Owner	Pose
Donna Troy	The Themysciran Arts Center has been open a little less than a year, and already it has become a major Manhattan tourist attraction. It had been opened for nobler purposes, for the sharing of Themyciran culture, and of course the place is frequented by those wishing to learn more about that ancient civilization, and the secrets it has held. The place swarms with historians eager to study the artifacts on display and the documents held in the library that exist nowhere else outside of Themyscira, as well as many regular people who have simply been inspired since the clouds of myth parted and revealed that the Amazons are a real thing to the world. Most people however come to visit the combat arena.     Visitor displays in the lobby explain that the arena is a scale model of one in Themyscira itself, and there are photographs to prove it. The original looks spectacular, but event the scale model at the arts center, only large enough to seat a fraction of the real thing, is impressive enough. The regular displays of Amazon martial techniques are equally impressive, and whenever there's a scheduled training session, the place gets crowded. Jon's arrival at the Arts Center clearly coincides with such an event judging by the heaving crowds lining up to get in. There's no such wait for Jon though.     Shortly after he's arrived, Jon finds himself intercepted by one of the center staff, who seems to have been looking out for him. Once she has confirmed his identity, she introduces herself as Maria Oikonomos, chief administrator of the center. She's American, not Themysciran, but that's true of most of the staff here. She leads Jon through the crowds to a staircase leading to the top of the building, and further away from the crowds. She seems unable to avoid pointing out particularly choice Themysciran artworks decorating the building on the way -- this is obviously more passion than career for her. "Have you visited before, Mister Sims?" she asks, keeping up a pleasantly light chatter as she leads the way. "The princess tells me you're a historian. The library here isn't huge, but it's quite something to see. We have over a hundred texts on site here that have existed nowhere else outside Themyscira since the burning of the Library of Alexandria. And that's just a fraction of what they have in the Great Library of Themyscira itself. I've seen photos. Diana has promised me I'll get to visit one day... I can't wait."     She pushes open a door in passing to show Jon the library itself, a sizeable room with book-lined walls and a range of comfortable seating for quiet reading as well as desks for the more scholarly students. It's the next door along the corridor that seems to be the destination though, a door with 'Private' marked on it, that Maria knocks on. Donna's voice responds immediately, calling out "Come in!".     Maria pushes the door open and leads Jon in to a room that's clearly some kind of office or stock room for the library -- even more shelves, but only one desk. Several shipping crates are stacked in one corner, and one is open on the floor. Donna appears to be shelving the contents, and is holding a particularly ancient looking book when the pair enters. "Your visitor's here, princess Troia. Can I get you anything?"     Donna smiles at Jon before nodding her head at the administrator. "Thank you, Maria. A coffee would be great. And... masala chai for you, Jon?"
Jonathan Sims	Jon has indeed visited before, once, back when they first opened. He says so to Maria--after quietly correcting 'Mister' to 'Doctor'--and shows interest in the artworks she points out, as well as the library, in passing. He certainly stands out among the crowds, not just for his height, now, but for the way the right sleeve of his jacket hangs empty. That's not the only change since Donna last saw him--he's much thinner, too, and dressed in civilian clothing instead of the SHIELD fatigues he'd worn most of the other times they've met. Khakis, loafers, a heavy green sweater. He's shaved the sides and back of his head, too, and the remaining hair is long enough to reach his shoulders. He runs his hand through the curls to settle them as he walks in and looks around curiously.     "Chai would be lovely, thank you," he says with a smile in return. Despite the changes--or maybe because of them--he seems more relaxed, somehow, less tightness around the eyes and less tension in the shoulders. "I've been having difficulty getting it right at home." He idly indicates the missing arm. "I'm glad nothing happened to anything here," he notes as he looks around. "The angels were rather blase about just destroying and remaking priceless cultural artifacts. It's... not /quite/ the same, I think, when things are re-made."
Donna Troy	"Princess Diana oversaw evacuating most of the more important artworks before the angels arrived," Maria says, with a hint of a frown. "And princess Troia removed all the original manuscripts herself. She takes a personal interest in the library here." Her frown is quickly replaced with a professional smile, and she nods to the pair of them. "I'll have your drinks in a few moments," she says before leaving the room.     Donna nods to her and watches her leave as she places the book in her hand down flat on an empty shelf. When Maria is gone she turns to study Jon wordlessly, eyes flickering across his face and body, taking in the new gauntness of his features, the missing arm, the more relaxed stance. When she's done her eyes go back up to his and she stands there a few more moments in silence before crossing the distance between them and gathering him into a hug that he might find surprisingly fierce.     It only lasts a few seconds before she lets him go and takes a few steps back again, smiling. There's only one chair in the room and she pulls it out from behind the desk to offer to him, taking a seat on the edge of the desk herself. "You look like a man who has learned a lot, Jon. Want to tell me about it? And I assume you'd like to hear how things are going with Caitlin."
