Owner	Pose
Chas Chandler	The week has taken its toll on Chas Chandler. No sleep, no food, no true rest... not that he truly needs any of it anymore. Not with his copilot having as much of a hold on him as it did. Still, mortal minds need those things to truly stay sane. Even trying to force himself to sleep was becoming more difficult the visions that swim in his face when he closes his eyes: a vast pit of absolute entropy, a yawning maw where all things meet their ultimate end, the metaphysical black hold of reality. All of those images come courtesy of the chains wrapped around him and holding him in place on the cot.     His back is against the wall this evening. He has managed to scoot around that much. His hair is a wild mess, his clothes are stained with what might be blood or just as easily could be food. His head is bowed and his breathing is even. Perhaps the threat of insanity caught up and forced his eyes shut anyway regardless of what horrors awaited his slumbering mind.
Jonathan Sims	Jon comes into the room wearing khakis and a brown cable-knit sweater, a messenger bag slung over one shoulder. He doesn't look like a man planning an interrogation, come to sit in judgement, but there is a grim determination on his face. He has a job to do, like it or not, so he's going to get on with it.     He eyes Chas for a moment, then goes back out into the front room and pulls in one of the tables, settling it in front of Chas. He goes back out, briefly, murmuring to someone, then comes back again with two glasses, a pitcher of water, the top shelf gin, a towel, all of which he sets on the table. He then closes the door very firmly behind him and pulls over one of the chairs. He sits down and opens his messenger bag, starts rummaging around.
Chas Chandler	Chas stirs as Jon drags a table into the room and sets his supplies on it. He watches in silence for a while, blinking away whatever lingering phantom fatigue he was experiencing from what can generously be called a nap.     After a moment he starts to speak to the man. "I'm not sure how you expect me to--" He cuts off as Jon raises a hand to silence him, his brows coming together in a line of indignation at the brief but implacable gesture and his own willingness to adhere to the demand placed therin.
Jonathan Sims	Jon keeps the hand held up while he pulls out a micro-cassette recorder, puts a fresh tape into it, and sets it on the table. He hits the 'record' button and then says, "This is Jonathan Sims, the Archivist, questioning Chas Chandler and the... entity currently possessing his body. Statement taken 15th December, 2021." He pulls out another tape as if expecting he might need the extra, and a flask that he deliberately puts on the far side of the table from Chas.     "I don't know how your other... discussions have gone, but I am not here out of the goodness of my heart, nor speaking to you as a friend or ally. I am not here to rail at you or listen to you bemoan your fate. I have a duty, as Archivist, and part of that duty includes recordings. Moreover, I believe this tape may provide cruicial evidence should this matter ever come before any kind of... mundane course of judgement. Not the courts, of course, but perhaps others of the Justice League Dark."     He sits back and eyes Chas. "You look a mess. Hasn't anyone been helping take care of you?"
Chas Chandler	Chas smiles a smile of relief. "Finally someone who talks sense..." he says. "And no. The one that would do that is in... I think she said Ecuador. The others that have watched me from time to time either don't want to be in the room with me--I frightened Zatanna. Or have their own agendas that don't include touching me." He shrugs a bit, the chains move but make no sound. "Meggan brought treats and then John kicked me around a bit."     He sighs. "These don't make doing much beyond talking easy anyway. As I was saying. I don't know how you expect to get me to the table if you're planning on making this all official." Still despite his locked position he sits up a bit straighter. "And it's residing. Possession comes with the connotation of forcible entry. I invited the thing in me, it's a guest. Maybe an unwelcome one now... but at the start it was allowed in."
Jonathan Sims	"She's back," Jon says shortly. The anger that flares in him is clear, for just a moment, but he tamps it down. "We'll get to how you got in this position in a moment. As for John kicking you around..." He shakes his head. "I'm hardly surprised. I will admit that I'm angry with you, but again--that's not why I'm here."     He clears his throat. "Well. I have magic. I can give you a drink, or help clean you up. Unless there's something else you need, before we get down to business?" He raises a brow.
