| Owner | Pose |
|---|---|
| Jonathan Sims | It's getting close to sundown, which means the cemetery will be closing soon, since it's open until about an hour after the sun goes down. At this time of year that means it's around 6pm, and most people are filing out. But three people have just recently arrived and made their way over to an unremarkable plot in one of the newer areas of the cemetery. Jonathan Sims spent the whole night watching over a colleague in the East Village, slept in, woke to his alarm reminding him just what day it is, and scrambled to find someone to come with him to do a task he very much does not want to do alone. He is, as he's told Tim and Zatanna, visiting his daughter's grave on her birthday. A sad business, and he's brought a bouquet of thistles and white roses along. The gravestone they approach is a smallish one, with the name "Lyra Blackwood-Sims" etched upon it. The birth date is Oct 27, 2004, the date of death the day the Frost Giants attacked New York in 2018. |
| Tim Drake | Though still recovering from his injuries, Tim is both not so badly off that he's immobile and too stubborn to really allow himself proper rest. That's just a Bat for you. He makes the drive up from Gotham in an expensive car but not THE expensive car, because there's no point in that level of ostentatiousness for a somber event such as this. He parks nearby, puts up the handicap sign that he probably didn't legally acquire even though he is actually handicapped, currently, and soon enough is approaching the gravesite, preceeded by the tap-tap-tap of his crutches against the drive. At least until he transitions onto the grass, and then he's silent as a dormouse. Once at Jon's side, he only nods once. Tim hasn't come empty handed, with a modest bouquet of chrysanthemums in white, yellow, and pink. |
| Zatanna Zatara | It's restful place, well-kept, the trees at the peak of their autumn glory. Jonathan's daughter rests among the illustrious in one of the most beautiful cemeteries in the Greater New York Area, known for its rare trees and for preserving rare examples of native species. Zatanna, walking next to the two men, carries a small bouquet of white peonies and sprigs of lavender. Though she didn't know the child, Jon's sadness for her is palpable, the flowers honor him as much as the child she would have liked to have known. She wears a form fitting tuxedo jacket, with a stiff white shirt and white tie over trousers, a stripe of black satin down their sharp-creased sides. Having learned the hard way, she no longer bothers with heels, preferring oxford cut, lace ups. |
| Eddie Brock | The late October day borders on blustery. Leaves of orange, yellow and red skitter across the paved road through the cemetery, though only those that have blown in since the grounds crew gathered them earlier in the morning. Eddie Brock's boots crush one such leaf underfoot as he walks along the small roadway, hands stuffed into the pocket of a dark jacket. A wool hat covers his head, and there's about a day's stubble adorning his chin. The dark haired man glances over to the side, seeing a few people stopped at a grave, one on crutches from the looks of it. Eddie continues on past for several dozen feet before turning to make his way into the field of headstones. He slows as he approaches a lone, familiar stone. Reaching it, Eddie stops, hands still in his pockets as he just looks down at the ground. The grass is smooth, leaving no sign it was ever disturbed. Still a little green showing though it is starting to yellow. |
| Jonathan Sims | Jon clears his throat as the other two join him. "Umm. Thank you both. For... coming." He frowns. "I'm... no good at this," he admits. "It... the last couple of years, I just... stood here while Martin recited a poem he'd written for her. Oh! But, umm... I found the one he wrote for..." He fumbles in his pocket, pulls out a piece of rumpled, lined paper. "I don't think it's done, but..." He shrugs. It's the best he can offer. He clears his throat again. "I think I'd like to wander lonely as a cloud--" The portals that open all around the grave site make no sound, particularly, but there's enough of a mystical warning that those who have magical senses would get at least a /moment's/ warning. The chance to duck, metaphorically speaking. Jon, unfortunately, is /not/ paying attention, and so his recitation is cut off by an invisible hand that grabs him by the throat and hoists him in the air. Whoever's doing the hoisting isn't immediately visible. But they're probably attached to the masked men that pour out of the portals, six of them, in a circle around the three at the girl's grave. And /they/ make a ruckus as they move to attack. |
| Tim Drake | How many points does Tim have invested in magical senses, again? Let's check his sheet--oh wait, yeah, absolutely none. What he does have, though, is years of training and experience that have honed his situational awareness. He is also, by his nature, always some base level of suspicious of things. So while he is of course giving Jon his attention, after a quietly replied, "Yeah, of course," because he's gone through enough grief in his own life that he couldn't abandon someone else to their own, Tim keeps looking around. Maybe just taking in the sights of a historic cemetery. Maybe on the lookout for assassins. You never know when they'll show up! So he's made note of Eddie Brock passing by, and his presence some gravestones over. Maybe Tim recognizes him. Or at least has some vague memory of Eddie's name attached to crime reporting. He might not come to NYC often but that doesn't mean Tim's unaware of the things that happen in one of Gotham's neighboring cities. By the time the portals have started to appear, Tim is no longer narrowing his eyes in vague puzzlement towards Eddie. He's looking around again, head basically on a swivel. He can't feel the portals opening but he can certainly see them, once they have, and he calls out a quick "Zee!" just before he lifts the crutch he's putting less of his weight on and swings it at the nearest masked man. |
