9441/Path of Glory: The Great Mother's Garden

Path of Glory: The Great Mother's Garden
Date of Scene:	04 January 2022
Location:	Shadowcrest Manor - Bristol Township
Synopsis:	A group of the JLD goes to The Garden to speak with Gaea about the impending invasion to find clarity on the path they must take to succeed.
Cast of Characters:	Zatanna Zatara, Phoebe Beacon, Jonathan Sims, Meggan Puceanu, Atrun Rai, Chas Chandler, Michael Demiurgos
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

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Zatanna Zatara has posed:
No one entered the Garden without an invitation. No one. Uriel stands with his fearsome flaming blade guarding its gate against all seeking entry. It occurred to Zatanna that she had no grounding on how to address the mother of creation, last of the First Gods. Invoking her name from the comfort of Shadowcrest library felt, at the very least, insincere.

Five representatives would ask for entry, hoping to understand what could redress the imbalance in the Universe before Michael destroyed it and all of creation. Jon the Archivist, elected by Heaven to champion humanity, Meggan, the queen of Faerie, the Great Mother's daughter, Phoebe, wielder of divine light and Atrun_Rae, a mystery, once human and herself, a homo magi.

Zatanna walked outside the mansion, mittened hands deep in the pockets of a warm coat, a knit cap pulled over her raven-black hair to a copse of tall oak trees sheltering a shallow bowl-shaped dip in the ground. Some of the oldest in the region, the tall trees stood sentinel around a natural ring bedded deep in old leaves. This felt right. But they would be cold. Wards gleamed amongst the trees, set in place to protect them while they walked the plane. House servants guarded the grounds.

Would the mother listen to them, motes in creation? Persephone had walked in Zatanna's fitful sleep the night before, telling her that she would leave word with Gaea that they were seeking entry to speak with her. What more could they do?

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe, the teenager who carried Divine Light within her, was walking behind Zatanna, clad in her storm-gray wool coat, and a pair of bright red gloves. Her fingers are curled, her hair braided, bunned and beneath a sock cap as she walks through the grounds after her teacher and sister-in-arms, walking to the copse of trees. She had been around the grounds, certainly, but not here; she ahd always stayed closer to the house as she ducked in and out to use the library.

    "Still not used to house servants."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon's been thinking about Neith as he comes to Bristol, about his recent discussions with Donna Troy about the connections She has to Gaia, to the concept of a Great Mother at all. How many other such deities are connected to the same general wellspring of being? It fits with ancient Egyptian thought: the gods are not truly ibis-headed beings nor cats nor humans. They are /ideas/, and the images and symbols just represent those ideas. Neith evidently imbued his predecessors long ago to be Watchers, who became Archivists, who became... him. She's spoken through him more than once now. It's a strange feeling, every time. He's just as glad to be meeting Her in a place where She'll have Her own voice.

    He's wearing a deep green turtleneck and jacket, a hat with flaps over the ears, leather gloves, brown slacks, heavy boots. He joins Zatanna, with offerings--a golden delicious apple, an oil lamp, a small baby blanket. "I... hope these might help us orient and find our way," he says with a shrug. "For Gaia, and Neith, and the Great Mother in general." He'll place them wherever directed.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Not dressed for the weather is essentially Meggan's calling card. Living on a dismal, rainy island ever wishing for a ray of sunshine must translate into defiance against hot or cold extremes. Or she simply lacks the extensive wardrobe that Zatanna and other more fortunate people with paying jobs do. In this case, she floats after the mistress of Shadowcrest in a typically downplayed ensemble, rebelliously slashed shirt and slick pants that might have been alternately painted on. Not a coat or a scarf in sight, nor mittens to hide the arcane tattoo invested on her pale skin like knotwork painted in hoarfrost. A set of flowers and a few leaves dot her dark hair, tucked idly over her pointed ear.

Facing the trees brings a hint of a smile, not much more. Senses trace the oaks, slumberous and slow-moving amidst the currents winter brings, reaching out to feel them among the other sentries and titans of the landscape down to the smallest ones. Habit, as she taps her fingers to the pace of Jon's speaking, the cadence of Phoebe's steps. "Looks like the right time to be doing it."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Between Zatanna and Jon's sensible seasonal costume and Meggan' show of utter denial, Atrun-Rai wears his heavy, almost-clerical outfit; made of apparent silk, black enough to eat the silver light shining down from the moon, it is nonetheless warm enough to deal with the snows. Magic will do for that for you. Hands tucked behind his back, he does not smile - his expression is grave, as it should be for such grave business. Awaiting the moment when the ritual is cast.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
On the edge of the glade, she meets a servant holding an earthenware bowl heaped with pomegranates, the symbol of fertility, glowing ruby in the slanting light of sunset. She walks down into the ring and sets it in the center on an old stump smoothed to a high sheen with age that will serve as a table for their offerings.

