9371/Old and New II:Shadowcrest Boogaloo

Old and New II:Shadowcrest Boogaloo
Date of Scene:	30 December 2021
Location:	Shadowcrest Manor - Bristol Township
Synopsis:	Starting out in Shadowcrest Manor and moving to the House of Mystery, what started with a talk of inscription and circles, with a side-trip regarding using Silk Cut cigarettes as 'protection incense' and discussing the Jar of Hearts spell that definitely should not be running for weeks on end, a trio of magus bear witness to Atrun-Rai's construction of the orichalcum for Lydia's workings. For the sacrifice of her blood to start the crucible to create the metal, Phoebe has earned a coin of the mysterious, super-conductive metal. Meggan serves as doorman and colorful protector of the House of Mystery's temporary guests.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Atrun Rai, Zatanna Zatara, Meggan Puceanu
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

---

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    It's a light snow in Gotham City. Maybe an inch of frosty white that has flitted over the grounds of Shadowcrest Manor, where Phoebe had been using the library for research, but at the moment was outside, taking in the cold air. She had a hood up over her head, gray wool jacket over her form. Her boots are planted against the branch of a tree as she examines a circle that she's stomped into place on the ground from above, perched like a little gray dove that magicians are so fond of pulling from their sleeves.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Somewhere, in an empty hall within the manor, a section of wall begins to vibrate - a sudden, it subtle, buzz of power. Reality gives way like plastic wrap against a hot wire, and stepping through the ink-black triangle that forms in the substance of reality is Atrun-Rai. Just as quickly as it is teased open, the wound in the world is sealed once more...and the sorceror goes to find staff to inquire if any other guests might be on station.

    Which is where he finds Phoebe.

    Opening a window by the tree upon which Phoebe roosts, the dark-haired man looks out - and up - at the younger practitioner. "Hello, Phoebe Beacon," he calls up to her, pleasant as always, his rich voice booming through the cold air. "What are you doing up there, like a mourning dove?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Just Phoebe." Phoebe calls back to Atrun-Rai as he calls through the window. She turns over her shoulder and looks at Atrun-Rai with a slight smile, and shrugs her shoulder.

    "Had a thought. Looking to see if it feels right. I'll stomp it out in a moment." she replies back. "See, I got trained at first by this particular magician, who ended up not being himself. He had a penchant for fire. Said he liked the cleansing aspect -- the fact that he was a chain-smoker not withstanding. The real one is too, I mean." Phoebe states, and she stands from where she was crouching, slowly bringing herself up from where she was sitting.

    "I didn't wake you up, did I?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I see," he calls in reply. "Ah! How is your itching?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... you know... it took me weeks to talk to anyone about that." Phoebe remarks quietly, and she carefully turns on her branch and crouches back down, regarding Atrun-Rai with a curious look.

    "It's usually when I experience a stronger emotion attached to a memory that's been separated that it itches."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I am not mocking you," he replies, brows lifted. "I am concerned." He looks up at the roof. "And you are inscribing! May I ask why?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Do... you mean the circle below me or are you asking about the spellwork for the--" Phoebe asks, and she motions about her heart.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I mean the circle." He cants his head, then, one brow lifting a bit more than the other. "What spellwork are you referring to, sister? Are you unwell?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Amplification circle. I had a thought about something." and she then pulls her jacket down, and she sits on the branch, her legs dangling down.

    "In a way?" she wrinkles her nose.

    "Over the summer, my cousin tried to capture, or eliminate, me as competition. I was mentored and then adopted by someone, who ended up not being what he said he was. And when I met the real deal -- well -- it hurt. So I did spellwork to make sure it didn't hurt enough to interfere with what needed to be done when I lost my temper with Lydia and Zatanna one night." Phoebe explains. "I mean, how many seventeen-year-olds stand up to a bunch of magicians and vampires and demigods of knowledge in the bar of a powerful voudon and say 'no, u?'" she questions with a small shrug.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He laughs at that. "A brave one," he poinouts. "I think that I might have observed that about you already, yes?" Amusement lines his face, now. "Magic requires a will. We are all...strong personalities, I believe the term goes." His smile warms, softens. "Come inside, sister. It is cold. Let us have warm wine together."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Or exedingly dumb. Pretty sure I know which most people think I am." Phoebe replies with another wrinkle of her nose, and she turns back to the circle.

    "I'm not old enough to drink wine." Phoebe answers, and then she draws her right hand up, looking over her shoulder. It was a simple fire invocation -- but it was enough to melt the snow around the circle she had tromped into it, rendering it inert.

    And to that, she leaps to the window, perching there a moment, her hood still up as she draws her eyebrows up.

    "Can't get in unless I go through you." she jokes.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I am not an American," he says with a snort and a wink - stepping back from the window into the hall. "I do not worry about the laws here. So! Wine. It is Atlayentean tradition to drink with friends. And our wine was not meant specifically to get drunk upon, mmm?" He says nothing about what others might think, of course.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe pauses, and she looks down, and she removes her boots, so as to not trail dirt and snow through Shadowcrest.

