9551/Path of Glory: A Shining Face

Path of Glory: A Shining Face
Date of Scene:	09 January 2022
Location:	Saint Patrick's Cathedral
Synopsis:	Terry manages to get an Interview with the Archangel Michael. The angel uses the platform of the interview to relay the truth (as he sees it) and allows Terry to do what he does best: ask questions and play chess with his words.
Cast of Characters:	Terry O'Neil, Chas Chandler, Michael Demiurgos
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

---

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The young man who steps towards the Cathedral proper is no longer the Cheshire Cat. This is because he doesn't want to jeopardize the effectiveness of the amulet. In his human form, he is immune to holiness, and he needs his human shape because he is On A Mission From Lois.

Lois can be less forgiving than God, so this is not an optional sidequest, but a main one, especially if he wants to remain at The Planet.

Provided they all survive this, of course.

The red-headed human will seek an entrance, his official gear showing his affiliation with The Planet in his satchel, the logo on his tie, and the press lanyard hanging from his neck. To be absolutely sure.

The Cathedral was always intimidating to him as a kid- mostly because, as a child, he suffered from a terribly active imagination (that has yet to go away), and he would often imagine himself falling upwards, up into the vaulted ceiling. Now, he looks up without fear. Then he looks around, trying to find someone - anyone willing or able to approach him. The population of the... well, the compound has greatly diminished, as he observed earlier when he snuck into Caitlin's tent.

But that doesn't mean he isn't in any less danger.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    A massive figure enters the Cathedral and alights on the ground. The Archangel Michael is beyond imposing. At seven feet in height his sheer mass is enough to point him out in a crowd. But there's more to it than just that.

    He is beyond beautiful; possibly the most attractive specimen in existence. Golden hair that doesn't seem to be out of place regardless of gravity. Piercing blue eyes that shimmer with colors that have no name in any human tongue. His sculpted figure speaks of power and grace in levels that exceed human peak. And there are his wings. The right a shimmering kaledoscope of golds and whites on the feathers that cover the massive appendage. The other is a charred and bloody semblance of its symettrical counterpart.

    He is wearing a simple white tunic that hangs at his knees that's belted at his waist with a simple black sword belt. Sandals that wrap around his calves provide a semblance of comfort for his feet and a golden circlet rests at his brow. He regards the red haired human with a smile. "Terry, you need not hide yourself from my presence. Chaos though you may embody you are not an expansive threat. At least not in the way those who reside in the entropic wasteland that is the Negative Zone."

    His wings flex, sending a shimmering glitter effect that might be seen as a greeting in itself to the Cheshire Cat. "You are a friend to my Champion and thus are welcome. So long as you not raise a hand against our forces, you and any others left behind are safe."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"I don't hide. I interview," is the young man's simple response. Lois is not privy to this conversation, of course, as Terry is not wearing any 'wires' of any sort, but if she were, she might have a reason to feel proud with her pupil.

Or, at least, pleased. "I am aware I am not an expansive threat- I watch my diet and take regular exercize to avoid precisely that."

The green eyes survey the angelic apparition. He is decidedly beautiful, by all objective measures, and he can't help but marvel at that, his breath catching all the same. But there is still also something that is true about the human heart- that to those who love, the object of their love becomes their own guiding star and measure by which many other things are judged. Garfield is not a towering, golden-haired vision with flowing locks, and yet it seems to the redhead that Michael, in some measure of his beauty that is not objective, is not served well by the fact that he is not short, slender and green-skinned.

"I was speaking with Miss Lane, and we both thought that you might, perhaps, appreciate the opportunity to speak on a media platform about these events," he gestures, vaguely encompassing the Cathedral, and everything else.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    "An interview?" Michael muses for a moment. "It was not something I had anticipated doing, but perhaps spreading the word of what is to come from a direct source could be useful in providing a counterweight to those who walk beyond and spread their own version of events."

    He pauses and regards the young man once again and smiles in a way that would send the Cheshire Cat into fits of drunken bliss were he not in human guise and warded. Nevertheless the peace exuding from the singular form of the Archangel is a tangible thing.