" Here, Jon. We will put them between us and seat ourselves in a circle."

Gravely she looks at each of them, then places herself close to the stump, the leaves rustling dry beneath her, and pats the ground.

"I suggest we sit and hold hands." Then, eyes closed, she holds out her hands and prepares herself to walk the astral plane.

"Our hearts will lead us to the Great Mother. I hope that she welcomes us."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe doesn't have much; her relationship with any kind of mother is suspect and complicated, but she does produce a little glass bauble with reddish sand in it, and sets it with the other offerings.

    THe Desert, after all, is her birthplace, even if she thinks of Gotham and New York as her homes.

    She looks to Jon, to Atrun-Rai, both expected, but curiousity brings her to Meggan who eschews even the pretense of normality -- which brings just a small smile to the girl's lips as she sits down to Zatanna's left, taking a deep breath.

    "And if she doesn't?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon smiles briefly at Meggan's arrival, nods to Atrun and Phoebe, then places his items where Zatanna asked and sits, joining hands with the others. "We can only hope. She's the one that asked for this whole business to happen... I would hope she'll welcome us asking some questions."

    He takes a deep breath in, lets it out. Thinks of his own mother, and the mother of his child, and Neith. Symbolic links; one can only hope they help.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Lucky those who hold Meggan's hands, for the secret of her equilibrium to the ecosphere becomes apparent even before a touch. The air around her stands many degrees warmer than a snowy woodland, practically balmy even in her moonstruck aspect. Her hands remain open until fingers are entwined, forging a light, but settled link.

She might normally opt to float with her legs crossed but the wiser magi's lead corrects this to sitting square on the ground. Bare feet skim the ground, as she opts to settle on Zatanna's left. If they have to spin widdershins, aren't they lucky.

Life magic hums through her as a course of habit. She concentrates on a single thread formed in her mind's eye. For a moment her icy lashes shiver, the sheer focus needed probably silly. Initiates can probably do this in a moment, but she has to hold back the Pacific into a trough comparatively three centimeters wide and four meters long. The slim conduit plunges into the soil and bedrock as an anchoring force, and a greeting to the world that is, before they depart for the world that could be.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    As for Atrun-Rai...he coniders a moment, the tump around the ring of leaves. Memories of ancient days long past, of balmy days beneath a colorfully-painted roof, in an atrium supported by columns studded with jewel-lamps and servitor-machines. He thinks of his own mother, who did not see to the household: her own vibrant skirts, layered as they were, her corseted dress with serpent ornaments worked in bright platinum. A river of black tresses spilling down back and shoulders. But more than anything, he remembers her face, set in concentration, her heavy nose, her generous mouth set into a line. His father sold the wine, but it was she who kept everything together.

    And so, upon the stump he lays a sheaf of paper, rolled up and set with wax. Within, a bill of lading as he saw her poring over a million times. He smiles, just a hint, as he steps away and sits to take the hands of his nearest conspirators once pulling on black gloves.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"And if she doesn't, we are left to our own devices, no different than we are now," Zatanna replies, sapphire eyes opening to look at Phoebe. She squeezes Phoebe's hand, warmly. "Hope. Have hope. Thanks to her bargain, we are still here. I believe she wishes us well."

Meggan warms more than the air and roots her deep into earth as she reaches for Heaven. Zatanna's memory of her mother mix with the taste of powdery crescent cookies and the warmth of her bosom when she held her in her lap, whispering sweet nothings at some small hurt. A smile curves her lips. Slipping the mortal coil is peaceful, a breath, and the homo magi looks down on them all, tethered by a soft line of power.

In the west, a rim of flame lights the horizon below a sapphire sky studded with pale stars.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The copse of trees falls away and the group finds themself on the now familiar path through the cosmos. Most will see themselves in what they might recognize as their 'ideal' selves. Whatever internal self-image has to offer them as they fly up and up and up and beyond.

