1724/Log 1724

Log 1724
Date of Scene:	02 August 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Phoenix, Ares

---

Phoenix has posed:
THE SUBTERRANEARENA
MEDICAL STATION

'Gnosis' - with her loosely ID-concealing hoodie unzipped to reveal a shirt from Mac 10, Prince Paul, and Lil Uzi Vert's Weapon World 2R - arrives in the medical area shortly after escaping the uplifting clutches of the crowd, still fresh with souvenirs from her brush with godhood: bruises are still coming into full bloom around her eye, and her nose - while no longer bleeding so freely - is visibly crooked, now. Since her night isn't quite over, she foregoes the post-match drinking rituals that many of the other competitors are engaging in, choosing instead to stake out one of the cots lining what was once a lobby area and begin rolling her shirt up high enough to reveal yet more bruises wrapped around her ribcage.

"So," she murmurs to the dark-haired god the next cot over without looking up, "that was, uh. A little intense, right?"

Ares has posed:
    For John the time cooling down, recovering, relaxing... it is almost as enjoyable as the competition. There is a simple pleasure in being around the warriors who face each other, who give their all for the battle, and who live and die on one moment to the next in these underground fights. It may be a more harsh conflict, more brutal, but there is a certain amount of purity to it, even if there are elements of organized crime indulging themselves in the patronage of the place.
    But for the man who had been known as Orion, it's also an excuse to enjoy some free beer.
    As right now he's seated on the cot, leaning forwards with his elbows resting in his knees, a bottle held in both hands leisurely. He's got a bag of ice on his shoulder, and a stitch in his brow for a cut that she most likely gave him. But his features hold no malice, no ill will as he looks up and across the way at her.
    "Was a good match, you did well." He says, calm brown eyes meeting hers with a steady and unwavering gaze.

Phoenix has posed:
Tape works its way towards Gnosis' cot as her nose wrinkles at the compliment. Her hooded head lifts long enough for green eyes to lock onto his for a squinting moment before it shakes a little and she holds her hand out to the side.

"Technically," she murmurs, catching the tape so she can commence gingerly stretching lengths of it around her torso, "I did okay, and then you did real well, and then you just kinda quit-- but I guess I'll take it." Her head raises again, this time to scout around for more ice. "I would've been fine with losing, though, so I dunno why you-- nnh."

Other than a few stray bags of the stuff pressed against injured bodies, she comes up dry, bringing her head down in disappointment as she cuts herself off with a grimace.

"But, yeah, sure, it was an-- interesting match," she concludes after a beat.

Ares has posed:
    "I didn't quit," The tall man looks at her, perhaps looking to put a kibosh to any talk like that. But then his eyes slide away and he takes a pull of his beer, the bottle sloshing faintly as his eyes wander the room slowly. His voice lifts again, that deep baritone sounding almost like a restrained growl. "The situation was such that either you won, or I won but you would have been very injured."
    A glance back and he smirks a little, expression calm as he lifts his chin slightly as if tossing the conversational obligation to her. "And a match like that, money isn't worth doing that to someone." Though, no some level, the quiet growling aspect of his mind whispers to him, decrying him as a liar, as weak, as a pretender. But he ignores it, as he has grown accustomed to doing so.
    "How did your match go?" The one after theirs.

Phoenix has posed:
Gnosis' eyes lift again at that response and join the disguised deity's in scanning the room before meeting them momentarily.

{{You weren't beaten, either,}} echoes between his ears before she returns her attention to the discoloration reaching around her ribcage.

"He was good, in his way - smart enough not to tilt immediately like most of the others, skillful, strong - but he had a thing about heights," she says aloud as another colorful strip is carefully applied. "Well. Has. Definitely has-- pretty sure it's worse, now. But I wasn't about to draw things out after..."

She pauses long enough to flick her eyes up and down the length of him.

"... so after a few minutes, we started fighting on a log suspended increasingly high above a waterfall, and the rest just... fell into place," she concludes. Despite a small, tight smile towards the end of her tale, Orion can probably tell that there isn't much pride in it: she's recounting a job done to satisfaction, not spinning an epic recounting of a battle well fought.

Once the last strip is applied, she gently runs her hands down along them, wincing once or twice. "Not that I'm upset about not being seriously injured, exactly," she murmurs as she then starts rolling the shirt back into place, "but I only came here to-- to fight. To challenge myself-- you get that, right? I don't care about the money, I just-- " She lets out a sharp sigh, which in turn elicits a wince.

