7655/Grim Relations: Vision in the Past

Grim Relations: Vision in the Past
Date of Scene:	01 September 2021
Location:	The Laughing Magician - Loft Apartment
Synopsis:	John is wearing a sweatshirt. It is not as comfy as one would expect. After an extremely busy week, the blue-collar exorcist takes a moment with Phoebe, and learns that the necromancer he's after to protect the girl has crossed paths with him before -- on his home turf in England. Bollocks.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, John Constantine

---

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    So. What do you do when you are: 1. So definitely grounded by your not-exactly-a-dad, 2. Semi-grounded by your other not-exactly-a-mentor, and 3. Bored as All Get Out on a rainy Wednesday?

    Well, if you are a nerd like Phoebe Beacon, you sit in Cheer Bear Pajama Bottoms and socks, sitting next to a cactus with a necktie and a floral-patterned bright pink pegasus , and trying to talk out the logic behind a particular circle of protection that you'd been trying to cram into your brain and memorize. A very basic circle for containing/applificating power, and indeed akin to 'baby's first protection spell'.

    Of course, it wasn't working because she was focusing on the pronunciation of the spell and not her intent, so she's asking a cactus about the steps. She's not expecting it to answer back.

    And she's got a paper bag of gummy worms that she occasionally plucks from. They're kinda dull colored.

John Constantine has posed:
    Sometimes Chas wins the battle if not the war. When John insisted upon being released from the hospital, the cabbie relented; if only because he knows that physically John's recovery time is quicker than most. However, he put his foot down on was a return to the bar stool or a return home alone. Upstairs... it was an order.

    So, in walks an exhausted John, jeans and a hooded sweatshirt even in the summer head, normal old white runners on his feet.

    "Shite can backfire," is the first thing he mentions. "Even the little ones, just takes one thing said wrong." Then he's heading for the couch to flop himself down on it.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe heard the door open, and was about to say 'hi Chas, how's John?' when she realizes three things: 1. It wasn't the cactus that answered her. 2. John is all right and in the apartment and 3. John is in the apartment and wearing a sweatshirt. She pauses, her eyebrows rising up as she looks John up and down (or, well, side-to-side) as he lays on the couch.

    "I know, that's why I'm operating with the weakest one I could find, with the simplist design." she gives a msall smile. "Gotta build up to the Big Boy Spells, right?" she offers, and then she purses her lips.

    "... it is really weird to see you in a sweatshirt."

John Constantine has posed:
    John pushes himself back up with an irritated groan of a sound. He does look like he's hurting and maybe about to vomit, truly. But he makes his way over to the little bar and turns the book around to study the spell. After only a few moments of reading, he recites the thing himself with only three common mistakes... all of them include vowel sounds, short where one should be long and vice versa and so on.

    In a flash of smoke and brimstone, a little demon appears in the middle of the room. Winged thing, but only about two feet tall. Has wicked looking teeth though and it looks hungry.

    "You just summoned it, deal with it," he mutters before heading back toward the sofa and directly toward the little flying monster. It's blue and red, but not brightly so, muted and dark... blood and night. It's tail is about twice its body length and ends in a tip that looks as if it might be made of sharp bone. Claws, one to two inches long, each. The thing snarls and lunges at the closest target... John.

    "Always practice in a circle, Phoebe, always."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe's eyes go wide, and she immediately brings her staff to being as she hops the counter and goes to intercept the demon's attack on John!

    "What do you think I was doing? Learning how to do a circle!" she protests, her left hand coming up, the circle forming in her palm above the circle etched in her wrist, and she brings her shield out and tries to kind of hold the demon back and hit it with her staff!

    "Also haven't done anything with summoning or unsummoning!"

John Constantine has posed:
    John never had any intention of letting the thing actually get at him. He's an asshole, but he wouldn't go that far and likely wind up with Phoebe feeling bad for it all. He turns before she even gets in front of thing, hand out, hoarse voice a little loud and commanding. The words he speaks resemble the spell he used to summon the thing with only a few minor changes of phrase.

