9560/Exploring Faith on the Path of Glory

Exploring Faith on the Path of Glory
Date of Scene:	10 January 2022
Location:	St. Nicholas' Cathedral
Synopsis:	Zatanna Zatara] Zatanna Zatara changed Scene 9560's Outcome to: Zatanna, Meggan and Phoebe (briefly) and Atrun-rae (newly returned from dissolution) meet at St. Nicholas Russian Orthodox Cathedral to brainstorm how churches figure in the scheme of the angelic invasion. Are they powerhouses for the angels that fuel themselves on belief? Stongholds? The conversation veers to the idea of creating a campaign, asking the leaders of the world's faiths to gather their congregations together and pray to live and for the universe to be healed. Just a small ask.
Cast of Characters:	Zatanna Zatara, Alexis Carr, Meggan Puceanu, Atrun Rai
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

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Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna snaps off the large screen tv that looks out of place in the 16th library in frustration. She stares at the black screen, frowning. The interview with St. Michael has made a tremendous splash on the net and television and added absolutely nothing new to their quest to stop the archangel.

Other ideas had kept her awake all night. In an offhanded comment about allocating fighters, Jon mentioned churches as being important. Churches. The word had sent the magician down a rabbit hole. If she was ever going to come out of it, she needed other perspectives.

After she sent out a call to Meggan and Phoebe, Zatanna went to their destination ahead of time to think.

----------

New York had been bitterly cold since St. Michael and his host had descended on the City. A foot of snow overnight had snarled emergency vehicles and police patrolling the streets.

The Cathedral of St.Nicolas glows with an otherworldly light in the pristine snow surrounding it. The central shrine, with its softly rounded dome, capped with snow, and clamped between its square outer shrines, looks like a holy spacecraft ready to ascend to heaven.

Dressed against the weather in a long black coat, a red scarf wrapped around her neck, Zatanna paces the steps of the shrine waiting for the three had called on.

Alexis Carr has posed:
    Phoebe had felt weird coming into churches as of late, for many, many reasons. When she arrives, she's armored and domino'd, with a pack over her back and snow on her shoulders as she shakes off from the cold. Her armor was the same matte gray kevlar-on-ceramic weave that the others in the Bat Family bared, though in lieu of a bat or an R she had a snake winding its way up a staff on her shoulder. She grips at the edges of her domino, and slowly releases it from around her eyes as she makes her way into the church proper, looking around the grand Cathedral, giving pause

    "Protector of fishermen and children. About right." she murmurs to herself, and calls out "Zee?"

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Terry's conversations with an archangel are widely publicized. The Daily Planet's whole media team probably gave up hours ago trying to catch up on all the threads and conversations. Ripples roll out through the online world, generally tuned to 'what the hell are those Americans on about' when English ceases to be the primary language of communication. When Zatanna's message drops in, Meggan is downing a cup of tea spiked liberally with whisky, not that it does anything but improve the flavour, tracing those paths through the digital aether. A ZZ plant next to her pets her nose with a waxy, deep nephrite-green leaf. It waves around when she slides off a stool and then opts to take to the streets after sending a response over text: <OMW.>

RFinding the Russian Orthodox cathedral isn't hard. There are so few Russian Orthodox churches that any map will point to the right one, the other primarily in Brooklyn with the native diaspora from the former Soviet Republic. She moves unmolested in a different way from Phoebe or Zatanna.

Hard to argue with the snow when you are the snow, a balmy zephyr coalescing with a mostly silent pop into the vestiges of a translucent woman. Hoarfrost runs down her arms and solidifies into pale skin, moonlit mist hardening into an amorphous skein of hair. Her face takes shape and if the bottom half of her tapers away into ephemera, that's to be expected. "Sorry to be late," she chimes in. Her voice, too, is curiously bereft of depth. Dimension? Could be, given the elemental is still half given to being air.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna turns around at the end of the steps, startled from her thoughts, warmly smiles at the young magician. Good, glad you could come. "I'll wait for the others to explain."

