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event } this ain't a scene, it's a deus ex machina (act one)
WHO: All y’all.
WHAT: Act One of This Ain’t A Scene It’s a Deus Ex Machina
WHERE: On Navi; Rizyeria and New Estos on the planet Merox.
WHEN: This month of April.
WARNINGS: Add these to your comment subject lines as needed! And if you get yourself smote, please report it on the death page.
scene one.
Navi has an announcement for everyone, and as per usual, it’s being broadcast right into your brain:
Attention, passengers.
I apologize that it has taken so long, but I believe I’ve found a solution to the problem where some of you have been transposed into a body that is not yours.
We are approaching an anomaly in the current galaxy known as the Blenga Zone. This area is known to be a hotspot of strange energy - some even describe the energy as “mystical” in nature. I believe that plotting a course directly through it may provide the catalyst to reverse your consciousnesses back into your original bodies.
I do admit this is not an area in which I have any expertise, so if any of you do have experience with this sort of thing, I am willing to listen to your advice.
For the rest of you, you’ll find sturdy restraints emerging from the walls. Please be ready to strap yourselves in - I imagine this part of our voyage will be less than smooth.
Please stand by …
As promised, wherever you are on Navi, a padded harness emerges from the wall nearby, ready for you to utilize when the turbulence begins. And what turbulence it is! The shaking begins gradually, but quickly increases in intensity until the movement becomes severe, and Navi shouts for everyone to strap in and brace for impact. Warnings blare over the PA, lights flicker out and are replaced with the dim red glow of emergency lights, and it seems as if Navi will be shaken apart at the seams. The ship pitches in varying directions, over and over again, until the crash of final impact can be felt, and Navi flips over a few times before skidding to a stop. On the bright side, Navi landed right side up.
On the even brighter side … at least you’re back in your body now?
scene two.
Eventually, through your combined powers of investigation, it becomes apparent that Navi is offline. The glyphlinks won’t connect, everything on the ship is in low-power mode, and even the drones are nowhere to be found. It’s not hard to guess that Navi has sustained some injuries after that extremely rough landing. Luckily, the loading dock is still functional, so you can still leave the ship to check out the planet!
Checking out the planet means discovery that Navi’s crash ended not far from a walled city, and what looks like a factory town on the outside of that wall. Any passengers curious enough to investigate will find themselves soon met - with wariness and suspicion - by local inhabitants, and escorted into the heart of the slums to meet with their leader, who resides with other locals in a large, abandoned warehouse. Roughly made tents are scattered throughout the warehouse floor, giving it the appearance of a refugee camp more than permanent housing, and a small crowd of children is seated around a larger hooded and cloaked figure seated on a stack of wooden crates. He stops imparting whatever wisdom the children had been attending with rapt attention and glances up at the newcomers.
“I see we have some visitors,” he says, in a neutral, slightly metallic voice. “Welcome to Rizyria. We don’t have much, but if you come in peace, we’re quite happy to share what we have.” He stands and pushes back the hood from his cloak to show his unobscured face, which is covered in numerous fluttering miniature wings, which are in turn covered with even more eyes. “My name is Hanna’morith. What brings you to us today?”
scene three.
Once the exposition cutscene has been cleared, Hanna’morith offers to assist with healing Navi, and he promises to recruit some of the other Rizyrians for the effort as well. There’s just one thing he’ll ask in return - your assistance in locating the Imrathic Shattershards, which are scattered to various public buildings and private collections inside the walled city of New Estos. All you will need to do is locate one of the shards, liberate it from its current abode, and return it to Hanna’morith for eventual reconstitution.
A handful of Rizyrians appear at Hanna’morith’s side to start planning the various infiltrations, and Hanna’morith asks to be taken to see the injured Navi. Feel free to mingle while you wait, and once your plans are finalized, you can head out whenever you’d like - though sooner is better, obviously. If not undertaking this high-risk scavenger hunt, you can head back to Navi, or stay in town to take in the entirely terrible sights.
