Owner	Pose
Jonathan Sims	The Justice League Dark does not gather in response to a disturbance on the Astral Plane this time; they are taking the initiative. So they choose a good time to gather in a Wayne Industries warehouse in Gotham, brought in by Phoebe's keycard, where there are circles laid out for protection of their sleeping bodies and amplification of their atempt to project their minds into the Astral Plane. It isn't the easiest thing to do, particularly not without training--that's why the angels provided the key to get there physically, after all.     Jon provides imagery and guidance for everyone to keep in mind as they fall asleep, and one by one the astral forms of the group pop into a huge room with high stone ceilings, dark wood floors, and tall bookshelves, light coming in through tall stained-glass windows. It has the feel of a library, but though there /are/ books on the shelves, most of the space is taken by boxes of documents and manila envelopes. There's a sense that the space extends a /long/ way in all directions; a glance outside would show that they're at the top of a tall building in the center of a desert oasis.     In the center of the room is a large open space centered on a statue of Neith, that shifts between various different configurations whenever it's looked at. There are chairs and tables, a spread of cream tea laid out of the kind common in southwest England, which means scones, clotted cream, and strawberry jam along with the tea.     Jon's standing underneath the statue as people appear, looking much the same in the dream world as he does in reality. The only real difference is the clothing; entirely by accident he's clothed himself in some sort of steampunk cowboy outfit, complete with lightning-scar makeup across his face and black-and-red nail polish. As the group gathers, though, he speaks as if he's still wearing the sweater and jeans he wore to the Gotham warehouse.     "Welcome to the Archive, everyone. I thought we'd discuss our plans here before we move somewhere else... and evidently I wanted tea, so feel free to tuck in I suppose?" He eyes the food on the tables with a bemused expression. "This place is as secure against Michael as anywhere in the Astral can be, so we'll be safe enough for the moment. Does everyone know what we're hoping to accomplish, or should we go over that?"
Cael Becker	Cael's attire hasn't changed - though the dye in her hair seems particularly vibrant, and shifts and changes subtly. This is mirrored by the flame tattoos across her hands, that seem to flicker and move, the shapes of the flames re-orienting themselves so they're always going upwards, regardless of how she moves her hands. She already has helped herself to tea - with cream and jam spread on one of the scones. Oddly, the word 'clotted' has disappeared off the little jar, though she makes no comment on this as she nibbles away.     "Does 'making Michael miserable' count as one of our goals?" she asks simply, a brief smile flickering across her features.
Sara Pezzini	Perhaps it is a lack of imagination, maybe it's the unfamiliarity with how all this astral stuff really works, but when Sara appears in the middle of the Archive, she's wearing a suit. It wasn't the clothing her body was wearing in the real world, instead it was a nice suit, the kind she wishes she could wear to work daily but knows it would be an extreme waste of money. Her chestnut hair is loose over her shoulders, but other wise there is no childlike dream... this is as close as it gets for her, the dream of being able to wear nice suits and clothing without fear of having the Witchblade shred it away. Turning a slow circle to look around herself, she comes to a stop with her eyes on Jon... and blinks. It takes a lot of willpower not to laugh at the man's appearance, and even more to not question the /why/ of that particular outfit. Instead she offers him a nod, coughs a little to avoid that laugh from escaping, and heads for the tea. "Have a pretty good idea of the goals," she offers as she pours herself a little tea. "NEver hurts to hear it again however."
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe has touched against The Archives precisely twice, and she didn't particularly care for it at the moment -- her focus had been the safety and mental stability of both Jon and the willing receiver of the Archivist powers in temporary. She had provided the space, done all the preperations for everyone's safety, and once she arrives in the astral -- without her body -- she is once again in somewhat an inhuman shape, a glowing figure of rose-gold light, and she has to focus to bring everything back down -- and there is an audiable POP sound when she re-appears in her more physical form, wearing her present dark gray-and-black houndstooth jacket and gray trousers. She had to look professional when visiting a Wayne-held establishment for a business meeting, of course.
Lydia Dietrich	Since Lydia doesn't sleep, as so much as just /turn off/ for the day, getting to the Astral Plane that way is blocked off by her. Instead she has to get to it through meditation, so while the other bodies are slumped in sleep hers is sat crosslegged in the middle of a circle, hands resting on her knees and is perfectly still. This method is slower than the others, though, and it takes her nearly twice as long to get to the Astral Plane.     Lydia's astral form is much like her regular. She's dressed in a yellow sundress and barefoot, but her ectoplasmic aura has gone back to being a soft green glow around her. The only real difference is her head. The Beast manifests itself here, sometimes a wolf, sometimes a raven, and even sometimes a bat. It really depends on what angle you look at her.     The Archive looks like a paradise to Lydia's eyes. So many books. She can't help but be distracted by the shelves of them. Carefully she reaches out and plucks one out, and opens to the middle of it. "'Oh,'" she quotes. "'That's.... why the Archivist fights angels. I can channel that power. That's where the Eater of Hearts sends the things I judge....'" She grins and snaps the book closed and puts it back. "I remember that conversation."     She turns her attention to the rest of the group. "I've been out of the loop," she says. "I've had other personal matters that I've been attending to, but let me see if I understand where we are at the moment." She makes her way over to the table and starts making herself a cup of tea. "So, Michael is still trying to get access to Gaea through the wellsprings, though this time he has to go through the Astral Plane to get at them since we sealed them up on earth and banished him from it. /We're/ looking for materials to use to build a literal stairway to heaven so we can rescue Chas from imprisonment, and Michael is trying to deny us these." She looks at the others expectantly, "I'm sure I've got this wrong but hopefully I'm close."
Lucy Blaze	Lucy is there, she told Jonathan she would help, and this is her, helping! From the Material to the Astral, her clothing vanishes in favor of her full Coda regalia armor, including the 'warpaint', the angled blades coming off the back, and the dual swords that cross-cross her back as well. She goes from Lucy Blaze, asset investigator for HALO, to Lady Zannah of Khera, Majestrix of the Coda Sisterhood. Not that that means anything here. Here, she's just Lucy playing dress-up! At least for now. She looks over to Jonathan and gives a small nod before looking out across the area, then back to the group.
