Owner Pose
Jonathan Sims     It's been about an hour since the angels departed Grand Central Station, long enough for people to receive initial medical attention and the bodies of the dead to be pulled back into the Main Concourse. The resistance pulls itself back inside its evidently well-warded base and shuts the doors behind them, literally and figuratively. Anyone still hanging about outside is cajoled back in, so they can be checked over, and the doors barred. The angels might bring mortal warriors next time, after all. If Michael had brought Caitlin Fairchild with him, the outcome might have been /very/ different. Good thing for the resistance he's unwilling to depend on mortals, one supposes.

    The mood waffles between celebratory and somber. They won, they defended their base, and their leader directly took on Michael himself--but ten people died, more than in any single engagement since the beginning of this war. It could have been a lot worse, of course, and people know that, but it's still a hard thing.

    Jon got his ankle splinted and his arm set and in a sling, and pushed out some healing magic that got the process sped up, but he's still in a wheelchair, largely because he spent most of his healing magic making sure the people who /don't/ have accelerated healing factors got closer to being alright. He sends everyone away to do other things so he can go and focus on the line of dead bodies on one side of the Main Concourse: three SHIELD agents and seven civilian militia. He goes down the line, one after another, noting down the names and taking their statements. His shoulders slump further with each statement, his initial good mood at the victory pretty much gone by the time he gets halfway down the line.

    It's quiet work, at least until a Latina woman--evidently the wife of one of the dead--accosts Jon. Whatever she's saying is quiet enough that nobody else can hear at first, but then her voice begins to echo through the Concourse: "You said he'd be fine! You said hardly anyone was dying!"

    "Mrs. Romero, I didn't--"

    "You /promised/ me he'd be fine!"

    "I-I didn't... I said there were risks, that it was dangerous, I'm sure he understood--"

    "He trusted you, you know that? That's why we came here! He saw you on that Daily Planet interview and said we could /trust/ you!"

    "I didn't mean--"

    "What am I supposed to do now?! What about our /children/?!"

    Jon's tone turns firmer, if still kind and understanding. "Mrs. Romero... your husband risked his life to /protect/ your children. They need--"

    The slap will draw attention, if nothing else. Mrs. Romero looks to be in her mid-40's, with strong arms, and the smack she gives Jon right across his face leaves a clear mark. "My /children/," she hisses, "need their /father/."
Cael Becker     Cael's been lurking nearby - collecting some of the unused supplies from the defense - but also keeping an eye on Jon. She knows how each of the dead affect him.
    All the supplies have been put back in their places - and Cael watches the woman approach Jon - the heated words slowly rising. She doesn't intervene - she doesn't want to undermine Jon, but as the slap rings out, she starts making her way over. "Ma'am... We're all very sorry for your loss. That anyone has died in this conflict is a tragedy. What do you and your family need? Is there anything we can do to support you in this difficult time?" She stands at the woman's side, subtly encouraging her to turn away from Jon - rather than interposing herself between them.
    Cael is at her most polite and diplomatic - apparently that's a thing she can do sometimes. Who knew?
Lydia Dietrich Once it's clear that the area is secure Lydia has Theo come back down and start pulling all of her equipment from his pocket dimension back into the workshop.

"Okay," she says, "What's next?"

"The bookshelf," Theo replies.

"With all the books?"

"Yup!"

"Okay, put it over here," Lydia says pointing to a space. Soon enough with a flash of purple the bookshelf appears. It's not *quite* in the right place, but it's close enough.

Even though she's a bit busy, the sound of the slap carries over to her sensitive ears. She looks over to see what caused it and finds that Jon is dealing with an understandably upset mother.

"Theo, take five," she says.

"Sure thing." There's another flash and he sits down, pulling open a book. She notices that it's one of hers. Lord, she'll probably get an earful from Clarice about that.

She walks over to where Jon and Cael are, but stands a respectable distance away. She doesn't want to interfere with this, but she wants to lend her support to Jon. What he's doing is difficult, but necessary. However, some people find the presence of the vampiress unsettling so she doesn't want to get too close.
Michael Hannigan Nick had initially sat down near the fallen, but he does recall someone ushering him up and inside at some point. The end result was about the same, he ended up just finding another place to sit. Eyes closed, head tilted downwards, the musician was silent and left mostly undisturbed. There wasn't a scratch on him. Yet, despite physically coming out of things whole, there was no celebration coming from him either.

