Owner	Pose
Jonathan Sims	Jon takes a plate from the Heliopolitans meeting, hummus and veggies and a mug of cider, down into the basement for Agnes. He's needed to speak to the girl one-on-one for a while now, and getting out the truth of the story--at least insofar as he's willing to tell anyone, just yet--has finally made him see that he's been avoiding her.     He knocks on the door to the room marked '04.' "Agnes?" he calls. "It's Dr. Sims."
Marc Spector	The door opens and the small form of Agnes stands in the doorway. She looks up at the man and says. "Dr. Sims. How may I help you?" Her tone is hesitant cautious. Her last interaction with the man ended with a display she was very much embarrassed by and she didn't want a repeat of the same in this situation.     The empathic draw in Jon would feel the turmoil in her. A boiling knot of nerves that is one part powerful entity coming into her own, one part teenage hormones raging, and one part... something else that even she isn't aware of.
Jonathan Sims	Jon smiles down at the girl and offers out the plate. "I, ahh... thought you might be hungry. And I figured it would be impolite to have food and not share it, even if you weren't up at the meeting." His tone is gentle, as if to reassure her that he isn't angry for the earlier display.     "Can... I come in? I think we should talk." He's not going to step through the threshold until she says it's okay. Not for any mystical imperative such as a vampire might have, but simply out of politeness and respect.
Marc Spector	The little girl's eyes consider Jon for a long moment. She seems to be weighing the pros and cons of his suggestion. After a while she shrugs and steps back. "You can come in..." she says and then moves to a chair and settles into it. There is book next to her. "The Old Kingdom: A Comprehensive Study of the Fifth Dynasty."     Taking the silken ribbon of black she settles it into the book and closes it. "What do we need to talk about that we didn't before?" she asks, turning her eyes--so like her mother's--on him.
Jonathan Sims	Jon walks into the room and looks around, as if he hadn't already been in here, puts the plate of food on a table near her chair. Then he sticks his hands in his pockets and turns to look at her, raises his eyebrows at the question.     "We didn't talk, Agnes. Not about..." He hesitates, licks his lips. A nervous gesture. "Not about my history with... your father." He's not certain he's ready to tell her that Elias Bouchard /isn't/ her father. At least, not right at the outset here.     He sighs heavily. "What... has he told you about me?" He fidgets with something in his pocket, expression hard to read. Worried, maybe.
Marc Spector	The girl looks at the plate for a moment before speaking. "Not a lot... directly. But I'm not stupid. You were his successor. You have a power that he covets. He calls you 'the lost ones' but the other man the..." she doesn't go on, but Jon can feel the fear on her. The other man, whoever he is, frightens her. "He calls you and the man who took you away 'traitors.'"     "My Father told me over and over that you and your partner and anyone else would try to steal me away" from him" she says and her hands clench. "And instead he handed me over to those things. The vampires..." She seems to be warring with this fact. "Why did you leave?" she asks, suddenly looking up at Jon. "Did he do something to hurt you, too?"
Jonathan Sims	"You said it yourself," Jon says softly. "The Eye of Ra is a cult." His expression is... pained. Conflicted. "He was killing people, or at least letting Bushman kill people. My /friends/ were dying, or being hurt, and then..."     He goes to sit down in a nearby chair, sighing again. "Agnes... how much do you know about... about how you were born?" He regards the girl with concern. He certainly doesn't /look/ like someone who intends to hurt her.
Marc Spector	"My mother was a priestess of Sekmet" Agnes replies softly, looking down at her clothes. She looks much less the prim schoolgirl and more like a teenager should. Jeans and a red and yellow striped long-sleeve tee with a pair of Yellow All-Star high tops a pair of soft white gloves cover her hands. Perhaps Jubilee had bought her clothes? "She died giving birth to me."     She swings her legs a bit in sadness that will forever go unresolved. "You knew her. I can see recongition in your expression when you look at me." She looks at him and waves a gloved hand in the air for emphasis to her words. "I don't have to touch you to feel that."