Jonathan Sims	Jon grins brightly at Cael. "If that's how we convince him to stop being a complete and utter prat, sure." He blinks at Sara's smirk and looks down at himself. His cheeks redden and he clears his throat, but after a moment he shrugs and leaves the outfit on.     "S'pose a demonic space pirate's about the right speed for this business," he murmurs.     Then he focuses on Lydia and says, "Actually, as it turns out, between the individual seals on the Wellsprings and the Great Seal you did in Central Park, he's pretty well and firmly blocked from getting to Gaea or whatever it was he was after. Not to mention our trip to Duat and shoving that leaf down Amit's throat fixed the problem with the universe's plumbing, so he doesn't need to reset things anymore anyhow."     He picks up a scone and starts to spread jam and clotted cream on it. "What we're trying to do now is convince him to give up the Demiurgic Force. He /was/ trying to get me to join him instead but I think Cael showed him that wasn't going to happen." He gives her a brief smile, then goes on, "But yes, I /think/ Chas has been leaving the boards? That's a guess but it feels right. And we're, yes, building a stairway to heaven." He smirks. "Actually that's what makes me think it's Chas. Leaving a clue through a rock song seems about the right speed."     He sighs. "I don't think he knew what we were looking for until last time we met up. He's likely to go after the boards now, and my thought was to turn the tables and make /him/ go through some sort of imaginarily-constructed trial to prove a point to him. Not to mention, we have his... I have..." He glowers and looks to Cael. "I /still/ can't talk about the bloody thing! Ugh. Can you mention that bit? The part where I'm an utter fool?"     He shakes his head. "Anyway, we need to decide what we're building, and for what purpose, and then go... put it together to prepare it. I'm hoping to run the first one on April 1st... an appropriate day to turn the literal creator of the universe into the fool who has to run through our maze. Metaphorically; we don't /have/ to build a maze."
Cael Becker	"I wasn't going to say anything," Cael remarks, as Sara's smirk gets Jon to examine himself. "Low-hanging fruit, that." Besides, she and Jon have been in each others' dreams for a week now. And there are some things you just have to let slide, or it will lead to bad blood eventually. Taking advantage of anything she'd learned in their shared dreamscape seemed- well. Just not fair, honestly.     Cael lets out a sigh before remarking, "When I foolishly let Jon out of my sight so I could fight a dragon - Jon snatched up the board, and also snatched up a jem which represents part of Michael's power. His... I don't know. Part of his ability to create in the astral plane. It has, rather inconveniently - and rather unfairly if you ask me - been taken as permission to enter and //alter// Jon's mind to some degree. Which is fucking bullshit. Anyways, since Jon is an idiot, he's no longer allowed out of my sight when Michael's around. Did I leave anything out, love?" she asks - smiling ever-so-sweetly at Jon.     She has //mostly// gotten over her annoyance, but it does peek ot now and again. At least she's aimed most of it back at Michael this time.
Sara Pezzini	Sara opens her mouth as if to say something, then closes it again. Nope, she was not going to comment on the level of stupidity that Cael just confessed that Jon did. Clearly it was something they had already been going back and forth about, and it was mostly taken care of, and even if she wanted to tell the man to stop taking the shinies from strange places, she wouldn't. Taking a sip of her tea instead, she finds a place to sit down, even if it's the floor, and settles in. "I'm not the most imaginative person," she openly admits. "Sure, there are areas that I'm very creative, but they aren't the areas you talk about in public places... so, admitted, if you tell me how I can help, you all know I'm right there to offer up brain power, guided imagination, whatever it takes."
Phoebe Beacon	"Jon, why is this the first time I'm hearing about an altered mental state?" Phoebe asks, turning to face the Archivist with as even a look as she can manage, though there's an eyenarrowing of it. "That probably should have been something I was alerted to. I could have..." she frowns, and she worries at her fingers a moment "done something to stop the changing." Phoebe points out, "Because knowing that Michael can get into John's mind and possibly make alterations is extremely worrisome."     The rather professionally-dressed Phoebe comes around to a chair, leaning on it a moment as she looks to Jon and then to Cael. "I wish one of you would have told me." she frowns, and then comes around her chair.     "As much confirmation as I can give on Chas being behind the stair steps --" Phoebe pipes up as she sits down, giving a dubious look to the scones and jam, but does take a cup of tea. "When I was handling one of the treads, I could hear his voice, very clearly in my head. And for the creation of the Trial for Michael, I'm certain we can all come up with something suitable. We have all been strongly affected by his presence in our lives."
Lydia Dietrich	Lydia takes a sip of the tea and nods appreciatively at it. "Good tea. Nice blend. Couldn't tell you what it is, though." She takes a scone for herself and, like, Jon, spreads some jam on it. Taking a bite out of it she groans in pleasure. "You don't know what it's like to have food be /satisfying/ again." She shakes her head sadly, "Only in here, though."     She listens as Jon corrects her and gets her caught up to the same page, and Cael's explanation of Jon's idiocy just gets her to scowl. "Jon, you dork," is all she has to say about that.     But for the matter at hand? What kind of maze should be built to keep the archangel busy enough that they can recover the boards needed to build the stairway? She thinks about this for a while until a possible solution occurs to her, and a wicked grin slowly forms on her lips.     "What if we give him what he wants?" Lydia asks. "Why don't we build that perfect utopia that he showed Jon back when he was a captive. A perfect little place where he can watch his boring little world and be satisfied with a job well done. That should keep him busy until we can rescue Chas."
Lucy Blaze	"Because the idea isn't to just distract Michael. It's to show him the error of his ways and make him realize that he doesn't have to be the way he is. That he can be someone else," Lucy starts out looking at Lydia, then slides that gaze over to Jonathan. "Do I have that correctly?" She lifts a shrug and shakes her head, "Given his very... blunt.. nature. You could probably put a literal show of everything bad thing he's done in front of him and he wouldn't draw the correlation. He's not stupid, perse, but he... lacks awareness. And any sense of imagination or creativity. Basically, Michael is Hollywood. Bloated with power but nothing new to put out." She smirks faintly, then fades back to the neutral mask.
