Owner	Pose
Phoebe Beacon	THIS MORNING:     A sunny kitchen that could generously be called 'cottage core' and not 'dumpster dive chic'. The small kitchen window next to the abused coffee machine was occupied -- a Spider Plant called Chas, with pups hanging off it like his own daughters. A bright red-and-green Bromealid named Tim. A cactus with a red tie around it because the person it was named for was a bit of a prick, a plant in a bright yellow pot with happy sunflowers over it. A little sprig of bamboo. A few orchids and herbs medicinal and flavorful with popsicle-stick markers. Phoebe had stepped out of the little bedroom off the side, looking around the flat above the Laughing Magician wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants and a sweatshirt with VEGGIESAURUS with a brachiosaurus eating leaves on it. Her braids were long, half way down her back, and she looked around with mixed surprise and concern. The couch wasn't occupied -- not unusual. But it didn't feel right. This place was gone.     "Chas?" she called out, cautiously -- "Dad?"     Bare feet stepped over worn wood, lightly to the circle that was etched and burned into the livingroom floor.     Then screaming, searing pain in her ears. Her hands came up, covering them as the fabric of the room ripped apart, distortions from heat radiationg as her skin began to crack and burn, her hair curling and melting against itself, her cousin's voice screaming for help rattling straight to her soul, and just as a bleeding, ripped hand reaches for her shoulder --     Phoebe woke up with a surprised yell, sunlight streaming through the windows of the Wayne Manor room she dwelled in, with its green diamond wall paper and dark wood.     "Miss Phoebe? Is everything all right?"     "I'm fine, Alfred -- just ... just a bad dream." she replies, wiping her palms across her eyes.     CURRENTLY: 'Please, this is all I can give. What else do you need from me? I might be sick -- broken, torn to peices so--' sings the voice in Phoebe's ear, one bud tucked in, the other hanging down as she monitors her phone, leaning up against her motorcycle. She has her leather Occult go-bag on, her domino tucked into its pocket within. She was dressed casually, wearing a light, orange T-shirt promoting a particular brand of orange soda and a pair of faded jeans, with her black boots. Upriver a little bit from Gotham Proper, at the abandoned and ruined JaqPaq Meat packaging facility that once, in Colonial times, occupied a sheep farm, the runious remains of courrogated metal and cement block building stands behind her in the fading late afternoon light, above the easiest access point of a washed-out discharge pipe, haunted by the sounds of a panting dog and the tugging of teeth on capes.     The alert had gone out to some of the JLD -- and of course, to Tim who helped to set up the equipment -- that there was a surge in supernatural activity in the area. And given the change in her nightmares, Phoebe wanted to be sure that whatever was here... stayed here.         'whatever this is, this thing that now I've become you hate it so much, keep on running from --'
Tim Drake	Given his relative proximity to the site, Tim had arrived shortly after the call went out. His bike -- in stealth mode, so it looks like a fairly unremarkable (if beefy) off-market machine -- is parked out of the way, in a spot that isn't super obvious but should still be enough of a signal for others arriving that This Is The Place.     But the Batling himself isn't to be seen. Scouting the area, post-Phoebe-check-in, the warded scabbard containing his only means of countering the mystical minions that Tim suspects will make an appearance here today. If only he could chuck a batarang at them.     His cape snaps out behind him as the warm summer breeze momentarily picks up into an outright gust, and Tim rises from where he'd been crouched (perched) atop one corner of the ruined factory walls. Up there he's silhouetted by the setting sun, nothing but the outline of a figure up above, before he drops down and away, out of sight.
Chas Chandler	Chas isn't dressed as one would think a mystical investigator should be dressed. Jeans, a plum colored button shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and heavy black boots. He makes slow measured steps up toward the indicated facility, his hands in his pockets.     He'd parked the cab a few blocks away and set the parking meter for -much- longer than he anticipated, but you never know with mystical disturbances and it wouldn't do to have his livelihood impounded in Gotham of all places. He looks, mostly like he always does, large, well-built, almost bear-like, but with a kind smile on his face. He does have a nasty-looking black mark that is new. A curving line that tracks from the corner of his left eye down into the dark hair of his beard. It accents his cheekbones on that side of his face and adds a measure of asymetry to otherwise aesthetically pleasing features.     He doesn't let himself be known to Phoebe in any way other than to stand nearby and wait for the girl to notice he's there. Being well over six feet tall, that likely wouldn't take long.
Michael Hannigan	"Are you SURE this is the right address?" "Is it a warehouse?" "...We're in the warehouse district so I don't think th-" "Is it a warehouse?" Nick Drago sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he speaks in the phone. "Yes." "Ok. Is it creepy and run down looking?" Nick pauses, looking to the phone for a moment, shaking his head before bringing the device back to his ear. "We're in GOTHAM. Of course it is." He glances around, "Just...double check the address again. Someone else should have shown up by now." "..." Brows lifting, the musician turned actor moves the phone away from his ear, looking to the tiny screen showing the basic menu options. "...You've got to be kidding me." Nick shoves the phone into his pocket. "Fucking hell." He mutters, starting to step closer to the fence, staring through. "Not my night."
Jonathan Sims	Is it raining in Jersey? It's been raining in New York, so Jon's wearing a light jacket over t-shirt and jeans when he steps through a door that appears in the side of a building across the street from the meat packing plant. Supernatural shenanigans, so he brings staff and sword and leaves his ICER at home, but he doesn't bother with his new armor. It'd just make him stand out.     He looks pleasantly surprised when he steps through the door and lets it close behind him and notices Tim's bike, then Phoebe herself as he crosses the street. Either he's getting better at targeting the portals or he just got lucky. He nods to both Phoebe and Chas as he comes over to them, and winces on noticing Chas' cheek. "Still not healed up yet, huh? Hey, Phoebe. Hope you're well." He peers at the earbuds curiously, then focuses himself, turning to look over the building.