Chas Chandler	Chas shakes his head. "I don't *need* anything anymore. My guest has seen to it that physical necesities aren't required. Food. Sleep. Pissing. All non-essential functions have been suspended. I don't even breathe when he's around anymore. I do it because I'm used to it. But I don't think I need to anymore." He eyes the bottle. "If you could float me a shot of gin I wouldn't say no..."     He looks at the chains. "As for the rest of it? I don't really mind the mess. And I don't think you want to get close enough to accidentally touch one of these. You have enough terrible visions without the influence of The Nothing on you." He frowns a bit at Jon's words. "What business is that? The statement? I'm not sure how it works... you just ask a question and I have to answer it? And it works?" he asks.
Jonathan Sims	Jon raises a brow. "...I may not have channeled the power into those chains, but I /could/ have. Nonetheless, if you don'tmind..." He opens the bottle of gin and pours a shot into each glass, neat. He then focuses a moment, and conjures a yellow-orange hand. He uses it to float one of the glasses over to Chas, within reach to sip from the glass.     "I tell you to give me your statement, and you give it," Jon says, sitting back with his own glass. "When that's done, I'll want to speak to your... guest, naturally." He sips the gin.     "First... one question." His jaw shifts a bit. "If you could have told us about what was inside you... would you have? Or did you hide it on purpose? When I asked for anyone with information to step forward... were you protecting yourself, or would the angel not /let/ you speak?"
Chas Chandler	Chas looks at the hand for a moment and then leans in to sip from the gin. He swallows it down with a hesitation, letting the burn settle in his mouth before travelling down his throat. He shakes his head. "I didn't know until the one before Cael..." he says. "Not really. It was like... a dream. I'd go to sleep, because it's what you're supposed to do and then it would take over... and do what it did. I'd wake up none the wiser until the next time."     He frowns. "After..." he says with a sigh. "Geas" he says flatly, leaning in to finish off the gin. "Bound not to reveal it's presence until it reveals itself." He makes a face. "It's very strong and very determined in it's motives and will stop at nothing to see those motives actualised."
Jonathan Sims	Jon regards Chas for a long moment, then nods. Sips his own gin. His shoulders shift a bit, his jaw unclenches. He'd been angry about that, but if Chas couldn't have said anything, even if he wanted...     He sighs. "Let's get this over with," he says softly. Then, louder, "Statement of Chas Chandler, regarding his summoning of an angel. Statement taken direct from subject."     There's a pause, and then a thread of telepathic compulsion in the next two words, so they hit the man solidly: "Statement begins."
Chas Chandler	There's a moment of hesitation and then Chas begins to speak. "It was supposed to help. You think angels and in the Bible they are agents of great change, but also of great hope. So it was supposed to help people." He pauses, looking surprised to even be talking. His expression settles into one of relaxed conversationalism as he continues. "It happened the day after we went to Egypt. I had died... first time in a while actually."     "When I woke up the next morning, I realized that to protect those I cared about... I needed something more than just a good head on my shoulders. I needed Power." His expression turns grim. "I couldn't protect Phoebe from Leksandria and there was a monster out there hunting my ex-wife and, regardless of how I feel about Renee, I wouldn't leave my little girl without her mum. And nevermind what had happened with John. My best mate and I couldn't see it. I needed to have something to give me an edge. So I went looking. Demons were right out... but there are other powers out there that are willing to barter for power. Loa, elemental spirits, old dead beings that barely have names anymore..."     Another pause. "It was in "Spirits of Benevolence Volume II" that I found the invocation. 'Used for the direst of needs, this summoning invites one of the Hosts of Heaven to aid the caller. If the call is impure it will not work and the summoner may incur the wrath of Heaven. But if the need is true and the situation dire, the aid of the Host will be given to the caller.' Sounded too good to be true. An angel, a True angel, on my side? Helping me protect the things I that matter to me?"
