Owner	Pose
Askante	Sunnydale's an odd place. Hellmouth. Impure demon mongrels crawling all over the sewer and crypt systems. But it's also got a lower population than a lot of the rest of this area of New Jersey, for obvious reasons. Maybe that was the motivation for what happened to the Church of Du Lac. It was ruined anyway, mostly abandoned, potentially condemned in some places but now? Occupied. Maybe three days have passed, with a growing awareness for certain fear-sensitive individuals of a Great Fear growing in Sunnydale, a blip on a radar that spans the planet, but still significant. The interesting thing is, people avoided this place anyway, but Demons of the earthly mongrel kind have been avoiding this area too, which makes it surprisingly safe for the human population nearby. And inside the firegutted place, a kind of nesting protocol has occured. Old blankets, scraps, ancient looking chests, they've gathered in a kind of beaver's lodge of pile near the old tabernacle of the unhallowed ground. The shape of primal fear is currently ferretting about in that pile, opening things, examining things, looking over old and dusty nick-nacks and peacefully sniffing a weird collection of doohickies.
Phobos	Sunnydale is also curious for being close enough to a myriad of other cities whose background brings the arcane and the marvelous to the fore. Close enough to be in the orbit, close enough to be a draw, if only by the fact that travel passes close enough. And there is often a feeling of a draw to that small suburb of the greater cities. Which might have been the original reason the Olympian youth known as Alexander Aaron had taken to spending time there in the first place.     For it was always a curiousity to find what individuals dwelled here, what events occurred there, and feel the repercussions change the subtle tapestry of the town with their passing. For momentous events can be evoked, yet the humanity that were there in many ways turned a blind eye. Though they could sometimes feel it.     Of course the uptick in subtle dread was a thing that Alexander was more aware of than others. The world's fear was always a faint white noise in the distance or the back of his mind. A hum or a purr depending on the state of humanity. Though entering Sunnydale he could feel that hum differ. Like a new texture layered on the sound which grew stronger. Here.     The doors to the church opened with a faint /thud/, echoing in that damaged interior.
Askante	Askante's head turns. Pitch black eyes glimmer in the faint glow of a single torch in a dry spot, glistening like oil. The black creature scurries up one wall with a flex of long fingers and all limbs working, to what remains of the rafters, there to flatten and peer over the edge, tail hanging down like that of a cat. Long fingernails tap-tap on the wood, an up-and-down scale of motion as it watches, guages even. In ancient greek: "Nobody here but the chickens!" and latin, just in case "...I do not need what you are selling!" With a hiss for effect. Several smatterings of other old languages are tried out, though likely they are just as inaffective. THe subtlety of this atmosphere is noticeable, in that it is a pervasive 'Go away from the dangerous things, THIS CHURCH WILL EAT YOU ALIVE' kind of feeling that does absolutely nada, if you happen to be Phobos. But maybe being hit by a small bit of plaster on the foot might have about as much effect. Someone's throwin' stuff.
Phobos	He certainly doesn't look like someone that would investigate an old ruined church. He's wearing that ubiquitous uniform the people of this time seem to have settled on, this era's version of the Toga, the blue jeans. Augmented by the just as ubiquitous t-shirt. Though they came in such a variety. This one was black and had a silhouette of an irate Flamingo sneaking up on a child playing in the dirt.     He was blond, calm, seemingly utterly unaffected by the ambiance and that tension that such a place can create. Then the plaster smacks into the ground and he lifts a sneaker up to grimace slightly.     In ancient Greek he snaps sharply, << Latin is for deals, and legal agreements. Greek is for civilized people to converse. >>     Yet as he speaks there is a subtle echo, as if two other voices were speaking the same words within his own.