Lydia Dietrich	It's a bit early for Lydia to be up. The sun hasn't quite set yet, but she had awoken with The Feeling. You know the one. The one that says that there's something amiss, that there's a storm on the horizon, that warns you to be careful. She's learned that when you're as in tuned to the supernatural as she is, you don't ignore The Feeling.     So it comes to no surprise that the call comes in from Phoebe that something is afoot. Dragging herself out of bed was a chore, and even the afternoon's feeding didn't do much to wake her up. Stupid vampire weakness. At least she doesn't spontaneously combust in the sunlight like her cousins.     She appears next to Tim and Chas from a glowing white portal, pausing to get her stomach back in its proper place. She's gotten used to Ritz's unsettling portals, but still, it takes a bit to reorient yourself after taking one.     "Good afternoon," she says to the group. Out in the day she looks a bit haggard, like she hasn't slept in weeks. The most visible tell of her weakness is the lack of her mutant power. She's dressed like any good vampire should. Black slacks covering black heels, a ruffly white blouse, and her greatcloak that billows around here whenever there's a breeze. What breaks the ensemble is a shoulder harness holding a gun.
Robbie Reyes	He's finishing up his shift at work when he gets the 'call'. Which isn't so much a call, as a text message on his phone. One of the guys has a blowtorch going behind him as he scrolls through, doublechecks who it's from, and frowns to himself. "You think you can close up?" he calls out to Hererra, and heads for the office to change out of his coveralls, before the guy can respond. Twenty minutes later, he's rolling up in the Charger, and killing the engine. He checks his phone again as he swings out, then shoves it back into his jeans pocket and jogs across the street to join the others. He's a little less conspicuous today in a plain, dark hoodie, that ratty old metallica shirt he likes, black jeans and boots. And a cigarette dug out of his pocket as he rolls up, because it's looking like that sort of day.
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe was aware of Red Robin's presence -- he'd be the first to arrive, even given the portals others are using because -- well. He helped her plant the spectrometers last year and got haunted by a dog for the trouble. It worked out well.     She turns to face Chas -- he's not exactly a hard man to loose, but she startles when she sees him.     She steps over and circles around him, her brows rising up as she asks "What the *heck* happened to your face? Already? Not two months out of being a door and you're already getting scars on the body?" she asks, and she then just gives him a little smile, and a punch against his lower arm.     Jon and Lydia get waves, and she takes a breath, seeing Robbie's Charger pulled up, and she feels a tugg on her own attention as Nick Drago is picked up on her senses.     The place itself? Feels... off. Like the smell of something a few days out of date. Stale goldfish crackers. Like raw meat just on the edge of greening. It feels, to those with magical senses, like licking the wrong way against a popscicle stick, and the whole of the property to those with Sight is lowly glowing a sickly lime green and malevolent red.     Phoebe, to those with sight, still has an injury in her aura over her heart.     "So, Red Robin and I had set this place up for monitoring last year, between the Death Gods and Everything Else Happening All At Once." she explains.     "This place is technically abandoned property, but we also tagged it with 'no tresspassing' since the roof's in bad shape. The place hasn't been used since the mid-sixties." she explains, and she pulls out her earbud, tying it up and shoving it in a pocket     "Last year there was a Thinning event. Red and I experienced a timeshift to the Dutch Colonial era. There were sheep that could be seen using a Hagstone, or Sight, and an active haunting of their shepherd dog."     She looks to Tim "Who I've not sensed here, I've not sensed the sheep either. Last year they kinda just floated above everything." she explains to the group.     She also brings her hands together, and then spreads them out, light tracing along her fingertips.     "My nightmares also shifted. I just want to make sure there's nothing here that's going to pass through. Ordinarily I wouldn't break out big guns for this, but --" she looks to Tim, to Jon and to Chas and Lydia. "I saw Leksandra." she states, and then pauses, gets up on her tip-toes and calls out "HEY! Private property! No tresspassing!" to Nick.
Tim Drake	As people begin to assemble, Red Robin takes his place amongst the group. Just a step behind and slightly to the left of Phoebe. Outwardly it was a blink-and-you-missed-it sort of thing, him appearing, but Lydia (and anyone else with superhuman hearing) would have picked up the slow, steady sound of his heartbeat as he'd dropped down from a nearby rooftop around the corner and approached on silent footsteps.     "The structure is also noticeably more dilapidated than it was last time we were here, possibly inconsistent with natural degradation rates of the construction materials," he reports. A general nod of greetings is given to everyone. All business today, it seems.     His cape swirls around his feet as he turns to assess the building. "Based on the current sensor readings I'd say we're about to see an event on the same scale as the one we experienced last year, but given Phoebe's dreams it's also possible this is building up to something more serious." Data scrolls across the HUD of his domino lenses, and he considers it for a long moment before he shakes his head.     Red Robin tucks his fist against his chin. "Could be bad news. Either way, be careful on approach. Stick to the exterior walls as much as possible, and stay aware of your nearest exits."     Then he looks to Phoebe for their next steps.
Chas Chandler	Chas rubs a hand at the back of his neck at both Jon's inquiry and Phoebe's chiding. "I'm not sure it'll ever heal... Jon. What I am now doesn't really allow for healing of this form of energy..." He makes a face and sighs. "Yeah, Lighthouse. I asked Rien to draw on negative energy and fling some at me. I dodged it... which is why I'm still here, but I was a hair too late in jumping and it was close enough that some of the blast singed me and so..." He rubs at the mark. "It doesn't hurt anymore, but it's not healing. I can tell that much."     He smiles cordially enough to Lydia and Robbie (even given their recent tussle) and nods. "Lydia, Robbie. Nice to see you both." He then eyes the building and scrunches up his nose. "I don't like this place" he says in a massive understatement. "It smells... rotten. Stale. Bad."     His expression changes to one of astonishment. "That's not a physical smell, is it?" he asks, looking between the three other mystics (Phoebe, Jon, Lydia) in his presence.     A grin splits his face at the discovery. Huzzah!     Still the expression sobers significantly at the mention of Leksandria and the protective father energy cranks up to about 13... on a scale of 10. He's on edge enough at the mention that Robin's emergence gets a quick start and a sort of golden glow that suffuses his form from head to toe. At the notice of who it is the glow fades into nothing once more and he nods to the Batling. "Good to know..." he says before he too turns back to Phoebe for their next steps, this is her show after all. Even though Nick is noted, he could just be a guy who took a wrong turn at Albuquerque.
