Owner	Pose
Phoebe Beacon	If there is one thing that the East Coast and West Coast, especially the upper parts of both, have in common it is Rain. This evening it's cool and rainy in Hell's Kitchen, with a dampness that clings to the blades of grass and the little shelters set up over picnic tables in the lonely park. Its playground equipment was soaked, though around lunch time a few little kids and a grandmother had come out with their brightly colored boots painted to look like frogs and goldfish and ducks, and the abuelita with blue-and-pink daisy galoshes.     This was a park that had been considered 'safe' last summer. A place where she was permitted to go where the wards were still active enough that it would alert anyone paying attention. Within eyesight of the Happy Bubble laundromat, now demon free (TM).     Within earshot of a bellow of the now abandoned Laughing Magician pub and The Curio.     Phoebe sat on the picnic table, using the dim natural light from the stormy day to study out of an old, leather-bound book with faded golden text along the spine. She had her hand holding open the pages on her lap, with her right hand wrote in code in a spiral notebook. Her dark eyes seemed sunken in, and she was sporting a split lip and some bruising from a fight earlier that was taking its time healing. Her worn go-bag was by her side, earbuds hanging down and playing a melancholy tune. Should've stayed, were there signs I ignored? Can I help you not to hurt anymore? We saw brilliance when the world was asleep. There are things we can have -- but can't keep. If they say, Who cares if one more light goes out in the sky of a million stars? It flickers, flickers. Who cares if someone's time runs out if a moment is all we are - or quicker, quicker Who cares if one more light goes out         ... well I do.
Chas Chandler	The crunch of well worn work boots preceeds the sound of the man clearing his throat. "Little surprised to see you here, but I guess I shouldn't be" comes the voice. A voice the young woman is familiar with. "Not many places in Clinton considered safe... but this place is one of them. Well, safe enough. Back then. Now though... not so sure." His voice sounds tired; but not from fatigue, from exasperation. Something is weighing on his mind.     Chas is dressed in what many would consider his uniform. A slate grey tee under a black windbreaker jacket with white trim, well worn jeans (with scuff marks at the knees of course), and those well worn but almost supernaturally sturdy workboots. There is a misting of rainwater in his hair and a bit on his beard, but he still looks immaculate nonetheless. A favor of being a denizen of a land considered paradise. Immaculate, excepct for the angry black line connecting his eye to his beard. A warning gift from the energy that his new form cannot protect against. It looks a little better than it did the past week, but not by much.
Phoebe Beacon	"If I'm here, it's safe enough." Phoebe remarks quietly, finishing up the line she was writing in her notebook, and then she closes it, tucking both it and the leather-bound loosely in her go bag before she raises her eyes to meet Chas's.     "The... ah... the tarp I put over the hole flew off. I just needed a place outside of Gotham to study. So many bats." she remarks, as if it were a complaint about the weather, and wipes her palm across her left eye as it twitches.     "I wish that mark would heal faster. You look like a Bond henchman like that. A *really* pretty Bond henchman." she comments as she looks to Chas, but she knows the tone of voice. There's a storm on the horizon, and not just on the weather map.
Chas Chandler	"Angels can't take everything. Some things just aren't meant to mix and this," Chas gestures to the mark, "is a reminder to me that I'm anything but invincible." He shoves his hands into his pockets against a slight breeze, even though the chill barely touches him these days. "Of course it flew off. It's a tarp, that's what they do. But this is a nice enough place for a bit of peace, yeah."     He takes a breath he doesn't need and continues. "Good to see you up and about. Last time you were a popsickle and... not in the best of states. Though, I suppose given the alternative..." he makes a face of disgust, "I would take popsickle and terror over whatever else was planned for you in that thing's domain." A pause. "You know what it is." The words come as a statement, not a question. But what comes next is a definite question. "How long have you been aware of its lingering?"
Phoebe Beacon	"Heh, yeah. Third tarp in a year. Maybe just oughta give up on it, yeah?" she trails off a moment. Conversational. And she then feels the chill. ANd she draws her gaze up to Chas, and gives a shrug. "... the Bats wanted to keep me longer for observation. It negated some of my own healing ability. Took me a little longer than normal to recover from it. Tried to get up the gumption to call but... just... couldn't." she explains, and she takes a breath, and she looks up to the shelter's tin roof.     "... since the Other One put me in the House of Mystery for recovery after the Fireman's ball and the official adoption bullshite that got pulled. He and Midnite were talking about it after Tim brought me to Thompkin's. I know Midnite has the Name." she draws her hands up, contemplating pulling her hood up and just... hiding from Chas.     "It's the one that dragged my cousin to Hell. She didn't go through Ma'at."
