19111/A Day at the Laughing Magician

A Day at the Laughing Magician
Date of Scene:	25 September 2024
Location:	The Laughing Magician
Synopsis:	Some interesting patrons make a dull day at the Laughing Magician a little less dull. Among them Daimon Hellstrom, Daniel Ketch and Clark Kent. According to Clark, John's a 'good man'. His good guy barometer must be busted. And his name probably isn't Bruce.
Cast of Characters:	John Constantine, Daimon Hellstrom, Daniel Ketch, Wade Wilson, Clark Kent

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John Constantine has posed:
It's a lazy Sunday afternoon at the Laughing Magician and John's carved out a moment to just relax amid all of the insanity and darkness in his life - particularly of late. The jukebox is set at a level that's just loud enough to be heard and just low enough to allow for conversation - Death or Glory is the current selection spinning in all it's vinyl excellence.

John himself can be found where he can always be found when he's present at the pub - sitting on that lone stool at the end of the bar, the one facing the door. His typical arsenal to get through they rests on the bar's top to his right and left - scotch in bottle and a glass at the former and Silk Cuts, an astray and that old gold lighter he loves so much to the latter. The glaring neon 'No Smoking' sign above John's head is a tongue in cheek method of showing off his 'fuck the rules' attitude toward life. Rules are meant to be broken when breaking them is the right means to the correct end.

Patrons are few and far between today and it's a safe bet to assume most here are 'in the know', at least to an extend. Are they all aware of the danger simply being the the room with John Constantine might lay at their feet - likely not or they might be a little more nervous while eating their Orida French Fries and JTM burgers. People don't come here for the food. Drinks, however, are always top notch - never watered down and typically mixed to perfection. The college aged bartender that's still struggling with left over teenage acne takes pride in his work. Today the name given to him by his strange, sometimes abrasive boss is Bruce - that's probably not the kid's name atall. But he'll answer to it when John calls out, "Oy! Bruce, mate! Take this..." John holds out the bottle of scotch opened this *morning* and offers it up - half empty from the full it was when opened. "... at pull something down from the topsies, ey?" He deserves it, right?

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Long, dark overcoat. No shirt. Tight black pants. Fiery red hair. The man that enters the establishment can be none other than Daimon Hellstrom himself. With a wicked grin, and a glance at the bar, he walks forward, confident and looks to order a pint.

"Quaint." Daimon looks around. Ignores Constantine at the end of the bar, and says to the bartender, "A pint of your finest."

Daniel Ketch has posed:
Daniel came to the pub out of curiosity when he found out Constantine owned a bar or something. But he stayed for the drinks. And maybe he thought John would charge him less because they are teammates. No such luck so far. Fortunately he likes the cheap Scotch.

First time anyone sees him since Nilaa, when the Ghost Rider got trounced badly and he kind of left the House of Mystery without saying goodbye. Not that he is usually very chatty, but that was almost rude.

And now he is here, going over a bottle and maybe waiting for something to happen.

Wade Wilson has posed:
"... and that, my friends, is why Zack and Kelly were the first actual End Game."

Deadpool closes a Saved by the Bell Storybook. He looks back at the collection of Millennial College Students that he definitely didn't kidnap despite the rope and gags that are around their wrists and mouths. He climbs out of the Uber Red and Black's window. "Now, you all just hang tight and I'll be right back. Just gonna' run in here right quick and grab us a few drinks! Butterbeers for everyone!"

Deadpool narrows his lenses at one of the jocks in the back seat. "Except you, Vince. You treated Turtle so bad on Entourage."

Wade tosses hair he doesn't have because he's fully costumed up and turns to stomp his way into the Laughing Magician. Which is definitely not the place he thinks he thinks it is.

John Constantine has posed:
It's not only John's perfect and clear view of the door from his Pauper's Throne that alerts him to Hellstrom's presence. It's the *ping* at the back of his mind, the niggle at the back of his neck - the wards tell him something's arrived that might need a close eye.

John Constantine is a master when it comes to wards and protections and the pub feels as if he worked on the ones present around the lock for a year - that is to say, they're some of the strongest he's ever created. It's his home away from home, he may not be able to make it as safe and impenetrable as his actual Home - capital H - but he can sure try.

Even the likes of Daimon Hellstrom would feel the weight of them - a little like a weighted blanket on a day too hot for any blanket at all.