Jonathan Sims	Jon tenses at the hug, freezes up entirely, but manages to remind himself that Troia of all people isn't going to hurt him out of nowhere. He relaxes after a moment, and sighs, and manages a smile. "Sorry," he says. "I'm... jumpy, lately." He runs his hand through his hair again and takes the offered seat.     "I would, yes. Cael saw her, but Cael's..." He hesitates, frowns. "I trust her judgement, but she doesn't know Caitlin all that well, so it's hard to say whether she'd really know how we'll she's doing. But Cael says she's apologetic, at least." He sighs.     "You were right," he adds, after a moment. "About Saint Michael, I mean." He smirks. "I wish it hadn't taken losing my arm and having the history of the entire bloody universe shoved into my head to find that out for certain, but... here we are." He shrugs. "I almost feel sorry for him. Almost."
Donna Troy	Donna nods her head slowly, then gets up again and fetches a book from a shelf at the back of the room and hands it to Jon. The book looks old, but hardly ancient -- a couple of hundred years perhaps. "Do you read any Greek?" she asks. "The title is Margites. It's the name of the main character, but you could translate it as 'the fool' too. No, it's not a translation of Dostoevsky."     She sits back down on the desk. "Homer wrote three great works. The Iliad, The Odyssey, and The Margites. Outside of Themyscira only the first two survive, and none of you know that like Shakespeare, Homer was a superb writer of comedy as well as tragedy. The oldest version of the text we have is from the fourth century B.C, some four hundred years after it was written. The book you're holding in your hands was printed a few hundred years ago; it's actually an adaptation for stage, by one of our better writers. It's sharper, funnier, but the language isn't quite as clever. I'm about half way through writing a translation into English. It's hard work, and being a superhero rather limits my time on it. I've been working on it three years now. I often struggle with my choice -- I could scan the original and put it online. Scholars of Man's World would translate it far faster than I will. Perhaps much better. Perhaps it is just vanity, but I want to give this to the world. In five hundred years, perhaps nobody will remember that the translator of Margites used to fly around fighting aliens, monsters and villains.""     She gives a small shrug of her shoulders, and takes back the book filled with densely-printed Greek characters, and putting it down on the desk beside her. "I'm a warrior, Jon. That's my purpose. When I'm not fighting... I get restless. Sometimes I need to remind myself that the only way a warrior can ever win is to make themselves redundant. War must never be a purpose in itself -- it is not the reason why a warrior is a warrior, it is the obstacle a warrior needs to overcome that gets in the way of them being something more worthwhile. Michael has forgotten that, or never knew. That's a tragedy. It is easy to hate someone who hurts you and those you love. Understanding someone who opposes you is far harder, but when you understand someone who's life is a tragedy, it is inevitable that you will come to feel sorry for them, despite the pain they have caused."
Jonathan Sims	"'As are the Iliad and Odyssey to our tragedies, so is the Margites to our comedies,'" Jon quotes, holding the book carefully and turning it over in his hands while he has it. "Do you know, Michael showed me the world he wants to create--and he made me a philosophy professor?" He shakes his head, as he hands the book back over. "I was happy enough, but it wouldn't have been my first choice."     He sighs, and sits back a bit. "He pointed out that I am a warrior, too--perhaps not in the same way you are, but... 'supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting.'" He looks up at the ceiling. "I /enjoy/ the conflict, I run toward danger..." He shakes his head. "I have spent my whole life convincing myself, and others, that I am less of a threat, less of a... warrior... than I truly am, because I was outnumbered, and scrawny, and untrained. Make oneself useful, helpful, and you win without fighting. But life was always, always a battle in my own mind. The world was full of danger, and making myself seem smaller and less threatening, making myself useful, it kept me safe. It kept me alive. And it served me well enough, when it came to the invasion. Except for the first battle, we won every engagement, largely because I tried my best to ensure that the battle was won before it was even fought. Now that I've admitted to that... I can integrate it with the rest of what I am." He runs his hand along the shaved side of his head. "And I can stop worrying so much, about what other people think of me. About hiding."     He frowns. "Michael's problem, however, is not so much that he is a warrior without a battle, as that he is a child without a parent. He was given incredible power and never told to give it back when he should have been. He was given enormous responsibility, forced to hurt his brother, abandoned in favor of mortals. He did /everything/ right, followed every rule, even when it hurt him--and yet the universe he created is inherently flawed. And he doesn't know why, and he's getting /no/ help from the Presence." He laughs. "I thought /I/ was mad at God--Michael's /furious/ at God, but he cannot actually take it out on Them. So he's trying, over and over, to fix a problem he can't begin to understand."     He shakes his head. "I almost forgave him. He'd given me forty lashes, ruined my back, taken my arm... and I still wanted to forgive him, once I saw what he's been through. But when I reached out to him, to offer comfort... he struck me. Which is when I realized why Gaea chose /me/. Not a scholar, or a healer, certainly not a warrior." He smirks. "A parent. She chose a /parent/. I know something about children throwing tantrums, even if this is the oldest and most powerful child I've ever encountered. But he is. A child. He can't help it; he can't actually 'grow up' and be what he's supposed to be, with all the power he holds."
