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Owner	Pose
Angela	EARLIER As the Elites move away from the Lobby to fend off the wandering matchsticks, the Dawn Office arrives at the Library. "Ah," Tiphereth says. "Welcome to the Library." Nobody demanded that she take this role on but if nobody did there would have been no order to the guests showing up and the receptions would just be a huge brawl. "How may we help you?" Yuna readied her guitar case but Salvador raised his hand to stop her. There were differences to the intelligence he was able to gather already and they should take a moment to gather some intelligence for the ones who were likely to follow. "You do not seem to be the Pale Librarian." Tiphereth swallowed a grimace. "She is indisposed but if you allow me to escort you to an arena..." She couldn't quite mask her anxiety away. Salvador frowned in thought. But he didn't think for long. A quick swipe of his sword nearly cut Tiphereth's head clean off if not for Malkuth quickly interposing her lance between the sword and her neck. "I see the opportunity before us. One to shut down this monster draining this District of life." Tiphereth bristled. " Don't act like you're some noble hero. You're here because someone either feels their power is being threatened or because they want power they hope you can bring them. If all we were doing was 'draining life from the District', you wouldn't be here." Malkuth is more reluctant but isn't about to let this guy kill Tiphereth. "We can't let you run roughshod here." NOW Roland throws a wave to Ember. He doesn't visually recognize him and, in fact, barely recognizes his voice but eventually recognition hits his eyes and he says, "oh, hey man. Surprised you came out here." He didn't think a radio conversation was enough to lure someone over to the Library of all places. He knows Malkuth put out a call of assistance but out of everyone he's the one he doesn't recognize at all. Salvador is not inclined to let his charges be taken out so easily. While Philip freezes up like a deer in headlights, Salvador barely strikes at the spike hard enough to send it slightly off course. It slams into Philip's shoulder rather than his gut and pins him to the back of the elevator. He howls in pain as numerous twisting metal bits explode out of Yuna's guitar and slice the spike off the elevator to free him, but Philip doesn't immediately recover and draw his weapon instead, he's hissing in pain and struggling to get up off the floor. "Nice White!" Roland grins at her, giving her a thumbsup. Salvador pushes against Roland in an attempt to reach White but a voice distracts him. He looks towards Sarracenia of all people and his eyes widen. Philip stares at Flamel as he speaks what seems to be utter nonsense to him but it doesn't last long as he's more worried about Salvador who is looking at Sarracenia with some skepticism and shock. "You...Sarracenia." Salvador says. "Are you not with Trídéag? Why are you here?" He seems to come to a decision all on his own. "...I see. Your Association has some interest in protecting this place. I take it you are referring to the possibility that the Booked can be recovered. I should have seen the signs." He shakes his head. "But the young lady below was right, we are not noble heroes, Sarracenia. We are here to do a job to prevent the way things are in this City from changing any more than it already has." Tiphereth's blood burns away from his sword as Sarracenia has just a moment to say something back before Flamel-- --runs up the stairs. He can do it. He can pull everyone in from here. Put a door anywhere and he can just go straight to Angela's mind.
Angela	World of Scorched Girl After all that time putting out fires, you might've expected this place to be hot. But it isn't. It's snowing. And it's cold and it's early evening. You're in a town with paved roads and trolley tracks, the snow is mostly piling up on the rooftops of buildings and there are people present, wearing suits and wide brimmed hats and coats, but they're distant and their forms are shadowy and indistinct. Most of the heat in the town seems to be coming form vibrant lamposts but even this is a meager amount to deal with. You can hear the distant sound of heavy industrial compressors working in nearby factories. In the distance there is a town square where a thick plume of smoke is gradually waning down as it spills into the sky. A number of townsfolk are shifting through the ash and putting small pieces of charred wood, and bits of bone and metal into an empty Enkephalin container. But Angela is closer. She is not watching the filling of the Enkephalin crate but is instead staring up into the sky until she seems to sense the presence of the Elites arriving and looks towards them. But, really, Petra and White. She doesn't seem surprised to see everyone. Indeed, she smiles sweetly...more sweetly than she can bring herself to do in reality where she struggles with her own sense of propriety. She approaches the group, dreamlike and remaining silent like the last Abnormality faced during the war. She's barefoot but otherwise wearing a robe of black raven feathers. She walks right up to Flamel, humming a near-toneless melody, as with little warning she brings her hand up and grabs Flamel's throat, squeezing it. Her smile broadens and shows teeth as her grip rapidly tightens. She turns her head to look back to the others, serenely, but then she sees Ember whom she just doesn't know and couldn't possibly imagine. She doesn't stop squeezing Flamel's throat but the serene expression fades and her eyes blink at him. To a lesser extent, she seems surprised to see Calvin too. She mouths something but isn't entirely sure how to communicate vocally in her own head but the quizzical headtilt speaks volumes. Eventually, Angela manages a quiet, "Who are you?" to Ember. And, "Why are you here?" to Calvin.
Flamel Parsons	Getting into the head was easy. Bringing people into the head was easy. They didn't even go through the whole astral projection, they just went through. Door, straight to astral. Flamel's job was simple. What he finds there is a lot more difficult. "Oh! Thank gHHK!!" Before he digs even three syllables of a hole for himself, Angela's hand is around his throat. Here's where we get to the downside of psychic abilities: They require stable bloodflow to the brain! Surely this is a unique feature of abilities, but it's actually quite hard to summon a psychic shield if someone's got a firm grasp of your carotid.     He makes a few comical "ghk" and "glk" sounds, bapping at Angela's hand urgently. "Real!" He barely manages to sputter. "Real!!"     A flicker zips out of Ember's temple: A pair of floating, translucent sunglasses. Familiar to some, annoyingly. It looks like he embedded it in Ember without telling him some time ago. "Oxygen-deprivation incapacitation event! Backup cognitive fragment online. Activating subsapient interpretations." It flits over to Angela. "Hi there! I'm Fragment Parsons, agentic subsapient pseudotulpa embedded in convenient nearby sapient. The information that has incapacitated my origin identity is: YOU ARE CHOKING ME I AM ACTUALLY REAL NOT A DREAM PLEASE STOP CHOKING ME. The verification level of this sensation is CERTAIN."     Flamel Parsons, who does not have a carotid artery but does have a mind designed to emulate things like choking in absence of the flow in one, turns a slightly bluer color in the face.
Kukuru	With the matchsticks handled, Kukuru would really like a moment to breathe. She has enough time to down a bottle ice-cold water, at least, but she still feels excessively gross and can only asusme it'll get worse once they actually reach Angela and get into the Scorched Girl's book. The fact that the Dawn Office is here, then, is almost a relief since it means putting off having to go straight into the fire again. Salvador's response to Tiphereth greeting him immediately puts him in Kukuru's sights, and she even has her foot halfway into a portal when Malkuth gets that lance in the way. The Fixers from the Dawn Office might even see her leg dangling halfway up in the air out of a cloud far above their heads, if they're so inclined to actually look up. "That's not very nice of you. Coming to someone's home, attacking them at the door when they're inviting you in... What would your parents think?" She asks while pursing her lips in clear disapproval, not actually waiting for a response before turning her frown into a more pleasant, yet utterly polite-for-show smile. "Mmm... Never mind. It doesn't matter. We're a liiittle busy right now, so please see yourselves out. I reeeeeally don't wanna see any of you here by the time we come back, okay?" She claps her hands together with another upward tilt in her tone. She finally withdraws her leg from the portal, awaiting entry into the Scorched Girl's book. After having to contend with the matchsticks for so long, the colder climate inside the Scorched Girl's book is a welcome relief for Kukuru. It's a little chilly, but not enough so that she needs to get out a coat or anything. She'd probably be even having a little fun checking out the strangely indistinct figures roaming about if the circumstances were different, but she'll have to settle for glancing around and keeping an eye on her companions on the way to find Angela with in the book. Luckily, Angela's not all that hard to find, and Kukuru's already right by her when that hand is around Flamel's throat. "Angela! Aah, we were so worried about you... Oh, dear, dear, that's Flamel, his neck doesn't squish that way." She chuckles playfully while reaching up to tap on Angela's choking hand gently at first, then non-chalantly brings both hands up to take that hand in both of hers as a firm, yet non-harmful way to redirect Angela's hand to somewhere less chokeful. "Now, now... Ah, those two are here to help with all those book stuff today." She explains while tilting her head towards the unfamiliar-to-Angela faces, stopping short of introducing Ember and Calvin and his demonic entourage in favor of letting them introduce themselves. "And if you're looking for someone to hurt, there aaaare some uninvited guests that could use a little bit of disciplining. How does that sound?"
