10989/A Brooklyn dodger

A Brooklyn dodger
Date of Scene:	02 May 2022
Location:	Angelo's Carriage House
Synopsis:	Hotdogs with everything for John Constantine, Meggan, Zatanna and Angelo.
Cast of Characters:	Achilles, Zatanna Zatara, John Constantine, Meggan Puceanu

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Achilles has posed:
    New York. May First. The weather is sunny, but not too sunny. Warm, but not too hot. Angelo reached out to his newest friend (that's you Zee!) and offered to host for a bit of good food, good friends, good times. The good stuff. So he stocked up on grillable meats, beverages, sides.. the works. What? He's not exactly hurting for money.

    But he told her that if she knew any other friends who didn't really have a lot to do today, that she should bring them. There -are- a couple of reasons for that. . .
1) He, once again, didn't want it to feel like some romantic gesture. He is trying not to grow that attached to people in recent years. He's made the mistake... recently mind you, and it didn't turn out well.
2) He'd love to meet other folks in the mystical community. He's not exactly a mage... not even homo-magi. He's got power even deeper in his blood than most homo-magi might have. Infused in his DNA from birth ... and augmented when he was a mere baby. Anyhow, he likes meeting people and making connections.
3) He likes to cook, and if he is going to grill, he wants to do it for more than just himself and one other person.

    So when folks -do- arrive at his Brooklyn home, he's in the back yard, music playing.. smoke coming from the grill... and a big-screen showing the day's game of the Metropolis Meteors and the St Louis Cardinals.... that, and Angelo himself, in a simple teeshirt and blue-jeans combo ... and something that anyone who knows who he really is might not expect.. .yes, he is wearing a KISS THE COOK apron as the rack of ribs slowly cooks.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna pffts into existence on Angelo's doorstep and sniffs the air then rings the bell. There is no hint of sulfur in the exhaust-laden air. Finger in the air, she turns widdershins testing and smiles to herself. They might have an ordinary evening.

Spring has gone to Zatanna's head. Harajuku black has been replaced by a form-fitting knit top that reveals both shoulders and her voluptuous figure. The skirt cinched at her small waist and modestly flowing past her knee is shocking to those who know her. Open-toed sandals complete the change.

She holds a very dusty bottle carefully away from this spring-wardrobe glory. The retsina was a spur-of-the-moment decision, fished daringly out from the depths of Shadowcrest's cellars where demons lurk despite her very best efforts to exorcise them.

John Constantine has posed:
John and Meggan show up right after, but their appearance is not as clean and crisp as Zatanna's. Instead, there's brimstone and the scent of burnt lavender, plus all the smoke.

John coughs and waves his hand in front of his face. He's in his usual: rough-worn suit and the brown trenchcoat with the red tie. He adjusts it and then looks to his partner, giving her a sheepish smile -- transportation is hard, even when he's following Zee's trail -- and then over to Zee and Angelo. "Good evening!"

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
May Day means something different in the old country, usually a celebration for the unions, dancing around the May pole in the village green, and possibly getting three sheets to the wind long before sundown. For most people in jolly new America, it's just another weekend. Maybe the unofficial start to the countdown to the unofficial start of summer at Memorial Day?

If you're an actual goddess of the faerie courts, however, May Day means Beltane. Beltane means leaping over pyres, driving cattle to summer pasture, and yellow May flowers put out in offering at windows and doors and barns. Those traditions still persist, and it's telling in the girl wearing a yellow croptop and a long peasant skirt, feet barely clad in sandals. Ribbons and shells woven through Meggan's golden hair make a fair bit of noise when she tips her head or moves too fast, eliciting a frisson of clinking and murmurs. The stone bottles she carries in a crocheted bag at her hip aren't water but really potent liquor, one of mead and another of good old uiasce -- whiskey, the waters of life. Does it count the same? The flowers in her hair, primroses and marigolds and hawthorn, are fresh as any, and she just about glows. Peer at her aura and regret, considering her power metaphysically burns in a solid halo of fire punctuated by dawn-bright streaks representing those prayers and offerings to her people and those made by the fae to their gods reaching her.

"Ooh!" A chiming roll of laughter rings off Meggan's lips. Forgive her, she's high on life. "What a /fab/ substitution. If we're not driving red cattle down a few hills or having a raid, it'll do lovely-like. Though we -could-. Not too late. Nor to jump over a bonfire or two." The crackle of flames is right there in her faded pupils, rimmed in staggeringly green eyes, the kind no one gets outside of CGI effects. A kiss dropped on John's cheek is warm, naturally. "Keep it in our back pocket if the steaks get saucy, right-o?"