    "Neither is Chas, but he'd still frown on it." she points out, and then she pulls her hood back, looking at Atrun-Rai with her dark eyes, their warm, rich brown looking him up and down.

    "And Zatanna will already be on me for the cigarette. She won't forget it."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "As you wish." He reaches into his robes and draws from it a broad, shallow dish of a cup, elegant, fired clay, more like a bowl with a stem; from it, he sips a heated mixture, dark red. A pause, and he reaches in for another which he holds out to her - still warm, but it smells...well, it's not wine. Pomegranates, perhaps.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Pomegranates. Food of the dead. Appropriate, with her previous fascination with Persephone, and Zatanna's connection to her. She accepts the bowl, setting her boots down, and gives a little toast to her 'host'.

    "Thank you." she comments quietly, and sips the warm, red liquid.

    "So... ah... how are you finding things around here? It took me a couple of days to orient myself in Shadowcrest."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Pomegranates, yes. And other spices - cinnamon, or something like it. Cloves. Not a hint of alcohol, however. A toast to her, and he sips again, smiling. "I have indeed found things to be...different, but I knew it would be so." A chuckle. "Though I seem to have caused a stir last night. Amazing."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I'm glad you said something," Phoebe admits. "I was pretty sure that most everyone in the room hated me at one time or another, and... I... it's *hard* when you know you're so young compared to everyone else in the room to point out stuff without sounding like you're full of it." Phoebe gives a small shrug, and holding her cup with one hand, she reaches over to scratch at her chest -- and then pushes her own hand to scratch at her shoulder instead. Mulled pomegranate juice. Amazing indeed.

    "Jon is a really decent person, but he's... he's newer to this than even I am. We both have the hereditary magic thing going on. Lydia..."

    Phoebe's expression darkens a moment.

    "... maybe I'm just paranoid."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Atrun-Rai gestures down the hall for them to proceed - and then to the window, which with a murmured word from him slides shut behind them. "Jon is as I said," he replies. "A librarian. For now. Understand, I have no doubt that he will be tested, and forged into a leader worthy of sole command - but that is not now. I did not speak against him because I do not think he will /ever/ be worthy, eh?"

    "And as for the rest..." He starts off down the corridor. "I was a student too, you know. And among far taller heads than most of those, I might add - though in those days, magic was common to all." A chuckle, then. "As for Miss Dietrich, we will keep a weather eye upon her. She has a good idea in this...but we will, indeed, ensure that she is watched." And by 'we', he most likely refers to himself.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Librarians are nuts, Atrun-Rai. There are no rules except for theirs in a library. Jon's not a Librarian. He's... supposed to be a head-doctor. Someone who teaches you how to contend with your depression and deal with stuff that happened to you. /I/ don't think he'll be ready for sole command, not of such a group like we have. He's bright and he has all the information of the Archivists behind him and can pull from it at a minute's notice."

    She breathes out a moment.

    "Lydia lost control of herself and attacked me on an outing. That was the reason why I didn't feel comfortable with her as a second. And Sara's a police officer. Iwas... going to suggest myself. Actually. But Jon knew about the thing with my heart, my ka, and pretty sure he would have used it as reason that I couldn't be trusted. Zee knew some of it, but not the whole thing."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "So." He glances at her. "She will be watched, doubly so. And as for the rest...I am not familiar with this system of things. The ka. Tell me of it." On down the corridor he goes. Long halls, in a big house like this. Good lord.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    It's bigger on the inside. Phoebe had to try SO HARD not to start making Doctor Who jokes the first time she came through a different house like that.

    "So, I'm not Atlantean. At least I don't think I am?" Phoebe replies, and she gives a wince.

    "The 'ka' is one of the three parts of a soul, with ba and akh. The akh is a part of the soul that can shift its shape, the ba is set to look like a bird, and the ka is the part that survives Death. My ka is bound up, I think it is, anyway, with this... shard. It's how I can heal without making any incantations or circles, I just do it. Matter of fact, if I didn't have a *tattoo* stopping it, you'd probably feel the healing aura around me because it's... too much for a body to handle? I think? I'm not sure." she frowns.

    "... everyone who could tell me is either dead or a primordial god."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "The sun in your soul," he muses. "And the tattoo is...chafing, so to speak? Is that it?" He looks at the young woman's chest, considering. "I might be able to make a study of it. I will speak with your teacher - and yes, I know, you are your own woman, your own stakes, your own life. But. Professional respect is something important, and in our world, a death in her circle of a student, even at their own hands, is bad for her as much as it would be yourself."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... I don't think it's the sun." Phoebe frowns. "I think it's... Light. Michael was able to see it in me. It's a lesser form of what he has -- and it's not there." she comments, catching the look to her chest.

    She pulls up her left sleeve, and she shows a leather strap that is wound around her wrist.