Donna Troy	"Strange that Uriel seems to be quite certain that the flaws in the universe are not the fault of Lucifer, despite what Michael believes," Donna says. "That suggests he is confident that he knows what the actual reason for those flaws is. I wonder if it's something he fears to say out loud. If it's something that would anger Michael to hear."     There's a knock on the door, and Donna calls out "Come in!"     The door opens and Maria returns, bearing a tray with two cups, a jug of milk, and a bowl of sugar, which she sets down on Donna's desk. "Anything else?" she asks.     Donna gives Maria a bright smile and shakes her head. "No, thank you Maria.     Maria gives a nod. "There's quite a crowd in the arena today. If you felt like putting an appearance in later..." Donna gives her a grin and nods her head as Maria heads out again.     "You fought, so you're a warrior. But it does not define you, the way it defines Michael -- or myself. " She gives an apologetic shrug. "Those who fight are warriors. Those who nurture are parents. One is done out of necessity, the other out of instinct. Both, ultimately, are about the same thing. The survival of who we are. Not as individuals, but as groups. Families, societies, species. Gaea, the Great Mother, is a parent above all else. But she knows sometimes a parent must be a warrior to fight for her children. "     She grins and takes her cup of coffee from the tray. "And sometimes a warrior must be a parent. I find myself running around after the Titans a lot. Holding hands, giving advice, teaching. Helping them negotiate the world. Not just the younger ones, too. Sometimes I think that contributes more to the victories we have had than my sword arm ever could. Milk? Sugar?"
Jonathan Sims	"I know what the flaw in the universe is," Jon replies, nodding to both milk and sugar. "Uriel confirmed it for me, actually. It's... the Old Ones. The Old Gods? The... Void entities, that exist in Nullspace." He sighs. "They've been diverting souls, somehow... not destroying them, I don't think, but... keeping them from the universal cycle. I am, somehow, going to... fix that, because the way to fix it is down in the lands of the dead. Where Michael cannot go, because he doesn't understand death. I still don't quite know /how/ I'm going to fix it, but I know I'll know when the time comes." He rolls his eyes. "I'm getting a little tired of that, admittedly, but the gods work the way they work."     He smiles. "I have my own group of superheroic youngsters I run around helping. They're good kids, and naturally they think they know everything, but most of them don't know how to cook." He rolls his eyes again. "So, I teach them how to cook, they teach me how to fight. One of them taught me to withstand torture, which... did actually help, with Michael." He frowns. "The worst thing he did to me... was offer me a world where my older daughter was alive. But it was a lie, and I'm finding that seeking truth defines me more than anything else. Whatever it is, however uncomfortable. Seeking truth, and bringing balance."     He looks over at Donna. "Which reminds me... how /is/ Caitlin? The last time I saw her..." He makes a face. "I tried to save her life, and she repaid me by dislocating my shoulders. I need to speak to her directly, but I haven't managed to... I'm only really getting out once a day. It's... harder, than it looks."
Donna Troy	"Void entities. And why is it that this /particular/ universe is vulnerable to them in a way that others are not?" Donna asks, one eyebrow raising slightly. She fixes Jon's chai up and passes it over to him before taking a sip of her coffee. "That reminds me of the discussion we had about Ammit. Consuming those souls not deemed worthy of passing on to the all-within-all. I wonder what happens to those souls."     She wraps her fingers around her coffee cup, letting the warmth seep into her fingers, and her eyes drift down as if to study the contents. "Cait is... struggling," she says eventually. "She has been struggling a while, but I don't think she entirely realized that. She was not happy with the way the angels were acting, but they were /angels/. There's a lot of cognitive dissonance for her right there. It really didn't help that she was fighting demons and wizards using dark magics when it came to realizing she had picked the wrong side. When Michael took his gifts back from her she was... she felt very lost."     She looks up from her coffee to meet Jon's eyes again. "And when I told her what Michael's plan for you was, that he was torturing you... that shook her pretty badly. Her faith has underpinned her whole life. Challenging that is hard. Challenging it when it seemed to her to be reaching a culmination, when everything her faith and her hopes lead her to appeared to be being fulfilled -- even harder. I think I found a way to help her integrate the shock of what happened into her own faith though. The flood. In the bible, I mean. After the flood, God made a covenant with mankind to never again try to fix things by destroying the world. I think it's important for her to find a way to process all this without undermining the entire framework of her beliefs."     She gives another little shrug and drinks deeply from her cup of coffee before resting it again in her lap. "She wants to make up for her mistakes. She will do whatever she can to help you, Jon. You have a new ally. One who may have trouble meeting your gaze, but who you can trust completely."