| Zatanna Zatara | The portal glimmering with magic sends a breeze that plucks leaves from a nearby oak, showering golden leaves across the pristine ground. Zatanna hadn't thought to set wards on Jon, felt no disturbance in the aether. Frankly, she is too absorbed in the maelstrom surrounding John Constantine and the horrible book that Tim ran afoul of in his father's safe. Tim is moving before she can take a breath. In quick succession she barks frantically, "!llaW" "draW sU." retsac lleps eht dniF" (Wall. Ward. Find the spell caster.) |
| Eddie Brock | Eddie Brock stands silently for several seconds at the grave he's come to visit. Then he pulls his hand out of his pocket, holding a can of cheap domestic beer. He cracks it open and holds it up in a small toast towards the grave before taking a sip of it. "Well, I'm still kicking. Who'd have thought that?" he says to the grave. "Not with Anne anymore. She finally realized she could do better," he says, eyes drifting away. Another sip of the beer is taken. "Though I'm with this girl now. Gwen. She's... well, like Anne, she's too good for me. Bit of an age difference. I just keep hoping whatever it is she sees in me, she's not going to wise up to that either," Eddie says, his gravelly voice taking on a wry tone. But there's the start of a smile as he speaks of the person in his life. "Wish you were still with us," he says to the person in the grave. "I'm sure you and Beth would have about four rugrats by now and-" Eddie's musings as to what his friend's life would have been like are cut off as he hears the row coming from the other part of the cemetery. He looks over, eyebrows going up at the sight of some kind of portals, and masked figures. |
| Jonathan Sims | The man that Tim hits with his crutch lets out an 'oof' and then moves to engage the young man. They weren't focused on him--he wasn't a known threat--but the masked man pulls out a nasty-looking serrated knife and without a word darts in to try to neutralize him. He's the only one that makes it in past Zatanna's wall. The other five are left to circle around the outside. They move as if they know what they're doing, and every one of them has those serrated knives. Those things will /not/ be pleasant if they actually connect. Jon claws at the invisible hand around his throat, legs kicking uselessly as he hangs in the air. It's as though he's being held up by some invisible giant that's slowly crushing the breath from him. Zatanna's ward slices through the spell that was holding him and he crashes to the ground, coughing, sputtering. "Sas--" he tries to speak, but he's still regaining his breath. A figure steps out from behind a tree some twenty yards from both the group around Lyra's grave and Eddie with his beer can. Tallish for a woman, with brown skin and dark curly hair that match Jon's own coloring. She's dressed in something that looks like the sort of thing one gets at a surplus military store, cargo pants and a black ribbed turtleneck that's a little bulky. "/Homo magi/," she spits, in a tone of deep irritation. She's glaring daggers at Zatanna, dark eyes furious. She's clearly English, with an East End accent. "Here I was hoping to catch him /alone/ since the damn wizard's stopped watching me." "Kill the witness!" She shouts, then tilts her hand and spits a word in ancient Egyptian, and a gout of fire hammers at the wall Zatanna has around the group. Three of the assassins peel off from surrounding the group at Lyra's grave and move toward Eddie, knives held out in readiness. |
| Tim Drake | If Tim were in costume, he'd be rolling his eyes behind his domino mask right now. But he's come to realize that hiding behind the mask has gotten him too comfortable with being overly expressive in that way, so he just grits his teeth and takes a wide backwards step as soon as he has his second crutch back beneath him again. "This is a cemetery," he says, flatly, to the man coming at him with a knife, just as he dodges out of the way. Even injured, he's still annoyingly swift on his feet. "I'd point out your audacity, but--" He swings again with his crutch, aiming to smack the bottom of it hard enough into the masked man's wrist to disarm him, and probably also shatter some bones in the process. It may not be his usual weapon but it is vaguely similar to a metal stick, right? Then he puts his weight down heavily on his other crutch and snaps his good leg out, trying to shove his heel into his attacker's sternum. Is the wall Zatanna made a physical thing Tim can slam him against? That would be handy, if so. "Jon, do you know discount G.I. Jane over there?" he calls out. |
| Zatanna Zatara | The heat of dark magic coming from behind the trees creeps along Zatanna's skin like she is standing too close to the fire. Zee spares a glance to assure herself that the ward on Jon holds before she looks in the direction of the woman. Trusting Tim to subdue his attacker she turns her regard onto the caster The woman stepping out from behind the golden oak is unknown to her, but her similarity to Jon brands her as the cousin that covets being Archivist. One glance is enough for Zee to know why the God rejected her and chose Jon in her place. The order to murder an innocent seals the magician's judgment of her. Aware of who she faces, Zee calmly commands, pointing at the man standing nearby. ".tneconni eht draW" (Ward the innocent.) An old magic rises up within Zatanna, indomitable, ready to defend the innocent and the ones she loves. Her voice rolls across the green sward, "Sasha. Don't you trust the God's judgement? Will you force yourself on him? He will have nothing to do with the likes of you - murdering the innocent to hide your avarice. Is this how you seek to serve?" |
| Eddie Brock | The passenger in Eddie's body had been quiet as Eddie had paid his respects to his former college friend. Though as the fight breaks out nearby, and a trio of the attackers peel off to head his way, the Klyntar symbiote finally breaks his mental silence. <<Venom>> "Eddie. These look like very bad men."} Eddie Brock eyes the masked figures closing in on him, and carrying those wicked looking knives. He drops the beer can to the grass and looks at the men as they spread out in a semicircle around him. "Um, guys, I'm not part of this. Maybe you should just leave me alone? Or are you very bad men?" he asks them. One of the masked figures smirks behind his mask. "The absolute worst," he says. Eddie's smile back to him is a faint thing. "You chose... poorly," he says. A mass grows quickly over Eddie's body, blacker than black, except for the white eyes and maw, and a mockery of a spider emblem on the chest. "Don't you know," Venom says in his deeper, eerily monstrous voice, "That you should be respectful in a cemetery?" An enormous tongue licks his lips, and his clawed fingers flex and unflex as he watches for the masked men's reaction. He likes to play with his food. |