    Rather than simply vanishing in a puff of smoke like it appeared, it explodes in a spray of red and blue flesh and dark green 'blood'.

    "Right there," John points to one of the visible circles on the floor. "What did you think that was? Graffiti?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I'm not going to try casting on something that I don't know what it is. It could have a bad reaction, or no reaction, but I figured it would feel /right/ or something. I don't know! All my time with magic has been either stuff I just instinctively could use or doing... y'know. Kitchen witchery and trying sympathetic magic." she states, and she frowns, and turns back to the bar where her sketchbook, Cactus John, and Penpen were at, and she goes to replace Cactus John in the window, trying to hide the fact that it had a necktie. Just in case.

    "No one explained anything to me. I didn't want to mess up a ward and result in one of the dogs coming in."

John Constantine has posed:
    "But you'll walk into the *fucking underworld*, aye? Just like that? Without blinking, but you won't cast a spell inside a fucking circle?" It had to come up eventually didn't it? Seems John's chosen now for that to happen.

    He was just about to sit down again, but now he spins to more directly face Phoebe. "What were you *thinking*?" he all but snarls. "You're lucky I'm allowing you to practice *at all*. I was young and stupid once and it cost me *everything*." Astra really did... the whole mess cost him so damned much. "That what you want, Phoebe? Is it? Because it's what you'll get if you keep it up."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe takes a deep breath as John turns on her, and she becomes the focus of a lot of anger all at once. Her lips purse slightly, and she swallows a little lump in her throat before she turns her dark gaze back up to those faded denim blue.

    "I did't have to cast anything to get into the underworld. I was hoping that you would be right there when I showed up. So I went to find you, because I'm inexperienced and young and wanted to be a hero." she states quietly, with frank admission. "And I found that I was so... far out of my league, between Dr. MacIntyre, and Rein and the two other women and Radha."

    She sits on the stool. "I didn't want you to be alone in the dark, because I know how hopeless that feels."

John Constantine has posed:
    "That's the thing, Phoebe, you *don't*," John snaps back. "You think you do, you've seen trials, you've been alone in the dark. You have no idea, though, the depths of it." He advances a step or two like he just might want to shake his words into her physically, but stops short of actually reaching her.

    "...and you do *not* want to know the depths of it, ever. I won't allow that."

    He retreats back to the sofa and falls onto it in a way that makes it seem as if he hadn't when he did, he would have fallen over regardless. "You can live here, but maybe it's best if you find another mentor. I'll still solve your dog problem." Because he wouldn't trust anyone else to it, but he doesn't trust himself to teach her, go figure.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "The depths of feeling like you failed everyone who's ever believed in you, like you don't deserve to have anything good in your life, because no matter what you do, you're only ever going to be used. My powers." She frowns, fives a shrug of her shoulders. "My body. My training. Doesn't matter. I got broken out of the Silo by a bunch of superheroes and guys in white jackets were offering then hundreds of thousands of dollars to forget me so they could own me. There is /always/ going to be some threat to me. Always another Mickey Rogers, always another Julia." she rubs the back of her neck.

    "I went to Meggan first, you know. I found her by the lighthouse. I asked her, and she said no. Amazons don't do magic. Not... in the way I do. And most of the ones who can are demi-gods anyway." she states, and she gives a shrug. "I was hoping to ask when it was over if I could stay on and learn from you. But I guess that answers that."

John Constantine has posed:
    "Staying involved in my business *will* get you killed," John returns with absolute certainty. Right now there's no doubt in his mind that he's dooming her if he takes her on in that capacity. "Not just a threat, a fact and I'd prefer not to have to see that happen."

    His hands shake when he reaches into the pocket of his... hoodie to retrieve his Silks and that lighter returned from being lost. "If there's anything you aren't telling me about those dogs, about your past, anything... you need to come clean about it now."

