16455/Rockefeller Hauntings

Rockefeller Hauntings
Date of Scene:	30 November 2023
Location:	House of Mystery
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	John Constantine, Meggan Puceanu

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John Constantine has posed:
"I'm telling you, doll, the tree's haunted." John is standing just a few dozen yards away from the Rockefeller tree. It stands humongous, towering over them even at this distance, but John just takes a long drag of his cigarette and ashes it to the side.

"Just not sure if it's a demon or a bloody ghost or something else."

It's well past midnight, but this is New York City; there are _some_ people around.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"How can trees be haunted? They want growth and community. E'en the evergreens tend not to harbour spiteful opinions. I've heard the South American ones get rightly bent out of shape and hold grudges, but I doubt you've a monkey puzzle tree stashed away." Meggan's hair is bloody bright from the shoulders down, steadily turning more flame orange to the roots. It's a fairly impressive show as she fights to stab a pretty coin-speckled hairstick into place, her sharply pointed ears hardly concealed in any respect here. They should be -- and they aren't.

Well, wearing a proper knitted Tom Baker-esque scarf that could wrap around half the damn tree may help. She peers up into the branches spangled with kilometres of wires and lighting, then the huge Swarovski star. Gesturing with her cocoa, she says, "Right there, those might be. Bloody eat the rich with that nonsense lofted over our heads. Bet you the ghosts of the ghetto an' Chinatown would come right out, ghoulish and hungry, to take a right big chomp out of the fat cats growing e'en fatter on the spoils of their suffering. That there's the truth of the city, poisoning and laid bare. Alluva us stand on blood and bones of those who were ground down to make these towers hurtled into the sky, and Mum right shudders when she turns to feel the weight bowing her down. One day she might poke a shoulder up, and then it's all game over for this hubris."

Oh, is *this* a mood? Face it, Rockefeller Plaza is never quiet, but at least it's not prime-time broadcasting or else they'd get to see two people snogging.

John Constantine has posed:
John isn't particularly surprised by this tirade. He's married to the woman, after all. So instead of looking at her, he just bobs his head in agreement. "Too right, duckie. Now," he says, waving the cigarette at the tree, "that doesn't mean this fuckin' thing ain't haunted, do it? Me bet's on a demon. Something tryin' ta do its best Krampus impersonation as a ramp up to the holiday."

He hops the short fence and starts walking towards the tree. "Come along, luv, let's get this over with."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Autumn leans into shadow, though she's not nearly as aspected to the Unseelie Court as she will be two days 'ere Christmas and giving everyone really good reason to get drunk. Let's be honest; there could be worse.

"Krampus," she tastes it on her tongue. "Makes more sense thanna hag. Black Annie is a bit far. Demon in a tree? That's awful German of them. And us fresh out of being longwinded with one too many syllables for a seventy-six letter word I can't e'en spell." Because English is hard enough.

John jumping a fence isn't questioned. John approaching security, neither, as his mood pulls her along with a pointy little grin.

John Constantine has posed:
Bah. Security. He doesn't so much give them another thought, mostly because he dealt with them with an ignorance spell. Security is ignorant to them. It's pretty encompassing, and useful.

He reaches the tree eventually, and stands at its trunk, looking up at the massive specimen. "Really is a giant fucking thing, innit." He puts the cigarette out and then cracks his knuckles.

"All right, luv, you watch me back."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Security strolls along the embankments above the rink and below. Permanent NBC cameras overlook the city from a few angles, because the heart of New York media has been a thing since some rich asshat with a poncy last name decided to construct a huge tower as a monument to his badassery.

All to say, folks stick out and floodlights all over mean shadows are generously not much of a thing. She expects others to snap shots or notice *her* as is their wont. On the other hand, she's a flame-tressed *elf* in front of a gigantic *tree*. Leaning out over a railing at a perilous angle and pulling out her phone is part of the business! Especially as she's about to trigger a call to several million followers about the showy excess of damn American things.

"Gets a barge an' everything. I bet it's lonely." Her voice lilts across the distance as she tilts up. "With Cop28 currently underway in the middle of a desert, let's take a moment to focus on the plight of our forests..."

*Snap!*

John Constantine has posed:
While Meggan does her thing, John inspects the tree. It doesn't take long for a raucous giggling to come down from above, and John blinks and looks up. He moves just in time to dodge a falling ornament that shatters on the ground.

"BLOODY HELL," he says, furrowing his brow.

"Meggan. It's not Krampus! It's a bloody kobold!"

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Slender fingers coil around the rail, though Meggan would be hard put not to float if someone knocked her over. The few revellers aren't so interested as they are in selfies or judging how much money the huge Swarovski star might fetch.

Thus, she has her phone positioned not to notice John or the people squeezing here or there. Canoodling is their business, yo.

"A kobold? What, they fuck around with a fisherman or this one of the fiery ones?" Her teeth grind lightly at the thought of the tree going up in flames.

John Constantine has posed:
"I don't know. I think it's one of the fiery ones. But I think I'm going to have to climb up there to get to it. It looks like it's made itself a right little nest up there, too."

John takes a deep breath and then frowns. "Should've brought me mounteneering gear." John does not have mountain gear.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"A fiery one in a tree? You're daft until I remember you've no fear of fire." Of course not, he's got hellfire and spite for blood. They're not quite yelling at one another but as Meggan moves off more to avoid attention, she can't just chirp. They don't wear comms.

Still, she can cheat.

A curl of breeze wanders around John's ankles like a stray cat. While he can fly, surely enough, it's not like he's Doctor Fate and his wife can schmooze the wind well enough,

John Constantine has posed:
"Hel-lo," Constantine says, as the wind picks him up and lofts him into the air. He reaches out and grabs the bark of the tree, using it as a guide as he's sent rocketing upwards.

"Come here you hairless little bastard."

Once he reaches a few branches, he grabs on, balancing himself as he starts to mutter the words to a nice temperature-reducing spell. He needs to make sure he's ready in case this thing wants to light the tree on fire.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
The wind moves with a ruffled sigh, swelling with enough force to raise him. Wind flows around, even directed, causing people to tighten their coats or take shelter as the tree's boughs rustle and shake. A few small puffs of glitter go blowing into the plaza.

Meggan's eyes are clear and pale grey, turned upward to an equally grey sky, beckoning the movements that conjure an upward push for the man suspended in space. John can be crushed or broken as easily as anyone else if dropped, and no telling what agreements a kobold made with the elements. No risking it. She purrs and cajoles the air, sighing in dark delight as the skein of air spills through her spread fingers and shaking her hair out. Mostly she looks like she enjoys the cold, circling near the tree. "Lock an' load, and get the bastard."