"Look, sorry," she mutters a moment later, "this' just a little-- new-- wondering why someone didn't fight me hard enough."

Ares has posed:
    The tall man listens to her words, eyes following her lips at times even when looking up into those eyes. When that subtle voice whispers in his mind she can see his eyes narrow faintly. She might feel the feathery touch of a whispered thought as if considering she was making light of him, perhaps speaking ill of him somehow. But then he gives a small nod as she speaks of her reasons for participating in the match. She's touched his mind before, sensed that faint duality to him, and when she's made herself known to others she might feel them try and close off, or think of things innocuous. But for some reason him? He seems to just carry on, as if unafraid of his thoughts being read.
    "I come here for much the same reason, though perhaps... slightly different." He turns his head to the side, looking at the people they faced, their recovery. Spirits are high to a degree, despite the losing, for the arena treats their competitors well. Beer, food, decent lower tier prizes. It's a place that intends to be around for a while and it shows.
    He looks back to her and says quietly, "I have a part of myself that... I am not proud of. Coming here, doing what I can allows me to maintain control." His lip quirks as he watches her for a moment, then looks back down at his beer again. "Like a beer once a month so I don't fall off the wagon."

Phoenix has posed:
"The eyes in the darkness," the telepath instantly, softly says of Orion's other half. "The prisoner-- this helps?"

Green eyes find his again, revealing eyebrows at a high angle.

"With that?" A brisk glance is cast towards the other competitors before she returns to him and murmurs, "So, you come and you win a few fights every now and again, and - as long as nobody, say, shoves you off your wagon - that gives you what you need to keep-- that other part of yourself-- what, satisfied? Quiet?" with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. "Must've settled into a pretty solid routine," she then decides before getting up and walking right out of the medical area without a word further.

Maybe a minute and a half later, she'll return to her cot, half of her shirt lumpy with ice.

"Since I very well may never see you again:" she'll softly say if her Olympian neighbor is still present, "I've got a part of myself that I just-- don't-- understand, yet-- and it's dangerous. Between that, and, just, the stress of work-- of trying to, to understand some things about myself-- this'-- I think I needed something like this. May still need it, I dunno. Certain frustrations aside... I'm glad I had the chance to run into you-- you're nothing like the majority of these hotheaded chumps, you're a fighter. It's... I don't really-- it's not something I've ever had a whole lotta cause to think about, but it's different."

Ares has posed:
    There's a small twist to his smile as he looks aside and casually holds his bottle by its neck, letting the beer slosh back and forth a bit before he tilts it back for another drink. He meets those green irises of hers and he answers merely with a nod of sorts, "That may have played into my decision a bit," When she shoved the other off the wagon, as it were. "Better to end things sooner than later."
    That having been said he turns away as she gets up and heads off. She'll probably sense him looking after her as she moves off, gaze following her for a time. But then he looks away. On some level perhaps having wished she remained. Yet that small insight will give her an explanation for the momentary positive feeling of seeing her again, even if he seems so calm and cagey.
    "You never know, but these things..." He gestures absently with his new beer, most likely acquired while she was gone, "The Fates often have a reason for throwing people such as us together. Some goal to accomplish, or some joke to laugh about." The tone of the man's voice is assured, though a hint of humor is there, but in the casual glance at his thoughts she'll see that to him the Fates... are less a figure of lore and more three actual individuals that he pictures in his mind.
    Yet then she speaks on the duality that both of them face and he frowns. He had suspected something of her, considering her abilities but also that... way she seemed to tempt fate at times such as during their match. It spoke of something almost at play at times, "Find something that helps ease the pressure upon you. If not this, something else. For years I fought against it, fought against my nature."
    There's a pause as he takes another drink of his beer, shakes his head. "That was ultimately futile. I had to make... some peace with it, to accept it as another aspect of me. This is one way I concede a few moments to that nature." He looks towards the ring, then back to her. "Tell me, do you feel this helped you at all?"

Phoenix has posed:
Separated from the medical area by a few sheets of glass, the ring teems with a handful of goons and curtain-jerkers busily disassembling the cage and gathering up the sweat and blood-stained canvas for disposal. The audience has mostly dispersed, having either left for their homes or the next legs of their evenings; or broken up into mingle-friendly clusters. One or two go so far as to try and snap selfies, but they're quickly stared - or shouted - or swatted - down before they're able to make much headway.

There are rules to these sorts of things, after all.