    Did she notices the flinch, like he'd been slapped in the face, a brief thing, at the mention of Meggan's name?" It's unlikely that Phoebe will be the only one being pushed violently away from John Constantine in the coming days.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I'll be killed even if I don't stay involved with you." Phoebe replies back. She tilts her head back, and looks up.

    "The woman who controls the dogs? Biologically she's my cousin, on my mom's side. She claimed to be my biological mother, named Julia, when Mickey Rogers put out a one million dollar reward to find my birth parents after Bernie Anderson burned down our house and almost killed my mom. She and her partner kidnapped me, stripped me, drugged me and brought me to Montana. Some superheroes and Angelo got involved in getting me out after I escaped once, and a gas station's security system caught me breaking windows in town, in negative fifty winters, with bare feet. I shouldn't have survived, and the trip back they decided to keep me drugged. I skirted the edge of living and dead because if I'm not awake, the healing doesn't work. Well, the ambient might, but I've never had opportunity to test it." Phoebe states. Usually it's her right hand fiddling with the skin over the tattoo. Now, it's the left, and she's stratching at the inside of her elbows.

    "So, on occasion, I get called upon to try and heal superheroes instead of just working with the homeless. That's why I had armor. I even have a code-name." she gives a small, sad smile as she turns, and goes to the fridge, and grabs of all things a juice box, as if to cement she's just a kid.

    "... but then we got attacked by the demon dogs. And someone complained that I was supposed to be some magical expert. After I went to the lighthouse, I tried other people. Even Zatanna, have her card in my wallet. But between being kicked out of school, the kidnapping, subsequent trauma recovery, in and out of friend's houses, losing pretty much everything I owned and my mom being left with horrible, awful, third degree burns after someone changed her medical information in Gotham General and was going to pull the plug on her life support... yeah. Trust levels, "she makes a face, and waves her hand back and forth.

    "... but I trust you. And Chas."

John Constantine has posed:
    "So, she's a *blood* relative and you didn't feel it wise to fill me in on that before now?" John asks along with a frustrated sigh. He doesn't look at Phoebe, in fact he's not looking at anything but the inside of his own arm. He has that Silk Cut between his lips and seems to be managing to not burn said arm. That's skill.

    "Using blood to track blood is a lot easier than any of the other options to find her and deal with her," he points out, that frustration still lacing his words, likely his expression as well if it could be seen."

    The rest of it, it's not that John doesn't hear it, it's just... not his thing, that's Chas's department. He's the caregiver one, not John. Man can barely care for himself, these days not even that.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I didn't know for sure if she was! The official blood test identified her as my mother and her partner as my father, which in Gotham they're still listed as which is why I had to serve emancipation papers to my mom, so that if she did come back she couldn't get me that way, at least there's one thing I could do." Phoebe points out, "And I know it's easier to use blood to track blood, I figured that's how she was tracking me. I just don't know why. And I don't know anything about our shared past that would give any answers, I thought she just sold me out for money."

John Constantine has posed:
    "Don't raise your voice to me right now, luv." Because he's on a razor's edge already, barely hanging on with bleeding fingertips. ...and John has an incredible headache blooming at the base of his skull and spreading quickly forward.

    He takes a breath, another... one more around that dangling Silk and with the fourth, he draws from it, causing it to bob up between his lips. "Gonna need a sample of your blood then," he announces before he shoves himself to his feet. Takes a lot of effort that. He almost falls backwards in the process of it.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I'm... sorry. It's not intentional, I promise." Phoebe adds, and she looks at John, and just hops up to her feet. "Stay there. Is it going to be immediate use or are you going to take it somewhere else?" she asks, and she goes to grab a glass from the cabinet, fills it with water, and brings it over to John. "... are you going to do the thing like w-you did in the subway station?" she questions.

John Constantine has posed:
    "No, I'm going to find her." Now?! It seems like that might be John's plan. Demon blood or not, he *just* got home from the hospital after a BAC that would have killed anyone else. He's still shaking and pale, sweaty, dizzy. "...and finish this bloody shite."

