7347/Lucifer and Strange Walk Into Constantine's Bar...

Lucifer and Strange Walk Into Constantine's Bar...
Date of Scene:	12 August 2021
Location:	The Laughing Magician
Synopsis:	... there's a joke there, there has to be. It's a busy night at the LM, Lucifer drops by, everyone needs the proprietor's attention for *something*. John's 12 ended candle is about to burn all twelve ends to the middle. Stephen decides enough's enough and sends the Laughing Magician to bed with a gentle, but effective, bitch-slap.
Cast of Characters:	John Constantine, Phoebe Beacon, Radha Tackeray, Saeko, Elvis Odell, Lucifer, Stephen Strange

---

John Constantine has posed:
    It's the day after the playground, well into the night after in fact, and John is just now resurfacing. He was grumpy when they made it back last night and went straight to the back and through a portal that took him home. Not a word and just a long suffering sigh from Chas.

    Who, by the way, told Phoebe he'd explain everything... later.

    The grumpiness seems to have carried over, John's on his stool at the bar looking all the world like a man who didn't sleep a wink, dark circles and all, yet he still seems *wired*, leg bouncing up and down, fingers tapping on the bar's top, chain smoking, muttering every now and again about nothing.

    ...even Chas knows when to steer clear, so he's way over at the other end of the bar, polishing glasses.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Day after the playground. Phoebe had been in her room most of the day, tip-toeing out to to grab crackers and water in spite of the fact that her stomach was beginning to protest that it wanted real food. Avoiding Chas (who she was having some trouble discerning just what to do with the news that the man had several dozen lives) and working research into her body instead of food.

    But, something's got to give. So she went out into the rainy aftermath, and comes back with a paper sack that smells of spiciness, coconut and lemongrass.

    The teen, rain soaked through the hoodie she was wearing, pokes her head into the Laughing Magician to find the owners less than happy, and she almost backs right out to hide away in the tiny bedroom above the bar -- but John... well. He looked like balls. So she put on a happy face and brings the paper sack with its happy face and "SEE YEW SOON" marker of a local Thai place and she holds it up as a peace offering.

    "So, I didn't know what spiciness level you guys like, so I got a couple of things... if anyone was hungry."

John Constantine has posed:
    "Not hungry," John mumbles, without even a 'luv' behind it. It isn't until Phoebe's closer that she might notice that he's thumbing through a book. It's probably leather bound, right? It sort of looks like leather, if leather looks like tanned human skin.

    Chas shoots Phoebe a *look* and in that moment, it's easy to see how John and him manage to communicate silently. That look says it all, 'Tread careful, waters are dangerous right now."

    As if to prove it, John slams the book shut and hisses, "Bloody hell." Apparently that one didn't have what he was looking for either.

    The bottle at his elbow is already a third of the way gone and he's only been seated less than half an hour. There's no trace of it this time, no white nose, but all the signs of amphetamine use are present in that shaking leg, those tapping fingers, the wildness in his eyes.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe sits down at the bar, and takes out a to-go container, giving it a wiggle at Chas with her eyebrows raised up. It smells painfully spicy. She is staying *just* far enough from John that her aura is just on the edge. She got the message. She's getting used to the tides.

    "Did you eat anything today, John?" she asks, though she doesn't look at him. She looks to the side of him. Or over him. Or dances those dark fingers back into the paper bag and pulls out a bundle of cheap to-go chopsticks. "How's your leg feeling?"

John Constantine has posed:
    Chas sneaks a hand into 'John Biting Range' in his mind and snatches the go container. ... before he retreats back over there, where it's safe. Relatively so anyway.

    "Not hungry," John repeats right before he down his glass, entire thing, in one smooth motion. He pushes himself to his feet and vaults over the bar rather than walking around, it's a guy thing or something.

    Chas takes a few steps back. This must be bad.

    John digs around a little beneath the bar and comes up with a small, old, leather bag. "Give me your left arm," he orders Phoebe. "Wrist up."

    "John," carefully, "...think it's the right time for that? You're a little..."

    "A little *what*, Chas?" It's almost a snarl.

    Amped up, shaky, crazed, deranged, strung out? All of them apply but Chas goes with, "Sleep deprived?"

    "I can do this in my feckin' sleep, Chas."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... ordinarily I'd say sure, but I doubt this is for a palm reading." Phoebe states, and she lifts her arms off the bar, crossing them meekly over her chest and leaning slightly away. The aura, ever-present and shining, gives a low pulse, vibrating a brief moment with her heartbeat as she looks to John, her eyes narrowing slightly.

    "What's in the bag? Dominos? Scrabble letters?"

John Constantine has posed:
    When John opens the bag, the equipment inside it... well, it looks pretty ancient. The small bottles of ink along with the needles and other bits and baubles can likely be seen for what they are, an antique tattoo kit. The ink though, if someone has a sight for such, it glows with mystical energy.

    "Phoebe, just say no if you don't want it," Chas murmurs from his spot, down there, at the other end of the bar, eating spicy Tai food now rather than polishing glasses.