Chas Chandler	Chas continues, the words pouring from him in a torrent now. "So I did as the book instructed and drew the circle. A pretty simple one all things considered. I gave the items of power that were required: a bowl of pure water, a dove's feather, a sword that has slain a serpent, armor that has seen battle and not been damaged, and called the angel to me." He chuckles. "I still remember the words I used. 'Great Host of the Divine, come to my aid. I beseech thee to save the world that has fallen from your Great Plan. Humanity is doomed unless you intervene. I will be the instrument of your will and you can work through me to save this world that has gone astray.'".     "It worked. It worked so well and..." His voice goes soft. "It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever beheld. The movies don't do it justice. The Light of Divinity itself has no actual representation. It's warmth and comfort and peace and so much more that all the words in all languages to dictate those feelings wouldn't be enough."     "The angel looked at me, power and strength radiating from it in waves and asked:" Here is voice changes, gaining a reverb that is wholly unnatural in tone and strength. "'WHAT IS YOUR WISH?'" He chuckles, the strange tone departing as quickly as it arrived. "I almost lost my composure there. Like... I'd summoned an angel, not a genie. But here he was asking about wishes... go figure." He shrugs ever so slightly. "'I want to help the world. I want to protect those most dear to me and I was to see that the universe is better because of my presence in it.'" Again the reverb comes into his voice. "'IT IS DONE!'"     His voice returns to normal. "And then it just vanished. I didn't know what it had done, but it said it was done and maybe I had power. I mean, how would I know if I had a guardian angel unless I was put in a place where it would come out to help." He rolls his eyes. "Go figure that thing settled down after that. I mean, there was John coming back into our lives but otherwise... nothing truly pressing, that I was aware of at least. So I just laid low and did what I usually do. Held down the fort. I figured things would pick back up eventually--they always do. So when you came in talking about the killings... I... saw it as my chance. I went out in search for the Papal Killer. Hoping to find him and put an end to his terror."     His expression falls to one of chagrin. "Guess I didn't have to go too far really... just had to look in a mirror to find the killer."
Jonathan Sims	Jon listens to the statement, attention rapt. He experiences it as Chas does--the pain, the despair, the search for an answer. For power. The joy upon seeing the angel. The confusion and terror as he realized what the angel had done.     Then he sighs, as the trance lets go of them both. "Statement ends," he says, and drains the rest of the gin. Then he pours another shot for each of them, sits back.     "You were wrong, you know. About needing Power with a capital P to have an edge." His tone is pitying. "I see people with no magical power at all, who know /far/ less than you do about magic, who /don't/ have 37 extra lives, go out and fight the darkness every day." He regards Chas with a level gaze. "One of those people was the angel's last victim. She fights the darkness with /nothing/ but bravery and mundane weapons. They all do. And you..."     He shakes his head. "You didn't want to save the world. You just wanted to stop feeling /scared/." He's trying to keep the disgust out of his voice. "But you didn't take up arms /yourself/. You went looking for something to come in and rescue you. Just like those souls bound inside you do." Ouch.
Chas Chandler	Chas' face darkens several shades as anger surges up in him. "Oh... sure, you can sit there with you power and talk down on me with your righteousness..." he spits out. "Like I don't bloody know that what I did was wrong? You think I *enjoyed* going out there and doing what was done? You think I can look myself in the mirror and think that anything will ever be alright?" he asks.     He shakes his head. "I know there are those who fight without powers, without anything to protect them from the things we are up against. People like Cael, but you forget... she is backed and protected by a godkiller in her partner. So... please Jon, tell me. What was I supposed to do?"     His voice drips with scorn and disregard. "John was gone, Phoebe was--and still is--broken" he didn't know how he knew that, but he suddenly knew exactly what was going on with his daughter, "and I was going to die over and over and over until there was nothing left if I tried to do *my job* as her parent and protect her. I looked for a way to stop that... and I found one. Maybe not the right one, but it was the safest option I had unless I would go down the path that John went and I wasn't going to do that. Not after what it's done to me."