The smile freezes as the fine snow falling coalesces into an elemental not far from them. Meggan's existence and magic rings musically to the homo magi's senses, a perfectly pitched bell singing in the frigid air.

"Thank you both for coming. I don't know if we can be overheard inside the church. Jon seems to think that they are important to stop Michael. That's why I asked you here."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
The whispers of shadow and snowflakes outside the round-capped building don't quite intrude within. Parishioners probably sought sanctuary wherever they could, though their ghosts remain to be spied in the scents of life, worn pews, and various announcements. For a few seconds, the temptation to stare at them overwhelms Meggan. She gazes at the Cyrillic script, as strange and foreign as cuneiform to a kid from Oaxaca, as it might sift through a meaning this way.

"Anyone thinking to peer at you from the next city over's a nonce," she says, pulled back by the lengthening silence. "Like you wouldn't spot a peeping Tom somehow. But I can check for anyone else about, if you figure it's a good idea."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    From outside, then, a sound. Like a stereo turned up way too loud, the buzzing of bass vibrating speakers. Only the rising thunder doesn't just vibrate air, it vibrates...reality, the front of the church seeming to shudder as something - something - begins to emerge from a smear of amorphous darkness spreading over the inner doors of the church. A black stain, running out into the interior of the cathedral's vestibule. Something, strangely, only the mystic can see.

    Something is coming out of it. Tendrils of ink, curling. Craning into the air, as if tasting it. It's horrible, just looking at it. This stain of the void.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"We both will then." Zatanna mutters under her breath and a faint glema of a magical shield settles in place. A worshipper settling nearby to pray will see nothing but two nondescript woman whispering to one another.

Zatanna looks up into the domed ceiling its glass obscured by snow. In the center of the ceiling the stained glass figure of Christ blesses them. Head craned bck, she asks, "What do you know bout the power of prayer?"

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Void-stinging tendrils piercing reality's face warrant a reaction from the antithesis of that. Meggan floats above the ground in a mire of chilly mist sublimated off a northern ocean. Her translucency shifts away from the tangible into barely visible. Helpful should there be a dire need to lash out with a protective word or act, since she is not fully acquainted with the danger spilled in black ink and watery rivulets that hurt her perception.

"Prayer is potent. You say it loud enough, the power you pray to hears it. Some say it gives gods nourishment, though that I don't know." She shakes her head, speaking softly at a cracked whisper. "Not ever been prayed to meaningfully to know. An act of faith sends out a splash. The way some say, you get it all piled up strong enough and that makes a fundamental force go like gravity or something. I heard that gods die because no one believes in them. Like that's really the end, to be forgotten. Doesn't seem to track purely right though?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    The shuddering vibration continues in the vestibule, now likely 'loud' enough for any mystic's senses to detect. The gap solidifies into a plain black pyramid, framed with those questing tendrils - and from it is vomited a gush of black fluid, steaming across the floor, itself filled with wailing tendrils as they stretch forward almost in a kind of carpet. It is from this carpet that a familiar figure steps.

    As he does, Atrun-Rai frowns at his surroundings. The horror of the darkness around him withdraws in seconds, as if rewound at triple speed. And there he stands, surrounded by the faintest aura of black steam that coils and fades before even reaching the ceiling.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The hair on the nape of her neck rises at the vibration. Zatanna looks behind her at the church doors in time to see the void vomit a familiar figure from its maw. She scans the church for signs of panic from the few people who had braved the snow and the angelic invasion and stayed in New York. No panicked parishioners rush by screaming into the night.

"Incredible. He's returned, Meggan."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
The building remains intact and none of the candles flared two meters tall or went out in a gush. Meggan frowns at the muffled pangs cracking on her senses, the dizziness flowing in a spin at the base of her neck. Her swallow brings a crackling noise of ice though she hasn't either in her throat or over her skin. Zatanna's moods and the very few people who might be present in the smaller rooms of the church trample over whatever else she might actually feel. Their feelings are hers.