    "I can hide it, at least for a little while, that... glow... that draws the things," John announces, all the words jumbling on top of one another, those faded denim blues wide, pinpoint pupils.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... you want to tattoo me instead of just drawing a circle." Phoebe states, and she leans back a little more as she takes a close look at John.

    "... but you can hide the aura, so that they can't find me. That gives us more time." she states thoughtfully, and looks up at John.

    And then she puts out her left arm, palm up, and looks at John.

    "I trust you." she states quietly, her fingers curling a little. "... is it going to hurt?" she questions. Girl gets shot and heals, no worries. She's scared of needles.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The Thai food, incidentally, is quite spicy. Phoebe must like it hot, because some of it is a four out of ten -- she figures they would be able to handle it -- Chas luckily has picked up 'only' a level five Pad Thai. There's a level eight in there hiding for Phoebe.

John Constantine has posed:
    "No, you won't feel a thing," John replies. ...and that's because he closes his eyes, touches fingers - way too warm, to her wrist right at her pulse and murmurs a few words under his breath. Her arm, from that spot to elbow, just goes numb.

    "Just be careful, John," Chas warns. The Laughing Magician can toss up wardings in his *sleep* it's true, but one wrong curly where it should have been a cue and the whole thing is for naught.

    His hand's only shaking a little when he starts, what could possibly go wrong?

    "Some people believe things like this are best done over the heart, not the place where hands go during an Anthem, but over the actual heart, but that's false, any pulse point works," he rambles as he works. The ink he's using actually only remains visible long enough for him to get the next bit done and then the next... it fades to nothing, for now.

Radha Tackeray has posed:
A woman descends the six steps into destiny and opens the door.

Radha Thackeray lingers at the entrance for a moment, glimpsing perhaps positioning that is suggesting something to her swiftly adapting-to-the-gloom eyes. Her lips purse and she glances to the side, adjusting the strap on her bag as she drifts towards the Chas end of the bar.

"Are they doing a scene?" she asks Chas, quietly, without quite looking straight at John and Phoebe.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe settles on the barstool, and she breathes out, feeling John's fingers on hers. She pulls back the Holy and Light from her touch, those healing tingles brushing agianst his skin as he works spellcraft into the tattoo on her body. She's very zen as she watches with interest as the needle pierces her skin, her own healing power closing the small wound as the ink is deposited in her dermis.

    ... and then she hears Radha's question.

    "A... scene?" she questions, trying to stay very still.

Saeko has posed:
Into the bar walks another being, beautiful certainly but with her more inhuman traits hidden away by simple magics? Saeko looked like a normal woman.

Wrapped in black slacks and a white button-up shirt, the kitsune looked as if she'd stepped out of some sort of office job and into the bar almost immediately.

She could use a drink!

John Constantine has posed:
    ...for the moment, all of John's attention is on his work, outside the little bit of focus he always has set aside for his warding. The work won't take long, it's a simple circle that only covers a small portion of Phoebe's wrist, starting right where her palm meets it.

    "No, not a show, he's really giving her a tattoo in the middle of his bar," Chas sighs out. "While we're open for business," he says a little more pointedly in his best mate's direction.

    Anyone with a sight for it that enters the bar would see the magic flowing into that tattoo John's working on, the mystical energy in the bottles of ink themselves the energy in the old, antique tools he's using.

Radha Tackeray has posed:
"Thing," Radha corrects herself, smiling weakly at Phoebe. She did not mean to say 'thing'.

Chas clarifies for her and she puts her hand on her hip, taking a deep breath and then asking him quietly, "Is he the bartender too, or just the in-house tattooist?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe can certainly feel the magic, watching John work with curiosity and delight, her attention mostly absorbed in John's work as he tattos her skin, relaxing her shoulder slightly. This needle wasn't so bad, and she looks up to John as he works.

    "So, what's this circle do? Purpose?" she questions, "it... feels weird to watch without seeing much."

John Constantine has posed:
    "He's the resident asshole, ignore most of what he says," Chas grumbles from behind the bar. The most awesome of cabbies and the best mate this side of Heaven, Hell and all between is not happy with John.

    "Puts a lampshade on it, luv, a dark one... more like paints the bulb black," John replies to Phoebe before leaning back to admire his handiwork. ...that isn't visible, to the mundane eye... yet. "Looks good," he murmurs before whispering a few words, Enochian, pulling out the big guns, to those that understand, the individual words don't matter, just the intent. Something about hiding the light from the eyes of darkness or some shite like that. The tattoo flashes, purple, then blue, then fades into a white that stands out against her dark skin. "All done, luv."

Elvis Odell has posed:
    She slips in quietly enough, setting that briefcase down on the bar before saddling up. Casually sliding an ashtray closer before producing her trademark cowboy killers, and lighting up with a happy little sigh. Peering down the bar from behind those shades, before extending three pale fingers. "Hendricks and a chunk of cucumber, if you'd be ever so kind?"

    She does at least give the joint a glance over in the bar mirror, silently sliding a folded twenty across the counter top before swiveling in place to lay her gaze on the man of the hour. "Lets see if I can actually get a drink before things get wild this time, yeah?"Giving another glance back towards the Bar-tend.

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer's presence can be felt, even at a distance, in a low, subtle way. It's like a drop in spiritual pressure, a flutter through the senses of those who have their fingers pressed against that pulse of magical ebb and flow of the world around them.