Jonathan Sims	"Just the fact that the actual gem is firmly sealed in the physical Archive, and I'm going to give it back at the end of this, one way or another. For now, it might be leverage." Jon shrugs at Cael. "And also that I did /try/ to step back from this whole business, but was told in no uncertain terms that I have to be involved." He sighs. "For now, Cael and I are sharing dreams so that Michael can't ambush me, which has worked out thus far."     He looks to Phoebe and says, "I can't tell anyone who doesn't already know, is why." He sounds... irritated. "By the time anyone else found out, he'd already been messing with my head enough to implant an inability to talk about the problem. We went to Uriel for help, and he couldn't... I picked up the jewel of my own free will, even if I did /not/ know nor intend..." He makes a noise of frustration.     "Look, this whole thing gets fixed if we convince Michael to give up his excess power and get Chas home." He nods at Lucy. "We don't need to just 'keep him busy,' we need to convince him to give up the Demiurgic Force. But I think you're onto something, with the 'perfect world' thing, Lydia. He doesn't understand why I walked away from it; maybe putting him inside an illusion and showing him that people /wouldn't/ be happier in his world might help him understand that his solution isn't... viable?" He frowns thoughtfully.     "I've been thinking a lot about how to... go about this. Talking to Michael hasn't worked, and... it probably never would, not with the most convincing argument. You can't change /anyone's/ mind by merely... talking to them." His glance flicks to Cael for a moment, then focuses on his scone. "Just telling someone 'you're wrong' rarely changes their mind. In fact, with some people, presenting them with clear evidence that they're wrong merely makes them dig in on their false beliefs. In therapy, we don't just point out someone's false beliefs. The way to help someone change is to get them to talk themselves into that change." He sighs. "Michael doesn't want to give up his power... but he's /desperately/ lonely. He wants someone to help him run the universe. I... think that might be our way in. If we can show him that the only way to ever find companionship will be to give up the power that's separating him from the rest of us..."     He frowns, and then says almost defensively, "I felt bad for him before I ever picked up that jewel. I don't think I can forgive him for what he's done to me and the people I care about, but... maybe /someone/ can befriend him when this is all over."
Cael Becker	"I did mention it once," Cael points out to Phoebe. "But apparently not bluntly enough." She gives a shrug of her shoulders before adding, "Jon is still Jon - I... like to think I'd notice if Michael had rearranged the furniture too much."     Then as Jon mentions the linked dreams, she looks to Sara and gestures to the man's attire. "This is what I 'couldn't remember' the other day," she remarks - a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.     She nods in agreement with Lucy and Jon as she adds, "He still refuses to acknowledge that there's anything wrong with the things he's done. With attacking New York. With torturing and murdering people for their sins. He still thinks it was all righteous and justified."     As she talks - a little stuffed animal appears in her lap. A white dog, with a brightly colored vest on it. She glances down at it in surprise - and rolls her eyes at herself. Apparently she's just //that// used to Bear making himself known whenever this particular topic comes up.
Sara Pezzini	Now Sara laughs, not entirely at Jon's attire, but over what Cael /didn't/ remember the other day, or rather, wouldn't share. It made sense now, and it was hilarious. She couldn't imagine for a minute what it was like to share a dream with someone, because her dreams were of the past wielders of Witchblade, their abilities, the things they did, learning from them and from their mistakes. No one else ever needed to see that. "If I get what's being said about Michael's 'perfect world', he honestly believes that human beings would be content with everything being perfection," she begins, holding her cup of tea in hand and waiting for it to cool a little. "It's already been proven in numerous studies that on some level, even if it's just a mental one, human's require conflict to grow. If everything was wonderful, unicorns and lollipops, the human race would never have really advanced. We would have stagnated and remained in the stone age, only advancing enough to survive and be comfortable." Now she takes a sip of the tea. "So we could show him his perfect world and just how miserable that would actually make everyone, but if our goal is to get him to relinquish power, we would truly have to show him in that perfect world, that nothing was perfect and show him the depth of loneliness he feels, I mean make him /really/ feel it."
Terry O'Neil	Vorpal is, unsurprisingly, attired in a rather colorful way. Figuratively speaking, since what he is wearing is reduced to, more or less, two colors: Red and white. But it is the form of that outfit that is colorful. To anyone who has ever seen the original Mary Poppins movie, the rather fluffy red-and-white dress with the red corset and the wide-brimmed hat with the multitude of roses would seem very familiar. Sitting in mid-air with no visible means of support, the Cheshire shifts the voluminous skirts to cross one leg, high-heeled boot poking through the ruffles. The white parasol with the parrot head resting comfortable across his lap, he sips his tea and nods after Sara. "Taking him on a jolly holiday seems to be the nae plus ultra of reverse psychology, when you think about it. Control freaks are never truly satisfied, for they want a picture-perfect world which is unattainable, and if attainable it is not viable because perfect requires rigidity and life's only constant is change. So, correct me if I am wrong here...". sip. "But we are aiming to give him a lovingly-rendered picture so that he can find out it is only but a chalk drawing on the pavement, fated to melt under the rain, in the hopes that he will finally, and you will excuse my French, get the fuck over himself?"
Phoebe Beacon	"You're dealt in for life, Jon. The only way any of us who are entrenched so deep in this stuff is if we fold." Phoebe remarks as she sips her tea she considers.     "That's because to him, he didn't do anything wrong. And we don't operate on the same wavelength of thought that he does. If someone were to befriend him, to get him to share the power it would have to be someone who is more like him. Someone who's been in in a similar state of having to watch with complete near-omnipresence and..." Phoebe stops a moment.     She lets her darkened eyes narrow a bit, and she rubs her neck, setting her lips in a thin line.     "That might backfire. If we show him a perfect world without the level of strife we need to improve, could he use it for justification?"
Lydia Dietrich	Lydia looks hesitant before she speaks up. "I... I want to talk to Michael before we do this. I know that I won't be able to talk him out of giving up the Demiurgic force, so I'm not even going to try." She takes a careful sip of tea. One thing about the Astral Plane is that your tea never gets cool.     "I'm writing a book," she explains. "I'm putting this all down. What's gone on with Michael, and humanity's struggle... it's important." She shakes her head, "Like, biblically important. It needs to be put down on paper, but I want to show more than just our side of it. I want to show his as well. They why it started all in the first place so we don't forget. I want to talk to him about that."     "He's done terrible things, true," she says. "But I would be a hypocrite if I said that I thought that he'd be beyond redemption." She looks at the others, "After all I am engaged to one of the earth's most well known terrorist." She nods in Jon in agreement, "He'd have to want to change first, though."     Lydia nods at the gaily attired Terry. "Something like that, though, as Phoebe pointed out, it might backfire." She looks thoughtful and drums her fingers on the table. "Are we able to convince him that he's one of the citizens of this world? Part of his problem is that he lacks any kind of empathy for us. He /thinks/ he knows what we want but he doesn't really."
