Owner	Pose
Jonathan Sims	There may be angels patrolling Hell's Kitchen, searching in vain for the wellspring that they know must be hidden there, but the resistance has an advantage the angels don't seem to: they have portals. Clarice is quite willing to drop Jon into a particular building in Hell's Kitchen, so he arrives in the ruins of the Laughing Magician with a bit of colored light, holding a thermos and a paper bag. It's bitterly cold, and the remnants of the bar are covered under several inches of snow, but Jon summons the thought of warm air with a murmured as he scoops aside some of the snow on the stage with soft breezes.     Will magic ever be this easy again? He knows some of what he's doing is merely because of what Gaea's granted him, but could he really just... do this, so easily? Heat the air around him, move things around with a breeze?     He'll just have to wait and see.     He settles himself on the edge of the stage and sets down the thermos and paper bag. Then he looks to the sky and says, "Saint Uriel... I know we're not supposed to meet in person, but I really do need to talk to you directly."
Michael Demiurgos	No great fanfare announces The Light of God into the ruins of the bar. "You must be rather desperate to risk such a meeting like this, especially in such a place." He looks around the bar with a sad expression.     "Youa re fortunate that the general is focused north at the moment and has tasked me with leading the search here." He is armored this time in polished silver and gold with a sheathed sword at his hip. "What is it you require, Jonathan?" he asks matter of factly.
Jonathan Sims	Jon smirks up at the angel as he stretches out his leg. He's set the crutch that he's using beside him; his broken ankle is healing rapidly. "Yes, well, there've been reports of you and... I want to say Jophiel, in this area. You're doing /quite/ a fine job leading them on a merry chase all 'round the area, you know. You and Tim would make quite the team."     He gestures to a spot beside him as he uncaps the thermos and pours out hot coffee. "Sit. I've got coffee and donuts. It isn't bread and salt, but it's what I could get." A pause. "Want a cigarette?"     He glances up again. "I'm not desperate, per se," he adds. "Actually quite the opposite. I want to be certain I have everything clear in my head before our final push." He does, indeed, seem more confident than Uriel's ever seen him. "How's Michael doing after that defeat we handed him on Sunday?"
Michael Demiurgos	Uriel smiles at Jon's ability to see through his own part in the obfuscation. "I have played only a small part in ensuring the Wellspring of Darkness continues to remain hidden. Timothy deserves the majority of the credit."     He holds up a hand and shakes his head in declination. "I will pass on a cigarette, but coffee and donuts sounds quite lovely. It is quite difficult to come by such things on our own, especially with those who would most readily call on us... elsewhere."     At the question a serene smile plays over his lips. "My brother is quite angry. Five of his most loyal turned away and his own form utterly eradicated." He shakes his head. "I honestly thought he was going to exile Zadkiel for his leading the retreat. But the Voice pointed out the use of Hellfire on the field and made it clear that there was no chance of victory at that point."
Jonathan Sims	Jon smiles. "That /really/ shouldn't give me as much... satisfaction as it does. But... it does." He shakes his head. "Did he /really/ think we wouldn't replace Zatanna's wards? Really? Does he think I'm that /stupid/?" A pause, and then, "...Do I actually want the answer to that question?"     He hands over a paper cup filled with coffee and a chocolate donut with rainbow sprinkles. "So, I have some questions... I'd like to see if I'm understanding things correctly. And then I have a favor to ask of you." He smirks. "I doubt you'll like it, but I need to test something."
Michael Demiurgos	Uriel doesn't grace Jon's first point with an answer and instead opts to take the cup and the donut. "I may have answers to such questions, but it depends on the questions themself." He sips the coffee and makes a sound of contentment. "Quite satisfactory."     Jon's second point makes a him frown. "Again, that too is dependent on the favor. But... we shall see." He gestures, giving over the floor to Jon to place his inquiries. "But first, questions. Ask away."
Jonathan Sims	Jon smirks and takes a bite of the donut, then a sip of coffee. A little ritual of sorts, to solidify that they're under truce, at least for the moment. Then he sets the donut on the folded-up paper bag on the stage, shakes a cigarette out of the pack, and goes to light it and take a long drag.     For a moment, he just watches the smoke curl up toward the hole in the ceiling. "The Lenape honored tobacco," he says softly. "They offered the smoke in rituals, and it was thought to be... desperately important. I wonder, sometimes, what damage has been done in the world by the ancient rituals being disrupted, the ancient pacts upended." He regards the cigarette in his hand, a Silk Cut. "This is about as far from sacred American tobacco as one can get. Originally a British brand, now owned by a Japanese company." He shakes his head. "But... I digress."     He looks over at Uriel. "So here's what I think I have figured out: the imbalance in the universe is something to do with the flow of souls. Either souls are being destroyed, or they're being... re-routed from their proper flow. This is causing our universe to need an influx of more souls, and so it's... siphoning off souls from other universes. Not destroying them, but forcing them to be reborn here, to make up for whatever drain there is on the system as a whole. Yes?"