Michael Hannigan	Ok Nick's got to admit that as far as location selection's concerned, the place isn't that bad. He's mildly curious to what type of behind the scenes deals have to be made to gain access to these places but it's a short lived thought. The raised voice ends up being a bit of a distraction. Considering where he is, he can only presume the one yelling was directing this admonishment at him. Nick rolls his eyes. Spinning around. "YEAH YEAH I'M STILL ON T-" Nick grows quiet. Pale eyes briefly look to Phoebe and the joining Red Robin before they focus more on those with her. The cabbie's looked at first, then Jon, then Lydia, and finally Robbie. All together. In one location. Shit. Nick takes a deep breath, "So." He starts. "On a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being apocalypse. How screwed are we?"
Jonathan Sims	Jon peers at the building while others arrive and Phoebe explains what's going on, his brows slowly furrowing and shoulders slowly hunching. He doesn't like the place. At all. It's distracting enough that Lydia and Robbie get little more than a cursory nod as they arrive.     Then Phoebe mentions Leksandria and he spins to stare at her with wide eyes. "But... no, that's... we killed her. We sent her to--" Well, who can say /where/ they sent her? /Did/ she go to Hell? Was she one of those souls Ammit devoured, who presumably should've therefore wound up back in the cycle? Did Phoebe and Leksandria's people go to some other place entirely, answer only to the oldest of the Kemetic gods? Maybe those gods let her back out of wherever they'd sent her.     He rubs a hand across his face. "She was /dead/," he repeats. "Though I s'pose I shouldn't be surprised that doesn't always stick."     A glance to Nick, and a furrowed brow. "About a 7, I'd think," he answers, still faintly distracted.
Lydia Dietrich	Lydia steps up facing the abandoned warehouse, as she listens to Phoebe, not liking the feel that she gets from the place. She lifts her nose and takes a few deep breaths, before lowering it and turning back to the others and shrugs at Chas. "Smells alright. I mean, it's what you'd expect from an abandoned warehouse. Bit of decay, wild animals making their home in there." She looks a little thoughtful. "Nobody's squatting, though. They must not like the feel of it, too."     The mention of Phoebe's cousin catches her attention. "Leksandria? I thought we'd permanently taken care of her. God, I hope it's just your imagination running wild and not actually her."     "I can vouch for him," Lydia says, pointing a thumb at Nick. "He's a bard, at the very least."
Robbie Reyes	Robbie takes a drag off his cigarette as he comes up on the periphery of the little group of mostly JLD. It's the decrepit old building that has the lion's share of his attention at the moment, though he does spot Chas -- how couldn't he? -- and give him an awkward smile. Well, if you squint it might resemble a smile, anyway. Jon and Phoebe get a grunt of greeting, too, but he doesn't know who Leksandra is, and doesn't bother to ask. Back to checking out the abandoned factory. Or whatever the heck that is. "Think I smell it, too," he tells Chas, wrinkling his nose slightly. "We goin' in, or what?" Because Robbie's not yet met a threat he can't facetank, is why. Nick, newly arrived, gets an upnod of recognition. "Hey, man."
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe doesn't startle as Red Robin comes up behind her, but she does turn to confirm what he's saying, giving a nod. "Red was kind enough to take a look at the physical site, so uh... if you're over one thirty, might wanna stay off the roofy parts." Phoebe tacks onto Red Robin's introduction.     Chas gets A Look, and she takes a deep breath and purses her lips "Well if you haven't managed to heal it, and I'm sure Asa's taken a look, then I'm probably out of my league with it." she mutters to him, and then points. "Don't do that again. Negative energy can outright kill people with enough Light, we *just* got you back." she complains in an exasperated tone to him quietly, just with a little admonishment to try and take the sting out of possible involvement with the necromancer and distract him from trying to deliver a wary punch to Tim!     "We're not at a seven -- I mean, maybe for me it's a seven but literally all she ever wanted was my death and absorption of my powers. So it's like a four." she explains, and she gives a wave to Nick. "Well Met Bard. Phoebe, Monk/Cleric, Red Robin's kinda a Rogue with Mad Scientist bends." she introduces Red Robin quickly, to make sure no one spills beans.     "YEah, we can go in -- just be careful. Ordinarily we'd go up the waste dump pipes, but that way lies misfortune." she states as she turns, and then brings out a little bit of explaination:     "Leksandra is -- was my biological cousin, on my mom's side. She's -- was -- a necromancer. Wanted to steal my own powers for something. There was a demon involved, but -- uh... the demonologist I was working with ended up a little too close to the subject matter." she explains to Robbie and Nick.     The Bad Feeling, the Worse Smells, get Much. Much stronger as everyone makes their way into the antechamber.     There's a Blue bottle tucked up under a support beam. There's some papers lying around, mostly rotted beyond recognition at this point. An opossum hisses on the ground, and then wruggles its way backwards into a filing cabinet.     Those with magic senses will feel a slight surge. Red Robin's domino shows a warning that the ambient energy readings are beginning to spike sharply.
Tim Drake	The only visible reaction Red Robin gives to Chas's startle is a faint tilt of his head. Well, his eyebrows go up. But the mask hides that, yeah.     "When is Gotham at anything lower than a 5?" he adds, just to make this whole scaled discussion about the end-times more complicated. Good luck taking an average now! The joke is that averaging those three numbers gets you an infinitely repeating decimal point.     No, it's not much of a joke. Bit derivative, really.     Red Robin remains a visible presence defending Phoebe's flank as they make their approach. And there's no missing the blue bottle tucked up under the support beam, not for Tim. It's not just because he's a detective with a natural aptitude for that sort of thing, or that he has lenses that can adapt to low-light or zoom in as needed. It's because he's seen one of those before. Several of them, in fact.     Though all he does is subtly bring Phoebe's attention to it with a quick tap to her arm and a couple of pointed chin-lifts before his attention diverts to the readouts now occupying a corner of his HUD.     "Spectrometer readings are rising sharply."
Chas Chandler	As Phoebe labels the weight capacity of the roof Chas nods. "No going up top for me then" he says with a smirk. Even if he's slimmed down in the midsection, he weighs more because of the lean muscle he's put on his shoulders and arms. The smell gets stronger as they enter the building and he shakes his head, trying to clear it. "Oh, that's... ugh..." he says with disgust. "What -is- that?" he says, putting a hand to his mouth and nose. It doesn't help the matter.     The discussion of Phoebe's past gets a flat look and he lets out an unecessary soft snort of derision and he leaves it at that. It wasn't a good time for him either. He stops at the hiss of the opossum but disregards it as it flees...even though that in itself is testament to the rodent's nerves that it didn't go comatose.     The scent in the area rises even more and he stops in place. He concentrates for a moment and that golden glow surrounds him again. It's luminous, but not anywhere near Phoebe's level and more localised around his form rather than spreading out.     "I don't know if breaking out the Ouija board is a good idea--especailly for me" he asks, "but do we have any idea what sort of haunter is taken up residence?" It would be so much easier if everything fit into neat compact boxes like that, but that is rarely the case these days.