Jonathan Sims	"The safest option." Jon's tone drips with sarcasm. "Ahh, yes. The /safest/ option got 10 people killed and might end the entire bloody universe." He shakes his head. "We're going to fix this, Chas. We're going to put things right, and get you out of those chains. But you have /got/ to stop seeing the world as some kind of... bloody video game where if you can just 'level up' everything will be fine. More power doesn't protect you. It doesn't make you /safe/. Sometimes, all it does is give you a live grenade to play with, or put a target on your back." He of all people ought to know. "Knowledge makes you safe. /Friends/ make you safe. And you have both of those in /spades/. Stop selling yourself short."     He glares at Chas. "What you were /supposed/ to do was turn to your friends and ask for /help/." A pause, and then the glare fades slightly. He goes on in a softer tone, "And... I wasn't around to ask. And I'm sorry, for that. For... whatever part I had, in making you feel like you couldn't reach out to us. Couldn't ask us for help."     His expression crumples. "For Gods' sake, Chas... what's wrong with Phoebe isn't something this bloody /angel/ could fix. She's cast a spell to seal off her emotions because she doesn't think there's time right now to /process/ them. She's /hurting/. She needs comfort, and a shoulder, and an ear, not... not /power/. She needed you to be /here/ for her, not out... ridding the world of evil." He looks like he's trying very hard not to cry. He has a job to do, after all.
Chas Chandler	Chas looks like he's going to be sick. "I really buggered this one up, didn't I?" he says softly. "Video game..." he chuckles mirthlessly. "That's... not entirely off topic...come to think of it." He shakes his head slightly.     "My friends were scattered. You... weren't here. With good reason; don't think I blame you for that. John was... recovering with Meggan. I wasn't going to intrude on that. Not something I want to or cared to see. And Las..." He frowns. "I didn't know Lasariel even had a foot in the things we do beyond dabbling in magic." He snorts softly. "Go figure, I had an angel in my corner before this all started..."     Another long sigh cuts through the room as he processes what is wrong with his older daughter. "I guess that's exactly what a teenager would think was a good idea to do." He shakes his head slightly. "Foolish girl. I was right here..." he mutters. "Foolish. But then... I guess she and I are more like family than blood will tell, huh?"
Jonathan Sims	Jon takes a moment to take long, deep breaths. Pull himself together. He actually does have to blink back tears, and clears his throat. Takes a moment to take a sip of the gin, collecting himself.     "We're going to fix this, Chas. One way or another. We'll put this right."     He hesitates. Takes a /deep/ breath. He's been worried about this part of it, but he /has/ to do it. So he breathes out, and says, lacing compulsion into his voice, "Now. I need to talk to the angel."     A pause, and then the /hardest/ push of compulsion he's ever tried, every ounce of his will behind the command: "You of the Host, /come forth/. The Archivist would speak to you."
Chas Chandler	Chas' blue eyes flood with golden light, filling even the irises. Jon would know that the strength of his push wasn't what brought the being forth. It came on its own. Whatever it is seems to disregard the compulsion enforced by the Archivist.     "Hello Watcher" it says in a calm and collected tone. "How may I help you?" Despite the composure, the Archivist can tell there is seething rage just under the surface. And more than a modicum of... hesitation. Perhaps fear?     "What questions can I answer for the repository of humanity's knowledge: known and unknown to all."
Jonathan Sims	Jon regards the being for a long moment, folding his arms across his chest. He raises his brows at its attitude. It shouldn't be a surprise that the angel is full of hubris--pride is always their flaw and their downfall, in everything he's read.     "Why do you call me that?" he asks sharply. "Watcher?" Not the question he'd /meant/ to ask first, but it comes out before he's really aware of it. "I am the Archivist. Who or what is this 'Watcher'?"
Chas Chandler	The angel regards Jon with a puzzled expression for a moment and then smiles. "It is what you are. You are the Watcher. Your progenitor was put in place by the being of the First System--she who calls herself Gaea now, you know her as Neith--to *Watch*. Though, the word means more than that. Given modern sensibilities: Overseer might be a better term."     He shifts, straightening in place, putting himself in adignified posture befitting his station. Once might be able to forget that he is bound by chains of absolute Darkness. "Your purpose is to oversee that the beings who are not bound by conventional mortality are not going beyond their limits. Not exerting their power on the world to a greater degree than necessary. If we do... you Judge and Punish us accordingly."     He shifts again, the chains on him make no sound as they move with him. "I believe you've exercised your duties rather well so far. If a bit lacking in countering my supposed crimes."