Bruce - but probably not, is quick to honor John's request and swap out those bottles. He's a little less eager to serve Daimon. The kid shoots a 's'up with this dude' look, along with a subtle tilt of his head in Hellstrom's direction. The proprietor of the establishment just offers a nod and a 'well, do your job' gesture before notBruce serves up that pint.

Daniel sitting off all sullen, Daimon going for a stripper at a bachelorette party look with the bare chest and all ignoring a man in his own house it's harshing his mellow.

"Jesus, Joseph and fuckin' Mary, but you lot are worse than me in the world of the anti-social and that's bloody well sayin' something, innit? Head's up Dannyboy, here's your prize, mate!" he calls out in warning before he *tosses* that topsie bottle of scotch in the man's direction.

Wade's arrival has John rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "Bloody capies and their try-hard costumes," he mutters under his breath. He reaches of his packa and his lighter. The runneth over ashtray indicating that he might shoulda not, but John lights up anyway.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Daimon takes a swig of the beer, and nods, satisfied. "Very good." He then turns to face the room, and takes another drink. He watches as the new arrivals enter the pub, and his eyes narrow slightly. Wilson? Ah.

"I can feel them you know." He doesn't even look at Constantine. "Nice little bit of magic you produced. Hefty. I'm almost impressed. Someone really bad...or really good must be looking for you. You have no worries from me. I'm not here to cause any trouble. For now."

Daniel Ketch has posed:
Daniel is usually about as social as a grumpy bear, but he looks up at John's call and manages to catch the bottle. He blinks at the label and looks back at John, "hey, thanks man," beat, "are you busy? I mean," he glances at Daimon.

Not a suspicious person or anything. His supernatural senses might not be as fine-tuned as the more expert members of the JLD, but they are still pretty sharp. Then again, Deadpool is also here.

Wade Wilson has posed:
Deadpool does a blink or two that nobody can see as he gets turned around inside the magical locale. "Weird. Must be under new management." The fact that he's wearing his Hufflepuff Robe makes it way too clear that he thinks he's at the Three Broomsticks. Or at the very least at Universal Studios. Whatever. He'll make it work.

Deadpool strides right up to the bar and slaps his hand down on top of it. "Six Butterbeers and one Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater to go, por favor!" There's a good chance that he's got a big smile on underneath that mask as he's pretty sure the order is going to be filled. "Put it on my tab. As a matter of fact..." Deadpool raises a hand up. "... Butterbeers for everyone!"

Uh, Wade?

"Except Vince!"

John Constantine has posed:
Well, y'know, when the day might come that the triumvirate of Hell decides who gets one's soul breaking the 'tie' and when another lien was held by Lucifer until very recently and when you've pissed off more archangels than most can even name - it's good to take precautions, innit?

But John's simple reply is, "It's not like I'm hard to find, mate." The implication is just as simple as the words - those looking may not really want to find, and go up against, the likes of John Constantine. Putting on airs, it's a part of a survival kit as it were - but is he really putting on airs? Could be, could not be. Everyone has a different idea of what John actually *is* but most of his enemies have learned to at least respect the danger he could pose.

"Not at all, mate," John replies - Daimon isn't anything at all to be 'busy with'. He pats the stool next to his own in invitation - well, not next to, just around the corner to. That small length of bar between it and the wall, is John's alone.

"No tabs here, mate, cash up front only!" is called out.

NotBruce studies Wade for a moment and offers a helpless shrug along with, "Sorry, dude, he's the boss."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Another drink of the beer. Half full mug now. Daimon returns Ketch's glance with a nod. Then looks sideways at Deadpool as he arrives in his vicinity at the bar. It paid to keep one eye on Wilson at all times when he was around.

"Wilson." Is all he says.

Still not looking at Constantine, Daimon nods in understanding. "True." With one last look at Wade, Daimon decides to take the man up on his offer, and moves to sit on the offered stool. Placing his mug in front of him, Daimon sits.

Daniel Ketch has posed:
Apparently Daniel is the only one that seems surprised by Deadpool antics. Who is Vince anyway? Probably not his business! Instead he takes a few steps towards John, carrying his (empty) glass and his new (full) bottle.

"Well, it is the first time I come here," he half-explains. "It seems as warded as the Book and Candle," and it has alcohol, so means it is maybe better. On the con side, it is open to the public. "Yeah, the other day..." he starts. "I am not sure what happened. Was everyone out and safe?"