Jonathan Sims	Jon sighs. "She was that, yes," he says softly, "but... she was so, so much more than that. Smarter than I was, more knowledgable about Egyptology than any of the rest of us, brilliant with computers, brave, stubborn..."     He looks down at his hands. "I knew her. You... were the reason we left. Elias had been trying to... breed a messiah, using your mother and... other members of the cult. A receptacle of Sekhmet's power. When we found out she was pregnant with Elias' messiah... Alya didn't want that for you. She wanted you to have /some/ chance at a normal life." His voice is mournful. Clearly that's been taken away from her, now. "Martin shielded our house for months, kept Elias and his priests away. Until the night you were born."     There's an unspoken truth hanging in the air, there: Elias is not her father. Not by birth.
Marc Spector	Agnes is not slow on the upkeep. "You mean... he's... not..." She frowns. "I suppose I've always felt some gulf between us. But... blood or not he is the one that raised me and so he is the only father I've known." She shakes her head. "Besides. What worth is there behind a faceless man who was simply used as livestock for my creation?"     She looks at Jon and something cracks underneath her hard exterior. "Thank you. For telling me about my mother. I only have one picture of her... and that is back in my room at my home. She looked so full of life and so vibrant. I can almost hear her voice if I touch the picture but... it's difficult and Father won't speak of her. He gets angry when I ask about her."     She takes a deep breath and then takes a bit of the food, nibbling on a carrot dipped in hummus. "What happened the night I was born?" she asks looking at Jon. "What caused the protection of your partner to falter?"
Jonathan Sims	Jon flinches at Agnes' words, at 'livestock,' as if struck. "Your father was not--" He cuts off. His words are heated, defensive, and she doesn't need that right now. He twists his fingers together, a nervous gesture, and looks away. It's clearly a personal thing. Whoever her father is, Jon knew him, enough to feel defensive.     Finally, "The Eye of Ra attacked. They... you were supposed to be born in fire. They put your mother in a ritual circle and set her aflame. Her boyfriend died fighting them off while I disrupted the circle. It... burned down the house. I got your mother into the basement and kept her alive long enough for her to give birth to you. Martin, my husband, was almost killed by Elias. I prayed to the gods and an Avatar of Neith appeared. She offered to take you, in exchange for our protection from Elias. I... handed you over." It's said in short, clipped tones. It still hurts to talk about, this thing he'd left buried in his heart for thirteen years.     He looks back at her, finally. "I'm... /so/ sorry, Agnes. You were not supposed to be raised by Elias Bouchard. I... should have taken you and raised you myself, but... I was afraid. Martin was dying, and I thought Elias would just track me down anyway..." The words sound hollow, spoken to the subject of the choices he made.     He looks down at his hands. "I'm sorry," he repeats.
Marc Spector	The girl blinks a few times and nods. "You were my midwife. You helped deliver me..." she says softly. "Everything you say is a direct contradiction to everything my father has said to me of my birth." She looks at Jon solemnly. "But... I believe you. I can... feel it in here..." she says putting a hand over her heart. "It... fits and explains a great many things."     She pauses. "My birth is surrounded by pain..." he says softly. She shakes her head. "It's not your fault. You did what any person would do... your husband was dying. You wanted to save everyone. I would go to this woman... and eventually to my father and I would survive as would your husband. The only people that died were the ones who were already beyond Neith's grasp."
Jonathan Sims	"You weren't supposed to go to Elias!" Jon's tone seems almost desperate. Like it's imperative she understand that fact. "She said you'd be safe! I didn't... I didn't think..." He puts his head in his hands, closes his eyes to try to hold back tears.     "You were supposed to be /safe/," he whispers.     He's trying to hold himself together, taking long, deep breaths. "You were... the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. So tiny and fragile, you cried and cried and I put you on Alya's chest and you went to suckle but... she was dying, her hormonal responses weren't right, I'm not sure the colostrum would flow. I finally gave you my finger just to keep you happy, but I was thinking... formula, I guess? It's funny the things you focus on. I needed to get you and Martin out of that damn house fire and all I could think of was 'how the bloody hell do I feed a newborn.' And you... you blinked at me, and made this little noise, and closed your eyes. And I just..."     He curls in on himself, a little. "I wanted, /so/ badly, to keep you, but I was terrified. I thought the Great Mother would keep you safe. I... I /trusted/ her to keep you safe. And then I find out you've been with Elias all along. So... what the hell was the /point/? Of any of it?"