Jonathan Sims	"Michael's 'perfect' world had conflict," Jon notes. "It's /his/ idea of a perfect world, and he is a Builder and a Warrior. There was no war, no racism or sexism or homophobia. But there were natural disasters, accidents. Cael worked in search and rescue along with being a race car driver. I'd still lost my arm. The thing was, people knew that it would be okay in the end. Everyone /knew/ God existed, the way we know the sky is blue. People knew that those who died went to heaven, that hardship would be resolved. It was a... childish view of the world. A desire to have a world where hardship never lasts forever, where maybe there's danger and struggle, but there are always happy endings."     He looks around. "Let me be entirely clear: I wanted to stay. It was /not/ as terrible as you might think. It was... wonderful, actually." He looks wistful. "They didn't need therapists, there were few doctors. I was a philosophy professor. My family was all alive. And people were still... themselves. People got drunk, I was married to Martin and dating Cael, she was refusing to move in." He smirks at her, briefly, then sobers. "Leaving that world, where both of my daughters were alive and there wasn't all the... pain and trauma people cause to each other was the hardest thing I have ever done. It was worse than dying." He sighs. "Which was the point, I suppose. Either get me out of the way or torture me with the pain of losing my loved ones all over again. I just mean... don't think this is a cartoonish sort of thing. If Michael had targeted any of you, he would have offered /precisely/ what he thinks you'd want. A life with just enough challenge, everyone you care about alive, doing something you truly love."     He sighs. "What broke me out of it was that it was a lie. It wasn't /true/, and I serve Truth. What will break Michael out? I don't know. Perhaps showing him what it would be to be a normal, every day person. But... I would encourage everyone to try to take a moment to at least consider... to consider what /we're/ wanting to build, after all. That really, we want the same thing Michael does. Are we fighting for a world where children die in pointless wars, where mutants are persecuted, full of supervillains and hatred?" He shakes his head. "We're fighting for the chance to build that world /ourselves/, is all. To create that world, where nobody dies in war or violence, /ourselves/." He glances at Lydia. "I... think that's a good idea, for that very reason."     He looks to Phoebe. "He offered /me/ the power," he says softly. "Ma'at rejected him, more than I did. She knows that the universe doesn't need a ruler, or two rulers. But I think..." He chews on his lip. "He was a /child/, mentally, when he showed me that world. If we show it to him now, put him in as a 'normal' person, show him what it is to have less free will...? Maybe now that he can grow and change, he'll appreciate what it would be to lose that?"
Cael Becker	Cael's hand stretches out to Jon, capturing his left hand for a moment and giving it a squeeze, as he talks of the pain of walking away from his daughter, a small, sad smile on her features. They haven't talked much about Lyra. Perhaps that something she should remedy eventually?     After a moment, though, she drops his hand - going back to nibbling at her scone, and sipping her tea - her grip on the stuffed animal in her lap tightening as Jon talks about having something //less// than full free will. "If there was a way to make him experience how- how horrible it is to have had free will, and have that taken from you... But it's not something I really noticed, or understood, until- until I was myself again," she remarks in a quiet voice.     But yes. She would very much like Michael to understand that sort of hell.
Sara Pezzini	Resting the tea cup on her leg, Sara sits quietly as she listens to everyone talking, a slight shake of her head. It was overwhelming, mostly due to not being entirely certain how it all worked in the first place. "So we want to 'imagine' up a world for Michael to see and feel, to try and make him see and understand, and all toward getting him to let go of power he's had for a long time," she repeats, more for herself than anyone else. "I'm not certain how that works, how we put him into a role with our imagination," she looks around between those present. "When we went into his created astral mazes and worlds, it seemed he couldn't define our roles, or was that him simply not doing so? Can we truly just imagine up a world for him like that? Yeah, I'm clueless about all this, so feel free to ignore me and just tell me what to do."
Terry O'Neil	"That kind of a world has to be earned, if it is ever brought about- made, not given." Dabbing a this mouth with a kerchief daintily, he observes, "I'm afraid that the wisest words I know on that end are Sir Terry's: You can't build a better world for people, only people can build a bettere world for people, otherwise it's a cage." He peers at Lydia and raises an eyebrow, "But totally derailed for a moment- L'chaim! We must speak of the celebrations afterwards. I won't even volunteer glitter." He finishes his tea, "Much. And you do raise a point- I'm best friends with a reformed Batman enemy, after all..." He looks to Phoebe, "But to return to that earlier point about the cage, I think it might be a good idea to put dear Michael in a gilded cage that he thinks would be absolutely super to live in. But the role we must imagine for him must be something that, while enjoying the beneficent effects of an orderly universe, would be on par with most powerless people incapable of altering their fate in the face of ineffable, ineffanineffable order." He refills his tea cup, "He has been at the top for so long, with so much power, able to deal out declarations and decisions but has never lived on the other side of that- of the powerless pawn stuck in someone else's plan." He glances at Jon and Cael, "He enjoyed making mazes, what if he gets a labyrinth consisting of nothing but a long, unvarying, corridor, figuratively speaking?" But enough about Final Fantasy XIII....
Phoebe Beacon	" -- there is an ocean of difference between 'destruction of reality' and 'Magneto was Right'. You don't need to compare Raven's... somewhat difficult protection of mutant-kind to trying to erase existence." Phoebe stammers and stumbles over her words a moment as she looks to Lydia, and she frowns, setting her teacup on its saucer, her dark gaze lowering a moment, her grip on her teacup tightening against the handle until the china seems to grind against it.     "We're stronger in the Astral than he is, we've got imagination, maturity, we've Been Through." she leans forward. "Can we imagine a world where he won, and there is nothing he needed to correct, a microcosm of near-perfection and invalidate his will to enact anything upon it? No appeals to greater power, no thanks for it, no prayers to St. Michael to liberate a body from possession, just radio silence, and put him there."     Phoebe frowns a moment. "Perfect suburbia and Urban near-Utopia."
Lydia Dietrich	Lydia grins at Terry and raises her tea at him. "L'chaim," she echoes. "Thank you and your offered restraint on the glitter."     She turns back to the rest and frowns at Phoebe. "That would frustrate him, true."