    He waves off the water, ignores being told to stay put and heads to the kitchen himself for a knife and a simple bowl from the cabinet.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe tilts her head back and looks upwards a moment, breathes out, and she turns to go use the water on cactus, the green-and-white bromealid, and the spider plant before she ducks into her little room, and comes out a clean, sharp pocket knife and a white cloth.

    "How much are we going to need?"

John Constantine has posed:
    "Not that much, just... coat the bottom of this bowl, it doesn't need to be deep, just covered," John explains as he holds out the bowl he snatched from the cabinet. He's also holding a pretty sharp knife from a drawer but he sets that down when he sees Phoebe's.

    He reaches up to pluck the Silk from between his lips and settle it on the side of the sink, no ashtray in reach and he really doesn't feel like digging for one it seems. He really doesn't feel like doing *anything*... but, at the same time, feels like he has to do *something*. Something... that matters. If he doesn't, he's going to completely lose himself to it, to the failure and the lack of purpose, direction... depression.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Which is why Phoebe isn't backing away. She understands. It sucks to do nothing.

    Even worse when you're doing nothing and someone summons a demon then splats it a moment later.

    Phoebe accepts the bowl, and she opens the pocket knife. It's nice and clean and relatively new. She looks at the blade a moment, and then she brings the blade to her arm and makes a clean, surgical slice -- in spite of the fact that her fingers are shaking. She doesn't admit her nerves at cutting herself, or the thoughts behind it. The cut has to be deep; even as she reaches the end, her body is starting to heal it -- but the bowl gets a couple of ounces of blood. ENough to cover.

John Constantine has posed:
    John takes the bowl and moves over to that same circle he pointed to before. He kneels at its center and doesn't speak another word. He has that frantic look in his eyes now, but at least it's better than the nothing that was there before? At least a little bit.

    He dips finger tips into the bowl and actually spreads some of Phoebe's blood under his eyes. Gross?

    Blood magic, no matter what purpose it's being used for, is a tricky thing. It straddles the line between black and white in a dangerous way. It also takes more effort, more ... bits of oneself to pull off. It becomes evident in the way the color drains even more from John's face when he starts chanting. His eyes roll back to reveal whites, that might be startling? Is he going to pass out? No, he remains upright, arms outstretched to his sides a little, palms up, lips still moving in that near silent chant.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe, intent on getting something out of the experience, follows, picking up the pink plush and going to give it a careful toss into her room, she pauses as John goes directly to the circle, and she follows behind. Shepresses her palms to the floor, the worn stuffy in her crossed legs as she watches John at work.

    Where does John want to start? A girl alone in the dark? A confrontation of a most unpleasant type? Or further back -- meeting Red Robin on a roof top. Her body expelling three bullets from her stomach. Far too many pills for a fourteen year old to take.

    The images may be clearer, now. She trusts him, and she's not fighting him as she closes her eyes, her palms pressed to the floor, and she just tries to ease her own magic into the circle. Light can be hope, knowledge, inspiration, and vision, after all. The world need not always be dark.

John Constantine has posed:
    What John wants is *her*, what he's looking for is *her*. What he's expecting is to maybe be bitchslapped at the end of it, but maybe... just maybe he'll get enough to get some idea of where the evil bitch is hanging her hat first.

    The rest of what he needs to weed through hits him, moves through him, has him struggling to hold on to it, ride it out to his end goal. He may even look a little like he's seizing from time to time, the way his facial muscles twitch, his arms jerk, he makes little strangled sounds that come from the back of his throat... and those whites of the eyes, that's creepy looking against the red of her blood spread beneath them.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    He gets a face. She's a woman in her mid to late thirties. She has darker skin than Phoebe, but a similar nose, similar hair. Dark eyes. Julia Thompson was the name she had assumed, but she had other names. This was the first time Phoebe had encountered her with memory. Strings are connecting. She had something to do with Mickey Rogers, the red-faced, pale blonde man who looked something like a cross between a sleazy porn producer and a sleazy used car salesman.
    Phoebe was in the back of the room, her hair tucked under a beanie. John might recognize the teenager who threatened him in his own bar at her side.

