9840/Motes of Light

Motes of Light
Date of Scene:	25 January 2022
Location:	Grand Central Station
Synopsis:	Jon, Tim, and Lydia discuss the security of Grand Central Station, plans around Jon's death, and whether or not Lydia proposed to Mystique. (Signs point to yes.)
Cast of Characters:	Jonathan Sims, Lydia Dietrich, Tim Drake
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

---

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    It's quiet in Grand Central, for the moment. Some of the work of scouting Morningside Heights has been outsourced to the Titans, the inward flow of refugees has come to a standstill, and there were very few casualties in the last major battle. The angels appear to be regrouping, so there haven't been many skirmishes over the past couple of days--perhaps Michael's definitive defeat at Lady Death's hands stung. Or maybe he's just showing compassion and giving them a reprieve. Either way, Jon's told people to take the chance to rest and prepare for what's likely to be a rough couple of weeks going forward.

    Jon's standing right in the middle of the mostly-empty Main Concourse, peering up at the roof with his Sight wide open. To magical eyes the place is covered in spheres and lines of golden light, the evidence of the wards Zatanna set up before SHIELD and the resistance ever formally moved in. Strong wards, good wards, but evidently not /quite/ strong enough to keep an archangel out when he's invited in. Which bothers Jon, so he's trying to see if there's anything he can shore up, or maybe another layer to add, specifically against the archangels? It's something to consider.

    It also keeps him from thinking about the ticking clock's hanging over his head, so, always a good thing.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Despite the somber tone in Grand Central Station, Lydia is floating on cloud 9. She comes into the building surrounded by little points of light, holding her aloft and dancing about her as she hums a little tune to herself. She's headed to the workshop that she and Phoebe share to continue to work on the seal. They're close to being finished with the details, and soon all that'll be left will be to sneak into the city and draw the circles.

She stops short though, when she sees Jon studying the ceiling. "Is everything alright?" she asks, her happy mood coming down a notch. But only a notch.

Tim Drake has posed:
    There are shadowy presences in Grand Central Station. Not demonic ones (though rumors do abound), but ones with dark countenances and silent footsteps. They're hardly seen, but today Red Robin is not a figure skulking in the shadows. Instead he quite suddenly can be found standing next to Jon, occupying a space that was empty only seconds ago.

    "I heard about the incursion," Tim says, quietly. How, he doesn't specify. His voice is lacking affect, the line of his mouth set with grim determination. The new domino mask is wider, more angular, blocking more of his expression than before.

    It also hides the dark bruising under his eyes, but to those with senses attuned to such things, his exhaustion is being broadcast all the same. Shored up by a much more indomitable will. He produces a piece of paper, crisply folded, from one of the pouches of his utility belt. "I flagged several members of the resistance who have notable religious backgrounds. Interviewing them for potential security gaps is my current highest priority."

    As Tim holds out the paper to the Archivist, he nods to Lydia, polite but distant. While he's participated in the strategic planning of several missions out into Manhattan, like his mentor, Red Robin is hard to pin down. And aside for frequent collaboration with Phoebe, he doesn't do much socializing in costume.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Saint Raphael appeared to Cael because she called for him," Jon says, still peering at the ceiling. "He was helpful, actually, but I don't like that he waited until I was gone, and I don't like that he was able to get in at /all/, even if he said he had to leave a lot of his power aside. It worries me. So... I'm trying to see if there's anything we can do to bolster Zatanna's wards. Maybe add a layer specifically meant to keep the thirteen archangels out. Even if they can't /attack/ us here... they can spy."

    He pulls his gaze down to look at Tim, and takes the paper, biting his lip. "I hate to profile people," he murmurs. "But... I suppose it's a valid concern. Even just... evidently even an /athiest/ calling 'hey shithead' is a good enough excuse to come in here. Someone accidentally praying for intercession would be, too, and someone actively calling on them...?"

    He runs a hand through his hair. "We're supposed to be /trusting/ each other. I hate this whole bloody thing." But he took the list, and he opens it, briefly, glances over it. "You still need this, Red Robin?"

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Aaaaaaaaaaand now the mood is broken. She looks up at the ceiling, too, and sighs. "I warned you about this, Jon, and I think it bears repeating: If you've got an inside man on their side, odds are they've got one on ours." She looks back down to train her strange, golden eyes on her friend. "There's a reason why The Brotherhood seems so paranoid a lot of the time. We know what the cost of having a spy in the midst can do to an organization."

"In an ideal world we /can/ trust each other and play by the rules and everything can be okay." She shakes her head, "But, there's too much at stake. We can't really afford to do either. It's why I put some extra wards on the workshop. To anybody on the outside it'll just be gibberish. I wish I could just lock the place up to make sure but..." she shrugs. What can she do?