WHAT: Act One of This Ain’t A Scene It’s a Deus Ex Machina
WHERE: On Navi; Rizyeria and New Estos on the planet Merox.
WHEN: This month of April.
WARNINGS: Add these to your comment subject lines as needed! And if you get yourself smote, please report it on the death page.
scene one.
Navi has an announcement for everyone, and as per usual, it’s being broadcast right into your brain:
I apologize that it has taken so long, but I believe I’ve found a solution to the problem where some of you have been transposed into a body that is not yours.
We are approaching an anomaly in the current galaxy known as the Blenga Zone. This area is known to be a hotspot of strange energy - some even describe the energy as “mystical” in nature. I believe that plotting a course directly through it may provide the catalyst to reverse your consciousnesses back into your original bodies.
I do admit this is not an area in which I have any expertise, so if any of you do have experience with this sort of thing, I am willing to listen to your advice.
For the rest of you, you’ll find sturdy restraints emerging from the walls. Please be ready to strap yourselves in - I imagine this part of our voyage will be less than smooth.
Please stand by …
As promised, wherever you are on Navi, a padded harness emerges from the wall nearby, ready for you to utilize when the turbulence begins. And what turbulence it is! The shaking begins gradually, but quickly increases in intensity until the movement becomes severe, and Navi shouts for everyone to strap in and brace for impact. Warnings blare over the PA, lights flicker out and are replaced with the dim red glow of emergency lights, and it seems as if Navi will be shaken apart at the seams. The ship pitches in varying directions, over and over again, until the crash of final impact can be felt, and Navi flips over a few times before skidding to a stop. On the bright side, Navi landed right side up.
On the even brighter side … at least you’re back in your body now?
scene two.
Eventually, through your combined powers of investigation, it becomes apparent that Navi is offline. The glyphlinks won’t connect, everything on the ship is in low-power mode, and even the drones are nowhere to be found. It’s not hard to guess that Navi has sustained some injuries after that extremely rough landing. Luckily, the loading dock is still functional, so you can still leave the ship to check out the planet!
Checking out the planet means discovery that Navi’s crash ended not far from a walled city, and what looks like a factory town on the outside of that wall. Any passengers curious enough to investigate will find themselves soon met - with wariness and suspicion - by local inhabitants, and escorted into the heart of the slums to meet with their leader, who resides with other locals in a large, abandoned warehouse. Roughly made tents are scattered throughout the warehouse floor, giving it the appearance of a refugee camp more than permanent housing, and a small crowd of children is seated around a larger hooded and cloaked figure seated on a stack of wooden crates. He stops imparting whatever wisdom the children had been attending with rapt attention and glances up at the newcomers.
“I see we have some visitors,” he says, in a neutral, slightly metallic voice. “Welcome to Rizyria. We don’t have much, but if you come in peace, we’re quite happy to share what we have.” He stands and pushes back the hood from his cloak to show his unobscured face, which is covered in numerous fluttering miniature wings, which are in turn covered with even more eyes. “My name is Hanna’morith. What brings you to us today?”
scene three.
Once the exposition cutscene has been cleared, Hanna’morith offers to assist with healing Navi, and he promises to recruit some of the other Rizyrians for the effort as well. There’s just one thing he’ll ask in return - your assistance in locating the Imrathic Shattershards, which are scattered to various public buildings and private collections inside the walled city of New Estos. All you will need to do is locate one of the shards, liberate it from its current abode, and return it to Hanna’morith for eventual reconstitution.
A handful of Rizyrians appear at Hanna’morith’s side to start planning the various infiltrations, and Hanna’morith asks to be taken to see the injured Navi. Feel free to mingle while you wait, and once your plans are finalized, you can head out whenever you’d like - though sooner is better, obviously. If not undertaking this high-risk scavenger hunt, you can head back to Navi, or stay in town to take in the entirely terrible sights.
