7197/Grim Relations: A Meeting of the Minds

Grim Relations: A Meeting of the Minds
Date of Scene:	02 August 2021
Location:	The Laughing Magician
Synopsis:	Phoebe Beacon meets John Constantine at the Laughing Magician. John doesn't step aside for (Lady) Death. Luckily, plucky teenagers save the day -- maybe. Until they get pulled into more of John's mess. Meggan brings cake, which is the LEAST unusual thing about the scene.
Cast of Characters:	John Constantine, Phoebe Beacon, Hope Svelgate, Meggan Puceanu

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John Constantine has posed:
    Before open at the Laughing Magician isn't all that much different than after open of the proprietor is in the house. That is to say, John is at his same stool with a glass and a bottle and an ashtray and a pack of Silks. Makes a person wonder if he ever goes home? Or if this is his home?

    Front door is unlocked, or maybe it's just unlocked for Phoebe since he's half expecting her? Hard to say really.

    Jukebox in the corner is on, but at about half volume. Johnny Rotten pelts out My Way, it's been on repeat for about an hour. Someone likes that song. Chas is at the end of the bar opposite John's stool, polishing glasses and just looking generally irate. Irate - the constant state of being brought about by spending too many years as John Constantine's best mate.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe doesn't have that problem. The young magi makes her way into the bar, messenger bag over her shoulder, glasses hanging at her T-shirt's collar, which is currently promoting some Gotham function or another. Seems like she wears nothing but free shirts. That ever-present 'glow' about her is still there in the aether surrounding her, though today her braided hair is pulled back and trails down between her shoulderblades. She gives a nod to Chas, a half smile about the Gothamite's face before she turns to John, walking down the bar towards His seat.

    "Thank you for agreeing to hear me out--" she begins, "Can I have a seat?"

John Constantine has posed:
    John takes somewhere between a sip and swig from his glass, rolls that bit of scotch around in his mouth before swallowing. Then he takes the time to shake a cigarette out of the pack, light it, drag from it, exhale and finally, "Well, be rude of me to agree to meet and then tell you that you have to stand, wouldnit, luv?"

    Hard to read today, that mood, seems he might be a bit of a pisser. Deadpan tone, never really looking *at* Phoebe. S'alright though, she sticks it out long enough it'll change one way or the other. Mercurial little fuck innit he?

    Little gesture toward the jukebox has the volume down another notch, but the same song playing.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Some people just have no regard for the operating hours of an establishment or maybe the woman stepping inside is just completely unaware of what the regular operating hours might be. Tall and Scandinavian in appearance, she has long blond hair and piercing blue eyes. She seems at home in a dive bar though, dressed in leather as she is, one imagines there is probably a motorcycle parked outside. (There isn't though.)

'Hope' wanders over to the bar and seats herself on one of the stools, eyes casually roaming over the bottles behind. If she's listening to the conversation, it doesn't show, at least not yet.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The teenager gives a wry smile, and sits down with a stool's space between her and John, for politeness sake. Also because cigarettes. Smell clings to your clothes and if it's on your clothes, might get in your armor. Blech.

    "Wouldn't be the first bar that I've gotten thrown out of for sitting in the wrong seat." she states, and pulls out her notebook, giving a curious sort of peer . "... so, from what Miss Murray, MacIntyre and pretty much everyone said, acid-spitting headless quadrepeds are something that people haven't seen a whole lot of. I can't find anything in the research library at Gotham U, in any of my books or anything at the Themysciran Embassy that matches. Closest to the raw idea is Ammit, but lacking Crocodilian head, just its... teeth..." she states, illustraiting with her hands about chest-level and making gnashy motions with curled, splayed fingers.

John Constantine has posed:
    John's head snaps in Hope's direction and those faded denim blues of his narrow. The sound he makes is somewhere between a 'oh fuck no' groan and a put upon sigh. He seems about to say something when Chas pipes up. "What can I getcha," aimed at the newcomer, but his gaze is aimed at John. There's that silent exchange they do between one another, entire conversations without words really, spoken or telepathic. It goes a little like:

    'John, behave don't be rude...'
    'But...'
    'John...'
    'But she's...'
    'Jooooohnnnn...'
    'Fine, if she kills us all it's on you, mate.'