Hers are undecided.

"Hrm. Hullo and all that. That how they make an entrance in Atlantis?" Disbelief chews up her immediate terror.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Reality bleeds, reality screams, and reality heals. And there is Atrun-Rai. He wears a grim frown as he emerges into the cathedral proper, expression like that of a gargoyle rather than his normal smiling self. He's been through something, and no mistake. "Good evening," he offers to the two mystics of his acquaintence, nodding to Zatanna and to Meggan in turn. "I have recovered."

    Recovered? From death? "Indeed, I am much restored."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Inured to the strangeness of life of late, Zatanna hugs herself against the chills, once reality reasserts itself and spits out a frowning Atrun into their midst. The homo magi sighs, a hearty sigh refusing to acclimate to the threat of angels and the void opening in the church to spill out her friend and sometime magical mentor.

"I'll paraphrase Poltergeist, 'Heeeeee's here'," and shakes her head with reluctant acceptance. "Come join us, you miraculous being. Perhaps you can help shed light on the power of prayer."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"A flick I'm glad not to have watched too recently. Has a bit more of the Birds feel to it. I see a gull eyeing me up, I'm bound to smack it." Meggan squelches the memories of bad movies, a shake of her head doing not enough to free her from one too many CGIed horrors spotted on film or online.

She looks over Atrun-Rai's usual appearance and then to Zatanna. "I miss something? You seem like the air came back into the balloon. One way or another, though, good to see you?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Rumpled slightly, certainly. But he's recovering as he stands there. "I shall explain later," Atrun-Rai replies to the two, looking about the vaulted ceiling. At the glory of the nave. "Suffice it to say that my employers have seen fit to continue my contract, praise be to evil spirits." There is no praise in those words, for certain.

    Now he looks past them to the nave specifically, the pulpit. The treasured art within. "In the meantime, prayer is a psychic call, nothing more. Belief, however. Belief is what gives power, but it doesn't matter the denomination. Belief is fuel."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"There. That. Belief." She crosses her arms to stare at the distant altar before slumping back in the pew, looking up to focus on the distant figure of Christ barely illuminated in the fading light.

"Do they turn lights on it at night, you think? On Christ?"

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"It's like food, sustenance. I bet if you tried praying hard enough..." Meggan shrugs her shoulders again. Her purpose is laid out in a few quick strokes that were already discussed under the shroud of the spell, making for an agreement with Atrun-Rai or a secondary explanation that proves not that necessary.

"I bet they keep lights on, but electricity for a roving band of angels could be reason to shut power down. Fewer fires. Could prevent looting or stop it, you reckon?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I'd like to think that looting is the last thing on anyone's mind." Atrun-Rai frowns at the figure up on the cross. "At the very least, /he/ got peace. Right. Why are you here, again?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"We are here to try to understand how the power of prayer is important to the angels. One. And two, and who knows how many more bullet points more, how that can help us shift this contest to save the world, well, universe," said with the impatience of someone who feels that she /should not/ be so helpless in the face of their present plight.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Angels are messengers. Like, supposed to be in church? I never went the same way some did, we weren't that welcome." Meggan doesn't go further into that, nor is she particularly put out by the dislike of the Church of England or various other denominations for staring askance at her. Instead, she nods to Zatanna. "Do they carry energy of prayers up there like little living emails? Got to be some way in a system to convey it. Do prayers, thoughts, and words go straight up to God and they have no part in the process? It seems to me they could be responsible for the relay. Or maybe you get a really powerful archangel -- Michael, he's treated as his own saint, and he /intercedes/ like a saint does. So he's got an active role in the system. Is he getting his own energy because he talked to everyone through the news and now they believe in him? That gives him some big pool he wants to tap into. Like a lot of online followers, or your audience share, Zatanna."