Julia Bellamy | OC | OTA
To say that Julia is sick of this shit is to say that the Marina trench is kinda deep or that space is a tiny bit vast. While she's relieved to be back in her own proper and hot body, it feels foreign to her, and she's constantly having to readjust in order to know her strength, to have her senses back to the place that they were. It's more than a little bit of a hassle, which is one of the reasons why Julia is wearing aviator sunglasses like a complete asshole. (She is a complete asshole) More than that, to anyone who may or may not have wished that her being removed from her body might mean that she would smoke less when she got back to it? Well, sorry she's still an asshole there too. Honestly, would you want Julia to be anything but the asshole she is?
The blond werewolf is in fact smoking a clove as she waits in a park near the museum. A large coffee is held in one hand, and at her feet is a large bag. It's a bag that definitely holds more than a few tricks in it should they end up needing them in their little heist, but at this point Jules is angry enough that she's ready to just rip some of these stupid things in half with her bare hands if she has too. Honestly, she's kind of hoping that she has to. It'd be a good way of working off some of this tension that she can feel twitching in every muscle group that she has.
Of course that doesn't show in the way that she's leaning back on a park bench, her legs definitely spread open like a man's would be, even if it's somewhat constrained by the black trench coat that she's currently wearing. Alternating between drags of her clove and sips of her coffee, Julia's voice is low but can be heard as she just says softly: "eenie meenie miney mo."
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Now he was back in his element. Not skulking around on a spaceship trying to avoid a confrontation with Strand or Alex, or anyone else for that matter. Out here where he could melt into the shadows and show himself on his terms. Even if those terms might be ill advised after the whole ship-haunting thing with Jack.
"You won't find any tigers out here." He drawled, suddenly there leaning against the arm of the park bench when he hadn't been before, though one couldn't tell it from his posture. Hands stuffed in his pockets as he stared unblinking at the museum before them. Like Julia, Simon had come dressed for the job. Dark tattered jeans and a lurk, laugh, loathe hoodie, courtesy of Jack, with the hood pulled up as far as he could possibly manage. It wasn't nearly as cool as sunglasses indoors, but he made do with what he had.
"The security systems won't be a problem." Guards, on the other hand, aren't his forte. If it comes to throwing punches Julia will definitely have to take the lead. Simon can do some work, but only so much.
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As for what she herself is wearing below the trench coat, it's definitely sexier than a hoodie. Julia Bellamy may be many things--a pain in the ass, a werewolf, a stuck up bitch with a chip on her shoulder--but what she's not is stupid. As someone who is an artist by trade (well, sort of anyway, it's how she spends her time aboard the ship.) Julia knows how people go to museums to study the art there. Were someone overly eager (and got past that glare) and needed to open the bag, they would find art things at the top of it. A canvas, a palette, an easel, paint and brushes. The oversized men's shirt she wears when she paints already comes pre-splattered and everyone knows artists are assholes anyway.
But the wears in her bag are only skin deep as it were, and even then, Julia had taken steps to ensure that they could be weapons if needed. Wooden ends were sharpened in a way that had made Julia joke about being Buffy before she'd added them to her bag. She knows that they're not going to be enough if they need to fight things, but that's why Julia had practiced sliding her claws out of black stained fingernails, and doing partial shifts before she'd come on this insane mission.
Really, she wished that her life was less like a fucking RPG or some other bullshit.
Extending one hand out with her clove, as if she's studying the matte lacquer on her fingertips, the human nails harden and sharpen into her claws. Shaking back her blond hair in a very nonchalant way, Julia replies: "the guards shouldn't be either. So the question becomes, hiding inside until shit's closed or going for it now and getting lost in the crowd."
The stuff in the tubes of Julia's paints weren't actually paint. Instead when mixed together they would cause a heatless smoke. It was a harmless prank when she was a kid, but now it has a much different purpose because they are getting that fucking piece one way or another.
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Julia's smoking was drawing more than a few disapproving glares, but so far no one was quite brave enough to confront her. Simon's strange loom certainly complimented her powerful 'fuck off' aura. He had a talent for being unnerving. People could tell when someone was a boogeyman, even if they couldn't quite see it in the flesh. His shadow stretched a little longer than most, was a little darker than most, and something about that just triggered all those animalistic instincts that screamed "danger." So, between 'I will kick your teeth in' Julia and 'tall dark and spooky' Simon, they had some degree of privacy.
