6048/Fire and Fishnets

Fire and Fishnets
Date of Scene:	26 April 2021
Location:	Oblivion Bar
Synopsis:	Two survivors from the road cross paths, and make the best of what life has dealt.
Cast of Characters:	Zatanna Zatara, Johnny Blaze

---

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The Oblivion Bar is one of those places where people in the know go. Or people go if they need to know. The options may be somewhat interchangeable. Zatanna counts as both worldly in otherworldly topics, and seeking something outside the usual. That goes for drinks and dessert as much as company.

The dessert looks to be a galette, a bronzed pancake of a sort, filled by crystallized red berries currently on fire. The flames smell of a concoction of bourbon, strawberries, and the first kiss of frost. Possibly incongruous with the decor or the expectations for a dessert, much less one with a lump of ice cream immune to melting at high heat. The drink, a tall mug of Earl Grey tea shot by a nip of lavender liqueur and a herbal extract from a glass bottle capped in smoke and a yellow tag. Probably a warning not to touch. Either way, she makes for a lonely figure among the high-backed chairs and somewhat occupied chaises. No one here is overtly bizarre on the high level of weird scale, but several aren't normal. A vampire in the corner, a woman with tentacles on her face playfully waving to accent certain points, and a celebrity in fishnets.

It could be worse!

Johnny Blaze has posed:
Johnny Blaze used to keep away from places like this, trying to escape his ties to the supernatural, the literal demon on his back. Miles of road and trips to hell have made his peace with what he is and who he becomes, for the most part, although it will never be an easy thing.

Places like this do ease the pain a bit.

He's wearing his usual biker leathers, studded jacket and beaten-up black jeans, boots that jangle a bit as he walks. Silver rings on several of his fingers, long hair tucked behind his ears, sunglasses on his forehead. He bellies up and raises an eyebrow at Zatanna, "Even in a weird ass place like this, absolute crime for a woman of your standard to be drinkin' by yourself. If you please, barkeep, get me a beer, Long-necked and Mexican, like my ex-wife."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Miles of road eventually comes to a bridge over a place that isn't just a river in Egypt. Funny how that works for so many people. The riders on that road may not have a motorcycle or a flaming chain to accompany them. They share reluctance and regrets all the same. Even the black-haired magician knows a thing or two about turning her back on the obvious places where the supernatural loiter.

Hard to argue with the decor or the good drinks, though. Especially when they so often come without an extra string attached, be that an unspoken agreement or a two-drink minimum to go with that $30 bill, minus gratuity.

Her flaming dessert isn't quite to the point of peak flambe, so she forced to make do with sipping her boozy tea. Pinky out, even. Zatanna Zatara knows when there are expectations to live up to. So when someone much more interesting than a cactus trader or a tarot-reading fake gypsy rolls by, she turns a slanted look his way. "Guilty as charged. I hear the sentence on that is somewhere between a night and five years, give or take. I better sweeten up the DA."

Johnny Blaze has posed:
Johnny Blaze takes his beers and gets a long swig from it, casually sitting down not exactly with her, but close enough to talk. He kicks up his feet on another empty ch air, leaning back with a casual languor.

"I'm pretty sure you'd do just fine. You're tougher than that pretty exterior lets on. Wouldn't be here if you weren't," he says. "Johnny Blaze. Pleasure to meet you. You don't have to introduce yourself. I know who you are. I spent a long time in the entertainment business myself. Even had my own circus for a while. I wouldn't be worth my salt if I didn't know a Zatara when I saw one."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
No empty air supporting Zee, just one of those elegant English chairs that belongs properly in a handsomely appointed library or around a shiny table with servants at the beck and call of whatever lordling happens to reside there. Her grey coat and black corset make a fair approximation of a uniform, but alas, no 19th century skirts or ridiculous such luxuries. Just fishnets and a black pencil skirt for an ensemble that make her somewhat recognizable in her stage persona.

Much more intriguing to blow the steam off the top of her tea. A hint of a smile blooms in full. She never stints. "Zatanna Zatara. Enchanted to meet you, Johnny. May I? Or would you prefer Mr. Blaze?" A smile fit to woo birds from the sky registers as smoke and chocolate. Briefly she checks the tentacle-faced woman and company in a table across the way. Nothing stands out as too alarming even when tendrils are swaying animatedly.

"Time in a circus? Wouldn't be with the one out of Gotham, with the Flying Graysons?" she asks, laughing softly. "Another person in the business? Your next round is on me, if I may. Solidarity for the hours on the road and the countless routines. What brought you in here, if not chance and a winding path?"