The pulse just skipped multiple beats. There was an empty place, where pressure adjusted back into place. It isn't a sense of 'EVIL HAS ARRIVED' - that isn't how it works, and 'evil' isn't the right name, anyway. Evil is a construct of those that wrote those books, to a certain viewpoint.

This viewpoint, though, can be felt, even if his exact location can't be divined easily beyon 'the city', and only those that have had a more personal interaction might actually identify why the presence is pushing so much on the local environment.

Outside the pub, a darkly dressed male, tall and sleek, human (yet somehow often uncomfortably 'human'?), Lucifer relaxes, thoughtful, and taking in the pub as a whole with a patient quality. Weirdly peppery-scented smoke flows off a cigarette, cloying. His smile is serene, as if he were an art critic examining a new piece of artwork and forming his opinion. For the moment, anyway.

Saeko has posed:
Magic, the place was dripping with it so much it was almost like looking at a street with too much neon, with the tattooing being the equivlent of someone welding right in front of you!

Still, she'd came here for a drink and apparently there -was- a tender in the place. With Phoebe and John finishing Saeko gives a soft chuckle to Elvis' words and a light tilt of her head before lifting her hand. "I would like a drink myself, if you would."

Radha Tackeray has posed:
Radha doesn't answer Chas right away. She seems vaguely uncomfortable. Watching. Waiting. Then there is a subtle flash of blue--

And a Presence washes...

And Radha sets her ass onto a bar stool and breathes out. "Oh, thank god," she says, generically. Orders seem up, and Radha sets her bag on the counter, before asking Chas, "Yes, please. I'd like... I don't know," her eyes flick up to him, "what do you think I should have?" (Saeko and Elvis get brief, passing smiles from Radha, who is trying not to peep back towards the open-air tattoo session too hard.)

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    John's ward is activated.

    Phoebe's fingers tremble a m oment, and the odd sense of light and calm that surrounds the girl is suddenly cloaked.

    The white ink at her wrist settles, standing out against the dark of her skin as she purses her lips and gives a slight smile to John, turning her wrist slightly.

    "... okay, that is admittedly a pretty cool design." she states, and looks up to John. In her dark eyes there is a wealth of appreciation.

    And then Phoebe reaches her free hand up.

    ... and to the side...

    And ever so lovingly plants a take-out container in front of John.

    "Thank you. Now eat something, please, before I start crying and getting worried."

    The young magi looks to the toehrs in the bar, as if seeing them really for the first time, and then rubs the back of her neck with her not-newly-tattooed hand.

    "So, how long will it last?"

John Constantine has posed:
    Even from inside, John feels it. ...and knows it for what it is, despite having only met Morningstar a handful of times. "Bloody Hell," he mutters as he pushes himself up to clambering - vault over the bar and back to his own stool.

    It leaves Chas to pack up the equipment used for the tattoo. "Yeah, I felt it too..." The cabbie may not be 'mystic' in the sense that John is, but he's been around long enough, hasn't he? One moment, that's what the one finger up in Elvis's direction means.

    With a very much put upon sigh, John tags the one outside, it's a whisper to the wards, a little exchange between the protection, barely a gesture and Lucifer will find himself with a boarding pass to the Laughing Magician, if only for an evening. That's how much time, energy, blood, sweat and tears he's put into making this place safe. It takes barely a thought for him to manipulate them to his will.

    "Phoebe, go upstairs," he hisses in the girl's direction, as if that's going to work, stubborn as Meggan that one.

    Once the tools are put up nice and proper, Chas is on it. Except the cucumber? Really does this place look like it has vegetables? The Hendrix is easy enough. "What do I recommend? Something on tap."

Elvis Odell has posed:
    Honestly she's just happy to have gotten a drink for once, before whatever the coming...whatever happens to be. So it should come as no surprise that she tucks in eagerly, downing three fingers worth in a single smooth pull followed by a breathy little sigh as she slides the glass back towards Chas. Neatly attending to the trademark tickle of that much gin with a slow drag on her cigarette, before she's mixed her vices in the appropriate amount to let those shoulders slump if only a little.

    "Mr. Constantine, I believe we ought to have a word when this most current looming crisis has come to pass. I believe we have mutual concerns, if the rumors are to be believed yes?"Glancing casually back down the bar towards John. "You know truly, most places I've hung out this frantic had a whole lot more strippers and coke involved. You going to put a pole anytime soon?"

Stephen Strange has posed:
If there is a singular person that would recognize the spiritual barometer drop, he would be inside the inconspicuous pub that the darkly dressed male stands before now. However, if there would be a second individual, that drop in pressure would be a tell-tale sign indeed. And, even for that second individual, who usually frequents a different corner of the city, that slight pressure drop is noticeable. It is true that most people would not necessarily be able to determine why or how...nor where to look.

Stephen Strange, however, is not most people.

There are few places where such a push would be felt and muted...thwarted, almost. One...is a particular home in Greenwich Village. Another may be a particular fire escape, unknown to most. And another...a certain pub in Hell's Kitchen. Strange knows of the places with wards powerful enough to mute this particular ripple in the aether. They are few and far between in the city.