"I-- almost lost it bad after I pushed you." This quiet admission comes after her initial response to his question, which is a moment of uncomfortable shifting and grimacing upon her cot. "Some kind of-- I dunno, feedback from your better half-- my veins were pumping lava, everything was... I mean, it's not been easy, ever, me and-- Her. But sometimes, things get, just... overwhelming..." Her fingers knit as she speaks, and by the end her knuckles are bloodless.

Whether he's taking another swig or not, Orion'll feel his bottle fighting mightily to leave his grasp; if he relents, it'll float towards the redhead.

"Honestly, it-- was-- probably-- for the best that you did what you did," she admits after having trailed into a brief silence. "Much as I hate to admit it, I-- I dunno what might've happened if we'd really cut loose."

After another beat, she adds, "I would do it again in a second, of course-- maybe minus the part where I accidentally almost got a lot of quasi-innocent bystanders killed," with an even quieter voice and a small, tight smile. "What about you?" she wonders while glancing sidelong towards him. "I mean, obviously, this helps you, but-- is this where it ends, for you? Just digging around for kumite-therapy whenever things get tense?"

Ares has posed:
    That beer bottle is released and it floats to the young woman opposite him, his lip curls amused as she takes it but he seems fine with her having it. Yet when she speaks he listens to her levelly and gives a small nod, "It was. I felt if matters escalated then someone, if not the two of us, would have gotten injured."
    The tall man nods towards her, "If you wish to practice or train then we can meet again under better circumstances if you are so inclined." His lip curls a bit as he looks over the place, even as the thugs and workers begin to break the place down. No evidence is to be left for the police, no visual records, just the memories built and the winnings shared.
    But then as she speaks to him, asking of what he does, he gets a small smile and looks away. "I... the aspect of me that I try to control, it is..." He looks away as if trying to choose the right words for her, what words might suit and not entirely declare him insane or arrogant or send her running off. Eventually he settles on them and looks back to her, "It is what is present in men during the darkest times. When they clash, when they raise weapons against each other, when they murder. The primal mind, what was there when mankind was huddling around a fire and there were creatures just outside the light given."
    He looks down and shakes his head, "So I do this, in sacrifice perhaps. Or I'll travel and get clear of mankind. Or..." He stops there, and chuckles to himself, shaking his head as he looks away and instead of saying what he intended, a faint flicker in his mind perhaps trying to block the thought, he just adds, "Things like that."

Phoenix has posed:
The redhead sits up a bit straighter as she steals a swig of beer and Orion extends his offer. She waits, however, until she has released the bottle to linger a foot or two before her and braced both hands against the frozen lumps loosely secured against her ribs to reply, "As long as we can find somewhere... I mean, honestly, desolate would be ideal, but I'd take unpopulated," while walking the razor's edge between mirth and genuine wariness. Afterwards, as Orion begins to describe his own inner conflict, the little smile and the faint twinkle in her eye vanish in favor of a furrowed brow and pursed lips. His words conjure the indelible memory of a primeval darkness pierced by the cosmic fire grafted to her soul, still as fresh as when she first courted it.

"Animistic, personified violence..." she softly exhales before briskly shaking her head and sitting up a little straighter. Another sip is stolen, and then she flicks the bottle - with wrist and mind both - back towards him in a perfect line. "Getting away isn't much of a long-term option for me, unfortunately," she muses a little louder as half of her smile returns. "How long has it... been, for you? Can I ask that? It sounds like you really have figured out a routine for keeping yourself... I dunno, I guess, balanced? How long did that-- take?"

Ares has posed:
    "Ah," Orion lifts his eyes upwards then he looks towards her. "If I am to tell you this much," He extends his hand towards her and then says levelly "Then best we know each other for true?" As he says that he holds his hand ready to accept hers as he murmurs, "My name is John Aaron,"
    Should she accept his hand he'll give hers a shake, just a small double pump, firm... but not aggressive. And then he'll settle back, having taken the moment to liberate the bottle of beer from her and smirks a bit as he takes a sip, should she allow the booze to pass hands.
    But once he settles back on that cot he tilts his head towards her, "I should tell you that I have reached a measure of equilibrium with my nature. It has taken some time, two hundred years now and counting. But I am able to accept that part of myself, and call upon it in times of need. There was a time a few weeks past that I allowed myself to become what I once was. So long as I have a clear enemy, comrades at my side, and an objective... then I am happy."
    But then he seems a little trepidatious as he turns his head to the side, "But as to a routine..." He'll meet her eyes, "May I speak plainly?"

Phoenix has posed:
"-- Oh."

Green eyes fall to a great, powerful hand; rise to briefly alight on brown eyes; fall; rise...