Achilles has posed:
    "Gods, if people just used the driveway anymore.." remarks Angelo with a smirk as he turns to look towards the new arrivals. Yeah, he's peering in the back door, through the kitchen, to the front door. The main door is open, just the screen door shut.

    "Come on in and out back!" he calls out. His voice has far less of an English accent than John's does for sure. There there is just that hint there. Sounding like he's about seventeen words away from losing the accent altogether.

    "There's brats, dogs, burgers... potato salad. Maggy at the deli told me this is her -special- potato salad blend, so.. I thought I'd try it out." he adds.

    And then he is back out of sight, tending to the meat. Though there's not much tending that is needed the way he does ribs. Just pulling them off the heat after an hour and five minutes, yes, precisely sixty five minutes of indirect heat.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The air is redolent with brimstone and grilling brats as Zatanna follows Angelo's voice to the back of his attractive house. If Brooklyn or New York City has a seismic meter recording mystical events, no doubt the recording needle jumped when John and Meggan arrived. Zee waits for them to join her next to Angelo who she greets with a European kiss on each cheek. A more effusive welcome greets the green-eyed Goddess and her handsome consort; she wraps them in an embrace and busses their cheeks tipsy with spring and relief.

"Escape!! Thank you for inviting us Angelo. I had to get out of the house even if I feel guilty about it."

John Constantine has posed:
"Hey, mate," John says to Angelo as they all step out towards where the grill is. He reaches into his trenchcoat and pulls out a plastic bag, which he opens and pulls out a blood sausage, waving it a little. "Can we pout this on the grill? I need a taste'a home once in a while."

He flashes a grin at them all and then finds himself a seat, slumping into it and kicking his feet out a little bit. This is how John relaxes.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Total confusion washes over Meggan and she asides to the others, "Brats? -Kids-? And canines? Where have you taken me?" Her mouth rounds in confusion about that, since clearly the memo about hot dogs and bratwursts hasn't reached the sunny blonde. She backs away slightly, eyes widening a fraction before someone, please someone, will translate what it all means. Unfortunately culinary matters tend to remain a bit fixed for those from one side of the pond over the other.

She wobbles slightly and wraps an arm in greeting around Zee, though the potential for zig-zagging into the sky to avoid the risk of serving dog meat to a Tuath de Danaan is there. Just a bit. If a crow or raven happens to be by, or Angelo's neighbour hangs her washing on the line, it's game over, okay?

"Potato salad sounds well and lovely, but..." Hospitality. RUN!

Achilles has posed:
    With a gesture to the grill, Angelo nods, "By all means, toss it on. The coals are still hot." And he leans in to the greeting from Zatanna before eyeing Meggan. "Please relax. Turns of phrase. I would wish you a happy Anthesteria, but it's a bit late in the year for the Greek celebration in honor of Dionysus."

    That said, he steps over to pluck a cold bottle of root beer out of a cooler before twisting the top off and adding, "Though something tells me that he'd not care -when- he was celebrated, only -that- he was celebrated. The hedonist." he mutters with a smirk before taking a gulp.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna eyes Angelo who she learns is a consummate room reader, magic and the divine does more than tiptoe through the room. "Brats are no more than glorified sausages, dear Meggan. And if you eat at the end of a Hunt then, I think, you will enjoy it along with the potato salad."

Her sapphire eyes widen slightly at a realization and she taps Angelo playfully on his upper arm, "How often have you danced at his feasts, Angelo? How often have you seen his flushed cheeks dancing around a bonfire? Do you still drink retsina?"

John Constantine has posed:
"It's just sausages and franks, luv," John tells Meggan with a laugh, reaching over to wrap his fingers around Meggan's wrist and pulling her over to him, his arm sliding around her so he can soothe her. As passionate as she is, John seems to be willing to help her find the spot where she can thread her control.

"Not that cannibalism is _intrinsically_ wrong." Now he's just poking fun.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Oh!" Cu Chulainn moment averted. Meggan settles back on the ground, a full two inches up from the concrete. She barely comes back in touch with her mother earth, and a few dandelions poke their heads up from any cracks or fringes to turn bright, yellow-down heads to the sky. Poof, and there they are. "Sausages I can do. The idea of dogs flipped my stomach and that wouldn't do at all." Her gaze slides sidelong as she drifts into John's shadow, looping her arm around his back in a light embrace mirroring the anchorage he gives.