Michael Demiurgos	Uriel sips more coffee and listens to Jon's theory. After a moment of consideration he nods. "Quite an oversimplification but... yes, the theory you have is correct." He adds, after another bite of donut, "If you have gleaned so much, you know where they are going. You might as well simply say so."     "The echoes of Gaea's brethren fitful and restless in their eternal slumber... consuming all things that come upon their presence." His expression sobers, considerably. "Even we are not aware of the when or the how of such a thing, only that it is and that it must be fixed, lest The Presence Itself be consumed in the end." He sips from his coffee and lets out a long sigh, looking more fatigued that he has ever seemed. It's been a plague upon his existence that he can't fix it and it shows.
Jonathan Sims	Jon draws in a sharp breath. "I wasn't /certain/. Not that it was directly the Old Ones." He shudders. "That's why Hell hasn't shown up yet in this, isn't it? Because... because the Void threatens them just as much as it does you. So they're letting you handle this, for the most part." He frowns. "But Michael thinks it's Lucifer's fault, somehow. Michael doesn't /know/."     The frown deepens. "That brings me to my next point... Michael doesn't understand death. At all. He thinks it's... no big deal. That nothing is lost. And I would say he can't, because he's not /mortal/, but... you seem to. So is it his power, that keeps him from understanding? Whatever it is that he's holding onto that means he is connected to... everything, as though he were the Presence Themself?"     A pause. "I sort of figure that even an immortal that understood death couldn't fix this. It still needs to be a mortal that fixes the problem, because we are defined by death; that's what the very word 'mortal' /means/."
Michael Demiurgos	The Archangel of Wisdom sighs deeply. "So many revelations coming this night. Yes, my brother is incapable of recognizing what truly makes death important because he cannot ever experience it. As long as the universe exists, he is eternal. The rest of us, we uphold pillars of the greater scheme, but we have seen death and understand it's importance for mortal-kind. Michael is different. He is the foundation of it all. The prodigal's fall was a mistake that he blames himself for and thus he figures that mistake was the impetus for the situation at hand."     He shrugs and gestures idly with the half eaten donut. "It's possible that when the Fallen... fell... they woke something up and that caused it. But, it wasn't the Lightbringer's fault at the source of it. And that is probably why he and -most- of the other Lords of Hell are staying clear of this conflict. It's not their fault and they are loathe to acknowledge blame when they know it to be misplaced."     "But to answer your finer point, yes, when The Presence comissioned this universe's creation he transfered a power called the Demiurgic Force into his two most beloved creations. When Lucifer turned away from his Purpose and explored more... imaginative avenues of existence, Michael stripped him of his portion of the power and now holds all of it. Our Father made a grave error in giving such power over to the both of them. He never commanded it be returned when the task was finished."     He snorts and gestures outside. "Can you believe it? All of this on the shoulders of a technicality and a forgetful moment from He Who Is Above All."
Jonathan Sims	Jon stares at Uriel for a long moment, mouth agape. It's a good thing he's holding the cigarette in his hand or it might have fallen right into his lap. "I... you're /kidding/. You... no, you can't... kid, or... or... lie, even as a joke..."     He puts his face in his hands for a moment. "Oh, good /lord/," he mutters. "That's /ridiculous/."
Michael Demiurgos	Uriel nods in agreement. "It is, isn't it?" He sips more coffee and offers the cup back to Jon for a refill. "Irresponsibility on the faces of gargantuan entities."     He sighs. "When mistakes are made by those with the most power, the mistakes tend to be the most damaging. At least the proportions are consistent, right?" He gives Jon a weak smile and gestures. "You have more I assume?"
