18827/Well, I'll be Damned

Well, I'll be Damned
Date of Scene:	14 August 2024
Location:	The Laughing Magician
Synopsis:	Witchblade walks into a bar - along with Sara. He's back! But will John Constantine's return prove to be a blessing or a curse? Oh, and his name probably isn't Biff.
Cast of Characters:	John Constantine, Sara Pezzini

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John Constantine has posed:
For quite a long time, The Laughing Magician sat in ruin. It's probably one of the first real signs that John Constantine is back around and back in business - possibly on more than one front. The bar has been repaired, probably in record time considering it was still pretty much a disaster area until three weeks ago.

Now it looks like nothing ever happened here. Literally nothing - not a thing has changed, not even the scars on the bar or the gum under the tables.

And there's the man himself, parked on that stool no one else ever seems to want to sit in. His glass of scotch is only half empty and there's no bottle in front of him, so that's a good sign? Of course there's a Silk Cut lit - for now dangling between his lips while he pages through an old, as in /really/ old book. It may or may not be bound in something other than cow's hide.

The jukebox in the corner hints at the potential disaster heading Earth's way - R.E.M. - The End of the World as We Know It.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
It was a bad day for New York as a whole, but the destruction of the Laughing Magician was something that Sara remembered clearly. So much was wrong at the time, with angels striking out again all of mankind, and anything living on the planet. It was a chapter of her life that she tried very hard not to think about, a time when a powerful angel severed her connection to Witchblade, locking him away inside the bracelet before nearly killing her.

It was the past, and she left it there as often as she could, but pulling up to the bar and parking outside, it all came rushing back like a tidal wave. Laying in the hospital, the damage done to her right shoulder and arm so bad that both SHIELD and the NYPD were talking early retirement.

Unconsciously rubbing her arm, she shook off the nightmare memory and looked at the reopened Laughing Magician. If it was open, John Constantine was back.

Setting her helmet on the seat of the bike, she strode inside to have a look around. For some reason she had expected it to be changed, just a little, but finding it exactly as it had always been was almost a comfort. "Well I'll be damned," she muttered with a half smile.

Noting John on his stool, she took a deep breath and walked through the tables to the bar. "Those things will kill you," she offered as she stepped up beside him. "But then again, so will a lot of other things. Need a light?"

John Constantine has posed:
It takes John a moment or two to realize that someone's actually addressing him - he's that absorbed in what he's reading. When he finally does, he glances over at Sara and shakes his head. "Nah, luv, be bad luck to light it with anything but this." He picks up that weathered gold lighter sitting atop the pack and flicks it open.

He circles back to 'those things will kill you' and snorts back a laugh. "Pretty sure things bigger and badder than these've tried and failed." Hell, even those have tried and failed, not even lung cancer could be him six feet under. He flicks that little wheel and sets the lighter to flame. Just a beat later, lazy tendrils of smoke dance around him - and down to the ironic No Smoking sign that he himself hung on the bar near his stool. That's the /only/ thing that's changed.

Some little college kid, a boy still battling teenage acne looks up from wiping down the bar top and asks, "Need anything?"

Sara Pezzini has posed:
It felt wrong, the bar, the teenager that was clearly too young to be working there serving alcohol, even John, it all just felt out of place. She had to shake off the feeling again while listening to Witchblade muttering about letting it go, just let it go.

"Get him a drink on me," she stated while indicating John, then sat down on the stool beside him. "I'll take coffee."

She should ID the kid, but it wasn't the reason she was here. It was getting easier to switch between NYPD, SHIELD, Avenger, and JLD modes in her head, but that didn't mean she really liked it. "Good to see you back in the open," she comments to John as she looked back to him. "I know all about things trying to kill, faced a few myself in my time. Cigarettes are the least of your worries, so smoke away... no matter how illegal it is to smoke in public spaces in New York." She winks at him with a smirk as she adds, "I won't tell anyone."

