Scene #2386: The Golden Man

Owner	Pose
Defiant	The inside of the Tiamat - yet another different type of Dragon craft - is almost cramped. It's certainly cozy. With Ainsley and Bitter in the back, and Defiant and Dragon in front of the craft, there's not room for much else. Particularly when the pair of capes are each in their full set of green and gold gleaming power armor. The small-talk from the pair is rather perfunctory. Dragon's focus is on piloting the dragon-jet-ship and Defiant - well - is Defiant. The idea is a simple one, though, and Defiant was sure to relay the mission in no uncertain terms: track down Scion, try communicating, avoid getting in his way. Simple enough, right? Maybe, given the expectation that Scion will just ignore the group as is his normal modus operandi, it seems obvious why they brought along a flying mode of transport. Scion is hard to track but Dragon's claim of being able to roughly predict his movements bears fruit at the third location. A forest fire rages out of control and with a few strong winds might be set to devastate a small town. Scion stands at the edge of the conflageration, hands raised. Where he gestures, a wave of /stillness/ just presses outwards like a golden wind. The flames extinguish immediately. The Tiamat kicks into a hover and Dragon nods to Defiant, who is already pulling himself out of his seat and opening the main hatch. "Might want to get his attention, Bitter," Defiant comments, "See if he listens."
Bitter Medicine	Bitter Medicine finds some level of comfort in the small interior of the Tiamat. It reminds him of home, and for the first time in a while, that's a good feeling. If he lets the sound of the engines drone in his ears, he can just nearly compare it to the sound of the transports from Gulak. His gloved hands rest neatly in his lap, the only difference in his uniform being the classic black domino mask on his face. Simple, but effective! He doesn't really make much small talk, either, although it's clear to Dragon and Defiant that his mood has improved quite a bit from its usual. He seems more personable, in his own terse way. And of course, having never met Ainsley in person, he's sure to offer her a handshake at least somewhere in the trip. "Third time's the charm," he says in quiet admiration of Dragon's predictive software. It's much the same kind of appreciation he has for Defiant's--though he comes from a culture which appreciates and applauds ingenuity, he is by no means an inventor himself. "Very well," he says, standing up and cracking his knuckles. He approaches the main hatch and jumps out unceremoniously, firing his Plasma Thruster Array just before landing. He hovers slowly over to the golden figure, and issues an ultimatum. "Scion," he says. "We will assist in containing the fire. Upon completion of that directive, you will speak with us."
Ainsley	While the Tiamat moves, Ainsley isn't really making small talk. Despite her changes, despite the mellow smile that seems almost eternally affixed to her face, despite how dull the ride would get, she is just about as silent as Defiant is. This is because the task ahead of them is quite a dangerous one, something she would never have been aware of if it weren't for her understanding of how quickly powerful beings can hurt others. She sits with her legs crossed, her hands fiddling together, inside the cramped craft. She keeps her eyes shut through most of the travel, and the first two spots that are checked are not met with questions, only patience and a silent smile as if she were asleep in her seat. She had no need to talk along the way, none of these people really needed her to ask how they were today. She had accepted a handshake somewhere along the way from Bitter and added a warmer smile on top of that as thanks, but little else. The third location bears results. Ainsley opens her eyes when Bitter speaks. She climbs out of the vehicle, and floats along through the air to land at a comfortable distance away from Scion. Her eyes focus on his physical form, scrutinizing the Golden Man only with that same warm patience. After that, she turns her attention away and to the forest, which still smells of smoke and charcoal.
Defiant	Scion hovers only a foot or so off the ground. Ash doesn't mar him, his golden hair barely shifts in the wind. But that sense of sadness still radiates off him - it's nothing like a mental influence power, more just something like a deep sense of depression despite his blank expression. At Bitter's words, Scion turns and stares at him. He doesn't say anything. Behind him are just the remnants of a burnt out forest - although the fire still burns further north, going by the smoke and glow which manages to peak past Scion's own radiance. If Scion is aware of Defiant, Ainsley or Dragon's flying tank, he gives no sign. It might occur to Ainsley that Scion, in all his golden glory, looks like an almost stereotypical messiah figure. Weird.
Bitter Medicine	Bitter Medicine looks Scion in the eye, searching for something other than that blank stare. Whether or not he finds anything, his gaze drifts past the figure to the fire still going on in the north. The Exalt's mind scans over assets. Dirt would be effective, but the problem of delivery is too large--he'd need some sort of bag to contain the blaze. Rain would be the most obvious--he could easily take off his coat and accrue water vapor a little at a time using it as a sort of net. It should work, right? All that this phenomenon 'rain' seems to need is a large amount of water vapor. Still too inefficient. He poses the question to the others. "We need that fire out. Ideas?"
