7211/Grimm Relations: The Subway Investigation

Grimm Relations: The Subway Investigation
Date of Scene:	03 August 2021
Location:	Downtown Manhattan
Synopsis:	John and Phoebe go down to investigate the first appearance of one of the demon dogs (scene 5935
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, John Constantine

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Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe had been ever more cautious with magical involvement, whether it's because Gothamites tend to be less friendly than New Yorkers or because she hangs out with some particularly paranoid sons of Gotham, Phoebe had shown up early to Laughing Magician to 'pick up' John. And from there lead the way to a previously opened and far too coincidentally unguarded access to the subway's dark tunnels that it wasn't on purpose.

    She has one of those battery powered lanterns that she's using for light as she leads the way down to a disused section of track that the cars had been steered to before the attack happened; it's away from the normal subway stations. Almost like it was the remainder of a bad idea.

    "So. This is about it." she states. "Train lights went down to their emergency levels, and then the screams started from the front car."

John Constantine has posed:
    John likely made the trek a little quicker, he's spoiled like that. A step through a portal into an old Gothic style manor, just the foyer, followed by another portal to at least a bit away from the entrance they need.

    He honestly looks ... well, straight knackered. Man's burning a candle at all four ends lately and that damned cough isn't helping.

    It doubles him over once along the way, but he waves off assistance like any stubborn fool man would.

    Once where they need to be, he settles his big leather duffel on the ground and pulls a few things from it. First, a piece of chalk, something in just about every magician's bag of tricks that. The circle he draws, the sigils inside it, aren't meant to protect though, they're meant to focus and enhance power. ...make for a clearer, more vivid picture.

    "Blood or hair, luv?" he asks from his crouched position once the circle's finished. If his meaning isn't clear enough, he hands over a small dagger. Cut skin or cut a lock, it seems.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Beats swinging through alleyways.

    And as she was waved off, Phoebe just looks more and more concerned with how John is treating himself, and finally, as he straightens up, she grimly offers him horehound drops with a 'least I can do' look.

    She circles around the circle, watching as he draws, trying to determine just what sigils he's using -- mixed curiosity and her own desire to know. She has to make a report on this when she gets back to Gotham, after all.

    "... how much blood do you need?" she questions, accepting the dagger and drawing up her sleeve as she regards the magician with the duffle, and with a grit of her teeth she takes the tip of the dagger and draws it down her arm, slicing the skin from elbow to wrist in order to draw.

    It does *not* look like she's enjoying the feeling, but that light and glow about her retracts and wavers just a little as her arm heals, following the dagger's path.

John Constantine has posed:
    Those horehound drops are eyed dubiously and shoved into a pocket of his trench coat for later. Her 'least I can do' is met with 'okay, sure' from him.

    "Just a bit, luv, few drops, drip them into the center of the circle," he instructs. He can't decide if he's surprised or not that she chose blood over a lock of hair.

    Once she's done her deed, he kneels at that circle center and pulls a few more things from that bag. What looks like an old scroll, something in a vial that smells like it might just be basic essence of thyme or something; not everything to do with magic is freaky and gross after all.

    A drag of that dagger over his own palm spares a few drops of his own demon tainted blood for a small gold bowl - things solid gold, not plated. If she knew even a little bit about a little bit, she'd know that blood magic is sometimes dark and always more powerful than spells that don't require it.

    Thyme and parchment go into the bowl with his blood and all of it is set to blames by hellfire on his fingertips.

    The words of the spell are Egyptian, something about showing the truth of the moment, a piece of the past bound to the blood in the circle, blah blah, specifics don't matter much so long as he understands what he's saying.

    The smoke from the fire turns blue as it spreads over the area, coating it in azure fog. The images come to life in the fog, like a black and white - more blue and white really - re-run movie of the night in question.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    They're normal hippie medicine. Just horehound drops that taste like really strong rootbeer.