    John's attention returns to Phoebe, having caught the jist of her business, detail enough without bothering with all of it, he mentions, "Anyone been to where they were? Be easier if I could see them myself." There's just a little subtle thing, an undertone to the way he says 'see' and 'were' that hints at him being on about more than just trying to find them in the here and now like a normal person might.

    Another half between sip and swig taken, rolled about, swallowed.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Hope looks to Chas when he appears to take her order, swift service is not to be looked down upon. Indeed 'if she kills us all' is far less likely when treated well and plied with drink. Though the corners of her eyes do follow Chas' gaze to John before shifting back to the bartender. "Do you have Akvavit?" She asks as her eyes return to scanning the various bottles behind the bar, perhaps trying to spot the traditional Scandinavian specialty liquer or something even more exotic.

When Phoebe starts describing strange creatures no one has ever seen before, another glance is made in her direction from the corner's of Hope's eyes. The topic perhaps pinging the edges of her interests.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "First one was on on the 5-subway between 19th and 22nd when I was coming back from the library and heading back towards Gotham. Me and... a friend fought against it. That one was Doberman-sized. Second one was at a warehouse in Gotham that was a homeless camp. Pretty sure the police went through and kicked everyone out." she reflects quietly. "That was the mastiff-sized one, bigger in bone and body, longer fight and more stationary, but might be harder to get to with police patrolling the docks." she rubs the back of her neck a moment, and Phoebe puts her tongue to her cheek as she thinks.

    She keeps stealing glances to the lady at the bar as she stretches her neck a little bit.

    "Second one smelled like burning flesh."

John Constantine has posed:
    "Don't believe so, but if you plan on being a regular, we can order it," Chas offers apologetically even. As far as the 'more exotic', lots of unmarked bottles up there, most on the bottom of the bottom of shelves, sort of hidden from view. Person has to know what they're asking for before that shelf comes into play, but there's plenty of exotic on it - there might even be a little Asgardian Mead down there.

    "A'ght then, police won't be a problem," John assures, with absolute confidence in the fact. "...but best, perhaps, to start at the beginning."

    A little tickle turns to a cough in short order, a few splutters and hacks later, John's wiping his mouth on napkin from the bar and tucking it away again. Just the smokes, right?

    "I can go whenever you're ready. Just need a few things from the back."

    That cough gets narrowed eyes from Chas, but he says nothing... yet.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Hope seems slightly disappointed at the lack of Akvavit, "I do spend a lot of time in Hell's Kitchen." She says perhaps for John's benefit as much as the bartender's. "All right, what is the strongest thing you have? Something I might actually feel."

Once that order is placed she glances in John's direction, piercing blue eyes seeming to bore into him, see through him, her gaze is not a terribly comfortable one even if most human standards would find her fairly attractive. "You should see someone about that cough, before it destroys you." She says quite matter of factly, quite a way with words she has.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... is... is the aura irritating or something? I mean, I can't turn it down yet -- but I can stand farther away?" Phoebe asks, positively apologetic to John and just assuming. The young woman glances to Hope a moment about the cough, and she grimmaces slightly, a mixture of embarrassed and horrified at not considering the effect that aura could have on others, and even takes a step back from poor John, who now not only has the utmost attention but also the *Pity* of Gotham's most powerful healer.

John Constantine has posed:
    "Yeah, really should," John agrees absently but in a way that indicates he's not exactly clueless about his current situation.

    "Fuckin' asshole," Chas grumbles under his breath. Apparently he's in agreement with Hope, that maybe John should have seen someone ... or at least got started with the doing something about it three weeks ago last Sunday or some such.

    Depends on how much you wanna feel and how much it takes for you to," Chas comments, not making that choice much easier.

    "No, luv, it's not you... just sucked in some swamp water recently." He sells it to, he really does. Man could sell ice to an Eskimo along with a refrigerator and a few coolers. That is to say, he knows how to lie right and proper - unless someone's able to see the truth of the dark cloud hanging over him.

    "Fucking /asshole/," Chas repeats, a little louder. "He'll be three quarters to dead before he lifts a fucking finger," he tells Hope - who he's decided knows the ins and outs of it just based on her reaction.

