832/Deity en passant.

Deity en passant.
Date of Scene:	07 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Ares, Athenaeum

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Blink (326) has posed:
People see what they want to, and with the dust settling after that brief scuffle in the park, and with a giant alien for everyone to gawk at it's no surprise that both the woman in amber and the big guy are soon forgotten about.

Ysabelle however had seen something in that big guy, there's still that hint of recognition. Enough for her to wait for him to be looking about, for her to beckon with one paper-white finger and turn.

With her hands and mouth hidden from his view, he won't see the brief movement and utterances that open a thin line of deep purple in the air. But he'll certainly see that line twist and open up to a doorway, a sunny beach noitcable within.

She doesn't look to see if he's going to follow, having already made sure that others attentions will be elsewhere, she herself steps through the portal moving beyond to wait...

Ares has posed:
    At a glimpse he is remarkable mainly for the combined aspect of his height, his bearing, that powerful build. During the incident it seemed like he was about to lose his cool, let control slip from his hands so he could deal with the situation as it presented itself. But fortune played a hand in the matter, providing not just the bombastic Ben Tennyson, but the more subtle Ysabelle who was able to manipulate the poison so precisely.
    A chance to depart without scrutiny, however, was not something he would let slip by. A nod and a smile of thanks was given to the teenage boy, but then as the crowd edged in he stepped away, unslinging his jacket and wiping at it while he walked, perhaps annoyed at whatever damage or stain might have been done to it.
    But then his attention had been snared, his gaze turning first to the dark silhouette of that sorceress who had aided him, though did he know she had? Perhaps. Perhaps not. An answer to her gesture was a mere quirk of his eyebrow. The purple flicker of movement in the air shifts his gaze there... the doorway becoming real, and the tableau on the opposite side manifesting as well.
    A glance is given her, the slightly wry look to him growing moreso as she steps through the portal. For a moment he says naught save perhaps the sound of a guttural 'huh,' that slips from him. Yet he exhibits no trepidation. The challenge is there, unspoken. He'll accept it and pass through the gate.

Blink (326) has posed:
Almost as soon as he's through, another 'hiss pop!' behind him heralds the closing of the gateway between places. They're now on an island, a small white stone villa sits off to one side with a veranda already decked with a simple wrought iron table and chairs. The lapping of waves on the shore, and seagulls in the air being the only noise other than the occassional sussurus of wind through palm leaves.

Ysabelle herself has already made it to the veranda, she takes a moment to pull out the spare chair before taking her own, smoothing her skirts. She raises her voice, though only just enough to reach him; "Be welcome in my home sir, enjoy my hospitality for as long as you need it." There's a pulse of something, energy perhaps? Whatever it is, it seems diffused around the small island itself even to the orchards that can just be seen at the far tip of the land mass.

"I'm afraid I wasn't expecting guests, so refreshments are limited. Do you drink tea? Or would something cold be better?" Her accent, under all the layers of modernisation over the years, there's still that soft lilt of the Ancient Grecian, something that Ares himself would likely recognise easily.

Ares has posed:
    In the current day and age one has to understand how the world has changed. How what would have seemed wild and insane only a few years ago now would be taken as not beyond the realms of reality. Yet event the most jaded of New Yorkers with their heroes and mutants and aliens, they would be taken aback by this almost casual act of magic.
    Yet the grim man in the jeans and flannel, the way he takes this all in with that preternatural aplomb... it definitely speaks to him being something other than the local town construction worker he at least purports to be.
    Uncaring as to that, however, John Aaron advances towards the woman, his head tilting slightly at the sound of her accent though he gives no utterance or outward sign towards recognition beyond that. Instead he looks over their surroundings, then takes in a deep breath of the air, the smell of the sea and the wind brisk against his features. Perhaps a slight glimmer of amusement lights in those dark brown eyes. But then he turns his attention upon her.
    "What is it you would have of me, miss?"

Blink (326) has posed:
"A name would be a good start sir, though I'm being remiss myself." She smiles apologetically, reaching up to push the amber cloth away from her head. Immediately, the wind picks up strands of long, blue-black hair and teases them this way and that. A simple golden chain is twined into her hair, supporting an oval lump of polished amber on her forehead.