John Constantine has posed:
"Well, way I see it, no one else pays the electric bill for this place? Figure that means it's private property." John Constantine, king of finding the loophole even if it doesn't exist? Of course he won't turn down Sara paying for a drink that's already, technically, his to begin with.

Biff, lets call him Biff - John probably doesn't even remember the kid's name half the time - he looks like he could /just/ bet 21ish if he's one of those late bloomers or one of those poor souls that deal with teenage acne well into their thirties. Biff serves up another scotch neat and a coffee with the efficiency of, not quite a pro. But he gets them both there without spilling any all over himself, the bar, or Sara, or John.


He's never been one to beat around the bush, that is unless the bush was something that needed beaten around - there was that one time when some sort of hell plant bloomed and needed to be beaten. So, blunt and to the point, "Giving me permission to smoke in my own establishment isn't why you're here, luv. Way I'm figuring it, you need somethin'."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Fucking Brit, calling her luv. Sara knew it was just a term they used on the other side of the 'pond' but it still make the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She dealt with it by shoving it down as she turned herself more toward him, then crossed one leg over the other while keeping her green eyes firmly on his face.

"The way I see it," she begins, smooth and calm, folding her hands in her lap. "It's not exactly something I need, but something you're already supposed to be doing. I looked through all the files, I read everything on the founding of the JLD and sure enough, your name came up... a lot... as in almost every record."

Reaching to collect the coffee, she adds a splash of cream and a dash of sugar, stirs it and takes a sip, giving John ample time to try and leave while she does so. In her own way, it was a test to see if he'd stick around to hear the rest of what she had to say, or if the mere mention of the JLD would send him out the door.

John Constantine has posed:
John arches one eyebrow, then the other - this is a two eyebrow conversation. "/Supposed/ to be?" he asks a little indignantly. At least he's not running for the door? "Only thing I'm supposed to be doing is whatever the bloody Hell I want, innit?" The words don't come out with heat, he's just making a point. "Aye, yup, you're correct. I got the ball rolling, doesn't mean I /have/ to be the one still kicking it around." Still not running, still hasn't said /no/.

He plucks the Silk Cut that's been bobbing up and down with every word from his lips and uses it as a pointer to, well, point at Sara. "Just come out with it, luv. You need someone that knows their shite that isn't going to run tail between their legs at the first sign of something biggerin' they are?"

He takes another drag from that cigarette and only half makes an effort to turn away to keep from blowing the smoke in Sara's direction.

"Tell you what. I'll come back on board, but under one condition. If it's dead center of /my/ wheelhouse, we do it /my/ way because in the end, that's the way what's gonna work anyway, innit?"

He's not wrong, he's a cocky bastard, but he's not wrong.

"Demon's, vampires, evil spirits, most of what sneaks up and rips your guts out in the dark? My wheelhouse."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Oh yeah, Sara knew she didn't like this guy for a reason and thus far he hadn't changed her opinion of himself at all. Witchblade on the other hand, he was whispering nothing by praise for the man in her head, which made her even more testy about the whole thing.

"You know what, fuck you," she finally said after staring at him for a moment. "For years we've been doing just fine without you in /your/ wheelhouse. We've had to do it, so we did. There have been a lot of people who have stepped up, taken charge, done what they could, and we did it all without your cocky ass being there!"

She set the coffee back on the bar, ignoring the smoke that came her way. "So here's the deal Constantine, and you'd do well to listen because you are /not/ the gods gift to the planet Earth. You're right that we need you," she snorts, not liking the fact that was true. "You're right that we've needed you all along and you haven't been there, but your way? Fuck that, no, that's not how it works. We're a triad leadership, so that means we work together and /plan/ shit out when possible. In the heat of the moment, sure, you do you, but that doesn't mean it's the only way or that you're the only one in charge!"

John Constantine has posed:
"Who the fuck would want to be that wanker's gift to anything?" Angels, God (if there is one), demons? Not a one of them is worth a shit in the eyes of John Constantine. He picks up his scotch, takes in a mouthful and swishes it around before swallowing it - then he repeats the whole routine over again. Every movement, every tiny tic and twitch of his expression makes it clear that he's undecided. Tell her to get the fuck out of his bar or not.