| Jonathan Sims | The masked man screams as Tim's crutch hits him hard enough to, yeah, maybe shatter bones. Tim's trained well enough to do so. And then he's flying back from the kick to the sternum, smacking into the insivible wall hard enough to rattle him. He slumps to the ground, at least momentarily out of the fight. The other two assassins exchange a look. They were both focused on Zatanna, but now one takes a step to focus on Tim, as if they're each going to jump one of their targets whenever the wall can be brought down. As for the three men who face Venom--well, they're not /stupid/, but they're also masked cultists, so they're not going to /not/ attack. They scream something incoherent about giving up their lives for their lord and rush in to their doom. Fools. "Sa-" Jon coughs, massages his throat. "Sasha James," he manages to gasp out. "My cousin. S-she... she's after the Archive." Which means killing him, though he lets that go unsaid. "It's mine by right!" Sasha screams, sending another gout of fire at Zatanna's wall. "/I'm/ the one that was trained for it! /I'm/ the one that knows how to use it! /I'm/ the one that suffered all those years while you got /bedtime stories/!" There's a desperation in her tone. "What do /you/ know of what the gods want?" Sasha shouts at Zatanna, maintaining the gout of fire. Her magic is powerful, it /might/ be wearing the wall down. It's certainly hot enough to singe the grass. "Thoth didn't choose him! If they'd done things the way they were /meant/ to be done I never would have turned to--" |
| Martin Blackwood | An invisible force slams into Sasha as she screams as her opponents. While Martin isn't particularly large, he can get moving when he wants to and knows how to tackle a person, especailly one not expecting him. He rolls away and the Veil he had conjured around himself drops. He's shorter than average and proportionally lighter than average. But his expression is hard. "Got you..." he says to the woman. "It's over..." He trades a look with Zatanna and nods hoping the Homo Magi can capitalize on the distration he's provided. "This ends now Sasha. It's not yours to take. Give up the chase and you might make it out of here with your life." |
| Tim Drake | As soon as the masked assassin is downed, Tim steps forward and sweeps the knife away from him, using one of his crutches like a hockey stick to send it flying across the grass into the center of the ward. Tim hobbles backwards to get himself standing next to Jon and Zatanna, so that they can't be flanked. He arranges himself as best he can into a defensive posture despite hobbling on one leg. "I'm honestly a little offended that you think I can't take you both," he says, having noticed the two outside the ward turning their malicious intent upon him. For a young guy on crutches, he looks particularly unbothered by the threat they think they pose to him. His attention is also on the unknowns further out past Zatanna's magical shielding. Venom's appearance is... concerning, vaguely? But if some of these assassins want to throw themselves at a terrifyingly toothy goop monster (sorry, Venom) then it's not exactly something Tim is in place to stop, after all. "You good?" he asks Zee, just a quick check-in before Tim looks past to Sasha. And then he visibly rolls his eyes. "Oh of *course* it is. I'm sure Thoth is super impressed by you throwing a vicious magical temper tantrum because someone got to play with the toy you wanted," he calls out, voice dripping with sarcasm. He might not actually know the whole backstory, here (or even more than a tiny portion of it) but he has no magic to fight her with. Just Robin sass. Tim's got that in excess, though, and he's not afraid to use it! Though the quipping does come to an abrupt stop when Sasha is knocked down out of nowhere and the air ripples, revealing Martin a second later. That's a face he recognizes much more swiftly than Eddie's, if only because he just spent a not-inconsiderable amount of his downtime deep-diving into Jonathan Sims' past. |
| Zatanna Zatara | Holding her hands up, palms outward, Zee widens her stance as though facing a high wind, the fire licking at the invisible walls she erected. Her opponent commands incredible power fueled by her distorted desire and something else. Zatanna suspects that she is god ridden, channeling a dark god's will and magic. "I'm good, Tim," she answers her implacable expression briefly softening. There is no arguing with the distortions that rule the woman. Thoth, lover of balance and harmony, wouldn't admit someone like her into his service. When another magic wielder tackles the woman, Zee's eyes widen in surprise. "Listen to you. It must hurt not being the Chosen One. Better to drag your cousin through blood to have it." The price of murder for the homo magi would be to lose her soul and open a portal to Hell's minions. She was once flirted with that path, under the spell of young love. One close to her died and she swore never again to follow its dark trail. "You cannot touch him Sasha. He is under my protection now. Warded. Untouchable. Beloved of Thoth." Zatanna mutters words to reinforce the ward on Jon against magic then strengthens the walls protecting them. Her voice is rough with the strain of holding the walls in place, "Jon, who is helping her? I need to send her away from here." |