    "How would like to do this?" he asks calmly. "Usually you ask questions, do you not?" He gestures idly giving way for the young man to ask away if he has questions.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
There is a serenity to Terry that might surprise people who know him. The angel exhudes peace, himself, but it is also because the young man is very conscious of the Black Swan event he is stepping into. He studies history- he is lucky enough to have friends who /are/ history, in a way. He has read about men and women standing at the edge of doom, holding on to what they loved most, to shield it from the void. Cato at Utica. Boudicca at Colchester. Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra. He does not want to be remembered as 'That fuckin' O'Neil who blew it at Saint Patrick's.'

"That is the usual format, yes. If you will allow, I prefer to record my interviews on video to make available on the Planet website, unedited. Although the print version will, by necessity, be boiled down to the most important parts due to physical space limitation, the online versions always have my raw footage. It's more transparent that way." he gestures to his satchel, which contains the tripod and camera he can set up quickly.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Michael nods. "Of course. That is no trouble, but I must warn you video logs of my people and I have often come with unexpected variables involved." He continues as the man sets up his taping devices.

    "For instance, we can appear as many things to many people and that can vary between people." He watches curiosusly, seeming actually interested in the device being presented. "This discrepency can even transpire while people see the same footage. So it may be prudent to warn people that any...variations in the viewing are likely as valid as the original."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Duly noted," Terry says, all efficiency and quick movements as he unpacks the camera and tripod, and begins to set them up. Because of Michael's stature, he has to choose the angle and distance carefully. This consideration means that he has to whip his phone out and start the voice recording app. "In case the camera picks up the acoustics and we need to overdub the video with this audio source," he explains, "At least we're not in St. John The Divine. A friend briefly dated the sound engineer who records concerts there and that place is a nightmare."

He clips his phone to the front of his shirt by the add-on clip, briefly, once the camera and the audio recorder have started. He counts to three and claps, once. "Cue to help synchronize the audio," he explains, and then dislodges the phone from his shirt, to hold it more like a microphone.

"We should begin with the basics. For the benefit of the readers, may we please have your name and any titles or distinctions that you wish to be known under." His voice is well-paced and modulated. Shadowing April at the channel, he became aware that he sometimes had a tendency to speak with nasal resonance and spent over a year practicing speaking while pinching his nose, having become rather self-conscious about how he sounded over the podcasts at the Planet's website.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Michael smiles at the question. "To give you all my titles and distinctions would take more time than I believe is warranted for such an interview. But... I can give the main ones. I am the Archangel Michael: Commander of the Hosts, General of the Army of Heaven, Revelator, Slayer of the Great Dragon, and the Sword of God."

    His wings flex once again, the same kaledoscopic effect flashing over the camera. "Addressing me as anything more than Michael or Saint Michael would be quite tedious and so I am more partial to those names in address." He smiles again for effect as much as amusement.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Thank you, Saint Michael," Terry acknowledges the being by his chosen name.

His job as a journalist meant that the most important thing to get at was the Truth- the thing with the capital 't', the veritable 'when, what and by whom' that was the dispassionate description of actions and stated motives, not someone's personal truth, colored by their viewpoints and interpretations, be they Angel or Cheshire Cat. You didn't get that by being contentious, you dug at it by asking questions and /listening/ to what the person was saying. And, more importantly, and something that was a much more difficult task to do, was listening to what someone /wasn't/ saying. He is aware that he has some very defined conceptions as to what Michael's goals are, but that is all they are at this moment- conceptions.

Earlier, Terry played chess with Caitlin. Right now, that's dangerous- Angels know chess. Angels know math. The game to be played is more akin to Alice Chess- which has rules, true, but which has a lot more to do with allowing for paths to emerge by making a move, and then vanishing 'through the looking glass'- The interviewer must disappear and serve only as the means of conveyance by which the door that hides things may be nudged open. And before becoming a hero, Terry O'Neil was at his most comfortable in the background, shining the light on everybody else's story. Donna had to figuratively drag him by the ears into the spotlight. But it's amazing, how quickly it is to slip into the old habits.

"There have been many things said, by many different parties, about your purpose for being among us, here and now. In your own words: Why are you here, on Earth? What is it that you intend to do?"