Jonathan Sims	Jon refills the coffee and nods. "Yes, just... give me a moment."     He just... sits there for a while, considering that. Eats his donut, drinks his coffee, smokes his cigarette. Stares at the snow-clad bar, brow slightly furrowed.     Finally, he puts the cigarette out on a nearby snowdrift and then wipes his hands. "Alright. Let me see if I'm understanding things correctly. There is a multiverse. The Presence is the... supreme over-being, whose body /is/ the multiverse. The individual universes within are like... cells. In some subset of those universes, including ours, the Presence handed power off to lesser beings to create and shape those universes--what we call Michael and Lucifer."     He reaches out to pick up his coffee and takes a drink. "Now... the first time we met like this, you told me this wasn't the first universe Michael created. So what I'm thinking happened is this: Michael and Lucifer create a universe, Lucifer Falls, Michael strips him of the Demiurgic Force. Michael's overpowered now, and the excess Demiurgic Force causes him to hyperfocus on the 'warrior' side of his Purpose, and thus neglect the 'builder' side. He stops maintaining the universe, going around making sure that things run the way they should, and so something starts... eating at the foundations of that universe. The Old Ones. That universe becomes imbalanced, starts leeching off other universes and drawing in their souls. Michael goes and pushes the reset button--which we've been told happens regularly."     He gestures toward the street. "I'm presuming it was something like what we're dealing with now. He had to find the wellsprings and activate them in order to actually perform the reset; it's not so simple as a snap of his fingers. Trigger an 'End of Days' scenario. I'm /presuming/ that the wellsprings have something to do with ensuring that the souls in that universe carry over past the reset, rather than all just going back to the Presence. But while there might have been resistance, there wasn't anything like this, no /real/ challenge. So he rolls right over whatever planet he had to go after to get to the original Gaea, gets the wellsprings, resets the universe."     He sighs, looks up at the hole in the ceiling. "Trouble is... the problem's still there, because the Old Ones are still attached, and Michael doesn't /know/ that. So this happens... well, however many times, and I'm presuming the only ones that remember are you all. The archangels." He looks to Uriel. "Lucifer doesn't, because he's not technically one of you any more. Gaea /does/, because She's key to this whole business. So this time, early on, She goes to you and begs you to find a way to fix the problem once and for all. You both know the problem isn't what Michael thinks it is, and flicking the on/off switch over and over won't actually help; it's probably only making things /worse/." He shakes his head.     Another gulp of coffee, and he stares at the bar now. "Gaea begs you for a solution, and you come up with the only way you can think of to get Michael to actually agree to this--a competition. A 'game,' in which he will try to get at the wellsprings but Gaea will raise a mortal to challenge him properly this time. And that mortal will have a chance to /truly/ fix the problem at its source--stop the souls flowing to the Old Ones, and get Michael to release the Demiurgic Force he should no longer hold."     He sighs. "So... the universe chugs along, and you start putting pieces into place. Creating various beings who can judge immortals or judge souls, setting up the field and the potential players. Making sure there are those who can fight the angels, who will answer the call. At some point, you decide Manhattan will be the playing field, and humans sense the wellsprings and put appropriate markers atop them. One each for six elements: Earth, Air, Fire, Water, Life or Light, Death or Darkness."
Jonathan Sims	He gestures around the room. "Around the time that this is all supposed to start, my friend, Chas Chandler, calls out for angelic help. Michael sees his opportunity--maybe to get in a first strike, of sorts--and answers the call, even though he should not have. He fulfills his end of the bargain with Chas, doing his best to 'cleanse' Hell's Kitchen of sinners. We find out, we bind him, we accidentally release him. The purpose of that was to get someone else to be on the Gates of Heaven so the game could commence." He frowns; he's obviously irritated by that.     "When I stand up to Michael at that first crime scene I visited, Gaea chooses me to be Her Champion. There are many others it could have been, but I have proximity, I have a tie to Her through Neith, and I... well... I stood up to Michael, and kept doing so, over and over." He sighs. "And... so, the game begins. Michael chooses Caitlin Fairchild to be his own Champion when she summons his power against demons, and we all go to play... but there's another who's entered the game, someone you didn't expect. Lady Death is their Champion, and they're changing the game for some reason." He eyes Uriel. "You're not entirely happy with their interference, but it's probably given us the edge we actually needed."     He looks over at Uriel. "That all sound about right?"
Michael Demiurgos	"A rather succinct and direct way of explaining it. There are a few matters of opinion, but that's to be expected of a mortal. So, to answer your question, yes." Uriel says, he's finished off his own donut as Jon was speaking and is slowly washing it down with the coffee.     "Kaida, despite her misplaced anger, was right. You should write a book. But that's not your job in this. That task belongs to another." He smiles serenely. "I take it you recited that clarity to me because you plan on bringing it to the table during a meeting soon?" he asks.
