2125/Consulting with a God

Consulting with a God
Date of Scene:	22 August 2017
Location:	Sunnydale, Bludhaven
Synopsis:	Buffy needs to consult with Ares but she doesn't have his phone number. Time for some ancient rituals to try and summon the God of War.
Cast of Characters:	Buffy Summers, Ares

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Buffy Summers has posed:
    "Willow, I think you've lost your mind," Buffy muttered under her breath as she sits in the cemetary with the makeshift alter in front of her. She was kneeling before it. Laying atop it are a variety of weapons along with a brass bowl. Front and center is the hand axe that had been gifted to her by the God of War. A gift for battling well at his side. She liked to think he was at her side and he was the sidekick but he would probably argue that point. Course, with it resulting as it had, it wasn't something she was going to push either. She didn't ever want to bring it up. If not for desperation, she wouldn't be bothering to reach out. Unfortunately, she hadn't gotten his phone number and tracking him down by conventional means was proving rather tricky for her resources.
    So here she was, summoning a god. Well, asking for an audience really. She consudlted her written notes again then frowned, flipping the page over as though hoping to find something on the other side that wasn't quite so ridiculous. No luck. What was on the front page was all there was.
    She began putting in the handful of ingredients. Then she picked up the hand axe, raising it toward the sky. "If this doesn't work and I find pictures later on youtube, you all are dead." There was no one around to hear the threat but it didn't stop her from saying it. Taking a deep breath, she repeats the words.
    "Oh great Ares..."
    She had to pause. Otherwise, she was going to burst out laughing. Forcing herself to calm down, she tried again. "Oh great Ares, I beg ... really? Beg? Fine fine. I beg you to grant me an audience. I offer you this gift." She touched the blade of the axe with her hand. It was sharp enough that the barest touch parted her skin, allowing blood to flow into the bowl with the other ingredients. A faint green glow appeared and she arched a brow. "I seek your...oh c'mon. Boon? I am not using that word. Look, if you're listening out there big and scary, I need some advie and I didn't have your number. So maybe if you aren't busy, you can give me a call or stop by Sunnydale? Oh yeah, and this is Buffy. It's not an emergency but I kinda need to know a little about some of your critters. So yeah, uhm, call me?"
    She takes a cloth and wraps her palm, shifting to sit cross-legged on the ground.

Ares has posed:
    The laws that regulate even the gods are obscure and arcane things, difficult to navigate at even the best of times. Sometimes there are connections made, between the past, the future, the sacrifice, and the prayer. Sometimes it requires a giving of not just the material but of the self. And then, on top of it all, it connects to the mood that the being supplicated to holds in that current moment. Thus it is always a roll of the dice when bidden, the ritual embarked upon and held at the behest of their needs. This time, at the least, the roll of the dice do not bring something else before her.
    Tonight, in the cemetary, the shadows darken and lengthen even as a faint roil can be seen in the clouds. Then there's a preternatural growl from the fabric of the world, protesting the profane work of magic that is used to twist it and cause the portal to manifest before her. It's but a moment, a single moment of a glimpse into a world of grey behind him...
    And then there stands the man known as John Aaron, dressed in his usual jeans, sneakers, and a t-shirt... and an apron around his waist that shows an entirely too happy cartoony Thor with his hammer raised and oversized lips with his eyes closed. And under that cartoon is a caption that says simply, 'Kisseth Thine Cook.'
    "When you called I wondered who it could be, but now here I stand incredulous that it was you performing the ceremony." There's a pause, then he adds. "I had no idea you could read."