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Michael's smile doesn't falter. "A wonderful question" he replies to the reporter. "In short, I intend to test mortal kind--predominantly humanity--to see the validaty of the continuation of this universe in its current state." He lets that statement hang in the air for a moment, the full weight of its implications evident in the cathedral. Interpretations or not there was a lot to handle in the words.

    "There are a number of factors wrong with the state of things as they are and so a test of faith is required. A test of strength. Of will. In order to prepare it for what comes after. I cannot truly say what that 'after' may be. It is not my will that will determine it, but that of Our Father." He inclines his head. "Needless to say, whatever that aftter is, much will change from this endeavor. And some gates may be opened and others may close forever."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The redhead nods. His gestures have become minimalistic, hardly the boisterous and vibrant body language that most who know him are used to.

This is where the Bishop moves, opens a path and vanishes to the other Chessboard.

"Earlier today, I had the opportunity to speak with the person who has been designated as your Champion. I am glad you mentioned this test of will and its aftermath- she mentioned that you said to her that you are here to save those who want to embrace God's will, and who will be reborn in a world- a universe, I guess- without those who do not. There is a lot to unpack in that sentence. What is the will of God that they must embrace? What does it consist of?"

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Michael nods his expression turning somber and thoughtful. "There are a great many factors that go into the universe as it is now. Many of these are secrets that cannot be revealed to those not ready for them." He pauses, continuing his thoughtful contemplation.

    "However, what I can say is that there isa great imbalance in this universe. One that has existed since--I believe--its inception. That imbalance, if allowed to continue will ensure its destruction."

    He looks up at the stained glass of the church, the beatific glow of his own divine light intensifies. "The will of God is the understanding that ensures balance. Ensures unity. An understanding that all beings are tainted by this imbalance simply be being part of this universe and purging themselves of it is the only true path to serenity and peace. It's not about denominations, or religious affiliation. It's about realizing that the place where you stand is wounded and that once my path is clear, that wound will be healed."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry's eyes maintain their focus, two circles of jade that glance with the intensity of a sphynx. "To summarize what I have understood from your statement: the universe was created with an inherent flaw that taints all who were born into it, through no fault of their actions. Since God is omniscient and omnipotent, the only conclusion that can be drawn from this is that this was his intention from the start. In order to save ourselves, we must purge ourselves from this imbalance."

"We have still not been told of what this purging consists of, however."

Moving at length across the looking-glass board, the Bishop stops at a remote corner, where it appears again on the first board, to threaten an unwary pawn.

"The next segment of your Champion's statement- reborn in a world without those souls. What is to become of those souls who do not embrace the will, do not purge themselves, such as you have outlined?"

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Michael chuckles. "You wish me to reveal one of the fundamental secrets of the universe on camera? I am not sure that is a smart idea--but...there are ways around this" he says and lifts a hand.

    All motion ceases. Angels moving about the cathedral on tasks predetermined hover motionless. Warriors, mortal agents of Michael who stayed behind the Rapture of His faithful to assist in the fight also stop in their progress. The red light on the video camera, once blinking stays a fixed steady red.

    Time has stopped.

    "I cannot reveal it to all, but I can reveal it to you," Michael says. "My Father imbued two beings to create the universe you exist in. One of those was myself. I created all matter that exists but I was not given the will to shape that matter into its fundamental components. That task was given to another. It was his hand that tainted the process, and led to his expulsion from the City of God shortly thereafter."

    He shakes his head, his expression sympathetic. "The God most religions believe in is not the doting figure that many believe him to be. He is aloof. Beyond the understanding of even -my- mind. He has delegated the caretaking of the multiverse to other beings, myself being the one designated for -this- universe. For all I know there could be countless other Michaels in countless other universes. But that is beyond my scope. I am taksed with this one and this one only and it is... damaged."

    He snaps his fingers and motion resumes in the church and the recording light resumes its blinking. "The purging of imbalance is a simple task. It only requires acceptance. Acceptance of the will that I have come to impart upon all that is. As for those who don't accept that will?" He gestures idly. "They will be returned to the embrace of Our Father. Once there it will be up to Him to see if they are returned to the Great Cycle or if they remain in His embrace for all eternity."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry is not alien to things of this sort happening. Time, in Wonderland, is a person- and if you get on his bad side he can do mean things to you... like toss you ten seconds into the future so that you are always alone, wandering in the world that is yet to be. Or he could make an afternoon with your annoying aunt seem eternal. He commits what Michael says to memory. Of course, he has read up on the Gnostics- how could he not?- and the term that comes immediately to his mind is that of a Demiurge, the creator of the universe who is not, actually, the Godhead.