She's silent as she stares back up to the wards. In a kind of offhanded manner she says, "So I think I just proposed to Raven."

Tim Drake has posed:
    As there is nothing up there for him to see except the station's ceiling, Red Robin does not look. No point, not without magical senses, and best to just keep his focus where he can be useful.

    "That's why you're not doing it," he says, plainly. "I am. This is just for your awareness."

    He glances askance at Jon's question to him, the expression telegraphed by only the faintest turn of his head to the side. After a beat, he clucks his tongue. "Ms. Dietrich is correct, though if we can identify a spy in our midst, we might be able to make use of it." There's something dark underlying those words, the gears of his mind grinding together as he stands there, eyes on the ground while everyone else looks upwards.

    After a moment, he adds, "Best not to put out a warning about evoking any holy names in vain until we've sealed the breach. Once you put it in everyone's heads, we're risking as many accidental summonings as intentional."

    When Lydia makes her announcement, Red Robin offers a perfectly polite "Congratulations," which sounds sincere even through the voice modulation that obscures his identity. "Would you like me to add additional--mundane--security measures to you workshop?" Maybe that's his version of "mazel tov".

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Once I start down the road of paranoia... things get bad." Jon frowns. "/Very/ bad. I can't... afford to push /everyone/ away, right now. Not that I'm going to just... trust everyone blindly, but if I start thinking /too/ hard about how there could be spies around every corner..." He hunches his shoulders, curls in on himself a bit. Shakes his head. "It... it gets bad," he repeats. Then murmurs, "The reminder's good, I suppose."

    He snaps his fingers and a lick of flame dances upon their tips. He burns the list, right down to ash, there in his hand, partly just because dang it magic is /cool/. "That is, however, why I'm thinking of an extra layer to keep them out specifically," he notes as he walks over to a nearby garbage can and tosses the ashes inside, wiping his hands together to get the last of it off. "And Goddess knows it's not like I'm running about telling /everyone/ all of my plans. What they don't know can't be pulled out of them through torture." Which is evidently where /his/ mind goes. Lovely.

    Subject change! He smiles as he comes back over to the other two. "Congratulations! I mean. I'm /presuming/ she said yes, or you wouldn't have been quite so... glowy when you came in."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia nods in agreement with Jon. "I say leave the paranoia to Red Robin. He's probably better at keeping it from getting out of hand." She gives the masked vigilante a grateful smile, "I'd appreciate it. I'm sure Phoebe wouldn't mind either. It would do a lot to alleviate my own paranoia in the matter."

Turning back to Jon she asks, "Do you still have that book of wards I lent you? I'm sure you'd be able to piece something together from that." She gives him a sly grin, "after all, you're a master at keeping hedgehogs at bay."

But the topic of her engagement causes her to smile and glow again. "She... it wasn't like that. I serenaded her, and gave her a ring and promised that I'd always be there for her no matter what happens. It... wasn't intended as a proposal, but in hindsight I pretty much did everything except pop the question." Her grin gets wider, "though, in the end, she said that if I had asked she /would/ have said 'yes'. We agreed to talk about it seriously once the universe has been saved."

Tim Drake has posed:
    The compliment from Lydia--that's how he's taking it, apparently--earns another nod from Red Robin. "This is where my strengths lie. The both of you should be focused as much as possible on the bigger picture."

    Jon's quick, casual use of magic only reinforces that decision, for Tim.

    "I'll have some equipment brought in via drone within the hour," he says to Lydia, glancing down to the control panel in his left gauntlet that he taps at a few times. "Once everything is installed, I'll update you and Ms. Beacon. We'll need to key the system to your biometrics." Which, technically, he doesn't need Phoebe's presence for. He has those already. But best to keep up the masquerade, and whatnot.

    At the mention of angelic torture, Red Robin only sniffs slightly and looks away.

    Which is what he continues to do as the discussion turns to Lydia's engagement, though it becomes something more... melancholy, perhaps. Distant, contemplative. The corners of his mouth twitch and his chin tips downward, thoughts elsewhere.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon gives Lydia a level look. "It's a big jump from 'hedgehogs' to 'archangels.' And ritual circles aren't entirely my forte. I... suppose I should figure out how I'd do my own warding, I just..." He shrugs. "I'm new at this, you know?" Despite that casual use of magic, there's nothing like confidence in him as he glances back up at the ceiling, at the pyramid of light suspended there, magically. "I'll give it a look-over, I suppose."

    He does /not/ smirk at Red Robin calling Balm 'Ms. Beacon.' Or pretending he doesn't have her biometrics. He just slides his eyes to the side and raises a brow, ever-so-briefly. Mmm-hmm. Sure. We'll go with that.

    "Why wait? So the world's ending. If you know you'd want to get married... agree to it. Give people something to be happy about. You can leave the planning for later, of course." He hesitates, then says, "Even... even if the world isn't ending, you never know when something's going to... happen, you know?"