"-- I-- "

...

"-- my name is Jean."

Her hand is practically enveloped in his when she finally offers up her name. He gets the same firm, determined shake as a parent with hesitations about trusting their child to an upstate boarding school for weirdos, and then she, too, settles back into place with only a minor amount of wincing.

From there, she's content to nod along here and there as he speaks about himself, attentively taking in what he's willing to share with her until--

"Two how many years??" bursts forth after a double-take and she straightens up for a moment before crumpling, grimacing, and tightly wrapping an arm around the ice for a couple seconds.

Everything after that-- it isn't that she stops listening, but she certainly doesn't have an answer when he asks for her permission. Green eyes scanning incredulously over the whole of him as her mouth hangs slightly ajar is as good as it gets for an answer, at least for the moment.

Ares has posed:
    He's seen that before, the incredulity and yet she could glance into his mind, see when he mentioned those two hundred years the flicker of images that were summoned to his mind, memories of the past, clear images of years gone by and a different time. Flashes of the world at war, of a steam ship on the Mississip, old cars sending horses into a tizzy on the side of a road. Faint tags of memory that are tied to the recollection.
    And then she stops at his declaration of age and he smiles faintly. He forgoes telling her what he does as a routine to quell that daul self, for truly part of that is not entirely what he would consider for the ears of a young refined woman such as herself. But he instead tells her, "My family... I was born into it many years ago. We each have aspects of ourselves that are otherworldly. Abilities that are tied to that defining aspect. For me, it is as I said. The darkness of man's soul, war, conflict..."
    He looks aside and she'll sense no subterfuge to him as he speaks, nor as he takes that sip of beer. He looks back and speaks what he believes to be the truth, "I have talents connected to those things. In the past I've gone by other names. But now, I just prefer to be called John Aaron."

Phoenix has posed:
Incredulity deepens for a couple of beats before beginning to melt into acceptance-- which in turn shatters with a visible jolt some moments later when powder and blood tickle Jean's nostrils and the dread choir of Normandy fills her ears.

After that, her eyes bounce frantically about for a second before refixing upon John. Swallowing, nodding, she listens and tries to ignore the gears churning away to process the clues he's given her-- is giving her. He could be some new-- old-- breed of mutant, ancient and advanced; or a shaman, the latest in a long line to forge a connection with power from on high; an alien, perhaps, well-practiced at couching his nature in comfortingly familiar terms.

Regardless of what he is, one thing is certain: the hooded telepath's been staring a hole through him since receiving that jolt to her psyche, and it's only after he reiterates his preferred name that she notices, blinking rapidly and ripping her attention away to look aside from him as she softly utters, "Your secrets are safe with me, John." After a short exhale, she brings her eyes back to his in an effort to better assure him.

"I died-- I-- oh, God, holy shit, it was almost a year ago-- hh." After taking a beat to once again look aside from him and breathe in as deeply as her body will let her, she lowly continues, "I was a-- I wore a costume, y'know? And then I died. And maybe three months ago, I just-- I-- stopped being dead. Crashed into the home I'd left behind, with no idea what happened, and-- not alone."

The beer finds its way back to her for another swig.

"I still have a costume, but it's-- this is... different," she concludes.

Ares has posed:
    The tall man listens to her and smiles a little. She can feel the impulse, to try and offer sympathy, empathy, to share the burden at least to some small degree. He nods once as she makes that offer of silence on his own secrets, and she can read in his thoughts that he will hold hers with the same consideration. "Ah," He says succinctly, then he elaborates, "When I first died..." He looks up and lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck, but then offers her the bottle of beer again if she wishes to have some more. "I believe I was eight. I awoke and I was standing at the head of an army, a blade of obsidian in my hand."
    As he speaks she can see the hazy memories brought up, can see him looking up towards the great sweep of a mountain that seems entirely too large to exist on the planet. Can hear the roar of the army behind him. He turns to look at the thousands of men arrayed behind him, can see his features in the shine of a brass shield... a child dark hair, crimson eyes with rage in his heart. And then she can see that reflection, can see him raising his sword as those thousands of men rush up the side of the mountain seeking to put all who dwell above the clouds to the sword.
    "I raised my hand against my father, and he told me I was his son. And from there..." He waves his hand to the side, brushing away his own words. "Perhaps this is something similar for you. Perhaps you are part of a new pantheon."

Phoenix has posed:
'First died' provokes a visible recoil; when the deity eventually gets his bottle back, it's empty.