Johnny Blaze has posed:
Johnny Blaze smiles, "Johnny's just fine by me. Ain't nobody calls me anything else, now that I think of it. Well, not in polite company, anyways."

"No, no, that's a different outfit, on the East coast circuit. I was part of the Quentin Circus, worked mostly California, the Southwest, sometimes up into Montana and the Dakotas. Wide open spaces and long highways."

"I can't say I'm in exactly the same business. I can do a little sleight-of-hand, but not enough to perform. My business was stunts. Jumpin' motorcycles over flamin' schoolbuses, that sort of thing. And, well, how I got on this side of the fence is a long, long story with a lot of tears."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Good to know. I go by Zee when it's casual or among the right crew." That welcome door opens slowly on the conversation, and the black-haired woman leans a little to reach for her flaming dessert. The bright berries ripened in the fire, and the remaining crisped sugar cracks prettily over them. "You made it out into the Dakotas? Quite a far ride from here. You weren't kidding. Different pace, though. I imagine some of those towns you visited saw the biggest show in years."

Still, she nods in a knowing way. Her own path wandered over those dusty byways between California and the Midwest, weaving through sand-struck places off Route 66 and others heavily forgotten in time.

He gets her laughing softly. "I see, leaping things on motorcycles isn't always what I do. Though I ride, and have the worn rubber and leather to prove it. Bit more a speed demon over a cruiser style myself." She eases into sipping her tea. "Promise not to turn Oprah on you in search of that story. I hope it's not all tears for you now. You find a place like this can give you respite, though?"

Johnny Blaze has posed:
Johnny Blaze takes a drag on his cigarette, finishing it off and snuffing it out in a glass ashtray that just manifested for him. The bar is good like that, taking care of the customer's needs. "I always liked the plains. Honest people and not that many of 'em. Room to breathe. I don't know how people like livin' all packed into cities like stacks of cordwood," he sighs.

At the last question, he allows a quiet nod, "I've drowned many a sorrow in whiskey and beer. Trying to take a more positive outlook these days. I've got my burden to bear, but it ain't worse than a lot of folks. Better me than some others. I can handle it," he says. "What about you? You're awful far from the glamour and glitz here."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna shakes her head. "Funny part about Vegas, miles of open sky and desert in every direction. The landscape is sere, yellow and rust and countless shades of brown. Then smack dab in the middle of it all, we've got this city sprouting in every gaudy colour like an old woman wearing all her costume jewelry. Everyone wants a green lawn and a fence. Mad, isn't it?" She trails her fingers lightly down the backbone of the mug's handle, then sets it aside for a refill. "Bit of madness and more than a little pride in doing that, don't you think? Building a city of a desert wasteland. Maybe they have it right in some of those farming towns. Stay closer to nature, spend less time building to the sky?"

His right to answer, if he chooses. Nothing Johnny needs to rush about. She taps her finger on a spoon and scoops up a bit of the wobbly galette, crunching through the outer layer and getting to the creamy berries and sugar within. "I need time to get away from the dark. You perform in Gotham City enough, you start to think it's like Antarctica. All darkness for months on end." A good natured tease lies under the words. "I prefer a change of company. New adventures. Life made me rootless, I want to know where this wind blows."

Johnny Blaze has posed:
Johnny Blaze gets another beer, peeling the label off the bottle of the first and casually rolling it in his fingers, contemplative. "Reckon you're right about that. I was never very good at settling down anyplace. Lawns, fences, walls. I don't sleep under the stars for more than a few days, I start feeling a bit funky down in the old soul. What I got left of one. Rootless. That's a good word for it. I don't think I've ever had a home in one place for more than a month or two. I gotta escape, after not too long. Did I mention I'm divorced? Yeah..."

"I ain't been to Gotham in an age. It's a rough place, what I remember. Not sure it'd be safe for me to go there," he says. Of course, he doesn't mean safe for his own health, but more the health of the locals. A lot of blood on a lot of hands there. The Rider would have a feast.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Fences get in the way of nature moving freely. A friend told me it's like the saddest attempt to claim control over something that never should be. But he's pretty complicated, all in all. Looking up at the stars and admiring the horizon is nothing new or shameful, I figure." The spoon pops into her mouth and she takes another bite, savouring the bite of the berries and the tartness melded into sweetness. "You did. Long-necked and Mexican. Ex Mrs. Blaze out there somewhere figure on a different life?"