He commits this to his mind for later pondering. Who was cast out from the City of God? The Morningstar, of course.

The pawn has moved out of the way to avoid capture, cluttering the terrain as intended. The Bishop moves again in a diagonal swath through the open path and stops, vanishing again into the looking-glass board.

"This imbalance you speak of, Saint Michael. How does it manifest itself in our behavior? You say we must recognize it since it is, unwittingly, part of us, therefore it has qualities by which it can be identified, since we are also capable of ridding outselves of it. It would be very helpful if we could have those details. Concrete beings like us often have an easier time with those."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Michael give Terry a look of utter confusion. "You see it every day, do you not? Division. Hatred. Prejudice. The Martyred Prophet, he crowned at his death as King, spoke of loving one another in peace."

    He makes a gestures as if offering a hand. "If you can purge yourself of such hatred, such division. Such... -imbalance- then you can continue in the world that exists after." He smiles again. It is quite simple to be honest." The utter sincerity in his words might come off a bit astonishing, really. The absolute conviction in his view.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The next sets of moves appear haphazard, appearing and disappearing, almost falling prey to Knights that detach themselves at the chance of potentially pouncing on him. But the Bishop always vanishes, leaving the board in disarray as it traipses into its mirror.

"Division exists because different stances become irreconcilable. What a person believes, what they choose to support versus others. There are no simple answers to many of these questions- and in some, no undeniable hard evidence that proves one side right or wrong. And in the cases where there /is/ evidence that someone is wrong, there are still those who choose to double down on their beliefs."

One of the opposing Bishops falls when he steps back into the primary board.

"That is, of course, their free will- the exercise thereof doesn't necessarily mean that their choice will be wise, merely free. Are we to understand that those who exercise their free will are free to do so- but only as long as they choose a very particular path, while all others will be returned to the Father's embrace? ... by which I understand that they will die."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    "You look upon the field with a very mortal view--which I suppose should be expect as intrinsically defined by their view as you are" Michael replies with a nod. He considers his next words carefully, his own came of chess coming into play. His board is stacked vertically. Moving one piece on a board above, configures others below in a cascade effect.

    "You imply that I wish to end the concept of free will. This is not true. Mortalkind would no longer be mortal if they were not given the freedom to choose." He shakes his head. "I do not seek to modify stances. Or beliefs. Or for those of this world to chose between right and wrong, good and evil. These concepts are... immaterial in the end. What I wish to see is much greater than any of that. Go higher, look above choices. Above ideologies. And see the world from the point that I do, from the edge of reality at the Gate of the Silver City."

    The intensity of light around him blossoms once again and its as if all of the cosmos is revealed in the shimmering of his wings. "I want mortalkind to show unity in their actions from a higher scope than what is present here on this planet. Or any planet that has life and thought and sentience on it." The radiance threatens to overpower the camera, one hopes the editors of the Planet are able to pull down lensflare central. "Prove through -action- that existing is more important than the petty squabbles about differences in opinion."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The Bishop moves once more and appears on the main board, to threaten the king through the diagonal path he has cleared. A clutter of pawns in disarray cut off the escape routes, and he is outside of the reach of the Knights.

"Saint Michael, you want to force an understanding, an evolution, that must come with time. It appears to me that you assume it will never come, and yet in the cosmic sense most sapient species are but babes. To borrow a scriptural scenario, you are cursing the fig tree for not giving figs out of season, and then you intend to punish it for it."

The chessboards pause. A thought occurs to him that makes him sit back, in his mind. It's such a basic question, he almost forgot to ask.

Terry frowns now, the first sign of emotion he has displayed so far. He can't afford it. Throughout the interview he has maintained the calmness, the focus and breathing exercizes Leonardo has taught him.