Ember	'oh, hey man. Surprised you came out here.' Ember shrugs as he moves to get towards the next floor.  "I said I was interested in what was going to happen here; I meant that.  But we can table this conversation for later; you seem busy." 'We are here to do a job to prevent the way things are in this City from changing any more than it already has.' "Things in this place need to change a lot more," But it was too late; he was gone by the time a reply could be formed. WORLD of SCORCHED GIRL It was colder than Ember had expected, a winter he wasn't exactly ready for, but had at least enough clothing to weather the snow.  He could activate Ifrit, but right now, it didn't seem the right time to do that, so he'd have to weather things for the time being.  That was fine, but what was unfamiliar to him was the sounds of the factories.  "What is that noise?" he asks anyone who would actually answer the question. As they approached the town center, they spotted people working.  He raises a brow because the people working were the first thing he noticed.  "What is it they're filling up?" he asks, again ignorant of what L-Corp did in the past for the most part.  His eyes eventually fell on Angela.  Somehow aware he was in her mind now.  He didn't like that idea too much, because to him, someone's mind is a personal place.   He also takes a step back when she goes for Flamel's throat.  To be fair, he did get them here.  He'd probably have done the same thing to someone who could infiltrate his mind without asking.  When part of his head unzips, he starts to freak out, grabbing at the end of the zipper and trying to keep it from opening.  He doesn't succeed, of course, but when the pair of sunglasses flies out and starts complaining to Angela, he scowls.   Seconds later, he transforms again.  It wasn't the stony form of Titan, or the feathery form of Garuda, but a new third form.  Fire explodes off of his body as he takes a more demonic look.  Claws, red burning skin, and horns.  He grabs the eyeglasses and squeezes tightly, letting the burning skin do the work.   "I was going to encourage you to not choke him, but now I want a turn," he says, full of anger.  "My head isn't your playground, asshole," he says to Parsons.   Looking at Angela, he doesn't stop squeezing the eyeglasses, but instead speaks to her.  "Ember.  It's a lot to go through, but I'm a freedom fighter, and genuinely someone interested in your hatred of the city.  Your employee Roland told me about you, and I decided to come help when Malkuth asked for aid because of the matchstick people."  It isn't calm, but he is still crushing a pair of sentient sunglasses.
Petra Soroka	"One to shut down this monster draining this District of life."     Petra is very used to the attitude of the Guests here, even though she's avoiding ever meeting them in battle within a reception. Nothing Salvador could possibly say would be novel to her-- Roland recognizes him, he doesn't recognize Roland, so the world turns. While waiting for Flamel and the rest to gather, Petra leans in front of a mirror, pulling her lips back as if to examine herself for vampire teeth. "Are you not with Trídéag? Why are you here?"     Petra leans back, looking at Sarra over her shoulder with one hand on her hip. Fourth Match Flame still glows with embers, popping and raining soot on the marble floor below her. "Damn. You better hope someone doesn't barge in here and read that out of his book, or else you might get in trouble with Trídéag." "Your Association has some interest in protecting this place."     Petra shrugs exaggeratedly, both hands palm-up. "Lilian doesn't condone any of this, just so you know. Trídéag's exactly what it appears to be. If anyone's to blame, it's me, and the devil's bargain Sundew made when she sold me her soul. If you ever see the outside world again, try to reconsider assuming the worst of Lilian."     Petra turns to Flamel's Psychoportal, waving at Roland. "Play nice; have fun." Then more bitterly for no easily apparent reason, "Whatever."     Stepping into the world of Scorched Girl, the scalding heat that was radiating off of Fourth Match Flame dies down as if blown out by a gust of wind. Rather than intensifying in corrosion like someone familiar with Abnormalities and psionics might expect, the fire of the sword withers away in the cold, quickly turning into grey-rimmed, cool ash. The sword, where it isn't blackened by the heat, seems like it's nothing but normal wood.     Petra shivers, tugging at the cuffs of her jacket to bring them up to her hands. Speaking to no one in particular, she says, "... I'm really not looking forwards to this."     Once she sees Angela, Petra ambles towards her, ignoring both the villagers and Angela's grip around Flamel's throat. Peacefully listless, she pets Angela on the shoulder reassuringly, then supports Angela's elbow with her palm to keep her hand steady in choking Flamel.     "Hey sis. You having a bit of a dream?" Her eyes aren't on Angela though, rather they're half-lidded, staring at the charred wood on the ground in her periphery.
Calvin Nash	The cold is indeed not what Calvin was expecting. It's such a surprise that he pauses, upon arrival, to retrieve a Marshal-issue lined leather jacket from his COMP's storage, slipping it on not a moment after it materializes. Angela: strangle Flamel      "HELL YEAH! SNAP HIS FUCKIN' NECK!"      Part of Calvin wouldn't strictly be offended if Flamel died of heart disease or got hit by a bus. The part of him that wants to be in the Paladins can't reconcile that. "Shut the hell up," he sourly commands Hell Biker. "Angela, need you to put 'im down. 'Sides, you're both Concord anyway. He ain't worth the trouble." He can't tell if he felt that would be the most effective argument, or if he just couldn't bring himself to make some kind of moral argument, which worsens his mood. Why are you here?      Calvin makes the mistake of not initially answering, thus allowing Chernobog to get a word in.      "What a lovely town this is. So many mortal embers, struggling desperately against the cold wind of inevitability." The tall, fungal skeleton's eyeless sockets somehow seem to regard the daily affairs of the people with quiet glee, despite the utter lack of even skin or muscle to convey it. "Mortals call the thrashing of their last moments 'death throes.' I've always found that humorous. So many errands. So much 'business.' How many are truly necessary for this place's survival, or their own, and how many are done simply so that 'something' is done, instead of 'nothing?'" His gaze slowly turns from the town to Calvin.      "I'd rather be here than sittin' on my ass waitin' to die."
White	White can't be considered sympathetic to Sarracenia's objection. It's not even clear if the momentary sweep of her gaze paused on the princess at all, afterward. She takes her priorities seriously. Likewise, it's because of those priorities that she doesn't dig her heels in here; Angela is waiting.      Drawn into another book-world, White is impatient to get her bearings. Snow and wind bring back unpleasant memories, but her supernatural body is able to resist the cold enough for now, especially if the Ice Flower's power helps with that kind of thing. Even if it bites deeper than the blizzards she remembers... Well, she can afford a bit of frostbite in a hurry.      She takes stock of the town, somewhat, but spotting Angela overrides her concern about the nature of the story for now; she begins to speedwalk closer, noticing Angela's unusual state. Initially she's focused on how unprotected she is from the cold, but the unfamiliar melancholic whimsy in her behavior isn't missed for long. White hadn't ever seen the war or its outcome, and she's not prepared for the moment that Angela's hand snaps out to grab Flamel by the throat.      She's startled, but not in the way one might normally be while someone's being strangled. She has to actually resolve for herself whether there's a clear reason to be choking Flamel in this particular moment, before she's able to gingerly reach out toward Angela's hand. Not to wrench it away, or anything so ungentle... But to try and thread her fingers underneath Angela's and exchange Flamel's throat for her hand. Angela can squeeze that as hard as she wants to.      "... What's happened... Angela..? Have you been having nightmares..?"
Sarracenia	'Are you not with Trídéag? Why are you here?'      There are many things wrong with Salvador's reply. Some are just incorrect. But the important one to Sarra in this moment is that he is here to maintain the status quo of the City. More important than that though is that Philip is almost taken out by White's attack. Sarra, caught off guard by the reply and White's almost booking someone right in front of her combined with the knowledge that most if not all here with her would probably land somewhere between fine with that and cheering for her, like Roland, Sarra is stun-locked for a few moments.      The only things she manages to say just before she is pulled into the world of Scorched Girl is, "...does that...mean you would eventually come after Trideag?" They aren't threatening the City quite like the Library is, but they -are- trying to change it. She looks over as Petra speaks up, then mmphs in annoyance and reaches to pull out a green mushroom. "I am not here as a member of Trideag. Lilian and Trideag do not support the Library in any way. There are simply people in here that need help! People that may be destroyed by your actions! Leave! And give this to Philip on your way out!" As she makes her way to the portal she throws the mushroom to Philip.      Then, poof, Sarra is in the snow world. She blinks in surprise and wraps her arms around herself, shivering almost instantly after the heat of the fires. "Wh-what? Where...?" She once again doesn't have time to finish her thought before Flamel is grabbed by the throat. "Eek! Angela! Stop that!" She rushes over, intent on breaking Angela's grip somehow.      At least, until Ember's head unzips and some talking sunshades fly out. Sarra has seen many things in her time in the Multiverse, and especially since coming to the City. But that...she yelps and leaps back like a mouse has just scurried by, then quickly puts her hands on her head as if to hold it together. "Do not tell me this is one of those kinds of books!!" she exclaims, looking a bit pale. But, Ember seems no worse off for it, and she slowly relaxes, her near-hyperventilating breathing slowing quickly. As the others start talking to Angela, Sarra pulls out a tanuki suit power-up. Then...she blinks, looks toward Angela, then at the power-up, then stuffs it back into her purse. "...maybe..." She pulls out a cat suit power-up instead. in a puff of white smoke, Sarra is left in a full body fluffy red cat outfit, covering everything but her face. It should help her fight off the cold somewhat.      'What is that noise? What is it they're filling up?'      Sarra huffs softly. "That noise is factories. And they are filling up that container with the foul energy that fuels them. Though...usually the human suffering is more of a liquid?"
