Owner	Pose
Jonathan Sims	Early morning on May Eve, right around dawn, there aren't many people on the Great Lawn. It's mostly early morning joggers, people out walking their dogs, but not the larger groups that will be around later on a Saturday. So when Jonathan Sims comes to visit the Great Ash that stands as a monument to the war with the angels, there's nobody else around.     He brings donuts and coffee, and his old bracer wrapped in cloth. He's taken apart the spell that sealed away the wellsprings, gently sending any residual energy back to those spots in Manhattan. He even went about and put the bits of dirt back, sprinkling it over the sites from which he dug it up. The magical linkages between those places can fade, now, the Great Ash serving to protect Gaea from any similar sort of interference in the future.     They put their hand to the trunk of the tree and look up at the leaves. They have to swallow past a lump in their throat. They don't really want to say goodbye... but it's time to do so.
Michael Demiurgos	The Great Tree of Lydia, as some in the mystical community have taken to calling it, stands silent and magnificent in the middle of the Green. It's branches have already blossomed and hang with the bounty of Spring. There is an air of tranquility that only grows the closer one stands to the great truck of the unnaturally grown wood.     As Jon approaches it the feeling of the atmosphere changes subtly. The tree seems to regard the avatar of Ma'at with some recognition. It knows their hand in the protection of the Great Mother of all life and respects them as an equal. A breeze blows through the boughs of the tree and they sway, as if offering a wave of greeting to the Archivist and the offerings they have brought forth for this final communion.
Jonathan Sims	Jon just stands there for a while, as the sun inches up over the horizon, listening to the breeze through the branches as if he could hear words in the wind. He closes his eyes, takes deep breaths. Steeling himself for what's to come.     After a long moment, they open their eyes and sigh. "Well," they mutter, "can't put it off forever."     They step back a bit, and says in a normal tone of voice, "Great Mother, I call you. Your Champion would speak with you..." They stop for a moment, a lump in their throat. "...One last time."
Michael Demiurgos	As the light of the sun touches the shining bark of the tree there is a flash and three figures stand before Jon. None are in their imposing oversized frames, they appear normal aside from the auras of power radiating from them. Two Jon knows well.     Gaia stands at the front of the triangle, her dark hair hooded under the green shawl she uses to give herself a modicum of modesty smiles at Jon. Her eyes, green as the most vibrant grass, sparkle under dark lashes. Behind her to her left is the archangel Uriel, dressed in an ivory tunic and carrying a staff that shares its hue. At his side is his sword of flame, sheathed now for--hopefully--the foreseeable future. His golden locks frame his features, youthful in all respects save his eyes which carry the weight of eons in them. Even so, those eyes are giving a proud smile to the figure of his legacy, the Archivist.     The final figure that makes up their trio is not as well known to Jon. The new Archangel Michael doesn't look at all like his predecesor. He is lithe instead of hulking, and beautiful in an androgyne manner instead of handsome beyond masculine terms. He wears a simple white robe with only the stylized sunburst at each shoulder giving any resemblance to the armor his predecesor wore. His dark hair flows in a straight sheet down his back instead of in curly golden rings. At the moment, he doesn't even seem to be noticing Jon or the meeting before him. His eyes focus on the tree next to them and he breaks off to set a hand against its trunk in an almost reverent manner.     It is Gaia who speaks first though. "My Champion, you have done so well" she says moving forward and wrapping her arms around Jon in a tight embrace. The warmth and care in it overriding any fear or anxiety that may be present from any other entity. "I would have offered my celebrations sooner," she glances to one side at the figure of Michael, still in silent communion with the tree, "but rules have been put into place that restrict any of the denizens of the City to come to Earth without express permission. I did not want to jeapordize such new stipulations by violating them in their infancy."
Jonathan Sims	Gaea is one of those few beings who can touch Jon without him tensing up or faltering; the hug she gives him he returns warmly. He lingers for a moment as she speaks, tempted to break down in tears, but the soothing nature of her presence helps that wash away. He sighs softly as he disentangles himself and steps back.     He looks between the three, and says, "I suppose with all of you here the other Champions should be as well... but I'd intended just to say goodbye, now that it's over." He offers out the tray of coffees--now understanding why the barista accidentally made a fourth and sent it with him 'on the house'--and says, "It may not be nectar of the gods, but coffee and donuts have their charms."