Jonathan Sims	Jon glowers at Uriel. "Would you stop /eavesdropping/? Goddess, that's rude." Says the man currently engaging Uriel as a spy.     He shakes his head. "I wanted to be certain I was actually understanding everything correctly. If I'm operating from false assumptions, as I have in the past--as too many involved in this still are--then I'm going to fail, and we /really/ can't afford that, now can we?"     He sighs, and puts his hands on the stage behind him, leaning back and stretching out his left leg to let the still-healing ankle have some room. A murmured word heats the air against so the stage isn't freezing, and he says, "So my job in this is twofold. First off, to stop souls from going to the Old Ones--or at least to start that process. Second, to convince Michael to give up the Demiurgic Force--I presume it's /convince/ because, well, Gaea chose /me/. A therapist, a healer. I don't force people to do things; I talk them into changing." He raises his brows again. "Yes?"
Michael Demiurgos	Were Uriel a lesser being he might point out the double-standard Jon's request puts on him, but he is an angel and simply keeps the serene smile on his face. "Indeed. A task perfectly suited to your nature."     He sips more of the coffee and sets the now empty cup down upside down, a display that he's had enough. "He may prove the be your most stubborn patient, but I have faith that you will at least do what is needed to make him see the error of his ways... eventually."
Jonathan Sims	"No pressure or anything," Jon mutters, rolling his eyes. He stares up at the ceiling again. Sighs. "Your original plan involved me dying. That's what Gaea told me--that /you're/ the one who slated me to die. But not to be reborn." He narrows his eyes. "And given that people can come join me in Duat, given that living people have been going to the Underworld all along, given that if it were up to /Gaea/, I wouldn't be dying... it's not that someone /has/ to die in order to fix whatever's wrong with the flow of souls. There's some other reason I'm supposed to die."     He looks over at Uriel, brow raised again. "Care to share your reasoning?"
Michael Demiurgos	Uriel's expression doesn't change from that of serene patience as he stares at Jon in silence for a moment. Then without inflection or emotion he replies, "I do not." In classic angelic fashion he -has- answered Jon's question to the letter if not to the spirit of it.
Jonathan Sims	Jon rolls his eyes again. "Didn't think so. Worth a try."     He huffs out a breath. "So... I still need to get Michael's statement, yes? There's information there that will help. And he'll give it to me when I hand myself over to him." He frowns. "And then... there's not much time left, is there? Before I... die." He swallows. Hard. His fingers flex on the stage, as if he's trying to clench his hands into fists and is stopped only by the fact that he's leaning on them.     "It'd be a lot easier if I understood why," he says softly. "But I guess that's the point, yeah?" He shakes his head.     He pushes himself up to sit up straight and dusts off his hands. "So... we're sealing the wellsprings temporarily, and there's a way to do so permanently, which we're working on. Once that's done... I presume Michael has a Plan B? Care to share /that/, so we'll know what to do once I'm back from the dead?" He swallows again. "...Presuming I manage to come back from the dead?"
Michael Demiurgos	Uriel considers the questions for a moment. "You've got the gist of when and where you will get Michael's statement, yes. It will be... difficult, if I am correct in what he intends. Be prepared. I'm not entirely sure what sort of effect timeless knowledge will have on the mantle you bear. It's not something that's been tested."     He pauses. "As for what his plan B is? I cannot say for certain but I can speculate. The Wellsprings are his objective, and a necessary one at that. They exist on several layers of existence. Interacting with them on the material realm is easiest... for all parties involved. But beyond the material they still exist it's just more difficult to tap them due to the vast and infinitely malleable nature of those other realms. Specifically the Astral."     "I suspsect, were I Michael, that if I fail here on the material where sealing the Wellsprings is just as easy as taking them," he considers for a moment and nods, "then going to the Astral plane, a land of more complex proporitons for all involved would be the next step. After all, in a land where Will is currency, beings of Absolute Will have a much greater advantage wouldn't you think?"
Jonathan Sims	Jon nods slowly. "So... we make this final push, go after two more wellsprings, and then seal Michael away from the physical realm. Then things move to the Astral plane... but that is a land of /imagination/ as much as Will." He smiles. "Michael's rusty, I think. If you're right, he might be handing us a greater advantage than he knows."     He sighs. "One way or another, though... the invasion should be over within a week or two, if my timetable's correct."     He frowns. "Saint Uriel, can I ask a... personal question?"