    The Earth fades first, leaving them amonst the stars. Then the solar system falls away to galactic views and even after a while that too falls away. Say hello to the tangled myriad of galaxies and clusters and nebulae that form the great Cosmic Web. And ever onward they go. Direction means nothing at this point. They could be going up, down, sideways, it's all relatively the same in this abstract zone of the mind. The edge of the Universe looms before them, the great cliff that no being can pass without destroying themselves and there just at the edge is the Gates of the Silver City where their lost friend slumbers until a salvation is found for him. But that is not their destination not this time, no.

    They turn away from the Silver City, passing it to another, smaller, set of gates just to the side of the Great City where a single winged figure stands. He is still rather plain by most angelic standards, wearing a simple belted tunic that hangs to his ankles with a stylized sunburst on it. His sandy blonde hair rests at shoulder length to frame of his face in serenity. He does have a sword in his hands it glows bright white but is not wreathed in flame as the legends and myths suggest. His wings are present this time a flare of red and orange feathers that shimmer with golden light as they flutters in his hovering sentinel. He takes stock of who is there and snorts, a strange gesture from such a beautiful face.

    "I wasn't aware that the edge of Creation had an open door policy? But, alas, these are indeed strange times. You've come to see the Great Mother, I take it?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "I cannot allow you entry, you must know that much. I turned away the Sons and Daughters of Heaven who were ignorant of their fault. Mortals--and those close enough to them--are no exception, even mentally as you are." He pauses and reaches behind him to open the gate with a simple push of the bars. "But that doesn't mean that people can't come out of it to see visitors."

    The figure that steps beyond the gate is gorgeous. Her sun-darkened skin is ambiguous to place an origin to as are her features. Dark brown eyes, raven black hair that falls in a straight sheet around her face. There is a bit of every ethnic group on the Earth in her features. She wears a voluminous green robe that hides most of her form save her hands and feet, both are bare of any adornments, but at her crown is a tiara of living vines and blooms in a variety of colors. She has decided to allow those who visit her to have some advantage as she is not as enormous as she usually gives appearance for. She could even be considered short standing at a simple 5'2". But that height doesn't mask just how powerful she is. The sheer presence in her is enough to rock planets and create storms. She smiles to those gathered and says, "It is good to see you all." Her gaze falls on Meggan and the smile blossoms into something beyond words. "Especially you, daughter mine. While I look upon your face everyday on the world I have provided seeing you here is something I never anticipated. I would like to have a more... pleasant time, but as The Watcher says strange times. You have questions, I imagine. I may have answers."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The pales stars dissolve into myriads of galaxies as they voyage as quick as thought across unfathomable distances. Even though used to walking the plane, Zatanna is dizzied by the voyage. She looks to the left and right, seeing stars adorning Phoebe and Meggan.

Speechless before Gaea's glory, Zatanna has no ready response Still holding hands she bows from the waist. "Lady, my thanks, our thanks for receiving us. Yes, we come with questions, each of us. There is so much we don't know about how we came to this pass."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe was pulled from her body, and true to any other time she has been pulled from her physical form, she is not human in form. Amorphous and glowing with light, starlight passing through her form and captured, as if a cold galaxy of brilliance was captured within, the stolen child of the desert stays to the back of the group, in aw of the sights and surroundings, shyly regarding The Great Mother as she comes out of her garden, dark eyes and the shape of her hair the only discernable figures against the self-contained light of her body.

    She also gives a bow to Gaia, almost stumbling to do so.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon's mental image seems to have changed since the last time they did this. He has longer hair than usual, down to his shoulders, and is wearing parts of the Archivist garb, the pleated skirt and beaded bodice, Ma'at's crown and feather flickering in and out on his head as if it can't decide whether or not to stay. He clears his throat self-consciously, stays a step or two behind Zatanna. He regards Uriel with a level gaze and then shifts his focus to Gaea as She arrives.

    He looks Her over for a long moment, frowning thoughtfully. Myriad, conflicting thoughts run through him--he worships Her, but he's frustrated with Her at the moment. He settles on a respectful half-bow, one hand placed over his heart.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
What's an idealized self to a shapeshifter? Confronting Michael, Meggan adopted myriad different facets of her deepest winter aspect, turning from shadow-wolf of the Wild Hunt to incandescent darkness to ice maiden and more. Here on the cusp of Creation, faced by Uriel and her mother, probability switches up features on a dime, the only solid aspect that of her eyes: sclera full of stars, pupils white hot. "Well met," she tells Uriel in a voice blended from every last accent of Britain in its current form, all sunshine glancing off ice. "I do not seek to cross your path or challenge your duty, honoured one."