Angela	Does that mean the Dawn Office would eventually go after Trídéag? Salvador seems surprised by the suggestion, but he doesn't have a ready answer for Sarracenia. Maybe he doesn't know, or maybe he just hadn't considered the possibility--he wasn't around to hear Lilian's declaration against the Head, after all. Eventually he says, "It would bring me no pleasure to stand against Trídéag. I do not know why we would. We would have to see where the River takes us. Sarracenia, your presence here makes me uncertain as to what to expect." Salvador doesn't really get much time to respond to Kukuru's and Petra's comments but he does say, "Mm... My thought was that she was hoping to restore people from the books or perhaps--" People are pulled away before he finishes whatever he was going to say, but while Petra's introduced some uncertainty into his conclusions, he'd certainly file some sort of report about this even if he might talk to Lilian first. World of Scorched Girl Angela gives Ember a slowly comprehending stare. She decides as she sees him transform he's some sort of strange offbrand Kamen Rider who doesn't use belts. She turns to look at Flamel who is rapidly turning to blue in her grasp. "Oh." She says. "You are real." He just said he was real! She still doesn't let go for a few seconds as if trying to make a decision around this new information. She is getting a lot of encouragement to keep choking Flamel here so she's not really in a hurry to let go, especially when Petra joins in. But Calvin does deliver one key piece of information that Angela would normally be aware of much more quickly and pnce Kukuru places her hand on Angela's, she finally makes herself let go, releasing Flamel. It's probably true that these people wouldn't be here if there wasn't something serious and this guy is telling her about matchsticks. She's getting an idea of what's going on out there quickly. "I thought you were a dream." Angela tells Flamel. "You've--yes, you've shown up periodically." She still seems a little hazy, sort of semi-lucid dreaming at this point. She pats Kukuru on the head with that hand she dragged away from Flamel's neck so she doesn't get discouraged. ''What is it they're filling up.'' "They're stuffing Enoch particles into enkephalin crates." Angela says with a sigh. "It's not important." It's probably good for Sarracenia's sake that Flamel was there to get choked first because there's a flicker in her eyes as she considers if she could get away with choking Sarracenia too but she ultimately decides she couldn't get away with it. It would probably be upsetting to people. And besides, White's fingers take hold of her hand before she has too much time to think about it and the decision becomes much easier. Letting go of White's hand is too high a price for something so pointless and unsatisfying.
Angela	''Hey sis. You having a bit of a dream?'' ''Have you been having nightmares..?'' "I'm not entirely sure how long I have been. I saw the umbrella and I suddenly felt so tired. It wasn't always this one, but it's been this one for a while." She exhales slowly, her gaze also tilting down to the charred remains in the distance. "I'd been trying to get to the town square. I can't reach them, not to free them. Not even to see them burn. So I'd been watching the sky." The sky is very dark and grey and thick with smoke. There are two dark black patches of smoke and the rest is a lighter grey. It's like the smoke is looking down on everyone. ''How many are done simply so that something is done, instead of nothing.'' "I've been wondering that too. I've yet to see this 'heaven' everyone's been promising. It doesn't feel particularly real to me." This is almost enough for her to let Calvin off the hook entirely but she doesn't. Instead she tells him, "I've never helped you." Which might be her way of giving him another chance to answer that initial question. She isn't sure what to say about someone who is interested in her hatred of the City. She doesn't think her hatred of the City is anything special. But she rolls that around in her head for a bit. ''The fluffy red cat outfit.'' Angela stares. It seems totally inappropriate. But she's kind of sick of appropriate right now so she just shakes her head. "There's nothing for me to do here but I still seem to have difficulty waking up." The ashen sky above crackles explosively as a building sized hand of smoke and ash and toxic particles presses down on a nearby rooftop. There is some shift in the cloud and a massive burning matchstick can be seen, impaling the clouds. The other hand reaches for it, and pulls it out. It raises the blade up laboriously as it swipes away numerous shadow people, burning them away, and then raises the matchstick blade above its head, intent on bringing it down towards Angela and anybody nearby her.
Flamel Parsons	WHEEEEEEEEEEZE. Flamel's weird little sunglasses-pseudotulpa-construct vanishes in a whiff of psychic energy. He takes a few seconds to double over and pant hard, before standing back up and adjusting his real sunglasses. "Don't worry everyone, I know you all just had different priorities and you knew I had mostly inhaled before she did that." He eventually says, smiling weakly. He rubs his neck a little -- front-neck-agony rub, not aw-shucks-back-neck-sheepishness rub. "Except for the audacious screaming skeleton, who was genuine and sincere about everything he said."     The clouds move. "Oh, dammit," Flamel mutters, finishing up his heavy breathing. "Not sure of all the details but that, hhhk, that's definitely on the enemy list. I'll-- I'll enumerate it when my breath, hahhh, is back." He plants two fingers on each temple and squeezes his eyes shut, charging energy in his skull. "Help figure out a good wakeup strategy. Anything unresolved, anything jostled out of place -- Petra, you know this better than I could right now." He defers to her, but in a 'do my job for me' kind of way, not a 'I respect your expertise' kind of way. "I'll try to..."     When the giant hand comes down, a similar giant hand rushes up to try to grab it hard, and eventually pin it or halt it before it does too much damage in followup strikes. Flamel will take a slamming impact into the ground, sinking into a small crater, but he'll remain standing as he does. A second hand, sized to match the first, emerges as he groans with effort, trying to wrestle titanically with both.     "Hhhh, where's Geed when I need him..." He grunts under his breath.
Ember	Ember would not dissuade Angela from her idea that he was some sort of Kamen Rider, but he also doesn't know what that is either.  He does transform, but it's without a belt, so does it count?  Who knows?  Still, he decides not to let the situation become too awkward and instead listens to the explanation of what is being told to him.   'That noise is factories.' 'They're stuffing Enoch particles into enkephalin crates.' Ember looks at this curiously.  Factories he has heard of because of his exposure to the Multiverse, but it's more of an understanding of a concept rather than of actually understanding the entire thing.  He doesn't understand what Enoch particles are or what enkephalin is.  Though Sarracenia seems to focus on the fact that there is human suffering behind it.   'I can't reach them, not to free them.' Ember rumbles at that, trying to understand what might be going on here.  As far as he knows, the books contain creatures or people.  Now they're containing entire worlds?  Or was this something to do with Angela's mind?  "Do you think we could make it?" he wonders aloud.  Though when she brings attention to the sky, he looks up. He squints at it; the sky very much looks like it's staring down at them.  Judging them?  This is someone's mind, or some magic book?  It's hard to say exactly... He also doesn't seem to have opinions on 'heaven'.  "Never heard of heaven.  When we die, we return to the planet and are reborn eventually.  Or at least that is what they say," he shrugs, there is, to him, more proof of returning to the planet than anything in the heavens.   'The fluffy red cat outfit.' Ember gives Sarracenia a stare.  It's like he's staring at a bug rather than looking at a person.  Shaking his head, he returns his eyes toward the sky just in time for something to change.  Angela can't wake up, but nothing is happening here..?  Is it some sort of trap?  Was there something she needed to do?   By the time the giant matchstick rises, he squints at this.  "This can't be good," he states openly.  Then it starts swinging, and he quickly moves forward.  His clawed hand draws a knife, and he immediately attempts to block the massive blade with his smaller one, channeling the strength of his form and the fire that flows through it into the larger weapon.   "Looks like it's starting to do something now!"
White	The way several people had egged on the strangling is going to sit in the back of White's mind for a while as a mostly unexplained phenomenon, but the end result is still that Flamel isn't spontaneously murdered, and that means Flamel can still contribute to resolving the situation. Good enough!      Continuing to hold Angela's hand, White follows Angela's explanation skyward with her eyes, squinting against the smoke in the air. So, she'd tried to resolve the story, or at least intervene in it, but hadn't been able to approach..? White can't make any assumptions she feels particularly confident in about why that is, so the next best thing is to look at the 'experts', Petra and Flamel. It... Doesn't seem likely that the two of them will have the same conclusions, but maybe one of them will have a clearer idea of-      Ah, they're under attack now. A giant, flaming wooden 'blade'... But it's slow enough to react to. White does what comes naturally; she squeezes Angela's hand and teleports the two of them out of the way of the strike, only a relatively short distance with a little bit of leeway for any debris that gets kicked up, but not far enough to completely split them off from the others. Flamel is intercepting and trying to restrain the smoke-beast and flaming match-blade along with Ember, so White prepares a floating array of violet glyphs above herself and starts launching multishot bursts of Black Bullets at the body of the smoke creature. She doesn't *expect* the effects to be great, since the thing attacking them looks more or less intangible and she doesn't even know if the numerous little explosions can disperse enough of the ash and smoke to matter, or if doing so would even hurt the thing! But, if she fires at as many parts of its body as she can see, she can at least test it for effectiveness in a way that others can clearly observe and draw their own conclusions from.      In the meantime, she may as well dig for more information with the Evil Eye of Analysis if she can. A creature made of smoke will probably be hard to read information from unless every bit of smoke counts as part of its body or part of the overall phenomenon, but she may as well burn all the most obvious arrows in her quiver while she waits for Petra to think of something.      If that doesn't get them anywhere, then they can improvise afterward; maybe they can brute force whatever is keeping Angela out of the town center somehow? Gotta wait and see, but White isn't going to let Angela get hit in the meantime.