Michael Hannigan	"Ah a seven." Nick repeats, considering the level. Hmm. Ok so. Maybe stock up on the salt when he gets home. Seeing Robbie's upnod, he returns the gesture. "Hey. Hell of a week." He returns, meeting the group halfway so they're not having to yell out general observations to each other. There might be people who have no business here listening in. ... OTHER THAN HIM. By the time he gets to the group and adjusts his direction to now travel WITH them, Phoebe gives him reason to take salt off the shopping list. There's likely room for another ill timed comment here but Nick's curiousity shuts him up long enough to get an explanation for the repeated utterances of the name Leksandra. But he does give a small chuckle to Red's suggested adjustment to the measurement. Nick scrunches his nose in distaste for the scent around here. There's a momentary temptation to phantasm to lose the sense of smell but considering earlier this week, maybe he should hold off on using it unless necessary. The effects of the blue bottle goes mostly ignored.
Jonathan Sims	"It's good to know he doesn't heal properly from it," Jon notes. "But he /does/ heal properly from Hellfire, so, also good to know. Anyway, you being in that much danger is a solid 7, Phoebe, but we can settle on 5, like Red notes." He's bantering. The smell makes him wrinkle his nose and lift a hand, but he starts over for the blue bottle, something about it standing out to his Sight--and then there's a surge of magic.     He stops short, peering up at the bottle tucked under the support beam, and grabs his staff off his belt with the other hand. He shakes it out to full length and frowns, glancing around. "This is the moment in the horror movie when I'm yelling at the idiots to get /out/ of the abandoned building. Guess we're those idiots now."
Lydia Dietrich	Lydia lets the others lead into the abandoned warehouse. Even with her dulled mystical senses she can feel the wrongness within the place. She pulls out her gun. "Magic bullets," she explains. "May not do damage to mystical things, but they're designed to short out magic. It'll have to do while the sun is still out."     She turns thoughtful as she picks her way through the rubble. "You know, Red Robin, I bet I can put the same enchantment on some of your batarangs, if you want." She accidentally stumbles over a bit of debris, sending some rats scuttling away. "Shit," she says as she recovers. "If you still have any orichalcum you can make any out of I can make them pack quite a whollop."     She stops up short when Red Robin notices the bottle, drawing her attention to it too. "What is it?" she asks. "I take it that it's more than just a bottle."
Robbie Reyes	Leaving the sleuthing to the vanguard up at the front, Robbie opts instead to bring up the rear of the little group. He jams his free hand into his hoodie pocket, and smokes as he picks his way through the perimeter of the ruined building. Point taken about staying off the roof; he's fairly lanky for six feet, but not *that* lanky. "Demon, huh?" He glances up at Phoebe from the sheaf of papers he'd been sifting through, on a whim. The look on his face is.. not pleasant. But neither is the smell in here. To Jon, "Yeah, well, he's lucky Rien stopped me when she did." Because whatever he was about to do to Chas, it.. was probably going to be an awful lot more permanent.
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe's eyes dart up at Red Robin's alert, and she tenses. Visibly tenses, like stranger went to ruffle her hair tense of her body and shoulders, and her fingers almost creak at the sight of the blue bottle tucked up there. Her lips press together as she gives a stiff swallow as she brings her hands up, slowly. The circles form on the back of her hands as she readies herself.     "... if you can destroy it, do so." she whispers to her bestie.     "There's a Witch Bottle up on the rafters." she breathes out quietly, and wary of flooding the area too much with her own magic -- for Lydia's sake -- she looks to the broken pane of glass that serves as a window, taking a look at how the light around them begins to turn to a different hue.     That's when suddenly the power spikes hard. Even those who cannot normally FEEL the magic around them get an uncomfortable sensation, like spiders made of ice and glass shards prickling their way up the back of your neck. Unpleasant. The rats that Lydia caused to hiss squeak in alarm and then give fleshy little 'POPS' as their bodies turn inside out, the bones rattling, attempting to draw free from the skins and flesh.     The antechamber pitches hard to the left, as if trying to throw everyone to the side and off their guard -- and right into the inside-out rats!     Tendrils made of dark red flesh, each coated with boney hooks on either side, reach out for Tim and Nick, trying to tangle their feet and drag them through sudden split in the wall!
Tim Drake	Despite what popular media might tell you, swords shouldn't make a noise as they are unsheathed. Doing so would imply that the blade is scraping against the inside of its scabbard, which ought to be made of leather. So there's no grating metal-on-metal sound as Red Robin frees the cursed blade from its wardings.     Yes, it's most definitely cursed. The particular flavor of unease that emanates from it is distinct from the can of worms they've all just walked into, though it seems predominantly contained within the sword. Less of an immediate threat than whatever is causing those energy readings to spike.     Which Red Robin is still narrating, a steady climb of numbers, even as he gives the barest of nods to Phoebe to acknowledge her whisper.     Of course, the reporting stops when that wash of discomfort spreads over them and then the rats are no more. It's a distressing enough sight that he's nearly caught flat-footed by the sudden shift of the room, stumbling over his feet as he fights to right himself.     From up above, the clink of glass against wood, and then that one bright point of blue amongst the rafters begins to tumble down from its previous hiding place. Tim's grip on the sword changes, and he throws it like a javelin. It cuts through the air, shattering the witch bottle just before it hits the ground.     And then the room is awash with another smell. A real, physical one, not like the odour only the mystics of the group were forced to contend with. Somehow it smells even worse.     Tim only manages to keep his expression flat and unaffected by sheer force of will.     At least until something snags him by the ankle and pulls his feet out from under him. Then his face gets slammed into the ground, and his expression changes from 'vaguely annoyed' to 'actually quite peeved'. He starts trying to hack himself free. Sure would be nice to have, say, a Cursed sword handy right about now!