Jonathan Sims	"I think this universe is vulnerable because Michael hasn't been paying attention," Jon says, holding his own tea for a moment before taking a sip. "The Old Ones slipped around behind him and started gnawing on the foundations of the universe, as it were, and he didn't notice. He doesn't understand death, at all. It's... well." He shakes his head. "Ammit is part of the problem, and where I intend to start with fixing it. I'm going to die, and some others are going to go down into Duat to meet me, and... somehow, we're going to fix things. I think Gaea and Uriel have a plan about that, that they just... haven't imparted to me yet."     He sighs. "I can understand... did I ever tell you, I used to want to be a vicar? I have several versions of the Bible memorized, and many, /many/ apologetics." He smiles, a bit sadly. "I /believed/, as strongly as Caitlin ever did. That's part of why... I've understood precisely where she's coming from. Anglicans and Catholics have their differences, but they're not as large as the people who fight about them would have you believe."     He smirks, briefly. "The lesson I always took from the story of the flood? God changes his mind. Who's to say it wouldn't happen again?"     He stares down at his tea. "I've seen /God/, the Presence, Brahman, Yahweh... whatever you want to call the being that /is/ reality, and also created reality. At least... insofar as any human can see Them. And They are far, far from infallable. They... /are/. All the flaws and cycles and rhythms of the world, all the push and pull between chaos and order... that /is/ God. We are God. I'm not certain They're worth worshipping, directly, because I'm not certain They can even really pay attention to us, any more than you can pay direct attention to a cell in your body. But if Caitlin can hold onto her faith, through this... well." He smiles. "She's stronger, in that, than I ever was. I'll stick to having faith in Ma'at, and Gaea, and Uriel."     He glances up at Donna. "I should probably explain to her what the torture /was/. In Michael's mind, it was just 'eye for an eye.' Even if his wing's restored now and my arm is gone for good." He shakes his head. "But nothing the angels have done goes against what is written in the Bible. Angels are divine messengers--but sometimes the message is 'this city is going to be destroyed.' Sometimes the message is the trials of Job, or a flood, or plagues and swarms of locusts. The trouble is that most people of faith presume that they will never be the ones on the outs with God. But how much did the people of Egypt suffer for the foolishness of their Pharoah? Was it right, to kill all those newborns, because their parents held slaves?"     He sighs. "I've been on the outs with... well, the Church, not God. I don't think God cares as much about these things as people think. But the way I look, the people I love, the way I want to dress--it all made me dangerous. Bad. Evil. Not anything I /did/. But who I /was/. And... a lot of the people insisting 'these can't be angels'... I suspect they haven't faced that, every day. They thought that when the angels came, the angels would be on /their/ side." He regards Donna quietly. "I haven't presumed that since I was fourteen. I turned my back on the Church because they told me I would go to Hell for /existing/. Nothing Michael has done, /nothing/ the angels have done, has surprised me in the slightest. It's all there, if you read the books."
Jonathan Sims	He shrugs. "That is why I push back on the concept of 'demons' and 'dark magics.' It is easy to judge people, or magic, on how it /looks/. But not all demons are created equal, and not all people who use 'demonic' magic are using it for evil purposes. I've had more help from a literal Hell Lord than I have had from people whose magic is supposed to be pure and good and sweetness and light. What matters, to me, is what a person /does/, not their title or where they gain their power. If said Hell Lord is going to try to hurt people, take over the world? Well, I'll stop her. But if it's between her, and an angel trying to reset reality? Appearances matter far less to me, than results."     He tilts his head. "What I wonder, is whether Caitlin can accept all of that. That Hell Lord is the other Champion, who we need to work with. One of our guides to Duat is a vampire. Some of those we work with have demonic power, but we also have Gaea's own children helping us--and we are all pulling toward the same goal. Should I turn them away because of where their power comes from, when all too often they had no choice in the matter?"
