2011 05 09 Seriously Again

Log Title:
Seriously, AGAIN?!

Ares, Phantasm

IC Date:
9 May 2011

New Jersey

Brief log summary::
Once again Phantasm finds himself inexplicably drawn towards the being that calls him Messenger.


There is no TS in this log::

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It's been a handful of weeks since there was this same feeling in the night. A handful of weeks since there was that subtle tinge of fate, the slight touch of potentiality that comes when the worlds seems rife with possibilities. Most individuals in the world are ignorant to such things. They travel through their daily lives unaware of the magical possibilities that exist around them. For others, they wish they were as ignorant as the others.

Ares is one such an individual. He can sense the faint chill in the air from his home. It's a place that's no longer just a crater, but is now resembling the framework of a house more fully, the walls are put up and the roof is even settled. But he serves as a constant reminder to his neighbors that the world is not what it seems to be. Which may be why so many of them have moved away. It's not so much that the house blew up a year ago. It's that the man who owns it is apparently a god, who does not sleep, and simply works on building the house at his own langurous pace.

So it is during one of those sleepless nights that Ares pauses from his work, trowel in hand and some plaster at his side. He cants his head to the side as if sensing something.

If there is such a feeling in the night, Phantasm has yet to recognize it from the other nights. Perhaps it is due to the lack of some of his senses in this form that hinder such recognition. Or perhaps to him, it is a general lack of exposure to these moments that prevented him from learning to tell the difference. Whatever the reason, he has let his thoughts wander this evening and does not notice where he lands until after his feet has set upon the roof of the slowly forming building. The proportionally larger of the dark feathered birds ruffles a bit before giving a glance around. Blinking curiously at the surroundings. This does not appear to Chelsea. This looks more to be- The bird frowns. "FFFfff-."

That rumbling gravelly voice comes from near that house. And a glance will probably serve enough to catch sight of him. Down the driveway a bit with trowel in hand is Ares, kneeling beside what looks like freshly poured concrete that he's shaping properly into a walk. The light from the streetlamp catches him and casts his great form in this mundane activity. He sits up, setting the tool down with a light clank, then dusts his heavy canvas gloves together.

"What news do you carry, messenger?"

To the greeting, the bird glances over towards Ares, "Ok. I don't know why I ended up here again but, I'm not a messenger." He spreads his wings, flying down to ground level, "And not one of those ravens or crows the books say you guys seem to use either. I just happen to look like one."

A cocked eyebrow is aimed at Phantasm, even as Ares gives a small shrug. "A long time ago," He reaches over and picks up the trowel, adding some grey concrete to it and then he leans over to proceed to spread it into the spots that need touching up in the wooden frames of the walk.

"Hermes would send his messengers to me and just have them wait, until I'd give him the answer he wanted to hear. For whomever or whatever issue that needed deciding." The tool scrapes over the stone, then Ares sits up on his knees. "Have you met any annoying tricksters with wings on their feet?"

Phantasm shakes his head, "Can't say that I have. I've met some interesting types but no one with foot wings." Giving a sigh he glances around, "No Athenas, Apollos, Aphrodites, Artemises, or any others of that lot.And no one asking about where you are either if you're wondering about that."

"I am lost and unloved." There's a faint smirk there, but it's a bitter thing. Again with the steel scraping upon stone, Ares continues about his work. He then lifts his voice to add, "Count yourself lucky. Brushes with divinity are rarely things for celebration. Oh there are the rare occasions when something good comes of it. Usually it's nothing but disaster, drama. Greek Tragedy was always such a fitting thing I thought."

"One big happy dysfunctional family." Phantasm comments, a bit too cheerfully considering the previous statements given by Ares. Giving a tilt of the head, "I'd say very American but that'd be getting the timeline out of order."

"Out of curiousity. How does your mortal mind rationalize it?" Ares sits up, tossing the trowel into a red plastic bucket. He pulls off those heavy canvas gloves even as he gains his feet smoothly with an ease of motion. He tilts his head to the side to look at the crow. "Considering you are a mortal able to manifest in some clearly supernatural manner, perhaps you are more open to such things. But what do you believe to be the science between me and mine?"

"Rationalize?" The raven repeats, looking towards the trowel's descent into its red home. "I'm not a scientist." He shakes his head, "I don't even know all there is about me." He moves over, shifting into a featureless shadow, "So, when it comes to you, I haven't even come close to piecing something together for an explanation." He gives a shrug, blue eyes form to match with Ares's gaze. At least reducing the need to look down so far. "So, I tend to chalk it up to just 'a lot of weird shit that happens'."

"That's a terribly boring answer, you fail to be a good conversationalist, messenger." He stalks into the 'doorway' of the house, the frame creaking a bit under his weight as he moves. Ares grasps a handle of a large cooler and draws it out into the moonlight. He yanks the cover up and pulls out a pair of Pabst Blue Ribbon beers, cracking open one and then the other. He sets the second down, the leans against the frame of his house to sip from his own. "Take your best shot and I will offer you my own thoughts."