Ainsley	"I have no way to stop a fire on my own beyond calling the relevant firefighting organization nearby and telling them where the fire is," Ainsley tells Bitter, looking away from the forest and the distant glow to the north. She said it in such a mellow way that she seemed resigned to the idea that she could not contribute to this in that manner, because she really can't. It would be deluded to run off to fight a fire. "Defiant and Dragon should focus on that." She glances over to them meaningfully. "Could you two seek out some local assistance, and coordinate with them...?" Since Scion has not acknowledged her presence, or truly anyone but Bitter, the lizard woman lets out a sigh through her nose. She assesses the creature before her and determines that, indeed, he lacks anything but this vague sorrow. The sorrow pushes against her psyche like an aura... until her brow starts to crease and her eyes water a bit, as if empathizing with him in some manner. She closed those watering eyes, and then opened them again. She turned them on Scion and tried to read him, to read the part of his True Name that intersected with her own, how he communicates and how she might learn how to speak with him. She carefully hones the focus onto him in the hopes she can get something out of him while he's passively floating there watching them. She tries to find how this sorrow is being conveyed, and why he listens to Bitter, behind the alien layer between the realities everyone knows. It is invasive, but she has no idea if he'd even understand an apology or a question until after she found an answer.
Defiant	Defiant rolls his shoulders in a slight shrug, his armor matching the movement, at Bitter's question. "Plenty, however, the Tiamat isn't equipped for fighting fires." He seems to be set on saying something further, easily read through the expressionless helmet, when Ainsley talks - but doesn't. "Dragon's putting out a request," he says, after a moment. To Ainsley, Scion is a golden man, floating above the ground, staring at Bitter. And yet there's the impression of something /large/ behind him. Not large in the sense of mountains or oceans, but more of a concept. Hard to comprehend, transcendent. Vast and boundless, made of images and mirrors, like looking through glass and seeing multiple golden men where Scion himself stands. Echoes? Extensions? Something else? It's like turning on a tap and getting a fire hydrant. The sorrow extends through all of the images, every single one, the loss of something intrinsic. The loss of purpose. The loss of something so vital that Scion's sorrow replaced it, but only partially. There's a gulf there, a terrible dark thing. But why, why listen to Bitter? Why listen to Kevin Norton, the homeless man from England? Is it purpose? Does Scion derive some measure of purpose from doing this? From listening? From serving? Listening. Broadcasting. Running out of time. Energy. Destination. Agreement. And still Ainsley's focus might just lead to something, even through the myriad of defences that Scion seems to have against any sort of scrying. There's something there. A word, a title, a term that solely encompasses Scion and everything that he is and everything that he ever will be. A True Name. 'Warrior'. And his eyes are fixed solely on Ainsley now.
Bitter Medicine	Bitter Medicine is more the type to burn away sickness than stop good health from burning. Perhaps it's the stuff of his creation which tells him to save by destroying, or perhaps it's pragmatism. His mind is solely on the problem at the moment, unaware of Scion's shifting gaze. The automaton has been given his orders--it's time to see that he follows them. "Dragon, please patch me in to the first responders." Snik-snikt. Voidbane's teeth bare themselves, the gyroscopic chakram ready for use. The moment he hears the radio chatter from the local fire department, he speaks. "This is Bitter Medicine. Creating a control line to deprive fire of fuel. Over." REEEARRGH The weapon shrieks as it flies through the air, in a way that's almost human. A tree is easily felled by the bladed teeth, and the chakram returns back to its owner's hand, slowly rotating and ejecting the odd puff of steam. The Exalt flies towards the felled tree and lifts it, dragging it across the ground as he flies to create a trench.