Of course there's also her eyes, turquoise and almost crystaline in appearance, catching the sun's rays and reflecting them back like a cat's would. Her smile though, that's purely human.

"I am Ysabelle Orion, this is my main home, a small island amongst the Grecian ones. And other than a name, I must admit it was simple curiousity that had me invite you here. You have the spark of /difference/ about you." She gestures with one hand, palm up and fingers straight, inviting him to the table. "Won't you sit? Or is my company wearing thin so quickly?" A single black brow raises, a querying expression.

Ares has posed:
    At the mention of where they are he gets a faint smile, just barely alive at the corner of his mouth, perhaps something tniged with self-satisfaction as he lifts his gaze upwards, again taking in the breath of the salt sea air. Brown eyes return to the brilliance of her own, his own features deceptively... earthen in some ways, haggard as if they had weathered the world.
    "Ms. Orion," She can hear the hint of an accent to his own words though it might remind her of her own in some ways, it is also tinged with... an almost mongrel mix of what the world's languages have to offer. Nothing too emphatic, just enough a vowel here, or a lingering moment of emphasis that some might consider misplaced. "You may call me John Aaron,"
    The man's voice is a deep baritone, guttural in some ways as if accustomed to the short sharp bark of intent. He uses it to tell her calmly, "I meant no offense." And with that he takes the seat proffered. Back straight, leg crossing over the knee of the other, he looks across the table towards her. "Some water would be fine. I would consider a drink but best to hold the stopper to the bottle until we can fathom what we think of each other, yes?"

Blink (326) has posed:
"A very wise course of action." Ysabelle agrees with a warm smile. "If you'll just give me a moment..." She slips inside the nearest door of the villa, out of which comes the sounds of glasses tinkling, a knife hitting wood and the sound of liquid pouring.

When the magus returns, she's carrying a silver tray holding two glasses, a pitcher of water, another of what appears to be chilled wine... And several lime wedges in a small white bowl.

"I'm afraid all my trees are either oranges, limes or almonds. So I don't have lemon to hand, but I always prefered the softer taste of limes. Hopefully they'll suffice?" It's a genuine question, though what she'll do if they won't is anyones guess.

Sitting, the woman smiles at him again. "So! How to start... You seem a man of action, rather than of words. So I shall stay plain?" Again, he's the guest, it's his call. Old proprieties die hard.

Ares has posed:
    "Please," John Aaron turns his head to the side just enough to ponder her askance, "Feel free to indulge yourself as you so wish." But then he leans forwards to accept the drink should she offer it to him, resting his hand around its base and looking upon her with a curious thoughtfulness in his eyes.
    "Yet before you begin, I would ask one question. Purely out of curiousity and to perhaps add some strength to a premise I've come to consider. You are an individual who has lived a long time, shall we say?"
    The incognito Olympian watches her for what a reaction that might engender, his gaze steady and his attention so curiously calm. If she had known him in ages past he would seem utterly unlike himself.

Blink (326) has posed:
"Ah yes, everyone gets to that sooner or later." Ysabelle answers as she pours the man his drink, adding a slice of lime and a few ice cubes. Not a single drop is spilt as she pours gracefully. After her own drink is made, she takes her seat, smoothes her skirts and begins to speak;

"I was indeed born a long time ago, during what most people now refer to as 'Ancient Greece', which I suppose answers place as well as time." She talks like one might in explaining the weather, simple news that's been lived with a long time. "It's odd, there's something in your accent that reminds me of then." She laughs at herself, "Silly I know, but if I survived due to an accident, then others could have. The world is a many splendid place at times."

Taking a moment to sip her water, the glass is returned to the table having earnt a smudge of that deep umber lipstick. "I'm a magician, which will probably answer your next question yes?"

Ares has posed:
    "Well," There's a small glance over his shoulder as he considers the spot in the air from which the portal deposited them. "I had imagined something along such lines, considering how we came to be here." The pattern of his words is somewhat formal in pacing, as if performing a ritual of sorts in the back and forth between them.
    He then, perhaps to show some measure of trust in his hostess, he takes a sip of his drink and then sets it beside him. "So here I am before you. A curiousity having caught your attention, momentarily dismissing the harsh doldrums of such a long life, yet lovely in a way as if verifying to you that there is still aught to perceive anew in this old world?"