He heard the rising voices. A woman, understandably upset over the loss of a spouse. Eyes opening, he starts to turn his head towards the source of the sound. The sound of hand hitting flesh greets him with his first glimpse of the situation. Alright then. Hand pressing on the bench seat, he pushes himself up and starts to head over, looking to the newly made widow.
Jonathan Sims     Jon's reaction to being slapped is to flinch and look down at his hands in lap. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. He doesn't seem to know what else to say.

    "That's all you can say, over and--" Mrs. Romero's tirade is interrupted by people coming over. She looks to Cael, specifically, because she's talking, but her dark eyes flit to the others briefly before she looks at Cael. "You're all supposed to be protecting New York, but people keep dying and buildings keep falling! Tell me why I shouldn't follow my abuela to join the people at St. Patrick's? At least they're promising everyone's going to be okay!"
Cael Becker     "Ma'am, I cannot begin to to comprehend the grief you must be feeling right now," Cael replies in a solemn tone, "but I beg you not to make any irrevocable decisions for yourself and your family in this difficult moment. Your husband believed in this cause, did he not?" she asks as gently as she can.
    "Nothing I can do or say can make you and your family whole. Nothing Agent Sims can do, or Chief Carter, or even the President - but if there's anything that will bring you and your family some measure of comfort in this difficult time, I'll do what I can to procure it for you. You have our support, our gratitude, and our sympathy." The signs of Cael's injuries from the fight have already largely healed away - the blistered skin from her burns now flaking and peeling off, with healthy skin showing beneath. The only real sign that she'd participated was the way she held herself - a bit stiffly - and the tired expression on her sympathetic features.
Lydia Dietrich Lydia bites her lower lip as Cael and Jon continue to try to console the new widow. She looks over at Nick when he shows up and she nods over to one of the benches that line the walls of the station. "Come on," she says. "I think we're crowding her." She turns and goes to sit on the bench.

"It looks like you fared well in your fight. I'm surprised I survived at all. Archangels are no joke."
Michael Hannigan Ok. Nick gets that she's upset but-

"Everybody's going to be okay." Nick states, repeating the woman's words, "You know, It's easy to promise everyone's going to be okay when the people they're preaching to will be dead before they realize they've been lied to." He looks to the woman, "I believe they call them white lies. Whatever makes the poison taste better going down. Priests are meant to be guides at times. But they're also meant to help provide comfort. Like the last rites for the dying... It'll all be okay. You'll be just."

He starts to be led off by Lydia, "...Fine. Just think happy thoughts! It'll be over soon!"

The musician looks over to Lydia, blinking as she brings up a new topic. "Oh..yeah. By the way, those guns suck."
Jonathan Sims     "They can't lie," Jon says, softly, and then, louder, so Nick can hear him, "They can't lie. The angels, I mean. They don't always speak /truth/, but they have to believe whatever they say is true."

    He looks up, finally, blinking away tears. "If the people at St. Patrick's are being promised that everything will be 'okay'... then the angels telling them that /believe/ that is true." A pause. "But... the angels aren't mortal. They don't... they don't understand death. Or grief. They would tell you that your husband is safe in the arms of the Lord and you have no reason to cry."

    He looks back down at his hands. "I... can't say that. I don't know. But I'm sorry. I really, really am. I know... how awful it is, to lose your husband. I..." He frowns. "He will be remembered, Mrs. Romero. His name will live for so long as the world still turns."

    The woman stares at Nick for a moment, then looks between Cael and Jon, and then suddenly just... puts her face in her hands. "I j-just... don't know what to do. Without Tito..." She sobs. "I... I just..." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry. C-can I just... have his things? We'll need to... to bury him."