    "My first mentor tattooed me to hide me, I... looked up to him a lot. He was the first person I felt safe with in a long time."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He smiles faintly. "As a teacher should do," replies Atrun-Rai, looking ahead again with a nod of satisfaction. "And it is what we call it. The Sun of the soul. Positive, negative. Energetic duality." He chuckles. "I can no longer channel positive energy; my Sun has gone out. I burned it out when I died. So you can see why I would be, naturally, careful about investigating your own light. Why it would be important for a third party to be present."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Understandably so. Zee would probably get pi-- be really upset if anything were to happen to me." Phoebe corrects her language to be more respectful, and gives a huff out.

    "So, if someone uses Light energy near you, does it hurt or bother you?" she inquires to the elder mage, looking up to him with curiosity and pausing.

    Since she's removed her boots, her socks are plain to see. They are covered with happy little steggosaurs.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Not that I'm aware of," he replies with a shrug. "But I wouldn't attempt it. And of course, healing is out the window." A smirk lines his lips. "Usually the first question is 'how did you die'?"

    Stegos! He quirks a brow as he looks down in progress, catches her socks. Smiles. Always smiling, that one.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I figured it was rude to ask. And no one asks me how I was born. Why would I ask how someone died? They'll share if they want to." Phoebe points out. And she catches the look down and wiggles her toes a moment.

    "... I've... got a thing for funny socks. Kinda like how someone can be serious all the time on the outside, but be different when they're alone."

    ... "And they're comfy ay-eff."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I like them," he points out. "And I was consumed by creatures of the void while turning myself into a font of positive energy to seal a permanent gate between our reality and Null Space." A wink. "It was very painful."

    Back to sipping wine.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Sounds like it." Phoebe replies. "... I had to use myself as a conduit to construct a massive circle in a village with the help of my dead mother, who previously held the Shard. It. Suuuuuuuuuuucked." Phoebe replies, and she wrinkles her nose a moment.

    "Probably not as much as being consumed by creatures of the void."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He chuckles. "I don't recommend it," Atrun-Rai agrees with a nod. "But it sounds as if you've been through a great deal already, mmm? Most respectable." A beat. "You can see why, of course, I cannot use the spells to construct a realm for us to meet in. It would be entropic by nature. People would be uncomfortable." Yes. And none of the angles would be right. Ever.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Not to mention the tendency for entropy to kinda breaks down everything and everyone around it." she frowns, and she breathes out as she rubs the back of her neck, juggling juice, boots, and tics as she goes. "But you can tell me how to do it, right? To construct a sanctum?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Oh," he says, looking her over, "Sanctums are not usually for a solo practitioner. Even in my day. But we can see, certainly." He stops a moment, drinking one last swallow of the cooling wine before murmuring a word and banishing it in a soft stream of vapor. "But we can certainly teach you, assuming your teacher allows."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I know... but I have... I have something that needs to be protected. I can't bury it because I need to be able to access it, and I'm kinda the only one who can use it." she explains, and Phoebe's nose wrinikles again. She's trying to think of a good way to explain without having to explain what 'it' is, and she finishes her mulled juice, looking over the cup thoughtfully.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "There are ways to do it," he replies with a nod. "But you'll still need a partner, at the very least." He gives her a look. "One whose energies are reasonably compatible with your own. Zatanna could help you, perhaps."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Do they have to be magic-inclined?" Phoebe asks in curiosity. She's got a short list of people she trusted with even knowledge of such a place.

    "So, are you going to be staying if these angels and reality thing get resolved, Atrun-Rai, or will you be returning to... sleep?" she asks, eyebrows rising up as she tries to decide the best way to inquire.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "They do," he replies with a nod. "Practitioners are required, unless you want to perform blood sacrifice to fuel the effect." Atrun-Rai gives her a mock-dour look. "I am not going to teach you to do that." Then he winks, chuckles, and goes back to walking.

    "It depends on if I survive," he says. "If so, then yes. Reality must be preserved, after all. That's why I'm here."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I already know how to do that." Phoebe counters quietly. "Blood sacrifice, I mean. 'Cause I heal so quickly it's easier than like, hair, or other... items." she winces, wrinkling her nose as they walk.

    "Well, I didn't know if you'd leave afterwards."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I mean /all/ of the blood," the Atlantean points out. "Human sacrifice. I'm not teaching you that."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The faint shuffle of feet might be heard through the thick doors, a procession of them, ending in the doorknob turning and a servant standing back to let Zatanna enter. Serendipity or coincidence maybe? Zee lived with synchronicity long enough to be suspicious of the results. The word blood reverberates in her ears in the Atlantean's baritone sonority.

Zee, dressed for the real world, off-stage, all in black with a vibrant blue blouse under her jacket, enters, gaze moving between Phoebe and the Atlantean wizard. "That sounds dire," she observes dryly.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... you wouldn't have to tea--" Pheobe begins, and she looks up at the door opening -- she'll never get used to servants, and the last magical house she was in didn't have servants. And Alfred wasn't a servant. He was a Force of Nature.

    "Afternoon Zee." the girl replies, giving a wave. She's wearing a brown skirt, cleam blouse beneath a gray jacket. She's carrying her boots in her hands, and is quietly giving a bowl/cup over to Atrun-Rai.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    The words are waved aside as Atrun-Rai takes the cup from her and gestures it away in a puff of pale vapor. "Mistress Zatara," he offers to Zatanna as she arrives, smiling broadly at the woman's arrival. "Hello. I have come to visit, once more."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"So I see," she replies, eyes twinkling, returning his smile albeit with more reserve. "Excellent timing."