It takes a few moments...before the good Doctor approaches the front of the Laughing Magician. Grey eyes cast a sideways glance towards the dapper individual upon the threshold. Strange himself is dressed in a similar fashion. Certainly not the flash and grandeur of the blue and red. But, more in keeping with his former surgeon days. Fashionable, but tasteful. Upon seeing the individual at the door, only four words are given in response, wrapped in a somewhat mirthful tone.

"Thought it was you..."

Radha Tackeray has posed:
"Then I'll have one of those, whatever it is," Radha tells Chas while watching John with an expression of swiftly accelerating concern that had been fading and is now coming back. Is something coming? It's alarming, in a way.

She raises one wrist to her mouth to veil a nervous giggle at what Elvis says.

"I begin to think perhaps this wasn't the evening to go looking for a reading?" Radha asks, sort of to Chas but also in general.

Lucifer has posed:
"Gold star, Doctor; you're right. Hello," Lucifer greets Stephen Strange, smoothly and pleasantly, as if he'd met a neighbor on a doorstep. Pleasantries. No malice, only positive vibes. Just... very WARM ones. "Did I leak a little? It does happen," Lucifer adds, without apology. He tips his head slightly towards the pub, as if welcoming Strange to come too. Groups are fun.

The shift of the wards is one sort of interesting welcome mat. It immediately amuses Lucifer to no end at the door. "I'm trying to decide if I feel offended or not: is dropping those a 'come inside' invitation?" Lucifer's clear, pleasant tone rises from the doorway now directly to John, as Lucifer arrives... He still does not technically breach where wards would be to enter: though if they were still up, they'd feel the heated push something fierce. "It /feels/ like you regard me as some sort of awkward vampire tapping at the window in hopes you'd stick your neck out," Lucifer tut-tuts. No, that won't make sense to plenty of others unless they also sensed the wards move under John's direction, but Lucifer's words were meant to bat at John anyway.

Elvis's words, at least the last few, pull Lucifer's gaze across at her. His expression is smiling, yet has an intensity that usually feels like 'too much'. That's a good way to describe Lucifer in general - he's too much. His aura that wraps around and encourages people to relax their inhibitions is often part of it, naturally. "I hope strippers and coke is just to start," Lucifer suggests, flaring his eyes at Elvis. It's teasing but serious, too.

John Constantine has posed:
    "Name's John, luv." Mr. Constantine was a rat bastard of a father, apple doesn't fall far though, according to most that know him. ""...and, I have no idea what you're going on about," This is all aimed at Elvis. "I mean, I do, I could... if you'd narrow it down a wee bit? Are we talking Gods..." He pauses mid thought, eyes the door. *Bloody feckin' *hell*."

    It might be noted that the reaction to this new arrival sensed isn't that he doesn't *like* Strange, but man... c'mon! Really?! Bloke just wanted a nice quiet drink. Just once, just a nice quiet drink, maybe another line later so he can keep burning candles at 12 ends?

    The rub there, the truth of it? John's *not* a 'druggie', man sticks to his booze, loves his smokes, but beyond that? The beyond that only happens when he's really in the thick of it, when things are Bad - big B Bad. So why does he look completely strung out, pinpoint pupils and nervous tics, bouncing leg, shaking hands, chain smoking more than usual - which is a crazy amount of smoking? Because shit is Big B - BAD for him right now.

    Otherwise, sharing a drink with Strange and even old Luci out there, might be an enjoyable evening for him.

    "Fuck..." That's all Chas has to say about that. He draws up some cheap beer from the tap and slides it in Radha's direction.

    "S'wot it's supposed to feel like, mate," John quips toward the door. "Come in or don't, but close the feckin' door, AC's not cheap." ... as if he's ever paid an official bill in his life? He has ways to deal with those; it's the other bills coming due that have him frazzled this evening.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe pauses, and she looks around the bar. It is, admittedly, busier than when she usually hangs out and shoots the breeze with Chas, but with her aura dampened, there was less she could sense on her, but she watches as the two well dressed gentlemen enter the bar. Way too well dressed for this bar. She stiffens a moment, the young mage with the braids and the damp sweatshirt, tugging the sleeve of the shirt over her brandy-new tattoo.

    "... John, do you want a hand with something in the back room before I go upstairs for the night?" she questions, looking at the two men, Saeko and Elvis.

    She does back up a bit, her left hand stretching a moment.

Saeko has posed:
Well, the devil and a sorcerer supreme had entered the bar, 'pleasent' greetings had been exchanged and apparently more people knew him by face than didn't. Certainly to Saeko, it was the aura and energy that screamed identity rather than prior meeting.

Really, the mortal world was a strange place!

That and, well, she seemed to have missed out on a drink of her own in the chaos.

A 'polite' cough from the woman as her eyes go to Rahda before she shrugs her shoulders and leans her hip lightly against the bar.

"It seems quite the crowd has gathered this evening. Perhaps it was wrong of me to take so long to visit."

