An Interview (Morph/Invite)

It had been a very long year.

While the debacle in Vastime had done wonders for his credibility in the Vandereich, moving him slightly past the label of an "artificial" Quincy, the experience had also left him bedridden for weeks, hovering at the boundary between life and death. Unlike some of his peers among the Quincy, Johnathan had no supernatural healing abilities, nor the experience with Blut to lessen the impact of the wounds the Hollows had dealt him. No, despite all of the cool powers Johnathan now possessed, he had had to do things the old-fashioned way: hospitals, bed-rest, and plenty of physical therapy.

Even after he had been released, the former soldier's troubles still refused to end. Cyrus ast-Auramazda, his patron, had experienced a disaster with his unique abilities, the details of which he was not that familiar. What Johnathan did know, however, is that the aftershock of the event had nearly stripped him of his own abilities, and had sent him collapsing right back over the hospital threshold. It was only a month ago that he had awoken, and only few weeks since his powers had somehow restored themselves.

His string of disasters was part of the reason why his current situation was so confusing. Johnathan stood at the entry way to the headquarters of the Todgestalten: the Quincy's black ops unit. The missive that had ordered him to report here was a little vague on details as to why exactly he, a rank amateur Quincy at the very best, was being considered for such a prestigious position, but Jonathan certainly wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Grinding out his cigarette beneath his boot heel, and checking for the last time he had his orders in his pocket, Jonathan entered the building, making a beeline for the receptionist. "Good morning. I vas ordered to report here for reazignment?"

The whole situation felt like a recruit being called up before a superior officer.

Thanking the receptionist, Jonathan strode into Uriel's office, curious eyes roaming across the massive man's office. The massive desk and chair amused the Quincy, as well as the fact that a man Jonathan had watch immolate monsters with his soul still had paperwork to do.

"Of course zir. How could I refuse zuch ein interesting invitation."

Jonathan's tone was the barest bit cheeky, though his eyes were serious. This was his chance to come in from the cold, his chance to make something of himself in this newly supernatural world instead of just existing. He had failed to learn from Cyrus before his accident, he would not fail again.

"Can I ask somezing? Zee orders I vas zent described reazingment to the Todgestalten, but I'm not really sure vy zomeone like me vould be asked to join ze organization."

Jonathan's tone was probing, curious, but his eyes were bright. It was obvious that the man was very excited for what was to come. The Todgestalten was something the Quincy recruits whispered about in quiet voices at night, the details always too sparse for Jonathan's liking.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. Uriel liked what he saw in him? Sure, the Quincy supposed he was a little more stable than the average hothead or eccentric personality that frequented the City, but he didn't exactly see why that qualified for what appeared was whispered to be the left hand of the Sternritters. Nonetheless, Jonathan said nothing to interrupt his superior, attempting to meet Uriel's piercing gaze the best that he could.

The former soldier liked this kind of speech, straight and to the point. No prose, no dressing up war in pretty words or stirring turns of phrase. Bluntness was hard to come by these days in a city full of all sorts of fantastical creatures, but that just made the few occasions where he got it all the more valuable.

"To be blunt zir, I didn't come here to be a hero. I didn't drag myself out of a pile of flaming wreckage vith 2 feet of rebar zrough my leg in order to cover myself viz glory. I vanted revenge, I vanted power and a way to stop vat happened to my friends from happening to anybody elze."

The days after the attack hadn't given him a whole lot of time to think about the whole thing either. The days had alternated between the searing pain of Cyrus imprinting him with a fragment of his divinity, and the pain of the worst boot camp he had ever been through. Jonathan was many things, a foolish optimist, reckless with his safety and perhaps the tiniest bit nosy. But he was no quitter.

"I'm neffer going to be zee strongest Quincy zir, and I'm already an outcast due to how I got my powers. If this is zee way I can help preserve humanity via my own methods, then I'm glad to accept."