Jonathan Sims	Jon blinks slowly at 'Gaea' and 'Neith.' That... was not information he'd had, and it makes a few things make more sense. But questions about his particular purpose can wait, or be asked of someone else.     "I hadn't had a chance to talk to you yet," Jon replies drolly. "I'm sure I'll come up with something. Perhaps more of that." He gestures to the chains binding Chas--and thus the angel--in place.     He frowns. "Then again... I'm less concerned with /punishment/ than I am with ensuring things are put right." A pause. "Is Lydia right about... were you merely driven mad by inhabiting Chas? These things you're doing, are they entirely tainted by humanity?"     He hesitates, then says, "...If we let you go, would you just keep at it? Maybe do worse?"
Chas Chandler	"I have watched humanity from the Silver City since it was using mud to paint cave walls" the angel says softly. "I have seen empires without name rise and fall and be forgotten. I watched as creatures born were slaughtered to exitinction without cause. And in watching I have learned one thing. The creation of man has failed." He shakes his head, his expression quite sad. "Somewhere, a variable was placed that ruined the process. Perhaps the influence of the Adversary, perhaps something else entirely."     "Free will comes with a multitude of possibilties for error. Maybe that was the crux of it. When the process is started anew..." He still seemed to think his grand plan was going to happen. "I would suggest we restrict humanity's will. At least to start. So that God is able to better guide the creation to a more fruitful time."     He pauses and considers the question posed to him. "Yes. It is tedious, for certain. But as I grow more accustomed to my abilities in this form and am more able to exert control over the foundation of the host, I feel that eventually I will be able to do what must be done in scores, legions, nations rather than simply in individuals."
Jonathan Sims	"Well," Jon says softly. "I suppose we'll have to stop you, then. I wouldn't want to live in a universe where free will was restricted." He waves a hand and waggles magical hand the glass of gin still near the angel's face. "Take away will and you take away magic, too. Not that I suppose you mind, but..."     He sits back a bit, eyes the angel. "I wonder if you aren't jealous, of what we can do, with will and faith and magic. Angry that the Great Mother saw fit to set a /mortal/ to watch and judge you. You don't seem like you've got much humility in you. Quite the opposite, in fact."     A beat, and then, sharply, "What is your name?" A thread of compulsion, again.
Chas Chandler	If Jon expected anything from the angel under compulsion it likely wasn't for the being to laugh at him. "Watcher... surely you can tell, what I am is bigger than your abilities are able to fathom. Perhaps your progentior could have compelled my Name from me, but the blood of your kind has diluted so much to set the power at a level where expecting me to give you such information against my will is folly at best... hilarity at worst."     He shakes his head, moving past the compulsion with ease. "I am not jealous of your will. I pity humanity. To be entrusted with such responsibility while so young... it's a terrible burden and one that perhaps you weren't ready for." His eyes flare with gold light as anger rises in him. "Do not mistake the Fall of the Adversary as my own. Were I as corrupted as he I would not be sitting here. I would have no need to use this vessel to eliminate those who have strayed from the path My Father gave to them."
Jonathan Sims	Jon wasn't really expecting the compulsion to work, but he had to try. So he hardly blinks an eye when the angel laughs at him. "Mmm. Too powerful to be compelled. Noted."     He leans forward a little. "The Adversary? Funny you should mention him." He reaches for the flask he's set on his side of the table. "I had cause to meet him /just/ before I came to talk to you. Nice enough fellow, a bit erratic, has anger issues, especially with his family." He quirks a brow at the angel. "Can't imagine why." His tone is flat.     He unscrews the top of the flask and a /terrible/ smell pours out. Rot and decay, entropy and corruption. He tips the flask and lets a drop--just a drop--of the water within hit the tabletop. It sizzles and burns like acid, leaves a black mark. "Hunh," he says, inspecting the mark. "Interesting."     He looks back up at the angel and says, quite calmly, "I'll give you one more chance. What is your name?"