    For all that dragging of the dagger, there's not a lot of blood. She heals quickly, and by the time the drops of blood are in the circle there's no sign at all of the trauma on her dark skin. She was fascinated with what was going on, watching as the dagger goes over his palm -- she'd elected for her arm because *the nerves* in her palm felt bad watching John do it. She breathes out, knot in her stomach, and she did, in fact, recall that blood was very, very potent. It's a mark of how much she trusts John.

    Probably a bad idea, really.

    The images come alive around them. " "Ladies and gentlemen, we have been detoured to a different route. Please remain calm."

    John is able to see Phoebe, wearing a sweatshirt and baring her usual bag moving through the crowd as a rather tall gentleman follows her. She pulls a scarf over the bottom of her face -- and then the action begins. The man calls out her name, and then baseball-slides, a HUGE Greek-style shield appearing in his hands as the sound of a dog snarling and claws tapping errupt between the man and the shuddering shape of a woman protecting her child.

    Phoebe is momentarily back int he moment as she watches, as she lights up her staff -- that's when the creature is seen. True to what she said, it was the size of a doberman, if double-wide. Its eyes were large and where the tags of a collar might hang. Its maw hangs down and it has crococile-like teeth, jagged in shape, and it snaps its maws.

John Constantine has posed:
    Is it really a bad idea though? So many talk about the Laughing Magician as if he's some sort of worthless, conman, bastard. But, unlike her? He doesn't heal after that dagger drags over his skin. He stands in the circle and pulls out a large handkerchief to wrap around his hand. Willing to bleed for someone he barely knows in an effort to protect her from something that... for all he knows? Could very well kill him. Maybe the rat bastard ain't so bad?

    Angelo's appearance in the smoke created divination into the past is noted, filed away. The physical appearance of the creatures, noted, filed away. Woman's face, child's face, all noted, filed away.

    With the spell already cast, John steps from the circle to walk amid the scene unfolding. It's superimposed over the real world, an exact replica.

    Did anyone spill this things blood? Did it salivate on anything? Leave behind a tooth, a claw? Those are the things he's looking for.

    Wait, did he miss something behind him? A muttered word under his breath has the scene rewinding so he can look again, another word will pause things, another sets them in motion again. It's like he's working a damned mystical DVD player.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... okay, gotta admit, that's kinda cool." Phoebe states as the scene freezes in place.

    Angelo Tampabolos had stabbed the creature with his xiphos. The creature drooled and made the carpet and metal bubble. Phoebe was midway between putting herself between the Myrmidon and the creature -- seems like she has a knack for trying to protect everyone.

    "... need ointment or bandages? I got that in my bag." she offers quietly -- reaching up and poking at her own leg.

John Constantine has posed:
    John holds up an index finger, it's cross between 'wait-a-minute and shush'. It takes effort and will on his part to hold the spell, distractions could cause it all to fall apart in spectacular ways. One time... he ended with his astral self sucked three hours into the past, stuck there until he could figure a way out. ... woke up two days later. Magic, it sucks...

    ...and yet he does it on the daily and for nary a gain of his own. Seems protecting people is a thing the two share, even if he hides his behind snark, arrogance and a lot of booze and smoke.

    From the pocket of his trench coat, he pulls a small vial, empty. Another mage staple if the practitioner is worth his salt. He freezes the bit of the scene where thing was stabbed and squats down to look for signs of blood, if he finds such, he'll scrape a bit of the dried flakes up with a fingernail and deposit them in the vial.

    He'll continue that way, rewind, pause, go... collecting what he can find, hoping for a tooth, claw or some hair, but whatever'll do.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    John doesn't find anything. There wasn't anything there to find. The creature had been on the train, and even though the scene is paused and there is ichor dipping from the creature, as it rumbled speech in Ancient Greek at Angelo, it bubbles the same way its drool did. There was no there to collect, from all the way back in April.

    No damage to the rails beyond the normal rusting and weathering and ratshit.

    But there's not much there to collect. Because if he lets the video go forward, once Phoebe hits the creature with the staff, it ripples and turns into a greasy smear before the entire train shudders and disappears as Phoebe and Angelo look up in bewilderment.

    Distantly, the sound of a train on the right tracks echoes.

