9479/Path of Glory: Spy Upon The Righteous

Path of Glory: Spy Upon The Righteous
Date of Scene:	05 January 2022
Location:	Chelsea Apartment
Synopsis:	Jon calls on the Archangel Uriel for information on the coming invasion. Information is given in exchange for hospitality and a meal and the final stages of prep can be made.
Cast of Characters:	Jonathan Sims, Chas Chandler, Michael Demiurgos
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

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Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Early on the morning of January 5th, Jonathan Sims comes to open up the apartment in Manhattan that he and his husband last truly lived in before he became Archivist. Chelsea is painfully close to the site where the angels are meant to arrive, but then, that maybe helps with magical resonance for what Jon's meaning to do.

    He doesn't sit down to pray right away. He walks through the rooms, opening doors, even opening windows briefly to let in some air. He runs a finger along dust settled on the furniture they didn't take with them to the Triskelion. Straightens a few of the random items left behind.

    "Maybe when this is all over," he muses to himself aloud while standing in the living room, "we should come back here. Agnes would be happier here than in the Triskelion, I think."

    Then he shakes his head and goes to close the windows, carefully drawing a ward on each as he does so. He's not great with wards yet, only having had so much time to learn the concept from Lydia Dietrich, but some hieroglyphs and the Eye of Horus, a drop of blood, might be enough to keep mortal looters at bay. As for the angels...? Well, if they want to come destroy his home, he can't really stop them. Aside from asking the being he's about to summon.

    Then he goes about preparing for his guest. Grinds coffee beans, boils the coffee, throws together /om ali/, a bread pudding made with phyllo and pistachios and coconuts and raisins. He lays out bread and salt and dates. Perhaps it's silly to make Turkish coffee and Egyptian dessert for a being that can neither eat nor drink, but he's trying to be polite, and he's not making very much.

    Finally, he sits on the floor on one side of the coffee table. There's two cups of coffee there, two plates with food, two glasses, a pitcher of filtered water. He bows his head, and prays. "Saint Uriel, Light of God, master of knowledge, archangel of wisdom. You who bear the sword of truth, who interprets prophecies, who testified on behalf of humankind, who warned Noah of the Flood. Keeper of light, first Watcher, whose name is the motto of my alma mater. Dominus illuminatio mea. The Lord is my light. Come to me now, on the eve of battle, that we may break bread and discuss matters of grave import."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    There is no sound, no light, no actual show of power to announce the Archangel's arrival. He is simply there. "You went all out for me. That's rather sweet of you" he says, sounding genuinely surprised. "The offer is noted, the sentiment accepted, and the hospitality appreciated Archivist. How may I help you on this eve of battle."

    He is dressed in what might be a militarty grade tactical suit, except its all in whites and golds. His wings are present, tucked in close to his back, and his sword is at his side in its sheath. He shifts and kneels before the coffee table opposite Jon before taking up cup of coffee and inhaling deeply before taking a sip. He looks much like he did at the Gate of the Garden a handful of days before. Sandy-blonde hair framing a handsome if rather unassuming face--when compared with his peers.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Basic rules of hospitality," Jon replies, picking up his own coffee. "What you agreed to do for us is, I presume, somewhat dangerous for you. I am calling you to ask you to give me information that may betray your brother; even if that's part of the game, and part of your purpose... it has to be a difficult thing."

    He takes a sip of the coffee. "I may have been hasty in my anger, before. Well... not at the Presence. But at you. I didn't realize that it was Gaea that chose me--or let me choose myself, or however that worked. I didn't realize that you were both doing this to try to save us from Michael's desire to just make everything anew because he didn't like how the first version came out. And I'd say you should have just said so--but I understand that figuring it out is part of the game." He smiles. "Let us come to the conclusions ourselves, hmm?"

    He deliberately reaches out to pick up the bread, first. Breaks off a piece, dips it in the salt. "There is bread and salt between us now," he says, quite gravely. "We are allied in this." A pause, and then a grin. "You're stuck with me, I suppose." Then he takes a bite of the bread.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Uriel takes the bread and dips it in the salt. "I'm stuck with you?" he says with a laugh. "Jonathan I've known of your existence before time was even a concept to your kind. I think the situation is the other way around. You're stuck with me." He takes a bite of the bread. How he eats it is likely a mystery that is best left unanswered.