Elvis Odell has posed:
    "There seems to be a certain interested party claiming something which is distinctly, my jurisdiction. I've heard from a few, you had an interest in settling the matter. Mr.Constantine."Elvis adds calmly, snuffing her cigarette in the tray before lighting up another without so much as a pause for fresh air. "When you have a moment, I'd be delighted to discuss the situation in greater detail."Offering finally a meek little wave to free John to deal with, whatever in the world this is.

    She does let her gaze meander over towards Lucifer at least, pinpricks of white illuminating from behind those ancient wayfarers. Meeting Lucifer with her trademark, somewhat blank expression. "Hardly the New York style these days, for better or worse. They prefer to pretend to be a little higher class now, the real low class joints are all in Gotham these days I'm afraid. Terrible waste, pretending."

Stephen Strange has posed:
"Only a little." Strange accentuated the answer with the lifting of his hand, the fingertips just barely apart. No other explanation is given. However, between the two, there would not necessarily need be anything more. The two interact as if they are old acquaintances.

Which...of course, they are.

And, as such, that is how the Devil and the Doctor walk into a bar. There might be room for a joke in there somewhere, but, at least for the moment, Strange is content to be singularly amused on his own. He does tip a nod towards John in greeting. After all, it *is* his place. It is only proper to greet the owner. Even John's reaction towards Strange earns a wry smile.

When Stephen does speak, it is to John specifically. "I noticed you have been busy." No mention as to what, yet. "A little dust-up in India. A few other places. You know you could have asked, yes?" All very vague, as is the right of the sage role. "We can talk later. Tonight, though, I'm here to greet an old friend." With the nod towards Lucifer, it is apparent that Strange did not just walk into John's place to chastise. Just...happenstance.

Radha Tackeray has posed:
Radha looks towards the door to see an *extremely* charming looking blond man and a vaguely distinguished older man begin entering the bar. She receives, at this point, a pint of inexpensive beer, which she raises to her lips to take a long sip from.

For the love of god, Radha thinks to herself, I was hoping someone was doing Tarot. What the ****.

Radha scratches at her chin with one lacquered thumbnail, and opts to speak, not to the man who stands on the threshold, but to the one giving the invitation. "Are you alright?" Radha says to John Constantine. "You look positively ill." ("I feel as if something is passing over my head," Radha editorializes to Saeko, glancing towards her. "Is this a gang thing?")

Her eyes track the Doctor, as he steps nearer. She half turns in her seat, moving to hold the beer glass in both hands. She takes another sip, but this one is much shorter.

Lucifer has posed:
"Class is a funny little construct. All sin the same, it all comes out in the end wash: the gutter or the throne," Lucifer smiles to Elvis, his high-beam attention more on her now. Analytic, a strong attentiveness. "Hopefully you get a bit of time for pleasures still, your Director not entirely running you... to the bone." Tee hee. Lucifer curls his tongue inside his cheek a little at her, tilts his head, but then turns his gaze to John instead.

"Intentionally insulting one you might ask a favor of is an interesting tactic. Not really one I prefer. I //far// prefer exceptional flattery, preferably honest and fervent -- but desperate sometimes has it's place, though maybe with less shouting in the street...? Mmmm. Should you get to that place... well, then we can see." Lucifer is enjoying himself: his mood is upbeat. If he's actually offended, he isn't showing it - which means he isn't. He doesn't mask his anger or irritation well, rather famously so.

Then, Stephen speaks in such a friendly way with Lucifer, and Lucifer does a little show of pleasured surprise, moving towards Stephen to attempt a friendly clap on the back. Harmless, really - and it comes with a withdraw of Lucifer's aura. For the time, Lucifer deliberately pulled back. His own, perhaps, show of 'faith', to melt and blend in more fully. Which, in a way, could be more eerie. "You know you can find me at Lux lately, I'm still on vacation, Doctor," Lucifer encourages Strange, with an open palm and curl of fingers. No magic is there, no aura, just relaxed - that encourages others to relax, too.

John Constantine has posed:
    "No, you need to go upstairs, now..." John hisses in Phoebe's direction. Better or worse, man's somehow managed to find himself ward over a teen-aged girl. How did that *happen*?!

    He refills his empty glass from the bottle by his elbow, downs that glass with one smooth motion, refills it again, downs that one... one more and this time he takes somewhere between a sip and a swig, rolls it around in his mouth, swallows, lights a silk via a spot of Hellfire dancing on his fingertips because he can't be arsed to find his lighter. Through it all, he ignores everyone in the room, everyone, it's like a little ritual - when it's finished, there's calm where there was once frazzled nerves and bouncing knees and shaking hands.

    A flick, a little gesture toward the jukebox and a record drops - yes vinyl - 'Sympathy for the Devil' - Stones version - blares from the little thing. That flattery enough, Luci?

    He tucks that Silk between his lips and keeps it there, it bobs up and down when he speaks, "Chas, close the door, flip the sign, pub's closed to newcomers." He won't kick those here out, but... "If you've no immediate business, might consider a drink elsewhere, management's not responsible for your poor life choices."

    It's not even so much that John's worried that Lucifer or Stephen either one are here to *hurt* him, no, it's more the pressure cooker he's feeling building inside himself despite his seeming calm now. Man's reached near his breaking point, he truly has. He's not normally one for flash and fire and putting on a loud show, he's more subtle and sneaky than that, but for a moment, he *can't* suppress the Hellfire that flashes in those faded denim blues.