Chas Chandler	"Not surprising, considering the deals she made," Chas replies flatly. He's made his own deals and paid for it. He's learned that regardless of the source, old things like angels and demons are better left hands off. Still his gaze is steady, unwavering. "So answer me a question. How come you want to fight something that negates specifically -your- magic... on your own?"     Chas may be absent, but word gets around. It's not like it's been kept a big secret anyway, not given recent displays. "Seems a bit counter intuitive to me." He snorts softly. "But what do I know, right? I'm just a bloke who's been at this gig for the better part of your lifetime, right?" His blue eyes shine in the dimness of the stormy park, just one more sign that he's more than he was before. More real, more stable. More -in his element.-
Phoebe Beacon	"Like I told Cael, my natural magic, inborn spark stuff. Not the Ritual magic I've learned. You should know," she pauses, and dryly adds "being that you've been at this gig for the better part of my lifetime," Phoebe's dark eyes turn up to Chas's blue, but they're slightly narrowed, going on the defensive "that the Name and the right circle, and it's bound. Sent back to where it belongs until some other unfortunate soul picks it up." she feels her left hand quake a little, and she curls it into a loose fist.     "Or did you think I scrubbed toilets and scraped gum for six months and didn't pick things up from tailing every chance I could get like a loyal puppy?"
Chas Chandler	Chas' not an old hat at domestic disputes. Sure, having one with your wife (or ex-wife now) is different than having one with your child, but the feeling is the same and the adrenaline is the same regardless. "I know you learned. But obviously not enough. You know that it's not just cut and dry." He hasn't raised his voice and the narrowing of the eyes and the accusatory words don't seem to phase him. Not outwardly at least.     "Sure, put down the right circle. Chant the right words. Empower the right Names. There's still a struggle because demons and the like don't like being bound and caged away..." he retorts. "And that's assuming you did everything perfectly. One wrong slip. One stray dust particle. And" he gestures sharply. "You've got a pissed off demon on your hands who is probably more than happy to eat you or use you as its host."     He makes a disgustred face and shakes his head. "But fine, you want to go at it alone. You're old enough to make your own decisions. I won't stop you. But what happens if you fail? Sure, people will clean up the mess, that's what we do. But if your corpse is part of the mess that's left? There are people who are sort of attatched to you, if you hadn't realized. People who care about you." He gestures out at the wider world. "Your friends" he then brings his hand back in toward his chest. "Your family."
Phoebe Beacon	"I know it's not cut and dry, but Cael and Gabby don't. Lydia doesn't." Phoebe replies quietly, and she draws her knee up, and she sets her chin on it, turning her gaze to look out over the park.     "It's not going to be like Newcastle was for Constantine. I'm not John. I'm not going in half-cocked and too proud to know what I'm risking. I'm not summoning another demon to deal with one. I'll be the only one at risk. I am fully aware of what I'm risking, and that's why I've got a backup plan. I always have a backup plan." she replies quietly, and her head tilts down.     "I'm guessing you heard about the backup plan already."
Chas Chandler	Chas' gaze never wavers, and neither does his expression. There's no anger. No outburst of fury. No imploring. Just the obdurate, implacable, and immovable object of his presence. "Yes. I have. And you're not going to use it" he says plainly. "While I care about what you do to yourself, far be it from me to stop you if you are determined. You 18 now and while the legal system doesn't do people who move in the circles we do any favors... it's got it right there."     His other hand comes out of its pocket and both rest at his sides. "Do I want you to try your hand with this thing alone? Absolutely not. Prepared or not, demons are bad stuff and this one already has your number. But if you're dead set," he shrugs, "then you're set and I'm unlikely to discourage or change your mind."     His eyes harden suddenly and power inside him that has nothing to do with heaven and everything to do with -who he is- swells up inside of him. When he speaks its in a hushed tone of direct warning and opposition. "But you don't get to decide what people remember. You don't get to reach into people's heads and snatch out the memory of you. One, I don't think you have enough juice for it. You're not a god. Maybe a baby one in training, but there are some who will resist. I might be one of them. Two, even if you were, we own our mistakes. All of them. You fuck up this binding ritual, you own it and everything that comes with it. Posthumous slander and all."     He swallows for the final point. "And while you can dismiss those two reasons. Three's the kicker. I won't let you. Because there is a little girl in Liverpool who carries my last name. -Our- last name. And if -anyone- threatens to mess with her... I'll stop them. Or die trying." Now his eyes narrow, and the intensity is that of an angry bear who is worried about his -children-. "So, tell me Lighthouse. You willing to kill me to work this 'backup plan' of yours? Because that's what you're going to have to do. Kill. Me. Before I let you -touch- Geraldine's mind with this assinine spell you've cooked together."