Nodding to Phoebe, "We have a lot to learn from you and to discuss. Do you both have the time and the inclination?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe briefly has a look og guilt flash over her face, and she rubs the back of her neck a moment, giving a sidelong look, and then looking to the two older mages. She takes a deep breath.

    "Well, if there is time, and inclination, I'm down for learning and discussion. I don't have any plans until much later tonight."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Atrun-Rai smiles, and inclines his head. "As you desire, Mistress Zatara," he says. "Please. Lead on."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Phoebe's little tell makes Zatanna lose her train of thought. "What Phoebe?" With an apologetic glance at Atrun-Rai, "Excuse me a moment."

A pair of sapphire blue eyes bore into the young magician. Gentler than her look she asks, "Should we discuss the jar now? Or the cigarettes? Or both? Before we go on to sanctums and blood."

While she waits for Phoebe's reply. "That is a lovely cup, Atrun-Rai. Did you being it?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I did not," he replies with a shake of his head. "Just a case of light conjuration. You recall, my father was a wine merchant. I remember the shape well."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    ". . . uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhh...." Phoebe begins, and she has that same frozen look that a cow might have at the sight of an oncomining train without a cowcatcher. She works her mouth a moment. She looks terrified, because Zee is not only someone she cares about and respects, but she's also terrifying when angry.

    "... the cigarettes were John's. *My* John's." she finally admits, and she rubs the back of her head "... I was split between them being a good luck charm and weird protective insence... aaand it kinda worked as a conversation starter?" she winces visibly.

    And then she scratches at her chest. The Jar of Hearts spell.

    "What do you want to know about the Jar of hearts?" she asks, haltingly.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"When you will dispose of it or give it to me to dispose of - to be plain about it." Her expression softens somewhat, "It will rebound on you, dear. And we need you functioning fully with heart and soul. Because...we /do/ need you." She glances at Atrun-Rai again but makes no apology.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "We all encounter pain." The friendly, cheerful demeanor fades; his voice is not cold, but stern. Warm, but stern. "More than anything else - but we need not let it define us totally. You do yourself, your power, and your friends a great disservice by using such a spell to hide from your trauma. It must be faced, defeated."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe feels suddenly cornered, and she gets defensive. She tries to keep her face neutral and keep calm, but there is a mix of emotions tinting her voice.

    "That's easy for you to say. That's the fourth parent I've lost. The only time I've ever had an adult, a parent and mentor to myself... and he ends up being a demon-infested puppet made of necromancy and spare parts." Phoebe states, and she reaches up --not to scratch her chest, but touch something beneath her shirt on a silver chain. "And I'm not hiding from the trauma. I recognize that it's /there/, I know it has to be dealt with eventually, or y'know, it might give me an aneurysm or make me explode, but I'm using it because I have to be able to think through things." Phoebe points out, "and it's /working/." she states, and gives a little petulant sound.

    "Tim's given me a date it has to be ended by." she looks down at the Shadowcrest carpet, and rubs at her left wrist, over the leather strap covering the tattooed on runic circle. "Whether I'm ready for it or not."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"I am sorry to bring this up in front of someone that is new to us. Really. Your mental well-being is paramount." Zatanna lowers her gaze, mouth pressed into a tight unhappy line. "It's...we need everyone's energy to be whole. Sometimes that surge of grief or fear will take us further with our magic."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Easy for me to say," Atun-Rai says lightly. "I do not mean to minimize your pain, Phoebe Beacon, truly. I am sorry. And as for the rest, perhaps we can resolve it. It is always possble." He looks back to Zatanna. "Well. If you will please direct us?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "It's... it's all right, Zee." Phoebe begins, and she takes a deep breath. "I brought it up at the meeting last night, and Atrun-Rai picked up on the scratching pretty quickly." Phoebe admits. "But they can't just be destroyed. Well," she winces, and waves a hand "they /can/, but not just all at once. Each heart is inscribed with a memory and the emotions attached to it. I retain the memory, the emotions are contained in the work on the tin heart and bound with fire and twine. So, if the heart is destroyed, so is the memory -- and possibly every memory after it. I could wake up thinking it's early July. Or I could not wake up at all. Each one is going to have to be undone one by one so that it doesn't destroy everything afterwards."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna pinches her bottom lip in thought, occasionally throwing glances at Phoebe. "How full is that jar? I have an idea." She holds up a finger. "An uncomfortable idea, bear with me. Not a fun one. We seem pressed for time, is that how you both are feeling? What if we go someplace that is out of time, where you or we could work through the jar. I say we so that you know you will be held and supported as much or as little as you need."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Time is not an issue," says the Atlantean with a shake of his head, smiling faintly. "We must address the issue that we have spoken of, Mistress Zatara." Atrun-Rai looks between Zatanna and Phoebe and back again. "The metal must be made."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Time to process is my issue, but it's.. it'll be fine... it's half full --" a two gallon pickle jug half full of compressed emotions. That can't be healthy -- but the suggestion of going to a place out of time makes Phoebe look a little down as she bites the inside of her cheek.