    "But I'm glad to see you've come around to the situation rather succintly. It is... dangerous for us. Not difficult. Should my brother discover our secret meetings, I would be forced to do one of two things." He "eats" more of the bread. "Either I would be forced to kill you and bring you back at a later time, an uncomfortable prospect but not entirely a loss. Or I would be forced to raise my hand against Michael, something that -might- result in my destruction." He grins at Jon. "No pressure, right? So... information, I have some... you want some. Ask you questions."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon regards Uriel blandly for a moment. "You're terribly reassuring," he notes with an air of sarcasm. But goes on eating the meal, going through the list of questions he had.

    "Practical matters first. The attack is coming to St. Patrick's--/when/ is it coming? And what is the scope? I know there are only 50,000 angels in the vanguard, and we saw... a /lot/ more up in Heaven. If I can get a sense of scope and timing, we can plan our defenses more easily."

    More bread, more salt, and then he goes to pour water, because... well, salt does make one thirsty, after all.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Uriel continues to eat at his bread before nodding. "Certainly. The timing is fairly obvious when you think of what Michael represents now. Dawn. Morning. Daybreak. As for the scope?'"

    He ponders the question for a moment. "You're asking about the battlefield, yes? In that case, the island. And the island alone. Manhattan is the field of battle we will not go beyond it's borders." He watches Jon pour the water. "Be rather foolish to tell you to evacuate the island and then destroy things beyond it. Michael is a bully at times--often even--but he is an honorable bully. He will abide by the stipulations he set in place."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon nods slowly, thoughfully. Taking things in. "An honorable bully. Seems a contradiction, but I think I understand what you mean." He slides one glass of water over to Uriel, then takes a long drink of his own. "What can you tell me about the rest of the plan? When does the bulk of the army arrive... and how much time do we have, in general? When does this 'game' end?"

    He's clearly thought through what he's going to ask ahead of time, but a frown keeps tugging at his brow. A question he's unsure of, or something Uriel said that bothers him.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Uriel takes a sip of the water. "Good questions, all." He sets his glass down before answering. "Michael and the vanguard will arrive tommorrow at dawn. After 10 days from today, the 15th by the Roman calendar, the rest of the army will be here. Along with myself and my brothers. All of us. A massive contengency of the army was left behind... of course can't let Satan and the others try to sneak in and destroy Paradise while we're here... but they are purely there for defense."

    He pauses to let that sink in. "As for a time limit on this game. That should be rather obvious. In keeping with the theme of Christianity. Easter. You have until Easter to win. If you don't by then..." He makes a solemn expression and raises a hand before snapping his fingers. No massive dramatic vision, but the lights in the room do shut off putting them in darkness for a brief moment before the slowly come back to life. He is fairly sure his point was made.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon lets out a slow breath. "Four months," he murmurs, frowning down at the piece of bread he's been eating. "That doesn't seem time enough. Not... not time enough at all."

    A pause. He looks at Uriel directly, dark eyes weighing, considering. He puts down the piece of bread, wipes his hands together, and places them in his lap for a moment.

    "And if I refuse to play this game at all? If I refuse to fight, refuse to figure out how to defeat Michael, refuse to /die/ for this farce?" There's something cold and hard in his words, suddenly. "Do we tick along until Easter, or does Michael end it right away?"

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Uriel shakes his head. Maybe he *was* stuck with the Archivist and not the other way around. "I cannot say. I do not know. The future of all this is... murky. I expect it will not go a way that any of us truly expect. But we are on track and must see it to the end. One way or another."

    He takes another sip of water and sets the glass down again. "It is possible the Great Mother could tag another to take the place you vacate if you wash your hands of the matter, but I honestly think you have the best chance of success in changing the outcome into something favorable." He frowns. "As much as you may think otherwise, a great number of my bretheren are on your side in this even if we will do everything we can to end you and your allies when under the watchful eye of the General."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon folds his arms across his chest and quirks a brow. "So what you're saying is that this really is on me, and the others. We could just... /choose/ to say 'fuck off' and do nothing. We could /choose/ to turn over the board and play by different rules. You are, indeed, stuck with us." He smiles brightly. "Because... Gaea wasn't happy with this either, was she? She trusts us. /Whatever/ we choose."