    ...not to mention that the last time he held a meeting here, it didn't even included The Devil - but it still went to Hell in a Hand Basket and that was a *planned* meeting.

    "Well, Stephen, if you *noticed*... maybe I shouldn't have had to take time out of all it to *ask*," John quips back, frustration, battle fatigue and exhaustion getting the better of him.

    Chas... goes to lock the door and flip the sign but not without a warning... "John... be *nice*," before he steps from behind the bar.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe is stubborn, but she also wants to say on John's good side. She looks to John, then to Chas, and then gives a nod. "I'm just a shout away if you need something from upstairs. Until then -- out quiet as a mouse." she states -- not like there's a whole lot she could get, but she obediently grabs her motorcycle jacket, takes a look at the assembled men, her eyes pausing with suspicion on John's back, and then she retreats out of the room.

    And then she comes back, grabs two of the to-go containers of Thai food, and then unremarkably returns to her exit, leaving the one that she had parked in front of John earlier on the counter.

Elvis Odell has posed:
    "Thankfully the director is very generous, I've been quite fortunate the director has no problems with a little recreation."She leaves exactly what that implies up to the imagination, lifting that cigarette pressed between her lips in mute salute as Luci goes his own way.

    Radha does get a sidelong glance from behind those wayfarers "Not a gang thing honey, philosophical differences, social lubricant and the male ego."Inhaling slowly on that cigarette, before letting the thick smoke billow from her nostrils. "Much more dangerous than a gang thing, and probably not entirely too entertaining if you don't already know the players involved. Keep your wits honey, things might get a touch wild."

Stephen Strange has posed:
Being friendly doesn't hurt anyone. Most certainly it does not hurt the Doctor to be friendly with Lucifer. It is, after all, the reason why Stephen is there. And...the clap on the back is accepted. The withdrawal of the aura is sensed...the gesture appreciated. It is said that one catches more flies with honey than vinegar. It would also seem that it is also a favorable method of deterrence, as well.

After all, as much as Strange knows the prowess of the proprietor of the pub, he also knows Constantine's limitations. And, judging from that quip, John's close to those limits.

Really, Stephen's there to help. As odd as that might be.

"I do apologize for not joining sooner. I had other situations that required my attention at the time." A pause. Yes...there is true remorse in there, though offered in a rather conversational tone. "As such, you do not have to ask." Not that John actually asks...ever. At least in Strange's experience. Usually, it more of barreling in headlong. But, at least the sorcerer is offering to join in.

At least that way, there may be a little guiding the rushing ahead.

"You are right, however. I should have offered sooner."

Lucifer has posed:
"Apologies are /accepted/," Lucifer says grandly, smoothly. He's reacting to something unheard, though, and immediately seems distracted. He chuckles softly and looks directly at Stephen, with a silent message in it maybe .. before with a sly smile, he slides out as smoothly as he came.

Radha Tackeray has posed:
Warning is given. Radha's lips pull to the side for a moment, in skepticism THAT IS ENTIRELY INCORRECT, and which is helped along by the beer, probably. Her eyes then turn back towards Elvis.

"Just a touch? I suppose you are right, though I wouldn't say I've exactly seen a lot of gangster things myself," Radha murmurs to her, even as Phoebe comes down - secures takeout - retreats upstairs.

Saeko has posed:
Saeko slips from her chair lightly, drink unserved and a soft chuckle on her lips.

"Perhaps another night," she speaks softly, offering a nod to those assembled as she reaches to fix her hair.

"It seems the mix of past meetings and 'celebrity' are a little too much for me."

With that and a bow of her head, the kitsune in human guise is headed for the door.

John Constantine has posed:
    When Lucifer takes his leave, John barely manages to hold in check an audible sigh of relief. Can anyone blame a man with a thrice marked soul for being a little twitchy around The Devil, all he needs is a fourth mark, right?

    Maybe he should have asked, maybe he should ask more - but there's a fundamental difference between Strange and Constantine. John's down here, every day, in the trenches, dealing with vampire nests and zombie hordes and possessions and little girls being chased by animated animal corpses infused with human souls sent by evil Sorceress sorts. Stuff the big guns like Strange pay no mind to.

    He's grown used to working alone, doesn't cross his mind to do otherwise.

    No truer words have ever been spoken, or likely ever will be spoken again as when John Constantine downs the rest of his third drink in five minutes and utters the words, "I'm fuckin' tired, Stephen."

    Another flicked gesture to that old, spelled jukebox in the corner and the track switches to Johnny Rotten and the Pistols pelting out 'My Way.' Fuck Lucifer and the Stones, sideways and backwards.

    He shifts his attention to Elvis finally, "It's a Sorceress named Asenath, she's the one doing what you're talking about," he mutters just loud enough to be heard.

    Down here in the streets, in the trenches, dealing with all of *that* AND a war for the underworld. Yeah, he's tired.