| Eddie Brock | Venom's grin only grows as the fanatics decide to charge him instead of fleeing. As soon as they start forward, so does the Klyntar, moving to the attacker on his right. Black goop - no worries Tim! - extends, lengthening Venom's arm and closing around both the knife and the man's hand, connecting them. Venom whirls then, whipping his arm around him to send the masked man flying in a circle around him. One of the other attackers is hit and knocked to the ground, before Venom yanks his captive in. A massive maw opens up and closes over the man's head just in time to muffle a scream, which moments later is cut off entirely. Venom can be seen to chew a couple of times as he lets the rest of the body fall to the ground for now. The third attacker lunges forward, swinging the knife, but the stab is blocked aside by a swing of a massive claw that leaves bloody scratches on the man's arm. As he grasps his arm with a cry of pain, Venom grabs hold of a nearby headstone. <<Eddie>> "No! That's someone's gravestone!" Venom gives a deep-throated grumble, and rather than rip it off to use as a bludgeon, he instead grabs the man and slams him head first into the marble headstone, resulting in a squishy splat that hopefully didn't carry to the other group, or at least they might have been distracted enough to not have to hear that tonight in their dreams. Venom jumps on the third man as he is trying to get to his feet. There are two brief screams from him and then he falls silent. |
| Jonathan Sims | Jon is so stunned by Sasha saying 'Thoth didn't choose him' that he barely notices Martin at first. It's the /voice/ that gets to him; he's halfway up to his feet before he staggers, his voice breaking a little as he says, "Martin...?" As for Sasha, Martin's declaration of it being 'over' might be premature. Sasha James has been training to be a living vessel of knowledge for over two decades, and that includes things like hand-to-hand and rolling with punches. She's /surprised/ by the man tackling her, but her reaction on staggering to her feet is to conjure up a shield with another Egyptian word, one that surrounds her like a dome. She laughs at Martin's comment, though her gaze darts to where Venom is literally eating her minions. "Bugger all. I don't have /time/ for this. Bloody /heroes/ and their bloody /quips/." Ohhh, yeah, Tim and Zatanna's words /stung/. "You two," she snaps, "hold that /thing/ off." She points at Venom. The other two assassins aren't stupid, either. They're terrified as they turn to look at Venom. But... whatever's driving them evidently scares them /more/. So they break off, to intercept the black goop symbiote, to keep it from getting anywhere near Sasha. Even if he wasn't going to--Sasha sure seems to think he was. She glances to the west, takes a couple more shuddering breaths while the sun drops below the horizon. The world shifts, subtly, magically. The sun has gone down. It may not be dark yet, but now it is night. The next words Sasha shouts are a rolling chant in ancient Egyptian, and Zatanna at least would feel the necromancy at work. The woman is pulling up the shades of the dead. In moments, they will be surrounded by ghosts. "Nergal," Jon gasps, finally pulling himself all the way up straight. "She turned to Nergal. That's why I got sent to John in the first place. Can you counter that?" |
| Martin Blackwood | Martin gives Venom a glance and makes a note to maybe use *that* as his next attempt at striking fear into people's minds with Seemings. He flings a wave of invisible force at the shield covering Sasha. It smashes against the dome and does little more than rustle the grass around it. He shakes his head. "Whatever you're going to do... do it quick! I'm not exactly the most offensive guy and I'm not even sure my shields will work against ghosts." He gives Jon a glace, pain and guilt in his expression, but he can give his apologies after they get rid of the woman before him. |
| Tim Drake | Did... did that guy just get eaten? Voice sounding vaguely far away, Tim goes, "He bit his head off." There's too many emotions to sort out, there, just a big ol' jumble of terror, disgust, and astonished. Well. At least Venom is currently munching on the bad guys. Tim might not approve of his methods but he's not so stupid as to object to the big monster guy being on their side. He hopes. There's a lot for Tim to take in, though. Mostly things he can't hope to understand on anything more than a basic level, though he does at least have enough knowledge of ancient history to recognize the name Jon pulls out. And that Nergal is not the kind of deity they want to be tussling with. Tim has nothing to say for a moment. He stands on his crutches just behind Zatanna, though he's aware his presence is swiftly becoming a hindrance instead of a help. Instead, he looks to Jon. "Can Thoth? Does he have any input on someone associated with his Archive turning to the Dark Arts?" He really hopes people call it that. Otherwise he's just going to look like a nerd who read Harry Potter during his formative years and made it too much a part of his personal identity. Which really sucks, in hindsight. ...#ravenclawforlife tho |
| Zatanna Zatara | The innocuous-looking man turned monster does more than enough murder in Zatanna's stead. But, the ward stands - better he fights on Jon's side, she decides. Zee stifles a curse when he bites off a man's head. As the last of the sun glimmers on the horizon, Zatanna can feel the woman's power wax. The name, Nergal, toils like an enormous bell filling the night air. Scion of generations of homo magi, even Zee hesitates in the face of a God. The man who threw himself at Sasha throws a spell at the woman that drips off her shield like water on glass. She catches a glimpse of Jon's stunned expression, wondering if Sasha's magic has harmed him more than she thought. The freshening evening breeze carries a perfume redolent of spring on it. of green on it. Zatana glances to the east to see a woman clothed in a white chiton walk through the trees. The woman, with a classic aquiline nose, curly hair caught up in ribbons, turns her face to Zatanna and nods as her voice sounds right next to Zee, "Not alone, magician. She trespasses and disturbs the peaceful dead." Straightening, Zatanna gathers herself to face the god-ridden woman. Like a diamond on glass, her words slash at Sasha's spell, "!gniddib ruoy ta thginot klaw llahs daed oN" (No dead shall walk tonight at your bidding.) |