Chas Chandler	Chas was already on edge for what may happen from the previous spike so he's not -as- surprised when the building shifts. He jumps. It's not super high, even though that would be possible, this is just a little hop. Enough to clear his feet from the gravity of the building tilting sideways. A pair of silver wings sprout from his back without destroying his clothes. They are vaguely transparent and seem all but immaterial, but they work just as wings should, and keep his upright as the building tilts around him.     "Love this..." he says with gritted teeth. He starts to conjure his new favorite weapon, a small sun that he can hurl like a major league fastball if necessary and then stops. He grimaces at Lydia. Bad enough the vampiress is out during the daylight hours. It wouldn't do to subject her to direct sunlight here.     He lets out a small snarl and instead focuses on what he felt yesterday with the Ghost Rider. The ball of light doesn't form into a sun, instead it elongates and he's holding a greatsword of literal Heaven Fire in one hand.     "Coming through!" he calls as he soars through the air at speeds he has no right to overpower, his sword slashes at the tendrils holding Nick and Tim. The darkness would -not- be taking them captive today. Not if he could help it.
Michael Hannigan	Nick's attention switches back to the scale discussion. "If 5 is a bare minimum for being in Gotham and she's at a higher risk than the rest of us, then wouldn't that make her at least a 6 assuming we're not using decimals? Heck. If they were being very cutesy they could have said a level of 6.66. The thought process shifts back to the current moment when Jon starts calling them all idiots. Nick glances over to Lydia as she mentions enchantments for Red Robin's gear. Considering that folks seemed a bit more accepting of the usage of Raphael's Flask now... maybe Call upon St. Michael wouldn't be a bad one to try? Now now Nick. What was that earlier about UNLESS NECESSARY? And then the strangest thing. A twinge of something. Eyes widening, Nick spins around looking. The sounds of the squeaking barely draw his attention in time for the grotesque display of the rat-pture. And by the time he grimaces he starts stumbling to the left. OK. THIS FEELS NECESSARY! Fueled by a bit of panic, Nick manages to plant both his feet on the floor and shove off of it, pitching backwards. The scar upon the lower right forearm fades, reappearing on the left as the rest of his features mirror themselves. By the time he's switched over, he's managed a full sommersault and by sheer dumb luck avoided the tendril that swiped at where he once was. If there was any question to Nick's alertness before, that is old news. Eyes glancing about he looks for any other issues. Oh look! A wild Chas appears! Nick jumps out of the way of the MAGIC!sword, leaving Chas to hack away at the tendrils. Now it's not all bad news people. Nick now doesn't have to worry about the weight restrictions for the roof.
Jonathan Sims	Jon's been on the point of merging with Ma'at ever since he got here, so his wings come out as the power spikes, just before the room pitches. Which is a good thing, because it only takes a hop to get up off the floor and away from the rats. He unsheathes his sword, the electrum on khopesh glimmering in the reddish light. "Chas, don't--!" And the angel /doesn't/ summon the sunlight, so that's a relief.     He moves in about the same fashion and at about the same speed as Chas, swooping down alongside his friend, to slash at any tendrils the angel might miss. He's swearing up a storm the whole time.
Lydia Dietrich	The uptick of unease causes a shiver to run down Lydia's spine. "I've got a bad feeling about this..." she says, looking around. And that's when the rats turn themselves inside out. It's a gruesome sight, to be sure, but the more adventures Lydia has with the JLD the more used to them she's getting. Thank God she doesn't dream any more.     And the room suddenly /shifts/ causing her to squeak in surprise as she's knocked off balance and falls onto her butt, only for one of the tentacles to wrap itself around her legs. "Crap, crap, crap!"     As she's dragged along, she aims her semi-automatic at the rat responsible and fires off a shot. She's being careful with the ammo. She's only got seven bullets and she wants to conserve them. A streak of amber shoots from the gun and impacts the inside out rat, causing it to explode in a mess of gore, staining her white frilly shirt. "I /knew/ I should have worn something more practical," she grumbles.
Robbie Reyes	Robbie's thrown against a skeletal wall, booted feet stumbling over bits of detritus and inadvertently crushing a rat as he seeks to steady himself as the whole room tips thirty degrees to the left. Snarling, he kicks at another one that skitters too close, then grabs a third, lights it on fire, and lobs it away as it shrieks. With a couple of the others already dealing with the tendrils, he doesn't get involved. But he does glance over in time to spot the sword being summoned by Chas.. and recoils from it sharply like he'd been struck. Grinding his teeth together, the kid pushes off the wall and tries to make progress forward. Where'd that blue bottle go, anyway?
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe continues to be tense, her hands gripping as she listens to the climb in numbers. She can't help but think of Ghostbusters at a time like this -- if anyone asks if you are a God you say --     The room tilts. The room reeks of broken toilets and putrification, the city during a garbage strike on a hot, humid day. Heavy and stomach-churning as the blue glass bottle shatters and the smell of stale blood. The tentacles are hacked and slash, causing screaming to come from inside the plant. Phoebe's hands cover her ears as she echoes the screaming, pitched to the side and slamming hard against the wall. The wood splits between her and Robbie as it slams, and offers a glimpse outside. Instead of the lazy river bend in the ravine, however, the outside is red. The river is gone, replaced by sharp rocks and jagged metal spikes. The woods are a barren wasteland. There is what looks like a church in the distance, though its steeple has been crushed.     And most importantly for Lydia, there is now No Sun.     More of those jagged, hooked tendrils errupt, breaking through the ceiling. One impales the oppossum as it slings the filing cabinet at the angel with the massive sword.     The rats -except the burned rat -- begin to fester and add to the sickening smell. Maggots begin to wriggle from the eyes of the skeletons and feast on the entrails left behind.     Eyes begin to peer inside the antechamber. There is another sudden pitch -- doubled to the right as if something has picked up the room and is trying to shake anything that can't fly out as an additional hole opens up into darkness on the wall, forcing the heroes forward and into danger -- or to stay here with all those tendrils trying to slam them against the wall!