But the wrenching force calling to her in her mother's presence is easy to surrender to. Her radiance usually hiding under a lampshade on Earth cannot resist bleeding through slightly. Fragments of memory whirl around her, the flowers resting on hair composed of mingled starlight and moonlight. Winter-strangled purpose cracks open and she raises a sunny smile redoubling Phoebe's dawn. "Mum." Mother is too formal. The wide-eyed glory of the great Lady has her bouncing on the balls of her feet, choking on the stone in her throat. Her hands cross and tuck under her chin. "What was meant to be will be. Nudge on the path. The better bit says hullo, by the way."

Most specifically unusual, dynamic runes in Celtic knotwork wind around her left hand in a vivid astral echo, sealed by the power of another Elder god backed within a trinity. Oshtur's feather-light touch meets the unyielding order of Agamotto, balancing Hoggoth's primordial ferocity. She carries a small but unyielding anchor of a star with a splintered, corruption-smutted soul spun to her own.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Atrun-Rai is apparently quite at home with dealing with gods and angels - he steps forward, bowing his head and making a sign before his heart in respect to the two primordial spirits, an prediluvian symbol common amongst the Atlantean mages that walked its early surface. When most wizards were still humble before these gods.

    "Great Lady," he says, bowing his head first to Gaea, and then to Uriel. "My lord Uriel. We thank you for receiving us, and we give to you both our respect and appreciation for your time. We have, through our various means, discerned the nature of our universe, and its somewhat...carnivorous nature. We have also discerned the nature of the contest agreed upon between the two of you, whose rules now we seek to understand. Can you not tell us, please, why our universe is unstable, and at least some idea as to how we might prosecute our end of the contest?"

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The Great Mother gives the angel Uriel a sidelong glance filled with what might be contempt before giving answer to Zatanna's question. The angel does not respond to it returning to his impassive sentinel job as he is wont to do. "A compromise made in good faith... or so I thought. I had thought my Champion would be needed much sooner than he was and I was not aware that the situation would be so... violent in its execution."

    She sighs with the angel's lack of rebuttal and returns to her gaze to the group. "This threat has been growing since The Presence gave Michael the task to create. We were made aware some time after of the issues involved. And I was given a choice... let everything I love fall to ruin or to appoint a Champion to stand against Michael when the trial began. I could not let the former come to pass, so I chose the latter." Her dark eyes fall on Jon. He is with you even now, and yet he is not stepping forward. Why do you speak for him when he has proven himself worthy of my grace?"

    She lets the question linger as she turns to Meggan and nods. "Send him my regards when you return, dear. He's a good lad deep down and that is all that matters to me." Then she looks at the Ancient Atlantean. "The reason for the disruption is a question I cannot give answer to, it is something creatures who live in the universe at stake must answer. But I can give you some idea as to how you may resolve it. This entire endeavor is a trial. One you must endure in order to find sustainability. You must fight or else give way to the End. But you must understand that fighting alone is not the answer."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna smiles at the reunion of Mother and daughter and the bright glimpses of their glory. Then, aware of Uriel's powerful presence watching them, she dips her head, abashed at not greeting him.

Catching sight of her toes, the homo mage blinks down at herself once in surprise at how she manifests before the Great Mother. Barefoot, hair garlanded with spring flowers, she wears a chiton in Persephone's spring colors of bright green and gold, a gift of her patroness.

"Atrun, wise man, that he is, Mother, has gone to the heart of our questions. It is not just your champion's concern but all of ours. What drives the instability? Is it our blindness to what we do to our world, is it our greed and violence fueling the instability? We will fight, Mother, but weep for the children. They are innocent. No one else."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks rapidly at Gaea, then steps forward, next to Meggan. "Ahh. Well. This was their idea." He gestures to Zatanna and Atrun. "I didn't want to be rude. And I wasn't entirely certain You /were/ the one that chose me anyhow." He glances to Uriel, ever-so-briefly, then focuses on Gaea again. His manner's changed, somewhat. More respectful.