Buffy Summers has posed:
    "Holy Bat-signal, it worked!" Buffy scrambles to her feet, backing away a little as the rift opens. When the God of War steps through, he isn't quite the picture she expected. Yeah, she's seen him as John Aaron. She's seen him in his mortal guise. But with the whole summoning and words and sacrifice, she thought he might be in his work clothes. All metal and helmed and stuff. The apron earns a long, hard look as she stares at the depiction of the Avenger aka Nordic god. "Into the Norse pantheon now? Don't they already have a war guy or something?"
    Then his words sinke in and she frowns, eyes snapping to his face. "Hey! Of course I can read! Don't go getting all rude or I'll...I'll...I'll unsummon you. Or...something." Not high on the intimidation scale but she holds her shoulders back and her chin up as though she's a match for a god.
    No wonder he thinks she's stupid.

Ares has posed:
    "It was a gift," John says simply, his expression dour though a smirk flickers to life against his better judgement. And, of course, he's not going to take it off for now lest he forget it here in this godforsaken... oh Sunnydale. But if he had forgotten it, well there would be heck to pay. "And yes, they do."
    That said he steps forth, the portal shrinking with barely any fanfare behind him, he looks around at his surroundings, then lowers his brown eyes back towards the diminutive form of Ms. Summers. "What is it you need, Slayer?" He smirks again, "I was making dinner."

Buffy Summers has posed:
    "You cook?" comes out of her mouth, tone incredulous, eyes wide. "That has got to be the weirdest thing I've ever heard. And I've heard a lot of weird." Buffy doesn't back down a bit, looking up at him without being intimidated by his size. Nor his manner. They fought alongside each other once. That makes them allies. Well, once he got over that whole stabbing him and messing up his ancient jacket thing.
    "I think I've got one of your things running around and I wanted to ask about it. Find out how to kill it. You told me to let you know if anything else happened so here we are. I really need to get your cell number."
    She reaches into the pocket of her jacket and takes out a picture, offering it to him. On it is an illustration of a two-headed serpent. There is the image of a hero facing off with it, holding a sword. The serpent is about twenty feet long approximately by the comparison of sizes. "This is the closest picture we could fine but the one I'm dealing with has three heads. And a sword doesn't do a thing other than make it mad. The battle axe bounced right off it's scales. There's also been a couple of sightings of lamia but I don't know if that's related to this or if it /is/ this. I haven't seen one so that part might be rumor just cause this big snake is slithering around town after dark."

Ares has posed:
    "What, you imagine I eat nothing but take out?" John does, however, begin to unlace the apron from behind his back. The string ties are undone and he slips it up over his head to fold it /neatly/ into quarters before stuffing it into the back of his belt. There, now he won't forget it. That done he levels his gaze at her. In turn he then looks at the illustration.
    John's brow furrows, expression curious as he considers it. He looks up at her, then back at the illustration. He grunts, "Could be several things. Hydra, Lamia, a powerful Gorgon." He hands the drawing back to her and murmurs, "Without better evidence I could not give you proper advice."
    The tall man folds his arms over his chest, expression narrowing as he murmurs, "My initial inclination is to track it down and handle it. But if you are to be this land's protector then you must handle these matters yourself." He shifts his weight to the other foot and frowns, "But I can give you information if you can procure a piece of the creature. Or tell me what it preys upon."

Buffy Summers has posed:
    "Yeah, no. I'm not asking you to do anything about it. I just want to know if it's one of yours. I do the monster killing around here," Buffy points out with a bit of pride in her voice. While she laims she wants to be normal, the truth is she loves this life. Well, when she isn't to die. Then it's not so much fun. She might lament proms and dances and date nights with normal guys instead of vampires, but she still needs this. She needs the hunt, the adrenaline.
    "Eat? Well, the other night it was some cheerleaders at the school. Mainly, there's been a lot of lost dog and cat posters going up so I'm thinking domesticated pets were the appetizers."

Ares has posed:
    A small frown mars the tall man's features as he taps fingertips lightly upon his upper arm, eyes distancing in thought as he ponders the possibilities. A moment passes, another, but then he shakes his head and murmurs, "Any remains or left overs from whatever it has consumed? Have you found its scat or possibly a hunting blind that it has used?"
    Ares steps to the side and then takes a seat leaning against the side of an old raised tomb that probably dates from the earlier turn of the century. He draws his lower lip between his teeth and chews on it for a time then shakes his head, "There are too many variables as you have placed before me. To know more we will have to narrow the field further. What has your Watcher provided you? Any information?"