You can't second guess your sword once you've committed to the blow, was the notion. That way lies death on the field. Donna Troy has often told Terry he doubts himself too much, that he thinks too little of himself. Here, he is trying to think of nothing but first thoughts- the questions of the interview. No second thoughts (thoughts about thoughts), no third thoughts (thoughts about thoughts about thoughts) ... not even fourth thoughts (yes, he has those). No other thought but the desire to find the Truth. Not even the notion that this interview, by its very nature and by the very importance it might have, could get him a Pulitzer nomination, making him potentially the youngest winner of such prize.

To be frank, even if he allowed himself such thoughts at this moment, that would be absolutely the last thing on his mind. The first things would be his mother's face. And April's. The color of Gar's eyes. Donna's expression when she rolls her eyes at him and laughs at something he said in disbelief. Raven's brillo pad voice slinging yet another sick burn. And then he would feel like crying and screaming, and tell this sanctimonious being that he does hate... that he hates /him/ for wanting to take all of those precious things away from him- in the name of love. What love was this?

But he cannot. He cannot feel. He cannot be anywhere but in the moment, trust in the instincts of a journalist and the steadfastness of a hero, lest he lose every one of them.

"Why now? After all of these millennia? And why must we be judged and executed so, when it is fact that several of your own kind broke rank and rebelled-" here he is not betraying the Demiurge's confession, since the story of the fall is pretty much mainstream in religion, "The Morningstar's judgement was wrong. Unless you receive a direct communication from God, how do you know /your/ judgement isn't wrong now? Saint Michael, do you believe your judgement to be incapable of erring? Because that is the sin of pride..."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Michael beams at Terry. "I think our interview is concluded. You did very well and I think with your insight.. you might be able to steer others to the right path." He reaches out and places a hand on Terry's shoulder. There is an almost paternal feel in the gesture. His unnatural blue eyes sparkle with the same intensity of a proud parent. "Go an give people the answers they seek with your insight, and your smile Great Cheshire Cat. Take this information to your Queen, White Bishop."

    The chessboard is turned upside down and inverted. The board reset before the game finished but the pieces seem to be in the wrong places, the blacks and the whites mixed with each other in a configuration that makes no sesne. The pattern of the board is also wrong, gone is the checker pattern, instead the board is a clean slate of gray infinity.

    "I want you to know that this... institution lost something great when they cast you out with their bigotry. I will never and have never given up on you." Again, that sincerity and utter conviction in his words pours out of him in a wave that coming from anything else would be beyond belief.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The paternal gesture, oddly enough, seems to have little effect. Terry O'Neil never knew his father, after all, and there was no contest in his mind between Agatha, who suffered and sacrificed to raise him, and Michael. The Archangel seems sincere, but then again- so would anyone who is so self-assured and convinced of his point. Terry never wanted someone to give him purpose, truthfully, all he ever wanted was to be free to be himself. He never followed, he merely went.

To the very core of his being he felt the same bell ringing as when he faced those who were willing to do crazy things for something they truly, fervently believed in. Not in vain did Vladimir Jankelevitch say that there was a difference between being sincere and speaking the truth. Sincerity is speaking /your/ truth, while truth was something that required no sincerity because it could not be altered by emotion.

"I have powers that cannot compare to those of the angels. Yet I do what I can to try to protect people. When I make mistakes, I must pay for them. And meager though my powers are, I try to be very careful with them, even though I can only affect a small number of people." The tripod and camera are grabbed, though the camera isn't turned off just yet. He'll turn it off on his way out. "If I had the power to affect an entire universe, I would be wary of being so certain. Erasing uncountable lives by mistake in a moment of self-assuredness is something I would never be able to cope with."

Lois Lane's Rule #25: When someone concludes the interview before you do, you have either bored the hell out of them or placed your finger somewhere tender. The tricky part is figuring out which is which. The /really/ tricky part is knowing it before it blows up in your face.

The camera BEEPs and turns off when the young man presses the button. "I am not giving up on you," he says quietly, "but I am afraid you are heading towards a horrible mistake. Thank you for the interview, Saint Michael."

He turns around and heads towards the door. Breathing exercizes. He will have time to transform into the Cheshire Cat once he is well away from Saint Patrick's, and he can find Gar and collapse in his arms and have a good cry.

And then he'll pull himself together, write, and send that interview in. Because that's what he is here to do.