    He sighs softly. "I... would mostly ask if I'm on the right track in my thinking. Both for my own role in this, and in the manner of defeating Michael. That I am meant to die, sacrificed for the good of the universe--and that /understanding/ Michael, and his motivations, is key to redressing the balance. I presume that I would not have filled this role if my own abilities were not of use, but I'm aware I may presume too far."

    He frowns, thoughtfully. "If... if this problem started since Michael shaped the universe... it /cannot/ be about mortals' own failings, can it? If the imbalance started before mortals even existed then... it's something else, yes? Something deeper."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Wrapping her arms around her midsection, Meggan listens to almost everything spoken by Gaea. Her wide-eyed fascination takes longer to ease out of, though Uriel's interjections as rarely as they come act as a good counterbalance. Her glowing hair slowly darkens as a sunset fades over it, dipping into a spectrum of russet, last hints of gold cooling out. "I haven't the foggiest," she murmurs when it comes to Jon being right there. He speaks up though, and that spares her circling around behind him and nudging him to the front of the class.

"Do you not live in the universe too?" Puzzling over that on the threshold of the Garden, she bites her oxblood-stained lip. "Are you, honoured one," this to Uriel, "not bothered that such liberties are taken by Michael? Are there doubts in you and your brethren's hearts that this path could be wrong?" Her eyes round, the whirlwind of constellations progressing from birth in nebulous gaseous streams into full stellar flares and collapse into explosive shockwaves that seed stardust in a timeless place. "Everyday people of all sorts give and grow, caring for the ones they love and the world. We cannot all make a mark big as some are chosen to, but lots of small gestures must amount to evidence and... and something worthwhile in a trial. Teachers, nurses, farmers, parents all do their part. Do you see it, feel it, personally from the cusp of the high heavens? I've heard it, no disrespect meant, as a bloodless place. Timeless. That true? I figure that maybe that perspective loses a bit of focus, like watching a show in a different language and losing all the subtle bits from gestures or sayings and phrases. I'm not sure how you take a sum of someone's experience to package up and share, but walk in our shoes and beside us, that might be a lot different. Like the stories of the Presence coming manifested into the world. Maybe no reality there, but the truth behind it has value. I..."

She shakes her head. "I'm talking too much. Sorry."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Atrun-Rai, at this time, remains silent. Dressed as he was before, in blue tunic and girdle, his face slightly younger, his beard short around his jaw. Watching, quietly, his dark eyes sparkle as he takes in this moment in the conversation. After all, it isn't just about him.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Gaea gives all of them a soft frown. "It is more than simply a mortal problem, my children." She gives Zatanna a sympathetic looks. "Think you so little of the angels? Powerful they are. Created for the purpose of Order they are. But they are not tyrants. They will not allow children to come to harm in this trial. If Michael happens to succeed--which I have faith he will not--then the passing of all things will be as swift and painless as the blinking of an eye."

    Meggan is given a soft nod. "I exist in the universe but living is not something you can truly give name to when you survive in The Garden of the Presence. I nurture, I tend, I care, but I do not live as much as those like you do." She reaches out and gently boops the nose of her daughter with an affectionate fingertip.

    Uriel smirks at Meggan's expounding speech. "Please, honoured Queen, you should speak more. Kelp with wisdom as your own should shout their thoughts to the mountaintops." It seems Uriel has his eyes on more than simply the gates of Heaven. "You and the Champion have hit on part of the solution enough times that it should be obvious by now. But this problem wouldn't exist if everything were accepted at face value, now would it? And yes, to answer your earlier questions. I have many bothers with my brother's acctions and yet I am pressed into his army as much as any other of my peers. And yes, existing as we have does force The Great Experiment--as my brother calls it--to lose a great deal of perspective."

    Gaea nods to Jon directly. "What Uriel is saying, is that you are on the the right track my Chosen Champion. Compassion, unity, balance is not only needed but are *necessary* to redress the issues presented. As for your death... well... that is something you will have to decide upon, now isn't it? Whether you dying is truly the end for you? I would think that the scales have different meanings for one so closely connected to them, wouldn't they?"

    She lets that hang and then gestures encompassing them all in the spread. "You and those you have gathered around you are all important in their own individual way. You *all* have a place in this trial. And that is the point. For you all to realize that place. My Champion is at the heart, but a heart alone cannot give breath. Cannot give thought. Cannot provide power. In order for you to overcome this, all pieces of the living breathing universe must come to agreement and use that agreement as their reason for living."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna looks sideways at Jon frowning deeply. Next, Zatanna focuses on Meggan, biting her lip and nodding.