Tim Drake	Between Chas and Jon, the tendrils get hack-and-slashed enough that Red Robin can wriggle free. He's up on his feet then, gaze skittering across the floor for his sword-turned-javelin. Protip if you're the standard Human model with no mystical skills: don't throw the thing that lets you fight the bad magic.     "Really thinking you were onto something," he calls out as he leaps over another swiping tendril and then is forced to punt one of the inside-out rats. Even all reversed, he's still not risking rabies. Or the plague. These rats look like they probably have the plague. "You know, the thing about us being idiots?"     There. The sword has embedded itself in a support beam, which is both great (because it's not nearly as far as Tim had estimated) and concerning (what with the whole lack of structural stability of the building).     Except it doesn't even matter. The room pitches again like whoever is shaking the snowglobe is actively trying to keep Tim away from that sword, and he goes sliding across the floor. This time around, though, his quick reflexes save him, and a grapple line attaches to the far wall, suspending Red Robin well out of the way of grasping tendrils.     "In or out, Pheebs?" he asks, yelling so that his question can be heard over the chaos.
Chas Chandler	Chas' aura has grown some and more of the golden power that marks him as an angel bubbles off of him. He braces for the impact of the cabinet and it slams into him with the velocity of freight train and sends him back through the air several feet even as his aura protects him from the worst of it, the ripples of the impact cascading around the aura.     "Wherever we go, we need to decide quickly!" he calls in agreement to Tim, as he turns to face the gaping hole. "The building can't take much more of this and while I'm sure a number of us could probably grit our teeth through the structural collapse some of us would not hold up as well."     He stares at the yawning darkness as shakes his head. The vile stench of decay and death are almost overpowering to his senses mystical and physical. "Not sure many of us will hold up as well in confined spaces with all this... evil, around us." He narrows his eyes, sorruscating wisps of gold and silver light flaking off as tears against the astringint olfactory assault.     Even so, he brings his hands together on the hilt of his Holy Sword and readies his mid-air stance for whatever may try to come out or, barring that if it tries to swallow them all. Not on his watch, not without a joint assembly of 'Go in' from those he considers allies and family.
Michael Hannigan	"Goodwill." Nick simply suggests to Lydia as she mentions needing practical clothing for the messy stuff. He doesn't go into much more detail than that. There's just WAY too much stuff going on right now. As more tendrils pop out, Nick leaps up and away from them. The airtime in his leaps are a bit illogical as he seems to just sit in the air for a few moments. Not being bothered by the tipsy turvey floor or the tendrils that are just out of reach. Ok fine. Hovering. The guy is technically hovering. With the momentary bout of mental regrouping, Nick observes the issue with Tim's sword. As his feet drifts down to the floor, Nick leaps towards the embedded sword. Feet pressed upon the beam, he does his best Arthurian impression as he pulls the sword out of the beam and then pushes off the beam. The added shove propulses him mid-air towards Tim. "Lose something?" Nick asks, holding the sword out to Red Robin. Apparently even when not in Wolf form, Nick knows how to fetch.
Jonathan Sims	Jon doesn't notice the room pitch the other way and slams into a wall with an 'oof,' wincing. At least he didn't damage his wing this time, nor fall through a hole into darkness. "Out!" he snaps, pointing with his sword to the crack in the wall. "Everybody out!" Not to override Phoebe, but with her hands over her ears she might not have even heard Chas' question. And at this point, staying in the place is just going to get them slammed into more walls and maybe get sent into the black hole.     "Wherever that is, we'll figure out a way home. Go, go, I'll bring up the rear." His eyes are starting to water from the smell, that's part of it too. "Whatever's out there is better than creeping darkness." Creeping darkness is /never/ to be trusted.
Lydia Dietrich	The first sign that there is no sun, is the twinkling of Lydia's ectoplasm that surrounds her. She sighs in relief as she feels her power returning, and a more healthy color of pale touches her cheeks. "About time," she grumbles and a whirl of ectoplasmic blades shoot out from her, slicing the tentacle holding her to ribbons.     As the room starts to shake, golden glowing tentacles of her own shoot out and anchor her to the floor. "Hold on!" she shouts, reaching out with a hand and tentacles fly out wrapping themselves around those who aren't flying and are being shaken about.     She stares at the hellish landscape as the building starts coming apart. "I don't think we're in Jersey anymore," she shouts.
Robbie Reyes	The wall shatters, wood splintering, bursting apart as the Ghost Rider's bodied into it. Phoebe's in this mess somewhere, he saw her a moment ago-- but then there's a fat tendril launching itself at him from the ceiling, and another wriggling out from the broken gap in the wall, and his eyes ignite with a smear of hellish red in the half-dark as the demon answers his beckon. Both of the tentacles try to wrap around him, and are drowned in hellfire on contact. "Move it or lose it," he growls at Lydia, and keeps going, ducking another tendril that tries to snare his throat, and ripping a segment of rebar out of the next wall he's thrown into-- which lights up instantly like he'd poured gasoline on it. It's used to fend off a few more tendrils while he bulldozes his way through the hole.
Phoebe Beacon	There's no answer from Phoebe. There is the brief sound of a hushed whimper, nails dagging against the floor of the antechamber, and then Phoebe's hand disappearing into a silent, stinking darkness.     The antechamber breaks around them, exposing the darkness beyond, broken boards standing like cracked fangs in the red light emptying to utter darkness. Against their souls, their spirits the very quaking atoms of their bodies, our heroes would feel the vibration more than hear a voice with all bass and no trebble, rumbling from the dark. And anyone who can sense Evil? You have found it.         do you think you can walk the path on the edge of a knife and stay hidden, little creatures, little insects?     The room goes ice cold around them, and the feeling of malevolence rises.         exit the door and return to your world of light. your passage was paid.
Tim Drake	Once Red Robin's hand wraps around the hilt of the cursed sword... well, nothing dramatic happens, despite the name. He just nods once at Nick with a muttered thanks, and then with a quick trigger press the grapple line he's still on pulls him upwards, across the floor and towards the gaping darkness. At least until he runs into one of those rapidly crumbling support beams on the way. Which he hits smack-dab right in the chest hard enough that he grunts, the air slammed out of his lungs. It's a near thing, how close he comes to losing his grip there, but Tim catches his elbow against it and that's just barely enough for him to hold on. Within a second he's got his breath back and climbed over the beam, half-crouched on it as he releases the first line and points the grapple gun up, out, into the maw of the abyss.     Precisely where Phoebe was, just previously, before the inky darkness decided to gobble her up.     Red Robin pauses, exhales the air right back out of his lungs in a much more controlled manner as he lines up the shot with the dimming icon on his HUD, the transmitter beacon marked BALM.     A pop and then the hiss of compressed air follows his next trigger pull, and the line stretches up, up, unwinding from its hidden spool. It climbs, going further and further into the distance than it should given the interior dimensions of the space as the spool rapidly winds down towards the last feet of length.     And then it finds purchase. Tim's finger slides lower on the trigger and the line begins to retract. He waits only the space of a heartbeat until he sees the numbers marking Balm's distance relative to his own position beginning to decrease, and then he pushes off of the beam, towards the open door and freedom.