Michael Demiurgos	Gaia nods to Jon and looks at Michael. "May we have suitable accomodations for this visit, Saint Michael?" she asks. Her tone carries no hint of animosity or ire for the creature. Michael lowers his hand from the trunk of the tree and gestures. That is all the show of power he gives, a simple wave of his hand.     There is suddenly a simple wooden picnic table of ash-colored wood beneath the shade of the tree. It is not embellished or stained in any way, the warping of the wood itself giving enough adornment to make the table and attached benches suitable for the purpose of aesthetic.     Uriel moves to take a seat. "If Hope or Caitlin wish to speak with us, all they need do is call. Though, I think the pair of them are more keen on dealing with their own affairs than to worry about goodbyes or farewells." He ushers everyone else to take a seat. "Trust me. Ambrosia loses some of its allure after a while. Coffee on the other hand... is forever." He grins at Jon for a moment and waits for the others to take their seats.     Michael moves slowly, almost languidly to the bench and examines his work with black eyes, he irises just an extension of the bottomless void of the pupil. It gives him an even more alien appearance when paired with the unearthly beauty. He places a hand on the wood for a moment before taking a seat next to his brother Uriel. Gaia for her part, entwines her arm with Jon's to make the short trek to the opposite bench of the table.
Jonathan Sims	"I really ought to check in on them. I've seen Hope... relatively recently, but Caitlin..." Jon frowns, flickering a glance toward Michael. Gaea's presence is enough to keep a stopper on the anger he feels, so he just says, "Caitlin /does/ have a lot going on right now."     He walks over with Gaea, escorts her really, even helping her sit down first. It's less of a 'chivalry' thing and more of a deference thing. He sets out coffee and then opens the box of donuts, a dozen of assorted types. "So things are... settling? Good?" Can anyone else see this picnic table and the beings sitting at it or does he look like he's alone? Questions, questions.
Michael Demiurgos	Michael responds to the unasked questions. "Relax Jonathan, the table and its occupants are all visible. Though we three are masked to the unknowing eye. You appear to be having morning breakfast with three friends. Nothing more." Even his voice is different. A vibrant and smooth tenor, rather than the resonant bass of the Lord of Host that was.     Uriel takes up a donut and begins to tear into it with quick, eager bites. "So good..." he mutters around a mouthful. "Why don't we have these up there?" he asks, giving an accusatory look to Michael, the smile around his mouthful of donut is enough for it to come off as what it is: a joke.     He turns his attention to Jon. "So... it's over and done and you can move on to more Earthly--less universe shattering--matters, huh?" he says with a nod of encouragement.
Jonathan Sims	Jon regards Uriel quietly for a moment. "I meant it as a question. In Heaven, are things settling down, with the new... management." Another glance flicked to the new Michael.     "As for us? Sort of. Dealing with the fallout, really. Chas has changed, many people have trauma to recover from, people are dead. /I've/ changed... significantly. I may well spend the rest of my life putting the universe back into balance; stuffing a leaf down Ammit's throat and getting Michael to give up the Demiurgic Force was the /start/ of the healing process, not the end of it."
Michael Demiurgos	Gaia nods. "While my own duties in the Silver City are quite limited, it seems that the archangels are all accepting the new rules in place by the Commander of the Hosts" she smiles at Michael and takes a sip of her coffee before selecting a powdered and jelly-fillied donut. She glances to Michael. "While I do not wholly agree with the restrictions in place, I will abide by their terms for the time being. You are correct in your assessment that those who live in the universe should be free of our influence unless invited."     Michael inclines his head in gratitude to Gaia. "And I thank you for that" he says. He turns his dark eyes on Jon and his expression is sympathetic. "Do not forget to take time for youself, Archivist. There are a great many terrors in this world, but you are not soley responsible for them all." He frowns. "Francis will come into his power in time. I believe he has already made strides to start the process in his own way. There is much more for it to be unlocked but everything has its season." He grows thoughtful for a moment. "Our influence is greatly limited, but is there anything we can offer. Reparations to those bereaved by my forebearer's actions on this planet?" he asks his tone sympathetic and whole unlike the previous Michael.