    "There's only one place I know of that's outside of time like that." Phoebe reaches to rub at her left shoulder, where below the fabric the scarring of her skin catches against her shirt.

    "... what issue needs to be addressed?" she questions, looking to Zee and Atrun-Rai in mixed curiousity.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Nodding gravely at Atrun, "The metal must be made. And Phoebe, in my eyes, needs to heal to be her true self. One does not preclude the other if we work in a timeless place. But it is Phoebe's decision regarding the jar. I'm ready to do both in its time."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "A timeless place," Atrun-Rai repeats. "Very well. Please, direct us." A gesture and a muttered stream of words, and into his hands a large bag of black leather manifests - he shoulders it by its strap, and looks between the two. "Take us, sister. We will speak when we get there, Phoebe Beacon."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
     Phoebe looks at Zatanna "... we're not, are we?" she ventures "We're not going /there/?" she breathes out, though the front room with its dramatic fainting couch, her room with the pink-and-black damask..

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    It was a quick trip; there was an entry to The House of Mystery in Gotham (and Phoebe knew its location), and once the grouping crossed the threshhold into the House of Mystery, for a moment her shoulders relaxed. She looked around its parlor, the familiarity of the room not lost on her. She had been unceremoniously dumped on its floor, helped carry people back here, and been tenderly transferred to a room that now hides its pink-and-black damask along the myriad maze-like hallways of rooms where nightmares dwell.

    Now, she steps in with Zatanna and Atrun-Rai with her, carrying a leather backpack.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna whisks in on Phoebe's heels. Silently, her eyes sweep the room, trying to imagine what this homecoming will be like for Phoebe. A step places her shoulder to shoulder with the young magician, with a sideways glance at her, "Being here, how many strips will disappear from the Jar, do you think?"

With a lift of her chin to the man out of time, she asks briskly, "What conditions do we need to work?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Entering with the other two women, Atrun-Rai's cassock licks about his ankles like a living thing; he carries a large bag of black leather, its strap hanging from one shoulder. "We need only a table," he informs Zatanna, nodding to the dark-haired woman so often in the 'sexy tuxedo'. "Like a dinner or a kitchen table. But if need be, a solid floor will work." A beat. "Nothing flammable."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
The House of Mystery happens to also be the studying pad for a dream-lit creature. Or rather, she floats midair and thumbs through a textbook many times reviewed, different highlighters faded to washed-out yellows and resurgent again with orange, blue, and green. Successive plastered attempts at notes fill up the stiff pages, no longer supple and crisp as they would be fresh on the shelf. Meggan is barefoot, propped up tablet on her knee and a pile of notes assembled slowly. She is a university student, after all, and has coursework to catch up on.

People entering the House isn't lost on her. The place has a spirit of its own, one she is at pains not to bother, explaining why one corner is so much neater than John's usual detritus of study materials.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe looks over the front parlor. The House of Mystery is strangely feeling more homey than Shadowcrest, than Wayne Manor, or even The Roost. She gives a thick swallow of her throat, and gives a small nod. "I should be able to take some time to work through it..." she ventures, and she takes a couple steps inward before spotting Meggan in study. The dusky-skinned teen looks back to Zatanna, to Atrun-Rai, and tilts her head, looking into the room where Meggan dwells.

    "Ah... evening Meggan. We needed some place where Time was differently flowing to resolve some teen angst and make materials." she hesitantly mentions "There's going to be a lot of strong emotions for the former part... just as ahead's up."

    And she steps a little further, reaching for a door that has a handle right in the middle, and she whispers "Work station, give me a work station you wonderful house." she whispers and opens to the right --

    A Broom Closet.

    Phoebe straightens her expression, closes the door, and opens to the left, behind which there was a rather sterile looking room with a metal table. Probably not flamable.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Ah, yes. Magical house, anchored out of time, and they decide to work in...a broom closet. Which looks like it might be used by a serial killer. "You take me such strange places, my friends," Atrun-Rai murmurs to himself as he peers into the closet, then pauses before entering to look to see where Meggan resides all airy and also faerie. "Mistress, good evening."

    A look then to Zatanna and hoebe, brows lifted. "Well. Lead on, this should do just fine."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna looms behind Phoebe with a smile for Gaea's daughter who understood the beating heart of the mystery that wasn't a mystery. "Thank you for allowing us to use this Huse.She shakes her head, one shoulder raised expressing her difference of opinion, "If you call loss, heartbreak, longing and needing a place to stand only teenaged angst then... Still, thank you beloved daughter of the Great Mother for allowing us to work here."

Each thing in its time, she follows Phoebe on her exploration, exclaiming, "Perfect!" when she sees the bare room.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
A broom closet is only suitable for the right sorts. Meggan's a mess of sorts, in a casual way that she gets away with only because she has a full ring of gel pens in various colours jammed through a pair of rather fat buns on par with very round bao. Or odango. Spiky rainbow odango. She drums a pen against the page of her book and then shoves the textbook away, tilting her head when the initial rush of beings other than the House or John ping on the radar. Sonar? Empathy-spectrum-scan?