Chas Chandler	Chas turns just as Phoebe is taken by the darkness. "NO!" he screams and the light pour off of him explodes into firey fury. His eyes are silver and gold pools of flame and his wings, originally semi-transluscent are now fully formed and covered in silver feathers.     He doesn't think of what will happen or what could happen or that there are others who could probably get ahold of his daughter better than he. None of that is as important as him saving his family.     He dives into the darkness at just shy of supersonic speeds; sword jabbing into the blackness as if he could simply shear through the mass and free his child.     One thought does pass through his mind as he enters the cold dark, he -really- hopes that the emptiness isn't a portal to the Negative Zone. Too late now.
Michael Hannigan	Although Jon shouted for them to leave, the phantasm ends up hanging back, juuuust a few clicks, wanting to make sure the non-flyers got out. When the house becomes all about that bass, that bass and no treble. There is a slight flicker of shadow creeping up the neck before Nick winces, shaking his head. The shadow fades. Options are quickly run through. And considering the vampire in the room, just as quickly dismissed. Although as Lydia's 'not so magical but special' tentacle worms its way up and yanks phantasm, inadvertently smacking him into the floor on the way out, he's starting to reconsider those options again.
Jonathan Sims	So much for "out." That went out the window when Phoebe got dragged away. Tim, fortunately, drops her a line, and if anyone can get her out of that darkness it's Red Robin, so Jon kind of hovers there, waiting, glowering around at the darkness. "We're not just leaving without her, you nasty-smelling piece of--"     And then Chas goes /bullrushing/ in to save Phoebe, even though Tim's got her. Well, /fuck/.     "Lydia, can you grab that /cretin/ or do I need to fly in there after him? If you can't, get the rest of them out and I'll get Chas back." Fingers crossed the mutant vampire /can/. It'd be easier.     "Why can't dead things just /stay dead/? Christ on a stick, now I know how Michael must have felt." Ouch.
Lydia Dietrich	"I'll get the others out," Lydia shouts at Jon, grabbing Robbie and Nick with her ectoplasmic tentacles, picking them up, and setting them outside. She does /not/ just toss them out, instead setting them on their feet.     She hangs back though, still anchored to the floor, and sends out several tendrils into the void and to Red Robin and Jon, the mutant equivalent of holding out her hand. If anybody needs to make a quick exit all they have to do is grab onto one and she'll reel them in.
Phoebe Beacon	you were warned is all that was whispered when Tim and Chas begin to descend into darkness.     They reach her at the same time. Chas's emanance lights her, eyes closed, arm outstretched. Frost along her ears and arms and on her face. The two grab at her, and whatever was pulling her down releases so that Tim is easily able to retract and pull her up and out of the darkness. As the two exit, if they were to look back, they would see a figure looming in the distant darkness.     The whole of the antechamber begins to rumble. The door out appears to be the sole escape route, and as soon as everyone passes through, the red light turn simmediately to the peepers and crickets of a New Jersey night. The group spills outwards, the Spectrometer drops to normal ambient levels. Those with Sight can see that whatever was here is gone now, the roof has entirely collapsed in. Luckily no one was inside when it collapsed.     The dark presence lifts, though the stench clings about like bad laundry.     Phoebe herself looks... very much worse for wear. She's still got frost on her eyes and cheeks and hands, her eyes sealed shut, eyelashes frozen together still, shiverring uncontrolably. And the only reason that it's on her cheeks, her hands, her ears -- well. That's because everything south of her nose is covered in viscera and blood.
Tim Drake	There's no way Red Robin is going to clear the distance. Not dragging Phoebe behind him, her weight pulling him down. Maybe if he were unencumbered, but then again, he's never been the Olympian jumper in the family.     And then he sees the ectoplasmic "hand" outstretched towards him. It's his only chance, and he reaches out, snagging hold even as he feels Lydia's power grab him in counterpoint. Then he looks back into the darkness, towards the line snapped taut between him and Phoebe as they're pulled free.     He doesn't like what he sees. None of it. The figure, the abyss, the frost on Phoebe's face, the blood and gore covering the rest of her. As they tumble free, back on solid ground on (relatively) unhellish New Jersey, Tim releases the grapple line and climbs to his feet unsteadily so that he can go check on Phoebe.     But he does ask "Everyone in one piece?" over his shoulder as he crouches down next to Pheebs.
Chas Chandler	The drive to stay and destroy that figure in the abyss. To force his judgement on it for transgressing and attempting to take his daughter is strong. He grips the Holy sword tightly before narrowing his blazing eyes and turning away from it and it's cold depths. Phoebe would be free of its grip.     At least, he hopes she is.     As he emerges from the depths and flies out of the harrowing building and it's dimensional hellscape back into the warm air of Jersey his focus goes immediately to the girl.     Her state is not one he is happy with. The viscera, the frost, her unconscious state, none of it resonates as good to him. The aura around him dims some as his eyes return to normalcy, and his wings vanish. "What's wrong with her?" he asks, looking at the others. "We saved her from that -thing's- grip. Why isn't she waking?"     He isn't hyperventalating; beings that didn't need to breathe didn't hyperventalate, but it's clear he's on the edge of panic. "Someone... help her!" he exclaims, kneeling down. His own attempts amount to superficial attemps, brushing away the frost that coats her face and ears in the hopes that it will get her back to being awake and aware.
Michael Hannigan	Outside and set down upon the ground, Nick straightens up, turning to face the exit from which he came through. Once everyone is outside, Nick steps forward. As he returns to normal, the scar relocates back to its original position on the right. Nick's steps falter as he just now gets hit with the wall of smell. "Oh God." But the request to help does prompt him to continue over to Phoebe to see if there's anything he can do to help.