Jonathan Sims	Jon pauses and blinks with a chocolate-glazed donut halfway to his mouth. "Actually, yes. Reparations... people /died/. People were injured, displaced. Damage Control can rebuild buildings, but they can't restore everything. Chas wouldn't accept the money you gave him so I put it aside, I'm hoping to invest it in a fund to help support the JLD... but some sort of... I don't know. Whatever help you could give the survivors of the siege of Manhattan..."     The frown deepens. "What /did/ happen to Chas? And don't give me any mealy-mouthed 'oh well it's his burden to bear' crap, he's my best friend and I'm going to be helping him with this regardless. Knowing what's going on with him could be the key to him not... blowing up or something. I know he's pretty much an angel now. I'd estimate on the power level of a Dominion?"
Michael Demiurgos	Michael nods to Uriel and the Archangel of Light almost chokes on his donut. "You can't be serious... you do understand what inflation is?" he says to whatever unspoken order was given to him by Micahel. At the Commander of the Hosts flat expression he sighs. "Very well..." He produces a pencil and a small sheet of paper. "Go to JPMorgan Chase Headquarters. Not too far from here and give them this letter..." He finishes scratching out whatever message he put on the letter that he folds up and slides to Jon. "And this card." He produces a small white piece of plastic that has no discernable markings on it save a small microcrip that all bank cards come with. "You will be made executor of an account that has somewhere in the nature of half a billion dollars." He glares at Michael for a moment. "Use the money for whatever reparations you have made and then when you're done paying reparations to those who need it... break the card in half. It will disappear and come back to us."     He sighs. "I suppose that is the nature of tithes. Used to help those who need it. Still, I hope it doesn't destroy the economy or anything." He settles back and sips more of his coffee, his expression far too similar to one Jon may make on occasion.     Michael then speaks. "Francis was remade in order to do his duty as the guardian of the Silver City in my predecesor's stead. Your estimates are adequate." He pauses and considers the options. "He will not nova unless he abosrbs a power that is on par with his own or unleashes his reserves completely. Teach him what it means to control his reserves and to rest when necessary and you should not have issue with him. But it will be a slow process."
Jonathan Sims	Jon was in the middle of drinking his coffee when Uriel says 'half a billion dollars,' and almost chokes on the liquid. Not an actual spit-take, but he has to very carefully swallow, and stares at Uriel and then Michael, open-mouthed. "H-half... a /billion/...?!"     Then his eyes go teal briefly. "We will see that the money is put to good use, Light of Heaven. It will be used to help those hurt by the conflict, and no others."     They blink and shake their head. "Good lord. That's... a lot." They sigh and reach up to rub at their face. "I'll see to it, however." To his credit, he doesn't ask 'why him.' He was made Champion of Gaea, after all, representative of mortalkind in this business. It's up to him to redress the balance.     He focuses on Michael, nodding slowly. "Can he die?" he asks bluntly. "Or if he novas, will he merely re-form as the others did? I suppose what I am getting at is... is he a /proper/ angel now, aside from the free will? Can I just presume he's a Dominion that can make choices?"
Michael Demiurgos	Michael pauses before replying. "It is... a great deal more complicated than that, but for the sake of brevity that will be sufficient. However, he can die. There are things that can destroy him utterly. If he sustains enough damage and does not use a failsafe to escape. Or if he uses up all that he is..." He shakes his head. "Simply tread lightly around him. My predecessor did not anticipate his return to this plane and his power here can be a boon or a bane depending on the direction he uses it and the hand that guides his instruction." The weight of Michael's gaze hasn't changed any, if anything it's grown stronger in this new iteration and Jon is given a nearly full measure of it.     Gaea clucks her tongue. "Stop that" she says to Michael. "You're not a bully anymore and when you try to be it just makes you look foolish." She sips her coffee and finishes off her donut before taking another: chocolate covered glazed.     Michael, in spite of his earlier forboding nature deflates some and looks, quite embarassed by the chiding tone of the Great Mother. "My apologies, Jonathan. Some lingering habits are still being shaken off. I do hope you will forgive my attempt to convey my displeasure should Francis' path turn awry."