Her cheeks don't pinken too much, though she shrugs her shoulders up in slight embarrassment. "Thank you for having us, Angelo. We brought drinks, whiskey and mead, supposing that's welcome? Though retsina has a good taste to it. From what I know of Dionysus, any party in his name is a good one. Wave of the ivy wand and he'll make it one to remember. By not remembering, as it is." Her brows knit for a moment, a fleeting measure swirling past in the skim of memory. "Mm, Sucellos probably knows him more personally. Or Aengus."

Achilles has posed:
    Looking to Zatanna, Angelo smirks, "In my experience, it is a bad idea to turn one's nose up at any drink offered to them. But Retsina is something I have not had in recent times. As for how many?" He gives his lopsided smirk and shrugs. "I've lost count really. The most memorable one was however, when I was fifteen and disguised as a girl in a neighboring kingdom. It was illuminating to see things from the other side of the gender gap for sure."

    And then he looks towards Meggan and steps her way before offering a hand, "Company is always welcome at my home. I do love meeting people who are a part of the... community so to speak. To tell you a secret... most people never knew this but... Dionysus was not the biggest party animal of the gods. Apollo really was the light of every party he attended. Pun intended." he adds with a wink.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna's shoulders gleam as she shakes with laughter at Angelo's wink. "Well, the fire is lit and we have all the makings for a feast. All we need is music then! Then we will dance! I so need to forget what has been following me, Angelo."

The homo magi pirouettes to the table to uncork the dusty bottle of retsina and pours the heady golden wine into glasses for them all. "Just a toast to us and dancing then we can pour what we would like!" She takes them each a glass and an exuberant kiss to the cheek, one for Meggan's silk, one for the rasp on John's and one for Angelo's clean shaven jaw. She holds up her glass, blushing golden in the sunset light, "To Spring and to friends!"

John Constantine has posed:
John smiles when Zee gives him that kiss and then he turns to kiss Meggan's cheek, too. He flashes Angelo a smile and says, "That's likely because Dionysus is a bloody voyeur, he is. He likes it when _other_ get lost in the revelry in his name and he can't enjoy it all that well if he's too in his cups, can he?"

John finds himself a drink and taps out a cigarette. Because once you've sold your soul, well, your lungs aren't worth as much anymore.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Being a woman in another kingdom?" Meggan's eyes round again, her lips parted. "How old are you?" Clearly she's from a culture or a persuasion where this truly isn't an issue to ask. leaning a little into John gives her an opportunity to rest her chin briefly on his shoulder, spying the food again to see whether any of it spontaneously grows grape leaves, barks, or invokes one of the mysterious barbeque sauces of the States. Two bottles in their heavy stone containers get put on the table, one way or another. Drinks shall be gained again by accepting a glass with a gracious, "Thank you. Slainte!" Habit being as it is, pour a drop for the ground and a deep sip for her. Sandwiched kisses to her cheeks keep them slightly blushed, though the returned buss to each cheek is a benediction of a sort -- warm as proximity to a campfire, turned by a smile.

"Oh, he's an utter chav, but a fun one. You'd probably get along." She prods John lightly with a fingertip, breathing in the smoke and releasing it as harmless carbon dioxide. Ivy's trick of oxygen is possible, certainly, but her body simply processes the poisons and renders them inert with the slyest of ease. "Think of all the shite you could stir up and say, 'I don't remember it at all' and it'd be true."

Achilles has posed:
    "How old am I?" asks Angelo with a bit of laughter. "That is something of a trick question. Let's just say that if you recall the origin of the term... Gift Horse... or Trojan Horse." He pauses and shrugs, "I was -in- that horse. Allow me to introduce myself..." he says, his accent slipping away and his mannerisms becoming less... mainstream whitebread American. He bows his head, "I am Achilles, son of King Peleus of Pithia, and Thetis, the Neriad goddess of the wild."

    He says to Meggan and John. Then he goes back into his repertoire of bad jokes and adds, "Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Slainte!" Zee tips her glass in libation and for an evening of liberation from the demons that follow her seemingly everywhere. She gazes at Angelo owlishly, knowing the answer but leaving the response to him. "It's one thing to know it, another to hear it, isn't it? We are glad to know they were only rumors."

Eyes glittering she drops into a graceful curtsey to the Greek prince then rises. "I wonder how many years will be drinking to their ruin this evening? What was it like to be a young girl..." She hesitates for a moment then uses the name he seems to prefer. "...Angelo?"