Michael Demiurgos	Uriel nods in agreement to Jon's speculations. "That does seem to be the case. Yes." He takes a deep breath and his wings, red and gold in color flex, a coating of frost breaking off of them from their stillness.     He gives the man a more curious look at the formal request and smiles in reply before saying, "You may ask. If I am permitted to answer, I will."
Jonathan Sims	Jon fiddles with his empty coffee cup for a moment, frowning deeply. Then he finally says, "Do you... care about me, at all? As a person, I mean? Are you even... capable of that? Or am I just a... a piece in the game, to you? The Queen you're going to sacrifice, while Michael thinks he's safe, distracting him so he doesn't see the Bishops that have him caught in the crossfire?"     He sighs. "It's just... it's one thing to risk my life in my work for SHIELD, or while fighting monsters with the rest of the JLD. It's one thing to... order people into battle, knowing they might die." He looks up, and focuses on nothing much, really. There's a haunted expression on his face. "I cannot fathom ordering someone to do something I /knew/ would kill them, but... I think I'd ask for volunteers. I think, if I had to give an /order/, it'd be a last resort."     He swallows. "You set this up so someone would die. Someone you didn't even know. And, separately, you inspired Neith to create the Archive. You're the first Watcher, you're... my predecessor? I don't know, I figure I'm... linked to you, somehow. I feel like... we should be friends. Colleagues, at the least."     He looks over. "Do you care? Does it bother you, that Gaea chose /me/, a Watcher? Will you mourn me when I'm gone, if I can't figure out a way around this? Or... can you even... feel anything like that at all?"
Michael Demiurgos	Uriel takes a deep breath and lets it out, giving Jon an expression of deep sadness. "You don't pull punches do you?" he asks in response. Obviously the question is rhetorical as the Archangel continues. "Jonathan, I've known that you would exist since the Archive was born. That is one of my tasks, to know and record every bearer of that Knowledge. What you would do? How you would progress?" He shakes his head. "Those were the unknowns. As they are will all mortals. But your existence was known before your birth." His expression hardens. "And I care for each and every one of you as if you were a part of me. Because you are."     "Gaea chose you to be her Champion. In doing so, she placed on you the burden I presented her with. I think, in a way, she did it to get back at me for coaxing her into this game in the first place." He quickly adds, "Do not be angry with her. She cares about you more than... well, more than anyone, really. But it does bother me that you have to endure this... trial. This torment. This end, temporary as it may be. I wish..."     His wings flex once more, sending a ripple of golden and scarlet light across the interior of the bar. "I wish that circumstance of our involvement were different. I wish that you could've come to the source of your power by means of intuition and learning. I wish that -you- could be the arbiter of our dialogue if you so wanted." He nods solemnly. "So to answer your question, yes. I do care. I care a great deal."
Jonathan Sims	Jon listens quietly, a frown furrowing his brow ever-so-slightly. "I suppose it's always hard to watch your children grow up. To watch them move away from you, and stumble, and fall, and get hurt. Your instinct's to catch them and soothe every scrape, but you can't hover. You have to let them learn."     He looks back out across the bar. "I don't know if I can stand to watch anyone else die. I'm trying to trust in the Seal, but..." He shakes his head. "It's so hard, watching people die, people I'm supposed to be responsible for. Michael has a lot to answer for."     He looks over again, and manages a smile. "Do me a favor? If... if we fuck everything up, and I can't come back, and the Archive passes to Agnes... keep an eye on her? Help her? I trust Phoebe to figure this out, I do, but... if it doesn't work, just..." He blinks back tears. "I don't want her to flounder like I've been. She needs to know what she's supposed to do."
Michael Demiurgos	Uriel arches a pale brow at Jon and nods. "I will do my best to help her... should Phoebe's plan fail." He pauses and tilts his head. "Is that truly the favor you wanted, Jonathan?" he asks, a slightly knowing smile on his face. "To keep an eye on your child when there will be two others who will help her just as well?" He was speaking of Cael and Martin obviously. "Not to mention all the others who find her charm irresistable?"
Jonathan Sims	Jon rolls his eyes and grabs his crutch, pulling himself to his feet. "You're the reason I feel like I'm being watched all the time, aren't you? Bloody nuisance, is what you are." It's said in the kind of tone he uses to tease people he knows can handle it, people he calls fast friends.     "No, that was /not/ the favor I had to ask." A beat. "I chose this location for a reason, and it wasn't sentimentality. We've got a problem, you see--Michael's made it clear he's not going to leave the field anymore until his form is destroyed, and he /explodes/ every time that happens." He shakes his head. "I've got an idea of how to handle that, but I don't think it'd be a good idea to test it in the middle of battle, right near a wellspring, with breakable things like people and buildings around."     A pause, and then he grins widely. "But there's nobody in this part of Manhattan, and these buildings are already damaged--and there's /already/ a crater out in the street. So I figured, if I can test my theory on a willing archangel..." The grin is practically shit-eating now. Maybe this is his way of getting back at Uriel for the position he's found himself in?