Askante	Askante leans up a little, peering down at the strange configuration of entity it can perceive. Its head tilts, then more and more, until it's actively looking at the fellow sideways. And then the other way. <<I know some of you. You have flavours. That's interesting... like honey and dough with bitter almond.>> It flips itself upside own, hanging by four slenderfingered grips, then flips itself so it lands after a sommersault on the floor in a crouch, infront of its nest. The head tilting occurs again. It has clothes itself, but it all looks old and plain, the coat it wears looks like a wild west duster, mainly because it -is- one. Straightening up then, it rustles quills as it draws close, looking down at the young blond man without a blink in sight. <<Huh. Phobos? What in the name of Gaia happened to you?? You've replicated.>>
Phobos	<< War happened. >> An explanation, if not an entirely clear one. Yet truthful, for the two iterations before him fell both to Ares' sword. And he ascended through the War for Olympus.     Stepping further into the grand old church remains, gutted by the fire and ruined so, it does not steal away the curiousity that the young deity holds. He advances, but seems mindful that this may be what the creature considers home. So he pauses, brushes a hand over one of the pews that seems like it might have endured better than the others, then takes a seat there with the wood creaking ever so slightly.     << Do you not speak the language of the current time? >>
Askante	Askante watches carefully, a silence following as it considers what was said. It's very likely that it is contemplating the metaphor and the literal at the same time. <<Olympus was always interesting,>> the way it says that last has a variety of inflection to it that bespeaks of ancient chinese curses, to the trained ear. For its part, it picks rubble. THere's a lot of that and it can perch rather well, with that long tail curling around for balance and support, hunkering on its haunches with a pair of elbows on its knees and the other pair made bonier for steepling hands infront of its face. Black eyes peer over the top; in their depths a tiny white star glows, providing the helpful guidance to the direction of its regard, as a normal eye would have a pupil. <<No. I became lazy, several aeons ago, as the tongues of men change so often. I learned greek, it was a requirement.>> It likely wouldn't have a lot of luck with modern greek. <<And I have been the victim of a pernicious thief. I slept beneath the west, when the west was won and lost and won again. They built a hotel on top of me, then it fell into the ground in an earthquake and I woke up inside of it. Many of my things are gone... likely looted. I think it was Huns and Visigoths. There was writing on the wall.>> Graffiti.
Phobos	The way the young blond man watches the creature, it's clear he's intrigued but his mind moves in purposeful ways. Likely instilled by his father. Instantly what is important to him his voiced as he says simply, << So you are awake now. Do you intend to stay awake? Or would you rather curl back up somewhere else and return to slumber? >>     He turns then and looks around the old church, it does have some hint of malice to it, beyond what the fire did to it. As if the fire were guided or had some purpose that sat ill with the church itself. For a few moments he looks thoughtful, then he looks back to Askante.     << You have three paths I imagine. Least effort would be to maintain. Stay here. Become an oddity to some of the other beings that wander these streets. For there are many, you have chosen a strange locale for yourself. >> Alexander chews his lower lip thoughtfull while he follows the line of Askante's hands, then back up to those glowing eyelets.     << Second to least effort? I can aid you to find somewhere where you can create a home and let the ages pass again. >>     He takes a deep breath, << Or what would take the most effort. You do what you can to become of this time, to take part in it. For in the abstract it is truly a remarkable time. The people of the world have opened to much that was beyond their ken only ten years ago. Magic, the supernatural, he otherworldly. It all is still amazing, but also recognized if not entirely accepted. >>
Askante	Askante laughs softly to the words. It's actually a rather nice sound, melifluous, for the fact that it's voice hovers between a high tenor and a low contralto. It picks up rubble, looks about the old church and tosses the stone masonry to another pile. <<This is a place, like many others. I am not particularly attached to any where, or sadly to any when. I knew you once, now perhaps I will come to know you again. I hope you're more polite, you were a right donkey's backside a time or two.>> It plucks up the tip of its tail, holds it like a security blanket kind of affair, trying notions though the sucking of cheeks and teeth, quills softly rattling once again. <<I woke because there was reason to. That has ever been the way, just as I slumber when there is an age that has passed and I am not needed for a time. If I wake, it is for a reason, Phobos. I do not yet know what that reason /is/ but surely, all things come in time. Since when did you find the tongue of the Grey sisters, that you speak like augery?>>