Donna Troy	"We are all Gaia's own children," Donna reminds Jon with a grin. "And Caitlin has been reminded of something that she had forgotten. That she had sworn herself to Athena, and if you accept the good in Athena you can hardly deny the good in Gaia. What she saw was angels on one side, and people using demonic power on the other. It reinforced the assumptions she was making. Those assumptions are dust, now."     "Remember Raven? The sorcerer on the Titans who teleported you to the tower in not exactly the most pleasant fashion you've experienced?" Donna tilts her head to the side, then sighs softly and takes another sip of her coffee. "Raven's father is a being from another universe by the name Trigon. It's possible you have heard the name -- his influence has stretched to this universe, and his power has become known to some demonologists. A small fraction of that power, anyway. Raven is both his route into our universe, and the thing stopping him from getting to us in the fullness of his power. The nuclear option I mentioned? Well, I had hoped that if it had come to that it would be no more than a threat, but that threat could be effective. Trigon would not be another hell-lord trying to take over the world. Trigon has consumed multiple universes already. Drained them of power to use for himself. Universes that must have their own Michael, and their own Lucifer. "     "Raven is half-demon, and a demon darker and more evil than any you have met. Than any you /could/ meet, because it is unlikely a universe could contain him without being taken over by him, or destroyed. Caitlin has never been happy about the source of Raven's power or the kinds of magic that Raven uses, but she has fought alongside Raven, and /lived/ alongside Raven, for the best part of a decade. So yes, Caitlin can accept all of that. She can accept that dark magics can be used for good purposes. That was never the problem. The problem was that she believed you were using dark magics for bad purposes."
Jonathan Sims	Jon considers that for a long moment. "That must be hard. For Raven, I mean. But I'm glad to hear that, about Caitlin. It allays some worries. I don't blame--" He stops, wrinkles his nose. "No, I /do/ blame her, a little, whether or not I should. It's hard to just turn off the... frustration, and the resentment. But I'm sure we'll get past that, in time."     He wrinkles his nose more. "So long as she stops breaking my ribs and dislocating my joints. That /hurts/." But he says it in an almost joking manner. Almost.     "Project Gozer worked out perfectly. Do you think the boxes will work on the Astral Plane? That's where things are moving, once we get the universe fixed down in Duat and come back. We banished Michael from the physical plane, so now he's seeking out the wellsprings in the Astral."
Donna Troy	"She stabbed me once," Donna says with a laugh. "A training accident. Worse than a few broken ribs, but I got over it. She was almost comically apologetic about it for months. No, she's got past breaking your ribs and dislocating your joints, but I think she might try breaking Michael's ribs and dislocating his joints for having misled her so badly, if she has the chance."     Donna shakes her head and smiles softly. "You'll have time to get over the frustration and resentment. You'll find out who she really is as a person. When she's not struggling to make sense of nonsense, being made to be something she is not. When she's being /Caitlin/, you will come to appreciate who she really is."     "The Gozer boxes..." Donna shrugs her shoulder. "I couldn't say for sure, but honestly I doubt it. The Astral plane is a realm of imagination, and they're a kind of artificial imagination. I would be surprised if they work there. On the other hand I'm not sure whether lower-order angels will work their either. They don't exactly have a whole lot of imagination themselves, which is why Project Gozer worked on them. If they are able to operate on the Astral plane at all, I would suspect they will be extremely vulnerable there. Even the archangels seem rather lacking in imagination."     "We learned something very interesting recently about Wonderland. It seems that the entire plane of existence is a product of the Astral plane, shaped by the dreams of a mortal sorcerer. It is possible that by moving the arena of battle the Astral plane, the angels may have ceded a major advantage to the mortals opposing them. You can think much more /creatively/ than they can. Use that."
Jonathan Sims	"Michael took it as a defeat," Jon says with a nod. "Lydia's Seal didn't work /quite/ the way she wanted it to--but it /did/ work. It removed Michael from this plane, and once he dealt with the Metatron that meant the rest of the angels went as well."     He frowns thoughtfully. "He dumped me into a desert on the Astral Plane, to... make me feel alone, and bereft, and abandoned. But the desert he dumped me into... it was a reflection of /Egypt/. I ran into both Ammit and Ma'at. I had to walk for forty days, and I nearly starved, but it gave me time to think. I still can't figure out if Michael made a mistake, or if he /wants/ me to get stronger. He said he'd imagined that we'd duel, not that I'd treat it as a /war/."     He looks at Donna, curiously. "That reminds me... that and the Project Gozer boxes... I'm trying to figure out what he /does/ want. I mean, besides the guiding hand of a loving parent... what he wants out of this conflict. Did he really bring all those angels just to... watch us have a duel? Do people... /do/ that? Or, well, his type of..." He sighs. "When he said 'army' and 'war'... I grew up with stories of the Blitz. I rather idolize Captain Rogers and Chief Carter. I thought of the horrors of the industrial war machine. I presumed that's what we'd be facing--and so he obliged. But he /implied/ that it could be different, somehow. He said we were both... 'gladiators.'"     He shakes his head. "I suppose I'm trying to figure out what these Astral encounters might be like. How I can... become whatever it is he wants in his opponent, so I can actually get through to him. I'm not going to fight a /war/ if I don't have to. And given how soundly I already beat him in those matters--and that in matters of the mind, /he's/ beaten /me/ thus far--I might be able to... wrangle things to not be so physically dangerous."