Jonathan Sims	Jon smiles at Cael for a moment, squeezes her hand briefly, then lets go in order to fix himself a cup of tea. Despite being able to just imagine up the perfect cup he does so anyway--with magically summoned glowing emerald arm--as much because the ritual is soothing as anything else. Splash of milk in the cup, then tea, then more sugar than is probably legally allowable. He takes a long sip, listening quietly, nodding slowly.     "I think... I think making him a 'normal bloke' might be the way to go. I was talking to Donna Troy and Caitlin Fairchild the other night--Caitlin's doing alright, by the by--and the subject of why, umm... why /we're/ dealing with this came up. As opposed to, you know, the gods or whatever. And I think... I think the fact that we're all relatively normal people who stumbled onto something bigger is maybe part of the point? I mean, a schoolteacher from Brooklyn sealed /Saint Michael/ into the Astral. A teenager from Gotham stole the power of the angels. Some temple scribe convinced the gods he's a king." He glances to Sara. "Whatever makes you worthy to wield the Witchblade isn't about a family legacy or superpowers. Cael's the most stubbornly mundane Muggle I've ever met." He smiles at her fondly. "Even Terry, well... you're the Cheshire Cat, but even that is the dream of some mortal, evidently. Point being... Zeus or Odin or Horus coming in and punching Michael in the nose wasn't going to teach him anything."     He looks around. "Alright, so... if we're agreed on the general idea..." He frowns for a moment and then the Archive fades from around them, replaced by a blank space, though the tables and chairs are still there. "What he presented me with was Manhattan still. My old apartment in Chelsea. And this has all been focused on New York, so... we could go there or somewhere else? And I think we should all decide our... 'characters' for this little play. Who swaps places with Michael?"
Cael Becker	For a fraction of a second, Cael wants to suggest letting Michael walk a mile in her shoes.     But that would mean leaving Jon to deal with Michael, wouldn't it? And THAT is not something she's willing to do. So she clicks her mouth shut again, a frown pulling at her features.     "I'm afraid I'm a bit in the same boat as Sara. I don't really know how we... build here. Is it the same as we've been doing in our dreams?" she asks Jon. "We just imagine what it is we want? Like a motorcycle with training wheels?"     As she talks, she still holds her stuffed animal in her lap - her fingers digging into the fake fur.
Sara Pezzini	Sara's eyes drift to the tea in the cup, the swirl and shift of the brown liquid when her hand moves. If she had added milk, the color would have been more appealing against the white of the cup, but as it was she could see through to the bottom. Her mind was wandering over all the possibilities, the information, the things she didn't know about all this. Witchblade might know some of it, but at this point if he did know something beyond how to get in and out of the astral realm, he would have shared already. "I don't think he should take Jon's place," she states as she looks up to Cael first, then over to Jon. "I think Jon's had to deal with more than enough and we should pick someone else. If we have to follow gender, that makes it Terry. If we don't have to worry about that, then it could be me, Lydia, or Phoebe, but whom ever it is that we put Michael in place of, I don't think it should be Jon."
Terry O'Neil	"It's worth a try, Cael- and I could convince Donna to let me have The Regalia. I'm sure that with /that/, we'd be able to build whatever you imagine here with almost frightful solidity..." He lowers his teacup onto his saucer and says, channeling the very diction, if not the spirit of Lady Catherine De Brough, "Jonathan Hollingsworth Everyvalley Knickerbocker Fantazoo Sims may you nbe forgiven, I have never once in my life been called 'normal' and I don't for a hot minute intend to start making a habit of it now." "I mean. Look at Wonderland. I beg to ask you what kind of normal man dreams /that/ up>" After making his point, he goes back to drinking his tea. He almost spits it out when Sara suggests him as the Freaky Friday Swapout. "Dear god. That would mean I would have to be as insufferable as he is. Even if it /would/ come with those gorgeous locks of hair..." a peer at Jon, "Be honest with me. There's a Vidal Sassoon headquarters in the silver city, isn't there?"
Phoebe Beacon	"I'm about the least normal of all of you." Phoebe states, crossing her arms, and motions to Terry "Other than the Cat." she adds, with a good natured look to Terry, and she looks over at everyone.     "I can take his place. My Da- Chas's gift that he sent Sandalphon with is still active over my emotions..." She frowns, and she takes off the jacket, and she folds it over the back of her chair as she holds her teacup and goes to stand. "It wouldn't be my first time managing such a place."
Lydia Dietrich	Lydia looks thoughtful as the scenery around them changes into blank white space. "I've got this," she says, waving a hand to the table. An old school mechanical typewriter appears along with a stack of blank white paper. "Creating realities is what I do for a living, now that I've given up on being a schoolteacher. That might make me a fitting replacement for Michael."     She scoots her chair closer to the table and starts typing, reading out loud what she types. "Manhattan," she begins, "much like the one we know today, a city of spires that reach up to the sky." An image forms before them as she types, building that reality. The only problem is that the city that she conjures up is... small. The tallest skyscraper only comes up to about hip high. "Hrm," she says, looking at her model. "It's... I think we'll need more power."
Chas Chandler	As Lydia types and the miniature Manahattan springs forth before her, more energy is siphoned in this realm of dreams and imagination. The thoughts of those around it pour into it and the model grows. Larger and larger, the buildings phasing through the bodies of those imagining it. The edges of the model disappear and fade into the abstract, replaced by the inner realms of the city until the group finds themselves in the middle of Central Park under the shade of the Great Tree grown by Lydia's seal.     Here in the astral manifestation of those around it looks more vibrant, more real than the rest of the park. The city pulses with realism, the imagination of those who live in it and the descriptive nature of the author's words giving it enough substance to rival the real thing.     But one thing about this representation is fully missing.     People.     The structures are identical, the scope is identical, almost every noticable detail is created beautifully... but one thing cannot be fully encapsulated by the words of an author of stories. The lives of all the people in New York is something that would require time and energy that is even beyond the imagination of those gathered.
Jonathan Sims	Jon gives Cael a /look/ at 'training wheels on a motorcycle,' then turns the look--it's a glower--on Terry and says, "I meant /not gods/, you know? Not... super powerful or rich! Not the obvious heroes! Not the /literal creator of the Universe/! Good lord." A pause. "Honestly, the hair? I think they just think it into perfection."     He shakes his head "I didn't mean in terms of building or managing--we're doing /that/ collectively. I meant in terms of quite literally making Michael potentially walk in their shoes, and them taking on the role of Great Overseer or what-have-you. Terry wouldn't be believable, since he's an agent of Chaos and Michael /knows/ that." He pauses. "Unless we think we don't need one at all. My thought was to show him that even with someone 'in charge' things aren't what he thinks they'd be, but..." He shrugs. "We could have a generic figure there, too."     He flicks a glance to Sara. "Actually, honestly? Not having to... face that again would be a... welcome relief. I..." He hesitates. "Perhaps I could... coordinate behind the scenes? I don't... know what..."     He frowns down at his tea. "I can't face her again," he mutters.     The city grows around them and he looks up, still frowning. "Very nice, Lydia," he says. "Maybe Michael should be asking /you/ to help him." A brief smirk, and then, "How do we get... people? Hmm."