Phobos	<< I found it the same place they left their eye and tooth. >> Alexander replies with casual aplomb though he looks to the side and away. For a time his gaze distances as he lets a few thoughts wend their way through his mind, perhaps shepherded by the other voices that at times try to ply their inheritor.     Shaking his head he looks back with those curious hazel eyes, then uncurls a hand as he gestures, that old symbol of rhetoric at least hasn't changed. The motion of the hand opening when one offers answers, as if the person they are offered to could take them. << Some years past there was a war. Beings from other worlds trod the Earth and it brought forth an awakening of sorts. This is a time of heroes. A time of realization. Fear comes along with such tumult. You could find a place, assuredly. Though you will have to endure. >>     He pauses to chew the inside of his cheek and murmurs, << There are beings of magic. Practitioners amongst whom you might find a place. They could prove accepting if you trouble them not. Despite your nature perhaps? >>
Askante	<<Somehow, I think you jest, son of Ares.>> It laughs that soft laugh again. <<So all things once again, come back to Gaia. She is a nexus, in truth.>> An age of heros. That makes it look altogether thoughtful, at the hand held out also with those silent answers proffered like mannah, to evaporate in the light of the sun. It listens again, as the flavours of fear are a subtle thing and it seems like Alexander's head is having words with itself. It almost goes a bit cross-eyed looking square at the olympian's third eye, blind though it might be. <<Mankind needs me. I think it will become known in time, what my purpose will become. An apocalypse, it seems, has befallen.>> THe opening of the veils, in actual factual fact! <<There are always those that have need of me, not for the fear of me, but for the nature of me. That, I doubt will ever change. But this world is -strange- Phobos! What was once simple has become a twisted briarthorn that tears minds to pieces. How is it that men are now afraid to talk? TO look another in the eye? How is there so much fear of simply /being/?>>
Phobos	<< Stems from the unknown, a lack of trust, deeply held beliefs that clash. >> There's a twitch of a smile on his lips, then adds. << And some enjoy the creation of fear. To lend significance to their actions, to lend an illusion of power to them as well. In a world where most of the great battles have already been fought, definition of self becomes the battleground. >>     His hands rest on his knees as he leans forward and looks thoughtful again, pale eyes gaining that faint hint of golden ringlets deep in his irises. He draws a breath, holds it, then considers. << There are some that might offer you solace. Though you would need to trade for that solace to hold meaning and weight. What have you to offer one who would succor you through your time of adjustment? >>
Askante	Askante snorts softly, pointing a finger to its own eye and flicking it toward Phobos. <<I see thee, three by three. Clever clever.>> But it hunkers again, letting one pair of hands steeple once again. <<I suppose it is an order of magnitude. A tyrant on an island is little more than that and can influence only as far as he might throw his stones.>> It weaves its fingers together <<BUt it was always connected, Gaia, that is. I suppose it was only a matter of time before human kind discovered all that connects, here and beyond.>> It rests its chin on those woven-together fingers, watching Phobos intently. <<YOu are prettier than the others. Maybe a prettier face is a kinder fear. Maybe you are what is needed to stop the powderkeg or blow it up in the right places...>> it waggles each of its fingers like a spider having a paroxysm <<...no barrier can stop me, Phobos. Such was true five thousand years ago, as it was true thirty thousand years ago and beyond. I have been used many times, for the power to go beyond.>> It jerks its chin toward the young olympian <<I snuck many through the silent ways, to the courts of Hades, through the ancient places to the Underneath and the Dreamtime. Many things were lost there and many things were found again. Plus, I have my shinies. I want the Crow's gift back. The son of Yahweh is looking for it, pretty lightbringer.>>