Donna Troy	"I wouldn't count on things being less dangerous for being less physical. We're more used to the idea of people dying because of the death of the body, but you die just as dead through a death of the mind. What form combat will take for you on the astral plane... well, I think that is likely to be a matter of /will/. Michael's will is powerful, so there's a very good chance he will be able to shape the combat into the kind of fight he is looking for. The kind of combat that suits his notion of being a warrior. Perhaps it will be gladiatorial battles in an imaginary arena."     Donna takes another deep drink of her coffee, then puts the cup back down on the tray, and folds her arms. "That's what will suit him, of course. A fight on his terms. Things like wards, or project Gozer... they must have been very annoying to him. Ways of fighting that weren't the way of fighting he was expecting, or wanting. Perhaps you should look at your experience in that desert as another model for how to approach such a war. It will be a war of minds, not of bodies. You can imagine it as bodies in combat, but you can also imagine it as a journey through a desert intended to convey some lesson. Perhaps you'll find the way to win is to not fight him as a gladiator, but to fashion experiences for him that educate him, and lead him towards losing."     "As for what Michael /wants/ of you, whether he made a mistake, or whether he wants you to be stronger, or what... I would ask myself about the symbolism." Donna shrugs her shoulders lightly. "He lead you to sacrifice yourself and you rose after three days. He made you spend forty days in the wilderness. I very much doubt that was a coincidence. So perhaps you should ask yourself why he is trying to make you play out the story of Christ."
Jonathan Sims	"I was in the Astral Plane when he removed my arm," Jon says quietly, a frown furrowing his brow. "That, and the lashes, and the effects of dehydration and starvation... they all stayed. In some ways... I mean, even in his 'perfect' world I had lost my arm. In some ways, a loss of something there is /more/ profound. The... platonic ideal of Jonathan Sims no longer has a right arm. I don't know that /any/ magic could heal it. So I'm well aware of the risks. That's a large part of why I'd rather it was... not combat, as such."     The frown remains, as he considers. "I don't know if he wanted that. Did he? Why, though?" He taps his fingers on the tea cup, absently. "The power he holds is called the Demiurgic Force... does that imply a Gnostic interpretation? Christ becomes an example to follow... I sacrifice myself, gain wisdom, I die, I go down into the underworld to fix the flow of souls..."     He frowns. "I think maybe I need to speak to Uriel again. I have... so, so many questions." He laughs, and shakes his head. "Always more questions than answers. Because the question is... was it Michael that did that, or Uriel? What purpose would that even serve? The upshot of all of this is that I'm going to become an avatar of Ma'at, if I survive... but that was happening regardless. So what does that have to do with...?"     He sighs. "Endless questions. For now, I'll take your suggestion under advisement. Fashioning experiences that educate him... or trying to. I'm not certain how much influence we'll have on the Astral Plane, but--"     He stops, suddenly, fingers stilling on his tea mug. He blinks at Donna.     "Did... did you say Wonderland is a /real/ place... and someone /dreamed/ it?"
Donna Troy	"The idea of the demiurge as the creator of the universe is from Platon just as much as the realm of ideals," Donna says with a smile. "Really the word just means a craftsman. So a demiurgic force is a force of creation. An energy that can create something out of nothing. I don't see any reason to suspect that it's any closer to the gnostic beliefs than... well lots of things, really. It seems like everyone got a few bits right and a few bits wrong."     Donna breaks into a wide grin. "You've met Vorpal. He really is the Cheshire cat, you know. And we've had the Mad Hatter in a coma in the Tower's med bay for almost a month. Yes, Wonderland is real. And all the bizarre things that have been happening in Metropolis were caused by some of Wonderland's power finding its way into our world. We can't prove it, but we suspect that was caused by the goddess Eris trying to be annoying."     Wonderland is a sub-realm within the Astral plane. More specifically on the borders of the Faery realms and the realm of Dreams. Which is also a real place. The Wonderlanders believe that they are the dream of a figure they call the Red King, and that if he wakes up they will stop existing. There appears to be at least some truth in that, because I have it from another source that Wonderland was created from the subconscious mind of a sorcerer."     "So, basically Lewis Carrol seems to have written his book based on what Alice Liddel described, rather than him telling her the story originally. Or maybe Lewis Carrol helped shape Wonderland by creating a fiction, which after all is a kind of dream. But apparently Alice Liddel did really once go there. Wonderlanders seem to be a bit obsessed with her, for reasons I'm not clear on."     "And someone has stolen the Red King's regalia, which supposedly is how they are using Wonderland magic on Metropolis. Though that may just be symbolism. As you've seen from Vorpal, Wonderlanders can be capable of significant inherent magical power here on Earth. They appear to be natural channels for chaos magic. I suppose that's down to being something very closely akin to Fae."