    Further back, a fight in a Gotham warehouse. An early version of one of the demon dogs latches onto a man's arm, the other arm wrapped protectively around a screaming toddler.

    More strings. More little snippets as the trail gets hotter.

    A desert town, a long, low building in flames as the sky burns red and black with smoke.

    Further back... Liverpool?

John Constantine has posed:
    If he was in any shape to, John's expression might register surprise. He's not though, the only thing there is the strain of trying to hold on to it and keep pulling those strings until he's where he needs to be.

    ...and maybe just a little bit of a struggle to not vomit from the effort he's putting out that he really hasn't the energy to put out. Magic's a bitch sometimes, it's blood and sweat and tears; and that's exactly what this is with the way the sweat on his face is causing the blood to turn to streaks that look like tears.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    In the circle, Phoebe moves. Hesitantly, the young mage whose blood is streaking down John's face reaches for his hands, and she places hers on top of his, palm to palm, trying to stabilize and give to John instead of him pulling from her -- and minding the holiness.

    Liverpool. Albert Dock. Some big punk festival that was pulling all sorts from the area. She was there. Her hair was straightened then, curled back and pulled into low pigtails, wearing an Egyptian punk band T-shirt, fish nets and a black pair of shorts. She had introduced herself as Mya Sabry, her cousin's name was Yasmin, who had stylishly short hair that was dyed bright red. Yasmin had a chartuche on her thumb with an obscure Egyptian god. She had tattoos up her left arm for healing charms, protection, as if she herself were a serene book of spells while Mya was a firebrand and aggressive. Mya was just Julia Thompson eighteen years earlier.

    John had already crossed paths with her.

John Constantine has posed:
    The only indication he can manage to give that what he's seeing startles him, confuses him, is a little barely there shake of his head and a sound that might have been 'what'... but it's barely there and not really complete.

    John's hands are warm, hot even, to the touch. Too hot for a mortal man, which John is, but maybe not too hot for a mortal man with Hellfire and demon blood inside?

    The blood covering the bottom of the bowl? It's less now than it was before, the thin layer of it retreating slowly toward the center a little bit with every deeper dive John takes into the past. ...and he is trying to go deeper.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    John might feel the words 'you shouldn't be in here' more than hear them. He might also feel the crack on his jaw where some skinhead had gotten him real good after he interceded on behalf of a pair of lovely ladies who really just wanted to get their drinks and have fun. Course, he was a younger man then, and was a scrapper to be sure. Bullies aren't used to people who fight back, and after a couple other lads screw their courage to the sticking place, one skinhead was tossed off the dock and into the cruddy Liverpuddlian water. The picture is clearer.

    Mya had a thinner face than her cousin, who was gentle. Yasmin had been surprised when John had recognized the chartuche, and had offered to take care of his jaw before it swelled.

    Yasmin had a warm light about her, a calming presence. The memory blurs with his own perhaps. A brief argument in -- what, Arabic? Doric? Coptic? The two cousins debated something, with Mya motioning to John before the memory is tugged away.

    "You. Shouldn't. Be. Here." Mya's voice growls, distorted. She stands behind John in a dark velvet dark void.

John Constantine has posed:
    "Fuck. You. Bitch." John mutters under his breath. His head tilts slightly to one side and then back up again, it's clearly a gesture of trying to shrug something off, or hold on to something. He's not going anywhere unless he's forced to. The blood in the bowl creeps further toward the center, leaving black now in its wake.

    His head's about to explode, he'd love nothing more than to vomit in that bowl but he'd probably fill it to full and make a mess all over anyway. It's hard to watch, it's clear that he's struggling, hurting... his eyes, still rolled back to white have to be dry and painful by now. He's sweating and shaking.