Wade Wilson has posed:
"What?! No tabs?!" There's an overdramatic sigh from Wade as he goes into one of his pouches. He comes out with a pile of cash that is very clearly Bison Bucks. He slaps the huge stack on the bar and turns around to lean back against. That's right, Deadpool came prepared. He brought the most highest currency of cash available in the unknown world.

"Dai Dai!" Wade aims a pair of finger guns in the direction of Daimon. "Waaaaazzzzzzuuuuuuuuup!" Do they still say that? Wade thinks they still say that.

Wade looks over his shoulder. "Oh and one super huge swirly straw. A pink one!" Sounds like Wade is looking for a little fun with his alcoholic beverage.

John Constantine has posed:
It's not a con when the place is spelled so that everyone that shouldn't see or hear or is meant to know a thing - just doesn't. A conversation about Nilaa ends up sounding like two blokes engaged in locker room talk about some bird - as an example. Magical acts themselves, those that the words will allow, just go unnoticed. "Pretty much, aye." Everyone made it out for sure. Some a little worse for wear than others. Cleansing the ley lines corrupted by *that much* dark magic, it wasn't a simple feat. John felt it the next day no doubt.

"Uh, I don't think we accept this," notBruce explains after an inspection of that wad of 'cash'.

John's expression is simply not amused. Sure, the bloke gets and A for effort, but he has to keep the lights on in this place. "Real deal or no deal," he informs Wade.

His attention drifts back to Daimon, briefly. "Really scraping the bottom of the blood barrel for people willing to pretend to be your friend, ey? Oh, seen your daughter out and about - still paying that tithe is she?" The words aren't there, but the meaning is - can't get your own souls? Sad.

Putting on airs - it's a survival tool, remember?

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Ignoring Wilson's antics, and Ketch's words, Daimon shakes his head, and takes a large swig of the beer. "At least the drinks here are top notch. No complaint there." Daimon puts the mug back down on the bar. "Unique clientele as well." No doubt who he was refering too.

Daimon allows himself a smile. "My sister. Aye. I try and avoid her." He ignores the tithe comment.

Raising the mug, Daimon adds, "As for friends, well, I rarely need those. I just thought, why not drop in, and say, if that rag tag group of magic users you pal around with ever need someone with real power, give me a call." He finishes off the beer. "I am sure you know how to call me. Use your "Hellphone". He chuckles, drops a twenty on the bar, and straightens his over coat. Then, with a nod to Ketch, he heads back out in the street.

Daniel Ketch has posed:
"Alright, good," Daniel opens the bottle and fills half his glass, leaving the scotch at hand. Daimon gets a wary glance as he leaves, "who was that one? I have the impression I have seen him somewhere? Possibly Netty had some stuff about him."

Or maybe it was his partner who had seen Daimon at some point. With every year he remembers more and more of what the Ghost Rider sees and does. Which is not a good thing when the other one gets stabbed and loses and arm.

Wade Wilson has posed:
"Ugh. Come on, guys. Help me out here. Don't you guys have a spell for this? Moneyicus Realicus? Something?"

Deadpool is damn near pleading with the collective in this moment because he didn't even bring any of his real cash. Or maybe he did and he's just trying to get rid of these stupid Bison Bucks. Either way, there's got to be some kind of magic that can make this money make sense. Or better yet? Dollars!

There's a moment when Wade has to actually pause and look around. "Wait. I want a Hellphone. How come I don't have a Hellphone?" Deadpool slumps onto a stool finally. Defeated. "The Pun is too good for me to not have one..."

John Constantine has posed:
"Sister, daughter, mother, brother - who can keep track when the family tree branches are so intertwined and back tracked that a mother bloody well could be a sister or a nephew." But at the offer of help. "Well, there is a planet eating cunt heading this way - could be in your best interest to help stop that, ey?" John replies as Daimon stands to leave. What does Hell have to look forward to if every soul on the planet arrives at one time with no hope of *more*. Boring thought, innit? After all, Hell is always wanting *more*.

Hellphone indeed - it's exactly how he got Lil' Sis on board in the fight. Just a circle, some words and a name - it's all he needs to tame the denizens of Hell, at least temporarily. If he had to bargain with some low-life gangbanger's soul as an offered meal, so be it.