    ... and he would see it. Just a little smear of acid-damaged track that had penetrated through the train floor, carpet fibers half-melted and clinging to it like a maroon mold.

John Constantine has posed:
    "Why's it always gotta be babies with these arseholes," John mutters under his breath. With nothing to collect and not a lot to be gleaned save a direct look at what it... looked like. With a broad gesture of his hands outward and one last word in Egyptian, the spell fades away, smoke sucked back into the fire still burning in the bowl - without any obvious means of fuel remaining, mind - and the fire goes out.

    That little bit catches his attention, not much escapes it, his attention, when he's 'on a case'. Those are the times when John becomes so narrowly focused that he forgets to do things like feed and water himself, he settles into a sort of manic state with little time for sleep, his free time spent in a bottle rather than at the supper table - priorities.

    A little curl of his lips at one corner, a half grin, "Gotcha," he murmurs. He pulls a pocket knife from, well, a pocket and squats down to scrape half melted carpet fibers from where they should not be. Bodily fluids, no matter how acidic, tend to leave a bit behind, a trace of what left them even, if a person knows the right ways to look at it.

    "Luv, bring me the gold bowl and my bag?"

    A bowl, by the way, that's spotless clean and without a trace of having just had a fire burning in it. Odd that?

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Found something?" Phoebe questions, feeling somewhat unnerved now. "I forgot about how that thing just sort of keeled over. The second one... that one was way harder." she mutters to herself, and goes to fetch the bowl. She is amused, but not surprised, that the solid gold bowl is spotless. She figured it had to do something with the fire that John used. She had SO MANY QUESTIONS and he probably had zero patience for answers at right this moment, but she does lean over to heft the bag without too much difficulty, and brings both over to John.

    "Anything so far?"

John Constantine has posed:
    "Maybe," there's an edge to his voice, a snap to the word that isn't mean really, it's more John's on breed of excitement?

    "Second one could have been the first one... post baby," he muses out loud. "Looks like you banished the thing when you hit it, banishment doesn't mean killin'. It's a little like when you hit a spirit with cold iron or mandrake root and it dissipates?" Right, like that because everyone should know that. "... but then it reforms unless you bind it back to where it belongs." Babble, he's babbling.

    He doesn't even seem aware that there might be a train on the tracks. Chalk comes back out of the bag, another circle drawn, scrawled on the ground in quick, expert motions. Then another. It's the second he points to when he says, "Stand in it, don't come out, luv."

    What does he mean to do? Well...

    A bit of the sample he scraped up goes in the bowl, but not all, the rest ends up in a vial. Foxglove, his own blood again, from the same wound reopened to spill more and a bit of hellfire from his own fingertips ends up in that golden bowl with the sample bits. ... a considerable amount of his own blood this time, making a pool at the bottom of that bowl instead of a few drops. The bowl is placed in the middle of the circle.

    When he speaks, the words are about as powerful as they come, spoken in Enochian, the language of the Angels. The gist of them? He's demanding the thing be named, either by its own words - as in summoning the blasted thing here - or by the word of Heaven itself.

    He's a bloody daft, reckless fool, he truly is, but John Constantine typically gets results.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    There is certainly a little alarm. The idea that the thing consumed someone, that she didn't get rid of it, and that she could have -- that... that hurt. That made a deep well of guilt flood up inside of her as she brings her hand to her mouth.

    Foxglove and the acid and carpet fibers and the blood -- so much blood as she steps into the circle that she assumes its going to protect her.

    She looks up, her eyes going wide at the sound of Enochian -- first time she's heard it spoken correctly, books are weird when they're half right -- and she breathes out as John Constantine calls the Thing out. There was a brief moment.

    But then a funny thing happens. Phoebe's Aura gets oddly strong, like bright sun at mid-day burning pale skin feeling.

    And otu of that golden bowl with the foxglove and the demon blood and that acid spit of whatever creature had harrangued the young mother, there are suddenly spears of bright magenta flowers, speckled with rust-and-blood red spots, bells hanging down.

John Constantine has posed:
    "Huh..." That's about all that gets, because well, nothing much surprises John anymore beyond 'huh'.