    But by the Gods, John Constantine is *fighting* for something. ...with all the tenacity and 'fuck off' he has in him.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... John, it's almost gone..." Phoebe states quietly, and she looks up to the knife. She winces, and uses the cloth to dab at John's face, so very gentle.

    "What is it you hope to do? Stop me? Destroy me?" Mya gives a laugh, and she walks around. "Oh. She should have let me try you on. Now look at you. A sorry little man." she keeps at least an arm's length away, her face distorning more, becoming insects and cowrie shells, broken bits of pottery.

    "Give up. You cannot win against me. You can't win against anything." she accuses, "Drop your ward on her and surrender her.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "And then you can go back to your bottle and pickle what's left of your liver."

John Constantine has posed:
    With a quickness most don't expect from him, but should how long he's survived doing what he does, John turns. It's not likely he'll actually *kill* her, but he might just give the bitch something to think about as he continues his hunt. Most of it will probably be swallowd up by the void when it closes.

    The Hellfire John throws at her in that split second as he's turning that is...

    It really does happen that fast, startlingly fast, less than a split second, he doesn't even have time to blink his dry, aching eyes before it happens. Maybe it's fast enough to just give her a taste of it, of what she's fucking around with. Of the man he's become.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    She might have been ready for it, she might not have. The grotesque face of ant carapaces and broken glass vanishes into the dark as the last of the blood is used, an echoing, distant cry of pain.

    "John. /John!/" Phoebe whispers in concern. She's at his side, cool washcloth in bright pink pressed into his hand.

    He'd be able to see it now. The shape of her eyes is the same as Yazmin's. The curl of her lip, the bridge of her nose as she looks with eyes full of concern and care at him.

John Constantine has posed:
    Everything feels like it's on fire. John holds out a staying hand, don't touch me. Not now, not yet. The black left behind in the bowl bursts into flames that die as quickly as they ignite, the last of it, severing the connection completely. He pitches forward, on his hands and knees and finally lets go of that need to puke. It's always okay to puke.

    Normally he'd be shaken, a little weak, light headed, but there isn't anything 'normal' about him right now. He's battered six ways to Sunday in every possible way. But it's still there innit? He's still crawling at least.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe had grabbed a bucket. The bucket is put in front of JOhn as he pitches forward. She's learning.

    She does not touch him. She sits back on her knees, her hands folded in her lap, until the puking begins to halt, and she hands him over the pink washcloth again.

    "... did you find her?"

John Constantine has posed:
    "I *know* her." Or at least he met her once. John's head's spinning and not just from the physical of it. "I... fuck..." He rocks back to his knees again and then pushes himself to his feet. He has a name now, possibly a *real* name, but he's too foggy and too weak to process and wrap his mind around much of any of it.

    He takes the rag and struggles to his feet, wiping his mouth somewhere on the way up. "I need to... think." And it's impossible right now. He finds the sofa and falls down onto it. Head back, eyes closed, breathing a little labored.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    As John collapses down to the couch, Phoebe watches his movements with concern, and then satisfied he's not going to spontaneously explode, she gathers the bowl, and goes to clean her pocket knife.

    She's in the kitchen area a couple of minutes, and when she comes back, she's found an old TV Dinner tray somewhere in her travels and sets that up next to the couch, with two ibuprofen, a glass of water, and a sliced up orange.

    "I'm just..." she looks like she's struggling a moment "Going to be in my room. Door will be open. Can I get you a blanket or anything?"

John Constantine has posed:
    It only takes that long, that little bit of time and when she comes back, John's asleep, curled up on his side asleep even. He's shivering visibly though from the drop in body temperature after the end of the spell. Might be best to leave it regardless, rather than risk waking him. If he's still a shivering mess when Chas comes up from downstairs, it's assured he'll handle it.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe gives a slight smile, and she ducks into her room. At least his legs are covered by a blanket when Chas comes up. Unfortunately the blanket is also covered with happy little bouncy sheep.

    Chas would also find that Phoebe's put her pink pegasus with John for the night, to protect him from bad dreams.