| Eddie Brock | Thankfully, Venom doesn't eat all that messily. Though the man who was smashed into the headstone left a bit of a mess for those poor groundskeepers. The gigantic inky black creature rises back up to his full height as he hears the woman sending two more to fight him. <<Eddie>> "Alright that's enough. There's magic going on there. This probably isn't the best place for us. Look like they can take care of themselves in there." Venom's eyes narrow, obviously not liking what he hears in his head. He grabs the body with the smashed head and whips it at the two cultists. "You are lucky I have somewhere else to be," he tells them. He turns to eye the woman, getting a good look at her. Then he spins, lashing out with two black tendrils, grabbing hold of a tall monument-like gravestone over some rich guy's grave, and uses it to launch himself across the cemetery. He lands dozens of yards away and bounds forward, clawed feet and hands tearing up the grass as he crosses the cemetery and disappears over a wall. |
| Jonathan Sims | Sasha /screams/ in rage at the woman who appears. "Why are you all on /his/ side?! /Why/?!" There's mist on the ground, but the dead do not rise, held in place by the power of Persephone, Queen of the Underworld. The struggle on Sasha's face is /visible/. It was hard enough facing a homo magi, but her plus a goddess? She can't fight them both. The two assassins only hesitate a moment as Venom leaves. The strange thing is gone, and so they turn to run at Martin. One of them throws his knife as he runs toward the SHIELD agent, and the knife buries itself in his shoulder. Ow. /That/ gets Jon's attention. The stunned expression on his face dies and he adjusts his stance, steps between Tim and Sasha. For all he knows, Tim is a normal guy who... happens to be good at fighting with crutches. Whatever, he'll think about it later. "The gods are wroth with you, Sasha," he says, and it's /the Archivist/ speaking now, not Jonathan Sims. "You could have accepted the gifts you were given, the power and training you had, but you rise above yourself. /We would know why./" The words are an almost physical thing that fire out at Sasha, telepathic compulsion slamming past her shield. And now she's distracted, as words spill from her, words laced with sobs. "Gran always favored /him/. She cooked for him and told him stories, she /loved/ him. She never loved me. I was a... a tool, her /replacement/. The /next Archivist/. She pulled me out of secondary to train. I almost died on my fourteenth birthday. I've never had a /date/. He got /married/! She made me go to the wedding!" Her concentration is failing. The mist will dispel at the slightest breath from the Goddess. Sasha's shield would fall at a push, though Martin's got the assassins to tangle with. "And then... and then... /She/ chose him! The one we do not name, She stepped in and went over Thoth and... /why/?! Why him and not me?! Why wasn't I good enough?! I trained and I learned and I did everything I was supposed to, /why him/?!" The last words are screamed into the night, words of pain more than rage. |
| Martin Blackwood | Martin should've been paying more attention. The knife in his shoulder is enough to catch all of it though. He screams, hand going to the wound reflexively. He manages to rip the knife from it but it's a deep wound and it bleeds a lot. As Jon speaks he can feel the power in the words even though they're not directed at him. He winces and tries to gather his concentration, if he can manage it he can deal with the wound before it bleeds so much to take him out of this struggle. But the sheer force of all the magic being thrown shatters his own concentration. He drops to a knee and waves a hand. Seemings came almost as second nature to him. Shadows emerge from the ground, they're nebulous, imaginary things with little substance--more like dementors than ring wraiths. They're solid enough though and they slither over the ground to harass the remaining assassins. Maybe he can buy some time, time enogh to gather his strength. Time enough for this to be over. |
| Tim Drake | One crutch drops. It's not a smooth motion what Tim does next, and it's likely to cost him a few days of healing, but he lowers himself down to the ground long enough to swipe the dagger up from the grass. He's grimacing as he stands back up, no doubt feeling his stitches pulling, but he allows himself one moment--no more than a second or two--to feel the weight of the knife in his hand. It's not a Batarang, or a shuriken. The way he throws it has to account for that. Because even though he's acknowledging the very mortal peril he and everyone else here is in, right now, there are some things Tim won't do. He won't risk taking a life. So he needs that moment to calculate the angle and figure out exactly how much force to put into it. He starts to lift his arm. In the spirit of an eye for an eye, he decides to aim for her shoulder. Right side, not left. The risk of puncturing a lung is one thing, but he won't knowingly introduce the possibility of sending a knife straight into someone's heart. Between the end of one breath and the start of the next, Tim's arm rears back further, and then with a faint grunt of effort that allows all of the air in his lungs to explode out from him, he lets the knife fly. Then Tim promptly tumbles into Jon from behind, off-balance with only one crutch to support him. Oof. |
| Zatanna Zatara | The Gods walk in Bronx tonight along with the Keystone Cops. Tim's inelegant stumble into Jon breaks Zee's concentration on Sasha but not critically. The scream dissipates among the gravestones as Sasha crumbles under the weight of her regrets and Thoth's Judgement. The Goddess lifts Zee. A light glimmers around the magician. She stands, drawn up to her full height, hand held high. Zealous to protect what is hers. Persephone speaks through the homo magi, her voice ringing in severe judgement, "Child! Your grandmother knew that you were too weak a vessel to pour the knowledge of the Archives into, but, she hoped and did you a disservice, trying to mold you. /You/ cannot touch my children, for I am Queen of the Dark Lands. Begone!" |