Elvis Odell has posed:
"Asenath."She repeats, slowly pitching forward until she slides off that bar stool. Letting her disguise dispell as she turns her attentions to, strictly professional matters. That unhealthy pallor replaced with the pure white of polished bone, as every trace of flesh abandons her in but the blink of an eye. Delicately lifting those wayfarers away before they can slide off her skull, and tucking that cowboy killer between those perfect pearly whites of hers.

    Her voice dips down low, into that guttural death rattle. "Lets hear everything you have to tell me about her, I need enough to pull a file on her."Neatly hooking a chair free and plopping down at a table near John, before producing a notepad and pen. "Also I'm obliged to tell you, you may be eligible for a monetary reward if she's captured alive. The director is particularly interested in this case, you understand? They feel such wanton rule breaking may serve to embolden others, unless an example is made of her." Those twin pinpricks of light in her eye sockets locking directly onto John.

Stephen Strange has posed:
A nod, with words unspoken, is given to Lucifer as he departs. No more, really, is needed.

And, as Lucifer departs, the friendly demeanor shifts slightly. There is a sigh of relief, and a visible weight dropping from Stephen's shoulders. Yes, he was being cordial. But, also, cautious. And now, that caution is lessened. The man actually shows a moment of relaxation.

Shifting to John, only two words are offered to his decree of his physical and mental state. "I know." Then...a follow up. "I was reminded of my duty to this realm. And also reminded that trying to do too much at once will only benefit the very forces that gather upon our doorstep."

Translation? It is time to step back a little. Re-assess the situation. Find a better way. If Strange had to be reminded of this fact, in grandiose fashion, then it is a pretty sure bet that John could use the lesson, too.

After all, he was always the impetuous one.

John Constantine has posed:
    Elvis over there babbling about monetary reward and captured alive, has John offering an incredulously spat out, "Wut?" Seriously, what? "... are you goin' on about? "I intend to hunt her down and put an end to it," he continues once he's recovered from that initial, 'wut'?

    Faded denim blues, red-rimmed and surrounded by dark circles flicker all wide and 'see, see man, see what I have to deal with on the *daily*' in Stephen's direction.

    He huffs out a breath and his next drawn in is from that Silk Cut still between his lips.

    Chas, who's been over there polishing glasses in that way he does when he's trying to stay zen about shit, pipes up... "John..." Nothing more.

    It stops the impending 'bloody fuckin' hell fuck all of you get out of my bar because you all fuckin' suck balls'... in its tracks and John just groans.

    "There's a *girl* up there," he points up, to the space above the bar. "That's being *tormented* by these things this evil fucking *bitch* is sending after her. That doesn't get to be 'taken alive', sorry, just no."

    He turns his attention fully to Stephen now. "I need help." Plain, even though it's already been offered, here he is saying it outright and plain. "Don't get me wrong, Thor's a great bloke and his mates, all of'm, blast at a party and great if you need shite busted and broken. But I feel like this is... it's all been wrong somehow. I'm missing *something*."

Radha Tackeray has posed:
A name is raised to conjure with. Radha toys with her mostly empty glass of beer and rises upwards, stepping forwards. She then pauses for a moment to look at Elvis.

And another moment to *see* Elvis.

Radha does not wonder at it, herself, but it is perhaps telling that she seems baffled, surprised, but not flinchingly revolting. She sets herself down, closer to the tired man and his distinguished-looking conversationalist. Her fingers waggle at the departing Saeko and then Radha looks at her knees for several long moments.

Celebrities, she thinks. Is this a place to the Underworld? Was that David Bowie? Unlikely... he seemed too, glossy to be David Bowie.

Radha looks upwards towards John and Stephen after this, smoothing out one pleat of her skirt with one hand.

AHA, she thinks then, and leans slightly to the side of the skeletal Elvis, raising a hand to indicate. "I'm sorry to interject, I just got here, but I wanted to ask. What are these, these things? Like what manner of thing are they?" She leans forwards after asking the intrusive question, if with a brief, sheepish, "sorry" to Dr. Strange, who (to Radha) has powerful schoolmaster vibrations.

Elvis Odell has posed:
"It's a matter of policy I inform you, Mr. Constantine. I assure you I have no problems with visiting lethal force upon this woman, should she be guilty of these crimes."Scratch scratch scratch, that pen might as well be a cold chisel on steel for the noise it makes. "The director is a patient individual, as am I. If your primary concern is for a manner of reciprocity, then you might consider taking her alive surely. An instant release is I should think, far preferable to spending thirty years awaiting her true judgement in a Federal supermax. Only to get shanked in the bathroom for a pack of menthol Camels, and a little cred inside the ice box."

    "What I need from you right now Mr Constantine, is information. Names, affiliates, addresses and anything else you might have."And a pause as she glances up towards John. "Do you at least have a physical description, or a time line for me?"

John Constantine has posed:
    "It happened right here you know, Stephen, have you visited the Astral around the Bronx? It's pretty much a wasteland. Baron Samedi and Mictlantecuhtli died there, right bloody here, in *our* city."

    He pours *another* drink, he'll finish the bottle before night's end for sure. John then turns his attention to Radha, "Fueled by human souls, luv, nothing you'd be lookin' for..." Hand played, John seems to know a bit of stuff about a few things. He plucks the cigarette from between his lips and stubs it out in the ashtray, lights another. Man's drowning in all his vices tonight innit he?