Chas Chandler	The golden eyes jerk to the flask as it's top is removed. "His work. Of course he would go so far as to pervert that which is meant to cleanse..." The angels scoffs. "Even more reason to wipe the slate clean. If his influence is so deep that he walks among you as an ally."     He narrows his eyes at Jon. "My name is too big for you, Watcher. You are not yet strong enough to carry that information." He shakes his head. "So again, I deny you. No."
Jonathan Sims	Jon rolls his eyes. "I'm getting /quite/ tired of being told I'm not strong enough, or learned enough, or experienced enough. Perhaps not--but this wasn't /my/ idea. Maybe if the Great Mother had seen fit to clue my grandmother in on the switch in her successor, I would be ready."     A pause, and he eyes the angel. "Perhaps I am /not/ strong enough. I am not a brave man--I believe I am starting to come to terms with that fact. But I am, in certain circumstances, a /very/ stubborn one."     He stands and walks over to the angel, hovering the flask just above Chas' shoulder and a little behind. Right where the wings should be. "One more chance. Or you can keep up with the Saint Peter impression, it's quite the performance." A pause. "What. Is. Your. Name?"
Chas Chandler	"An apt metaphor in this situation as the result will be the same" the angel says, still eyeing the flask from the corner of his vision. "Should we get a cock in here to ensure it crows after I tell you a third time?" he asks. He is very good at maintaining a poker face in the sight of what *should* be anathema to his very presence.     "Do what you must, Watcher. The information you seek must be paid for to obtain." He swallows and there is fear there. "If using the sweat from the Morning Star, thus sealing your soul to him, is what you are willing to pay for it, so shall it be. Thrice I deny thee. No."
Jonathan Sims	"My soul is sealed to /my/ gods, you gormless git," Jon says. "Just because /you've/ taken on the countenance of the worst /possible/ interpretation of your kind doesn't mean we've all forgotten what the world was before Rome saw fit to spread war and misery along with roads and sewers."     He takes a breath, though. Because this will come with consequences, he's sure. But they /have/ to know.     He pours out the bale water, right where the top edge of the angel's left wing should be, expression firmly set in a grim countenance. He does not enjoy what he's doing, but it must be done.
Chas Chandler	As the first drop falls it makes contact with something and a pair of wings burst into vision. Not six. But two. They're impressive to behold despite their number. All white feathers with golden light shimmering from them. The one on the left one starts to change. A sulfurous smell increases in the room brimstone making contact with its polar opposite. The wings start to burn, blood--true blood--dripping to the cot as several feathers are consumed by the fire. The blood boils as it falls to the cot. From the few that started the rest continue to burn releasing more blood like a wildfire in the midst of summer.     The angel doesn't scream, the pain he is experiencing doesn't fit the realm of vocalisation. He is experiencing agony he is never been prepared for. He shakes and his voice is thready as he speaks. "I am the Guardian of Israel. I am the Slayer of the Dragon. I am the Revelator. The Commander of the Heavenly Armies. The First Created and the Last to Return. I am the Archangel Michael."
Jonathan Sims	Jon stumbles back away from that voice, eyes wide, hands shaking. He has the presence of mind to fumble for the cap of the flask and screw it back on, tightly, before he drops it to the table.     "Why?" he gasps, "W-why... why /you/ of all...?"     And then anger burns through fear, /fury/ that isn't even entirely his. Michael was hidden from the sight even of the beings he serves until this moment, and now they share Jon's fury. So it's not Jon that speaks, but something else, speaking through him:     "That call was not for you /specifically/! How DARE you intervene! How dare you use this mortal to subvert your purpose!" Jon is shaking so hard he can barely move, the voice coming through him full of that righteous fury. "This is not what you are meant for, Guardian of the Gate! You are meant to be the /Pillar/, not to appoint yourself Architect!"