    It's the same thing he's thinking when he feels Phoebe's aura ticking at his back. He turns, brow furrowed, hand dripping blood to the ground beside him and, still in Enochian he says, clearly and crisply, demanding, "Show me your truth!" There's some bits and pieces in there about by the powers of the Angel Gabriel or something or some such. Gabriel always did like him, as much as Gabriel liked any human. - at its essence, where it matters most to what happens next, he's demanding to see the truth of Phoebe herself, her origins, the source of it all.

    He's an asshole like that when his curiosity gets the better of him, he truly is. A few more words uttered, same language and and a gesture have the circle she's standing in surrounded by hellfire, an Angel trap that.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Nothing much surprises John. But Phoebe looks a little green about the gills as the extract is restored to the flowers it comes from, looking a tthe foxglove with curiosity -- and maybe she shouldn't have been so quick to trust John.

    She looks as he turns, she raises her hands as if to defend herself -- or hide.

    The hellfire rises up, licking at her palms as she tries to push herself out of the circle.

    And John would just see a little kid, a toddler, two years old and crying for their mother, with a T-shirt that says PHOEBE on the sleeve and a pair of pink shorts on a liquor store counter and then further back --

    Nothing. Blocked number. Someone doesn't want him to find her source. Flickerings of a blue sea and desert cliffs. Snowy white grayhounds. Impressions of people. A wall in a hospital with a stork and Coptic script. Peeling away. Dripping through the block like her power seeps through her and makes her a target. A tracker. A Beacon.

    Phoebe is screaming. Her hands are crackling with energy. Her palms are burning as she tries to escape the trap.

    She's dripping blood from her left arm.

John Constantine has posed:
    John drops the Hellfire, but he doesn't stop there. Hellfire gone from the circle flashes in his faded denim blues instead, a glimpse at the raw power he does have. He hasn't it in spades like Strange or his ilk, but John *does* have it. "Be still," Latin that, not Enochian and spoken with his hand extended toward Phoebe in an attempt to hold her still with something akin to a telekinetic grip.

    His voice raises, commanding. Enochian again, the same as before, the same as with the gold bowl and the foxglove; calling on the powers of the Angels themselves to show him the truth of it. Has he hurt her? He seems unconcerned in the moment, if she's screaming she's breathing, right? He advances, closer, closer, hand still raised, voice rising, repeating his demands again.

    Hellfire may be gone from around her, but the protection circle still holds and it's protection against *anything* that might seek to harm her, but him. Not that he's trying to hurt her, no... but the circle has no effect on his own magic; he's a master of loopholes.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The kicker of it all is, Phoebe is not someone who knows herself. Locked memories. Panicked breathing. Alone in the dark. Always on the outside. Grasping at straws. Meanings. Purpose. An attempt on her own life that her powers enabled her to survive. Human, but not quite.

    She pushes back against him, raw, untrained. Too much power at once, big and ugly as she tries to push out of the circle, out of his grasp, stubborn girl she is.

    No names. No other faces. Just blank white.

    "Please -- I can't -- it hurts!"

John Constantine has posed:
    "I'm not asking you, just stand still!" John bellows, his concentration only broken for a moment. And he's not, he's demanding answers from other sources, higher sources, the only bit of his magic that's aimed at Phoebe currently is the attempts to keep her still.

    Back to Enochian, pushing... pushing... PUSHING, ANSWER ME DAMNIT!

    Voice raised, booming. Only John Constantine would be bold enough, or is that stupid enough? To outright demand answers from the Heavens themselves.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    To say that Phoebe is stressed would be an understatement. It's been a Hell of a week.

    However, sometimes when you push too hard on a rubber band, it either bounces back -- or it snaps.

    John does not get his answer. Something does not want to share the information that he seeks, and instead of the past it spills the current. Phoebe clinging to a burned and melted fireman's helmet. Phoebe taking far too many pills for her thirteen-year-old-body to handle. Phoebe using a staff made of pure light to block a blow. So many stab wounds and bullet wounds and acid burns and broken limbs and giant needles dumping IV bags of horse tranquilizers into her veins and shattered glass.