"Daimon Hellstrom." John says the name as if it's nothing - no more than a thing to be forgotten in the other man's departure. It isn't until Daimon is gone and well out of earshot that John adds, "I'd stay away from him if I were you, ey?" He's not likely to heed his own advice. His advice is wisdom to be imparted to others, not stuff to bind his own actions.

"All magic comes at a price, mate. Your free booze isn't anything that I'm overly eager to pay that bloody price for." John's gaze shifts to Wade after the words are spoken. "Maybe you should lend your unique... look to children's birthday parties, ey? I hear some of them still like clowns?"

Daniel Ketch has posed:
"Away from him? That goes for most of us, we are what we are," comments Daniel, sipping from his drink. "What was Dark Opal, Constantine? The Ghost Rider was disoriented, and reckless when he revealed himself. I only got he was a powerful sorcerer, but that is not that weird."

Deadpool antics are watched with mild interest. Insanity from an armed costumed individual should be more alarming, he knows, but maybe he is already half drunk.

John Constantine has posed:
"What do you know about Gemworld?" John asks, leading the lesson with a question. He rubs his near burnt to the but cigarette out and lights another to leave it tucked between his lips. He's guess the answer from Danial might be 'not much' so he has to settle in for the duration - that means at least one more cigarette.

Oddly, he's not touched his scotch.

Sometimes - when things are happening left and right, when John's mind is kept busy with one task after another, one crisis after another - that's all he needs to get his 'high', his distraction from his own miserable life from. In those times, in those moments of purpose, he typically only drinks enough to stave off the detox tremors.

Daniel Ketch has posed:
"A bit, I was there a few years ago, with Amy and Cyborg of the Titans, one of the batgirls and a few others," replies Daniel, trying to remember. "It is a magical dimension, probably created or shaped by the ancestors of the noble houses now ruling. Kinda medieval, but really quite advanced in some areas."

He sips from his drink again, "part of the nobility is rotten, as it happens among politicians. They sent people to kill Amy, so we chased them there. Beat them up and put Amy and her allies in control. I wish I could remember better, but there is something about the place that is dream-like."

John Constantine has posed:
Just as John thought, not much and much of what Daniel thinks he knows is wrong. "Aye, a magical dimension that exists in the Sphere of the Gods. That sphere is the birthplace of all magic and the fount from which it all still stems. Medieval in a way yes, but all the houses and all the rest of it, well that matters little in the scope of your question. In the scope of your question, Black Opal could be likened to that of a lesser bloody God in terms of his power."

A powerful sorcerer indeed.

"So, you see now what poor Amy's bloody up against? But you also see, that coming from Gemworld her self, that she has the potential to be as great a sorcerer as he is. Provided he can bloody well be stopped in time, ey? The more power he drains from the world, the more he corrupts, the strong he becomes."

He pulls from the cigarette still dangling between his lips. The smoke from it rises upward like a ghostly spirit.

"So, if you intend to help her, buckle up - it's going to be a wild ride."

Daniel Ketch has posed:
"I want to help her," agrees Daniel, "and the Rider... I think he wants to kill Dark Opal, which is strange. He is usually about punishing the 'sinners' and leave them to deal with the consequences. Despite his reputation, he rarely kills anyone."

Equal to a godling? Well, at long as it is not Thor.

"Draining the magic of the world would explain why he dared to return," he comments. "He has learned more dirty tricks and now he feels he can win. We gotta stop him before he drains so much power he causes permanent damage to the world."

John Constantine has posed:
"Some things are bloody well evil enough that, perhaps, even the Rider can't suffer them to exist, ey?" It's just a theory. "I want to help her as well. I also want to save *this* world from Galactus, deal with whatever's coming down the pipes related to a little forewarning last night."

Just a beat in which he plucks the cigarette away to down half of his scotch - hands must of been ready to tremble.

"Just remember one thing, the thing I forget myself most of the bloody time - all of it really. We can only do what we can do. No matter the outcome - it's all you could do, ey?"

John knows the importance of his own words. He also knows it's not easy advice to accept. The man carries around more unwarranted guilt than the weight of the world. As blase as he can seem about much - on the inside he's anything but. On the inside he carries every single failure as a reminder of his own inadequacies - even the failures where success was nigh on impossible.

It's a rare moment - seeing the inner torment of John Constantine - but for the briefest, it's written there in the lines of a face haggard by too many years spent battling things most men would cower away from.