Phantasm grits his teeth a little. "Phantasm." He corrects, shaking his head as he moves into the house as well assuming the invite to talk as an invite to do so. He glances to a post before leaning against it. It seemingly holding up his weight in appearance, what weight that may be. "Alright. We have mutants, people who end up getting powers from freak things happening, tentacled creatures that come out of the water and absorb people, and then there's you. Who comes through a portal that looks like it was designed by Wes Craven who goes by the name of Ares." Phantasm crosses his arms in thought. "So you're either a crazy supered powered person with souls that follow him around who studied a lot of Greek Mythology and ends up thinking they're Ares or you're actually Ares." He lowers his arms, idly tapping the wood, causing for a slight click along the surface as it strums along, "Going with the Ares thing that makes you really freaking old. Old enough to where having powers, no matter what you are probably would get you recognized as a god." He smiles, "Which brings to the obligatory 'are you a God or aren't you ?' I figure that to be a semantics thing."

The deity of War listens to the raven even as he tilts back his beer and enjoys it for a time. Then, once Phantasm stops speaking he responds with, "Have you read Plato?"

It's a casual question, and one that he doesn't necessarily wait for an answer to. Ares tilts his head to the side and says, "There are aspects to it that resonate with me. The Platonian Ideal, something being 'of the good'." He scritches his chin with the tip of the bottle, then adds. "But I feel it'd be impossible for me to relate fully to you what I feel makes one a good and what does not make one a god. For you see, we lack a shared frame of reference from which all such discourse must begin."

Phantasm shakes his head to the question. "No, I haven't read Plato." He admits, giving a shake of the head as he sets to his feet, no longer leaning against the beam.

"It is an aspect of awareness, consciousness. I can speak to only this." Ares takes a drag of his beer, then nudges the open beer bottle towards Phantasm with the toe of his boot. "Shall I get you a bowl? Or will you insult me by not drinking with me?"

Phantasm frowns a bit looking towards the bottle, "My body isn't really here. And as tempting as it may be to drink and give the appearance of it, in the end it would be the same as if I had poured it all over your floor."

"I'll have to drink yours then," Ares leans to the side, "The easiest way for me to describe it then, to you, take how you perceive the world as you do now… you are but one ravenny type individual." The tall man takes another sip of beer. "Now imagine as if because of your nature that you were aware in the background of your thoughts… of all the ravens that existed in the world. If you focused you could see what they saw, experience what they experienced. Now expand this awareness to those of your ilk. Crows or the like. Now take this and expand it that you can perceive what drawings, depictions of a raven could perceive… then what if you could perceive all that was associated with what a raven symbolizes…" He waves a hand.

Phantasm blinks for a few moments, some facial features becoming a bit more prominent as a brow arches in thought of the suggestion. His frown deepens, "Ok, before you brought in the drawings bit I was imagining something like a hive mind…" He shakes his head, "Sort of a 'everything's connected' type approach?"

"Not so much, as far as I understand what such a thing is." Ares takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly through his nose. He glances around the remains of his home, frowning distantly to himself. "More like radio static constantly in the background. No voice stronger than your own, but the awareness is there."

A faint half-smile touches his lips, "Wherever a man takes the life of another man for a cause, for a purpose, for a nation. I am there."

Ares is left to his smile as Phantasm looks to him quietly, giving a slow nod, expression still one of someone puzzling something out. Uh. Huh. "So, you're pretty much aware of anything relating to your war Schtick. Pretty much."

There's a smirk to the side, then Ares waves a hand, "Or it could all just be voices in my head and I could simply be insane, albeit gifted with some form of abilities beyond the ken of mortal man, etcetera. Etcetera." That having been said he finishes his drink and cruches the bottle in one hand, tossing the shards aside and utterly unmindful of the damage he's just done to his hand.

"Buuuuut we're going to go with the you're just Ares bit because that's a bit more fun to say than 'you're a lo-'" Phantasm pauses, looking to the glass pieces, "I would not recommend that as your party trick for social gatherings. That might make people go with the loon line of thought."

As quickly as the wound was inflicted, it heals even faster. The flesh reknits, the blood flow ceases, the skin interlaces and seals. He's left with barely a few droplets of gore having fallen. Though the raven's words cause him to shift his thoughts away from the past to the creature before him now. "If that is all, messenger, then you should perhaps be about your own business for the night. I have nothing for you to convey and doubt you have anything for me of merit." That having been said he starts to move back out towards the walkway he'd been creating moments ago.

Phantasm glances towards Ares, sighing, "It's Phantasm." He corrects once again as he stands up, shoving his hands into forming pockets, "Why do you keep calling me messenger?"

A smirk, then he says simply. "I'm obstinate."

"You're obst-" Phantasm pauses, shaking his head, "I am NOT a messenger." he mutters, "I just read a lot of Poe." Without waiting for him to get called 'messenger' again, he starts walking away, steps moving a bit quicker before he jumps, figure maintaining a decent amount of air time as he once again drifts back into the form he so well associates with flight. For a person whose ability stems on a bit of imagination, he's not really getting fresh ideas for that bit, is he?

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