    Bold of John to assume that anyone had answers about her. The room with the stork and the Coptic letters. A makeshift NICU. Hushed talking noises, indistinct words. Old-ass medical equipment and sensors taped to a tiny form in a plexi-glass block. The impression of panic and sorrow as a monitor flatlines.

John Constantine has posed:
    Bold, it should have been John's middle name, scribbled in blood on his birth certificate.

    It *has* been a Hell of a week, John's only what? Less than a day of being run through by whatever mystical thing decided to run him through? He's demon cursed, he's burning candles on four ends, he's *exhausted*.

    Normally a John Constantine dropping to his knees in an explosive fit of coughs and hacks would be a Bad Thing, but this time... this time it may just be Synchronicity trying to punt the bastard off a course that could lead to his further damnation.

    Because John does not like doors that refuse to open for him and had he not been fallen by his own stubbornness and refusal to sit the fuck down and chill after things go as south as they did in India, well he would have kept pushing until something pushed him back.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    And in spite of her panic, Phoebe calls out for John as he drops, his first name twice, and then calling out 'Constantine!'

     She puts her hands up, trying to reach out to him. Recenter. Refocus. It's only natural for the young, altrustic healer to try and help even through distress, even though she doesn't know how that healing aura will react against that magical circle or if it will even reach John. Her bleeding stops.

    She was able to purify Wonder Woman enough for Diana to get a warning out in spite of the stain on the Amazon's soul of infefction. She was able to repel vampiric combatants.

    "Please," she begs, voice cracked and worn, "can't I give him *somthing*?" she questions into the air.

John Constantine has posed:
    Should she make an attempt to leave the circle, Phoebe will find herself free to do so. The circle wasn't meant to bind, it was meant to protect. It was John's will doing the binding and well, he's kind of lost that.

    ...knees to hands and knees. The coughing continues, forceful and painful. Probably more so considering the bruises still coloring his neck as a reminder that he was choked to the point of being unable to speak for most of the trip back just last night.

    The time between unproductive coughing that seems to threaten to leave him unconscious from lack of air and the time when he finally brings up a nasty, blood tinged 'loogie' of black ichor-ish gunk might seem forever for poor Phoebe, but it's not *that* long.

    Once it happens, John falls back on his ass, one hand flat on the ground behind himself to hold him upright, the other wiping at his mouth.

    Once his mouth's wiped all proper on the back of his hand, the fool pulls his precious Silks from a trench pocket and rasps out, "Well, you're a right bloody mystery, luv, but I do love a mystery... and solvin' them." Which is to say he's not going to quit.

    Hellfire dancing on fingertips brings Silk to life between his ichor and blood stained lips, fitting image that, innit?

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe goes to his side, hesitant to touch him at first, but she puts her hand on him as he falls back on his ass, and crouches nearby. Her left hand's bloody from the ordeal.

    "Next time, *let me know what the heck*." Phoebe states sternly, crouching by his side as she wrinkles her nose at the cigarette as she breathes out, and brings her hands up to her face.

    "... thank you." she mumbles.

John Constantine has posed:
    "Didn't plan it, luv," John murmurs, barely a whisper because talking hurts. "Just felt that ... when I was speakin' Enochian, felt it, your aura shift."

    Eyes bloodshot look all the more blue for it when they turn toward Phoebe. The hand holding that Silk is trembling, the only thing that indicates that maybe he's still in pain; his face shows none of it. Man has a poker face to beat all, he really does.

    "I wanna try one more thing, don't fret over it, I'm not dead... promise." Whatever THAT means, but the bastard gives the poor girl zero time to figure it out before his body goes slack, eyes closed... and barely breathing.

    When his Astral self pops on out and crosses that veil, it just looks like John, that's how versed he is in the whole thing, his 'avatar' is a fully realized thing. But... is hers? Or does she, like so many others, look 'different' from this perspective.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe is going to have to get used to this, she decides. Mercurial in a good way instead of 'might let you go, might murder your city block'. Gotham's a trip.