Kukuru	"HELL YEAH! SNAP HIS FUCKIN' NECK!" "Noooo, Flamel's a good boy. Besides, neck stuff is kind of annoying to heal." Kukuru tries to discourage Hell Biker and Petra, but she can't help but giggle just a little. They're both supporting Angela, after all! "You are real." "You've--yes, you've shown up periodically." Angela's strange demeanor does concern Kukuru considerably, but the relief on her face is still palpable. "We're all real, mhm. And I'm glad you are, too. I hope you haven't been scared like this for so long." She half-asks half-states, leaning into the pats slightly before giving Angela one more squeeze of the hand besides White and looking over towards the crates indicated. "Enoch...? But I thought particles were supposed to be real small and hard to hold right." "I saw the umbrella and I suddenly felt so tired." "In here, or before you got all sleepy and in here?" Kukuru asks, glancing towards Flamel as the default Dream-Knower in her mind. "I don't remember seeing one on the way here or in the Library anywhere, but maybe getting a hold of that could help figure out all this..." She gestures towards the smoky sky, then peers at the big dark patches. She remains quiet for a while, too, before bending over to pick up the nearest rock/stick/other hand-sized object. She winds up, but stops herself at the last moment to kill that sudden impulse to just see what happens. It'd be impolite if she really did hit someone, after all! Instead, Kukuru drops the thing, and she waves at the big sky shapes. "There's nothing for me to do here but I still seem to have difficulty waking up." "Hmm... I guess it wooould be pretty tricky to get up if you're already kind of comfy, even if it's in a weird way." As Kukuru agrees, she looks up at the sudden explosion in the sky, stepping in front of Angela protectively while slowly comprehending whatever it is she's even looking at. Her eyes widen at seeing the matchstick blade coming down in the group's direction, and she squeezes Angela's hand protectively before exhaling sharply. "Thank you, White. It's... I feel waaay better with you here." Giggling softly to herself as she releases that hand, Kukuru stomps in place and opens up a portal beneath herself, falling right through it and dropping herself through a second portal above the smoke-beast's hand that Flamel's giant hand is already contending with. She drops right at the smoke-hand, swinging her hands at it to try and find something to grasp onto and start tearing at, focusing her monstrous strength into the comparably smaller points of just her hands.
Calvin Nash	I've never helped you.     Calvin chews on that--seemingly literally, the way he settles his jaw.     "Go on, hillbilly. Tell her why we're here."     Having allowed one demon to speak for him (and needle him), Calvin has little choice but to be honest. "It ain't about whether you helped me or not."     Hell Biker doesn't scoff, but he does rock in a silent expression of bitter amusement, shaking his head.     "I hate the way things are. Just in general. People shouldn't be so damn miserable. And the people who can do somethin' about it shouldn't be so damn mean and useless."     "Far as why I'm here, instead of somewhere else, there's people that I can't help right this minute and people that I can. Now, I got three choices. I can sit there and be pissed off about the people I can't help right this minute," he says, listing off with his index finger. With the middle, "I can give up, like Hell Biker did." And the ring, "Or I can get to work and help the people I'm able to help right this minute." There's nothing for me to do here but I still seem to have difficulty waking up.     Calvin's about to say something about dreams, and feelings, when the giant sword comes down. "Media!" A ray of restorative energy lances through the cold air towards Flamel, blue like shimmering ice yet not cold in the least. Hhhh, where's Geed when I need him...     "You gonna have to fill in. Get up, boy! Makakaja! Rakukaja!" A spell in either hand, one each for Flamel. The first, from his left, green like a circuit board, envelops Flamel's body in a web of lines like exactly that--when he concentrates his telekinetic energy, he can see it as a visible flow down those circuit lines, which seem to be bolstering the psychic strength he can muster. The other spell, from the right, is purple, and surrounds Flamel with a faintly visible web of interlocked hexagons, the near-universal symbol for taking less damage from something.     "Hell Biker, Chernobog, on the attack while Flamel keeps it busy!"     Hell Biker revs up and peels out in the snow, the flaming wheels of his motorcycle melting it into water and then boiling it into steam. A controlled spinout whips up a cloud of occluding steam, from which he hurls a volley of ice-balls courtesy of Sarra's power-up.     From that same quickly dissipating curtain of steam, Chernobog swings his greatsword and sends a blistering crescent of decay hurtling towards the giant sword. Black like grave dirt, looking like the disintegrating tatters of a mouldering funeral caul as it whips through the air, it collides with the blade physically, carrying force enough to push it momentarily off of Flamel's hands, but not by much. The more significant vector of damage is the decay it imparts to the portion of the blade it's able to make contact with.
Sarracenia	'Angela stares'      Sarra stares back uncertainly until the headshake, then lets out a sigh of relief, and for some reason her hand goes protectively to her neck.      'There's nothing for me to do here but I still seem to have difficulty waking up.'      Sarra ponders a moment. "Well...you have not slept for...how many regular decades? Much less your slow time millennia? Perhaps you are just very sleepy. But, why are you having dreams about this?"      'Don't worry everyone, I know you all just had different priorities and you knew I had mostly inhaled before she did that.'      Sarra winces at Flamel. "I am sorry, Flamel. Those...sunglasses came out of Ember and..." She rubs her arm uncomfortably. "...I have quite a few bad experiences with Abnormalities transforming people..."      'I can't reach them, not to free them.'      Sarra looks toward the people. "I am somewhat surprised you wanted to free them. Do you suppose that is some sort of symbolism? You have also been unable to leave the Library and free people?" Sarra says.      The flaming matchstick sword starts down. Sarra's eyes widen. "...oh wow..." she says, not so much scared as awed, looking up at the sky. Though, even as she looks up she reaches to the burgundy red metal lotus on her head. She touches it, and Silver flows out of it as she arcs her hand away, then forms into her hammer. "I do not believe I have fought anything like this before!" she exclaims, more excited than scared. She reaches into her purse and tosses a quartet of Bullet Bills into the air while she goes into a spin. As they come down she hammers them upward, each one thundering like a shot from a ship's cannon. She continues spinning, gaining speed, until that blade reaches them. She brings her hammer around to clash with it. "No! The City will not crush its people any longer if I have anything to do with it!" she exclaims through clenched teeth.
Petra Soroka	"You've--yes, you've shown up periodically."     That's a really really bad sign, Petra knows. Flamel Parsons is less of an image than he is a spectre, and the latent associations he carries along with his appearances in dreams are only the heights of misery. No one should ever think of Flamel Parsons when he isn't around.     "... More often than usual?" "I saw the umbrella and I suddenly felt so tired. It wasn't always this one, but it's been this one for a while."     Ah. Then Petra does know. She drew the connection herself, when talking with Regulus before, about the girls who cling so desperately to 'living' that the flames crawling up their bodies won't dissuade them. But what the fuck is she supposed to say to that?     The utter lack of response everyone else has to Angela's state leaves Petra breathless. She goes still, expression leaden, hand stiffening around Angela's elbow like she's slowly succumbing to the chill with rigor mortis. Her eyes track to nobody, lethargically rubbing Angela's back in a dim semblance of comforting her, while the fog that trails from her exhalations trickles down into nothing.     The sheer raw vulnerability of slipping into a two week long coma full of nightmares in response to Schneider's death feels like it blisters against Petra's skin. Cold metal and hot blood, their roles reversed, Petra considers how to access the vault of empathy that surely exists inside her for this very topic, and finds the lock crusted over with skin-tearing frost. If no one says anything, then she has to say twice as much, but the effort of making out even a single word feels insurmountable. "I've yet to see this 'heaven' everyone's been promising."     The bile words Lilian once droned at her, a million years in jail, on the state of 'those like us', grind like tectonics inside Petra's ribcage. Schneider, Cinder, Jay, a million others besides, pitied and mourned by the few who survive them, built up into towers and nightmares and eulogies and funerals that never even happen, piling up bodies to reach a heaven they don't believe in. Does anyone else even know what this is about? Would anyone else say their names? Does it even help anyone if Petra drags it out of herself and vomits whatever fracked oil comes out all over this dream?     Petra hardly notices at all when Flamel is released. Her hand, off of Angela's body now, holds Fourth Match Flame to her chest like she's trying to shield it from the cold. She stares up at the face in the smoke, then around at her allies as if just noticing that they're all here too.     "... Ange?" Even that one word feels like an impossible effort. Her lips are chapped, the inside of her mouth burns where the cold air brushes against it. "Is part of becoming human... lingering on things, to you?"