"You have no idea where I've been." John's tone somehow manages to blend flat and dark into the perfect level of - don't guilt me with the 'you weren't here' crap, it's not going to work.

"Let me ask you something, luv. If there's a demon the size of the Rock of Gibraltar or an angel is raining down wrath and punishment on our heads or an evil spirit decides to turn a toddler birthday party into the Chucky 201? Who do you really think has the better chance of gettin' it right? Sure, we can sit around and jaw about it until the chickens roost." His shoulders lift almost to his cheeks in a shrug before he holds his hands out, palms slightly up. "I just don't want to have to sit and argue about particulars while Chucky kills off a bunch of tots, aye? Long game, sure there's planning. Short game? I need to steer the boat."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Wishing she'd ordered something stronger, Sara keeps her eyes on John. He was like all the other powerful beings out there, believing that he knew what had to be done and that others wouldn't get it right. But she could also see something more. He wore a carefully chiseled mask for the world at large, hidden behind walls of iron and steel that were built rock solid into the foundation around him.

"You're right, I have no idea where you've been," she states more calmly, through there is still a bite to her tone. "But you have to concede, you don't know what we've been through or what we've dealt with either, so that road goes both ways."

"In the heat of the moment, you do you... I said that, I meant that. I know full well that you deal with more shit on a day to day basis that most of the other members of the JLD combined. I conceded that you know your shit Constantine, and that if there was a massive demon standing over us, or a possessed doll eating children, you'd go in first because that's what you do."

Another pause, this time to cant her head slightly, "But you're used to working alone, to being the only one with any idea of what do to. Most of the JLD are the exact same way, it's like herding cats sometimes, but I've been leading this group for several years. I know some shit myself, and I know how to destroy a demon or possessed doll. No, it's not your way, but it still gets done." She takes a slow deep breath, and lets it out just as slowly.

"So here's how it works. You aren't alone, you won't be alone, if you take on leadership like you should, then you have to lead and not just expect people do it your way. You can guide them, you can do shit yourself, but the others are... herding cats, always remember it's like herding cats."

Finally calmed down enough that the bite leaves her tone she sighs softly and shakes her head. "If there is time to plan before we do something, we plan. If the demon lands on our head out of no where, we do what we can. If you can guide the team present when that demon lands on our head, by all means do so... but expect push back in the beginning. Herding cats, Constantine, herding cats."

Her body language remains the same, tense, and being as keen as the man is, Constantine can see the level of frustration she has for the entire situation... not just him. He can tell that part of this reaction comes from something more than him in this moment.

John Constantine has posed:
"Herding cats isn't quite so hard as people believe," John offers before he takes another pull from that coffin nail and lets the smoke billow out slowly. "Just need a wee bit of tuna or catnip." He picks up his drink in his free hand and swishes it, swirling the scotch into a little whirlpool inside the glass.

"People around me die, Sara. People around me that won't /listen/ to me die quicker." In that moment, his expression is about as vulnerable as anyone will ever see from John Constantine - but he clamps it down quickly.

"I reserve the right to tell someone that's not /listening/ when we're in the heat of it to cock off and go home, better luck next time chump. We can plan, sure we can plan, but when those plans go awry - as plans often do - then people need to /listen/ or they're putting everyone in danger. All out war leaves little room for pushback." He downs the rest of his scotch, twirls his left finger in a circular motion and the jukebox drops another vinyl. This time it's very clearly him on vocals.

He snorts back a sardonic laugh when he adds, "If this Galactus bloke really is comin' our way, might not even matter at the end of the day."

He turns back to the book he was reading in the beginning. "I've found a prophecy or two - all of them say that what we need to destroy him is as bad as he is, that's a catch 22 now, innit?"

Sara Pezzini has posed:
As John looks her way, and speaks of people dying around him, he can see the expression on Sara's face that almost matches his. There to be read like the book on the bar, she knows that pain and anguish, she has lost so many just as he has. She doesn't try to conceal it, she doesn't try to lock it back up, even as she watches him do so. In that moment, she understood him far better than she ever thought she would.