Chas Chandler	A number of cracks flare over Chas' skin in gold light. Spirals and circles that split into fractacls wash over him. "I have not put myself as Architect. That task will likely be given to Uriel or Raphael, in their Compassion and Love they will serve better than my most beloved Brother. I have appointed myself Reclaimer. I will return all that I have provided to the hands of My Father and in his infinite wisdom he will see that it is made anew. Better. Untainted by the hands of the Morning Star."     "You wish to judge and provide balance? Even you are tainted by the Dragon. Allowing your instrument to use his works to do harm against me." He shakes more as the last of the feathers of his wing burn to stubs. Blood is everywhere coating Chas and boiling around him as the angel trembles in complete torment. "See what The Architect of reality has done to that which he made. All things perverted, in his own image. Twisting the responsibilty Our Father placed on him to destroy even before his Fall was complete.."
Jonathan Sims	Jon shakes his head. "It is not my place to stop you, Guardian. But they will." A simple statement, a firm tone, that of a mother refusing to argue with a wayward child.     Not that Michael is Her child, but the sentiment is similar.     Jon blinks and stumbles all the way back into the larger table in the room, clutching at it for balance. "Lydia was right," he whispers. "You're /mad/. But it wasn't Chas that did that, at all. You just can't see..." He licks his lips. "Everything ends, Michael. Everything dies. /Everything/. You, me... the universe, eventually. But not like this. Not by your hand. It's wrong. It's not what you're meant for, and it isn't the right time."     He gasps, shuddering breaths, trying to keep himself together. He wants nothing more than to go home and curl up in the shower and scream for hours. It's too much. But he can't. They have to fix this, somehow. "Look inside your host," he pleads. "See the love and care that drove him to do this. Understand the /beauty/ of creation. Please. /Please/. This doesn't have to come to..." His knuckles are white where they grip the edge of the table.
Chas Chandler	Michael shakes his head, a few more drops of blood drip from the ruined wing. "I have seen the love and care in him... it is rare thing and not shared by all and that is the problem. There will be those that go to stand at My Father's side. The tribes of Israel. Those who care as much as my host... but they will be the seeds of the new world My Father creates. Free of the My Brother's influence. Free of the pain that he caused."     He shudders again another wave of torture pulsing through him, sending the cracks and spirals on Chas' form to flaring once more. "You are quite free to try and stop me Watcher. You and your group of mystics. Bring them. Let them attempt to stop the inevitable return to My Father's side. But... it will not work. You will see that there is too much pain in this world for it to continue without injunction."
Jonathan Sims	"It won't just be us," Jon says quietly. "If you're going to end the world... I think there are a /lot/ of people who will take issue with that."     He swallows, looking over the blood on Chas, on the cot. At the thing he did, torturing an archangel. He doesn't even feel bad. They needed to know.     Shouldn't he feel bad?     "Give me my friend back," he snaps suddenly. "I need to clean him up, and then we need to figure out what we're doing with you."
Chas Chandler	The Archangel Michael gives Jon a look that carries the weight of mountains on it. "At least you take responsibility for your actions Watcher. Before I go, what you have done... is unforgiveable. I will see to it that before this is over your torment will be equal to what perversion you have wrought upon me."     He bows his head and a shudder runs through Chas. The cracks on his form wink out and seal up but the wings, one mangled and destroyed the other vibrant and alive stay in place. He jerks as if coming to from a dream and looks around. "What... where..." he sees all the blood around and on him and screams. "What happened?! Am I dying?! Did I hurt someone else?!" H0e looks at Jon, his expression stricken.
Jonathan Sims	"I damaged its wing," Jon says grimly. "It's Michael that came to you. The Archangel." Dropping the information of what they're dealing with and what he did, all at once. "Let me clean you up... I didn't mean for it to affect you." He sighs. "I didn't know it would... bleed quite so much."     The threat has him rattled, to be sure, but what else did he expect? Precisely this, indeed. He sighs, and conjures up a globe of water in his hand.     "It wants to end everything, Chas. And it wanted to do so before it ever entered you." He shakes his head as he begins to move the water along the cot, sucking the blood into the middle of the globe, cleaning it all as he goes.     "You were just... a means to an end. A convenient tool." He frowns. "I'm sorry, Chas. I'm so terribly sorry."