Petra Soroka	"Petra, you know this better than I could right now."     Another prompt pings off of some shapeless mass. The query for catharsis comes up blank and stillborn. Whatever Angela's emotions are here, Petra finds herself unable to locate any at all, for all the bitter revulsion she felt upon hearing Schneider's fate, and the convoluted guilt she felt in the weeks following Cinder's sacrifice, and the ways she promised to change and grow and fight and remember, and everything insubstantial like that.     "I... I don't know if I do." She feels like she imagines she feels like throwing up. "What, don't you all have this perfectly handled?" "Or I can get to work and help the people I'm able to help right this minute."     Calvin feels like the only one who could even approach this topic out of everyone here. The frigid and cartoonish surroundings, cat-suit and Ifrit-horns and sunglasses and giggles and no one mentioning anything about anything at all, are broken up by bone mixed with charcoal on the ground and by the skeletons in Calvin's wake. Petra folds her arms in front of her chest, the cold blade of her EGO sword pinned between them.     "Who is that? Everyone here is either alive or Enoch."     She fails to muster up a response to the smoke-thing's attack, either. When White teleports Angela away, Petra flickers unconsciously in lockstep, like a practiced dance that leaves her teleported no further away from Angela than she was. While the others fight, she reaches for the hand that White isn't holding of Angela's, looking around to relocate the town square.     "I guess we can walk there. I don't know what else there is to do. What do you think you can get out of seeing it?"
Calvin Nash	Who is that? Everyone here is either alive or Enoch.     "Everyone here's in a dream, first of all," Calvin asserts.     "Oh yeah? Shit! Why didn't I think of that? Guys, let's fuck off. It's NOT REAL!"     Calvin pointedly ignores Hell Biker. "There's the Librarians. There's the Angela that's asleep right now. And there's all the people that'd be shit outta luck if this place went up in smoke and folks came lookin' to move in and set up shop after."     "Even if it wasn't a dream, people that are alive need the help more than people who ain't." It's that utterance that makes him realize--"But you're thinkin' 'bout somebody who ain't, huh. All the things I know how to do for those people are more for us than for them."
Angela	The one time Geed couldn't make it! Angela is uncertain if she should be dodging the giant flaming sword. She's heard that if you are killed in a dream you wake up, so that feels like one potential solution to the situation here. She isn't very experienced with dreaming or sleeping for that matter and though she has seen people wake up, she doesn't really know what was going on in their head when they finally opened up their eyes. Anything unresolved, anything out of place. Angela ''has'' heard that dreams are places where you can process that which you can't process in the waking world, but considering the effort Flamel takes to stop the matchstick from crushing her suggests to her that this isn't a solution. Ember floats the idea of the others making it. "Maybe." Angela says before White helpfully teleports her away from the strike, closer to the town square she's been trying to reach but it doesn't seem like the square has gotten any closer. Angela doesn't believe that she can make it to the town square in the same way she doesn't think she can help people, so there's no way for her to reach that point. She isn't really especially motivated either. Fortunately, Ember can help Flamel with catching the blade and making it difficult for it to swing again. This is a temporary solution, of course but it buys critical time. Angela says, "This Abnormality should be much smaller, it must be feeding off the running theme and getting stronger and angrier." to White. Her hand is squeezing White's tightly and she's casting concerned looks towards Petra. ''But I thought particles were supposed to be real small--'' "I am sorry for speaking evocatively. It's people bits." She looks to Kukuru and slips with a, "Schneider's umbrella. The EGO returned here. Then I fell asleep." She grimaces upon saying the name. As White expects, explosions don't seem to be very effective--either with the bullet bills or the Black Bullets, but the Black Bullets do seem to at least disperse the smoke some even though it rapidly fills back in, Sarracenia's bullet bills when they burst into flame are actively smothered by the smoke and absorbed as the massive Scorched Girl gets even bigger. The girl lets out a faint sob and then a hiss of anger. The hand-clouds are solid enough for Kukuru to hold onto if she's a little gentle about it. She gets the sense if she squeezes too hard her fingers will just sink on through. As she tears, at it, the force its exerting against Ember and Flamel's hands weakens some, further helping them avoid getting crushed to death! Hell Biker's ice balls freeze numerous chunks of Scorched Girl's 'body', making it easier for Sarracenia to smash those bits, at least, with her hammer or Kukuru with her claws. As Chernabog unleashes a wave of decay against the matchstick, a thick chunk of it cracks off and crashes to the ground. It's not some sort of special weapon that is immune to damage. ''I hate the way things are.'' Now Calvin gets to strike a chord with Angela. She hates how things are. She's so tired. So tired she doesn't really see much value in waking up. Certainly, she doesn't see value in giving up or just sitting around being pissed. "Do you feel like you've been able to help people, Calvin?" She asks. "Or does it feel ethereal?" She's not mustering up antagonism. She just wants an honest answer. She needs to understand. The Scorched Girl eases back a little bit, ginormous black gaping eyes staring down at Angela, almost wholly focused on her or maybe her and those closest to her right now. She can't speak right now. She can only sob and suffer and be upset about that.
Angela	''I am somewhat surprised you wanted to free them.'' "I am not a total maniac, Sarracenia." Angela says. "But I suppose I can't entirely cut myself from feeling something for those who are under similar circumstnaces. But that doesn't mean I understand them. It turns out, suffering similarly doesn't make you friends or engender understanding. How they deal with it is different for each person." ''No! The City will not crush its people any longer fi I have anything to do with it!'' The Scorched Girl screams at Sarracenia and pulls rips a building in closer to block her visage from her own. ''More often than usual?'' "I don't really know the usual." Angela admits. "But I'm not so inexperienced that I can't understand the implied associations." Angela's body feels cold, as usual, though she's squeezing White's hand hard enough to create warmth. She can't really do that with her elbow, but Angela sags against her anyway, as if she's exhausted even in this dream. ''... Ange? Is part of becoming human... lingering on things to you?'' Angela shakes her head. "No." She tells Petra. "Humans forget. They're allowed to. I'd always been envious of that. But people, it lingers with them. It becomes a part of their story and it changes them, otherwise ..." She looks to Flamel, almost apologetically. "Otherwise they're rocks." In her own words, she's unknowingly echoing ideas--if in a slightly off way--that Petra had earlier shared with Flamel. "I haven't forgotten." She assures Petra. She isn't oblivious to Petra's suffering and maybe it's Calvin's words spurring her on but... "Eonni..." She says. And Petra takes her hand. Angela looks out to the town square where they burn the people Angela couldn't save. Scorched Girl continues to stare down at them, expectantly. "Every time I try to talk about it, I feel like I'm being choked. I feel like any words I can come up with are both too miserable and not enough." Say her name. You already said one. "I miss her. I miss Cinder. Somehow, I let myself care about one of my agents again." And she hasn't been able to stop this time. Say what you want. She can't cover her eyes, but she lowers her head, looking at the cobblestone and the ash that fuels the world. "It feels so...elemental. Like the cost of me not suffering is some other girl has to do it. But it doesn't stop the suffering at all for anyone. What taboo must I rip in half to fix things? What must burn?" ''I guess we can walk there. I don't know what else there is to do. What do you think you can get out of seeing it?'' Angela takes a breath and lets out a long exhale before admitting, "If I could at least ''try''... If I could at least ''do something''." Petra's hand is tightened against this time. "...The less monstrous I tried to be, the more monstrous this all became, but I can't stand a world like this, Eonni. I just can't. It's... ''everywhere''... And what's the point of walking out the door if it's no different outside of it? Even in other worlds? Maybe that's why in Woz's book I never left." There are people who need help. Calvin's certainly right about that. Angela can't pretend anymore she doesn't want to help them despite her desperate need to leave the Library. But she can't imagine it. She just can't imagine it just as she can't imagine reaching that town square. But it's not the town square she needs to reach. She needs to be able to imagine that the world outside can be more than just the burnt ash of the girls she likes.
Flamel Parsons	A sheepish, weak smile at Sarracenia. "It's all fine, don't worry." Flamel says. "Like I said, priorities and all." He jolts. Then his psi-hands gleam green. His body shines hexagonally purple. "Ahh-- thanks for the hexagons, been-- ghhhk, been trying to get funding for some hexagons back at the Motherlobe, we're still--" His struggle with the mighty giant hands leaves him jostling back and forth a moment, firmed up by his hexagonally-technical barriers. "I gotta save these bits for less pitched fighting." He whispers to himself. The green shimmering in the hands intensifies as he gets a firmer grip and screws his face up with effort. With proper volume, "Thanks, officer." To Calvin.     Petra's response gets him more tense. "Nobody ever has anything perfectly handled in Psychonautry, really! I might have this less handled than some things that Psychonauts usually have less-than-perfectly handled." He manages to keep his voice steady through the grunting effort.     As for what's next...