"Agreed." she states with a nod, blunt, to the point. "They listen or they leave."

Finally looking away from him, she chooses the jukebox as a place to let her sight go. She isn't really looking at it, she's looking past it and into nothingness as Witchblade whispers in her mind. "The only question you have to ask is which is worse? Which is the lesser of the two evils? The thing to get rid of Galactus, or Galactus himself?"

Turning her eyes back to him she offers a nod, "No matter what is takes, we have to stop him... so welcome aboard John Constantine, for however long the earth lasts." That's when she offers a smile, and he can see something flicker through her eyes before she adds, "The other leader of the JLD is Mike Hannigan, no idea if you have met him or not, but I may or may not have remembered to talk to him before coming to speak to you. Either way, triad is complete, I did my job."

John Constantine has posed:
"Mike Hannigan? Sounds like the beginning of some tot nursery rhyme. Hannigan began again." John reaches up to rub the back of his neck with one hand before dragging his hand forward and pushing it back through his hair again. If it wasn't a mess before, it is now. If he's met the man, he can't quite put a finger on when.

"All right then, if I'm back at this shite, guess you should know that the back room to this fine establishment is a supernatural 'war room' so to speak and it holds a portal to the one place we can run when there's no where to hide. My home. Everyone that wants to be able to access that portal will need to be seen, vetted and given permission to use it by me."

John drums his fingers on the bar top in tune to the punk rock from the jukebox. "Refresh me memory, what do you know about my house?" Because overall, that's whole abode is a mind blower to just about anyone.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Finally taking a sip of the coffee, Sara savors one moment in which her brain is not focused on chaos. It only lasts for a few seconds, but when that's all she can get, she'll take it.

"Most of the time Mike's been around, it's been a 'acknowledgement in passing' sort of thing with you," she offers with a slight shrug. "Would surprised me if you don't remember him."

Holding the cup level with her chest, she then adds, "I don't know anything about your house, John. I barely know you." She'd like to tell him what the demon did while borrowing his body, but that wasn't him, so she doesn't say a word. It was still difficult to let go, even after this much time, but she was working on it.

"Witchblade knows more about you than I do, and he doesn't share unless it's required..." she pauses there for a moment, and rolls her eyes. "Or unless he really, really, really wants me to accept something he believes as law, then he doesn't shut up about it."

John Constantine has posed:
"She's rumored to be the house of the first murderer - Cain." But it doesn't sound like John's all that convinced as to the truth of that notion. "The House of Mystery exists outside of time and space - she can't be found by anyone that shouldn't find her, she can't be destroyed." She - he seems pretty certain with that word. It doesn't sound as if he's just using 'she' like one might do with a boat. "Sentient, her layout changes constantly and someone could get lost roaming her hallways forever."

He pauses to light another cigarette before adding, "So tell everyone to stay in the foyer if they're forced to flee there and end up arriving without me."

There is no map to the House of Mystery.

"And no one goes into the basement." If they could even find the basement.

He claps his hands before rubbing them together. "Well then, guess there's work to be done - cats to herd." He almost sounds like a kid in a candy store. "... planet eating wankers to kill and all'it."

Sara may not know it, but Witchblade certainly does. John Constantine is nothing but an empty shell of a depressed man wracked with guilt when he doesn't have a purpose. Purpose gives him something to focus on other than the guilt that eats away at him every single day no matter how much scotch he puts down.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
The news about a house that was sentient, changed how it was laid out, and wasn't even really in this reality doesn't seem to phase Sara at all. It likely should, but when you're linked to an artifact that houses the soul of a god, it was difficult not to just accept the information for what it was.

"Of course your house is sentient," she comments with a chuckle. "That makes perfect sense regarding everything I've heard about you."

She looked as if she was about to say something else when for a brief moment her eyes glass over. It only lasts for a few seconds, just long enough to be noticeable before she literally shakes her head and mutters, "Knock it off."