"Mother, Your daughter spoke my heart. Though I do not mean to be disrespectful, I didn't mean the manner of their death but their dying that saddens me. Mother, how is it that /we/ represent all beings?"

She looks at Jon a long moment, "Analyze a being who could flay us with a look and show him compassion? I'm not against it. All beings merit compassion and balance. But, you burned his wing. I forgive you then, Jon. '

Turning her gaze back to Gaea, "If one person dying would change the end, I would do it. Painfully, slowly and willingly. But I understand that this was ordained from the beginning. Thank you for speaking to us, Great Mother."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon can't help grinning when Gaea boops Meggan's nose. "Meggan's thought is much of why I did what I did, the... offering of sacrifice that sealed this whole business," he says, looking over at her. "Not that... I don't blame you! I just... well. It's good to know you really were on the right track, in this." He smiles, briefly.

    Everything Gaea says merely seems to bolster Jon, though the comment about the scales gets a /squint/. Hmm. But he nods eagerly. "Unity, compassion, balance. Yes. I expect you're no happier than I am that /someone/ decided to put the fate of so much down to so few. When Winston Churchill said it of the RAF during the Blitz, /that/ was reasonable. This is..." He shakes his head. Gives Uriel another pointed look. "Ridiculous. But we'll do what we must." He grins suddenly. "We'll march up to the Omnicidal Maniac of the day, look them in the eye and tell them 'No, you move.'" He's been talking to Captain America, evidently.

    "I'll pay what I must for burning Michael's wing," he adds. "And I would die for the cause, but I think sometimes people are too quick to offer to die. I /cannot/ die. I have things to live for, people who need me. My child, my husband, my friends." He glances aside to Zatanna. "As you have your pupils. Death comes for us all, in the end, but I would not be too eager to deal out death to anyone. Even the very wise cannot see all ends, after all."

    Ignoring how much of a /nerd/ he's outing himself as, he grins brightly at Gaea and bows, more deeply this time. "I'll take Your words under advisement, Great Mother, and aim to fulfill my role in the... /spirit/ in which it was bestowed." Carte blanche to cheat the rules, he's taking this as. If he's supposed to die but Gaea doesn't want him to, well. He's not just going to accept his fate, then.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Meggan goes cross-eyed at Gaea's fingertip dashing her nose, her cheeks rosy as she shrugs her shoulders almost to her pointed ears. She enthuses, "I love you too."

Her starshine eyes glitter, contemplating Uriel with a distinct intensity that calculates how far he stands, whether he remotely seems effective. "Shouting never did any good. Just makes people angry and not like to listen. The sharpest person I know talks real low and crass when he needs to make his point, and only raises his voice when he's getting shirty." Her approach is an open thing. "No offense given to you when you do what you must or get told to do. I'd give your brother a hug -- and you too -- cause this experiment trundles along plenty fine." Her mouth quirks.

"Maybe he needs a reminder failures are not cause to destroy the whole project and start new. When the system's going you cannot pull out the cord and cut it off. The processes can correct themselves or turn out better, more beautiful. But we're past that." She shakes her head and helplessly holds out her arms. "I don't know what to do. I'm sorry, Mum, but I'm not /smart/. I would say wake up Atum again and have him correct things but... no, that won't do it either. This is past me. The idea of ripping into a host of angels in hopes to change their mind is wrong, but how can the wounds heal if the whole of it all is being erased?" Zatanna and Jon might as well be speaking Greek. But not really. Greek would be understandable. Her frustration skims and twists on itself like a gull caught in a whirlwind, and canting her gaze upward wherever the sky would be, the elemental spreads her fingers apart. "Too late for papers or social media and the world's absolutely huge. I'm sorry. I don't see it."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Atrun-Rai, considering all these words, sits watching the lot of them speaking to one another - wheels turning in his head, the ancient Atlantean's mind trying to spin out the mystery. Finally, once Meggan speaks, he follows.

    "So in the end," says Atrun-Rai, a hand stroking at his beard, "It will take a symbolic group. One whose members fulfill these equirements: compassion, strength, intelligence, and so forth, working in concert." Atrun-Rai looks between the two heavenly beings, hands tucked behind his back. "Is this so? And if so, are they to be finally dictated among the resistance by the Prophet, who stands at the other side?"