Jonathan Sims	"I knew Faerie was real. I know one of the Tuatha de Dannan. Wonderland abutting that... makes a /great/ deal of sense." Jon tilts his head back and forth for a moment. "I'd love to go there, sometime. I've always been rather fond of Lewis Carrol's work."     He frowns thoughtfully. "Given what Terry's magic did to the angels in /general/... if we could harness that..."     He huffs, and shakes his head. "Well, I'm certain Vorpal will want to come with us--the idea of being able to fight Michael in the realm of /imagination/ has to be appealing to him. I suspect we'd both rather enjoy challenging Michael to a singing competition." He grins. "That could teach him a lesson, hmm? Don't mess with theatre kids in the realm of imagination."     He regards her for a moment. "Will you or any of the other Titans be coming along to this, or shall I keep the focus on the Justice League Dark? We'd be glad of the help--but you /do/ have Metropolis, and evidently /Eris/, to worry about." He smirks. "At least she's not tossing about golden apples, hmm?"
Donna Troy	Donna shifts a little uncomfortably. "I doubt you'll be able to keep Terry away. And I don't think you should, either. I suspect that on the Astral plane, he will be invaluable. I wouldn't be surprised to find Caitlin will want to make up for picking the wrong side at first. Kiada and Rainmaker probably don't want to stop now either. As for the rest of the Titans..."     She starts to tap a fingernail against the rim of her coffee cup as she speaks. "Hopefully we now have enough of a lead on the Wonderland situation that we'll be able to resolve this fairly soon. We have intelligence on approximately where the person we believe has the Red King's Regalia is hiding out, and are scouting the area as we speak. I would recommend that you do keep us in mind. The Titans kind of specialize in unorthodox solutions. Thinking out of the box has been how we've operated for years. But it's all up to the individuals. We're a team, but we're not exactly hierarchical. Nobody makes a decision on what the group as a whole does, so I can't really speak for anyone but myself. I will recommend that those Titans who feel able and willing to help the battle in the Astral Plane do so, though."     She looks away, chewing her lower lip. "I'm... I'm not sure if that includes me. I've been trying to help as far as... well you probably noticed that despite the whole 'I am a warrior' thing I didn't actually get my hands dirty fighting angels so far. Part of that was about trying to... to avoid being seen as having taken sides, so as not to alienate Caitlin or cut off opportunities to get intelligence direct from Michael. I'm not sure that's a concern any more, but..."     She pauses, sighs a little and looks up. "Honestly Jon, I feel... I don't know. Really uneasy about getting involved. I have since the start. I can't explain it clearly. I guess it's because our gods don't. There has to be a reason the Olympians have been staying out of this fight. I mean it's /Gaia/. So why isn't Athena on the field of battle, cutting down angels? There has to be some reason. And I can't help feeling if there's a reason the Olympians aren't in this fight, maybe the Amazons shouldn't be either. We're /their/ champions after all. "     She shakes her head. "I don't know, Jon. I just don't know. I feel guilty I haven't done more in this fight. And at the same time I feel like I've already done more than I should. I can't really explain it."
Jonathan Sims	Jon regards Donna for a long, long moment. Then he says, "I suspect that Athena isn't out there for the same reason that Horus isn't--because this is, /specifically/, a thing that /mortals/ are meant to be doing. And /that/ is, so far as I can tell, specifically because we /are/ mortal. We die--that is what defines us. We are part of the flow of souls in a way our gods... aren't, quite."     He drinks the rest of his tea, and then says, "Most of my gods operate through mortals, imbuing them with power--I directly know of avatars of Khonshu, Sekhmet, Bast, and Nephthys right here in New York City. But not Ma'at. She hasn't had one since before she was even called Ma'at--since before the time of the Pharoahs. And yet, she's choosing one now--chose me twenty-four years ago, in fact, well before Gaea chose a Champion. The universe was out of balance--and now, it can finally come back into balance. She would have had me become her avatar even if I hadn't been Gaea's Champion--that just makes it... serendipitous."     He smiles. "Perhaps that's why I have no such qualms about acting--because I know that the gods of Egypt are acting /through me/. But... perhaps you might ask Athena, what she expects of you. Perhaps it's the fact that I'm already so embroiled in this and they don't want to... hmm... get in the way? Though the Greeks and the Egyptians always got along well enough, to my knowledge." He shrugs. "But perhaps you--or other Amazons, like Caitlin--are meant to be Athena's representatives in this."     He stands. "Caitlin is still considered to be a Champion," he notes. "Isis spoke of her thus, as has Uriel. And if Caitlin serves Athena... then Athena already has someone out on the battlefield. It's something to consider, at any rate. But if you're uncomfortable fighting... I won't push."     He hesitates a moment, then reaches out to clasp Donna's arm, briefly. "I appreciate your help in this, I truly do. You've been..." He huffs out a breath. "You've been more helpful than you know. I don't think I'd have figured out most of this without you--I /know/ I wouldn't have ever spoken to Gaea directly, if not for your example. I will /always/ suggest speaking to your gods in whatever form you can, if you're confused... but what you're doing has been a great help. Whether you fight alongside us or not... you needn't feel guilty. I'm grateful, I really am."
