Owner	Pose
Phoebe Beacon	The Laughing Magician wasn't laughing anymore.     THe whole of the building? Wrecked. Snow has ruined the seats and the bartop where she had many times sat and listened in on conversations that maybe she shouldn't have. Where she had loitered in booths and practiced her circles by rote, where there had been shared laughter, cross admissions, and where Chas had hugged her as she cried into his chest, afraid that she would be sent away.     Now there's nothing. Rats had chewed out some of the stuffing in the seats. Someone had managed to bypass a ward and spraypainted 'THE END IS NIGH' across the mirrors.     And a burn barrel was in the middle, providing its dancing light and heat, reflected in the dark of the daughter's eyes.     "Veni veni, Emmanuel," she sings softly, having missed Christmas, what was supposed to be the first with her new family, "captivum solve Israel, qui gemit in exsilio..."     Phoebe looked up. The wreckage of the apartment above was apparent. The coffee cups she had put out in the morning with a fruit cup, because it was supposed to be a gesture of fondness when she wouldn't let anyone touch her.     "... privatus Dei Filio..."     She piled more wreckage into the burn barrel, holding her hands up to it to warm them.     "Gaude, Gaude, Emmanuel... nascetur pro te Israel."     The opening verse of the Christmas Hymn O Come Emmanuel stuck in her head as she keeps her lonesome vigil late to the night.
Chas Chandler	There is a soft pulse of light coming from the stage. It's faint a first, it could've been just the reflection of a flashlight or headlights after all not everyone left Manhattan despite the evac order. But as it starts to rhymically pulse and grow brighter it makes itself known as something else pretty quickly.     There is a soft roar to the magical senses. Whatever is causing the pulse is powerful, but it's not a power that should inspire fear or worry such as Michael, it's something else... something near to his level but nowhere near as dangerous at least not yet.
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe had inscribed on the floors, and burned into the wood one of her circles. She feels the hair on the back of her neck rise up. She narrows her dark eyes, but keeps her hands over the fire, steadying her breath, curling her fingers lightly to the flickering of the flames as she literally burns her past.     Something approaching Michael's greatness and glory, rising to HIs name, assuredly, and Phoebe tries to keep herself calm, and face what company she'll enjoy this evening with temperance.
Chas Chandler	The pulsing reaches a pitch of solidity and something steps out of the light. The figure is exceptionally, tall even surpassing the seven feet that Michael projected forth in his default form, with curly blonde hair and pale yellow eyes. There is a youthfulness to the figure that gives off the sense of openess and calm but the calm is that of an ocean... vast and endless. The figure wears a simple white tunic belted at the waist with a swordbelt He wears an unadorned breastplate of molded bronze.     He regards Phoebe for a moment and then smiles. "Peace be with you, young Light. I am not here to harm you. But there are matters on which I must speak with you, if you will grant me audience." His voice is also light and more tenor than bass or baritone. "Know that it concerns the nature of your Father by choice, if that should sway your decision."
Phoebe Beacon	"And with you." Phoebe replies, and she looks at the blonde, tall vision before her, towering over her -- and she feels her mouth dry, her fingers curl and the flames lick at her fingertips. Her dark eyes draw from breastplate to sword belt, taking in the angel, and she gives a nod of her head.     "I don't suppose you require such comforts like a fire to warm your hands -- but you are welcome to join me." she says politely. "I heard others had visitations. I was wondering if one would come to see me. How shall I address you?" she questions, turning her gaze up to the luminous form.
Chas Chandler	The figure steps from the stage and approaches Phoebe's fire barrel. "I am called Sandalphon." The being replies. He truly does tower over her but his presence is peaceful and calm rather than overbearing.     "I appreciate the invitation to share your light. From one such as you, it is truly an honor." He pauses and frowns the worry plain on his features. "You heart is hidden. Contained. I would ask why? Given the nature of the future before you, I would think that your heart would be a valuable weapon against the forces presented."