| Jonathan Sims | Tim Drake saves Sasha James' life. Not by throwing a knife at her--she screams in pain as the knife sinks into her shoulder--but by stumbling into the Archivist. Because, you see, the Archivist is raising his hand, glowering at Sasha, dark eyes filled with rage. "You consort with demons. You defy the gods. You are not fit to enter the afterlife!" The gods have judged her unworthy, and the Archivist is their instrument. "Eater of Hearts--" he begins... And then Tim stumbles into him from behind and Jon turns to try to catch him, and he's /Jon/ again. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, putting his free arm to his head as he tries to support Tim with the other. "/No/," he says. "No. She's /family/. I won't do it, I /won't/ kill her, /whatever/ you've judged." Sasha's sunk to her knees, one hand clutched on the hilt of the knife in her shoulder. "I'm dead anyway," she gasps. "You know /he/ doesn't put up with... /failures/. Send me to our gods, Jon. Give me /that/ much, since you stole everything /else/." Jon stares at her. Swallows. Hesitates. He's never killed an /actual/ person before, and he definitely doesn't want to start with his cousin. Then he shakes his head, firmly. Sasha turns her tear-streaked face to Zatanna. "Queen of the dead," she gasps, "take me to your lands. /Please/! Don't leave me to /him/!" She knows the bargain she made was foolish, desperate, stupid. Of course she only regrets it /now/. The dementors have the two remaining assassins tied up--the men are slashing at the Seemings to no avail. It's not fair, really, something that's solid enough to hurt but impervious to real damage. Martin has an opening, if he'll take it amongst all these pacifists. |
| Martin Blackwood | Zatanna may be clear on not taking a life. Tim may be clear on not taking a life. Even Jon may hesitate when it comes time to kill a human being. Martin is built different. Without much hesitation he draws a gun from his hip and fires a single shot at Sasha. SHIELD training has made him a more than competent marksman and his right hand is enough to manage the shot at this distance without the other arm as a brace. The bullet strikes her in the temple, and destroys brain matter in less than a second. It's a painless death and her body topples to the ground a simple husk of flesh at that point. Even if he is trained to do it, his expression makes it clear he's not happy that he had to. |
| Tim Drake | The good news is that Tim doesn't end up on the ground. That would be really, very bad for his recovery, which already has him sidelined in a way he's uncomfortable with as a chronic overproductive insomniac. The great news is that in saving him from taking a tumble, Jon manages to wrest control away from the Archivist and stop himself from being the instrument through which Thoth enacts deadly vengeance. That, however, brings us to the bad news. The bad news is that Tim is both out of projectiles to easily throw and too flat-footed to react when Martin pulls out a gun. He gets out a "Wait--" before the gunshot rings out, and Tim goes silent. Carefully, he pushes himself away from Jon, and gets his other crutch back beneath his arm. The going is a bit slow as he works his way over to Martin, past the circle of Zatanna's ward. A momentary pause is given to acknowledge Sasha's corpse as he hobbles over. Tim sighs. And then a crutch falls to the grass once again as Tim punches Martin right in the nose. |
| Zatanna Zatara | Zatanna is sworn to preserving life, even possessed of the Goddess, she protests, "Gnnnnh." The Goddess LAUGHS. "Ever looking for the easy path, Sasha. Magic has its price and you will pay it. I give you into Nergal's loving care." A shot cracks and Zee, uncomprehending, watches Sasha's body crumble. Sasha's soul looks in confusion down at her still warm remains. An unkind wind picks at it until she disappears. More gently, Persephone borrows Zee once more, "It is out of my hands, stumble into the deepest darkness, Thoth will weigh your heart now, Child." The goddess eyes Martin, "Jon's beloved, Thoth will enjoy weighing your heart at the end of your days." The light around the magician fades. Was it ever there? Zee drops her hand, fingertips wiping her wet face as she fills her lungs, starving for breath. Even a friendly goddess uses their steeds hard. "Oh, Jon, are you alright?" she gasps, her voice warmly human now. "Jon's beloved? Who is that? Tim, are you hurt?" She closes the gap between them, reaching for a human touch. |
| Jonathan Sims | The remaining assassins fall to the ground, convulsing as Sasha dies. Their lives were tied to hers, it seems, and so her failure is theirs. They won't be troubling anyone any further. Jon is shaking, not so much from watching Sasha die--he's seen people die before--but just from... /all/ of it. From being attacked, and some weird black goop thing showing up, and /Persephone/ showing up, and Martin being alive. Martin's alive. Martin's /alive/. He can't process it. So he turns his shaking gaze on Zatanna. "I'm fine." He's not fine. He's not fine at all. He reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder, looking her over with eyes that barely see what's in front of him. "Are you alright, Zed?" he asks. Because Tim's alright, clearly, because he punched Martin. Who is alive. Somehow. |
| Martin Blackwood | Martin would, under normal circumstances, know how to roll with the punch. But he's tired. The Seemings he conjured, the exhaustion from watching Jon use the Archivist power, and the damage to his shoulder all weigh on him. Not to mention taking a life. So he takes the punch square and full on. There is the sound of cartilege snapping and he reels back, a gout of blood spurting from the point of impact. He falls back onto the grass, stars swimming in his vision and comprehension leaving him for a moment. "I... I probably deserve that..." he mutters, his tone nasally and whiny on acount of his nose being broken. |