Cael Becker	Cael meets Jon's glare with the utmost innocence, though that expression quickly alters to one of concern, and sympathy. "Her?" she asks quietly. "You mean Lyra?" She lets out a sigh then promises softly, "You won't have to walk away from her again, Jon. None of us would be willing to do that to you."     As Jon tries to sort out how role in this play of theirs she adds as a reminder, "I've got your back. Whatever role it is you end up playing..." She doesn't intend to stray far. "If you're... coordinating. Narrating? Then that leaves me with- what? I mean, I suppose if //I// was the 'Overseer' I'd in theory be able to keep an eye on you. But I dunnot if Michael would buy //me// in that role much more than Terry."     As she looks around at the empty city she adds, "This is even weirder than during the angelic invasion. How do we fill it?"
Sara Pezzini	As the city scape begins to fully form and take shape around them, Sara's eyes follow the movement while on her right wrist, astral realm or not, the silver bracelet that Witchblade conceals himself as on a normal basis expands into tendrils of metal that wrap the gauntlet around her hand and forearm to the elbow. The massive red gem on the back of her hand swirls to life, forming a smoky red glowing eye that also starts to look around as the entire gauntlet begins to emanate power. Slowly turning to look back at Jon, Sara offers a soft smile as she nods. "I really didn't want you to have to go that route again, thus why I suggested we find another way for you," she offers, the red smoky glow beginning to spread from the eye on the gauntlet, over her body and into the realm around her, the images appearing. "Helping in the background, behind the scenes, I think that's a good idea, Jon." As Witchblade adds himself to the situation, Sara seems completely separate from him at the moment. "I'm just gonna say it now, I most definitely should not be running, over seeing or guiding anything. I'll offer every ounce of my and Witchblade's power, I'll play whatever part is needed in this created reality to make it believable, but when it comes to this..." she gestures around herself. "... I don't know enough to be much help beyond power, and we've," she holds up her right gauntleted hand, "got plenty of that to offer up."
Terry O'Neil	"If we need people to dream up- remember how Wonderland came about? If you come with me to the tower, Jon, and convince Donna to let me have the Red King's regalia, you can use me to dream up, or complement, a popuation here." He looks a little miffed and puts his teacup down, crossing his arms, "Donna and Caitlin locked up the Regalia and everything. In a safe that requires two people to open. And I'm excluded from being one of them, can you believe it?" r He huffs, "After everything I've... nevermind, this isn't about me and you don't need to hear that. But. If anyone can convince Donna and Caitlin to do it, it's you."
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe gives a look of mild exasperation, and tilts her head back a moment.     "It's the *Astral*. What if we imagine the people. Mr. Rodgers this thing up. We're in New York. We got Naked Cowboys in Times Square. We've got fruit vendors and people trying to sell their mixtapes and knockoff Disney movies on every other street corner. Moms with babies in carriers and prams --" Phoebe trails off, and she closes her eyes, walking into the vision of New York City. She reaches out and puts her hand on the corner of the building.     "The city is alive with so many voices and threads. I jogged through these streets every day. Signor Franelli, I got oranges and limes from for the Laughing Magician when I was barbacking for Dad. Mrs. Tan who runs See Yew Soon. Crowds with every shape and color --"
Lydia Dietrich	Lydia looks rather surprised when the model city grows, being fed by the imagination of the others and, perhaps, by the Great Oak itself. "Hm," she says, looking out at the emptiness. "I can write a couple of people, main characters, and supporting cast. I don't think I can write out an entire city of people."     Jon's comment causes Lydia's lips to press into a thin line. "He might, at that." she admits. "If I show him sympathy and compassion if I finally manage to meet up with him. So far he's been mostly met with hostility."     Her eyes narrow at Terry. "If Donna and Caitlin are locking those things away from you we /may/ want to give them to somebody else lest your powers interact with them in... chaotic ways. We want this reality to be as mundane as possible and I simply cannot conceive you doing /anything/ mundane."     She nods at Phoebe, "Right. We can. The Red King's Regalia... whatever that is... might be enough to put more oomph in our creation to make it that much more convincing." A thought occurs to her and she starts to laugh, "You know the Matrix? That scene where Neo is in that created world and he sees that woman in a red dress? That's what we're doing."
Chas Chandler	Tendrils of power flow out from the watchers and a few scattered people appear. It's still not on the scope of the city, and the people that move down the walkways and sit idly on the green are faceless, indistinct, and uniform in their symmetry. They aren't people yet, even if they have the right shape and color.     It's a step in the right direction but not the finished product by far. Even so, a sense of peace and prosperity fills the air. This is the perfect world that the Archangel might envision. There isn't suffering or despair in the air of the city and one of the familiar sounds of the city is staggeringly absent: sirens.     Indeed a step in the right direction.
Jonathan Sims	"I'm not going to be alone regardless, Cael," Jon notes as he peers around at the city. "Stop worrying about me and think about what sort of person you might be. What... role you're going to play." He nods to Sara, and says, "Same for you, I suppose. I get that you're both worried about me, but honestly, sitting around waiting for everyone else to fix this wouldn't help. It'd just drive me mad. I offered to step back if I was a liability, not because..." He frowns. "I /need/ to do this, if I can. I need to make all that we've gone through /mean/ something. Otherwise, it's just... pain and torture to no end."     He chews on his lip thoughtfully. "I'll talk to them for you, Terry," he agrees. "It might help give some extra oomph. Because I think..." He glances around. "We need more than just imagination, I think. We need /power/. Imagination only gets you so far, in a shared space. When you're putting on a show--"     He stops, and looks down at himself. "Oh. Oh! I know what I can do." He grins, and there's some odd and feral in the grin. "I can /narrate/."     Somehow his astral image sharpens a bit, and he straightens his shoulders. The tea in his hands disappears. "As I was saying," he says in a more confident tone, voice a bit more strident, if looser in diction, "when you're putting on a show, you /can/ depend on the power of your own lungs, but if you really want to reach the back rafters it's easier to have a microphone." He snaps the fingers of his left hand and a facsimile of the jewel he stole from Michael appears there. "This should help. The rest of us have artifacts that should be able to help too. The Witchblade, the amulet Cael holds... Phoebe, you have power /yourself/."     He looks to Lydia quite seriously. "I offered him compassion. He struck me down and tossed me away." Then he grins again, brightly, still with that half-feral edge. "So /instead/, he can deal with Jonny Demonic narrating his /entirely/ boring and mundane existence. And pointing that out, at /every/ turn. How mundane he is. Powerless." He bounces on his toes, eyes bright. "And no need to keep an eye on me; when I'm in a role I'm /in the role/. And Cap'n Jonny would /never/ work with an /angel/. Stuck up ponces, one and all. No appreciation for really /good/ violence. Always on the 'love and forgiveness' train." He rolls his eyes. "Bo-ring."