Blink (326) has posed:
Ysabelle laughs, the sound not unlike silver bells chiming in her whimsy. "Oh there is /always/ something new to learn. Either new just to me, or new in general. People are inventing new things all the time, and technology can be so much harder to comprehend than magic ever was. They have things now that do /wonderous/ things." Her eyes are bright, face animated as she talks.

"And now we have you... I've met mutants and super heroes with various different explanations for their skills and talents. But I've yet to meet someone that had venom spat on their face, and simply got /annoyed/. Plus there's that sense of bearing to you..." Her snow white brow furrows just a little in thought; "So I suppose my main query is, who is the being behind the name... I /may/ call you Mister Aaron. Words speak volumes." Parry, reposte, these are not just manuvres of the sword, but of wit too.

Ares has posed:
    Yet the target he presents before her is a touch ephemeral, as if she were playing at a duel in which she was blindfolded in a closet with her arms tied. Though, in all fairness she is handling herself quite well considering. But this Mr. Aaron is a man who seems entirely at ease with who he is now, at this point who is to pretend which facet of him is the mask presented.
    He answers her as he looks across the table, "Must I be some sort of knot to be sliced in twain with the brush of a blade? Would you not prefer to take the time to consider the lines of the problem set before you, where each part connects and entwines? Would you have all the answers presented before you so easily?"
    The tall man shifts his weight slightly in the seat, easing to the side as if growing more comfortable with the premise of his words, "Why not take the time and enjoy the novelty of the mystery? I will grant you this at the least, for on some level I might owe you a touch of gratitude considering what passed earlier with the other beings." He flares his hands somewhat, as if surrendering at least part of the mild contest, granting her some small measure of conquest. "I will admit that I have seen much in my allotted time here on Earth. Some of it fantastic, much of it not so."

Blink (326) has posed:
She smiles again, maternal indulgence or scholar's patience, it's difficult to say which, if not both. "A gregorian knot has only one answer. Though you asked I speak plain, so I did." She pauses, another sip, a single drop of condensation sliding down the edge of the glass to rest against one pale finger.

"Though I do not mind the challenge. All knowledge is worth having, but nothing /worth/ having is easily attained." She lets her hands return to her lap as she studies her sparring partner some more.

"Though your words ring true, much of what transpires in this world isn't glorious or wonderous, but horrendous. Though it's these contrasts that makes the amazing more so, don't you think?" Her crystaline gaze never leaves his, all her attention on this conundrum before her.

Ares has posed:
    "Ah, Ms. Orion," John's brow furrows faintly, as if saddened by his words. "I am afraid I am far from amazing," He turns his head to the side, chewing the inside of his cheek for a moment before he looks back towards her. "I am old, yes. I do not know the exact reason for such immortality, it has simply been mine as long as I have known it."
    The tall man uncrosses his legs, then recrosses them reversed. A deep breath is taken, "I began my first lifetime, perhaps... one hundred ninety, two hundred years ago. I've lived in various countries, fought in several wars. But great deeds have not been mine." There is sincerity in his voice, and it is not feigned for the truth is there, shielded behind word choice and subtle misdirection.
    A wave of his hand is given, as if brushing away all of this as if it were nonsense. "I seek only to live my life as I can. I have a job. I work construction. I have a son. I have a modest home. I simply wish to... exist as I am."

Athenaeum has posed:
The magician listens filing away the information spoken, and perhaps unspoken as she does. "The greatest of men inspire great deeds in others rather than performing them themselves." It's an odd choice of words, though there's the ring of truth to them. Although for that, all she has to do is believe them herself.

"I think everyone eventually desires some form of quiet life, a family, a home. It is the human condition to want to /belong/ isn't it?" Her own smile turns a little sad, regret flashing through those bright eyes, gone again almost as quickly.

"I apologise, it's rude to pry. Perhaps then instead, I can get to know you as you are now? Those men certainly seemed to underestimate you."

