[center][h1][color=darkslateblue][b]Z A T A N N A[/b][/color][/h1][/center][hr]

[indent]It hadn't come as a surprise to Zatanna that Giovanni Zatara was involved in the occult. She had deduced as much from a very young age. After all, her father had always treated the magical gifts Zatanna possessed as entirely normal, and his knowledge regarding how to control what she could do went beyond what an average man should know. She even suspected that her powers had come from her parents, even though she never could prove it growing up. No, having definitive proof of her father's history with the supernatural wasn't a surprise to Zatanna. But knowing that he had been traveling the world in order to track down dangerous creatures and entities, knowing that he had been putting himself at risk all while keeping her in the dark, that had been a shock to the young woman. 

The letter her father had left in his study hadn't gone into much detail which left Zatanna having to piece together many of the facts. Thankfully, the elder Zatara had a strong distrust of computers and kept copious handwritten notes. It didn't take long for Zatanna to find most of them and it took her less time to find his travel notebook. Every location he had been to in the past two-and-a-half years was written down there. That, combined with the information gleaned from his notes, formed a partially complete timeline and series of events she could at least begin to follow.

Not that Zatanna even understood half of what was discussed in the various papers. Some of it she had a cursory knowledge of - pop culture was rife with fantasy elements and she had played her fair share of sword and sorcery video games growing up - but a significant portion of her father's writings mentioned specific names, places, and objects that all sounded made-up to her. Etrigan, Wotan, Aelkhünd. None of it meant anything to her. She might as well have been reading classified, heavily redacted government documents at this point with how little details she could ascertain from them. But, the most recent entry her father had left behind in his notes, dated just four days prior to his disappearance, had words Zatanna clearly understood. 

'Los Angeles' and 'suspect' were all she needed to read to know where she had to go. 

Despite her father's letter begging Zatanna not to try to find him, she had wasted no time in photographing all of the documents, notes, and journals before immediately boarding a plane to California. She had spent the entirety of the flight staring at her phone, going over everything she had taken a picture of. 

Her father, it seemed, loved to write in shorthand and use reference points that could only be known to him. To keep the details of his investigations secret, she imagined. Regardless, it made piecing the puzzle together extremely difficult. And, by the time the airplane touched down in Los Angeles, Zatanna was emotionally and mentally drained while nursing a headache. 

It had been close to midnight then, so Zatanna had booked the closest motel she could find. Collapsing on the bed just moments after entering the room, where she had remained for the next few hours, staring up at the cracked ceiling, fighting off the tears that threatened to burst forth. 

She had come to Los Angeles without a plan. And now, after all the time she had spent thinking since she left New Jersey, she still had no plan. 

Her mind was a hurricane of thoughts, few of which were productive. Zatanna could only keep returning to dark premonitions and fears regarding the fate of her father. Even if she could somehow track him down, find where he had disappeared from, then what? She had some magical power, sure, and a decent amount of training in how to avoid accidentally harming herself, but the extent to which she had used her abilities growing up was limited. Producing a nice, cool breeze during the Summer or warming up her pizza after she had let it sit too long was mostly it. Zatanna had largely shunned her powers, choosing to mostly ignore them for the last nine years, in order to live an ordinary life. So, what could she do, then, if she found whoever had taken her father? If he had even [i]been[/i] taken. 

Zatanna sighed and sat up in the bed, wiping away the slight buildup of tears that had settled in the corners of her eyes. There were too many variables. Too many unknowns. She'd drive herself crazy trying to consider every last possibility. The most important thing, she told herself, was getting her father back. Regardless of what that might entail. 

And, if she intended to do that, then she'd need to practice. 

Glancing across the room, Zatanna took in the basic, poorly maintained furniture. One cheap, wooden chair tucked against a small, round table. The bureau lined against the far wall with the outdated television set resting atop it. The tall lamp lacking a shade on one side of the bed. A simple nightstand flanking the opposite side. Her eyes rested on the plastic ashtray on the bedside table. 

She turned to face it, tucking her legs beneath her, and reaching out with both body and mind. She let her memories drift back to her childhood and the last time she had ever tried moving an object like this. Zatanna could practically hear her father's words from all those years ago, encouraging her to focus. 

With a flick of her wrist, Zatanna magically urged the small receptacle to float over to her. She watched it rise, unsteadily at first, an inch above the table. She allowed a smile to play across her features, impressed with herself for still having control over her long forsaken abilities.

That smile vanished in a flash, however, as the ashtray suddenly hurled towards her face. Barely ducking in time to avoid a black eye or worse, Zatanna heard it smash into the far wall. Glancing over her shoulder to see the dented plaster and broken pieces of plastic, the would-be-sorceress' lips twisted into a frown. 

Yes, practice was exactly what Zatanna needed. And a lot of it.[/indent]