    She keeps her hand on his shoulder. She's not using the aura actively, and she wipes her left hand on her jeans to try and clean some of it off.

    When he goes limp and slack, she feels her eyes go wide and she exclaims "What the Hell, John?!" grasping him and moving her leg beneath him to set him down against her thigh.

    Phoebe's astral self glows, as might be expected. Shimmering and shining with light clinging to her, the aura surrounding her stretching like the sun's corona.

    The light is strongest in the center of her form where it has the brightness of the sun.

John Constantine has posed:
    It really only takes a minute, half maybe, before those red-rimmed denim blues open again along with a soft intake of air, a little gasp born of just returning to a body abandoned.

    Well, that didn't tell him much he didn't already suspect, but confirmation is never a bad thing, is it?

    "Yup, glow like a beacon there too," he mutters before pushing himself back to stand and then struggling his way to his feet.

    ...never dropped that silk either, priorities, even when he's out of body.

    "What do you remember about a fire, luv?" he asks as he actually extends a hand to try and help *her* up, a hand with a tremor to it.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... my house was burned down by the same arsonist responsible for killing my dad." Phoebe states, and she allows the hand, but stands up on her own power.

    "He was released by an unscrupulous editor in Gotham who told him where my mom and I lived so he could 'complete the set'. My father was killed in the Third Street Narrows fire in 2017. I helped evacuate a juvie building that was set on fire." she states dryly, looking back to John quizically.

    "... or do you mean what happened like five minutes ago when I was terrified and asking you to stop because I'm actually really kinda afraid of fire in unexpected situations due to my house burning down and nearly killing my mom?"

John Constantine has posed:
    "Complete the set..." John rolls those words around on his tongue a little, tucks them away for future reference. "Sorry, luv, but I didn't know if what was happenin' was you or if somethin' else. Demons aren't the only things that can possess. Had to keep whatever was in, in if there was somethin'."

    ...and while he does feel *for* Phoebe, he has no regrets regarding his own actions in the situation. Means to an end and all it, right?

    "We need to go there, where the fire happened." It's a statement, not a question but, "Not today, I'm fuckin' knackered, but soon."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Yeah. He was never charged for my dad's death." Phoebe replies, and she breathes out.

    "No, no, you need to rest. /I/ need to rest. And process. C'mon, before you keel over. Chas would be lost without you." Phoebe states with a wry tone of voice, "and before my friends start getting too worried about me disappearing to New York for long periods of time."

John Constantine has posed:
    "You know a name?" John asks, because there's power in knowing a name and her knowing it would be easier than him finding it out on his own.

    A muttered word, under his breath, sounds like nonsense really and a gesture opens a portal that stares into the parlor of an old Gothic Manor. He gestures for Phoebe to go before him, "Faster way back to Gotham than a cab."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "We can talk about that later. You need to rest. Pretty sure I could take you in a fight right now." she states, And Phoebe looks up at the portal, and raises her eyes.

    "... I wanna learn that one."

John Constantine has posed:
    John waits for Phoebe to go through first, it's the way of things, damned portal will snap shut as soon as he steps through it. Handy that in some cases though, like when he has demons on his tail.

    The House, once they're both through? Well, in the moment, there's nothig but the parlor and a kitchen, not a single other door in the place. Weird? Could be the House isn't sure enough about Phoebe yet to reveal more? Could be John isn't?

    The front door of the place opens to a street on Founders Island in Gotham.

    But before the girl has a chance to leave, John reminds quietly. "I don't give up on a mystery, luv. It'll get figgered," or he'll likely kill himself trying.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Founder's Island.

    Phoebe fell off that rooftop. Pretty sure Bart caught her that time.

    The girl gives a slight smile, looking to the house and giving a soft 'Thank you' to one wall (always should be polite), and gives a small, tired smile to John.

    And then he reminds her. She pauses a moment, and she looks to the blue collar mage, that laughing madman.

    "You're not allowed to die on my behalf." she gives a smile. "MEggan would be sad."

    And then she raises the hood of her jacket, pulling the sleeve to hide her bloody palm, and steps out into the grimey, always-cold air of Gotham City.