"Oh," she notes, and tilts broadly diagonal to see who wanders in. The two signatures proving much more familiar than the third hasten her to unfold her legs, giving Phoebe a quick wave. That sends the book flying back to bounce off a cushion somewhere. "Good evening! If you need-- he's-- okay, was somewhere that way. Do you need a cuppa? Or a wine, whatever you drink, Mr. Atrun-Rai."

Don't worry about the whirlwind of action brought tumbling into motion, just in case.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe's ears darken a moment at Zee's commentary as she shifts her weight, looking between the supremely colorful child of Gaia and the raven-haired daughter of Zatara, and Atrun-Rai the son of the Red Palace... and she reaches to scratch that hole in her aura, over her sternum. She breathes out quietly, withdrawing a little bit, her fingers drumming a moment on her thigh before she breathes out. "Just needed some place where Time wasn't flowing right, is all." she replies quietly, watching the technicolor whirlwind wind and whirl.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Whilst Phoebe and Zatara speak to Meggan, Atrun-Rai simply offers the woman a smile and a shake of his head. No need for beverages here, of course, he's off for business. Upon entering the closet, the Atlantean sorceror walks over to the table, sets his bag upon it, and begins to extract a variety of items: six finger-length ingots of a startlingly bright, silvery metal, a small pouch of red silk, two ingots of tin, two of gleaming copper, two small boxes of fragrant cedar wood, and a small bottle of amber glass that glows softly from within. This he arranges on one side of the table.

    Then, Atrun-Rai reaches into the bag again, extracting from it a large bowl of silver inscribed with curling runes around the lip that should not (of course) fit. A tripod of silver follows, and these are set in the middle before he then withdraws a small device that looks like a red clay oil burner - but with six wicks, each arranged so that they sprout from the ends of the star of the hexagram inscribed upon its surface. "There, now," he says, brushing his hands. "The materials are there." A look between Zatanna and Phobe. "Shall we discuss the fuel?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The raven-haired Zee brushes a wing of hair over her shoulder and finger toodles Meggan goodbye, before dutifully filing behind Phoebe and Atrun to their mystical laboratory out of time. She considers herself the watchdog, the learner and a battery of sorts. The elements are at her fingertips, the power cosmic runs in her blood as well as dangerous chaos which she is chary of using.

The Atlantean's words prompt Zee to look at Phoebe with a question. "I will help you if you wish."

"efinK". A small curved knife with an ornately curved handle appears in an upturned palm.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
The messy array of pens stay mostly fixed in place in Meggan's hair as she peeks around the doorway in case there might be more headed inbound. What comforts the House of Mystery provides to its visitors could extend to an obligation she holds to them, but she gives Phoebe and Zatanna a friendly little finger wiggle of greeting. One more diversion from crunching through assignments she would rather not do, right? "Glad you found it then. I can merrily go on my way as you like." No harm, no foul, apparently.

She really doesn't have a necessary idea of what's going on, but that's only fair, since she is happy not to loom over them, either.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe freezes in place when she sees the knife. She raises her hands up, backing a little from the other two dark-haired mages, looking from Zee to Atrun-Rai.

    "Uh... can we talk about this before hand?!" she asks, light forming in her palms as she readies to defend herself. How quick could she make it to the front door?

    Of course, the house isn't about to let them fight and potentially harm it, THAT she figured on. Fear spikes up in the room they're in, and she breathes out. "What's the knife for, Zatanna?!"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
With a gesture the knife is gone. Zee's hands fall to her side. "Please forgive me,Phoebe I thought...but I thought mistakenly that Atrun explained."

Apology in every word, "That was ham handed of me. Would you be willing to share a few drops of your precious blood for Atrun to use to fabricate the metal to be used in the circle to defend Manhattan?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Atrun-Rai lifts his hands in a calming gesture, looking between the two women. "A misunderstanding," he says, shaking his head. "It was my understanding, Mistress Zatara, that I would wait until you came before broaching the topic. I am sorry if I was not clear."

    The sorceror looks then to Phoebe. "You will recall," he reminds the younger woman, "That I can no longer channel the same energies as you thanks to the nature of my death. To perform the transmutation ritual, however, I require a few drops of holy blood to mix with the solar oil in order to light the sacred fire necessary." A gesture to the oil burner, there. "If you would be willing to give over a few drops from your finger, it would be all that would be needed to transmute the substances here into the orichalchum necessary for our defenses." A beat. "There would be no other effects, no sympathetic link or other trouble, as you are merely providing the catalyst for the flame, not the catalyst for the reaction itself."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Phoebe calling out is enough to bring Meggan fully around the corner again, no longer condemned to curiosity but rather sharply responsive to the alarm in the House. When it's clear no one plans on stabbing unwilling people, she shakes her head slightly. With a quick scan over the others, she retreats to go find her assignment. It's not getting done by itself.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe takes a deep breath, and she looks over her shoulder to Meggan, and gives a wan smile. "I'm okay, Meggan, thanks for poking your head in... I'm okay... it just took me by surprise, is all. I should be used to this." she states, and she sets down her leather pack, and removes from it both the potently magic 'Jar of Hearts' -- the singed, heart-shaped, rolled-up pieces of tin half fill the jar at this moment, and they look somewhat jostled. The burnt twine is beginning to unravel on some.