"Depends on how much we care about casualties. Or being noticed." Neither of them will be seen by security footage, Jack already made certain of that which absolutely helped Simon conserve some energy for whatever show he might need to put on. The question of course became if they wanted to get the crowd out first or not. His unblinking gaze finally flicked to Julia. "Quiet, or chaos?" As if to emphasize the lights in the building flickered ominously. Simon already reaching out with his invisible tendrils to pull down the veil just a touch. Just enough to set the locals on edge.
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Fun in this case meaning 'the inevitable fight to the death with some robot bullshit or whatever.'
"I'm thinking a smoke show tied with the whole like creepy light thing. Make it look like there's a fire and people will go running and knock things over or whatever." Julia pitches her voice low, just enough that she knows Simon will hear her but no one else would end up getting suspicious. Especially since she ended the statement with that devil may care grin of hers, and an easy roll of her shoulders. Behind her glasses, her eyes roamed the rest of the stuff around the exhibit of the piece of the sword, glad that her glasses hit the appraising of the pieces of art and what not. Stealing a painting would require something that they didn't have, but little knicknacks and Objet d'art darted around the place? Easy pickings for her bag for sure. Especially considering she was going to knock over some stands.
"See anything you like?" Julia asks, her intention obvious as her eyes land on slightly black with tarnish figure of a woman with snakes in her hair. Obviously the old and worn silver reminds Jules of Medusa and it was only slightly larger than her hand so it would fit well. Seems like a good present to her.
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"I could set off the fire alarms." It wouldn't take much, he wouldn't even have to pull anything. Little flick and all the sprinklers would go.
His unblinking eyes landed on the worst piece of taxidermy anyone could hope for... he needed it. "I think I see just the thing." It shouldn't take much to whisk that into Julia's bag, and they can have a good laugh about it later. He'd snag a present for Alex but as Julia surmised a painting would be too much to abscond. Horrible taxidermy rat it is.
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That said, she pulls out her paint palette and the tubes of paint. She squeezes almost the entire tube of one on one side, and then the other on the other. One of the colors is a slate black and the other is a sickly yellow that makes the werewolf's nose twitch a bit. Beggars can't be choosers however, and while the smoke that the two together would create looks and smells a bit like smoke, someone who's got a nose like her own would notice the difference. Julia is betting a bit on someone not noticing that before the two of them are done here, and the chaos that they cause would create enough panic that they wouldn't be able to pinpoint it.
While Julia trusts her girlfriend and her magic, she didn't get this far without being at least a little careful, so she glances up at the camera quickly. It doesn't feel like there's eyes on her which is a good thing, but she also doesn't want to take anything for granted with these tricky fuckers. Taking the clove and dropping it into the cup of what passes for coffee here, Julia then takes out a paint brush that's sharped to a point so fine that it could slip into someone and out without them feeling it until the blood filled the wound. While Jules isn't intending on going all Buffy on anyone, she is ready to if she needs too. For a moment, Julia just twirls the brush with it's long and wide head and then she looks to Simon once more. "Let's do the smoke before the detectors. Are you ready kiddo?"
Yes Simon, you're kiddo now. Dealwithit.gif.
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Murmur | OTA
The careful optimism all but vanished upon discovering exactly what kind of planet they'd been stranded on. Of course it had to be one touched by MindsEye, and of course it had to be in the throes of robot-themed despair. Worse yet, robots designed as a disgusting mockery of angels. Murmur had been content to go along placidly enough until he caught sight of the group's leader.
Then he was gone. Well... not really gone. He'd retreated to a stack of rubble and debris to perch and observe the goings on not unlike a territorial cat. Perch was not a metaphor, he'd found the most precarious point he possibly could and was indeed balanced on his toes, curled in on himself in a posture that would be uncomfortable for any human to maintain for long. The generally neutral if faintly puzzled expression had been replaced by one of faint disgust and intense wariness. This did not bode well and they should leave immediately.
