's scarily inept," Caitlin suggests. "He was afraid enough to give you an 'angel proof' charm, which I'm not even sure is a thing. You meet a serial killer who is allegedly an angel who is also borrowing a human host, for some reason. Then the 'angel' tries to get you to kill Sims while you're also somehow in a ... euphoric trance? Oh oh, an--and then, he manges to get all of your friends to this angel's secret ... lair, or prison, and you come -this- close to killing Dr. Sims before you bind, o-or banish ... whatever it is."

Cait's red hair dances over her thick shoulders with a shake of her head. "What's the real story here?" she proposes, hands spreading. "What's the simplest explanation? Personally I think that the idea of St. Michael coming to Earth with the full Host of Heaven, ready to purge the world, is pretty farfetched. He doesn't have anything soft and friendly prepared, I'm not going to pretend he does, but..." She grimaces. "If we're just looking at 'probable explanations', you have to admit that it's a lot more likely that Dr. Sims is pulling a fast one on you-- on everyone-- with a lot of sleight-of-hand and fast-talking. If it was THE Archangel Michael, why would this Sims guy be able to stop or hinder him in any way? And if it wasn't... then why is Dr. Sims lying to you?" she posits, and throws the question in Cael's lap.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael sighs heavily. She didn't think this would work, but she'd hoped...
    "Jon is not lying," Cael answers with quietly - but with conviction. "I know what happened to me - and I know who's responsible for it. I don't know much about magic, but from what I've been told - the only reason the charm worked was because the angel was contained in a human host, which limited his power. And Jon had no idea //which// angel it was at the time. None of us thought it was an Archangel, let alone the Archangel Michael." She scratches at Bear's head as she adds, "The voice that answered, when you called on Michael? It was the same voice I'd heard just the day before. We tried to banish the angel from its host - to send it back to Heaven. It somehow... it failed. It freed Michael, and the voice he used to speak to us - that beautiful voice - when I heard it again... That's why I left. That's why- to hear the voice of my attacker again..."
    She shakes her head. "I was lucky my friends came in time. That they had a way to track my location. I was never going to kill Jon, though - that wasn't what I was commanded to do. I commanded to stop them, not kill them.
    "I know it all seems unbelieveable - but if Michael speaks to you again... ask him. Ask if I lied. Ask if what I said was untrue. Ask if he took me, and judged me. Ask him," she insists. "Please. I know it doesn't make sense - but I promise you, this is what happened. And I just- I wanted you to hear it from me. I hoped that maybe- I don't know. That my words might make a different. That my experience might- that some sort of good might come out of it, somehow."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin sits quietly for a few moments, looking at her fingers and curling them around one another in a betrayal of a nervous tic. She looks up at Cael, and once she's got her attention, sits upright again and exhales wearily.

"It's not that it's unbelivable," Caitlin says. "It's that it's improbable. It goes against thousands of years of tradition in the Abrahamic traditions. It portrays God's Right Hand as a psychotic. The leaps and the-- departures that it takes to believe this are straining credibility."

Her palms turn over in her lap, a supplicative gesture, and she looks at Cael head on. "And I'm sorry-- I really am-- but this doesn't change anything. If it wasn't St. Michael, then Dr. Sims is manipulating you. If it is St. Michael and I take your whole story at face value..." her lips thin into a resigned line. "Then I have to allow for the possibility that you may have been punished justly. You said yourself that you had a checkered past and some problems. Sometimes you didn't do the right thing. And you felt like you were at peace, that you were ... coming to some kind of realization, when Sims and the cavalry showed up and 'rescued' you."

"In the Book of Peter, the disciple says, 'And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you'." Caitlin crosses herself as if reciting a portion of a prayer.

"The word of the Lord." The murmur from behind Cael is quiet, respectful, but somehow burning with zealous adoration. And the more she stares at Caitlin, the more the redhead speaks, the more palpable the pressure between the redhead and her people is. Cael sits between Caitlin and her flock, and Cait's candid words resonate with the people behind Cael like a tuning fork touching steel. As retiring and soft-spoken as she is, when Caitlin speaks the universe itself seems to offer a distant 'hear hear!' to vouch for the truth of her words.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael watches Caitlin, and can feel a painful sense of despair tearing at her chest with each of the woman's words. "Jon is not lying. He's not manipulating anyone. As I said - Michael cannot lie. If you asked him... either he won't answer you, or he'll confirm my story. He cannot deny it."
    Tears streak quietly down her cheeks as she adds, "So I suppose you'll have to believe I deserved my fate. I need you to understand... I may have felt peace, but it was at the cost of my free will. Of my identity. That's what Michael intends for all of us - to remake reality with the 'mistake' of freewill marring his Father's creation. That's what you'll be fighting for."
    Cael rises to her feet, brushing at her cheeks again as she adds, "I've taken up enough of your time, though. Thank you for hearing me out. It was... good of you."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin rises when Cael does, and despite the disagreement in her voice she still offers Cael a squeezes of the fingers. Whatever her rationale is for Michael, it doesn't seem to have eroded a core value of honest sympathy.

"I want to help you, Cael," Caitlin assures her. "I don't know how, but I will try to figure something out. Please though, just..." a hand pats in the direction of the altar. "If you're gonna consider all angles, then at least consider this one. God is real, and He loves you and has a plan for you. It's not just about prayers and confessions. There's thousands of years of theology and ecumenical decisions that have built this church, this-- community of people."

"Do you really trust Sims enough to tear down this building on his say-so?" she asks. "If you don't trust him, then you can't let his version of events be how you go forward. And if you do trust him that completely, even over the whole Church and traditions an history-- don't you think that it's a little weird to have that much faith in someone you barely know?"

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael lets out a quiet laugh. "You have no idea how well I do or don't know Jon," she answers Caitlin, holding tightly to Bear's leash after the brief squeeze from Caitlin's fingers. "And believe me - I //know// that God is real. You act like Jon is the only source of information I'm drawing from. I have my own experiences. I have those of my friend Sara. Of- hell, of Stephen Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme. The Archangel Michael took me from my bed. He robbed me of my free will - and he forced me to participate in my own torture and murder. And you want me to worship the God that allows that to happen?"
    Cael shakes her head and entreats again, "Next time you hear the voice of Michael - that voice I heard in the Laughing Magician the day we freed him, AND the day you called on him - ask him. As him to explain it to you. Please, that's all I can ask of you."
    She glances towards the exit, then back to Caitlin as she says, "As I said - I should go. Neither of us seems likely to convince the other. Thank you again for your time."
    She waits for Caitlin's acknowledgement before she turns to stride away - keeping her steps even and measured. She is not running. She is not running away. She just... has to go.
    Once outside, she stop on the sidewalk, closing her eyes and taking a few shakey breathes before she finally lets out, "FUCK."