Donna Troy	Donna reaches a hand up to pat Jon's own hand where it clasps her arm. "My sister has been busy with the refugees, but she hasn't been fighting angels directly either. We... I haven't talked this over with her. But maybe she senses the same thing I do. Or maybe... well, she's the daughter of Zeus, so maybe that's why she doesn't. I... I'm kind of neither one thing nor the other, Jon. Caitlin may be Athena's champion in this. But I wasn't chosen by the gods, I was chosen by my mother. I was adopted by her, not by the Five. And yet..."     Donna sighs again, taking her hand away and shrugging her shoulders. "I don't know. It's something I have never really understood. The goddesses granted my people strength to be their champions, to be their army. Every single one of my people has been imbued with power. Not equally... we don't actually have an army of five thousand warriors as strong as my sister. She's the strongest of us. And not one of the original Amazons either. Not chosen by the goddesses to be one of us, but born to the queen thousands of years after the Amazons were formed." Donna gives a wan smile. "I'm probably the second strongest. We talk of the gifts our gods have given to us, but I assume the gifts I have been given were gifts to my mother, not to me. To allow her newest daughter to meet her hopes and expectations. Maybe... maybe they gave me too much divine power to feel comfortable in a fight that they themselves avoid participating in directly. Maybe that would be considered cheating in this stupid game Gaia has agreed to."     She shrugs her shoulders quickly, and gives a grin. "Maybe I'm just being stupid. Or maybe I have a role in this that involves talking to champions and helping them to see things that they might not otherwise see. Maybe my unease is because I am a simple warrior and it's in my nature to be fighting rather than talking. Kind words aren't going to stop me feeling guilty about not fighting, though. I still have bad dreams because I didn't fight Doomsday five years ago, and I wasn't even /there/."
Jonathan Sims	"Perhaps," Jon agrees, to... all of that, really. "But nonetheless, on a personal level--what you have done thus far has been more than enough. What you do going forward is up to you. I'll welcome whatever you choose, and I'm grateful for what you've done so far."     A pause, and then, "We are all of us having to be things we're not used to being. I would have expected the roles to be reversed--I am the one who counsels superheroes, and you are... well. A superhero. Maybe it's a lesson. I'm sure it will be clear in the end."     He smiles. "Thank you for talking to me, and for the tea. But I... probably ought to be getting back home. I don't like to stay out too late... and you had a demonstration of martial skill to provide to your guests, yes?"
Donna Troy	Donna breaks into a broad grin. "The lasso. The crowds do love to see it. Despite what you might expect with Wonder Woman, Wonder Girl and myself all using them, it's not a commonly used weapon among my people. Only one of the Amazon specialists we have here in America is skilled at the art, and a lasso against lasso fight is a rare sight. More like a very energetic dance than combat, really. If one of us is at the center, they always encourage us to participate for the sake of the crowds. "     Donna gets to her feet, and unhitches the lasso she has slung beneath her jacket. When her hands grasp the coil of rope, it begins to glow with a faint golden light. "Thank you for coming, Jon. I'm glad to see that at least most of you managed to come back from your date with Michael. As for helping... I will continue to struggle with my feelings of what is right, and continue to give you whatever help... whatever seems the right thing to do. I guess that's what defines a superhero after all. But you're wrong, you know. You're a superhero now too, and all superheroes are counselors in their spare time."     She stretches her shoulder, limbering up a little. "Come on then, I'll walk you to the entrance. Unless you'd like to stay out a little later than normal, and watch an exhibition match? "
Jonathan Sims	"I suppose I am, at that. I'm still getting used to the idea. Perhaps someday it won't seem quite so... strange." Jon shakes his head, with a slightly bemused expression.     Then he hesitates for just a moment, before grinning. "Oh, why not? I've never really watched one... and I've really rather wanted to. I should bring my husband by sometime... he loves all this stuff, even more than I do. But I can spare some time to watch an exhibition match, surely."