Phoebe Beacon	That makes Phoebe chew her tongue a moment.     "I'm a no one." she finally replies, and she can *feel* that anger. The disappointment and disgust, that she knows well. Not the first time she's gotten it from a parent. She blinks, and looks down, running her tongue over her teeth without opening her mouth, her hands relaxing a moment, then curling her fingers. Her voice is thick and harsh and just... tired. "Friendly neighborhood exorcist and healer if anything. Biggest claim to fame was that I managed to pull Diana of Themyscira out of her magic sleep long enough for her to give a message." Phoebe crosses her forearms behind her head, as if stretching her shoulders and sides, and in the process she pushes her hood up.     "You're right. I don't have the power to do it. Not enough to sacrifice to make it work, even if I died doing it. Might make some folks who don't have magic get some fuziness about what I looked like or how close we were. Geraldine's safe from my meddling, seeing as she's in Liverpool and thus across the cold Atlantic." she confirms.
Chas Chandler	"And me?" Chas replies, that intensity still there. "You gonna make me forget everything about you Phoebe? Cause... you're far from a no one. Sorry, but you don't get a pass to stop being my kid just because a sheet of paper says so and you hit a magic number. You're still my kid and last time I looked removing the memory of my kid is damage to that kid. Indirect, but it's there. I don't take kindly to people trying to hurt my children. Even if the one doing it is themselves."     He shakes his head. "You so called backup plan... put it in the bin. Now." Again that immovable objectivity lingers in Chas' voice. "Go ahead and summon and bind this thing with whatever you get from Midnite if you're so set on going it alone to do so. But you accept what comes with it. Success, failure, death, pain, any and all of it. You -accept it.-"     He lets out a long exhale of too long kept air. "You say you're not repeating New Castle and John's errors. And that's fair. You're smart enough to learn from his mistakes. But you're repeating my own and I would think you're better than that. Especially when the mistake was only seven months ago. And yeah, I fucked up. Killed 10 innocent people directly for it. Countless more died as a result. I -accept- that damage. I've paid my debt as best I can. And if you want to use your magic and the tricks that a Homunculus wearing my brother's face taught you, you have to do the same."     He shakes his head, flecks of rainwater flying from the dark tips. "But you don't touch people's memory. Because in the end, that's all anyone is. Memory. Screw with that, and you might as well let this thing have you. Because..." he deflates some, his own memories taking some of the fight out of him "That's what they do. They warp. They twist. They corrupt. And the devour. But people like us... we stop them. Together. We don't run off to Faerie. We don't off to Faerie land. We don't try to slay the dragon or the demon or the monster alone. We do things -together-."     He exhales further, even though there was no inhale to begin the process. "Maybe it's time to put away John's teachings and focus on someone else's for a change. Doesn't have to be mine. But even the Bat doesn't do things alone. Maybe take something from him if he's training you." He shoves his hands back into his pocket. "Just a thought."
Phoebe Beacon	"It's not the piece of paper or the number that stops me from being your kid, you weren't even in your right /mind/. You don't even know who you were then. I've seen the crisis cross your eyes, and that doubt, and I doubt. There's not family or love where there's doubt of it. And that's fine. I'm used to not getting the happy ending. I mean, it's been happening pretty much since I was two. It's fine. I survive." she breathes out.     "Batman tells me I'm not permitted to use magic on patrol. It's not going to happen. Matter of time before I leave there too. Don't dare call anyplace home anymore. Always something awful ahppens." she breathes out, and her lips curl in a slight, tight-lipped smile.     "And that's fine. I accept that if Michael had offered me the chance to go back and chase after the one I called Dad, it'd be a real hard temptation to resist. Because I was safe, and happy. And then I was wrong. And meeting the Real Deal in a dive bar and trading scotch for knowledge and double-checking of notes. But hey, you know. What do I know? Played my part, and now fate's done with me."