Ares has posed:
    "Ah," John furrows his brow as he looks away, recalling exactly what that was all about. He shakes his head, "Well, that is a situation that I regret. But I am trying to remedy it as I can." He turns his head to the side and a scowl lights upon his features. With a short twist he causes his neck to give a faint crackle of cartilage popping, then looks back to her. "Yet it is no secret. Perhaps, if you wish, you can follow up on it and see what you can find out."
    There's a moment when his smile breaks out slightly, "Since being immortal I'm sure you're terribly bored and looking for things to do." Is he making light of the moment, teasing? Perhaps, but without malice. "But well, with long life comes success monetarily for the most part. I have benefited from finding items of worth and holding onto them until..." He offers a small shrug.
    "In any case, I collect antiques. And there was an auction a week and some ago. I won it, but the person that I was victorious over... he took it poorly." A breath is taken as he grimaces, looking away, but then back to her, brown eyes holding hers. "So this person has come up with several schemes to try and gain the items back, including attempting to break into my home. Those men at the park, they worked for him I believe."

Athenaeum has posed:
"He must really want whatever you have." Ysabelle offers quietly, once he's finished talking. "You'd be surprised how many things I suddenly find myself doing. You help one man defeat one infernal creature and suddenly you're back on everyone's radar..." She pauses, flushes a soft pink at her cheeks. "At least, I think that is the correct way to use the term?" Sooner or later, if you're unstuck from time you begin to lose touch with the current banalities.

"If you need somewhere to keep your items, or if you son becomes a target." She gestures behind her, taking in the villa. "I have other places I can rest, you are welcome to come stay here a spell." She manages not to grin at the pun, but there's a twinkle of mischief in the old magus' eyes.

Ares has posed:
    "Please do not take offense that I do not accept your offer, for truly despite your lovely manners, you could just as easily seek to do me and mine harm." He holds up a hand, perhaps to forestall any objection. "But if you wish, feel free to find the man I have been seeking, a Mr. Berl apparently. Of New Hampshire I am told. That is all I've gained so far, and normally that would be enough... but it seems he has gone to ground."
    "Now, dear Ms. Orion. If you would be so kind to offer me what you would of your story? I trust it will be more exciting than mine, so allow me to live vicariously through you."

Athenaeum has posed:
Ysabelle smiles that maternal, indugent smile of hers. "I would have been surprised if you had accepted Mister Aaron. Though I must admit to finding your candor refreshing. Most would have offered some banal comment or other about 'thinking about it'. But the offer stands, should we be able to find one another again."

With that settled, she takes a moment to compose her thoughts, stalling with another sip of water.

Athenaeum has posed:
"And yet you would be so quick to find out all about /my/ tale?" Her smile blossoms into a grin, her own hand raising to forstall any argument. "Or perhaps you think I am old and lonely, and thus quite happy to hear myself prattle on..." She laughs lightly with self depreciation. "Alas, you are probably right. At least a little... Let us see, would you rather an exciting story, a summary of what I get up to... or something more specific?" Her head cants a little, dark hair falling forward over one ear.

Ares has posed:
    The tall man reaches for the glass of water again and tilts it back to take another sip, only now he holds onto the glass as he settles back into his seat. "I would not imagine curtailing or attempting to adulterate a storyteller's delivery. Speak as you would. What you don't speak on says as much as what you do, of course."
    For a moment he holds her gaze, the calm brown of his seeming subtly edged as he looks almost past her, or through her. A breath is taken as he gauges her, but then he adds before she can get underway, "But if you would prefer to keep some mystery, I can understand that desire. It would be terribly rude of me to deny you that option. Wouldn't it?"

Athenaeum has posed:
"Maybe more hippocritcal than rude." She opines lightly, continuing the spirit of their conversation. She settles back, considering a moment. "Well, most tend to like a good myth, so perhaps I'll start there." As she begins, her eyes take on a far off quality of their own, the young looking woman remembering times long since past.

"When I was a little girl, I lived with my mother and father. We had a small fishing vessel, and grew limes and oranges to sell at market." Her mouth quirks into a small smile, it's a good memory. "I wasn't as I look now of course, I had the dusky skin of our people, my eyes were the darkest brown. My mother used to call me her 'little Athena' when father wasn't listening, because of my penchant for getting into trouble due to my curiousity. More than one boy found my fist in his nose when he said I couldn't do something because I was a /girl/." Ysabelle laughs then, soft and warm at the vision in her head. "I was certainly roughshod back then... In need of some polishing."