Jonathan Sims	"I rather doubt it will be /my/ hand guiding his instruction, but... I'll take that under advisement." Jon doesn't even really blink or shift under the weight of Michael's gaze. He lifts his eyebrows, in fact, as if questioning what the expression is about.     Then he snorts at Gaea's statement, but nods to Michael. "I will do my best." He frowns, briefly. "How much... how /changed/ are you, anyhow? Lydia Dietrich wants to talk to you, get your take on what happened, for her book, but if you're /that/ different... do you remember how you felt and acted before?"
Michael Demiurgos	Michael doesn't respond immediately instead he looks down at the table. Gaea speaks up. "He remembers enough of what was done to feel remorse for the actions of the one before him. He remembers what the Michael before him felt, what motivated that creature, but there is disconnect. Memories of a past life... something I hear you are not entirely unfamiliar with." She finishes off a second donut and ponders another but shakes her head.     She shifts in her seat to face Jon. "Surely there was more to our coming than coffee, donuts, and workshopping the aftermath. I have things to say to you but..." Her cheeks darken some. "They are things that I would rather do without chaperones. Surely, I've earned a measure of privacy with my Champion?" she asks, giving the angels a look.     Uriel clears his throat and nods. "I think you have earned that much, Great Mother." He knudges Michael in the arm even though the dark haired angel is already rising from the bench to move away. They walk toward one of the ponds Uriel speaking animatedly at Michael about how much better Heaven could be if the angel's subsisted on donuts instead of faith.
Jonathan Sims	Jon frowns for a moment, looking to Michael, but stays quiet as Gaea asks the angels to leave and they get up and do so. He watches them move away for a moment, and reaches out to take a second donut.     "I really am grateful to have the help with reparations. I suppose I'll have to figure out how to... distribute it. But it's been nagging at me." He shakes his head.     Then he looks to Gaea. "What do you need to say to me, then, Great Mother?" A brief smile; maybe she won't like the formality but he's feeling formal at the moment.
Michael Demiurgos	Gaea sips her coffee for a moment before she starts to speak, if the formality bothers her she doesn't show it. "I've been meaning to express how proud of you I am. How far you have come and what you have endured in the process of this quest. You did better than I could have hoped and ended the threat in what, by most standards, was a the barest breath."     She places a hand on his arm. "I also wanted to reassure you. Even if we part here, you will always have my ear should you require advice or aid. I may come in guises you don't recognize, but as my Champion... you will always be near to my heart and I am not one to forget those who have proven their worth in service." She reaches up to touch his face gently. "So even if we say our goodbyes... know that it is not forever and I am always watching." She smiles.
Jonathan Sims	Jon has to take in a shuddering breath and let it out as Gaea says she's proud of him. "I..." He laughs. "You have no idea how /badly/ I need to hear that on a regular basis. That I've done well, that someone's proud of me. Even just the once is... bolstering." He smiles down at her for a moment, though it's tinged with something bittersweet.     "We did well? Truly?" He sighs. "I spent... /so/ much time... worrying I was doing it wrong. Wondering why you chose me. I still... I still do, sometimes, if I'm being honest. You and Ma'at both. Why /me/ of all people? Other people ask, and I come up with answers, but truly... I still don't entirely understand."
Michael Demiurgos	Gaea's expression turns dangerous for a moment and her hand stops on his face. She speaks in a soft and measured tone. "Questioning the gods is a dangerous game, young Archivist..." She then laughs, dispelling the dangerous tone of her words. "We chose you because you were the one who stepped forward. Who made the effort to mobilize and because you were most suited for the position we needed."     Her hand pats his cheek affectionately before lowering. "And by our luck we chose correctly. The universe is still intact, it is whole and without you... Ammit's distress would have continued to ravage all of Creation until there was nothing left. You were the one best suited to handle the true issue at hand." Her expression grows clouded. "There will be more trials to handle. And more terrors to face... but know that reality as a whole was protected by you and those around you. Never forget that and you will triumph over all of them without fail."
