The Virtue And The (Ex)-Temptress

Aron bids adieu to Usha, and leaves Azalea to speak with the new Seraph. He hies himself toward the Halls of Creation.

The Halls of Creation are, as ever, busy.

The Halls are, in fact, throbbing with activity, movement, music, banging and swearing as one hits a thumb, and all the sounds of creation.

Aron pauses, a moment, to savor the sensation. Folding his wings about him in a bruise-black cloak, he heads in.

<> Demiurge says "Does Aron know where Daimon's rooms are, or is he just wandering?"

<> Aron says "He's wandering and asking, I think. He doesn't know where Daimon's rooms are."

Several souls are cooperating on a mural down the corridor, with Van Gogh leaning over the balcony to criticise. A Mercurian is escorting a soul who is clearly new to the place and looking for someone. A group of relievers hover round a doorway.

Aron makes for the relievers.

The relievers fan out in a whirl of colour, like luminescent goldfish. One burbles, "Can we help?"

Aron nods. "I'm looking for Daimonique's rooms and, more specifically, Daimonique herself." He dips and picks up a bit of stone, running his thumb along the grain thoughtfully.

The third reliever along flips a red-and-purple fin. "I can show you where her rooms are, Virtue."

Aron flips the stone into his palm and nods. "Please do."

The reliever leads Aron along a set of corridors, and to a particular room. There is a covered plate outside it.

<> Demiurge says "Meanwhile, I will assume that Daimon has found an obliging place that serves drinks in the Bazaar, if that's where he wants to try - or he could go to the Glade, or back to the Halls of Creation."

Aron considers the stone and gives it to the reliever. "Thanks." He considers the plate, and picks it up before knocking on the door.

<> Daimon is in the Bazaar, looking for a bar.

The plate is heavy, and there is something chocolate-smelling under the cover. There is no answer to the knock, but a door a few doors down opens, and a Mercurian peers out.

Aron calls down, "I don't suppose you've seen Daimonique recently."

The Mercurian is Melchior, known to Aron for his fondness for writing crime fiction, origami, and matchmaking. He blinks.

Melchior says, "Yup. She was heading off with Faber, then down to the Halls of Worship, I think, then the Tribunal, but that was a good hour or more ago."

<> Demiurge says "Would Aron know Faber? Malakite of Creation, holds the Word of Forge, dates from somewhere round the Industrial Revolution."

<> Aron says "I would imagine so."

<> Aron says "I have this feeling that Malakim of Creation tend to know each other. We're not as tight as Malakim of Flowers, but still."

<> Aron says "There aren't THAT many of us."

<> Demiurge says "In that case, you know him."

<> Demiurge says "Decent guy. Tendency to drink."

Aron looks surprised. "Faber of the Forge?"

Melchior nods.

Aron says "Your fault?"

Melchior shrugs. "He was up to check on some things, smelt Rachel's cake, came wandering down this way. I just introduced them." There's a faint smirk to his tone.

Aron purses his lips. "Bravo." He sets the plate back down. "I'll see if I can't track Faber down, then. Thank you."

Melchior says, "Was that recent unicorn thing inspired by you, by the way? The one by Ellen Brookson? _White Knight of Legend_?"

You paged Aron with 'One of your dreamwards, yes. She wrote it.'.

Aron looks uncomfortable. He nods. "I'm fond of her work."

Melchior says, "Hey, I liked it. Nice stuff."

Aron smiles a bright, true smile. "Thank you. She's quite special."

Melchior grins. "Keep it up." He vanishes back into his room.

Aron picks up the plate, without thinking, and heads out. "What a nice boy," he remarks to himself before heading off to the Bazaar. If there's a place to catch Faber, it'll be cooling off with a drink.

<> Aron says "If I understood Demi, correctly?"

<> Demiurge says "Well, Aron has misinterpreted, but by pure coincidence he is heading in the right direction!"

<> Daimon says "Huzzah! Amazing Magic!"

<> Demiurge says "He wasn't to know that Daimon took Faber to feed the ducks instead."