    And Phoebe also takes out her green-handled switchblade, which she clicks and the blade springs out.

    "You can't do it from my fingers." she states, "I heal too quickly for it. I've tried before." she explains, and she breathes out, and walks over to the burner.

    She also procures from her pocket a plain piece of cotton cloth.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"It's...It's me being daft. I'm sorry for the disturbance, Meggan."

After a deep restorative breath, she approaches Phoebe. "I would never hurt you on purpose, Phoebe. I hope you know that. The knife I conjured makes it hard to heal cuts for people like yourself."

"Please, go ahead." She takes a step back and nods to Phoebe and Atrun. "If you need me for anything else, just tell me."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Well." Atrun-Rai shakes his head, frowning faintly as he looks between the two women one more time. "I apologize once more for the misunderstanding, Phoebe. Only three drops, please. Any more, and it may ruin the process." He goes to open the cap of the burner, the center of the hexagram, into which he pours the entirety of the amber bottle; the substance that pours out glows softly with a warm light, yellow and pleasant. "Solar oil," he explains to the two as he does the pouring, and puts away the bottle. "Oil of myrrh, pressed olives, white spirits, pure sea salt, and powdered gold, mixed together and left to absorb a year's worth of sunlight. This is the primary fuel of the transmutation, as orichalcum is a solar metal."

    He gestures to a small port that sticks out the side of the burner, which he sets down just next to the tripod and bowl. "If you please, Magus Beacon."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I need you for more than you know, Zee." Phoebe states, and then gives a wry grin to the homo magi, and then turns back to the task at hand. "More than you know."

    And she looks to Atrun-Rai, and gives a nod. She was one who held within her The Light, a spark that was taken from the rising of primordial gods.

    And she takes her knife, many times annointed with her own blood and she peirces the skin on her forearm, allowing her blood to drip down the blade.

    Feed the furnace, let it glow, for the missing fathers she misses so.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Through magical eyes, the blood sings of stars and suns, radiation that kills and nourishes life. Light blazes in the room from the tender offering of a young woman willing to shed her life's blood to save the world.

The homo magi looks proudly at Phoebe, her sister in magic and child she never had.

"May it be so!" she intones after Phoebe's casting.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    One...two...three.

    The moment the third drop slides down the spout into the oil, all six wicks erupt with a brilliant white fire; heatless but flaring as bright as phosphorous, the flames lick under the belly of the bowl as Atrun-Rai gingerly slides it under the tripod. Raging brightly a moment longer, it settles, and now the flames are even as they burn. "Now," says the sorceror, speaking more to Phoebe in the moment than Zatanna as she is the student and the contributor of the missing ingredient. "Do you know of orichalcum? Once it was a metal used heavily in the day of my people - a soft metal, but incredibly powerful in its capacity for conducting and containing magical energy; many artifacts are made with it, foci, tools, and the like. In my time, the Atlantean mines were still very rich with the stuff, and plated many of its towers and harbor walls with it. But the people of Atlantis - the city, mind you, not the greater continent - were jealous with it, and so we had to find a different way of procuring ours in other kingdoms. Lantalla had no mines, but in the Red Palace we developed this process go generate sufficient amounts for ritual work, and for relics."

    He begins to work, putting the six ingots of silvery metal in a pyramid in the bottom of the bowl. "Solidified elemental mercury," he explains. "Made only with sorcery." In moments they begin to melt, like ice exposed to a blowtorch flame, and as he reaches for the red pouch the mercury has meltled into a glimmering silver soup. The pouch he opens, then as he gestures lazy circles with one finger (stirring the metal telekinetically) sprinkles white metallic dust into the mixture. "And now, powdered silver."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Only from theory -- and, y'know, video games." Phoebe replies quietly, and she removes the knifetip, allowing the wound to close on its own -- which it does, disappearing with nary a mark to have announced its brief presence. The blood she wipes with the cotton cloth -- waste not, after all -- and she watches with fascination, her dark eyes with those flecks of rich cocoa red-brown, her fingers curling as she watches.

    "How do you solidify elemental mercury? Is there an alchemy to it? Do modern Atlanteans still use the natural form, do you happen to know?" she asks, looking back to Zatanna. A bit of her spark was back, and for the moment, for just that moment, the weight of the world was off Phoebe's shoulders and she was allowed to be a student again, to see something new and wonderful in spite of the dire purpose it was to serve.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Not just the Atlanteans were masters of the elements. Alchemists have tried to replicate their formulas and spells for centuries without much success. Modern Atlanteans? Good fighters..."