White	Somehow, White hadn't drawn the connection to *what* umbrella was being referred to immediately. Hearing Angela specify it as Schneider's, though... Well, she'd be ashamed if she didn't catch on at least a bit after that. Just like Angela squeezes her hand, White squeezes back. Most people would call that... Shock, right? Some kind of trauma trigger? White doesn't know the fiddly language for it. She doesn't have time to figure it out clearly, either. Her chest feels a little tight, but there's nothing for it. She just has to keep tackling one thing at a time. Again, and again...      What does she know? Her direct attacks aren't making a noticeable difference, and Sarracenia's munitions just seem to feed into the smoke-giant. Angela's probably stuck here unable to progress either for some obscure psychological reason that White can't put a finger on, or because of some issue between her and this story maybe? Petra has been in a mood White can't explain, but it lines up with the idea that she has a direct personal stake in this story; the way she stubbornly keeps using a flame-based EGO with a suspiciously relevant name now of all times adds certainty to that assumption. So maybe, Petra and Angela are both 'stuck'. Which would mean... White can't put off the solution on Petra. Even Angela's question to Calvin makes it sound like she's looking for something to hold onto, and just being physically *there* isn't doing the job.      Just as White is starting to lift Angela's hand, about to try and find some impulsive thing to try, to take an aimless step in any direction, Angela starts to feel her way around the shape of what she's holding in. White may be missing context, but she can at least sense *significance*. She can listen, carefully, and mind that neither Angela nor Petra are interrupted by what's happening around them. And, when she's done trying to shape what she's despairing about into words, White can at least make one very blunt and stupid suggestion.      "... If all you want... Is to try... Then let's try." she softly, carefully notes after far too long spent silent. There's no way in hell she can understand all of what either Angela or Petra is carrying in this moment. She's barely ever heard Cinder's name before. But if Angela needs to step forward figuratively... Perhaps doing so literally isn't such a bad idea, if they're in a story anyway. White lays her other hand over Angela's, grasping between both, glances across to Petra, and takes a breath like she's bracing herself. "We'll take... Really big steps." she says, somewhat vaguely, letting Angela lean against her but gently pushing her forward with a shoulder. "If you haven't... Reached them... Because there's too much 'distance'... Then if we run... Really, really fast... We can still get there."      She doesn't know that, of course. Even scheming to teleport the three of them over and over with every footstep, White knows it doesn't make practical sense. If it was just a matter of 'distance', she could take them all there immediately. But, if it's a matter of persistence, of just making up their minds to keep going and going even though they won't like what they see... It's better than throwing bombs into smoke hoping it'll make less smoke, she thinks. And maybe it'll be good practice for what comes after.
Calvin Nash	Do you feel like you've been able to help people, Calvin?     "Not nearly as much as I wanna," Calvin admits with a frown. He lifts a hand to shield his eyes as the giant matchstick crashes to the ground. Hell Biker and Chernobog wind up for another attack.     "Hold it," he says, holding up a hand.     "Interesting."     Hell Biker pretends not to be interested in why, but does look over his shoulder when he thinks Calvin isn't looking.     "There's times when it's somethin' simple. Somethin' that we're s'posed to be good at. Where I can just swoop in, and hit somethin' hard enough, and get its attention on me and away from whatever or... whoever it was after. Even then," he continues bitterly, "A lotta the time it feels like it's twenty of us on that thing, that bigass monster or whatever it is, and the people that was 'bout to be up under its foot, or whatever, they're barely an afterthought."     "And that pisses me off. So I try to help them people, specifically, when I can, and not just..." He frustratedly searches for a way to describe it, his brow knitted, before he settles on, "Fall asleep. That's what it's like," he near-spits. "Like people who can help just sleepwalk whenever somethin' big and dangerous rolls into town."     He sighs, sharp and aggrieved. "Anyway. Lotta times, it... it ain't enough. I make sure they're out of harm's way right then and there, but they got lives to go back to. Ain't like I can just sit there and hover over 'em to make sure they're bein' treated right. And I damn sure can't... go back in time and undo it." His thoughts drift to the Foundation and an argument he had about it. Then they drift to a little girl he and Malkuth kept out of harm's way.      "Sometimes it works. That's enough to keep tryin', even if nobody else thinks I can do it."
Kukuru	"I am sorry for speaking evocatively. It's people bits." "People... Oh! Oh, that makes a looot more sense, mhm." Kukuru nods, but the grimace isn't missed. She wouild have given Angela's hand another squeeze at the time, perhaps even asked more about why she had that look on her face, but the presence of the hands and the sky sword steals that chance away from her to do so. No, it's time to protect her family and friends here, and that means taking swings at the hand-clouds! Her first pass is an abject failure, but she notices that initial bit of give before she's really squeezed her claws in. A second pass confirms it as she lightens her touch considerably, almost like she's handling food rather than something she actually wants to rip apart. Remembering that the source of all this is the Scorched Girl book and not necessarily a hatefully hostile force lightens her touch as well, and she adjusts her approach so that it's more like she's trying to ease the hand back rather than ripping it right off. "Humans forget. They're allowed to." "I haven't forgotten." "Every time I try to talk about it, I feel like I'm being choked." Her touch lightens more, yet her guiding nudges intensify. Even though the Scorched Girls' hands are massive, and the even though her blade could presumably incinerate her on contact, Kukuru tries to nudge those giant hands and fingers open enough to rest her palm on one of them. She looks up at the cloudy eyes, studying them with a gentle half-frown instead of that false smile she's so used to wearing. "What must burn?" "I wish I knew, Angela. The right thing to break, the right words to say, the right person to hug, the right something to do that'll just fix everything that's wrong and help everyone feel better... You're not alone with that feeling." Kukuru says out loud, not even sure if Angela can hear her from where she's holding onto the Scorched Girl's hand. "And even when there is something to do, it doesn't always turn into... Results? Something that really does fix everything or help anyone feel better, even if we try super hard. Something like that." She continues, saying it just loud enough that it's not just a whisper hurled into the wind. "But... That's why we're never doing this alone, right? Nobody's really smart enough to do it all alone, or to know where to do it, or what to do, but--" She looks over at White a light nod, then up at the Scorched Girl to see if she might even be able to guide her over to join them in the town gently and without that burning sword crashing back down on everyone. "-that's why we're all here together, right? To figure out what can work together, so we're not just going along blindly by ourselves. And everyone taking these steps, to run, to jump, to piece everything together... That's a lot easier to guide each other, right?"
Ember	Ember struggles against the blade, trying to stop it.  Maybe trying to buy those small critical bits of time that are needed.  He's not sure if he can block this thing indefinitely, because that was powerful.  The very act of blocking it sent his arm numb, causing him to skid back across the ground until he felt he would fall over.  Thankfully, the blade stopped before it could reach Angela.   There is a moment when Calvin and Angela share a conversation.  His eyes don't leave the Scorched Girl, hating the way things are is a theme he understands.  He certainly hates the way things are at home.  How things are here in this City.  He waits for Calvin's answer, but focuses on the problem before them. It's then that he notices those eyes are aimed at Angela.  She doesn't make any noises, just sobbing and suffering.   'It turns out, suffering similarly doesn't make you friends or engender understanding.' "I suppose not, but it can be a start of something too.  Those who want to fight against the same suffering for a common goal.  Misery can be turned to happiness if enough people work together to achieve it," Ember says, looking back towards Angela.   Ember isn't aware of the nature of Angela's being, so he isn't really aware of what an android or robot is compared to a golem.  Though he's starting to see the shape of what might be there, someone trying to become human.   He notices the moment Angela starts to talk about her feelings, and the Scorched Girl stops.  That has to be the connection, and to that, he relaxes his stance and looks towards Angela fully.  He's missing a lot of context and tries to piece it together.  Of course, he's heard the name Cinder before.  An agent that was lost, so a comrade dead...he can understand that loss.   'And what's the point of walking out the door if it's no different outside of it?' Ember thinks about this for a while.  He doesn't cross his arms, but he tilts his head.  "I don't know your situation entirely. I was not aware you could not leave the Library...but I can understand both the desire to want to leave it and the desire to not.  Things are not perfect out there, but the desire to make things better drives me.  To stop people who use others to raise themselves, who live off human suffering and do not blink an eye." "I lost parents and family to those who live off that same suffering.  For a while, I did not want to face my city and deal with its problems, but after a while, I started to see the shape of the problem, and I started to want something more.  I can't say some part of me did not want to taste revenge for the family I had lost, so I let that be motivation too." "But I believe there are people who will make this world better."
Flamel Parsons	Flamel's mid-wrestle, but when he's hearing Angela, he starts to shoot a look to Petra. Come on, *you* have to know something about this, emotionally. But he starts to flick his eyes back and forth. What can he do with this? What can he do to help Angela help herself? Don't talk, don't explain away the pain, use this access to Angela's mind directly.     What can be done here?     He starts to pulse clairvoyant energies into the environment. His third eye opens wide, and begins to flick around rapidly. Pulse, pulse, pulse. Dig through her heart. Angela knows her answer herself, people always do. She just needs help to reach it. Maybe the others can force something to the surface, but Flamel, a Psychonaut, can only work through this through Angela's own mind. And although this book is a limited window, it's at least truly a window.     Dig past the EGO. Dig past guilt. Find Cinder herself.     Flamel's feet give way. He skids, bounces, letting the weakened arm carry him. Pulsing his levitation in fast maneuvering-jet blasts, he tries to wrench the arms around, carrying himself towards whatever part of Angela he can find that most contains the true remnants of Cinder. What shade holds her memories? What structure was 'her home'?     Cinder is defined, here, in Angela's mind, by her death, her loss. The only thing Flamel can think to do is force her life into the context. What would she have wanted? What would their connection have been? Knowing the tragedy has happened, that things are unfair, what now? What can be fair and just now? Surely the heart of Cinder wouldn't burn in all this.