Jonathan Sims	Jon tries to make sure the rest are out before moving, but he doesn't entirely get the choice; he gets tumbled out along with the others, moments before he was about to dive down into that darkness himself, to go after Chas and Tim and Phoebe. That they all come out leaves him heaving a sigh of relief as he gets up and counts heads, but it's short-lived on seeing Phoebe.     He hurries over to kneel down next to her, summoning warm golden light around one hand and a globe of water around the other. After a moment's thought he combines the two, creating warm water that he moves along her form, hoping to pull off the yucky gunk and maybe warm her up. Like a nice warm bath. "She's hypothermic," he states in a maybe-surprisingly calm tone. "Red, do you have emergency blankets or anything?" Robin's the one most likely to have that sort of thing.     Frowning, he adds, "It was terribly cold, and she was at the heart of it. Cold enough to chill the soul." He doesn't let his own worry seep through. "Did you see anything down there?"
Lydia Dietrich	Lydia reels Red Robin in, grabbing him before hurling themselves outside. "Good God," she says her eyes wide as she watches the building collapse. She should be panting. She should be breathless. She /feels/ like this would be an appropriate reaction to their circumstance. But no. Vampire biology renders that moot.     Then she turns worried eyes to Phoebe. Healing wasn't part of what Lydia is, so she stands by feeling helpless as the others work to get her temperature back up. Instead her instinct is to comfort those who are hurting, so she walks up next to Chas and lays a hand on him. "She'll be okay," she says firmly. "She's tough and has weathered worse. If Jon can't do anything, I'll call in an evac and get her to the Asteroid's medbay."     She gives Jon a chuckle, "Well, Dante /did/ say that the ninth circle of hell was a frozen hellscape."
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe slowly warms back up, between the worried brushing off of the frost, the warm water, and she finally chances taking a breath, trying not to retch. She takes a deep breath. Her eyes still closed, and then she buries her head in her arms, tightening up her body as it seizes, and whispers:     "Noli me tangere... noli me tangere... anima haec erit venenum iis qui tetigerit..."     Don't touch me. This soul has become poison to any who touch it.
Tim Drake	"Her vitals are weak but but she's made it through worse. Her body will need time to compensate, though -- there's nothing beyond getting her comfortable that medical assistance can do at this point that won't be outpaced by her own abilities." Red Robin's head snaps up when Jon asks if he saw anything down there, though no response is immediately forthcoming. Instead Tim looks away, focusing on something in the middle distance for a moment. And then he crouches down to scoop Phoebe up, into his arms. "There's a jet incoming," he announces.     And sure enough, no more than a moment later, a dull roar can be heard overhead, in the distance.     In lieu of a thermal blanket, Tim drapes his cape over Phoebe. Works in a pinch.
Chas Chandler	Chas calms a little bit at the assistance and the fact that Phoebe is awake. Her words, concerning as they are aren't the immediate issue. Those can be attended to in time. He rises as Robin scoops her up. "Thank you, Red" he says. "See that she... keep me posted on her status. Please." He turns away from the pair and sighs.     "There was... there was a figure in there. Cloaked in darkness. Red energy along its hands, in it's eyes, in its heart." He shakes his head. "It was... evil. I would've stayed to fight it if... if she wasn't... "     He lets out a long slow exhale that is more for show than out of any need. "I don't think this is over. In fact, I'm pretty sure everything that happened in Egypt... was only a starting point." He frowns.
Michael Hannigan	Once Nick gets a closer look at Phoebe, he frowns. It's not an illness or anything like that but. "Uh. Hmm." Eyes glance upwards in thought. Ok there's a saint for everything. Just think. Patron saint against cold weather IIiiiiiiiIIISSS- ...Saint Sebaldus. Okay! Got the name. Uh. artifact. artifa- A cap! Ok so theme of cold, include the name. Lend the cap to protect from the cold... What rhymes with cold? Bold! 'If I may be so bold' is a good phrase. Nick glances to the direction of the building. Ok something cold and the source... building, chill. Against Will. Got it! Upon this one against her will, This building sent a nasty chill. Um. Saint Sebaldus if I may be so bold, Please lend your cap to protect from the cold. Okay song figured out, Nick looks over to Phoebe to find that she has already defrosted on her own and got a real blanket. The song is tossed away ...Oh well. At least he got to play fetch.
Jonathan Sims	Jon lets the water dissipate as Tim scoops Phoebe up, standing at the same time and looking between him and Chas. "The ninth circle of Hell is reserved for betrayers. Leksandria betrayed her whole family and village." He shivers, and it's got nothing to do with how cold it is or isn't in Gotham just now. "Maybe that's not it, but it... feels right, somehow."     He sighs. "Keep us updated," he says to Tim, and then turns to look over the others. "If anyone needs healing, let me know. And you, Francis Chandler--" Oh dear gods Jon has /never/ called him that. "--if you run off into the darkness and fight some demon /on your own/ I will go find you, tie you down, and let Cael and Asariel take turns thwapping you over the head for a fool."     He sighs, and then goes over to give the taller man a hug. "Thanks for coming back. We'll figure this out, okay? Whatever it is, Leksandria or the demon she was serving or something else entirely... we'll figure it out, and help Phoebe."
Lydia Dietrich	Lydia looks relieved that Phoebe gains consciousness. "Okay good." She nods to Tim in thanks as they rocket off in their plane.     She scowls at Jon. "Yeah. This is just beginning... whatever /this/ ends up being." She lets out a sigh, and pulls out a certain key. "I want a drink. I want to get tipsy but...." she shakes her head. "I can at least pretend. You're welcome to join me in the Velvet Room."     With that she walks back to the abandoned warehouse, and finds an intact door. She inserts the key and opens it, stepping through it into the JLD's private castle.
Phoebe Beacon	Red Robin loads Phoebe into the jet, wrapped in his cape for warmth. Phoebe's Latin, stained with a Mersey accent, still being muttered, arms wrapped around herself in a semi-aware state, still mumbles.     The warehouse, however, stays quiet, save for the ghostly sheep which hover above, placidly chewing on a common that long ago had a flash flood, where the flock and its loyal protector were swept away by the floodwater.     At once, all has returned to normal at the old packing plant, even as time ravages it through again.