She purses her lips skeptically, "Perhaps Atrun knows?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Working metals with the mind is a powerful art," replies Atrun-Rai, who smiles as he focuses his attention on the substance in the bowl. "Modern alchemists, I believe utilize molds and static enchantments. I will teach you both, if you like, how to form metals using only telekinesis. Sometimes it is the only way that it can be done, especially where corrosive materials are concerned. Or entropic slime."

    Now he adds the rest of the ingredients: the boxes are filled with ashes and crumbled white material which he explains are the ashes of a dead warrior - an old woman of great courage and spirit, in this case - and the mortar of a longstanding wall for the resonances of spiritual and physical strength. These go in, crackling and issuing glittering steam, and the metal takes on a sparkling sheen. Then does he remove two sets of tin and copper ingots, both that have been sanctified with holy light, and these go in as well to melt in what is now an /exceedingly/ hot mixture. Bubbling metal, first like chrome, then turns white before blooming golden-red. Now Atrun-Rai's concentration is set, and he begins to speak words of power - each syllable reverberates with energy, vibrating the substance of the table, the flames, the molten metal within the bowl. Each one seeming to cause the metal to deepen in color and lustre until it takes on the appearance of red bronze. With the last, the entire room seems to rumble, and then the power begins to fade...leaving the bowl full of molten, faintly glowing metal, surging with magical power that even the untutored might be able to sense. Or at least its potential to do so.

    "And now," he says, letting the mixture surge, "We form the ingots."

    This process takes longer - the better part of an hour - as his mind works its force upon the mixture; coiling out of the bowl, snakes of searing liquid metal are forced into the formation of hexagonal ingots, each one the size of a small brick, until three are formed. The bowl still retains a small amount of it, which he forms into a very small pyramid of metal...and a flat, thin, nickel-sized disc into which a looping symbol is etched, surrounded by an ornate hexagram. "Here, now," he says, taking the disc and handing it out to Phoebe. "This is for you. A token that my kind once traded, similar to coins. I give it to you, with thanks, for your help."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe is watching with the utmost fastination. "I can't lift very much, I was taught a cantrip -- it's enough to spill someone's coffee into their lap so you can pick handcuffs."

    Guess where she learned *that* trick.

    She can feel the power in the ingots, given over by the Words Atrun-Rai has spoken. Every little bit she glances back to Zee excitedly, because this was something so new. A couple of times she went to glance over her other shoulder, as if expecting someone else to be there, but there never was another who joined the trio in this work room.

    And Phoebe pays attention. At one point she digs out from her backpack a sketchbook and some pencils, and she sketches the scene before her, something akin to the furnace and crucible Atrun-Rai uses, a few thumbnails of Atrun-Rai's expressions, and little notes constructed in Latin.

    When he hands her the coin, though, she raises her eyebrows, and she accepts it, holding the disc in hand.

    "But -- it was to create something against the Angels. If it brings Chas back for Deenie, that's enough for me." she whispers.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Magic new and in some deep place familiar permeates the room along with the acrid metallic scent of hot metal, the tang of blood's iron and the distant memory of iodine on a kelp washed shore. Mistress of words, Zatanna commits his spells to memory, ready to revise the spells with Atrun later.

Each time Phoebe turned to glance back at her, Zatanna nodded, pleased to her core for her excitement. That light had been absent for too long in someone carrying her light, daughter of Egypt and the sun.

"Telekinesis, the next step for Phoebe and perhaps Charlie though she doesn't have Phoebe's control or meticulousness. Your methods are advanced Atrun but not beyond Phoebe. You have brought back the science of magic - precious beyond reckoning. Have you spoken to Lydia and her plans for using it in her 'rail gun'?

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Oh, yes," says Atrun-Rai; he turns to smile at the two women, nodding at the three ingots. "Two of these will go to Miss Dietrich to be used in the development of her circles - they can be employed to line the circles in a hair-thin layer to help augment her work. The last will go to me, and I will use it to craft a weapon suitable to fight the Legions should we need to."

    He looks back to Phoebe now, and in his eyes glitters pleasure for her excitement also. He remembers well how it was for him when first he saw this act. "The token is yours," he says with a shake of his head, taking the pyramid of metal and tucking it into his cassock. "You have earned it with your sacrifice, and it will not harm our efforts to keep."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe gives a small smile and a nod to Atrun-Rai, and she turns the warm token over in her fingers, imagining what she could do with the little bit of metal, feeling the power in just this thimble full of metal, and she accepts the trade for her blood as catalyst for its construction. An old master of ancient ways and a student, hardened already by trials that mages older than her would balk at.

    She summons from somewhere, reaching into her leather bag and withdraws a length of string. The black cord is wrapped carefully around the disc to hold it in place, and then she knots the back, and puts it over her head, ducking it into her shirt with the precious and hidden silver locket.

    "Thank you, Master Atrun-Rai." she states quietly, giving a nod to him.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    His heart - such as it is - warms to see that, and he bows his head in recognition of her words. "You are most welcome, Magus Beacon," he asserts, and makes one of his curious hand-signals over his breast. "I am pleased to add to your journey."

    And then that's it. Work done, lessons learned. The night is a success.