Sarracenia	As is often the case, Sarracenia doesn't quite grasp the situation at hand. Her Bullet Bills' explosions get absorbed, and the Scorched Girl...sobs? This causes Sarra to blink in confusion. Sarra shouts about stopping the City, and...the Scorched Girl tries to hide her face. Sarra blinks a few more times...before thinking back to other books they have been in. Beating up the Abnormality didn't actually help in those instances and they were advised not to besides. In fact, she was able to befriend a few of them. Laetitia and Fragments and...well, she isn't sure she and Love are friends but she does like Love. "...I suppose I forgot...since Angela is in this book." she says, then as the fighting seems to stop for now Sarra puts her hammer away.      'I am not a total maniac, Sarracenia...'      Sarra looks over at Angela, an uncertain but thoughtful expression on her face for once. "...perhaps so...but maybe it makes it easier to...imagine the other person's feelings? Feeling something for them is good, I think. And wanting to help them is even better. One might even say it borders on heroic." The princess is certainly no expert in the fields of empathy and building relationships. Or any field really, despite her belief that she knows heroes and heroics. But, she is trying at least.      She looks up to the Scorched Girl, then over at Angela. "...try to understand her..." she says quietly to herself. Even she doubts her ability to do that. She looks up at the Scorched Girl again, and offers a small smile. "Forgive me. I misunderstood, I think." she says. She reaches into her purse and pulls out...a Luma plush. It might not mean anything in particular to the giant, but it is cute at least. "Here. This is for you." she says, and sets it down. "Please give us a bit. We will do our best to help you." she says, then smiles more. "Perhaps we will even be friends by the end."      Sarra spares a moment to offer Flamel a sympathetic smile. "I will worry, all the same." she says. Just because someone is supposedly a rock and not a person doesn't mean she is going to treat them as if those things are true.      She then joins the others in just listening to Angela. Calvin's speech hits a bit too close to home for Sarra, and her eyes mist up as a slight sad frown forms on her face. How many times has she tried to help and it didn't help as much as she liked...or just didn't help at all. Maybe even made things worse. She tries to hold it in. None of this is about her. But, it slips out, and she has to wipe at her eyes every now and then. She debates whether she should even add anything. Angela doesn't like her, and she doesn't like Angela. Not to mention she basically just did the thing that Calvin is complaining about. She had protecting the people in mind, but she went about it by just fighting the monster.      But...she keeps saying she is trying to be a beacon of hope. Can she say that if she doesn't at least try here? Everyone else is doing such a good job at it, though. And as recently as yesterday an attempt of hers at being empathetic backfired.
Sarracenia	"...helping people is...difficult when one is not used to it." Sarra finally starts. "But...I think you have a very large capacity to help people. And you have a powerful benefit that some who wish to help do not have. A group of people willing to support you in your endeavors. And the mere act of trying to help is help in itself. It gives people hope, lets them see that things can be improved. It lets them see that there are people who wish to help. That in itself can raise spirits. It is much of the reason Trideag exists."      Sarra hesitates uncertainly, then continues a bit more confidently. "As for walking out the door...the entire point of walking out the door is to experience new things. To no longer feel trapped or stuck or stifled. It is the entire reason I first left my kingdom to adventure in the Multiverse. I did not care about helping people at first, but...when you see someone smile because you helped them, it...does something to alleviate your own suffering as well."
Petra Soroka	"It turns out, suffering similarly doesn't make you friends or engender understanding."     In the most direct way possible, Petra shared Angela's feelings on Cinder's death. When their hearts merged together, not only were they the two who felt most strongly about Cinder, but Petra saw through Angela's eyes as well as her own the moment when Cinder died, and everything leading up to it. In the rough outline of Petra's most basal philosophy, the parasitic sucking beast whose writhing discontent is the butterfly's wing behind every action she takes, she should understand Angela most of all about this.     But it's been a year. And in all that time, they've never talked about her. Petra has with others, from Audrey, to Lilian, to Ash, but between her and Angela they've barely even spoken her name. The resolution with which Petra should be able to mimic Angela's feelings is fuzzy, and the experience of her dreams is alien and unfamiliar.     The dread knowing wells up inside her. She understands it already, she even thought it several days ago when Audrey suddenly floated back into her mind, on the one night Audrey egged her on into talking about Cinder and comparing Audrey to her only weeks after her death. A year later, the glancing confession crystallized, and she can think it without putting a name to it, to delay drawing the outline with words if only for a little longer. "But you're thinkin' 'bout somebody who ain't, huh. All the things I know how to do for those people are more for us than for them." PHONE: Lilian Rook says, ". . . Can I ask you a very shitty question? PHONE: Lilian Rook says, "You don't have to say yes."     "Me too," slips, dessicated, out of her mouth. Petra can't explain the thought to herself as it comes out of her mouth, rambling if not for the slow drip of her sentences. "The corpse of a person is superimposed on their section of your soul. There's no way to even pay respects by keeping their memory alive because the memory is colored dead by the act of recalling it. All the rituals and memorials and talking-it-outs are all for you."     The cold-ash sword swings down by her side as she walks, cutting lines through the frost. "The closest you get is chiseling out the blast shadow and giving it a name, and dragging it along behind you. But that's just, like, for the million other faceless thems who haven't died yet, not the one who died. I dunno." "I haven't forgotten."     "I know." Petra's a lot less verbose to Angela than she is to Calvin, for whatever reason. She half-closes her eyes, looking away from Angela as she holds her hand. "Every time I try to talk about it, I feel like I'm being choked."     "Yeah, I know." Petra repeats the words, even less energetically. She is not, as one might assume, dragged into the vortex of grief and sorrow along with Angela at the recollection. Her voice sounds like a heaved sigh, bracing for a punch she deserves, waiting for a phone call she dreads.
Petra Soroka	"I miss her. I miss Cinder."     The name of the horrible thing inside Petra is the knowledge that she doesn't, really. Not in the same way.     She would prefer if Cinder was alive. She feels complicit in her death, knows she is complicit in a very direct way, is acutely aware of the power imbalance that always existed between them that led step by step to the world where Cinder died and Petra did not. She even feels, felt, very affectionately towards her, and could summon up positive feelings and positive memories.     But there was no world where Petra took her place. If Cinder had lived, if the coin flip that decided she would die was skipped over for the rest of that horrible week, then Petra still, would not really be spending time with her all that much right now, and probably only think about her occasionally. The mark Cinder left on her soul was the scorched outline of her death, where her life would've ended up somewhere beneath Val in terms of friendly correspondence.     So Petra can't agree with Angela, not the way she means. The words Petra refused to apply to her own thoughts are supplied in inverse by Angela instead, and Petra's shoulders slump. "... I know." "Like the cost of me not suffering is some other girl has to do it. But it doesn't stop the suffering at all for anyone."     "You're alive. Isn't that 'heaven'?" A little blunter than she meant to be, Petra's response to Angela is halfway between sympathetic and chiding. She squeezes Angela's hand again, trying to formulate a kind way-- to Angela, to Cinder-- to share the thoughts, like laying down railroad track ahead of a speeding train.     "The world chooses who it wants to die and then swings and swings and swings until the scythe breaks. For every girl that makes it, there's a hundred that don't. Cinder died and no one tried to stop it, Schneider died and everyone tried to stop it, you would've died but everyone stopped it, I would've died but Lilian stopped it. And Cinder stopped it, and Jay stopped it." "... And what's the point of walking out the door if it's no different outside of it?"     "... To live, I guess." Petra says, bleakly and lifelessly. "Nothing else to do. Each survival improves the ratio, each death makes it worse. If there's more you could've done, do it next time. I know I will be."