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Meggan eventually needs food, that potato salad being the first and calling her name. Scooping out a handsome amount onto a plate or bowl will satisfy the faerie need for sustenance, though she might just consider eating the fire in a grill too. Mm, fire. Tis Beltane, and all that goes with it. "Thetis, who would bear a son greater than his father, who could change her shape at will. Sounds a bit familiar on a few fronts, donnit?" Her eyes tilt up at the corners, almond shape exaggerated when she breaks into a lively giggle. "Bit like the story in my neck of the woods with Ceridwen and Gwion, except it wasn't for marriage! Tad fond of such ones, cos I've the same talent as your honoured mum." The whole news of 'this is an ancient Greek hero' goes over quite smoothly, though Zatanna curtseying rouses a curious arch of her eyebrows. One of those things that will sail far away before the drachma drops for that one. "I won't ask you about the tendon bit. You probably get it a lot. Did Zee tell you 'bout us? That's John Constantine, basically the nemesis of every demon and devil in Hell, everyday warlock. I'm his wife." The gloss of her aura practically comes alive, her shadow faded before that faint suffused golden glow. Happiness really does work a number.

"Meggan. Or Meg, as friends call me." She puts her fingers to her throat. "Um, let's see. Thetis, daughter of Nereus, son of Gaea and... Pontus? Um, the Mediterranean, innit? So I'm her aunt."

Achilles has posed:
    "Well, the tendon bit was actually something of a trick I pulled on the world." admits Angelo. He nods to Zatanna and adds, "Yes, I find it easier to use a name that isn't so.. evocative in my everyday life." he adds her way before he picks up a knife and starts slicing the ribs he pulled off the fire. He's chopping them into hunks as he speaks.

    "You see, yes, I got shot in the foot.. the ankle. Yes, the arrow pierced my skin. Turns out I'm not impervious to harm. Just resistant. But a sharp arrow blessed by Apollo himself? Yeah, that stung. But thanks to my honored mother... not to mention my great grandfather Zeus... and the blood of the gods in my veins, when my mother fed me ambrosia, and dunked me in the river... it just made it so I can't die. And trust me, over the years, I've tested it. I just simply don't die. I heal every time."

    That said, he places sliced up ribs on plates and begins handing them out. "And as for you and Mister Constantine, I invited Zatanna to bring friends with her because I had hoped to rub elbows with some more of the magical community. I just sort of assumed that anyone she brought with -might- have such talent. But you are not a sorceress, are you? The air about you smells similar to that of my mother's scent... with less salt though. She is an ocean spirit.." he adds with a shrug. "You strike me as something Celtic... or older than Celtic, at least in the origins."

    Then he pauses and inclines his head a bit, "You are whom's aunt, my mother?" he asks, both brows raising. This is one of those rare times that he is caught off guard.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"I don't tell on others from the Magical Realms," Zee replies with a pointed shrug of a silken shoulder. She finishes her glass and heads for the table, listening to Meggan zip through a genealogy of that would make a Greek scholar glad or think he is mad. "Of course, you are his great aunt! We are even related to one another in a very round about way through Atlantis. Right?"

This time she has changed glasses and has poured herself some ambrosial mead to accompany the ribs Angelo is serving and potato salad.

Angelo's surmises delight the magician. "I do have non-magical friends but Meg and John are both near and dear besides being powers to reckon with. Will you call Meg, auntie?"

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Ouch, dunking in a river can be chilly at the wrong time of year. Even in Greece. They've high enough mountains." Meggan helps spread out the food where she can, flitting here or there to gather whatever they ask of her. Bringing an extra pair of tongs or cutlery along with napkins is no skin off her nose, done to avoid requiring the cook to step away from the fire as it were. That would be entirely untoward.

Potato salad may call her name but questions -- and hospitality rules -- require her to answer first, ere she digs in with a polite vengeance. John is the wasted starveling compared to her, though how someone so lean can pack away such good is a testament to demonic pacts. The First through Third of the Fallen don't let him shrivel to nothing, and Nergal probably cares about that trim waistline for whatever reasons. Devils, who understands?

Angelo's statements get a sheepish grin. "If that's right on the family tree, your mum's dad is my half-brother. Some of the Titans and protean gods get a bit hard to remember." No explanation why, though in fairness, even Hesiod went cross-eyed and Homer disagreed, so there you go. Oral folklore traditions be damned. "I don't know Peleus nearly so well. Might look it up on my phone and see in a mo. Anyhow, my mum is Gaea."