Daniel Ketch has posed:
Daniel nods. He is much younger than John, but he has experienced his share of loss and failure, and he is linked to a vengeful creature that relentless chases after the darkest monsters in the world. The half-memories become his constant nightmares.

"Well, of course," he half-smirks. "The Rider was quiet for a couple days, but he is itching for a fight now. He must have recovered already."

Clark Kent has posed:
The door opens, and in walks a man. Tall. Built. Wearing a "poor man's" suit. Grey pin striped. Blue tie. Worn, polished shoes. An old school, 70s hat. Wire-rimmed glasses. And a smile.

"Ahem." Clark Kent clears his throat and takes a few steps into the bar. He pushes his glasses up on his noce with his right hand, and says, "Um. Hello. I am looking for Mr John Constantine? Hello?"

John Constantine has posed:
"Well then, looks like you found him, ey? Pity on ya," John replies just loudly enough to be heard decently from a distance and the sound of the jukebox spinning its vinyls. Wasn't but an hour ago that the man was in a pretty decent mood. It's since faded.

Maybe he should learn to not talk 'shop' when he's trying to enjoy a moment's downtime.

His actions say 'don't know this bloke' while his mind says 'Bollocks, what's Superman doing here?'

Because the arrival of the Man of Steel in his humble little pub certainly can't mean anything *good*, right?

Clark Kent has posed:
"Ah!" Clark looks satisfied and moves forward. "I wanted to drop by and say hello. I know you have been very busy lately, and wanted to offer our assistance if you need it." The man moves to the bar, and orders a water. The bartender slid it forward, and Clark takes a drink.

Clark's voice seems to change. His body reflects his guise to the wandering eye, but John can tell this was Superman talking behind the glasses.

"You've been busy. As has the team. My friends..." He pauses, looking at John, as in, the JL, "...are concerned. Everything ok?"

John Constantine has posed:
When Clark gets close enough to John's little corner of the bar, he'll feel it - or more hear it. The sounds of the pub muffle. The jukebox is drowned to next to nothing. In that little corner, in the bubble around it, talking freely isn't a problem - no, no one save the most powerful of beings will hear what's said in that bubble. Here's to hoping Clark doesn't get a rash from it or somesuch?

He barks out a humorless laugh. "I dunno mate, I mean is it?"

A beat, as he refills his glass from the bottle next to him and stubs his burnt Silk out in the ashtray.

"Diana send you? Always was the mothering sort, that one." It's said with fondness.

"There's a planet eating wanker heading our way, Gemworld is set to fall to Dark Opal if we can't stop. There's some bullshite vague badness coming our way that - from recent dreams - feels like." He bites his bottom lip, sucks on it a few seconds - all along with a shake of his head. "Feels like something from the Other Place, mate. Otherkind getting their knickers in a bunch. Could be wrong, not like I never bloody well have been and the dreams, they're just flashes."

Clark Kent has posed:
A pause. Clark Kent takes in the place. The sounds. The smells. The feeling of a kind of electric current that runs through the place. Magic. John's spell. Which is funny, because "It's a Kind of Magic" plays somewhere.

"I think so, yes. like the place John. Very stylish. The name is perfect. Keeps you grounded." Clark Kent smiles. A push. Glasses back up on his nose. The water remains untouched on the bar, as Clark turns to look at John.

"Diana is always worried about you John. And Zatanna. Seems you have a way with the ladies." Was that a joke? From Clark?

There. Clark sighs. "I know. I have been in deep space myself, trying to prevent the inevitable. Galactus is coming. And Gemworld." Another pause. "And a vague something? Hmmm." Clark looks concerned. Which should scare everyone. After all, he was Superman."

"We will be fine. You take care of your side of the Universe. We'll deal with the other side. Just keep us informed. We're all on the same team." Clark's spiritual charisma takes hold. It was hard to not believe they would win with this bloke on the good guys team."

"You ok?"

John Constantine has posed:
"Always, mate." John's reply to being ask that question sounds just a touch manic. "Sue Richards paid me a visit." Sue Richards that's supposed to be dead? Yes that one. "...right in the middle of my bloody *bath*. Makes it hard to have *me* time, dunnit?" This is the loop, he's keeping Clark in it. "...from a bloody Hell dimension. Don't know what that's all about yet, figure I'll find out soon enough."