Ainsley	Ainsley cracks open the veil of reality and sees that Scion is not Human, Parahuman or anything approaching a being that is native to Earth, or perhaps any world. He is something large and something unknowably complex, something only barely intersecting, and that's a detail she was not expecting to receive. It's an echo and it floods her sight completely. A golden man. A knight. A Warrior. Suddenly it starts to weld together in her mind, some sort of meaning behind his sorrow, something that can be understood. She understands that his real Name is Warrior, though it is not the full name. It's just what her mind processes it as. She recoils and places her hands on her face. She collapses to her knees for a few moments, as if she had been struck by something powerful. She doesn't move for a second or two... and then she slowly removes her hands, her eyes staying closed. Her head vaguely turns to face Scion and she marvels with a slightly open mouth at the entity before her. And, shakily, she tries to use what she had seen. A painful attempt, slow, as if she's a child learning a language. She first incants the phrases to translate, her body glowing. Then, despite all of her pain, despite wanting to pass out, she tries to convey something that Scion can understand. She doesn't move or speak, not physically. She communicates: Greetings. The simplest of things, a "Hello" in hopes the entity understand her or senses her attempt to connect with him on some level. She has no clue if her spell will allow her to pick up on a reply, or if she could stay conscious for it.
Defiant	"Patching you through," Dragon reports to Bitter Medicine. The voice from the fire department responds, somewhat unsteadily, "Uh, understood. Over. Do you need assistance or do you capes have it in hand?" They feel so far away, though, to Ainsley. Scion doesn't appear to show any sign of distress or concern when she goes to her knees. He stands there amidst the smoke and dust and ash and world and people and is so utterly /alien/ to it - but all those golden echoes, the other choices of the Golden Man, they're all fixing their eyes on Ainsley. He's heard her, truly heard her, and the prospect might not be reassuring. ACKNOWLEDGEMENT. The reply is voiced with violence, across innumerable wavelengths and means, through heat and motion and elecromagnetics and light. It's less of a language and more of an essence of communication, an implicit understanding - but through a medium that can only be understood by titans. It's simplicity on such a scale that it is overpowering. And so, invisibly to everyone else, the vast /thing/ behind Scion blasts Ainsley with a word.
Ainsley	Ainsley hears Scion. She hears everything behind the word, but it's not really hearing. It's Communication, the most raw essence of it, flavored with the power of the Warrior. It's a titanic 'sound' that rattles through her head and, for a moment, she has understood him. She understands him in a way no other person has understood Scion on this world before, touching the surface of something greater than herself. Sleep, she conveys to him, behind it the weakness of her mortality and her singular existence that he is likely aware of. But there's Satisfaction behind there, as if she had accomplished what she set out to do here. She is pleased that he looked at her and spoke to her as an equal, even if she truly wasn't one. She's telling him she's going to pass out with a flicker of presence, disappointment punctuating it, because she isn't ready to communicate more. And then she loses consciousness, falling face-first into the ash-covered dirt right there before Scion. Zion. The Golden Man... the Warrior.
Bitter Medicine	Being built to serve mortals, Bitter Medicine naturally has a certain respect for them. "We are without a means of direct attack," he says. "My trench will starve the fire eventually, but active suppression would be efficient and appreciated. Over." He supplies more Essence to his thrusters, grunting with effort as he drags the tree and extends the trench. If he can make it to the lake, he'll have effectively cut the flames off. He loops around, having created a barrier to stop the northern expansion of the conflagration. The tree is tossed into the air. "Linear Flight Principle!" The Exalt's palm strikes the tree, and it immediately rockets across the surface of the lake, as if propelled by a cannon. It skips--once, twice, three times, then sinks to the bottom. He looks over his shoulder at the scene in the distance. "Status report," he says to his three allies. What's going on with Ainsley and Scion? Unburdened by the tree, he flies back over to investigate.
Defiant	Scion just watches Ainsley fall into the adh and dirt. If he cares, he gives no sign. He stares at her for a few moments more, facial expression unchanging, before he turns his attention back to fire. Hmm. Well, he seems to think Bitter has that well in hand because Scion abruptly launches into the air and departs to head elsewhere, to attend to some other crisis. "Unsure," Defiant reports to Bitter, as Dragon steps out of the hovering Tiamat and steps over to Ainsley. She cups the unconscious mage's face in her gauntlets and asks, "Ainsley?" Still, it looks like Bitter's going to have the fire pretty well handled, particularly when the local fire department rolls in some air support.
Bitter Medicine	The Alchemical arrives a few moments later, touching down and killing the jets of purple flame emanating from his boots. He pauses and watches Scion leave. "Hrn. Didn't fulfill his directive," notes Bitter. He eyes Ainsley. "Or... maybe he did." Not all communication is verbal, after all. "My fault for not being more literal with him." Bitter kneels beside the unconscious quetzal. "Wake up," he flatly demands. Well, no luck there. "Union medical for a brain scan and checkup?" he asks Dragon, uncertain on matters of medical nature. "Or is there something else?" Either way, their work here is finished, it seems.