    He tilts his head. "You know, I think somebody's playing you. I'm not certain just who, but you're not /half/ so certain about all of this as you keep putting off, are you?"

    He considers it. For a long moment... he actually considers it. Refusing to act. Sitting down in front of Michael and refusing to move. Running away, like John claims to have, like Zatanna considered.

    Then he sighs, and unwinds his arms, and reaches for his water glass. "You're lucky I have a child," he says. "The temptation to refuse to play at all is /terribly/ strong. But... I /am/ a parent. I have an obligation, to the next generation."

    Another smile. "So. Now that I've agreed that I will at least /act/--what can you tell me about the rules of this game? Or is that not yours to give?"

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Uriel's expression is almost sullen as he regards Jon flatly. "Finally figuring it out, huh?" he says taking another sip of water. "You're right. There is another player. One we didn't expect. One we didn't have a hand in selecting or inviting. But it is what it is. And we're stuck with the game as it stands. Three players at a two player game. Always fun with someone else enters the fray."

    He sighs and shakes his head. "I can give you some. But not all. I can tell you how Michael is playing his hand. But I don't think it will be as useful to you and you might think. I can't tell you who the third player is... not mine to say. And I can't tell you how to win. Again... not mine to say."

    He takes up another piece of bread, salts it and eats. "But it will at least give you more than you have now... so, ask away if it is what you want."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon... /laughs/. "Oh. Oh, that's /rich/. You spend all this time setting this up, /eons/ and eons, manipulating history, pulling strings, getting things in place... and then some /other/ player shows up and demands you change the game?"

    His eyes glitter with continued mirth. "Sorry, but... that's the best news I've heard in /weeks/. The brilliant bit is, you don't want Michael to win any more than we do, or you wouldn't have set this up to begin with. So you have to put up with it, because maybe, /maybe/, this new player is the reason Gaea can encourage me to cheat. Maybe they're /precisely/ what you need to fix whatever problem caused this business in the first place."

    He shakes his head, chuckling. "Brilliant. Really."

    He waves one hand and picks up a date with the other. "Tell me what you think would be useful, then. I don't know much about tactics and strategy... war is not my forte. I still have another question or two... but you must have things that you want me to know, hmm?" He pops the date into his mouth, clearly in a /much/ better mood.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Uriel's expression remains flat as Jon gloats about the Archangel's error in judgement. After he waves off his humor Uriel asks. "Are you quite done?" And in that instant he sounds almost like Jon himself. He sighs before going on, picking up a date of his own.

    "Michael is working off of a checklist. I can't say what is on it, only that a good guess can probably be found in the back of the Christian Bible. I think one of his win conditions is the completion of that list." He eats the date slowly, savoring the taste of it.

    "They're going to turn that Cathedral into their fortress. I don't think you'll have much of a chance of penetrating it unless you are invited directly. I wouldn't try an assault. Even with the Army's of Hell and the Engless Graveyard... we can still outnumber you if we wanted."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon rolls his eyes. "Oh for... I /thought/ he might be working within that milieu, but a /checklist/? Really? Good /lord/. You'd think the being that shaped the universe might get creative." He shrugs. "Then again, I suppose that isn't his purpose, hmm?"

    He considers everything for a long moment. Then, "...Something occured to me, earlier. /Is/ this the first version? Has... has Michael done this before? Re-set things, I mean. Or..." He lets it trail off, his bright mood sinking as his expression turns sick, his voice falters.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Uriel is silent for a moment before he answers. "It has been done before, yes" he says finally. He is very still. "However, at that time there was no trial involved. Rough drafts, if you will. More at the behest of the Shaper rather than his own. But that is the nature of things."

    He shrugs and eats another date. "But now we have set a wrinkle in his plans and he has to earn it this time. I think, given the circumstances, you will manage to stop it and stabilize things on your own." He sips the coffee. "I just hope that you have as much faith in yourselves as I have in you."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Gods," Jon breathes.