Michael Demiurgos	Uriel smiles, a grin not too unlike Jon's. "Ah... I see..." he says rising to his feet. "Destroy me, and test whether or not you can contain the destruction that we create upon our physical forms are destroyed."     He nods a few times in a scholarly manner. "Very well. If your... instruction from Gaea has been insufficient to this point" he points to the gaping hole in the ceiling. "Make sure you throw hard enough."     He moves to the middle of the room. "Are you wanting to be the instrument or should I simply...self destruct?" he asks. "If you plan on doing it yourself, which is your right... can I ask what element you plan on using?"
Jonathan Sims	"Probably best that I do it, just in case a self-destruct works differently than a direct hit." Jon sets the crutch aside against a wall and shakes out his staff. Leans on it for a moment, considering.     "Hmm... darkness? Not death, but... well... you are the Light of God. Darkness should be appropriate to use against you, yes?" He quirks a brow.
Michael Demiurgos	Uriel nods and sighs. "I was going to suggest it, as uncomfortable as it will be." He spreads his wings and holds out his hands and takes a deep breath. "I am ready when you are," he says with a resigned tone.
Jonathan Sims	"Think of it as training," Jon says with a bright smile. "I somehow doubt we're getting out of this without dealing with that sixth wellspring, and... well... you know whose territory /that/ lies in, and she won't /hesitate/ to use darkness against you."     He picks up the staff and focuses his thoughts on /darkness/. Pure and utter darkness, the darkness of space. The complete absence of light. It coalesces around the ankh atop his staff--not Void energy, just /darkness/.     He points the staff at the archangel, and proceeds to pour the darkness he's summoned from the Astral Plane into the being, until his form shows signs of cracking apart.
Michael Demiurgos	As the darkness envelopes the Archangel's form the cracks and gashes appear over his body. "One more thing..." he says through clenched teeth. "You're going to want to be as fast as you can be with this... since our destruction is a beacon for others."     He jerks and red light begins to pour out through the cracks over his flesh. "The containment field should keep the alert vague enough that they won't find you quickly. So... get clear of here... when you're finished."     The rest of his physical shell explodes and a red ball of light not much larger than a excersize ball begins to expand in the main area of the ruins of the bar along with the dull hum preceding a bell fully tolling.
Jonathan Sims	"Good to know," Jon gasps; he had to pour a /lot/ of energy at Uriel to destroy him properly. He spins his staff and slams the butt of it into the ground, and then gestures at the red ball of light. A woven green barrier forms around the expanding sphere. He focuses on holding the barrier in place, using every ounce of his concentration.     "Please, Goddess, let this /work/," he whispers. But he eyes the red ball of light, preparing to throw it into the sky if he must.
Michael Demiurgos	The red ball expands and presses against the wall of the barrier. There is no sound, but the vibration of a bell tolling reverberates inside Jon's mind. And then after a moment of struggle the ball evaporates. Leaving nothing but a swirl of sparkles and ash. It seems that the test was successful.     Uriel's voice echoes in Jon's mind but not in an invasive way more coversational than anything malicious. "A little slow... but good work. You should head out if you can. They'll be in the area in a few minutes. Good luck, Jonathan. Peace be with you."
Jonathan Sims	Jon /laughs/ as the ball evaporates, and not even Uriel's voice can stop him. "We've got him!" he crows, and he'd probably jump in the air if not for his bad ankle. "We've /got/ him! Oh, this will be /brilliant/. I can't /wait/ to see the look on his smug face when he realizes I've gotten around his little trick."     He smirks and glances up at the sky. "Be well, Saint Uriel. And thank you. For everything."     Still laughing, eyes shining, he goes to pick up the coffee cups and stuff them in the paper bag, grabs the thermos, and picks up the cigarette butt. Wouldn't do to leave evidence that this was a meeting, and not a battle. Then he pulls out his phone and fires off a text to Clarice: "Ferguson, need a portal back to GCS ASAP."     By the time any angelic patrols come along to check on the disturbance, Jon's long gone, and not even the lingering colored light of one of Blink's portals remains.