    Jon sighs and looks to Cael. "Agent Becker, can you, ahh, have Amit take Mrs. Romero and... and there's a fund for... survivors. We can get her... set up with it, yes? And, umm, funeral arrangements, and such."
Cael Becker     Cael's assistant - a teenage boy of Indian descent - has been watching the goings on with his jaw slightly dropped. He, for one, has //never// seen Cael be quite so considerate and diplomatic - rather than her usual brusque nature. Hearing Jon speak his name, though, the boy immediately steps forward. "Umm, yes, of course, I'll help take care of everything. Umm... Mrs. Romero? Hi. I'm Amit - look, let's go get you some coffee - I guess unless you'd rather have tea? All your husband's things will be kept for you, I promise. Just this way..."
    Honestly, it was surprising they actually had so many //bodies// this time //to// bury - but he knows enough not to say that, as he leads the woman away.
    Cael remains standing, watching the pair depart - her expression slowly growing more closed, and remote. Once the woman is out of the room, though, she crouches by Jon's wheelchair, putting her hand on his arm. "What do you need?" she asks simply.
Lydia Dietrich Lydia laughs, "I think so too, but Mystique insists that I train with them." She shakes her head, "You never know when you might lose your powers and you'll have to rely on a firearm." She looks over to where her workspace is. "Sorry. I really have to get our workshop put back. I'll talk to you later."
Michael Hannigan Nick nods as Lydia mentions the possibility of losing powers, a frown that had snuck onto his features deepening, "I guess another reason not to go full out advertising what you can do." He glances over to the direction Lydia looks to before looking back to her. Giving a slight nod, "Okay. Later."

Left alone, he glances over in Jon and Cael's direction. But considering Lydia's intervention he takes the hint, looking to find another bench to sit on. Seems his other seat got taken during the discord.
Jonathan Sims     Jon watches Amit and Mrs. Romero walk away, and replies, bitterly, without even really thinking about it, "A time machine. So I can go back and smack myself for being such an arrogant /fool/. Putting people outside the Station, what was I /thinking/?" Because of course it's his fault, in his own mind. It always is, right? It's certainly a way to think he has control over his environment.

    He sighs, and closes his eyes, shakes his head. "I... I need a break. Whatever Barachiel did to these people, it was... a /lot/. I'm... terrified of what's going to happen next time we run into him. I can't..." He gestures at the line of bodies, at the three SHIELD agents left. He'd been leaving them for last, because he /knew/ them. The next one is Agent Wildrue, who at least got to see Batman before he died. He and Jon had spent a few evenings discussing literature. He was almost a friend. And now he's dead.

    Nick's pain and confusion is easy for even a non-empath to sense, and Jon wanted to talk to him anyway. So he looks over and seems to decide to take on 'taking a break' on his own. "Let's check in, shall we?" he says to Cael, in a firmer tone of voice. As she pushes him closer over, he calls out, "Nick, right? How are you? Any injuries? I know we... pushed you into things rather quickly." His tone sounds apologetic.
Cael Becker     "Jon," Cael says firmly and disapprovingly, giving a good firm knock to one of his shoulders (yes - //that// shoulder), "we had to go out there and face them. Otherwise they would have come back with Fairchild, and her people, and your wards wouldn't stop them. We had to //defeat// them to protect this place." She tries to hold his gaze for a moment, then sighs, relenting with, "I know this is hard for you - but this //is// a victory. We can't win this //and// keep everyone alive. And if we don't win this - we keep nobody alive."
    As Nick catches Jon's attention, she rises to her feet and turns - following in his wake, and standing beside him with her arms crossing over her chest. Her SHIELD fatigues are standard-issue - but less standard issue are the rainbow hues dyed in the underlayers of her hair, the flame-like tattoo across the back of her left hand, and the amulet of silver with a blue stone set at its center.
Michael Hannigan Oh there's a seat. Target acquired, the musician starts to take a few steps in the new direction before his name is called out. Recognizing the voice as one of the more frequent ones he's experienced since coming here, Nick stops. Turning, he looks over to Jon and the Cael rolling him on up. Unconciously, he walks over to them, saving them some steps.

Coming to a stop, he looks to the pair. A moment longer to take note ote of Cael's posture. "Ok...Sorry about interrupting. Bad habit." Despite concerns, Nick appears to be intact. No cuts, holes, or missing body parts to be noted. "...And This is not the first weird situation I've ended up in on short notice." He pauses, "Harlem was a lot shorter notice."
Jonathan Sims     Jon glowers at Cael for /just/ a moment. Because she's right, and he /knows/ she's right, and he /hates/ that she's right. "I just want this to be /over/," he grumbles. They /won/. His wards held. He defeated Michael, one-on-one. He shouldn't feel so... /empty/.