He didn't want to get involved and very pointedly had distanced himself from any conspiratorial conversations about collecting pieces of weapons or what have you. These were mortal affairs and mortal business and he would have none of it.
He's absolutely going to get roped into it.
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He's been out and about as carefully as he can manage to be, gathering up whatever he can find that might serve as a good substitute for the components on earth he'd use for something big. Because he's done with this bullshit, and he aims for a proper revolution. Or at least as much destruction as he can deal out instead. Arrogant holy types were never his thing, and here, they're fake. And in the face of subjugation and sell-outs? Well, John never had a chance of staying out of it.
Not that he'll admit it, even to himself. It's all just in case, or if it gets worse, and can't hurt to be prepared. And that's what he keeps telling himself, but his heart has a place that burns bright with righteous anger at this sort of wrong, no matter how hard he tries to deny it. He won't deny that that anger flares up a bit when he comes across Murmur on the sidelines while component searching. He supposes it's not a surprise, though. Angels are all talk. They won't lift a finger unless directly ordered by their father.
He barely suppresses a sneer.] Enjoying the view from up there?
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Not particularly.
[It's not like he's enjoying any of this, but what else is he supposed to do? He Isn't Allowed to get involved of his own accord, and the rules by which he can are fairly strict and cumbersome. Best just to observe as is his traditional duty.]
You seem especially motivated.
[He's trying to pretend he's not aware of John's judging him.]
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[John is trying very hard for solely angry, and he's absolutely enraged. But there's sadness still creeping in, he can't help but be disappointed. He just wants for once, just one measly pathetic little time, for an angel to be willing to step out of that box of convenient excuses to help those in need.
Where is the flaming sword? Where is the righteous anger? Where is the guiding messenger? John thinks that these parts of angels are entirely fictitious. But the scared, hurt part of him still clings to the idea of angels that actually do something.]
Doesn't it hurt you, even a little? [John's voice is strained, a bit shaky with anger and frustration.] They're suffering, and there's a whole hoard of fake feathered bastards keeping them subjugated. Even if you don't give a damn about the people, surely that has to make your blood boil. They're a facsimile at best, doing a space fascist's dirty work. [He huffs.] Well, while you enjoy the show, I'm going to actually do something.
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Generally when someone came at him with accusations and demands for action he tended to respond more coldly, but John was coming from a place of genuine understanding, not wild speculation and expectation. It hit differently, and Murmur found himself shifting in mild discomfort on his perch. For the being that rarely showed much in the way of emotion or reaction, that was quite a lot.
There was at least one small thing he wanted to address while he chewed on the rest.]
All souls have value.
[He murmured softly, eyes sweeping back to the horizon somewhere in the distance. After a few long moments they closed as he took in a deep, slow breath. Unnecessary yes, but he did it all the same.]
Yes. It does. [His words are as measured and careful as ever, but much like the people suffering here John was also coming from a place of pain and wounded faith. He deserved an answer.] I hear their pain, I Know their suffering. These abominations... [There's a hiss in his tone betraying just a hint of the rage he really was holding back behind that cold icy demeanor.] Are a vile mockery and should be destroyed.
[He looked back to John, head canted to the side again in curiosity.]
What will you do?
[Murmur has failed to explain why he's not doing anything, but he does seem to have some genuine interest in what John's doing.]
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Some have more value to the creator than others. [The tension around John is almost palpable, he's so terribly human, no amount of magic can strip him from his feelings and his love and his pain and his powerful small set of morals. He's tried in the past, life would be worlds easier if he didn't feel so much. But he wasn't successful and now, he's here trembling with rage and something awfully painful in the presence of something divinely created with the power to change fate. But that also refuses to.
They're always on the side. John should be used to it by now. Where were all the angels and god's great power when his father took his anger out on John? Where were the angels when poor Astra was dragged to hell? He suppresses a shudder, bites back his anger as he waits for another answer that will probably anger him.