Chas Chandler	Chas does his best to keep the laugh out of his voice. When he speaks it collected and calmed. "Phoebe. That thing didn't corrupt my willingness to help a young girl find a home. It corrupted my willingness to protect it's identity at any costs. The crisis you see? That's not doubt. That's anger. Anger that it had a hold on me at the time, because I would've been able to get you the proper teaching you deserved rather than the piecemeal darkest bits it fed to you. Anger that it clouded my judgement to the point of not seeing how it was leading you toward an end that... well, might end up like the situation you're facing right now." Sadness cross his features before he mutters softly. "Anger that it made me neglect you in favor of it."     He looks up then and frowns. "Phoebe, you have to stop looking for a happy ending." He shakes his head. "They don't exist. Even people who appear happy, those aren't hand outs that come at the end of the story. They're things that are built up over a lifetime. No one gets the happy ending at 18, Lighthouse."     He softens entirely then. "And no one is done with life at that age either. Take care of this demon hounding you for vengenace. Then move forward, build a life for yourself. Make a home for yourself. No Bats, no Johns, no Chas's. Just Phoebe, doing what Phoebe wants." He shakes his head. "That doesn't mean that you're alone. You're never alone. No matter what happens... I'll be around. I'm not going anywhere. You fall and get hurt; I'll be there. You accidentally destroy a city block; I'll be there. You have a bad breakup with our boyfriend, girlfriend, non-binary-friend, etc.; I'll be there." He steps forward, closing the distance between them and reaches out to place a hand on the uninjured shoulder. Phoebe can feel both the strength in the grip as well as the mystical energy of the angel that he is now. That steadfast dedication and obdurate desire to protect those he cares for, including the young woman before him. "And if you end up turning to the darkness and hurting others; I'll be there."
Phoebe Beacon	"Chas, you never neglected me." Phoebe points out, though she doesn't pull up. "You were there for me whenever I needed you. Like when I took money from the till and went to go punch someone in the face for being dumb. I thought you'd be furious. Turns out you were way more worried that the lock was picked and that I was gone because you thought I'd be hurt. You snuck me my first books." Phoebe pointed out.     And she tilts her body slightly, and then her expression gets dark. She goes to sit up.     "No." she breathes out, and she pulls away from Chas.     "No more mentors, no more teachers, no more parents or families. I'm done. I'm leaving. Best piece of advice that Jon gave was that if I wanted to leave so badly, I should go. Once this demon is dealt with, no matter how it ends, I'm gone. You have Asa and Geraldine has you and Agnes has Jon, Martin and Cael. I'm done." she pulls back, her shoulders rising up. "I am never going to let myself get hurt so badly again. Not for anyone. I'm done." she states, sliding off her seat at the table and regarding Chas with something like fear. Electrifying, dangerous, bitter fear, and she can't stop the tears this time. "I'm not your daughter any more than he was my dad, because those people don't exist."
Chas Chandler	Just because something is expected doesn't always make it easier to experience. Chas lets the young woman hop down and pull away. His resolve is tested. -Hard.- Maybe it's the angelic energy coursing through him, but more likely it's the stubborn British obstinance that manages to persevere through the pain. The single breath he takes is even and measured. "Alright then," he says with little inflection.     "You're an adult" he says with a soft nod. "You can make that decision, if you so want to. Doesn't mean the door's closed on my end. But... just because a door is open doesn't mean anyone has to walk through it. I'm not going to force you to be something you don't want to be... or something you don't think you have a right to be. Even if you're wrong. I can't hold you hand anymore... I know that much."     He slips his hands back into the pockets of the jacket. "But I meant what I said, Phoebe. All of it. If you fall... literally or spirtually, I'll handle it." A very deliberate pause. "However I have to."
Phoebe Beacon	And she breaks, then, her eyes closing, the tears coming down as she takes a few steps backwards into the rain.     She stands in the open, the cold rain soaking through her sweatshirt. There's discoloration over her left shoulder, where the whorled skin of her black magic injury lay, her shoulders rising up, unable to look at Chas. Thinking it might break her resolve after he had already promised that he would handle whatever happened to her. It was as if all the warmth had left her body, the breath knocked out of her, eyes downcast as she clung to her bag, that imitation of the 'bits and bobs' bag. The workboots that Chas had advised her on soaked through.     "I can't feel anything except hurt anymore."
Chas Chandler	Chas lets out a slow exhale. "That's part of being an adult, Phoebe" Chas says. "Some days... even for long periods of time. Everything will hurt. The important lesson is to learn to exist despite everything hurting. To move forward." He walks forward passing her in the process. As he reaches a line with her he stops and looks over. "You'll live Phoebe. The pain will hurt, but it won't kill you... unless you let it."     He starts back toward his cab where it is parked on the side of the road. "Find out what you want Phoebe. If you want to keep living and see if eventually you can build your own path, I'll be around to give advice if you want me." He stops and turns. "But if you want to lay down and let the pain consume you." He shakes his head. "I won't stop you, but I will be one of many who will shed tears at your funeral." He turns and starts for the cab again.