    Easier to focus on someone else, really. If he thinks about the situation too long he'll be tempted to run off and do something rash.

    "It's alright," he says to Nick. "We really shouldn't have the dead here, but..." He runs a hand through his hair, glances back for a moment, to where SHIELD agents are moving the civilians whose bodies Jon has already tended. "Normally we portal them in, and they wind up in a more... private place," he explains.

    He looks back to Nick. "Harlem? I don't..." He frowns, thinking through that battle. "We only just met today... wait, were you the, ahh, the... wolf that helped with Caitlin Fairchild?"
Cael Becker     "I do too," Cael agrees, her voice softening with sympathy and concern for just a moment.
    "The last thing that lady was ready for was the truth," she remarks in a dry voice. "Or I would have given her a heaping of it already." Her posture remains unchanged though - it was less about Nick, than it is about Cael herself. This is just how she is - 9 times out of ten.
    "...you had a wolf fighting Fairchild?" she asks with puzzlement.
Michael Hannigan "I wasn't that effective." Nick admits to Cael, "I just happened to be in the area in time to see her straight up try to murder him and that was one of the more common forms. So it's quicker to switch into." He gives a shrug, "I figured I could help buy you some time to get whatever you were doing done."

Pale eyes glance to Cael's for a moment. "...sorry again." He looks back over to Jon. "I think you're doing alright with what you got to work with. Yeah, things aren't going to be perfect bu- shit happens. "
Jonathan Sims     "Caitlin wasn't trying to murder me," Jon protests quietly. "I mean, she might have killed me, but she doesn't... /mean/ to. She seems to honestly believe that throwing tires at people and electrocuting them won't kill them." He sighs. "And... she's right, at least for me, at least for right now. I suppose she has a good gauge of her opponent."

    Odd, maybe, that he jumps /right/ to the defense of an enemy, and one who was definitely trying to /hurt/ him. But he has his reasons.

    Then he sighs, and shakes his head. "Mrs. Romero is hurting," he says softly. "And she's looking for someone to blame, and Barachiel's not here to yell at. And... I /was/ responsible for those people. She's not wrong about that."

    He shakes himself a little, wincing as he moves his shoulder. The one that got dislocated in his 'landing.' The one Cael /hit/. "So what's your... thing? Lydia didn't entirely explain... you can shift forms, and make magical music...?" Trying to change the subject, maybe. A little.
Cael Becker     "She electrocuted you too?" Cael asks - sounding dismayed. No //wonder// Jon didn't tell her much about that particular fight. She lets out a frustrated sigh, and turns that cross-armed glare on Jon for a moment. Jon is... the worst.
    "Things not going perfect, though - means people dying. And unlike me, Sims actually cares about others," she adds towards Nick in a dry voice. "He gets caught up on it." A bit too much sometimes - but then, the deaths aren't on her hands: she isn't in command.
Michael Hannigan Nick nods as Cael adds to the genral snese of HOW invested Jonathan is with everyone involved on both sides. He turns his head, giving Jonathan a look, "...Ok. Trying to manslaugter you then. Whatever term you want. If anything you're making me feel less bad about apologizing to Bara for what I did to his arms."

He considers Jon's question. "Uh I think Terry only told Lydia about the songs. Which, based from the earlier talks, probably can't use any of the written ones except for maybe the Saint Christopher one since he's technically not one But people generally view him as one." He considers Jonathan, "Do you know what Phantasms are?"
Jonathan Sims     Jon sighs. "No, she did /not/ electrocute me, because that power comes from the Earth and do you think Gaea's going to let Her Champion be affected by that?" A pause. "She smashed me in the back with her hammer and sent me flying for about fifty feet. Maybe more? Broke more of my ribs. I intend to have a talk with her about that, some day."

    Then he rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes, Becker, you have a dessicated husk of a heart and don't care about /anyone/." It's a playful, teasing tone. Flirtatious, almost.