Ares has posed:
    A short hrmpf slips from him at the mention of Athena, but as Ysabelle continues he listens quietly. Another sip of his water is taken then he sets it down on the arm of the chair, one large hand curled around the base of it. Though as she speaks he follows along with her, attentively watching the way she speaks. His eyes follow the subtle lilt of her words by watching her lips, the way her face changes with the smile she offers him and then the laugh.
    For a moment his eyes hood for a bare instant, but then he shakes his head and continues to listen.

Athenaeum has posed:
"One day a ship came. A small vessel that was listing bad but coming in fast. We all ran to see if we could help..." Her smile vanishes like so much morning mist. "A young boy, though he seemed so old to me then. Barely into his teens I'd imagine... He'd died on the crossing from our nearest neighbour, but on the inside of his boat he'd written in blood from an arrow wound in his side... 'The Romans are coming, flee!'" She pauses, taking another sip of her water. By now so caught up in her storytelling, she's almost unaware of her guest.

"We tried. Oh Gods, how we tried. Fishing vessels left as quickly as families could gather supplies. But no one knew which island he'd actually come from, and father was still out from that morning... If Alepsis hadn't appeared in his little brightly painted boat looking for supplies..." She trails off. Slavery or death was the only outcome after that army took an island back then. Had she not already been bone white, Ysabelle might still pale at the memory. As it is, the corners of her mouth tighten almost imperceptibly.

Ares has posed:
    Rome. On some level Ares takes pride in her to this day. The very artifacts this man seeks to steal from him are items from that great city's history. As she speaks his brow furrows slowly. It is not the first time he's heard such, not the first time he's witnessed the flight of refugees fleeing. He can still hear the pain in her voice, and if he reached out he could perhaps see the events that had changed her life.
    But he does not, instead he frowns, shaking his head slightly and looking away. His own memories begin to grip him, urged on by her words. Memories of Marius. Of Sulla. Caesar. He takes a deep steadying breath and then as she reaches the last few words she offers, he lifts his hand signaling his reticence for her to go on.
    "Enough," there's a pause, the space of a heartbeat. Then he adds with a wan smile, as if trying to make light of it to distract from his objection. "I would save some mystery for later."

Athenaeum has posed:
Ysabelle blinks, snapping back to the now with a small frown. "I'm sorry, I've upset you. I promise, it does get happier." Though she sees it in him, something dark awakened inside his mind and she looks apologetic. "Suffice to say, he got me off the island and started to teach me the Arts." She finishes simply, rounding off the tale in quick succession.

Pausing a moment, the pale woman lets out a slow sigh. "Maybe myths aren't the best idea for a summers aftertoon. I do apologise, I think perhaps I got a little lost in the memory." The hostess does her best to recover, but it's hard to bring your mind back from such a key moment of your history with any alacrity.

Ares has posed:
    "No," He looks across the table, "I owe you an apology moreso." But he does not clarify on that at the moment. Instead he sets the glass down upon the table before him and pushes his chair back. He gains his feet and towers over her, meeting her gaze with a small smile upon his features. "You have surprised me, Ysabelle."
    He stops and looks around at their surroundings, "I am pleased your intentions were not untoward and that we did not come into conflict." He lifts a rough hand to push over the stubble of his bristly hair, then looks back to her. "Hopefully that shall endure."

Athenaeum has posed:
"I make it a point never to get at odds with someone unless I have to." Ysabelle answers with a smile, standing also. "Shall I open a way for you home? Back to the park I mean." After all, how else will the long lived construction worker get home?

How else indeed.

Ares has posed:
    Reality seems to shiver lightly as he lifts a hand to the side, causing it to flux and shake as if a ripple were rushing through it that caused it to quaver. "No, I will manage." A gate doesn't appear, just a sensation that the world is not what it seems. Slowly it twists into a spiral and begins to contort around him. "We share this in common at least."
    Then suddenly there's the park in a circular arc around him, an image distorted. "Though I did find it interesting observing your work, as if you asked politely to be able to travel from one place to another. When I was taught how to do this... I was told to threaten the world with what I would do to it if it did not bow to my whim."
    "Another time, Ms. Orion." And with that he steps through.