Owner	Pose
Caitlin Fairchild	It has been a momentous day for Caitlin. The visit to the remains of the Laughing Magician was intended to be relatively routine. One of a number of trips the Titans as a unit were undertaking, trying to trace the pattern of magical anomalies that had Raven's mystical wards vibrating. She'd arrived just in time to witness a demonic possession as evil entities confronted a gang of barflies. It ended with Caitlin's desperate prayer for strength calling down the holy fire of St. Michael the Archangel to purge them away. She returned to Titan's Tower. Posted up a mission debrief to their network. Checked on the food stocks. Called Donna-- no answer, probably off doing something. Called Father Patrick, her parish priest-- no answer. Priests have lives too, apparently. So she writes in her journal, puts her drone to bed for the night, and drops facefirst into her bed and the pillowy path to deep sleep. Caitlin's dreamscape used to be Columbia University's campus. Now it's Themyscira. The wind-swept plains, the craggy mountains; blue oceans, sandy beaches, cloistered forests. For the first time in her life, upon coming to Themyscira, Caitlin had come to know peace-- and a good night's rest. She's wearing the light toga favored by the Amazons, sitting on the steps of the throne room. Even in her dreams Caitlin respects Hippolyta's soverignity, and doesn't approach the top of the dais. Instead she enjoys the cool, somber peace of the marble-clad room, with the visages of the Goddesses of Olympus carve in alabaster rock and surveilling the room with their benevolent gaze.
Chas Chandler	A voice calls to the yougn woman in the dreamscape. "Caitlin..." It's a familiar voice. Her father's voice. "Caitlin..." It beckons from the corner of the throne room, where there is a pulse of light. "My darling, Caitlin..."     There is a peace in the light. A warmth and familiarity that would call just as much as the familiar voice would. No figure is visible in the light but the voice is unmistakeable. "You've grown so much, my darling daughter."
Caitlin Fairchild	"Daddy?" Caitlin's on her feet in a trice, looking around the wavering dreamscape. The voice, the light both draw her attention. There is something infinitely gentle and appealing about it. It's often she dreams of her father, but rarely does he visit her. Or at least, after the ascent from Erebos, he hasn't visited her since. Caitlin pushes into the soft light with a wave of one hand, anticipating resistance and finding none. She takes two more steps forward. "Dad, speak up!" she calls. "Why are you hiding?" In the distance, a reverberating roar. But it's dull. Muted. The beast in the back of Caitlin's brain seems to have been temporarily waylaid. Onward she presses.
Chas Chandler	There is a pulse and the figure of Caitlin's father emerges from the light with another standing behind him. The figure behind him is towering even to Caitlin, easily seven feet in height.     His features are soft and composed. Blue eyes, long blond hair that cascades down his back in a wavy curtain of gold. He is possibly the most beautiful man Cait has ever seen. His body is sculpted and tone but not hulking as a body builder, just proportioned to his height in the most perfect way. He wears a white surcoat over a gleaming suit of full plate armor, a sheathed sword rests at his left hip. Light blooms from behind him, as if coming from him directly the light is two toned though, the light on the left is a touch dimmer than the light on the rightside of him, but that may not be noticeable from the sheer presence he exudes. His identity shouldn't be hard to guess.     "Cait, you touched something earlier today that wanted to meet with you" her father says, stepping aside and gesturing to the towering figure. "This is Lord Michael, the Archangel... he, he asked me to introduce you to one another." There is a tremor of fearful respect in her father's voice. But it's no more than a massively powerful figure of divinity would induce when said figure humbly asks be introduced to your daughter.
Caitlin Fairchild	If Caitlin had dreamt up a circulatory system, her face would be going white with shock. Michael's presence is enough to knock her slipshod mental construct to fragments around her. All that surrounds is the White Light of Creation. She drinks it all in, and-- for just a moment-- allows herself to just *bask* in the harmonious energies that curl around Michael Demiurgos. Caitlin drops to her knees and interlaces her fingers under her bowed chin, eyes screwing shut. "M-my good angel, thou comest from Heaven; God has sent thee to take care of me..." The prayer is not an overly long one, but even in the dream world Caitlin's faith shines through. She dares not look upon Michael directly, but around her the dreamscape shifts and turns into New York's Church of St. Patrick-- her home parish.
Chas Chandler	There is a pause and a soothing baritone voice (not unlike the one that answered her call on the street earlier this day) asks softly, "May I?" After a moment soft steps move toward the kneeling figure of Caitlin. The light grows as it approaches. Then Michael kneels down to be at least closer to her level. "Please child, I am not My Father and deserve no worship nor prayers. I have come to meet and speak with thee about the coming trial of your world."     He reaches forth and places a gauntleted hand over her head. Warmth and comfort spread from that touch. "Your faithfulness and compassion for My Father is noted and appreciated but you can look upon me all you wish without fear. Those who call on my name should be able to see that I am but an agent of Creation, not the source. A foreman of the grand experiment that is mortality, not the mind behind it." His hand leaves her head and then a gauntleted finger attempts to bring her gaze to his face. "Do not look away."