    "Saints aren't really an issue," Jon continues easily, looking to Nick. "I lit a candle to Saint Agnes, actually, back at Christmas. It's the saints that are /specifically/ archangels that we want to avoid--Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, Uriel... I'm not certain the rest are technically venerated as saints? And I keep wondering where Chamuel is." His inclusion of Uriel and Chamuel points to him not being Catholic, anyway; probably Anglican. Certainly his accent would lend credence to that.

    He frowns at Nick, eyes going distant for a moment. "There's... vague information in the Archive? I mean, the literal definition of the word, 'a figment of the imagination,' alongside scattered reports, leads me to believe there's a connection to the Astral Plane...?"
Cael Becker     "And don't you forget it, Sims. I shouldn't have to keep reminding you how cold and unfeeling I am," Cael replies in a dry tone before (just for a moment) flashing him a smile.
    She lapses back into a silence, letting them talk of Saints, and Archangels - something she still doesn't entirely understand, despite her efforts to educate herself in the past weeks and even months. "Phantasm sounds like the sort of shit I would have called 'bullshit' on a couple months ago," she remarks in a dry voice. "Before I learned about angels on earth and people getting teleported to the underworld by Death. Fuck, I'd like to go back to simpler times..."
Michael Hannigan "Ok in that case you got half of the ones written down then. but I'm not sure how holy light would be of use against Angels. Unless you wanted to blend in with them... Lydia asked for the Saint Christopher one. That's got a few things that might help for long journeys or battles. That one had me so wired after I wrote it. Drove Wade nuts."

Nick looks to Cael as she laments about all of the weird stuff. "...Simpler times wre pretty bad too. You just got go with what gets thrown at you. Make it work for you."

Eyes shift back over to Jon at his question. "I don't exactly have an Atlas of sorts for that area but I guess that fits? Dreams, mainly. I have found out there are collective dream worlds. It's actually how Terry and I met."
Jonathan Sims     Jon nods. "Right, those are connected to the Astral plane." He taps the side of his head. "I have a storehouse of ancestral knowledge, the Archive, attached to my spirit in the Astral plane, and it's far easier to access in dreams than any other way. The Fae realms are connected to it, too, and the Fair Folk deal in dreams as well. I wouldn't be surprised if Terry's particular brand of... whatever Chaos magic he uses is attached to the Fae, somehow." He has a thoughtful expression on his face, one Cael would recognize, as he takes in the information. "With the song, ahh, 'Carry Us,' right? Do we play it over the speakers or have people sing it...?"

    He glances to Cael, and puts on a mock-injured expression. "'Simpler times' were before you met me. Are you saying you'd rather not have met, Becker? Is magic /such/ a burden to you?"

    Then he grins and waggles his fingers, and sparks of glimmering purple light dance around Cael's head, outlining the movements of air that ruffle her hair, showing off the rainbow hues.
Cael Becker     "Only because you're just the worst, Sims," Cael mutters back, smoothing down her hair - and cracking him a brief smile.
    She sobers up before she adds, "Believe me - simpler times weren't exactly all rainbows, roses, and puppy dogs. I was already in therapy during 'simpler times.'" It's just gotten worse since. Her right thumb rubs idly at the tattooed image of flames on the back of her left hand - sending flakes of her peeled, once-blistered skin falling to the floor, showing only fresh healed skin beneath.
    "...okay, I worry about my dreams enough. Do I have to worry about actual magical shit getting into them, too?"
Michael Hannigan Nick gives a small smile, "And still not much on what a phantasm is?" He shakes his head, "So you know what it's like to have what feels like a book in your head? What do you do about the pages that seem stuck together? I've never really stepped out of the dreams directly into the other areas, normally I end up using other people's portals for those..."

He pauses as Cael asks if she has to worry about magical interference in dreams. "...sorry. But think of it as more someone cutting across your front lawn or using the sidewalk to get to another destination rather than going through your house."

"-I'm sorry, you asked something else..." He pauses, trying to recall.
Jonathan Sims     "There could be an entire treatise on what a phantasm is, but no guarantee I can access it. I didn't have proper training before I became Archivist." Jon's tone is wry. "Ahh, the song, do we sing it or listen to the record?"