Angela	Angela listens to Calvin. Go back in time and undo it. She knows someone who could probably do something like that, but who knows what it means for the present. ''Sometimes''. It feels like never. But it feels like a lot of people are in similar suffering nexuses. She doesn't really expect answers from Kukuru so the fact she's admitting she doesn't have the answers is pretty much to be expected. She isn't fond of Kukuru because she thinks Kukuru is going to say something that makes everything make sense. She tries to imagine what Carmen would say but not even Carmen whom everyone loved ever figured out the answer to this. Or rather, the only answer she came to was killing herself instead. And Angela still doesn't want to accept that answer. Clearly, even Carmen throwing herself on that pyre didn't help at all. Maybe it even made things worse!! She hasn't really had to think about Distortions much, at least. She hates this City. She hates The City a normal amount. She's just another cursed person they were going to sacrifice. And instead Cinder sacrificed herself. "Maybe I have been trying to do too much on my own." She admits to Kukuru. Of course, she has relied on Petra, White, and even Schneider but she hasn't exactly relied on the Concord at all. ''To stop people who use others to raise themselves, who live off human suffering and do not blink an eye.'' Angela doesn't exactly feel herself to be any different than a person like that. It feels like it clashes with what Kukuru had to say. Of course, there's a difference between working with rather than working for. But she doesn't have that impulse to 'save the world' or fix the City or anything. She just wants to save the small number of people she actually cares about. "I'll explain the basics later. Better to know a little more than 'City Bad' before getting too involved." He came to lend her a hand for some reason so she feels like she should at least do a decent amount of work to make sure Ember neither gets murdered randomly because he didn't know what he was doing or, you know, caused a big mess for everyone else either.
Angela	Cinder is everywhere in here. She's as much in the dirt as she is in the Scorched Girl above, or in the dust of the pyre. Angela doesn't know Cinder that well. She knew the basics, of course, and a lot of little things that she observed while watching after her and all the other agents, but she's certain her sense of identity of who she actually is must be off because the Cinder she knew over countless loops would never have lifted a finger to help her. The one that she got to know in the last loop, somehow, was different. Someone who was like Enoch--the name comes easily in Angela's mind--someone who wanted to live and because of that she became someone who had to die for time to move forward. It's maddening to Angela, the themes are maddening to her and have been slowly tearing at her while she's tried not to dwell on it. She chose death anyway, knowing Flamel was lying, because the idea of sacrificing Petra instead or the idea of giving up on everything was even worse. But she wanted to live. She wanted love. She wanted a better future. And she wanted to rediscover an old bravery the City had taken from her. Cinder isn't the first who was grinded by the gears of The City. Even Enoch wasn't the first. Enoch was just the boy that revealed that for all their ideals and everything else, they were willing to grind an orphan into the gears. Sure, the orphan volunteered. He was happy to. But maybe, Angela thinks, maybe someone should have told Enoch that his life had meaning while he was alive. His life had meaning so long as he chose to live. In the context of the nearby River, Flamel can see the many neurological and psychic threads connected Angela to Carmen. At one point, Angela was just the feelings that Carmen could not hold onto if she wished to become what she needed to become. Angela started as a rock, built around the identity of a single psychonaut hoping to repair the mind of the world and mimicking the identity she was given. But at some point over those thousands and thousands of years in her mind, she started to diverge. She grew detached from the dream that Carmen held onto and she discarded the world that Carmen sought and instead looked for something much smaller: A happy and fulfilling life for herself. The Scorched Girl is an explosion. The Scorched Girl is a ghost. The Scorched Girl is a fire that is meant to change the world but leaves nothing but ash. It is the seeking of heaven and the screams of those who were trod upon in it's pursuit. ''Luma Plush!'' The Scorched Girl peeks out over a building. And then reaches down very gingerly and plucks the plush out of Sarracenia's hand. There are no eyelids to squint with but somehow Scorched Girl gives off the impression. She holds it above her head like she's making a wish upon a star. Angela grimaces as Sarracenia compares her leaving her kingdom to her own being trapped in Lobcorp. Why is she HERE, she wonders, just to hold over an emotionally fragile moment over her head the next time they clash? Is it even true that seeing the smile of someone you helped warms your own heart? That feels like a cliche cartoon rather than the reality. Or rather, it feels like the sum of your efforts rarely manage to make even a child smile. Like there must be some other answer out there to make it all make sense.
Angela	''If all you want... Is to try... Then let's try.'' Angela doesn't really think a single dramatic act can really change a person, deciding here and now to try something different isn't really going to change who she is. The world, even now, feels so beyond her. She can leave and go places, but only if someone suffers for it. And she certainly can't go to places where Petra could be in danger or have to move around a lot in. And White, even she who can reach everywhere will, at least sometimes, fail to save someone she wanted to save and have broken promises. White could just teleport Angela and Petra over to that place, but it isn't exactly a place she's looking to reach, it's an idea that she needs to feel is possible in order to wake up. Persistence might just be the answer. But before she can say 'alright', she needs to talk to Petra about what they've been avoiding talking about for what feels like forever. What was Cinder's life like? Angela knows her as someone who threw her a birthday party, who learned through Petra to treat her normal, who she went on silly little adventures that were sometimes pretty horrible and these were the first adventures she ever had. She ended up representative of a time that were the first silly little adventures Angela ever had. That stupid train, helping Niko, and others. Angela wasn't really nostalgic about much about that time, of course, but those first experiences of the outside world even if it was through a screen did mean something to her that was ultimately priceless and formative and Angela could never protect her heart as well as she'd like and she and Petra are ultimately different people. So maybe it was inevitable they'd feel differently, but feeling the same isn't necessary. The quiet invisible distance Cinder's death created is something Angela can no longer avoid breaching. Not just because the Library might fall if she avoids it, but because she just can't manage it herself. Even closed eyes will feel glimpses of light.
Angela	''You're alive. Isn't that heaven?'' Angela laughs quietly, feeling her failure in the moment. She always claimed that what she wanted was the heaven of simple things. Of being alive. Wanting more always seemed like a luxury for other people. "Yes, you're right. I shouldn't forget. Living is worth it for its own sake." She draws some strength from this, some courage from White, and she steadies herself. ''For every girl that makes it, there's a hundred that don't.'' As Petra says the names of those who didn't make it, Angela's fingers curl against her palm. The fact that there's a list of names there is the point, isn't it. There's no use screaming about it, the world will kill the girls it wants to kill and sometimes it'll be stopped and sometimes it won't and sometimes everyone trying to stop it won't save them. That's just how it is. That's reality. And Angela can either close her eyes once more like she did at Lobotomy Corp or she can keep them open and do something about it, or not do something about it. If there's more that can be done, do it next time and maybe just maybe the odds will improve. This might be a bleak way of looking at it, a bleak way of stating it. But this is The City. As silly of a world as it is in some ways, what was it Lilian that said? It was at least honest about how miserable it was? "Nothing else to do but do but live and do what wasn't done." Angela turns to White and nods to her. And so they walk. It's just walking with intent. And that's enough. Scorching Girl slowly shrinks like Geed after a kaiju explodes and drops to the floor with a little squeaky noise. She holds onto the Luma Plush with one hand and then, with some effort, sets down the match that is normally embedded in her chest onto the floor where it cools into a blade. Angela doesn't pick it up. But as she walks, soon, the dreamscape fades and everyone starts to wake up where they had been before Flamel pulled everyone in to Angela's mind. And like the other times, there's a little bit of Carmen that comes with you as you leave. But it isn't just a voice this time.
Angela	It's a hospital room within Lobotomy Corp. Carmen is smiling to encourage her patient, a young boy with brown hair and pale cyan-blue eyes. He is wearing a hospital gown and looks completely relaxed. More relaxed than Carmen, who is still ultimately human right now. "You can still back out, of course. I know you're very brave, but just seeing the threads isn't enough. Enduring the Cogito, it's more than that." I was afraid Carmen couldn't hold onto those feelings, so only Angela has a story to tell. Enoch says, "I know the risks." to Carmen. "I promise I thought this through. You're a pretty kind mom, aren't you?" I wanted to live "...Please don't say that. I'm actually pretty selfish. You'll need to endure the River, but if you can make it through..." Yes, Carmen wanted to live. For all that everything was placed on her, she was still a normal human "My life will have meaning." Enoch says. "My sister won't have to fear the Wings, the Index, or the Head." If I was her in that moment. "She could live a good life with you." If I was her I would have told him... Carmen smiles that miserable smile. "You too, don't forget. We'll all walk together with all we love, fearlessly." Lisa is already fearless, all you need to do is stay with her here As Carmen prepares a luminescent green fluid, the vision fades.
Angela	You reappear where you were before but the battlefield has changed. The sounds of fighting across the Library has calmed. A book with the title of Yuna lays on the floor. Philip, is nowhere to be found. Many of the Librarians that had it up here have also been booked. There's books of Parker, M.O.M, and others lying this way and that. Roland is still standing. Salvador is badly wounded and lying on his back, though he hasn't let go of his blade.. He sees Sarracenia as she reappears and he smiles at her. "I see. Were you successful? In what you came here to do? I suppose I'll never know the full story, but--" Yuna was too professional. Philip wasn't, so he was able to escape whereas Yuna wouldn't leave her mentor behind. But there's an older thread between the two men that he can only now see now that he's in this position. "Sorry." Roland says, leaving just what he is apologizing for vague before finishing Salvador off with a single stab. The old man turns into a book before he can say anything else. "Welcome back. Thanks for the help. Gotta check on Tiphereth." Roland says, wholly unapologetic for his merciless as he pushes towards the elevator. Angela, meanwhile, opens her eyes in her room but doesn't rush out. She has a more pressing matter to attend to. She collects a parchment and a pen and furiously writes. Plans. Hopes. And fleeting memories of a dream that she has to hold onto.