    "Shuddup, Chas..."
    "Fuck you, John."

    They love each other, truly, platonic life partners and all that.

    "You wish, Chas."

    Enough with the bromance and back to business. ""So, luv, when you want to do this? Before or after they kill all of your friends?" Fucking ASSHOLE.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
A glance is spared in Phoebe's direction when she seems to think that it might be her causing John's illness and her expression looks like she is on the verge of laughing out loud at the statement. But it passes, the strongest thing you have." Hope repeats, "Something that would get a Hell Lord like the one that cursed him," She gestures in John's direction. "Drunk."

For all that Chas is concerned for John's condition, Hope doesn't actually seem overly so. Perhaps John isn't the only asshole in the room. But then humans dying is the natural order of things, particularly when they summon what they're not supposed to.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... I'm guessing by Chas's reaction it's /not/ swamp water." Phoebe remarks quietly, but she leaves it at that as the two curse each other out, and she awkwardly stands there like some parents are fighting and she's the guest in the house, looking to the blonde at the bar before she breathes out. She presses her lips together and looks at John, and then as an aside states: "I don't suppose the services of a young healer would be of any use to you. LEast I could do for helping me out." she mumbles to him, and then she stretces one arm across her chest.

    "Yeah, yeah, does it have to be the train or can we go to the subertanian tunnels and hope to not have your lungs eaten by rats in the meantime?" she asks.

John Constantine has posed:
    "I'll letcha know, luv, if it gets to the point again." ...Because it's been there once, coughing up blood, barely able to catch a breath. Little healing worked then, so maybe. "Just let me go grab a few things." John polishes off the rest of his scotch, snags his Silks and shoves them in his pocket and heads for the back room.

    Chas's gaze trails after his friend before settling back on Hope. "Not the first time the man's been demon cursed," he points out before he turns, bends down and snags a bottle off that bottom shelf. "It's pricey," he states before pouring two fingers of, yes, Asgardian Mead into a glass. "...and management isn't responsible for damages caused by ingestion."

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Hope studies Chas for a moment looking faintly amused before taking a long swallow of the enchanted liquer, half of it gone in an instant. "Mmm, Asgardian Mead. It has been awhile." She seems no worse for wear post imbibing. Perhaps impressed that they actually had some, she reaches down and tosses an honest to god small bag of gold coins on to the bar, like someone might pay with in a medieval tavern. "Keep it coming." She tells Chas. Closer inspection by the mystically attuned will detect lingering demonic ressonance on the coins and the sigil of one of the various Dukedom's of Hell on each.

Another glance towards John and Phoebe, "Rats? No, he'll wish it was rats by the end though." She shrugs and finishes polishing off the first glass of Asgardian Mead.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Look, if the rats get to it first, I can't regrow them. Yet. Give me time." Phoebe gives a small smile to the good Lady, and she breathes out, rubbing the back of her head as John heads for the back room.

    "So... how much time does he have, do you think?" she asks to Chas as she sits back down. And then embarrassedly: "... could I have a glass of water? I'm.. not old enough technically to be in bars."

John Constantine has posed:
    Chas takes the little bag of coins and stuffs it away in a safe... that doesn't appear to have any means of locking it, unless one is able to see such things as magically woven locks to near put the wards on the rest of the place to shame.

    "Don't mind if you want something stronger, authorities don't seem to notice this place much." Of course they don't. Hell, they probably see a Christian bookstore when they walk by or some such. "Hard to say, but maybe not long enough. Can't put a finger on why a Duke of Hell would want *that* battle."

    But before Phoebe can ask the questions that Chas's answer is sure to bring about, John's back, brown leather duffel in hand. "A'ight, luv, let's get'er done, aye? Got things to do..." Like finish that bottle of scotch in front of the stool no one but him every sits in.

    He flicks a quick look in Hope's direction and then to Chas and back again before, "If you're bored you can tag along." ...if only to get the mystery of a woman well away from his best mate, wards or not.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
"The Lords of Hell are not so difficult to understand." Hope answers Chas' unasked question as she starts in on a second drink. "Pride is usually the answer, or Wrath, or both. They are not prone to backing down from anything.