That part must make sense, since she gets up, floating in motion, her legs shifting to the steps but not in the actual flow of motion that proves necessary to walk in a circle. "Is that part of it? He wants to claim churches cos that's where people who would pray to him or to God show up? Is there any strength in it?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    The ancient sorceror sets his lips into a frown as he keeps his vision forward. He looks...hollowed somewhat, standing there. As if slightly starved. Sallow. "I'm going to guess that faith is a passive thing, that everyone projects in some form or flavor. Churches may serve as concentration points, but I don't know that it would be a lightning rod or some sort of beacon." Atrun-Rai turns his attention back to his companions. "We spoke with gods in my day. We didn't worship them." He pauses a moment, then shakes his head, tapping his lips with oddly blackened fingertips. "No. As far as I know, you'd just have to kill worshippers for that."

    With that, he shakes his head again. "I need to leave," he says, frowning at the cross. "I need...to rest. I will speak with you again later. But I have returned." And with that, he turns to go.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"You would think with my experience in the theatre that I would have a handle on publicity. Tic Toc, Instagram, Facebook, Twitter," Zee rocks her head from side to side as she enumerates the platforms.

"I dislike them and avoid them except on the advice of my PR experts." She adds sardonically, "The princess of prestidigitation finds them a waste of time except for self-promotion. My bad, right? But Meggan has mentioned them twice, in the context of unifying people. What if we ask people to come to church to pray for the world to be saved? What if we ask all imans, cardinals, bishops, roshis and whoever I missed to call their congregants Church, Mosque, Temple or Ashram and ask for the Angels to intercede on the behalf of the world?" Her green eyes flit between the two, only half-hopeful that she has come close to something that may sway the balance of the contest.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Meggan sheepishly shrugs her shoulders. "You all met my mum. /I/ met my mum." The notion lingers, soft as falling snow, and she shuts her opalescent eyes to resolve into much more of a physical presence than before. Pale of skin and winter-sun contrast. "So you still do chat with at least one. A least-lesser-most one? Worship is a funny thing, anyway. What if it's like a satellite dish focusing all the prayer up. A clearer picture and less of the fluffy noise blocking the message would be important. They would want to get those points for their own gain. Does dispersing or decommissioning the dish do anything? Desanctifying a church temporarily could stop it from broadcasting. Or you may make more noise."

The inverse of Zatanna's idea is then presented after the Atlantean sorcerer makes his points. She might be talking about /erasing/ while the princess of prestidigitation and spelling bees speaks about building up. "Or, or you could do that. But like... why talk to the angels? Why don't we just talk further up the ladder? The Pope doesn't speak with angels, he talks to God. Christians sometimes ask saints for intervention, but those saints were almost always human first. Are they still human? Gurus in Hindu faith are human, and so are the Sikh ones. If we shout in a single, loud enough voice, will the biggest of the big gods listen to us?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Atrun-Rai pauses, looks back at the two. "Sounds like a brilliant idea," he says, looking between the two. "I will see if I can find more information - but yes, it sounds like an idea that has real promise. Now, I really..." Another glance around the place. "...must go. More answers later. Just know that I am decidedly on /your/ side, ladies. Good evening."

    And then he's off, down the aisle and through the vestibule where horror vomited him up - but this time, he's outside and going down the street.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna turns back to face the altar, hands gripping the pew in front of her. "Maybe. Could it hurt?"

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"I'd hope he was. If he were not, wouldn't that be sort of contrary to the whole point of making Michael fall over?"