Cael Becker	"Jon, I-" Cael honestly seems off-put for the moment. She actually seems to be... //considering her words//.     Look, it does happen sometimes. Just don't count on it happening again anytime soon.     "I want you to be able to see this through - just like I want to be able to see this through. Neither of us can sit this out, but I- ...I promised to have your back. I promised I wouldn't let him get you on your own, that I wouldn't give him the chance to try getting into your head again, to start twisting you around. I'm not- I don't feel comfortable... How do I know you won't be alone? That you'll be alright?" she insists. "He has a backdoor into your head. We both know my worries aren't without cause. You //wanted// me to watch your back. If you're changing your mind on that- well. Then how do I know it's even //you// that changed your mind?" she points out bluntly.
Sara Pezzini	The people of New York, that was something Sara knew very well. No matter which part, Manhattan, Queens, Brooklyn, in her duties as a police officer she'd been to all of those places, seen the people living their lives. Now though, it was all about what their lives would be like if there wasn't a need for the police, if there was peace and calm, the only things to worry about being natural disasters, perhaps a rabid dog, nothing so life altering at angels descending from heaven to destroy everything. She was still listening to others as they spoke, but her mind was trying to imagine perfection. It was difficult, given everything she had seen. Crimes between humans without any influence of magic or aliens, horrendous things human has done to human, but what would the world be like if those things didn't happen? "I'm not saying take you out completely Jon," she finally says, looking back to him. "You know we all have your back, that's it's not just Cael, but in the end the decision is yours as to what you do." She shifts her eyes to Cael for a moment, something crossing her mind that she shoves do far down into the depth of her mind that she might never find it again, and that was a good thing. "I'm having troubles imagining a world beyond the one I live in right now, or what else /might/ have been my life," she admits. "I can imagine a perfect world without pain and suffering, where human being don't prey on each other, if I really reach deep I can find that world hidden inside my mind, but me? I'm already doing what I consider to be perfect, what should I be looking for for myself?"
Terry O'Neil	"Fair point," Vorpal says to Lydia, sipping his tea thoughtfully. "In that case then Jon can go to the Tower and plead his case for someone else to use it. I am sure that if. you promise I won't be touching it, she'd be more amenable to relinquish the set." "I will help in whatever else I can where my propensity for the dramatic won't stand out nearly as much." He glances at his teacup with disappointment, as if asking itself to explain why it has the audacity to run out so quickly.
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe gives a wry little smile, and she closes her eyes. One step closer to bringing Chas home, to getting him back for Geraldine.     Not even for her monstrous self.     She exhales, and she keeps her hand on the corner of the building she was holding onto, and she focuses. A Nearly Perfect New York City. The sounds of the traffic. The feeling of when she touched the leylines for the first time and felt that harsh, electric buzz, the feeling of the vision of a guitar string in vibration against the very makeup of her soul, ringing in her ears like the peal of a bell made of lightning and the silent roaring of the lions in front of the library.     Breathe in the smells. Hotdog and pretzel stands and not exhaust, because this world is woke and uses electric cars -- and less of them. Pizzarias and Chinese Take-Out and Burger King. Give life to the City.     Phoebe drops the concentration on imitating a human form, and in lieu of the blouse-and-trousers, there was the form of a roughly humanoid glow with rose-gold eyes.     "What did you want to be when you were little?" she asks, her voice with a decent amount of echoey reverb to it "Before you learned the world had teeth?"
Lydia Dietrich	"I... don't have any artifacts, Jon, and I'm not made out of power like Phoebe is," Lydia says. "I'm good at putting ideas into words, though if you're the narrator that will be /your/ job." She scowls at her typewriter. "That is unless I'm the one who takes Michael's place." She looks at the others, "Unless anybody else wants to step up? We could also look for people outside this circle of ours."     She looks over at Phoebe's change of form. "Or, yeah. She could do it."
Jonathan Sims	Jon sighs as he turns to Cael and says, "I'm not saying don't watch my back. I'm saying that you can watch my back without being glued to my side." He shakes the astral tether wrapped around both of their wrists. "You'll always know where I am, for one. For another... if we do this right, we'll /all/ be able to see what's going on. Think of it like a stage play. Michael's on stage all the time. Anyone with him should be able to be seen by everyone else. /Everyone/ will have eyes on me if I'm with him, is my point, because we'll all have eyes on /Michael/."     He folds his arms across his chest. "I'm saying that nobody here, now that they're aware of the problem, is going to let me be alone with Michael where nobody can see. I'm saying we trust our friends to help make sure this goes off properly. We can't have our dreams tied together forever, and you're not the only one who can help protect me. So if the best place for you in this play is by my side, that's /fine/, but honestly, really... where do you think you can best be to show Michael he's /wrong/? Because that's how we get out of this, Cael, that's how Michael stops having a bloody backdoor into my head. He has to change his mind."     "You're the script writer, Lydia," he says. "Give me the words and I'll speak them for you. Take the power and shape the world we're showing Michael." He frowns thoughtfully, and starts to pace back and forth, grinning briefly at Phoebe and snap-pointing at her. Then he begins to repeat the words Lydia first typed, as the city begins to take further shape. His voice rises and falls in a more lilting cadence than he normally uses.     "Manhattan... much like the one we know today, a city of spires that reach up to the sky." He looks up and up. "A city full of people," he continues, "of all shapes and sizes. The Naked Cowboys in Times Square, the food vendors on the corners, mums with babies in prams. Everyone knows the--"     He stops, and turns to Lydia. "Well... what should Michael be? An office drone? The corner bodega owner? A novelist dreaming of greater worlds?" He grins.