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia gives Jon a level look back. "Jon, do you know when I built my golem? July. If anybody should be complaining about being new to this it should be me." She looks over to where the workshop is and gets a kind of frazzled look in her eye. "I wish I knew what the hell I'm doing, to be honest. I just keep making shit up and it works. This is an awful lot of responsibility to rest on the shoulders of somebody who barely understands what it is that she's doing."

She looks at Jon and smiles, "I'm just happy that that she said she would if I had asked. That's as good as a 'yes' isn't it? Really I'm in no rush. We've got more pressing needs that need to be met." She nods towards the workshop, "Like sealing that portal."

Tim Drake has posed:
    When next they look, both Jon and Lydia will see that the space to the Archivist's left where Red Robin once stood is now unoccupied. Though Lydia's vampiric senses might have been able to pick up his near-silent footfalls or the similarly quiet beat of his heart--the suit does a great deal to muffle it--he proves just as capable of using opportunities where others are distracted in the moment to slip away.

    Sure enough, however, within the hour there are new security measures--biometric locks, cameras both visible and hidden, motion sensors, et cetera--set up in the workshop.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I've only been Archivist since early September," Jon says quietly. "I didn't even know how to use my magic properly until Halloween, and I'm... figuring it all out as I go. No books or references... I was hoping there'd be /something/ in the cache of documents Martin and Cael found in Bucoda, but no such luck, just yet. Agnes knows more about magic than I do. Which reminds me..."

    He looks to where Tim was, and sighs on finding him just... gone. Not surprised, just a nod. Of course. So he shifts his gaze to Lydia. "We rescued Agnes from Elias on Sunday. I've got her in the Triskelion with Martin, and he's not stupid enough to try to come for her through SHIELD, so she should be alright, for now. She asked about you."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia barely caught Tim's retreat. If her senses weren't so heightened she would have never noticed at all. "Damn, he's good," she breathes.

A wave of relief washes over her. "Oh, good. I hope she wasn't harmed. Were you able to find out anything about what they were planning? Oh, and tell her I said 'hi' when you see her next." She chuckles, "I'm not sure SHIELD would allow a vampire mutant terrorist into the Triskelion."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "We'll find a time. Elias..." Jon frowns. "I don't know for sure what the vampires were doing with her. Marc's been going after them. Moon Knight, I mean. My old mentor, Elias, who she thought was her father... he took her back. I don't know exactly what he wants with her... but he /deliberately/ gave Martin a list of items my grandmother scattered, to go track down."

    He frowns, thoughtfully. "I'm still trying to figure it out. Was she bait, for me? I think he wanted to steal my body at one point--swap out our eyes. Was he going to sacrifice her to gain power? Did he just want control over the next Archivist?" He shakes his head. "I don't know. I doubt I'll like any of the answers. But she's safe, and that means I can focus on what's in front of me, fully, without worrying about her."

    He glances to where Tim was, again. "Well, except for the bit about figuring out how to keep the Archive from passing to her when I die, but Phoebe has ideas about that."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia nods along as Jon speaks. "I really wish I had a cloning power right about now so we can go look into it." She shakes her head. "No such luck. Yet another thing to put on the backburner until we save the universe."

She glances around her. Even though the space is mostly empty, the key word here is 'mostly', as in 'not entirely'. "Speaking of paranoia, let's continue this conversation in your office." She doesn't give Jon any time to refuse, she just starts walking over there.

Once inside she takes one of the chairs. "Okay. Better. Tomorrow I'm going to ask Isis to give us a hand in getting into the underworld when the time comes," she says. "I'm pretty sure I can convince her to open a way there for us."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs and follows along, though he does mutter, "I'm just as happy to put it on the backburner. If I never /think/ about Elias Bouchard again it'll be too soon."

    Inside, the map of Manhattan on the table now has two vials of soil and two pairs of thread marking the first two petals of the hexafoil 'daisy' Jon's making over Manhattan. The threads glow slightly with magic, matching the beams of light that can be seen outside, at least to magical eyes. Jon goes over to fiddle with a kettle, saying, "I need a cuppa... did you want one? It's loose leaf; Peggy keeps us supplied."

    As he gets water boiling, he continues, "That's an excellent idea. Phoebe's been worried about re-opening the gate she used before, but I've had the suspicion you can't go down the same way twice."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
"A cuppa would be lovely," Lydia says, settling into her chair. She examines the map and the thread, her lips turning down into a scowl. "What's the timetable look like? We're almost ready to go but we have a lot of ground to cover."