Meggan scrunches her nose up. "This bit's so much different than me. I reckon we need to go bug John and find out what he knows. Seems up his alley to throw a spanner in the works about mucking with phoning Grandfather God to say, 'Hey, your servant is making decisions and we aren't cool with this.' Is Michael forgetting the whole imago dei thing? Like... like we're made in the image of God." Evil black tentacles from a pyramid and all. "Not the angels. I don't know, Ms. Zatara, I don't. I'm only a silly girl trying to keep people from burning down forests and digging up the last scraps of arable land, not realizing what happens when they buy all those plastics breaking down into the ocean. This big madness is so beyond me." A huffed inspiration cools and settles in her belly, and she laughs breathlessly. "Stupid, isn't it, to complain? We haven't been sucked up and dusted yet, so I ought to be thankful for that. And I am. But John is right, the angels and demons always ought to have stayed on their own turf and sodded off. Let /us/ be, but they decided for whatever reason we're to be part of their games. Never changes, dunnit, so why complain about our lot?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
@emit "You have no idea how I have wanted to rant and rave about how unjust this feels to me. Not that it matters or that anyone asked my opinion." She wrinkles her nose right back at Meggan.

"Ask them to sod off? How about dissolving into motes or atoms and go off and form a new star system somewhere?"

"As for faith? I was raised in the Church but don't believe that that entity," she points to the center of the dome, "died for my sins. I know that there are people who would yell apostasy and anathema, hearing me. I believe it is the right of every being to express their beliefs."

"If I believe in anything it is the /absolute interconnectedness/ of all sentient beings and they are not separate from their environment."

"What I am saying is, we need a coherent message that could reach all the leaders of different faiths and their congregants and to gather for the biggest prayer, chanting session or meditation that has been ever seen. And good luck to that!"

She sits back in the pew exhausted.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Because asking them to evaporate to soup and reforming themselves is about what they're asking of us, and we seem to have taken a backseat to it, you know?" The faerie queene of Spencer's great works is a great deal more clever and charming than Meggan would ever claim to be, though she turns that wide, grey-cast gaze up to the altar. It holds no power for her. "Making a new star system sounds right. I mean, what doesn't make any sense at all, why is Michael doing this now instead of aeons ago or right after Lucifer noped out? He waited until someone said 'Hey you, my lot is awful, come help?' Why answer Chas now, unless it's some kind of crisis of faith or the straw that broke the camel's back?"

She huffs. "I don't have the right answers. Zee, you can hold different opinions. The big winged punter acts like you cannot think separately without risking a place in the great cycle, or whatever nonsense he calls it. But we value our right to think and disagree. And to live."

She turns. "Is it that simple? We all agree to /live/? It doesn't have to be loving one another so much as 'Hey you, who do you think you are telling us what to do?' Hm. Everyone point out they want to /live/? It's our planet, our home?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"There is nothing simple about getting us to agree on that point," she shakes her head trying not to succumb to despair at the size of the task. "Nothing. We have to agree I suppose on what we are praying for. See, I have a problem with begging for someone to solve my problems but expressing my desire for all living beings to live well is another thing."

May I be a protector to those without protection,
A leader for those who journey,
And a boat, a bridge, a passage
For those desiring the further shore.
May the pain of every living creature
Be completely cleared away.
May I be the doctor and the medicine
And may I be the nurse
For all sick beings in the world
Until everyone is healed.

Looking overwhelmed, "How would we organize it? How can we all face in the same direction. Michael mentioned unity several times."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Makes me wonder if he's got a bet he told no one about." Meggan shrugs helplessly again as Zatanna despairs and hauls her down within that grey sea wracked by thick skies and so little else. "Is this his way to jar us into action? Maybe he's had enough of waiting on the mad little mortals to act, and thought shaking a big stick would work better than a carrot. Or you think punishment and threats obliterate procrastination? Clearly not the way to go forward but he has his opinions and what'm I gonna do? I already said, shout to God this is way out of line. Maybe it isn't."

Her fingers bounce off the slope of her hip tapped as she presses her palm in. The magician has her thinking, though. "He kept saying unity like it's the easiest thing. We can start pulling on cords and seeing what shifts the needle, can't we? Not all one thing but several. Suppose we start with the archbishops or priests here, they at least /know/ me and John. Blade too. Had to deal with them when Demogorge got out and some angry gods prior to that. Cycle keeps running around, you know? Could drop words with the different faith leaders and have them convey it up."