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe decides that, in this moment, she's okay with this angel.     "I'm just a kid from Gotham, Sandalphon." Phoebe replies with humility, and she looks down at her chest a moment. And... she brings a hand to scratch at it through her gray wool coat.     "I have lost three parents in the span of a year. My emotions were making it difficult to do what needed to be done, so I contained them. My heart is still very focused on returning Chas to my little sister."     She looks up at Sandalphon. "... he... he's still alive, right? We can recover him?"
Chas Chandler	"He is. And you may, depending on actions made by those who fight," Sandalphon replies. "I cannot know the future that is presented by your people before it is written in the book of my brother." He speaks of the Metatron, the Voice of God, and the Scribe of all Things. "I can only hope that the spirit of those here is enough to overcome the trial presented by the General and his forces. Myself included among those."     He paues and brings a hand to his chest in imitation of her action. "The habit you project..." he says, "It is a symptom of the imperfection of the tool you used to contain it. There are methods of doing what you intended without causing you undue discomfort. I would think that he who guards the Gate, he you call Father, would want me to perfect that tool or move you to not need it. Either is possible and requires no payment on your part. After all I am but a servant to your Father at this time."
Phoebe Beacon	"The spellwork is imperfect because it wasn't meant to last so long. Within the framework of the original spell it was fine. The longer it goes, the more it itches. To resolve the mess that was left behind by The Other and then to be resolved, but no." she explains, a moment of confession. "Actions of others dictated that I always had to temper my heart and emotions because I feared... dismissal. I'm the youngest, I was his kid, his pupil. They could have picked any reason to send me away -- my age. My associations, my anger..." she brings her fingers a little higher, and touches upon a silver locket "-- my pain. So I made it so the emotions couldn't be used against me. It was better to feel nothing."     She draws her head up.     "IS he in pain? Is he aware of what's going on down here?"
Chas Chandler	Sandalphon shakes his head. "He is not in pain. His state is suspended. As the guardian of the Gate he is a container of incredible power, thus the reason for his... transformation." He looks up and sighs. "As the guardian of Paradise, he can see all that transpires in the universe. Often his eyes are turned to Earth. To here. So yes, he is aware of what is to and what has come before. Great is his sorrow... and his shame."     He places a hand to his chest directly over where Phoebe keeps itching. "My offer is presented on his behalf, know that. Were he here and it in his power, he would present the same. He watches you and a number of others closely and knows what you have done. Thus has he sent me to you to give the gift he cannot give himself." He nods. "I know it may seem strange. A potential enemy in a handful of hours offering you something that will give you an advantage against myself and my brethren. Thus am I giving you the reason behind it, I do not give this of my will. But of his."
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe looks unsure, for a moment she's completely lost, someone who proported that she wouldn't trust anything so powerful.     Her voice is hushed, as if expecting someone else to be listening in.     "... my two options, to perfect the tool, or to make it so that it isn't needed -- what does each entail? Do I lose my memories?"
Chas Chandler	Sandalphon shakes his head. "Of course not. Doing so would require making you less than what you are. That is not our Purpose." He seems rather appalled at the concept before continuing. "The first option is to simply place a measure of grace upon the spell. The purpose, structure, and use of it will not change. It will simply perfect and reinforce the working. Removing the discomfort. It is a very rudimentary solution, and not the one your Father wishes for you. But it is an option."     He pauses and considers his words for a moment. "The second is more involved and requires a modification of your will." He holds up his hands and gestures with them as if removing something from something else. "I take the pain you feel, the erratic emotions, the instability, and separate them before walling them off inside your mind. Once there they can be assessed and dealt with by you and those you trust while leaving your heart free to blossom and shine as it should without interference. The process is completely safe. You will stay as you are, after all it is not my hand that is doing this but your Father's. It is simply more involved."
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe shifts her weight, and then looks back to Sandalphon, and gives a nod.     "Before I make a choice... I have another question. It seems like we all have roles to play, it keeps being compared to a chess game." she presses her lips together.     "I know there's some who aren't coming to help that should... but what part am I playing in this, Sandalphon? You say that this gift from my dad's own hand as he guards the City, that it will enable me to be stronger." she breathes out.     "How do I best show The Host that we are worth preserving, that we may work to fix that has been broken? I'm only seventeen to your aeons--" her voice trembles "-- but I have served a City so hopeless that its name is synonymous with madness and violence. And I want to save it."