And it does. But not in the way John really expected it to. Murmur seems too real to him compared to Manny's bullshit, or Gabriel's arrogance, or the breathy cherubic bullshit he's gotten from others. And it keeps throwing him off, taking him out of his center, leaving him further on edge and worse? Gives him that just enough feeling of hope in something that's supposed to be better than him.
That's the part he hates the most. That Murmur almost makes him believe that angels are potentially more than what they've proven him to be.
John is happy to push all that bullshit away for a minute. To focus on what Murmur has asked.] Oh, me? Well, I'm going to raise little hell. [It's what he's good at, after all.] It'd be easier back home, I've got all sorts of nasty things saved up from that galaxy. But I'm a resourceful man, if nothing else.
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Also that the man hadn't asked. No ask, no action. There were rules Murmur must abide and regardless of John's feelings on them he remained beholden to them no matter the universe.]
Is that what you think? [Bored of perching and listening for answers that weren't going to be forthcoming he leaped off his perch. One fluid motion more graceful than any man who looked like he lived under a pile of books near a conspiracy board had any right to be. A few moments spent ensuring he'd not uncovered any part of skin that wasn't already uncovered, that being his face and neck, while he made a show of straightening his clothing before looking to John expectantly. If he's going to get another lecture he might as well get something out of it.
They never did understand why the angels sat on the sidelines. The fragility of free will, and the destruction left in the wake of an angel taking action. Surely John had read the stories, certainly he'd heard the preachers and their gospels? An angel wasn't a cure all for the human condition, they were the nuclear option. There to wipe the slate clean to start again. So far humans have demonstrated themselves to be remarkably capable of not internalizing that lesson.]
Very well, John, show me what it is you hope to accomplish by doing that. Let us see your resourcefulness in action. And whether or not your judgement is sound.
[That last bit was the most damning hint for Murmur's own hesitance to act. Sure, he could depose of one space dictator only for another to rise and take their place. No, these things were delicate. Playing with the course of mankind wasn't his place and continues to not be his place but... it couldn't hurt to have a look. Who knows, maybe John can convince him this situation would benefit from Divine Intervention as it were.]
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Treasure hunting isn't his forte, Jon learned that well enough during his quest for information on how to stop the Unknowing, so he hasn't volunteered his services for searching out one of the sword shards. He does, however, have a special skill when it comes to Compelling people to tell him what he wants to know. He thinks that might make for a better user of his time on this planet - assisting in the shard search by finding where the pieces are stashed. Hanna'morith had only been able to pinpoint the exact location of some of the pieces. He can report back and let the others take point on retrieval.
He's headed toward the gate into New Estos when he catches sight of Murmur and decides to postpone his mission for now in favor of checking in on his feathered more-than-friend. The angel had exited rather abruptly, and Jon can guess that's not a good sign.
"Are you all right?"
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By now Jon has probably figured out that Murmur challenges the British in his ability to understate the severity of things. The fact he'd absconded so suddenly and was now aggressively perching and scowling at pretty much everything certainly suggested it was a little more than "dislike." Detest might be closer, but even that wasn't a strong enough word.
It was taking a lot of self control to not try to obliterate Hanna'morith outright simply for existing, so best he let the others handle diplomacy.
Internal roiling temporarily distracted he focused his attention on Jon, only just now seeming to realize he was clearly heading into the thrice-damned city. "What are you up to?"
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"Mm ... yes, I rather got the impression that nobody liked this place. Not even the people who live here." From what they'd been told, the oligarchy of New Estos made the Tories seem downright benevolent in comparison. Jon offers Murmur the tiniest of wry smiles as he turns back to answer his question.
"I, erm - I thought I might be able to help expedite the process of finding these hidden artifacts. Care to join me?"
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He shouldn't get involved. It's not his place to influence the course of mortal affairs. Still, having a look around couldn't hurt right? These weren't actual angels, they probably couldn't tell Murmur from a human, if they could see him at all given Jack's sigil. That, and Jon did ask with a nice little smile... how can he say no?
He hopped from his perch, light as a feather landing on the ground beside him with no show of wings but a rather impressive display of dexterity all the same. Smoothing out his clothing to ensure he looked as human as possible he returned Jon's wry smile alongside a nod. "I suppose a look couldn't hurt." He'd hate to send Jon in there alone.