Jonathan Sims	"If the gods do not like being questioned then they probably shouldn't have chosen me. I mean... have you /met/ me?" Jon smiles, but it's brief.     "I wish I had the confidence in myself that you do. I wish..." He glances toward Uriel, and then back to Gaea. "I feel like I'm floundering half the time." A snort. "More than half. Most. Nearly everything we did in the war I was just... making up as I went along. It all worked, but I still feel like I got away with something."     They hesitate, then say, "That reminds me... ahh..." They pull out the bracer, unwrap the cloth, and offer it to Gaea. "A token, of my appreciation, for your trust in me. Of all you've done to guide and help me. And anyway, it was the center of the Wellspring spell... it's rather tied to you, now."
Michael Demiurgos	Gaea takes the bracer with delicate but work worn hands. The hands of a gardener. "This is a great gift, Jonathan" she says rolling the bracer over in her hands. She takes it and then slips it onto her wrist. The bracer shrinks some to conform to her more delicate frame but looks good on her. "Thank you" she says looking up at them with a smile.     She reaches up and gives them a soft kiss on the cheek. "You will be amused to learn that many of the great warlords of history were just making it up as they went along. Alexander, Thutmose, Sun Tzu, Julius Caesar, Nobunaga... all of them had plans but war is not won by plans. Wars are won by ingenuity and quick thinking. Traits that you have in great supply." She rests her fingers on the bracer again and smiles at him. "I know it is a hard thing to ask, but please... trust in yourself and in your abilities. You have more power than you give yourself credit and even when faced with a great threat, a bit of confidence can do wonders for you and for those who follow you."
Jonathan Sims	"Sun Tzu? Say it isn't so. Martin would be /devastated/ to hear that." Jon smirks, but he looks thoughtful. "I know that, on some level... I suppose the biggest problem I have isn't improvising or going away from the plan, it's... feeling like I know what I'm doing to begin with. Feeling..."     He glances toward Uriel again, and then down to the bracer. "I've never really had a proper mentor. Proper parental figures. I've /always/ felt like I'm... floundering, groping ahead in the dark without a light. Without guidance. Where I /have/ had guidance it's been..." He laughs ruefully. "Extremely bad. That's why I try to mentor young people, give them some of what I never really had."     He sighs, and looks down at his coffee. "That's where that lack of confidence comes from, I think. I'm not so concerned with what other people think of me anymore... I don't really care whether the superhero community ever takes the Dark League seriously, for instance. I can ignore ridicule if it happens. But also... I've been doing this for /six months/. I'm no expert on... anything that I'm doing. Magic, tactics, none of it. Sometimes I wonder why I'm asking people to follow my lead."     He swallows, and hesitates, and then says, "And I'm so... /angry/. Was I always this angry? Did I really just... keep it all inside?"
Michael Demiurgos	The Great Mother places a hand over theirs. "Anger is not always a bad thing" she says squeezing their hand. "It gives you direction. Motivation. Something to strive to correct. A target. What's important is that you recognize what the target is and don't go after the wrong thing. Use that anger... it's as much a part of you as your vision is. Using them together, for the better, will give you strength and help you in whatever endeavor you stive for."     "I am going to suggest something that may be considered unwise given the past four months... but it is somehting to consider." She looks out towards the pond where the two archangels are... skipping rocks of all things. "You have the possibility of a mentor. It is up to you whether you wish to utilize that or not. He will teach you... you carry in you something he considers he legacy and should you ask it of him, he will teach you what it truly means to carry that power." She turns to meet his gaze. "I am not suggesting you do it. That decision lies with you. I am simply giving you the vision to see that the avenue exists."
Jonathan Sims	"Is it? The anger. Is it a part of me? So many people have insisted otherwise..." But should Jon really be listening to people who either didn't know him, or wanted to keep him afraid and powerless? He looks down at Her, frowning, searching Her eyes. She would know, wouldn't She? He doesn't like the idea, but it's there. After all, water can be soothing, but water can also be violent and dangerous. A rushing river, a stormy sea, the implacable cold movement of a glacier. And how often does his anger become like that, ice-cold and hard?     After a moment, they glance away, toward Uriel. "I hadn't thought... I didn't think he'd agree," they admit. "He's got the Garden the guard, after all. And I've been such a... well, an ass..." They laugh. "Well, perhaps not that, quite. Still. Do you think he'd say yes?"