Chas Chandler	Sandalphon considers Phoebe's question for a moment. "Chess is a very rudimentary game to compare this trial to. Maybe 100 chess tables stack upon one another where each movement rearanges the board above it in a cascading motion. That -might- properly convey the scope of this... perhaps." He shrugs. "You are the Daughter of the one who set this is motion. How can you show your worth?"     He makes a fist. Fight. Work together. But never lose sight of the goal. Unity is key. To have this small blue dot come together against a common foe and to show that foe that when working together they can achieve more than ever considered possible by Michael, by the Presence, by anyone." He smiles a youthful, open smile. And perhaps, in the process a path will be opened that shows the way to the one you care about so much. His part is not done yet, despite his mind being convinced of the contrary."
Phoebe Beacon	There is more than one face that comes to mind with the path to the one she cares about so much, and she reaches to scratch at her chest as the strong emotion wells up. Mourning, loss, grief. Waves and mountains of endless grief -- because everyone she loves will perish.     And she gives a nod.     "All right, Saldalphon, my friend. Let's fix this heart so that Chas can stop worrying his about it -- let's let his hand fix my heart and head and make it so I don't need the Jar."
Chas Chandler	Sandalphon nods and smiles brightly. "Wonderful!" he says with a slight bob of his wings. The action alone makes a flickerflash of light as if a high powered camera went off in the room. "This will only take a moment. Please. Close your eyes."     Once her eyes are closed Sandalphon reaches out and places a hand over her head and over over her heart. The hand over her head could close into a fist and crush her skull with it's size but the gentle calm is still there and there is no sense of threat in his presence. "Again I stress there will be no pain involved. But there may be pressure. Worry not. It will pass in time." Again that flickerflash of light pulses beyond Phoebe's eyelids and there -is- a sense of pressure in her head and over her heart as the Archangel works with her emotional and mental state.     The process might take moments or it might take hours, it's hard to say with the feeling of endless floating that comes in with the working. But then, the flickering stops and the angel's voice returns. "It is done. I removed the working that was in place and did as I said I would. You are free and still whole." Inside Phoebe's mind there is knot of turmoil and emotional pain but it is a separate thing. Not weighing on her as heavily, not sufusing every aspect of her life. The pain is there. The memories are there. But it can be viewed on as a different chapter in a book, not the complete novel its entirety.
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe takes a breath. She knows that the already-tendered hearts will have to be contended with to release their foiled magic... she made a promise for that.     She breathes out, feeling the pressure build against her forehead and her heart, and she feels the weight... change. She feels it stress her shoulders less, and then she breathes out a breath she didn't know she was holding.     Her chest ached, but was healing.     She brings her hands up, and gives a nod.     "Thank you, Dad." she whispers, and looks up to Sandalphon. "And thank you for being the messenger. For what it's worth, I hope I don't have to face you tomorrow."
Chas Chandler	"If you do... I hope you try to strike me down as you would any dangerous foe. Hesitate in nothing. We are coming as enemies, and should be treated as such without remorse." Sandalphon smiles still and starts for the stage once more. "Be well, Phoebe Chandler. I think you will survive this. And come out of it with a greater understanding of who you are and what you are capable of."     He steps onto the stage from the ground, a simple feat for one so tall. He turns to face her and his wings flex again in a flicker of light. "We will see each other again. Of that I am certain. Be it in battle or at your victory." There is a momentary flash of brilliant light and then the angel is no more and the Laughing Magician is silent and still again.
Phoebe Beacon	Silent and still, except for the cracking of the fire, casting dancing shadows along the broken bar.     Phoebe looks down to her left wrist, wrapped in its leather strap, and brings her right hand over her wrist, right below her palm.     "I'll get him back." she whispers into the dark, and then looks at the fire in quiet contemplation.     "I promised Geraldine."