She nods, though. "Going to the underworld is supposed to be a one time only kind of deal," she says. "You're not /supposed/ to go back down once you've come back, unless you're going there the normal way. I don't know if that'll hinder our chances of getting Phoebe down there again. I'll ask Isis, though. Its /her/ universe, too, but gods are bound by their own set of laws so..." she shrugs. "We'll see."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "That's why I asked Martin not to go," Jon says softly, frowning at the teapot into which he's put a metal strainer full of English Breakfast. "He stays up here, with Agnes. And anyway, he doesn't... mmm. A lot of where you go evidently has to do with your religion... and mine has multiple ways to come back."

    He glances over. "/I'm/ thinking of taking Ra's route, because that involves being reborn, properly. He takes the route every day, after all, and Ma'at preceded him at the first sunrise--and she /is/ one of my patrons. But there's no guarantee that once I get down there I'll even remember myself, let alone what I'm supposed to be /doing/. Which is fixing the imbalance in the universe." He sighs, and frowns. "I feel like we should have a proper meeting about this but those keep turning into a mess. Maybe just a few people."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia nods thoughtfully. "If you need people to help you remember then we should take people who are close to you. Cael and Phoebe, since Martin isn't able to go." She shakes her head, "I'm not certain /I/ should go. I'm pretty sure I don't have a Ka and I don't know what that'll mean once we get there." She shrugs, "Or maybe because I'm Jewish, those rules don't apply to me. I don't know."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Well, it's not just that... I may need others to help me fix whatever's broken. I suppose you could ask Isis whether you should go, though?" Jon hums thoughtfully as the water starts to boil. He pours it into the pot, closes the lid, and then brings that and mugs and cream and sugar over to the table.

    He also sets a timer on his phone for four minutes and grins sheepishly. "I'm impatient," he says. "If I don't do something while the water's boiling I won't let it boil, and then I don't let it steep long enough. Martin forbade me from making tea for /years/ until I started doing it right."

    That done, he says, "The thing is... I've been thinking a lot about why Gaea would even let her Champion die. Why did she agree to that? She said she didn't want it--she said /Uriel/ set it up that way. But... again, why? Maybe the angels are obsessed with self-sacrifice like Gaea said to me, but that doesn't mean he'd set it up that way without a /reason/."

    He frowns at his bracer, sitting on Grand Central Station on the map, the slightly glowing threads tied to it. "The more I thought about it, the more I realized that something's broken in the mechanisms of death. And not just the business with death gods fighting each other over the summer--something longer-term, something to do with the flow of souls. I've been... thinking a lot, lately, about the fact that I even have access to the power of Nullspace. About what it means that Ammit... /eats hearts/. I don't... I don't think that's /right/. Something about the whole process of that seems... wrong, somehow. Destroying a soul, however heavy and burdened?" He shakes his head. "I used to tell myself that was better than condemning it to eternal damnation, but now... I don't know."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia leans back in her chair, threading her fingers together as she thinks. "If it's something systemic with the universe then I would think it would go beyond just one pantheon's vision of the afterlife, unless all souls go to the Duat to be weighed." Her lips purse in a moue as she contemplates. "Amit may be more a symptom than a cause."

She shakes her head, "My understanding of Egyptian religion is tenuous at best. I only really started looking into it when I found that Isis was my patron. It seems to me, that wherever the thing that needs to be fixed is, can only be accessed by somebody who is dead." She chuckles, "I mean, dead-dead. Not just halfway dead like me."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon snaps and points at Lydia. "Precisely. Which is why, I think, I have to die, and go down by the 'normal' route. And... while Ammit may be a symptom, it's the thread I have to pull on. Delivering hearts to Ammit... it feels strange. It feels /wrong/. It bothers me in a way I can't describe, and I've already sworn not to /ever/ use that energy again. I'm still collecting information, but I think I'm on the right track."

    He smirks, then, as the timer goes off and he pours the tea, pushing one cup to Lydia. "But I don't intend to follow the rules to the letter. I'm going to bring backup, and... honestly I may not be able to do this on my own. After all, you're right--it can hardly /just/ be the Egyptian pantheon that has a problem. But if we can, together, convince the gods to change at least that? It could start a chain reaction."

    He sighs as he pours milk and sugar into the tea; a dash of milk and a /heaping/ of sugar. "It's what I have, at any rate. I keep reminding myself Gaea chose me for a reason. She wouldn't have done so if She didn't think I could do this--and I'm /not/ about to do it on my own if I don't have to."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia gratefully takes the offered tea, and cups it in her hands, feeling it's warmth. She brings it up under her nose, and closes her eyes, just enjoying the scent for a bit before taking a sip, just enough to taste. "Mm. Good tea. It's one of those things that hasn't changed for me. For me, tea was never about being thirsty. It was always the warmth, the smell, the taste, the ritual." She closes her eyes again and repeats the motions.

"It's a good place to start," she says. "I think we're on the right track."