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Gaea nods solemnly at Zatanna. "There are a great many aspects to this that I do not condone, but I have done what I can in my position. And now you have to do what you can in yours." She gives Jon a soft smile. "Your spirit is part of why I placed faith in you, Champion. And your willingness to do take a more crafty approach to the steps you must take."

    Meggan is given a long looks before her Mother steps forward and intercepts any hugs given to any angel. Her words are directed to her daughter alone. "You have done more for this trial than you believe you have, my child and I think, if your better half is as cunning as he claims, there is more for you to do still without having to lift your finger against those of the Host. You may claim to not be smart, but you are strong. So strong, and you have made me very proud." She gives the Fae Queen a kiss on the cheek before releasing her and turning to the others.

    To the Atlantean she snorts. "I believe you are thinking far too literal, Ancient One. Is a body comprised of only three parts? Or five? Or ten? No, a body is a cocert of billions, trillions of entities, all unified in a single purpose. Michael's Prophet is just as important to your success as the Champion is. As you are. As every individual in the vicinity of the trial. Expand your view and look beyond the letter of words given and into the spirit of those words, there you will find the answer you seek. Even if it is not so concrete as what you require."

    She regards the group and smooths her robe, the hug did wrinkle it a bit, as she speaks, "I have given you much and time grows short. Is there anything more you need clarity on before you depart?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Swallowing her anger at Jon for belittling her offer, Zatanna breathes slowly and evenly to master herself. She will not argue like a child in front of Angelic beings over his pedantry.

Head down as she ponders, these minds are faster than her own, but she trusts her instincts. There is nothing for it, like Atrun she was thinking on too small a scale.

The universe's balance lies in an angel's mind and understanding it. And somehow working in concert with trillions. She looks up,"Yet, on some level of existence, there is no separation." Shaking her head and bowing, "None, Great Mother. I thank you from the bottom of my heart."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon straightens his shoulders and glances to Atrun. "This is not a mystery to be unraveled, nor a puzzle to be solved. No more than the Blitz was. No more than the Raj was. No more than the Romans were, when they burned Alexandria. This is tyranny to be faced, and understood, and turned aside. Perhaps, the first tyranny, that underlies the others. This is a challenge to overcome. We must prove ourselves equal to the task." A pause. "The difference, of course, being that if I'm understanding correctly, turning Michael aside turns aside the /whole/ of the operation. This is no war machine moving almost of its own volition, not a thing pressed by the forces of history, yes? If I'm on the right track, this is about Michael in some way, at the core."

    He turns to Meggan. "She's right. /You/ were on the right track, first. This isn't a puzzle for the academics. This is about heart, and emotion, and you're /brilliant/ there. Maybe you can help us understand Michael. Maybe you /can/ rally people through social media. I don't know. But don't give up hope."

    He lets out a long breath. Bows to Gaea. "Thank you for speaking to us. I... think I have what I need." A glance flicked to Uriel. /That/ he'll deal with on his own. Back to Gaea, "I'll endeavor to be worthy of your faith in me. In all of us. Mortalkind is rallying to the defense of New York. Hopefully it will prove to be enough."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    It appears there is nothing left to say. Atrun-Rai is silent now, nodding, and allows Sims to field the day.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The Great Mother nods and steps back from the group, passing the threshold of the gate opened by Uriel. "Go then and do what you can to save what you must. All of you have my love and my grace. I would want no other group of individuals striving for the continuation of all life."

    The gate closes with Uriel's will behind it and once again the Garden is shrouded in mist and uncertainty. The Watcher regards the group, his sunset colored wings flexing unconsciously. "The trial begins soon. I will be there. As will all of us." He means the Archangels. "I hope none of you shall take it too personally if I do not do my best to destroy you. Direct confrontation has never been my forte. I make a big show of being nigh omnipotent, but in the end a big sword and a big voice can only take you so far." He pauses and smiles. "That's part of the whole issue at hand, isn't it?"

    On that cryptic note, he waves a hand and the group are once again back in the copse of trees on Zatanna's property. The chill has settled into the night, but the Elemental's presence--stunned by physical contact with her Mother--is doing its part in mitigating the worst of it. Hopefully, the answers they received tonight help them in their endeavors to succeed in this trial.