Cael Becker	Cael's eyes are locked onto Jon as he explains - and that framing, 'a stage play,' seems to reassure her somehow. After a nod, she relaxes back into her seat, which sits so placidly on the lawn of Central Park. "Okay," she agrees simply, without so much as another word.     She takes a deep breath in - and blows it out slowly, a faint frown playing on her lips. "Where am I- to show Michael that he's wrong? I... I don't know. I don't honestly know what I can do to show Michael just how wrong he is. What if I just fly off the handle at him again?" Like she always does. She runs a hand through her hair, showing off the unnaturally vibrant colors beneath.     "He thought I'd be a race car driver and an emergency responder, but I- ...I don't know," she admits. "You know what I miss still? Is finding those kids that- the ones who're just in over there head, and see no other choices, and helping them find another option but- where is there room for something like //that// in this perfect world?"     With an amused smile she adds, "Part of me wants to torture Michael with the role of a bord office worker in his little cubicle but- I dunno that more boredom teaches him anything?"
Sara Pezzini	Sara glances over to Phoebe for a moment, then actually chuckles as she answers the teens question. "A cop, I've always wanted to be one, for as long as I can remember. I wanted to be like my father, to protect good people from bad people." The chuckle turns into a bitter snort before she looks back at the world forming around them, the sounds of the birds, the presence of people starting to fill in the blank spaces that should never have been there. New York had a life of it's own, the 'city that never sleeps', the lack of people had been foreign, more so than anything she'd faced with Witchblade. "I'm not wrong in assuming that there would be no police in this perfect world am I?" she finally asks. "If everything is wonderful, the laws don't get broken, so there's no need for them. I've never thought of being anything else, so I'm going to have to get seriously creative to find a way in this world to serve the public as a replacement, because at the core, that's what I am, what I do, and I can't imagine anything else."
Terry O'Neil	"He's never quite understood human realtionships. He may think he's above them. I suggest we put him somewhere where he has to see those relationships first hand, while also having the frustration of being on the outside looking in. He's lonely, but he doesn't want to do the things that will make others want to approach him. So--" Terry tap tap taps the side of his cup, "I say, make him a wedding singer." A mischievous look to the side, "And Lydia can dress up as the little old lady who pays him in meatballs for his singing lessons and teaches him how to be humble."
Lydia Dietrich	"You have quite the voice, Jon," Lydia says appreciatively, with a grin. "Though I don't think I typed in anything about naked cowboys in Times Square. And this is America. I don't think people know what a pram is."     She listens to all the suggestions and nods, ending with a chuckle at Terry's. "Either that or a wedding planner. Lamaze instructor," she says with a grin, "Can you even imagine that?"
Chas Chandler	As the players continue to pour their thoughts over the city more vibrancy comes into play. Words spill forth from Lydia's keys that add tinges of perfection to the mix. The comfortable feeling of protection and relief in the air of this small, fabricated world. The knowledge that while conflict exists, nothing can't be overcome and that God... will see that everyone is taken care of in the end. Hardhsips are to be endured and learned from before relief and compensation arrives at the perfect time.     Even as this perfection rolls out of the imagination of those gathered, it's clear that reality can -never- truly be this way. The fatal flaw in this perfect world of Michael's demented imaginings is that it -has- to fail. The ultimate failing of a world without struggle or strife or even significant conflict is, in a word, stagnation. When reality fails to truly present a challenge, complacency will be its undoing. And that is the world that they are envisioning as they build it. A world of complacency. Mindless happiness that never changes, never falters, and never truly grows.
Jonathan Sims	Jon considers Cael and Sara for a long moment, reaching into his memory of what that perfect world was like. "Don't show him who he thinks we are," he murmurs. "Show him who we /are/."     After a moment, he grins at Sara. "No police--a relief, no offense--but there /were/ emergency responders. Firefighter, maybe?" He spins and starts pacing back toward Cael. "And you... a teacher. Helping guide the youth on the proper path, show those who stumble back to the light." He beams at her for a moment.     Then he looks at Terry. "A wedding /is/ a perfect kind of venue for low-stakes interpersonal drama. All sorts of people can be there, with no need of an excuse. Either way I can be part of the band, making commentary." He shrugs. "My other thought was the corner bodega owner; they hear /all/ the gossip, they know /everyone/, but they're always a little removed because of the counter." A beat. "And all eyes are never on them, they don't have the control a planner does." He grins. "Admittedly, though... I /like/ wedding singer, if for no other reason than it gives us an excuse to have some music."
Cael Becker	"A... teacher," Cael repeats, seeming to taste the word. It's strange on her lips - but... thinking back, she can remember more than one teacher that saw her faltering. That noticed that her clothes weren't always clean. That her hair wasn't always combed. That the lunches she packed were sometimes a little... slapdash. Or even non-existent. She remembers Mrs. Wootan always having an extra half of a sandwich to offer her - just in case she needed it.     "Yeah, okay. I guess that's, uh- I could try on the role of a teacher for a bit. 'Shepherd' all the little ones, and make sure they're doing alright."     There's a beat before she adds, "But I still race on the weekends. I mean - obviously."
Sara Pezzini	Finishing off the tea in the cup she had been holding, Sara moves to pour herself some more, then offers to pour Terry more as well. In her time on the force she had worked with dozens of firefighters and EMTs, and if she thought really hard, being a firefighter would be a close second to being a police officer. "Firefighter," she repeats, because even in a perfect world fires happen. "I can actually imagine myself doing that." If Terry accepts more tea she pours it then carries the pot back to where it was sitting. "And Jon, no offense taken. I know you aren't fond of the police."
Terry O'Neil	Terry glady takes more tea, there is always room for tea, after all. "I am perfectly comfortable being a baker or a caterer or somesuch. Baking redheads are a thing in the Titans... and after how he influenced Caitlin, it would be my /delight/ to have his paradigms getting shanked by, among many, another Titan baking redhead."
Chas Chandler	More and more energy and thought goes into the facimile and Lydia's fingers fly over the keys as the Green transforms into the beautiful set of a wedding complete with a stage, a gazebo, a rose covered arch, several chairs and tables as well as the startings of a bountiful reception spread.     The author's indulgences are on full display (after all, how often do you get the chance to write your dream wedding into a sort of reality) as more and more detail come into display. And the hazy images of the roles that the players in attendeance will play for the Archangel are given position, if not form, as they await their predisposed actors.     A few final touches need to be made, but soon enough... the stage is set and the trap is laid. All that's left is to give the 'guest' of honor his welcome.