Hope glaces in John's direction as he reappears, though her words are clearly meant for Phoebe. "He may have awhile. Really most people would already be dead. He isn't yet, but it's coming." The question of tagging along earns John an incredulous look. "For the rest of the bottle, I might."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe purses her lips a moment as she looks towards Hope, and then back to Chas, and then to John as he reappears.

    "Things to do people to see. LEt's hop a train." Phoebe states, and she stretches her fingers a little bit as she breathes out.

    "Luckily you're not flapped by much, sounds like." she states, and she hoists up her bag, and gives a nod to John.

    "Age before beauty, John." she states.

John Constantine has posed:
    Hope doesn't have the corner on incredulous, he shoots her a look to match. "Chas, close'er up before she opens, until we get back, you're comin' with," he tells the best cabbie in all the space between Heaven and Hell. Because he's not entirely certain Thor'll provide again after the payment for what they have now.

    ...also it saves him from having to hail some other, less worthy, cab. And maybe there's no one he'd rather have at his back? Good luck getting him to admit that last though.

    "That means, ya know, luv, no more from the bottle," he explains to Hope. "C'mon, lockin' up, time ta go."

    "Been way closer to death than this, luv," he murmurs for Phoebe's benefit on the way toward the door. "...and I'm standing."

    Chas shoots an apologetic look in Hope's direction and even says, "Sorry, he's a dick, but..." He gestures toward the door, waiting for Hope to get up and head on out before following along.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Hope's eyes narrow and the blue within them begins to look like fire, not even a euphemism as her annoyance becomes manifest. "That was a bag of gold coins and I'm wasn't done drinking." She says without moving. "You know I had been wondering about the person attracting so much trouble to this neighborhood, messing with veils that should not be crossed, so I came to see for myself."

It is right about when John tells Phoebe he's 'been closer to death than this' that Hope finally rises from her seat but when she has finished standing the illusion is gone. As if making a mockery of John's words about how close he has been to death, there now stands Lady Death, Mistress of the Endless Graveyard. "If /this/ is really all you are. I suggest you tread much more carefully in the future."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe looks startled as the illusion drops off, and she moves to set herself in front of John -- force of habbit, these heroes have some nerve don't they?

    And she grips one hand into a loose fist, a little light curling between her fingers before she realizes that even compared to John, she is DREADFULLY underpowered and underprepared for fighting... whatever it is in front of her!

John Constantine has posed:
    He doesn't even flinch in the face of it all. John's poker face, it's legendary. His own faded denim blues flash a little hellfire in return, not typically his style... all that flash and fire, but man has his limits and one of them is being even vaguely threatening under his own roof.

    "Well, didn't see the likes of *you* showing up ta clean up the vampire infestations or stave off the zombies in the belt," he points out, sneer curling his lip. "Get the fuck out of my bar, yeah?"

    He jerks his head in the direction of that mystically locked safe and tells Chas, "Fetch her coin, it's not good here."

    Once Chas has seen to that, giving back of the whole bag of demon tainted gold, John turns his full attention back to Phoebe. "Seriously, let's do this, aye? Before someone winds up dead while Death wanks off in the corner ignorin' the shit like all her ilk."

    Chas clears the distance to catch up to John and hisses, "Fucking, *really*, John?"

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Millefeuilles are kind of magical, and they invoke a particular joy. Bars in Hell's Kitchen most definitely don't serve such pleasures unless a pastry chef moonlights back there in the kitchen. Wielding the powers of crispy puff pastry alternating with delicious pastry cream, the spiderweb of chocolate suffering for the summer heat no matter how fast the blonde English girl moves. Her box is tucked against her side, sandwiched in place to avoid knocking into people.

Hip to the door, she earns just enough space to get her way through. She doesn't need much. Meggan rotates in, so she's not walking backwards into the Laughing Magician. Off-shift, off-school, off-hours, that's where life is at. Or death.

Only those who can break the veil get in here. "Ooh," she breathes out. A mite crestfallen or nervous, her expression turns from a smile to a 'maybe-I-turn-around-now' position. "Didn't bring enough bloody cake for this." She might be heard. "Sodding Paul Hollywood it." She might not be heard.