| Tim Drake | Tim gets his crutch back underneath himself with only a moment of unsteadiness, and goes through the same struggling process to fetch the other one. "You absolutely did," he spits out with venom Tim didn't realize he had in him. The reality is this probably has just as much to do with Tim's own long-unhealed grief and trauma as it does with his outrage on Jon's behalf, but that won't even occur to him for several more hours, yet. And there is plenty of sympathetic anger in there for his new friend's suffering, make no mistake. "This," he says, for Zatanna's benefit, as he limps to the side and stabs one finger in the air towards Martin. "Is Martin Blackwood, Jon's *dead* husband." And then Tim looks back over at Martin and does something he very, very rarely does: He swears. "You fucking asshole." Look, it's not something to write to the presses about, but he's usually so calm, cool, and collected. He grits his teeth as he walks on his crutches back over to Jon and Zatanna. "Zee, are you okay? That was--" A lot? Too much? Way too much. Tim looks her and then Jon over with a critical eye, as if he expects any mystical or magical maladies might present themselves physically. |
| Zatanna Zatara | Jon's hand on her shoulder is like balm, she pats it and tried to smile. At Tim's words Zee stares her anger at Martin over Tim's shoulder. "You did a good job, Tim or I'd punch him myself," she rasps, her throat raw. "You have some accounting to do to him, first of all to Jon, and then to us." Raising an eyebrow at Tim's language, she hrumphs, "That was the edited version, Martin." In a softer tone, she shrugs, massaging the back of her neck. "I feel like a burned out socket looks, to tell you the truth. I'll recover." More loudly, "What just happened? Is she really gone, Jon? Are you free?" |
| Jonathan Sims | Jon /looks/ fine, aside from the bruise around his neck, almost a ligature mark, where Sasha's magic had strangled him. Zatanna saved his life, rather directly this time. "She's dead," he says, voice still shaking. "And she would have been if Martin hadn't killed her. Nergal... doesn't condone failure. As for free...?" Jon shakes his head. "I... don't know. Maybe he'll get the message that the Archive isn't for sale." He's in shock. He's not even /looking/ at Martin. He can't process it, because if he starts thinking about it he's going to be /furious/ and he doesn't /want/ to be furious with Martin. |
| Martin Blackwood | Martin pushes himself up with his good arm and wipes at the blood coating his upper lip. He looks a the trio and frowns. He closes his eyes and there is a swell that Jon and Zatanna will feel. Green-blue light coalesces around the man and settles like a mist over his left shoulder and his face. There is the sound of cartilege reshaping itself and after a moment's time he is whole again, without any visible issue. He rises and holsters the gun and starts to explain. "I've been following her for a while. I lost her trail because of a job... she'd been angry because she couldn't find him because of some sort of protection he had. So she assumed you'd be here today because..." he looks at the tombstone. "Because of Lyra." His daughter. "I came here hoping to stop her... I was a little late." He looks at Jon. "But... you're safe now. It's done. And... I'm sorry. For misleading you. For not contacting you. I couldn't risk her knowing that I was on her trail and..." he shakes his head. "It wasn't a perfect plan. But it's what I had." |
| Tim Drake | Though Tim continues to feel completely justified in his measured application of violence, there, his attention is no longer on Martin. He nods at Zatanna, an unspoken understanding in his eyes, knowing that she'll power her way through this until it's safe for her to rest and recover. So he'll keep his concern for her internal, until then. In the meantime, Tim reaches out carefully to touch Jon's arm. He really doesn't know what to say, not at first, but something Martin says makes him inhale sharply. "The thing is," he says, very weary all of a sudden in a way a young man of his age shouldn't. "No one is ever safe. The apocalypse is always right around the corner. I'm not going to say that what you sacrificed for the sake of what will ultimately be a temporary measure is worth it--that's Jon's judgment to make--but trust me when I say that this sort of thing isn't a zero-sum game." He gestures one of his crutches towards Sasha's corpse. "This isn't a win." |
| Zatanna Zatara | The edges of Zee's mouth twitch into a tired smile. Tim might think he hides his concern for her. She'll let him continue to think that. Like most people, Zatanna's idea of agents and the police, for that is what Martin must be if he is carrying a weapon, is garnered from TV and being around Tim's people and the Justice League. Her voice is not kind when she asks, "Did you think Jon would give you away so you went deep cover?" Shaking her head in utter disbelief, "And. You thought you could stop her with your little blue shield?" "I need a hot bath, a toddy and my bed in that order," she announces to no one in particular. Then turning in place she regards the devastation to the grounds. To Tim: "You would know, think anyone got this on CCTV?" |
| Jonathan Sims | Jon finally turns to look at Martin. "/Not a perfect plan/?" His tone is crisp and precise, his accent exaggerated in a way Martin knows all too well. This is Jon at his /most/ furious. He doesn't shout. He gets sarcastic, biting. "But it's /all you had/. Ahh, yes. That /vaunted/ training your job gave you." He starts to walk away from Tim and Zatanna. "Martin knows /all about/ the apocalypse being right around the corner, Tim, don't worry. Martin's /always/ telling me to prepare, to train, to be /ready/ for when the shit inevitably hits the fan and I'll have to manage on my own. And no, no, of /course/ he couldn't trust me to /act/, couldn't trust me to even say he was /missing/. Ohh, no. Can't trust /Jon/. When push comes to shove, Jon /falls apart/." His shoulders heave, and he just keeps /glaring/. "I'd have understood," he bites off, "if you'd just /disappeared/. I'd have figured you'd gone deep cover. And I assume you had an order to kill her," he points at Sasha, "and I'm not going to argue with your /bosses/." ...Something else is clearly going on there, the way Jon's so /clearly/ talking around something. The way he wasn't /remotely/ surprised at Martin's magic, or the gunshot. "BUT I BURIED YOUR BODY BACK IN ENGLAND, MARTIN!! What the /hell/ am I supposed to tell your aunts?! I was /suicidal/! I almost broke our /lease/!" |