<> Aron laughs.

<> Demiurge says "And yes, Faber enjoys his whiskey."

Aron heads towards the bazaar, chocolate cake in hand.

The Bazaar is upon Aron before he knows it, almost. Busy tents, humming stalls, clothing and books and weapons and relics and food and everything that can be conceived of, for sale. Marc's Tower rises at the centre, a poem of applied expenditure and grace.

<> Demiurge says "Aron, Daimon, both try Per rolls."

<> Aron rolls the d666 and gets 1 1 CHECK: 1.

<> Aron says "Um."

<> Demiurge says "Good lord."

<> Daimon doesn't bother.

<> Aron says "Man, I always get the good rolls at the lamest times!"

<> Daimon says "I think Aron has it under control."

As Aron passes a drinking establishment bearing the sign _Magna Veritas_, his keen eyes spot a lounging, rainbow-winged, dark-suited Daimonique. With guitar and drink. Just as the Mercurian bartender declares drinks on the house.

Daimonique has a small pyramid of overturned shot glasses before her on the bar, and a guitar propped against the stool. Before her is a small array of napkins. Her head is bent down, she looks like she's scribbling and muttering to herself.

Aron threads his way toward Daimoniquee's table. He announces himself by setting the plate on whatever clear space is left on the table.

Daimonique looks up suddenly, startled. Her eyes are filled with vision - she's not concentrating on the here and now.

The plate smells of chocolate.

Aron puts a finger to his lips and then points back at the half-filled napkin. He will not interrupt vision.

Daimonique blinks a few times. Blink blink blink. Then she says, "Hold on," and scribbles some more, until she decides she's at a good point where she can let her brain rush back in.

Aron takes a step back, once he sees she's finished. "Stand up."

Daimonique grabs all the napkins frantically and shoves them into her coat pocket. She grabs her last shot, shoots it back, and stands up wobbily, uncertainly, and definitely drunk.

Aron watches her, expression unreadable.

Aron steps forward, a moment, later, and pulls her into a fierce embrace.

Daimonique oofs, and hugs Aron back.

Aron is silent for a time, his arms tight around Daimonique. He lays a kiss against her brow and pulls back. "I am," he says softly, "very, very sorry that I couldn't come sooner."

Daimonique blinks a few times. "Zzzzzzzzokay. I took care of it. Everyone got out alive. I made sure. I kept Sephar and Sarah safe." She waves a hand. "Everything but my faith. But itssss okay, I didn't need that. Why is the world spinning? Is this a new Heaven thing?"

Aron looks wry. "No, it's a very old thing and not entirely of Heaven." He pauses. "I brought cake."

Daimonique says "Wow, you did. That's very cool of you." She reaches out a hand to the bar. "Very very cool indeed. I'm afraid I've, um, been drinking for a little while now. But not TOO much."

Aron nods. "It's what one does in a bar."

Daimonique says "Why don't you sit down? Everyone else is. Sitting, I mean."

Aron nods and takes a seat. He folds his wings behind him before uncovering the plate. "Have a piece; Rachel made it."

Daimonique settles carefully on the seat, picks up a fork, and takes a bite of the cake. "It is good. It's very good."

The cake is the same Special Dark Chocolate Cake that was being eaten earlier.

Daimonique eyes Aron suspiciously. "You're being nice. What are you up to?"

Daimonique says "What's your game, Malakite!"

Aron looks momentarily perturbed. "People keep asking me that."

Aron says "I've always thought I was generally nice."

Daimonique says "'splot. But it's good cake."

Aron attempts to parse that, and achieves moderate success. "I can't adequately describe all the reasons I'm here, you know. I suspect you have some empathy for that."

Daimonique nods slowly, in a way that her head won't fall off. "I think so. And if I don't know so, I'll try to be generally empathetic."

Aron's expression slants wry. "You don't particularly have to." He settles, more comfortably. "In short, I suppose it could be summarized to: I missed you, and I was worried."