Right now she's stuck in the entrance with THAT all going on. Uh. Hi? Wavewave.

Hope Svelgate has posed:
Lady Death takes a step forward like something was about to go down, whether it was a conflagration of Hellfire or a vicious twisting of Astaroth's already present curse, whatever it was it doesn't actually come to pass. This is because suddenly Phoebe has interposed herself between John and Death, fierce young Phoebe.

Something about Phoebe's presence there stops Lady Death in her tracks, brings her back to her senses from the anger and battle lust that had begun to cloud her mind at John's taunts. "You would protect him with your life?" She asks regarding Phoebe appraisingly. "Very well." She draws a sword, the Chaos-forged blade Apocalypse, and for a moment some might get the wrong idea. But instead she swings the sword behind her where it meets with unaccustomed resistance moving through open air? Sparks fly like it is striking against metal and the fierceness returns to her eyes, not to be denied, as the blade continues forward and slashes a gaping rent in the space behind her, a tear in reality itself. Chaz gets a half smile before she goes, she actually liked him. "Remember what I said." The words are quite clearly for John as she lets the insults go for Phoebe's sake and steps through the tear which closes behind her.

There will be no cake for Lady Death.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "For what my life is worth? I would protect anyone." Phoebe replies, though her knees and her voice shake slightly. She feels difficulty summoning her own weapon, an unfamiliar pressure against her being as she narrows her eyes, and then as Lady Death stops, she allows the light in her palm to fade.

    She breathes out, her arm still shuddering as she reaches accross her chest to grasp at her lower arm, that little heroic magi having been so far out of her element that it felt like drowning.

    "... and then there's Meggan.

    "Oh! Hello Meggan!" she states, raising her formerly glowing hand.

John Constantine has posed:
    "Bloody fuckin' all powerful do *nothing* wankers!" John bellows at the ceiling. Someone is so really sick of being jostled and shoved around by the more powerful that choose to do nothing about things like...

    "Sorry 'bout that, luv, let's go see if we can figger all this, before people close to you die." Because he knows that feeling, people close dying and them dying because of something Phoebe could potentially feel some responsibility for.

    Chas still pretty much stands on his aforementioned, 'fucking really, John' and his expression reads as such.

    ...and then there's Meggan indeed. When John, having been distracted thus far, notices the faeling's presence, the look he gives her, that double shrug that has shoulders nearly touching cheeks is ... 'Ooops?' Before she has a chance to maybe get all riled up about him managing to piss off some form of death *again* he says, "So, we're about to go see if we can figure out Lil' Lighthouse here's headless dog things."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Don't shoot the cake-messenger, right? Meggan puts both her hands up, box wobbly but balanced against her arm as a cardboard affair. The sheer weight of staring probably helps lots in not tipping it over. Since spells are near flying and the proprietor is being guarded by the other sunbeam, shouts cause her to stand a little taller. And one of those patrons isn't there. Oh, it's a confusing hour other than waking.

"I didn't mean it that way! We could have cut one in half," she protests the immediate disappearance. A bit of a flail is probably forthcoming. Absolutely in no way helping, is she? "Hullo, Phoebe! Did this just take the cake?"

It's a pun, but probably not intended as such. "I mean, I can go right back out there if you want me to not see any of this, totally fair." That brings her to smiling a little to John doing whatever the hell he does when clawing up the walls. Chas, there's no helping Chas. He's gonna Chas. "Headless dogs are so utterly bonkers. Faces in chests. Better than a jar-head in a chest?" She hasn't met that famous wonky monster.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "YEah, yeah Meggan, I think this one took the cake." Phoebe replies to the Fae, and she breathes out, shaking her hand out.

    "Sorry, JOhn. Force of habit to put myself between people and danger. Terrible habit, really, living in Gotham with the clowns and the crocs and the what-ever-zombies-coming-out-of-the-undercity." she states. "I don't suppose the wards care if we're trying to protect the owner, huh?" she asks to John, shouldering her bag again before she gives a small, humorless grin.

    "At least I didn't die this time."