| Martin Blackwood | Martin winces at the words. Each emphasis draws a flinch from him. He reminds himself that he expected this. That this was always going to be the result and he knows that. The rising tone of voice draws another wince and the last words draw a look of alarm and outrage from him. He buries it down for a little moment. He addresses Zatanna and Tim. "The CCTV footage will be scrubbed of any note of altercation. The bodies and the damage to the area will also be fixed as much as possible and anything else will be attributed to teen pranksters or gang violence." There is an almost professional tone to his words. A clipped sense of not taking her own words to him about his plan and his power seriously. He looks at Jon again and his face reddens and the damn bursts. "You almost broke the *lease?!* Do you realize what that would do to our ability to get a new one!? New York is not like London, Jon. It's not as simple as 'oh you broke a lease before, but it's alright, you get a second chance.' If we break a lease in this city that's about it! Christ! And do I even want to know how much money you've burned through in the month I've been gone?! Do I?!" There's pain there, but there's also a sense of familiarity or falling back into old habits. Old squabbles. Routine. |
| Tim Drake | Tim at this point is playing backup to Jon and Zee, nodding along when they make salient points. He's all but adding in little "Yeah!"s and "Tell him!"s. So close. The desire to do so is painfully visible on his face. But then he has a moment of cognitive dissonance when their lease becomes the sticking point. It has more than a little bit to do with his own upbringing, of course, that Tim puts such little importance on things like financial stability. And he is at least aware of his privilege in that regard, so he just blinks a few times, shakes his head, and looks over at Zee. "I think I'm going to get a hotel room here in the city for the night," he says, because the thought of navigating the streets of NYC long enough to make it onto the Hyperloop is just... too much. Briefly, he crouches down to arrange the bouquet he brought against Lyra's gravestone, mouth thinning into a line. Then he straightens up, wincing, and tips his head at Zatanna. "I can throw around enough money in the hotel bar to get you a hot toddy, if you want." He starts to hobble his way towards his car, still shaking his head. |
| Zatanna Zatara | "Let's go," she says to Tim, going to his side."He can scrub-a-dub-dub with all his might. I have some soaking to do after that Toddy. Thank you." Zee take a few steps, her shields long dissolved. Then, stops short to call over her shoulder, eyes darting between the two men, "Jon, how are you getting home?" Meaning, shall we separate you two? "sdraW," she tests. Lines interspersed with glyphs flare golden in the air around Jon, then fade. "I could get us home, if you'd like." |
| Jonathan Sims | Jon keeps shouting at Martin while Tim and Zatanna turn away. "Well you shouldn't have left me /alone/ then! You know damn well I can't take care of myself for shit! You know /Rosie/ isn't going to argue with me! What's she going to say?" He puts on something uncannily like a female Queens accent. "'No, Dr. Sims, you shouldn't spend your emergency fund, don't use the money on your friend who needs the help even though he's an /arse/ and keeps refusing it!'" Jon throws his hands in the air. "I thought you were /dead/! I thought I was /alone/! It was hard enough going back to the flat after /Lyra/ died, I couldn't... I could hardly... and then... with the dreams... and the... and the /book/... and... and people keep..." He sputters, suddenly running out of steam. Shudders. Now is /not/ the time to be remembering all of that. He suddenly turns away, breaks from Martin, to gather up the other flowers that fell during the altercation and start setting them, gently, on the grave. He's still shaking. "I suppose," he says, in his /most/ sarcastic tone, "that depends on whether I need /debriefing/." Ohh, that's getting /dangerously/ close to giving things away, Jon. It's a mark of just how rattled he is, maybe; he /never/ lets those hints slip. Not that much. |
| Martin Blackwood | Martin's expression is incredulous. "You don't need a debriefing. At least not formal. This wasn't entiely official. I had an order, I executed it but the rest... I was on my own." He rubs at his eyes. "Jon... I... I'm sorry. I really am. And I understand if you can't forgive me right now. I do. And I'll even understand if you want me to stay somewhere else... or on the couch or..." He shrugs. "I just... we do need to talk." |
| Tim Drake | "So he's definitely a spy," Tim is saying as he hobbles away. Is he even trying to not be overheard? No. No he is not. Tim glances back when Zatanna stops and turns to address Jon, but clearly Jon is in the thick of it now with his suddenly not-dead husband. "MI13, maybe... though Jon mentioned American citizenship. Maybe the DEO, or BRPD." He carefully shuffles his weight around on his crutches. "SHIELD's another option." Whatever Martin's fate shall be, at Jon's decree, Tim doesn't stick around to find out. This is definitely not an argument that he needs to be an audience to. On the walk back to his car, Tim somehow manages to both navigate with crutches and get a couple of rooms reserved in the nearest five star hotel. Maybe also some spa appointments for in the morning. Because after today, both he and Zatanna deserve it. |
| Jonathan Sims | Jon... slumps as Martin apologizes. All the fight goes out of him, all at once, and he just kneels there on their daughter's grave, holding the bouquet of flowers he brought for her. He starts crying, silently, as he does. He manages: "Don't... don't /leave/ me again." Which translates to: don't sleep somewhere else, not even on the couch, even if I'm mad I can't sleep and I need you in the bed. Martin knows Jon well enough to know something /really/ awful happened while he was gone. Maybe more than one really awful thing. Just to twist the knife, y'know? |
| Martin Blackwood | Martin frowns at his husband. "I... I won't. I promise." He looks at the gravestone. "She'd be 17 this year..." he says softly. "I still, I still miss her." He says, reaching out to place a hand comfortingly on Jon's shoulder. "Let's... let's go home." |