Michael Demiurgos	Gaea laughs at Jon. "Jonathan... your anger is that rushing tidal flood that comes out and washes away everyhing in its path with implacable stubborness. And that's not a bad thing. That sort of anger is better than most that flare in a burst and die after the moment has passed. Your anger is better suited to be used for good, for progress." She smiles at him. "Just... sometimes realize when the flood is over... it's over and you don't need to try and keep it going for the sake of making a point." She winks.     Her attention turns back to the angels skipping rocks. "I think he would jump at the opportunity to teach you. He hasn't directly conversed with one since the the fourth century AD. The last one to work in the Serapeum. I think, given your influence and your willingness to learn and grow... he would be more than delighted." She smiles. "This new Michael is much more concerned with the defense of the Silver City. It has somewhat undermined Uriel's necessity to guard anything. I think you'd be doing him a favor by offering to learn from him. It may be through your dreams. But from what I know of your ability, such things are not diminished in merit."
Jonathan Sims	Jon rolls his eyes at the jab about his ability to hold a grudge. "Yes, yes," he murmurs, self-deprecatingly.     Then he says, "That's... good to hear, actually. That the new Michael is concerned with defense. That his focus is in the right place. And dreams would be better than ever risking Cael running into him." He smirks. His girlfriend can hold a grudge, too.     A long sigh. "I'm going to miss you. I'm going to miss... this, as much as I hated it all at first, and even while it was going on. Being so important has been... rather heady, I have to admit." They chuckle. "And yet, it's only the start. There's so much work to do, now. I do believe in us, though."     He turns back to regard Gaea and reaches out to take her hand, squeezing it. "Thank you, for choosing me. For having faith in me. I didn't think I'd ever be grateful, but I am. As much as I may be struggling with the changes... thank you."
Michael Demiurgos	Gaia smiles. "As will I. On all counts." She rises as the archangels are approaching the table. Omniscience, or near omniscience grants them a rather handy grip on timing. "Having you as my Champion has been an honor and a privelege that I will remember and cherish for all time." She looks up just as the two arrive.     Michael looks at Gaia. "I take it the discussion has been concluded?" he asks. At her nod he offers his hand. "Then it is time we depart." He looks to Uriel who has changed his outfit to jeans and a tee shirt. "Do not tarry long, brother. I do not like to keep the Gate open longer than necessary."     Uriel stuffs his hands in his pocket. "You're giving me a lecture on Gates..." he arches a brow at Micahel. At the dark haired archangel's smirk he rolls his eyes. "Go on. I'll be home before sundown, -Mom-."     Gaea arches a brow. "I thought I was Mom?" she asks and laughs.
Jonathan Sims	Jon stands as well, and as they prepare to leave, leans in to give Gaea another hug. "Thank you," he repeats. "For everything."     Then he turns to give Michael a firm handshake in farewell, and a firmer glare. "Do better than your predecessor," he says. "Don't make us come up there and fix everything again. I'll be /quite/ put out." He holds the firm glare for a moment, then smiles and turns to look at Uriel, eyebrows raised.
Michael Demiurgos	Michael meets Jon's gaze with no animosity or sheepishness. "I intend to and I hope for the sake of all that you never have to see the Gates of Heaven before your time in this life is up." He takes Gaea's arm and begins to walk away from the table. After two steps they simply vanish. No sound, no flash, just one moment they are there. The next they are gone.     Uriel smiles to Jon. "While we tried to give you as much privacy as we could, there were parts we could not help but overhear. I know that you have somehting to ask me, but I do not know what it is." He shrugs. "Hence why I am still here." He gestures. "So what is on your mind?"
Jonathan Sims	Jon goes about picking up the table, gathering up the donut box and the empty coffee cups. "Are we just leaving this here? The table, I mean. Does Central Park just have a new picnic table now?" He quirks a brow and looks up at Uriel.     Without waiting for an answer, he goes on, "I... well. I was bemoaning my lack of a mentor. Of a /good/ mentor, I should say; Elias Bouchard certainly was a mentor, but not a /good/ one." He sighs and straightens, peering at Uriel. "The Great Mother suggested that you might fit the bill. That you would be willing."     They sigh, and reach up a hand to run it through their hair, dyed now in teal and gold and blue. "I suppose one could say 'you're doing fine' but... so often I feel I'm floundering. I never had the training most Archivists get, and in order to get training from my ancestors I have to have a particular subject to ask about. If I never think to ask, then I'll never know the full extent of what I can do. I owe it to the people who depend on me, who trust me and follow my leadership or put faith in me as a subordinate, to learn my position to the fullest extent that I can."