John Constantine has posed:
    "Aye, well, let's not do that again? I can handle myself." It's true, most of the time. "Chas, you can stay here, mate. Just gonna go see if I can get a look at what happened the first time." Because really the only reason he was making Chas tag was... well, he didn't wanna leave the man alone with something that was pinging as BOTH the things that seem out to get them all on any given day.

    "You comin', love?" he asks of Meggan, no pressure either way, really... this is just a looksie loo, shouldn't take long!

    "I'll just polish the glasses..." Chas heads back toward the bar. "Fucking /asshole/."

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Meggan tips her head sidelong and tries to bring up a brave smile. "Let me stow this with Chas unless you're both going to eat your cake right now. So much for some Flashdance by the bar," she sighs with amusement. Really, it's going to be okay to not have 'Maniac' on the jukebox and this ancient music being played for the slightly younger Phoebe to share culture as the blonde knows it. Cause she's only just discovered it herself.

"Oh, we live in Gotham too. Just don't tell..." A hand-wobble keeps that on the downlow. Squeak-squeak-hat man must go about thinking his happy city remains happily absent of familiar supernatural faces, maybe! She likes the guy, the tone gives that away. "And don't go dying, either of you, that's such a *mess*. It's sad, and you don't want to be sad. Plus I've a project due in a week, so that would be delayed and my grades taking a dive to go pull you out of the thick of it cause it's so much more interesting isn't something I can really explain. So let's go kick some horrible awful dog-face scary things out of the way? I like that a bit better than sweet cream. You can come back for dessert after. Oh, and John? There's like twenty-nine of them in the fridge."

The unspoken edict: don't leave her behind or eat them all at once.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Not just at the lighthouse then?" Phoebe question Meggan with surprise, and she gives a wry smile.

    "I don't think I have to. They Know. They always know." Phoebe pauses as she gives a small smile to Meggan.

    And then she breathes out, and looks to Chas apologetically, and then looks back to John.

    "Ready when you are."

John Constantine has posed:
"...what?" Man can process Lady Death in his bar but not twenty-nine pastries in his fridge. Just shows how messed up John's life really is, dunnit? "...why?" His head shakes, disbelieving. Finally he cracks a smile, first one of the evening. "Just stow'm and come on if you're comin'?"

    Behind the bar, an old, antique phone that's hanging there just for looks, seriously just for looks, starts ringing.

    "Ahhhh, John..." That's Chas.
    "Well, bloody answer it!"
    "Hullo? ... Yeah... ... ... Really? ... .... Yeah, I can give him the message." Chas hangs up the phone and if he had a dime for every time he's said it, he'd be a rich man. "John, you're not gonna like this, demon dogs might need to wait."

    His smile fades. "Bollocks..." About sums that up.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe pauses a moment, and then rbeathes out. "I understand -- important stuff omes up all the time at home." Phoebe states, taking off her glasses. "Let me know when you're able to investigate, John, I can see if I can work around the police in Gotham." she explains, and rubs the back of her neck

John Constantine has posed:
    "It was Midnite," Chas explains. "Someone killed off about a dozen, Haitian, back of a funeral home, ritually. Sounds like they were in the middle of something to do with Samedi. Sounds like..." He pauses, loooong pause because he's pretty sure how the next bit'll go over with John. "... one of the dead might have *been* the Baron."

    Both of John's eyebrows climb nearly to his hairline. "What? What?!" You didn't... that... isn't..." What John? Possible? Of course it is.

    "Yeah, he wants you at the Oblivion tomorrow night..."

    "Oh, he does, does he? Like I'm just his little..."

    "John," chastising, pointed... be nice.

    John doesn't look like he wants to be nice, in fact he looks like he wants to smash and break things in a fit of a tantrum that would make most two year olds look weak. "Bloody fuckin' stupid do nothing wanker fucking..."

    Wait, Phoebe. "Tomorrow, meet me back here, aye?" Was that an order? Sounded like one maybe? Or maybe it's because he's both... freaked out and pissed off?

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Both freaked out, pissed off, and wanting someone with a connection to the Light showing up to an investigation of the dead.

    "... if someone killed off Baron Samedi, you're going to need a little light in the dark." Phoebe tilts her head back, considering a few things. "I'll have to pack a different bag."