Marc Spector	Agnes looks at Jon with an unreadable expression on her face. A number of thoughts raced through her mind... the effects of which could very well shatter the foundation of the man's world.     She pauses and shakes her head. "It's not your fault. If you hadn't do what you did... your husband would've died. I would've died. You likely would've died" she says consolingly. "I... survived. Perhaps my father isn't the best of caregivers but... what you did had purose. We just... don't know what it was yet. Maybe it was to facilitate this meeting... you said the woman who took me was an avatar of Neith. She muct be very wise to be a conduit for such a powerful figure."
Jonathan Sims	"I suppose." Jon looks up at the girl, then straightens, runs his hands through his hair to settle it. "I'm supposed to be comforting you here, you know. Apologizing. Making things right."     He looks at her for a long moment, considering her. Like he's trying to see the baby she used to be, or maybe her mother, in her. Finally he says, "What do you want to do, Agnes? Do you... /want/ to go back to Elias?" His tone is tentative, hesitant. Can he live with himself if she says yes? Can he rightly argue? Elias is the only parent she's ever known.
Marc Spector	Agnes is quiet for a moment. "At first... yes. If only to keep the status quo in place..." she reponds. "Then... after I got to know all of you... I did because I didn't want you to get hurt." She pauses again, her expression pensive. Her thoughts a blur.     "Now..." she shakes her head. "I don't want to go back to him. But... I think I might have to all the same, just to keep you safe. You don't understand. He's powerful and the two he has with him... Bushman... and the other man. They're not..." she frowns. "They make him look benevolent by comparisons. The things I've read off of them--from sneaking items away from meetings--" she shakes her head and some of the color drains from her features. "They're not good men."
Jonathan Sims	Jon frowns at Bushman's name but doesn't comment. Isn't the man supposed to be dead? Something to figure out later. For now, he shakes his head. "Elias may be powerful, but I have power now too--and so does Moon Knight, and many of the others here. If I'd been the Archivist when you were born, I never would have had to make that deal, because I'd be able to hold Elias off."     He smiles. "You saw my magic. It's... I'm not terrific at fighting, but I can shield, and I think I can heal. We can protect you. You don't have to go back to Elias if you don't want to." He says it fiercely, eyes snapping.
Marc Spector	Agnes nods. "I hope you're right... for your sake as much as my own, Dr. Sims" she says softly, her eyes and her expression at that moment make her look so much like her late mother it might be overwhelming. "I've grown fond of a number of your people here and I would hate to see them come to harm. From my father, from Bushman, from their protege..."     She eats a bit more of the plate, almost finishing it off. "Thank you. For the food. It is very good. And... I hope your meeting goes well."
Jonathan Sims	"Jon," he says, rather suddenly. "Please... it's just Jon. I... would like to be friends, if we can. Get along, anyway. If you're going to be staying here."     She can't stay in the Midnight Mission forever, of course. They're going to have to figure /something/ out. But they can keep her here for the time being. Safe, and happy, or mostly so.     "I... might be busy soon. There's some killings going on in Manhattan, in Hell's Kitchen. An angel, killing people with no regard for the severity of their 'sins.' It's... part of the Archivist's duty, to keep such things in check. I might have to stay there until we catch the killer. But I'll be back to check in on you as I can, alright?"
Marc Spector	Agnes blinks at Jon. "An... angel?" she says. "That's... that sounds terrifying" he mutters and shakes her head. "I wish... I hope..." he frowns again. "Good luck. I will stay here. Jubilee, Lydia, and Mr. Knight are doing an good enough job taking care of what I need when I need it."     She pauses again and her hand move like she wants to touch his own, but she pulls it back, moving back in on herself in a contained and calm outward demeanor. Inside, her emotions are as turbulent as the fires of the sun, bursting and swirling with questions and possible answers that she is going to have to think on once he departs.
Jonathan Sims	Jon stands, and then takes a moment to rest his hand on Agnes' shoulder. "I /will/ come back, Agnes. I just... I have work to do." He smiles, sadly. "Be well, alright?"     He sighs and turns away, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he heads on out the door.