    He reaches out his good hand to grab Cael's, and squeezes it gently. "Hey, if you're worried, I could try warding your dreams? I don't know much about whether /you/ would wind up in some... collective dream realm, but it'd be like... putting up a fence, to continue the metaphor."
Cael Becker     Cael gives Nick a dubious nod. All of this magic stuff makes her uneasy. Little by little, she's been growing accustomed to some of it but... She isn't fully comfortable with any of it yet. Jon capturing her hand earns a squeeze in return, as she's more than happy to simply hold onto it - finding his fingers entwined in hers soothing.
    "I wouldn't say no - but I wouldn't want you to waste the effort, if it isn't a realistic threat or concern. It's at your discretion," she tells Jon honestly. "...besides. I've been feeling a //little// more comfortable with my dreams, the last few nights," without clarifying to Nick what's changed in the last several days for her.
    Jon knows, and that's what matters.
Michael Hannigan "Right- Carry Us." Nick purses his lips in thought for a moment of recollection, "Well, in general with the songs, I've found the effectiveness varies by how it's done. Singing it, reciting it, focusing on the lyrics, tend to do better than passive listening. But, I have encountered people who experienced benefits from the passive listening approach with Deprive." Nick pauses, "I didn't have to physically touch anyone this time around to pass it along, it seemed like a general area. At the very least the size of a medium recording studio. Not sure about the floor above." He pauses, blinking a bit, "So maybe stick the less attentive people between the ones more focused. I figure someone else who casts in song could do it to great effect. You guys have the recording. I can send you the written out lyrics if you want as well."

He tilts his head down, blinking, "If you need I can pop by again after I get some rest just, not right this second. I came a bit too close to the third form so I'm out for the rest of the day. Lydia has my number."
Jonathan Sims     Jon smiles up at Cael and pulls her hand in to kiss the back of her knuckles, and he really doesn't care who's watching. Then he looks back to Nick. "Sheet music might be best. I'm a decent singer, and there's a few others as well, and I'm sure we can find some accompaniment somewhere." He ponders a moment, then says, "Be well," to see Nick off.

    As the man walks away Jon sighs. "I can't decide whether I want to drink in regret or drink in celebration. I /beat/ him. And I know what I need to do, now. I've got the outer edges of the puzzle done, and all I need to do is fill in details. I should be /happy/." He glances over at the dead bodies. "But there's three more statements to take."
Cael Becker     "I know, Jon," Cael answers quietly, still holding this hand. She takes a deep breath in, letting it out slowly before she adds, "And for all my bravado - I get it. I know why it's hard for you. Do you want me to stay with you?" she offers in quiet voice. "I can take the time for that." For Jon, she can take all the time he needs.
    Her gaze follows Nick for a moment as the man departs, before returning her attention back towards Jon. At least the red mark on his cheek has faded. Ugh, that woman...
Jonathan Sims     "I was trying to do it alone, but..." Jon looks back. "I... I don't think I can, not the agents. Not alone." He swallows, frowns. "I should be happy. Why... why can't I just..."

    He shakes his head. "I want this to be over," he repeats. "I don't know if I can handle anyone else dying." 'Besides me' just sort of... hangs there in the air, unspoken. But implied.
Cael Becker     "Then I'll be with you," Cael says simply, without even a moment's hesitation.
    Her smile fades to a grim expression as Jon continues to speak though, her gaze dropping down towards the floor for a moment, before returning to the man beside her once more. "The waiting's hard - knowing what's coming. I- there's a part of me who just wants it over and done with as well. And there's part of me that's trying desperately to enjoy every moment that I can - because we have now, and everything else is uncertain. Right now, we're together. Right now I have you - and that should be enough, shouldn't it?"
Jonathan Sims     "It isn't, though, is it?" Jon frowns up at her. "Not... not that... I don't mean that in an accusatory way. I mean... it's okay that it's not. We're told it's supposed to be enough, that... finding love is supposed to make everything worthwhile. And it does, and it is, but it's... it's /people/ that make life worthwhile, not just romantic love. And so, so many of our people are scattered or hurting or dying. And we're both just... scared all the time."