Michael Demiurgos	Uriel considers the words before shrugging. "Sure I could help you out. Give you some pointers. Tips on how to access it better if you need. It's not like I designed the Archive or anything. Or trained them for millenia before the turn of the Roman Calendar." He pauses and can't seem to keep a straight face.     It's not long before he's laughing out loud. Slapping his leg and attempting to catch breath that he has no need for. "Yes. God on High, yes. I would love to train you, Jonathan. You've been doing admirably... don't get me wrong, but knowing what I know about that particular power. You could be doing so much -more-." He beams a beatific smile at Jon and places a hand on shoulder. "It would be an honor and privelage to mentor you in the use and access of the Archive and the powers associated with being the Archivist."
Jonathan Sims	Jon rolls his eyes and then grins. "She said you'd be thrilled. Something about how it's been 1500 years since last you worked with an Archivist?" He smiles, his countenance clearly lighter from 'you've been doing admirably.' "So I supposed I'm doing you a bit of a favor, hmm?"     He hesitates a moment, then says, "I, ahh... Cael and Martin are rather insistent we go on vacation, but... perhaps we could start after that? Just to, you know, actually... be on vacation." He sighs. He's still not quite looking forward to it, but the two of them /are/ insisting.
Michael Demiurgos	Uriel nods. "You have no idea. I'm guarding a door that has about three batallions of battle hardened angels led by Jophiel standing before it. If something manages to get through them... I'm pretty sure I would stand little chance of truly stopping them. This version of Michael is nothing, if not thorough."     He takes a moment to consider the timing. "That should work. Given the nature of Heaven right now... I will have to train with you directly in the Archive in your dreams. Will that be adequate? For you to retain the memory of the trainings and utilize those memories in real time?""
Jonathan Sims	"How do you think I learned to use a khopesh? Nobody in the modern era knows how to use one. I called up the memories of an ancestor, I learned, and then I went and practiced in the real world to get the muscle memory." Jon shrugs. "It's not as efficient as learning directly might be, but I get an extra four or five hours a day in the Archive, outside the dreams of the statements."     They hesitate a moment, and then they go to hug Uriel. "Thank you for everything. For... for spying for me, for helping me, for... everything."     A pause. "Even..." A long breath in. A long breath out. "I couldn't be what I am now, if I hadn't died. The things I discovered..." They sigh. "Is it weird to say 'thank you for arranging my death?'"
Michael Demiurgos	Uriel accepts the hug with a return of his own. "A little. A better way to put it would be, thank you for unlocking my potential. That way the whole messy path to get there can be ignored." He adds a squeeze of comraderie before releasing the Archivist. "I know what you mean though and while it pained me to have to go through it... I am proud of what you've become from it."     Taking a step back he nods as he prepares to make his own departure. "I will be in touch? I will know when you return." He smiles and his clothes flash into what he was wearing before the ivory tunic and staff.     He glances at the table. "I tend to not make a habit of undoing things my brothers and sisters make. It tends to upset them. It's not harming anything and it's entirely natural, I say give the people of Central Park a prime picnic location that will have park goers vieing for the status of 'Lydia's Table.'" He grins and takes to the air, hovering there a moment. "Be well, Jonathan Sims."
Jonathan Sims	Jon steps back, and goes to pick up the donut box and the tray with the coffee. He nods. "I suppose it's nice enough," he says. "Lydia's Table it is." A snort. "I'll have to tell her."     He looks up at the angel hovering in the air, and has to blink back tears. "Be well, Saint Uriel," he says. "I'll see you soon enough."     Once Uriel is gone, he turns away, to walk on out of Central Park. He could summon a portal, but he wants to walk the streets of the city for a while, to immerse himself in the place they fought for. Saving the entire universe is far too large to wrap one's head around; even saving the world is a bit much. But saving a city? He can understand that. They fought and sacrificed and some even died for this city--the greatest city in the world. New York.