Buffy Summers has posed:
    "The picture I gave you and the fact it could be from a dozen different legends. Yours was only one of them. So I was hopeful." Buffy shrugs. Which means her Watcher didn't know she was doing this tonight. Someone did since she's not the real thinker of the group and never would've come up with the ritual alone. She knew it was a long shot. She probably shouldn't have bothered him at all. But if he'd been able to say 'oh yeah that's a Jabberwockie and you can use a plastic spork to kill it' right away, it would've been so worth it. "And no, I haven't gone looking for monster poop. EW! That's absolutely disgusting!"
    She shifts and finds her messenger bag that she had laying to the side. One by one, she picks up the various weapons off the small alter. They disappear into the bag. The last to go is the hand axe which gets a little twirl in the air before disappearing into the bag.

Ares has posed:
    "Yeah, well, being the Slayer isn't all candy and gum drops. Sometimes you'll have to get your hands dirty." John admonishes her ever so patronizingly even as he leans to the side. He pushes a rough and calloused hand through his stubbly hair, expression troubled and distant. But then he shakes his head again. "I will speak with your Watcher, and perhaps we can come up with a course of action. But you will need more information and evidence."
    Pushing off of the tomb, John gains his full height, towering over the slip of a girl. "But, in the future, I recommend you use a most arcane device called the Cell Phone. In fact there is a place on what has been called the Internet that stores the names and numbers of individuals. Perhaps you could seek there for my information before you tempt fate."
    But at that he smirks and produces his own cellphone, holding it out to her and hitting the bluetooth icon to share his information with her should her own phone be receiving. "Alright?"

Buffy Summers has posed:
    "Alright, smart ass. I get my hands plenty dirty as the slayer! You haven't seen some of the nasty, slimy things I've had to deal with." Buffy's ticked. She walks right over, poking a finger into the middle of his chest and glaring up--way up--at him. "And for the record, there are about two hundred John Aaron's listed on the internet nad since I didn't know which city you even lived in, I couldn't figure it out without calling every single one of them." She puts her thumb and pinky out, making a mock phone with them and holding it up to her ear.
    "Hello, Mr. Aaron? Yes, is this the Mr. Aaron who happens to be the God of War? Ares, Mars, that one? Sir, please stop laughing at me."
    She hangs up the hand-phone by putting her hand down to her hip.
    A moment later, she has her cellphone out. A quick swipe of the finger and it opens then it beeps as the phone number is received. "Thank you ever so much." Which sounds more like an insult than gratitude.

Ares has posed:
    At that John laughs, just letting himself do so. Yet he slowly shakes his head, "Yes, well. Perhaps there are a few wrinkles in my otherwise unassailable plan. But still." He gives her a nod, pointing at her with one fingertip as if to make sure she's listening. "I will make myself available should you need aid. But in the future, no more praying. You could make a mistake or focus at the wrong moment and suddenly you're dealing with a demon who is marginally not as nice as I am."
    That having been said he gestures behind him, causing the portal he had come through to flicker back into life, swirling into being with a whorl of motion that sets that small part of reality on its side, like some twisted funhouse mirror without a frame.
    He steps to the side, "Now, if you have said quite enough, I shall return to my efforts in the kitchen. By your leave." He says the last a little sarcastically.

Buffy Summers has posed:
    "Demons I know how to kill at least," Buffy mutters under her breath as she picks up the bowl and dumps out the contents on the ground. Then she puts the bowl into her bag as well, glancing over as he prepares to go. "Still haven't figured out how to take you down though. Working on it."
    Her smile belies her words as she turns, giving a nod of the head. "Thanks for coming, John. I appreciate it." Then she watches as he disappears as quickly as he appeared.