    "He's comin', Stephen, not much I can do about it." His thought are all over the place too it seems, s'what happens with twelve candles burning at once. There's only one 'he' John could be talking about that actually makes him look a little smaller, even afraid for a split and Stephen knows its name.

     Impetuous indeed.

    "Unless we stop it first, this underworld business, before he steps in, like I asked him too." Things are like to get a whole lot worse in said Underworld if Nergal tries to lay claim to John's soul as his own. First of the Fallen might have a bit to say on the matter.

    

    Chas... polishes with a little more intensity, little shithole pub has the cleanest glasses in town, for sure.

    "She wears a fuckin' red coat," he snipes in Elvis's direction. He has more than that, there's no doubt, but he's cranky and tired and there's bigger things in front of him right now.

Radha Tackeray has posed:
Radha leans her head forwards slightly. It is a second warning! Thrown aside! "I don't want to find such things, I want to break them so that they cannot -" She stops, then, as if she's finally catching up with the various names being mentioned.

So it is the underworld, Radha thinks. She looks at the back of Elvis's... skull for a long moment, as if to screw up her courage to ask who the Director is. Does her nosiness go that far?

She is not yet sure.

There is a certain sympathy she feels, certainly enough, for Chas behind the bar there. On the up side, Radha reasons to herself, this means I won't have to spend that eighty dollars I was prepared to give a reader. Probably.

She glances at Dr. Strange.

... Somehow, it feels as though the answer there would be 'no'. Or at least 'not for $75 or less.'

Stephen Strange has posed:
Stephen doesn't answer immediately. And, in regards to the question about the Bronx, he doesn't answer that at all. He does, however, admits certain facts. "I visited the Astral around Paris. Immediately after the altercation with the Asgardians. I saw the umbral hounds of Arawn. I sensed the possible hand of both Thanatos and his twin Hypnos. I saw the red sigils. From what I am able to determine, it is a war over the dominion of death itself." Stephen pauses...contemplating what all to say next. The fact that John asked for help, so plainly, has not been missed.

"We are going to need to help each other, I fear."

The snippy nature of John is a bit more harsh than usual. The critical eye of the former surgeon and medical doctor measures the proprietor of the Laughing Magician, judging in that passive way Stephen has. And...the prognosis of John's irritability? He is tired. Just plain tired.

And...the best remedy for being tired? Sleep, pure and simple.

The Sorcerer Supreme steps closer to John, those grey eyes softening. "You really need to get some rest, John. You know that, don't you? You are not going to be any good with anyone until you do." He reaches out, to pat John's shoulder. Yet...there is something more to it. A quick gesture, just before touching. And Stephen speaks again.

"Go to sleep." The words are forceful. They have weight. Spoken as a command, they very well could cause one to simply....pass out.

Because, that is exactly the intent.

It is all a matter of seeing if it will be successful. After all, John is a right stubborn man. But, if so, then Chas will have his work cut out for him.

Elvis Odell has posed:
    She rises stiffly from her seat, tucking her notepad away in a jacket pocket. "I have enough to start, at least."Taking another long drag off that cigarette, before snuffing it out. "These are dangerous days for certain."Moving to grab her briefcase and set a trio of business cards upon the bar.

    That voice suddenly warmer, as the skeleton gives away to an unhealthily pale woman once again. "If you anyone needs me, give me a ring. Never be afraid to drop a dime on a necromancer, or worse."And with that? She's out the door and off into the night.

    Death, has left the building.

John Constantine has posed:
    John *is* a stubborn man, so bloody stubborn, he's made of nothing BUT stubborn. But he's also *exhausted*. He's frazzled through and through, he's riding a cocaine high that he's quickly dosing with an alcohol low.

    When he starts to slip off the bar stool after falling out like a limp rag doll under Stephen's spell, well Chas is over the bar in an instant, man is *fast* for being as big as he is. He's there to catch his best mate before the idiot hits the ground.

    "Thank fuckin' *God*," Chas breathes out, relief that. "But really, Strange? Little signal next time?"

    It's not work really, it's not even the first time it's happened. Chas scoops John up like a damned child. "Let's get you to bed *asshole*," he mutters... affectionately. "Can you bottle that, seriously, I'll pay for it?" he asks the Sorcerer Supreme on his way through the bar, toward that back room, and likely up to his own apartment, likely to sleep on the couch so John can have the bed. ... even more likely to lie on Stephen's behalf, 'you passed out, John', that's all' in the morning.

    Best mate in Heaven, Hell and all the spaces in between.

Radha Tackeray has posed:
The skeletal woman becomes once more -- a woman. Radha nods at her firmly, once, looking at (false?) eyes. The card is taken and slid into her bag.

Then BANG - ah, good, he's being caught.

"That was very kind of you," Radha says, in the momentary silence, when it is just her.

"Good luck, with, the, death things," she concludes, to the Sorceror Supreme. One hand comes up and fingers waggle.

Ask him, something in the back of her head says.

ASK HIM

She does not ask him.

Instead, Radha sits around for several more minutes, and eventually leaves a five dollar bill and an additional $1.25 in quarters on the bar. That's how much beer costs, right? Right.