She sets the spoon down and gestures. "I can invite you as a guest to a show, if you fancy something that gets you in and out." Not that she knows about the Rider, exactly. It probably knows of her. Her father if nothing else. Maybe something about flinging one of the great demonic vessels -- of the Three -- away from Felix Faust, banishing it to places somewhat known. "Is it any consolation? I'm hardly known for Mr. Zatara either. The whole gig tends to be a hard one. Someone has to be confident enough in themselves not to resent the limelight. Or the League. That's another complication in and of itself, though not the least of them. And if they have no idea the magic is real, then you can imagine it goes downhill from there."

Johnny Blaze has posed:
Johnny Blaze shakes his head, "Can't imagine a soul doubting magic is real anymore. Gods walkin' the skies and devils roamin' the streets. Every myth and legend in the last century has popped its head up out of the ground to remind the world that it stands on the bones of the dead and the damned," he says.

"I might take you up on the show. I miss puttin' 'em on. Too dangerous for me to stay with the circus anymore. That's where the ex and the little ones are. Bein' around me just makes 'em a target. I tend to, uh, attract things. Nasty things, usually, that wanna crunch me and mine up."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Magic still stands out as odd. They would rather make sense of Kryptonians and androids than someone down the street changing their hair colour with a nose wiggle." Zatanna smiles at this. Not mocking those startled folks, but she can certainly acknowledge Johnny's truth with her own take. "Gods descend from stories. Demons roam. Hypersmart aliens try to take out New York, or a good chomp of it. What's the world come to where doing a card trick that is real still perplexes people?"

She tries more of the dessert, and finds it clearly to her liking. A softening expression announces that terrible familiarity. "I get that. Sometimes, I wonder what my dad was thinking having me. With the life we led. His too. But I understand why. You attract things, and you don't want to be alone. Or maybe you don't want to face down nothing but shadows and things in the dark with teeth and that be your only life. You always have a chance to go back to something, isn't that how it goes? Even if you decide today to go down the road. There's an exit, somewhere, that says 'home.' Or close to home as the likes of us get."

Johnny Blaze has posed:
Johnny Blaze listens for a long moment and then shakes his head, "God damn, woman, you're gonna make me break out the whiskey early, talkin' like that," he says with a grin.

"I ain't ever alone. Not really. But the one keepin' me company ain't exactly my friend," he admits. "Maybe I can go back. Someday. But I think odds are I'll die long before that. One way or another. Sometimes I'm almost afraid he'll never let me die. My demons like me alive to torment."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"You been up long? I haven't seen the dawn since yesterday. Could be the way this place brings out the best in us." Johnny is toasted by her raising a new cup of tea. "Had some time to think, floating out there in the vast. Plenty of time to /want/, too. Action. Something better than just loitering about, if you understand. Time is rare and precious."

She lifts the mug and takes a sip. Just one, it's hot and the kick of liquor in there mellowed by the heavy infusion of the tea. "Sounds heavy. Infernal forces play rough with mortals. Whether it's the possessed or those who make a deal with them, it never seems to turn out very easy or light. I can't promise to ease your load, but I can help. One of those things that might be worked out. Just a word of advice, if you find yourself up a creek and the water's on fire, shout my name really purposefully. Or you could try John Constantine. They don't get along, in the same way water and the far left half of the periodic table don't get along. Like pouring cesium in their coffee."

Johnny Blaze has posed:
Johnny Blaze lights another cigarette, "I've heard Constantine's name before. His reputation ain't exactly spotless. But, then, neither is mine. I was free, for a long time, once upon a midnight. But turned out that sometimes I needed the damn thing, more than I ever wanted to believe it. I tried to convince myself otherwise, tried my hand at exorcism and even almost went darkside myself. In the end, seems like me and the Rider, well...we ain't quite right without one another. It needs me and I need it. Even if it makes me miserable."

"But I do appreciate the permission. Truth be told, I'd much rather cry your name for a lot less unpleasant reasons, if you catch my driftin'," he says with a wink.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The Italian woman laughs again, shaking her head a moment after. "His reputation is terrible, and he would be the first to say it. But sometimes the choice between two bad routes ends with the one that keeps you alive. His way favours that... if it means he lives. Man turns up like a bad penny but it still pays now and then." She curls her fingers through the dark weight of her hair, brushing it aside from her neck. "Exorcism? That's one hell of a bold move."