"I mean, you clearly win," Jean murmurs as empty glass floats towards John's grasp, trying to fake her way to wryness as an otherworldly mountain and the throes of battle flicker in a corner of her psyche casually overlapping with the surface of his. Of course, once she actually receives visual confirmation of the young god-general, even her facsimile-smile can't quite hold as her expression melts into shocked disbelief. As he explains, she begins to shake her head - slowly at first, but gradually gaining in speed - and by the end, her hands come up to wave off any thoughts of godhood.

"All I did was blow up a space station to deal with a parasite problem," she quickly explains, "'s nothing-- nothing divine about that-- definitely not, uh. Rebellious, if you're suggesting that that is a key part of pantheonhood." With a quick, shaky breath, she brings a hand up to nudge hair up under her hood before dropping both into her lap, where they knit tightly.

"I was definitely not as accomplished at 22 as you were at 8. So there's that."

Ares has posed:
    "Well," John looks at her with that openly compassionate gaze, his smile gentle as he offers her some small lifeline upon which to grasp and draw herself forwards. "It is different for those of my family. I may have been that age for centuries. I have been told that I existed before then. It's just... well that is my earliest memory."
    She can feel the truth in his words, not on a universal level, just on the level that he himself believes of what he speaks and when he speaks the memories that are conjured forth do not seem to have any of those subtle tell-tale marks of planted thoughts, or feigned imaginings... unless he were somehow a greater telepath than any she's known.
    Yet that is rather doubtful, considering the... simplicity of him in some ways, and in the flow of his thoughts.
    "But it is clear that you carry much with you on your shoulders, Jean." He cants his head to the side, curiousity still evident in his thoughts and feelings. "If such troubles you... then it is up to you to try and find the routines or rituals that you can find to hold yourself together, to distract you from that which you fear." A small smile again, "If I can be of any aid, then you have but to ask."

Phoenix has posed:
The smile Jean gives in return is small, tight, and grateful. Green eyes lock with brown as his thoughts trickle through hers in red rivulets. His assessment draws a stiff shrug and a momentary wavering of her gaze; regardless, as soon as he offers aid, her eyes grow glassy and numbers begin to etch themselves into his memory, like a business card slipped into the folds of his mind.

"Whatever's-- in me, it's just another thing at the end of the day-- I mean, you're right, I do have a lot on my plate," she murmurs while 'writing'. "But that was true before, too-- it's just complicated, now." Following a small sigh through her nose, she brings a knuckle up to massage her temple and amends, "More complicated. Still-- thank you for being maybe the nicest person who's ever fucked my nose up?" Her smile grows just a little. "That's my number; visualize yours real hard."

After a beat, her eyes widen a little as she draws her psychic contact back some.

"Assuming you-- I mean, you're not, like, half a luddite or something, right? On account of being super old?"

Ares has posed:
    A snort is given as he looks away and then eyes her askance, the features shifting into a look as if he were considering not giving it to her. But a small chuff of a laugh slips from him as his eyes lift and he shakes his head, "I have a cellphone, yes." And he offers her the number in his thoughts as he meets her gaze.
    But once that's done he gives a nod, "Don't worry." He leans back against the wall, arms folding over his broad chest as he sits there on that cot. "I'm sure you'll get me back sooner or later." That having been said he lifts his chin and then tells her calmly, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Jean. Do keep my secrets and I'll keep yours. And if we meet in the ring again, do be gentle." His lip twists into a wry half-smile as he gets to his feet, rising to his full height and offering her his hand should she so wish to accept it.

Phoenix has posed:
"Thank-- " Jean begins to murmur while pulling her phone out-- only to pause, furrow her brow a little, take a glance up at John, then return her attention back to the screen while pursing her lips

"-- well, good," she decides to go with while tapping. She looks up in time to catch his promise and watch him rise; as his hand extends, his phone - wherever it may be - receives a message*, if it's on.

"You, too, as it turns out," she replies while standing to slip her hand into his, squeeze, and shake. "And you have my word: nothing you told me leaves this place. The rest... well. We'll have to see, won't we? I feel like I kinda owe you..."

(* ::prisoner emoji:: ::boxing_glove emoji:: ::fire emoji::)

Ares has posed:
    A small smile as he turns away from her, "Ah, a promise and a threat." He glances over his shoulder and smiles towards her. "Til then, Jean." And with that he moves back across the way of that medico area, walking towards the open cooler of beer bottles and liberates one final one for himself, shaking and sliding the ice off the glass with the sweep of one hand. He twists the top off, turns back to face her and lifts it in a small salute to her, then takes a sip.