Chas Chandler	Chas blanches. "The... Michael... the ARCHANGEL Michael?" he says in a voice much smaller than his size should allow. "I... I have an archangel in me... and I'm... he... I..." He swallows and it's clear if he had anything in his stomach it would be joining the boiling blood around him.     He shudders. "What is this weight..." he turns his head and blinks. "I have wings now? Why... how... what did you use? Acid?" he asks.     He should be relieved that he wasn't the source of the angel's desire to end it all. But he isn't He is just as morose and lost as before. "Can you fix it?" he asks the man. "That's what's important. Fixing it so it doens't happen." There is terror in him. So much terror. But old habits of the stalwart force of the JLD die hard.
Jonathan Sims	Jon focuses his attention on soaking up all the blood in his magical sponge, washing the water over Chas as well once the cot's cleaned up. It's cool and refreshing, soothing, like slipping into a river or a lake on a hot day. The rest of the dirt and sweat on Chas' body comes up along with the blood, and Jon deliberately separates them inside the globe of water. That blood might prove useful.     "My own healing water, blessed--cursed?--by Lucifer, the Morningstar. Bale water. He refused to tell me his name." He shakes his head. "I wanted to hurt /him/ and not /you/. You... don't deserve this." All his anger at Chas seems to have melted away.     "We'll fix it. I don't know how, but we /will/. If we have to storm the gates of Heaven itself to keep the universe intact... we /will/. Together." He's certain of that. Determined. And what other choice do they have?     He gives Chas a concerned look. "Is there /anything/ you need? Really. I know you can't move but... a radio, maybe? To... keep your mind occupied."
Chas Chandler	"I don't know if you have a radio that can get Radio 4 in here..." Chas mutters. "I'll be alright, Jon. I just need... some time. To sort all this out. Escpecially if I'm going to be put through some sort of exorcism. I need..." He sighs.     He looks at the man. "Can you get ahold of someone for me?" he asks. "Lasariel... at least let her know I'm alive... that I'm... just let her know that I'm not dead. If she even cares... I sort of ruined a lot, didn't I?" Understatement of the century there. Perhaps of all time.
Jonathan Sims	"I'll get ahold of her," Jon says softly. Chas is cleaned up, now, his hair detangled too, looking much better than he had when Jon came in despite the bloody wing now apparent behind him. "I don't think..." He sighs. "If you're right for each other, she'll stay even through this."     He stands there a moment, holding the globe of water suspended over one hand. He can't very well give Chas a hug, not with those chains of entropy binding him, but he settles for leaning in and pressing his forehead to his friend's, reaching around to grip at the back of his head.     "We're going to save you, alright? You bloody stupid /git/." He sniffles. He's not going to cry. Not yet.
Chas Chandler	Chas smiles a worn and weary smile and nods against his friend's head. "I know we will... one way or another." He sniffs a bit as well. "Thank you Jon. For... for everything. You doing this... for figuring out how to fix it... for..." He swallows. "For everything."     He doesn't lean back. He knows enough to know that that leads to pain. Instead, he sort of settles to that his weight in evenly distributed on the cot and just sits. "I have a lot to think about... and a lot to prepare for. Keep me... actually. Don't keep me posted. Probably the less I know the better."
Jonathan Sims	Jon swallows as he straightens up, regarding Chas with a mournful expression. "Yeah," he replies quietly. Heaves a heavy sigh. "...Yeah."     He turns to pick up the things he'd laid out on the table. The water flask goes back in the messenger bag, then he slings it over his shoulder. Picks up the gin bottle and glasses in one hand, and the microcassette recorder in the other.     "...Recording ends," he says, and then shuts it off with a soft click.