    Suddenly he leans forward, and slams a hand on the table. "How many times?!" he demands, voice risen to a yell. "How many /trillions/ of lives, snuffed out? How. /Many/?! How much /horror/ does Michael have to answer for?"

    He glares at Uriel, voice lowering to a his. "And how can you just sit there and /shrug/? So you set a wrinkle in his plans. So you have faith in us. Have you no... /compassion/ for all the people Michael's /killed/ because of his own fuck ups?" His jaw clenches. "Because if this has happened over and over... then it's /Michael/ that's the problem, clearly. Not us, not Lucifer. Michael."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Uriel doesn't flinch at Jon's outburst but he does lean a bit away from the man. "I think you misunderstand the nature of what he wants to do. In the grand scheme of things... Michael's horror count is quite small." He frowns as he tries to explain. "The Reclamation process is just that, a recycle of the lives that existed before. This time it has gone on longer than the last which technically is a net gain. I understand you look at lives as the experiences that the beings had but..."

    He sighs. "It is more than a numbers game for you and that is where our differences lie. He is -a- problem. Yes. I agree. But that is why I set this up in the first place. To give you a chance to prove that. To him and to others."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon glowers at the archangel sitting across from him for a long moment.

    Then he spits, "If we had not broken bread, I would rip a statement from you and let Ma'at judge your heart. Are you /listening/ to yourself? We mortals /are/ our experiences. Perhaps it would do you well to walk a day or a year in our shoes, to /understand/ the lives you're playing with like so many... puppets."

    He jabs a finger across the table. "If you want me to keep cooperating, you had better re-think your view. Every universe ours destroys is a tragedy. Every universe that gets re-formed is /also/ a tragedy. Perhaps a necessary death, but to shrug them off? To see it as numbers, as 'net gain?' Those were /people/, whether or not they had to die for the good of all."

    He shakes his head, and deliberately changes the subject. "One last thing, then. How is Chas? You know. The /person/ at the center of this? The one who begged Heaven for help, to protect his /children/, and got /this/ in response?"

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Uriel regards Jon impassively for a moment. "Perhaps you are right. But even so, there is nothing for you to do for them now." He shakes his head again. "Francis is fine. Beyond pain. Beyond torment. The only troubles he feels are those he creates for himself. At the moment, shame and sorrow."

    He sips the water. "We are... in a way, beholden to him. Other servants have been dispatched -by him- to various entities here to deliver messages and gifts that may prove beneficial in the long run. I imagine you will hear of them soon enough." He sets the glass down. "Other than those messages, he watches from his place as the Guardian of the Gate and has faith in you all to succeed."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon lets out a long breath. "Good," he says. "Good that he has agency, at least. Pain, torment, guilt..." He shakes his head. "I wish there was a way to tell him it's not his fault." A sigh. "I suppose we'll have to handle that when we get him back."

    He regards Uriel quietly for a moment, then says, "There /is/ something I can do for them, you know. I can grieve their loss. I can honor their memory. I can win this game, and stop Michael, on their behalf. Do not presume to tell a servant of gods of death what can be done for those gone beyond us. So long as their names are spoken, they are never truly gone--and though I cannot speak their names, at least I know they existed, and thus the Archive knows they existed, and so they will be remembered so long as the Archive perseveres."

    He sighs, and gestures. "Try the om ali," he says, "before it gets cold. And let's speak of other things. Not this game, not the coming war. You are the patron of my alma mater, and archangel of wisdom." He smiles. "You must have stories to tell, or debates you wish to have. Not that I'd presume to keep up with you, but... I'm willing to try."

    It's an olive branch, of sorts. The archangel has bent and admitted he could be wrong more than once. Jon can swallow his anger, and try to move on. Uriel's the one that set this thing up, after all, and gave them a chance in the first place.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Uriel does try the pastry and smiles at the taste. "Very good. Very well done." He pauses and regards Jon with a micheivous smile. "Tell me what your thoughts are about our number. It defies most traditional manuscripts. Thirteen is often percieved as an unlucky number and yet... we number thirteen in our ranks." He settles back and seems ready for a long debate about numbers, conflicting scripture, misunderstandings, and narrative influence of man on the legends of the Hosts.