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"Great," he says, and his smile warms and widens. "Shall we?" He gestures in the direction of the gate and sets off, trusting Murmur will be right beside him as he walks.
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finally adds this endtag after forever 9_6
for mur. cws itt: torture, death, casual suicidal ideation
Yet Jon was still alive, but it wasn’t for lack of trying on his executioners’ part. He’s been run through with swords, shot with arrows, hanged, pierced with heated pokers - Is this what Rasputin must’ve felt like? he’d wondered, dazedly, at some point, lying on the dusty floor, bleeding and shackled, while his captors looked on, baffled that the Archivist in front of them was not yet dead.
He should be dead; Jon knows this. He should’ve been dead long before now; he should’ve perished in the Unknowing before he ever began this strange journey; he should’ve been taken by the Web as a child and never heard from again. Yet he lives. Beholding’s doing, Jon imagines, part of the new monstrousness he created when he made the choice to become The Archivist. He’d laugh, but it hurts too much to do more than simply breathe and wish for all of this to end. He’s tired of the pain, tired of hearing his own screams echo against the stone walls, tired of waiting, tired of wondering …
He’s tired. Let it end. Let it all just … end.
Jon ;;
So for the time being he stuck to the ground. Tracking wasn't a skill he'd employed in many an age and with Jon flown away there wasn't much to go on. A drop of blood here, a shed strand of hair there... fortunate that the mansion proved to be an obvious choice for a holding cell. Once he was closer Murmur could feel Jon's presence within, thankfully still alive if not well. Breaking in was a different matter. Walls and doors weren't much of a hindrance for an angel, but they still needed to have an idea of where they were going lest they find themselves wedged inside a wall during flight. Tight spaces and small rooms really weren't designed for his kind to navigate with ease.
It would take some time and snooping to navigate his way through the mansion and down into the dungeon where Jon was being held. Jack's clever sigil made the bulk of his skulking easier, however once he was beneath the building where hiding places were few and far between the subtlety would have to be dropped. He made quick work of one guard, nothing more than a twisted pile of scrap metal and ice in his wake. Once he made his presence known time would be cut short, Murmur knew. Fortunately now that he was near he could beeline to where Jon was being held.
Don't give up just yet, Jon, help is on the way.
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Jon coughs weakly, tasting blood at the back of his throat. He can’t help thinking about that month he spent as Nikola’s captive at the wax museum, how Michael found him there with the intent to kill him, how he’d calmly accepted death as his fate then. He’s been just outside of death’s reach for so long - wasn’t it bound to catch up to him one day?
“Just get it over with,” he whispers. The waiting is by far the worst part.
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They are all in danger regardless, doubly so when the Prophet has whipped everyone up into a zealous frenzy. This wouldn't prevent anything, only rile the swarm. Jon's death wouldn't be the end of anything.
The crashing and violence that came wasn't the sound of his captors returning. It was of his guard being turned into a robot icicle, and the door shattered apart. Murmur rolled in like a thunder storm, smelling of rain and fury and bringing with him a bitter chill that sucked the heat even out of oppressive desert air. For as furious as he was he was quiet, footsteps soft and hand gentle as he knelt beside Jon, touching his shoulder gingerly to get an idea of just how bad it was.
"I'm late." He mutters softly, it's something of a comment on his own failing here and something of an apology, if not quite yet. There will be time for that as well, but he needs to get Jon out of there before the troops are rallied. "Can you stand?"
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He isn’t angry or elated or even relieved when Murmur appears. Instead, Jon sighs, despairing and defeated, and squeezes his eyes closed.
“No,” he whispers, pleadingly, “please. You need to leave.”
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"Don't be absurd, Jon. I'm not leaving you here."
He'd reached out to touch his chain, freezing the metal to make it brittle before snapping it in one quick gesture. He knew more guards and reinforcements were likely on the way, they didn't have much time to get out. If he couldn't stand then Murmur will just carry him.
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