She cringes at her choice of words, and adds, "That sounded better in my head. No pun. I've had to do one or two in my time and I wouldn't recommend it." The slanting light marks someone entering the bar, and another leaving. Since the chimp isn't on duty, the mood is convivial rather than full of investigations or thoughtful chat.

"You are bold as rain, my friend. I didn't travel a few thousand light years in a tin can without longing to stretch my legs and to see stars some other way." The spoon drops with a chime in the mostly finished galette, a plate she neatly pushes over the bar to be swept away. "If you get me."

Johnny Blaze has posed:
Johnny Blaze smiles, "I get you," he says with a smoldering look in his eyes. Not as smoldering as it could be, of course, given the source.

"Cleansing myself of my demon nearly killed me and made me want to be dead a lot longer. I couldn't go through it again. Sometimes I think I don't even want to. That's the thing with demons, isn't it? Seductive. The power, the potency. The fear in the eyes when they know what you are and that there's nothing they can do to stop you. Yeah. I get you," he says with a sip of whiskey, good Kentucky bourbon that makes him grin.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The full smouldering effect might be a great way to see how quickly one can draw: logomancer versus Rider. Might be a hell of a gunfight, and this isn't the saloon deserving of the effort.

"Good. Language should be precise when it counts." Back to that tea, Zee is happy to listen and indulge. She nods to the threat of power. "Truer words rarely spoken. You tap into power, it has its way with you. Changes everyone whether they anticipate it or not. The key seems to be what you do with it. Truth outs when it comes down to that. I would tell anyone that nothing comes for free. But they aren't likely to listen if they need that reference."

Johnny Blaze has posed:
The Rider doesn't have a craving for Zatanna. No innocent blood spilled there, or at least, not enough with any intent to ignite Zarathos' hunger and rage. The biker takes a long drag on his cigarette again.

"I try to use it wisely. Putting the genie back in the bottle isn't always easy. Such a narrow opening. And prices...yeah, I've paid the price. Plenty of times over," he says. The memory of his father dying in his arms flashes there, the life he'd sold his own soul for only to learn that the devil's a cheater.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Not much spilled blood. More likely it's all by those who fought at Oa and went policing trouble. Her only sin might be smuggling tasty goods to the far side of the universe. To conjuring cereal. Criminally effective stockings and heels, do they count? Guilty again as charged.

"Mm. No, it's not. Even the highest powers being called on have their price. I doubt an angel would do for free what an elemental or a demon would not. But then, I tend to use different means." His expression causes her to pause, tipping her head forward. Chin resting on her palm, she doesn't rush. There is no need.

Johnny Blaze has posed:
Johnny Blaze nods, "Probably wise. Getting into dealings with the underworld, they always get their pay in the end. Usually with plenty of interest," he grins.

"Still, I ain't hear to cry tears or have anybody hear my sob stories. No fresh wounds, just old scars. But if you wanna give my scars a kiss, I got 'em all over," he grins roguishly.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"I knew those elocution lessons my father signed me up for would come in useful one day." Zatanna rounds her lips and taps her chin. "So that's how it goes, hope is always around the next bend. Or something. I've had this spiked with too much gin, more than likely, to go anything too maudlin or inspirational. You want that, ask Superman."

With whom she has at least /some/ kind of name-basis. Go figure. Not a name drop of any importance or bragging, more like a roundabout run to the original point of deities and any old which wonder poking their heads up in the last few years. "So what are you here for, if not that?"

Johnny Blaze has posed:
Johnny Blaze laughs, 'Damn. Superman. It's hard to even think of him as a real person. Like sayin' you know George Washington. But with muscles," he says.

"For the moment, I'm here to enjoy myself. Have a little booze, listen to some music, maybe meet a lovely lady. The road goes on, the Spirit of Vengeance will call soon enough to drive me to run down some evil piece of shit and it'll go how it goes. I've had enough bein' a sorrowful bastard about it."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"George Washington with muscles and a school boy attitude. I don't claim to chill with him on his off days. Maybe Wonder Woman does that, but me?" Zatanna shakes her head again. The amusing visuals of them meeting in a cafe probably don't jive with the actual reality of Super-Awesome Kryptonian man.

"Booze, music, and life. I think right there, something that needs to be popularized on one too many kitschy signs. Enough of this 'laugh and dance' business or whatever, eat, pray, love. Your version sounds more fun. So, shall we?" she offers, and swivels in the seat to eye up the bartender. "Bring us something not green, and rightfully boozy, please!"