Refocusing her attention on John, she offers him a nod, "I don't think many will be dropping into your house any time soon, but once we hand off the talisman and notebooks to you, you can send out that information yourself. I'll be letting everyone know that you're now the third leader, so expect people to come looking for you for meet and greets."

John Constantine has posed:
John's nose scrunches up a little bit, either in thought or disdain? "Notebooks? What the bloody Hell do I want with a notebook?" And talismans? He'll cross that bridge later but anyone that knows the slightest about him has to know how unlikely it is he'd wear someone else's work. It might not even be because he thinks he's the best. It might be a whole lot of him not being trusting enough of others - particularly other mage types.

He circles back to 'knock it off'. "So, where's the big guy at when you're puttin' boots to some poor lad?" Of all the questions one could ask about Witchblade, leave it to John to ask - where's he at when your bumping uglies with someone?

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Timing. Sara had just taken a drink of her coffee as John asked his question. The result? John was now wearing coffee that was spit from her mouth, and she was coughing from the part that had gotten inhaled.

"Holy...." she coughed out, eyes watering before she finally managed to get a breath. "Of all the fucking things to ask..." she finished off with then started laughing. If Biff, as he is being called, didn't go for some napkins for John, Sara would, and offer them up for the man to remove the coffee from himself.

"He's connected to my soul, where the hell do you think he goes," she finally answered, apparently not at all modest or shy about it. "At least he's kind enough to shut up."

John Constantine has posed:
"Bloody fuckin' hell!" John exclaims when he's sprayed by Sara coffee spittle. "This is my favorite shirt! That's going to stain!" ... his favorite shirt that he must have a few dozen of considering he is /always/ wearing the same shirt - and tie and shoes and trench coat.

He snatches the napkins that Biff does, indeed, offer and begins to feign disgust as he's dabbing the brown spots on his white shirt.

Biff? He seems to know his place - or at least he knows everything that comes out of John's mouth is just one confusing conversation after another. He's used to it /already/ and it's only been a few weeks. Pays good though.

"Lil' pervy innit? I mean if he's as all powerful as all that, think he'd be able to bugger himself off for an hour two - twenty minutes dependin' on the lad's stamina."

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Sara rolls her eyes, setting the coffee cup back on the bar. "It doesn't work like that. He can't just leave or 'bugger off', he is literally attached to my soul. The only way he buggers off is if the bracelet is removed."

She uses a napkin or two to wipe her own face and hand, because she managed to spit on it as well. "If there /is/ a way for him to fuck off, he's never told me.. and maybe he does leave, or go into his own thoughts, as I said he goes quiet. Maybe that means he's not there... and I don't fuck 'poor lads' with low stamina."

Dropping the napkin on the bar beside her cup, she offers up a coy smile as she adds, "My guy can go as long as I need him to, and then some." Unless he just worked a full shift at the fire house, then he sleeps like a baby and she just snuggles.

John Constantine has posed:
"Still think it's pervy," John replies. He stands up from his barstool and snaps the book he was reading closed. If Witchblade is keen to such things that book is old - ancient old and that is so not cowhide it's bound in. With something as obscure and ancient as a being like Galactus, with an item so unheard of as The Ultimate Nullifier? Well, means a man has to dig into the human skin bound section of the library to sift through, decipher and translate any little tiny bit of information that might be gleaned. It's safe to say that he's likely been at it for /days/.

"Well, you go knock boots with this king of stamina - I got more reading to do. I think I might have a way to find out at least a wee bit more 'bout what we're lookin' for. Promise, the demon in question won't be any trouble. Here, Friday night - make it a party, luv." He slaps his hand down on the bar and tells Biff, "Need to step out for a bit. Nothin'll get in that's not supposed to." Whatever that means to poor Biff. "Be a good lad now, Biff and lock up at closin' time."

Certainly Biff is not his name, but certainly... he pretends it is.

PS: John /still/ thinks that Galactus VS The Ultimate Nullifier would make an awesome WWF cage match.