He scrunches his nose up, it's his thinking face. What else? "Oh, right then. The silver bloke, the shiny Herald? His girl's all makin' herself at home in my Home until we can maybe get a little love connection reunion going between her and her man - way I've heard it, turning him to our side is key."

Another beat, one Silk stubbed out and another lit to be left between his lips. "Did you know that there isn't a hair on the head of any bloody man on Zenn-La? Not a single one. No hair, but they got themselves demons, ey? Exorcised one from the brother - half brother? Anyway, someone from Silver's family that was makin' a run at his girl."

John takes a deep breath that seems as if it should have been a groan instead.

"Thanks, mate." He seems to mean that, not his typical sarcasm. "Felt good to get some of that off my chest in one big summary. What exactly *is* my side of the Universe anyway?" It's a genuine question because lately he's felt like it's all of them. "Most times, I go where I'm needed - even when I'm not bloody well wanted. What else can we do, ey?"

Clark Kent has posed:
"Sue is a...was a...hero. Wait..." Clark blinks. "Did you say, she was in a hell dimension?" His eyes look at John with surprise. Forcing hmself to remain quiet, he listens to John's story. "Great Caesar's Ghost.. That sounds...scary. Maybe we will need someone who knows all about Hell to help us with that one?" Not that he had someone specific in mind.

Silver bloke. "The Silver Surfer. Yes. Go on." Clark frowns. "ok. If we could count on him as an ally, it would be a huge strategic advantage."

Next. Hair. Clark smiles. "I knew that yes." Next. "Glad I could be here as a shoulder to cry on. We all need to vent John. Anytime."

Clark actually finishes his water. "Oh. Your side of the Universe. You know. Things that go bump in the night. Ghosts. Goblins. Harry Potter things. Zatanna has tried to fill me in, and I just...prefer punching versus "Wingardium Leviosa"." Clark's pronounciation was perfect. "You are welcome to help anytime." Clark moves to put his right hand on the man's shoulder. "We count on you. You are a good man John. Stay true to this." His left index finger pokes John right where his heart was.

John Constantine has posed:
Finally, after putting what he needed to out there, John circles back around to Clark's attempt at humor. "Oy, just don't tell the missus." Constantine may be a force to be reckoned with, but he's got nothing on his wife.

Good man? That's what hits his brain first. Another barked laugh, without much humor, "Have you *met* me?" A good man is not a label most would put on John Constantine - not even the man himself.

"Seems a little ... unfair - no hair, dunnit?" How in God's name that is what stuck with him the most during that trip to Zenn-la is anyone's guess.

Back to a good man - does a really *good man* know so much about Hell? "Tricky business that - Hell dimensions. Got something in the works, with a little luck we can maybe help her situation."

A beat, smoke still wafting up like a ghostly spirit from the Silk between his lips. Then... "I've talked to that, y'know, Caesar's ghost. Not a bad bloke, good company." Joking? Maybe not? Hard to say.

Clark Kent has posed:
"I promise not to tell the missus." Clark smiles warmly, knowing John's attempt at humour hides a deep darkness and pessimism. "I mean what I say John. I know who you are. Do you? Truly?" Clark turns back to the bar, and taps it softly.

Changing the subject - a nod, letting John get away from the "good man" discussion. As it was, Superman would never say that unless he meant it.

"I know a little it about Hell Dimensions, having been in a few in my day." Which was probably true. Or was he joking again? "Sue is a treasured friend John. I am counting on you to save her. Only bring in those you trust."

Turning to take his leave, Clark nods. "Thank you John. Keep fighting the good fight. That is all that all of us can do." With that, Clark taps the brim of his hat with his right hand in a warm salute. "If you need me, I will be there." And he was gone.

John Constantine has posed:
Left to his own devices again, John stares down into his empty glass. He truly does feel better than when Clark walked through the door. As much as the Hellblazer likes to claim he walks his path alone, from time to time it's nice to feel as if he doesn't. Particularly from someone that's *not* close enough to him to be completely blinded by the danger of being sucked into his orbit.

"You know I will, mate." He whispers to his own reflection in the mirrors behind the bar. Maybe too late for Clark to hear the words, but maybe the man knows John'll die trying anyway.

Does John Constantine truly know who he is? A powerful magus or a petty dabbler? A sinner or a saint? A hero or the Devil himself?

His answer would be all of the above.