    The frown deepens as he looks over toward the line of the dead. "I'm not going to hold back anymore... I'm going to go /right/ at Michael. Give him what he bloody well wants, until Lydia's Seal is done. But... we're going to have to find a way to contain those explosions. I have an idea; I wish there was time to test it."
Cael Becker     "But it's what I have Jon," Cael answers quietly. "And I know you mean to come back - and I mean to find you - but there's no guarantees, the future never comes with guarantees." Cael's eyes gleam with unshed tears, that she stubbornly rubs away with the back of one hand.
    "So I've made a promise to myself to try to enjoy what I can in the middle of this nightmare."
    She takes a deep breath in, letting it out again before she asks, "If you go right at him in every fight - what about the magic you've been casting? Do we leave that until the end of the fight, after we've beaten them back? Do we have someone else who can cast it?"
Jonathan Sims     Jon shakes his head firmly. "No. We stop waiting. I go and gather the last two vials of soil I need--besides the Hell's Kitchen one, which is going to be... problematic, but it will be for them, too. I set up the rest of the spell here. Then we just go and I cast the spell while they're still approaching. Without the distraction it shouldn't take so long."

    He sighs. "That's how I should've been doing this from the start, but I... I don't know. I mean, they /knew/ where those sites were... they were already on their way by the time I got set up. But it's become easier each time, and I know what I need to do. Fire was always going to be the hardest element, and I got that done in record time; air and earth will be a breeze." He smirks. "Pun intended."

    He sighs. "Death... well. We'll see if we even have to deal with that wellspring."
Cael Becker     "...there's a death wellspring?" Cael asks in a quiet voice. She hadn't realized that. She'd... assumed it was all 'the elements.' Earth, Fire, Wind, Water... But there were six. Why hadn't she ever realized...?
    Because magic just wasn't herself.
    "How do you manipulate... death? Is there a cost to it?" she asks cautiously. Though how bad could it really be, when Jon was already going to die in this?
    Unless it meant he would have to kill something or someone else.
Jonathan Sims     "I did it earlier," Jon replies quietly. "That's how I destroyed Michael. I channeled the power of death and decay, granted by Osiris. He... didn't understand it, at all. That's when I realized... the angels, they don't understand death. How can they? They're not /mortal/."

    He looks up at Cael. "That's why it had to be mortals that fix this. That's why someone has to die. Because whatever's wrong, is wrong with the mechanisms of death. Something Michael doesn't understand, at all." He frowns. "I... think maybe that he should, though. That part of what's wrong is that... that he's too powerful. How can he hold the whole of the universe when he cannot understand some of its most fundamental aspects?"
Cael Becker     "...he understood nothing of what he was doing to me," Cael answers in a quiet voice. "He doesn't understand people... he doesn't understand pain. He doesn't understand death..." She wipes at her eyes again. "That's how he- how a 'good' being can do such a monsterous thing for so little cause... For //shoplifting//..."
    Wiping at her eyes had been useless, as the tears are streaking quietly down her cheek now. Where's Bear when you really need him?
Jonathan Sims     "We'll make him understand," Jon says, firmly and earnestly. "Maybe he won't regret his actions, maybe he'll never think he did wrong... but either he'll come to /understand/ the depth of what he did, or we'll see that he doesn't have that kind of power anymore."

    He lets go of Cael's hand to reach up and wipe the tears away. "He's going to understand the grief he's caused. The anguish, and pain, and trauma. He's going to understand how precious life is, by coming to understand what death is. I don't know how, just yet. But I'll figure it out. /We'll/ figure it out. Okay?"
Cael Becker     Cael nods her head in response, not quite trust her voice for a reply just yet, her hands coming to rest at her side in balls now that they've both been freed. It takes her several deep, long breaths and slow exhales to get her tears and emotions back under control, at which point she stops staring fixedly down at the floor, and manages to find Jon's eyes with a small, tight smile.
    "Together," she agrees quietly.
    After one last, deep breath she adds, "But I think we're just avoiding what you're dreading, Jon. I'm going to stay with you - alright?"
Jonathan Sims     Jon glowers at Cael. "Can't put anything past you, can I?" He looks back over at the three corpses still waiting.

    "Alright," he says, finally. "Alright. Let's... let's go do this, and then... and then I think I'll need to go have a good, long cry. I don't... I can't keep doing this, Cael. I /can't/." His gaze is stricken, but he starts trying to manuever the wheelchair back toward the cots nonetheless.