Phobos	The youth seems to draw inward, a breath that is held, pushed down, then exhaled through the nose in a sound of a grumble that might remind one of Hephaestus at his forge. It speaks of displeasure or discomfort, but the insight needed to know exactly which is likely a thing beyond the now and for an accumulation of tie.     But the expression is twinned to the declaration of prettiness, kindness. It sits ill. << You misjudge. >>     At first that is all he says. Then he elaborate. << What you do or have done. What you seek and why. None of it matters to me. Right now you are a thing to me. A curiousity. And I may do well for you even feeling this way. For I am also selfish. I am used to things as they are and you are discordant. >>     As he says these things that some may well take harshly, and rightly so, yet he smiles. Such features so beauteous and such casual elegance when one has the sight of him true, like a lover sliding a dagger between ribs and smiling when he does so. << I'd see you settled so things are no longer discordant. I'd see peace around those I find interesting if only because I wish for them to amuse me in the future. Now if you can offer this benefit, the passing of ways to them and their own, then perhaps that will pay for your passage. For I want naught from you. For now at the least. >>
Askante	Askante sighs softly, a long huff that ends with a shake of its head and a rustle of sound. What thoughts might swim like elusive minnows under the blackest black of its gaze remain its own. The tip of its tail flicks and curls like a cat's. <<The more things change, the more they stay the same,>> is said very softly. <<Speak plain then. Are there those you wish me to assist? And what deal do you strike that would have me help them on your behalf? You speak of the giving of solace, but I can find that in the quiet and the dark, in my own time. You have no need of me, you say so yourself and seek to quiet my presence. That did not work in the past, either. But I sublime. And there are things that should be afraid.>>
Phobos	A small sigh comes from him, exhaled as he looks to the side. Those whispers in his ears speak such ill of poor Askante, speaking of advice given that is neither gentle nor pleasant for the solitary manifestation of the terror beyond the light.     Alexander's mouth closes, tendons bunching, then he looks over towards Askante, << No, but they might be the type of people that would offer safety to one lost while that being takes the time to adjust. So that they are not so discordant. >>     A pause and his features shift toward a scowl, though whether that scowl is aimed at the creature or more at himself is difficult to discern clearly. << There are those that live in this town that... they work with the supernatural. And they seem to be of decent character. Naive some might say. But that would be uncharitable. >>     Then he crinkles his nose, << If you must do aught for them, then protect them even as they protect you. >>     Then his nose crinkles, a curiously young expression on the features of a diety of such pedigree. << As for myself I need little. >>
Askante	Askante tilts its head again, the other way this time. It has a certain resemblance to a dog, attempting to figure out what you're actually saying in that gobledigook hooman speke. <<You are -very- odd,>> it decides, waving all four hands at the walls around them, a strangely elegant gesture, as they do so in different directions, then form artistic angles with one another. <<There is a gateway here, like many others. I have no intention of strifing those you care over. I am not malicious, cruel or unkind and I not take what is not freely given. You speak of discord, but I was born to protect the tribes of men. There are far worse things in the dark, than the likes of I.>> It thinks about that a moment, then snorts a laugh. <<Although I think I might have made a few additions to the collective subconscious at times...>> it looks at Phobos with its eyes narrowing now.
Phobos	<< Still. >> Alexander plants his hands on the pew and pushes himself up to his feet. << I can feel the way the world reacts to the tensions around it, and you cause a heightening to that which for now is... intrusive. >> His nose crinkles again.     << I'd prefer it to not be so intrusive since I occasionally enjoy wandering around here. So you see, selfish. This is a solution without too much madness and chaos. >>     That said he stuffs his hands into his pockets and makes a face, "I'll send one of the chuckleheads here to pick you up."     But then he frowns and falls back into Ancient Greek, << I'll send one of them here to pick you up. Go with them, and start your new era of adventure. Find your balance. >>
Askante	Askante arches an eyebrow, then the other. Tiny lines of fine spines, they're nevertheless there. <<There must be a jest here, somewhere," it mutters to itself and backs up steps toward its nest, crouching there. <<I will be here, I suppose. I have claimed this place, for now. It serves as a shelter as much as any cave does.>> It offers that, then settles its rump on the top of a chest, picking up a couple of tiny wooden animals that look like they were children's toys, once. They're set gently aside. <<If you do ever find yourself in need of me, I am sure you will find me again. They will certainly tell you the way.>> It waves a hand to the god, a strange little toodle-oo of pinky and ring finger.