Daimonique blinks, and looks at Aron for a long time. And then finally says, "Thanks."

Aron makes a soft sound. "Don't thank me. Tell me you're all right."

Aron says "Or tell me you're not all right."

Daimonique says "I dunno know if I'm all right. I'm physically perfectly fine. Everyone is physically perfectly fine."

<> Aron thinks he should have some link to this bar or bartender from now on or something.

<> Daimonique says "It's a very profound, holy bar."

<> Daimonique says "And it serves unlimited whiskey shots on my tab. Therefore it is Good."

<> Demiurge will think about it.

<> Aron says "Well, yes, but I'd like to think God gave me something more than a round on the house."

<> Aron grins.

<> Demiurge says "Trust your GM."

<> Aron does, indeed.

Aron cocks his head. "That seems a dodge."

Aron says "It is a boon, yes, that we are safe. I agree."

Daimonique waves a hand. So it's a dodge. "It coulda been far worse. It almost _was_."

Aron nods. "I know." He steals a fingerful of icing. "But it was still bad, Daimonique."

Daimonique says "It was bad. Of that there is no doubt." She squints her eyes at the cake. "It was not something... something Sephar and Sarah should've ever seen."

Aron says "It was not something you should have seen again."

Aron says "We - I - let you down."

Daimonique says "Well... not twice in one day, at least. Even when I lived there, I didn't go back twice in one day."

Daimonique says "This is very good cake."

Aron nods. After a moment spent cleaning frosting from his finger, he says, "Extraordinarily so."

Aron says "Oh, by the way."

Aron says "I don't suppose you could teach me to play the guitar?"

Daimonique blinks, and then suddenly grins. "Of course I can."

Aron smiles, the light of it all the brighter for its rarity. "Splendid."

Aron says "Shall we go buy me a starter model?"

Daimonique says "I'm a little... okay, what the heck."

Aron slips off the stool and waits.

Daimonique carefully gets off the stool, and waits until the world stops churning to pick up her guitar and toss it over her left shoulder via the strap. It jangles.

The Kyriotate server drifts across, and begins picking up shotglasses and stacking them.

Daimonique stands there, trying to figure out how to leave a tip.

Aron holds up a finger. He steps up to the table and, with a focusing of essence and will, reminds the world that there is a lump of clay between his hands. He begins to shape, quickly and surely.

Daimonique finally gives up, and decides to, wobbly, follow Aron around.

Aron leaves, in time, a clay cornucopia, complete with muddy fruit a'plenty. "That'll do nicely, I think, for a tip."

Daimonique nods slowly. She shouldn't have had so much to drink.

The Kyriotate smiles at Aron with several mouths. "Thank you, that's lovely."

Aron dusts a bit of loose clay from his hands, though they remain relatively muddy. He nods to the Kyriotate, equably, and turns to Daimonique. "Up, up and away."

Daimonique nods. "Sure. Just, um, lead the way."

Aron does, in fact, lead the way. Of course, once he's in the bazaar, it's a meandering and slow sort of way.

Daimonique looks like she can do meandering and slow. She just falls into pace at his side, and squints at the people and the booths.

The Bazaar is humming with sound and light and colour.

<> Daimonique says "Lessee, light, color, whiskey. Oh bad. :)"

On one side, a coffee stall offers the finest black coffee, "Guaranteed to sober up even Cherubim!"

Daimonique lurches in that direction. "Clearly a sign from god," she mutters.

<> Pat says "And Cherubim take their drinking seriously."

Daimonique orders a cup of coffee, looking remorseful. She had really been working on getting very very drunk.

The soul behind the counter passes across a cup of coffee as black as tar, but smelling rather better - pure Java.

Daimonique thanks the soul, and drinks it down. Well, we can get drunk again later.

Daimonique suddenly decides that spending the rest of eternity pleasantly drunk is probably a good way to go.

<> Eduardo says "Now you'll be buzzed and drunk and think you're sober. What fun!"

<> Daimonique says "YEAH! Ain't it great!"