Caitlin Fairchild	Perhaps it's a credit to Caitlin's well-honed sense of survival. Or one too many experiments gone wrong in the lab. But when Michael bids she look upon him, Caitlin lets him raise her chin and *carefully* cracks one eyelid to a mere slit. When she isn't struck dumb or insane by Michael's visage she exhales in relief, and opens both eyes wide. "Oh no I was offering thanks, I thought-- I mean that's what the shepherds did. After they calmed down. But those angels had all the eyes. And wheels. And four faces. You've only got the one face. I mean they did calm down eventually. The shepherds. Not the faces. I guess faces can be calm. I know who you are, my, umh-- Sir Mi-- ... Mist--" Caitlin's stammering builds like a runaway truck and it's pretty clear she'll keep digging her hole deeper until someone stops her.
Chas Chandler	Michael holds up a hand to stop her. "Peace, child. My people take a variety of forms, this is just the one most suitable for my task at the moment." For an instant there is a vision of a massive being in the place of Michael, six winged with a myriad of rings covered in eyes spinging around a singular point of intense light. It is only for the barest instant but it is evidence of this creature's ability to look as he pleases.     "I have come to you to see if you are willing to help with my trial for the sake of a existence" he asks. "To have one such as you, whose faith was strong enough to touch my shoulder for aid against the agents of the Adversary is a great thing." He smiles at her with all the love and warmth and peacefulness that one can offer. "Your willingness and faith would be a great boon to the Army of The One God that we would be foolish to neglect."
Caitlin Fairchild	Even that eyeblink of that form is almost too much for Caitlin and she reflexively looks away lest it overwhelm her. "Yes. Yes! Of course!" Caitlin glances at her father. It's hard to look away from Michael's radiant glory, but familial instincts tug hard at her. Her expression flickers at the elder Fairchild's face. Some emotion lodged on his hard-hewn features, something that was neither joy nor awe. But Caitlin is far from a good judge of such qualities and when she looks back at Michael, that rapt adoration returns. "Just... tell me what I have to do," she requests. "I honestly wasn't even sure if that exorcism would work, I thought for -sure- it would just be, like..." Her palms float near her temples, the gesture vague and uncoordinated, and then she flares her fingers and blows a raspberry. "Like that scene in Scanners."
Chas Chandler	If Michael is a fan of movies that one eludes him. Still he laughs and shakes his head. "Not so... you did well. Calling on one of my kind requires little in the way of words" he says. "It's all about what one has here" he gestures to her head, "And here" then gestures to her chest. Specifically. Her heart.     He looks over his shoulder at the older Fairchild. "As you father said, he facilitated this meeting. His own views on my mission are... clouded at the moment as he does not truly understand it's purpose." He rises and offers his hand to her. "If would take my hand... I would lead you on a journey from here to show you want my mission is and how you may be of assistance."
Caitlin Fairchild	Hesitation. Just for a brief moment. It might even escape Michael's notice. The human mind is a fickle thing and for someone as young as Caitlin is, there are a cavalcade of emotions all competing with each other. Uncertainty. Trepidation. Rapture. Joy. Sorrow. She puts her hand in Michael's a beat later and rises with the mighty archangel. "C'mon dad," she tells Alex, and beckons with a friendly smile. "It's all right. I know this is the real deal. I can feel it in my heart. Come with me," she urges him, and offers him the fingers of her free hand.
Chas Chandler	Caitlin's father shakes his head. "My part in this is played, my dear daughter. I was the link for the Archangel to you. Nothing more. The fate of things now lies in your hands" he says to her. "You have to make the decision to aid him or not on your own. I trust you. And I know your heart is in the right place. Remember who you are and what you believe are what you need to guide you to a decision."     Michael still stands there, holding Caitlin's hand in his powerful but gently grip. "When you are ready, we will go. You may say your goodbyes, but his presence in this place and the time you two have together is far from over. Eternity in the dreams is whatever the dreamer wishes it to be."
Caitlin Fairchild	Caitlin turns to her father-spirit and hugs him with a fierce devotion. It's heartily reciprocated. Perhaps Michael's right; dreams are what the dreamer wishes, and more than anything Caitlin wishes her father to be with her. And not merely some hazy memory of him from an infancy in vitro tanks-- but the real man, warts and all. The war hero, the mercenary, the consummate soldier. Perhaps it's a remnant of her time on Erebos. Or the phenomenal cosmic power of the Archangel. Perhaps it's just her own wishes made manifest in a universe that can be as kind as it is cruel. They break and Alex grips Caitlin's arms, making pointed eye contact. "Listen to the Archangel," he urges her. "Hear him out. Pay close attention to him." There is absolutely nothing in Alex's tone of voice that suggests fear, warning, or worry. But there's a subtle intensity to his green-eyed gaze. Caitlin's eyes are the exact same color; in bone and sinew, the two look almost identical to each other except for a lifetime of hormones and body language. "And most of all, be true to yourself," Alex says-- and hugs Caitlin again before she can dig any deeper under the facade. "You can come back from anything as long as you do what you know is right in your heart." A tear slips across Caitlin's cheek and she touches fingertips to her father's face, before breaking with a backwards step. She turns back to Michael, takes his still-offered hand, and vanishes from the sleeping realm. Onward, on the wings of angels.