The coffee provides stability and clarity. Or at least it feels that way.

Daimonique crushes the cup, pays the soul, and throws the cup away. She nods to Aron. "Okay. I'm a little more stable."

Aron only quirks an eyebrow.

Daimonique says "Relatively speaking."

Aron smiles.

Daimonique grins back. "Okay, so you want a guitar?"

Aron nods. "I do, indeed."

Aron says "Something forgiving for inexperienced hands."

<> Demiurge notes: not all guitars bought here can necessarily manifest on the corporeal plane.

Daimonique says "An electric is much easier to play then an acoustic, but the wires will cut right through the pads of your fingertips at first. An acoustic is what people tend to learn on."

Aron nods. "Callouses I have in quantity."

Aron says "I am a sculptor, after all."

Aron says "But acoustic sounds good."

Daimonique says "Then you can drag it around with you. An electric requires an amp."

Aron frowns. "An amp?"

Aron says "That sounds very complicated."

Daimonique says "You can play an electric without an amplifier, but the sound doesn't carry very far. The pickups on the body will pick up the vibrations on the strings and transmit it to the amp, which will make you nice and loud. But then it's not very portable. An acoustic you can just drag with you anywhere."

Aron nods. "I like that last option." He flakes some more clay off of his hands as it dries. "Have you ever given lessons before?"

Daimonique says "Yep."

Aron says "Did you enjoy it?"

Daimonique says "It was a while ago, but I did at the time. It was cool to get a good student."

Aron nods. "There's something uniquely satisfying in teaching and guiding."

Daimonique nods. "Like I said, it's been a while."

Aron purses his lips, expression ruminative. "I think you'd make a good teacher."

Daimonique says "Teaching takes time and patience. Patience I have. Time is my worry."

Aron says "No time?"

Aron cocks his head, and listens.

Daimonique says "I just wonder where the time is going to come from? Between trying to do our job and dealing with everyone in the universe wanting to chop us up into sushi, well..... I guess we just have to _make_ time."

Aron nods. "I'm not sure how teaching someone to play the guitar would be different from your job, though."

Daimonique sighs. "It's just priorities."

Aron nods. "The question, I imagine, is whose priorities."

Daimonique says "Not mine. I would rather spend all my time teaching music and writing. And living in a cave."

Aron nods. "So why don't you do that?"

Daimonique says "I've never done what I wanted in my life. I'm not going to start now. Right now I'm ordered to go back to DC and finish the investigations - with the underpinning of not getting caught again. That's what I will do, when I go back to Earth."

Aron nods. A moment later, he says, "You do know you're immortal, right?"

Daimonique says "Intellectually I know this. I mean, I haven't gotten around to dying of old age yet."

Aron nods. "My point is: there's nothing keeping you from planning for the next step. I know there's a lot on your plate now. There's too much to sift into something that allows decision-making. So say this."

Aron says "When I'm done with this investigation, I'm going to take a break. I'm going to travel. I'm going to find a student and teach him to play guitar."

Daimonique says "A break?"

Aron waves his hand. "Or whatever."

Aron nods. "A break."

Daimonique says "I, um, I don't take breaks, Aron."

Aron says "Why not?"

Daimonique says "Because I'm afraid of.... ah Christ. Because I'm afraid of stuff that doesn't matter anymore."

Aron says "I'll tell you a secret, Daimonique."

Aron says "By dint of who we are, there's not really very much that we can do that's *not* part of the Great Work."

Daimonique nods, and looks like, for once, she's actually taking something to heart.

Aron says "If you go on sabatical to teach someone guitar, you'll still be doing a world of good. If you go and spend a year on an island doing nothing but singing and dancing for the fish, you'll be doing good. Some will disagree, but ask Jordi."

Daimonique nods. "So when this is done, I should take a break. And in the mean time, I will make time to be me."

Aron smiles. "That seems a splendid plan, indeed."

Daimonique says "We need to get you a guitar. Which means finding a guitar shop."

Aron says "Lay on, Macduff."

---

Fiat Justitia