7730/1000 Faces: Crunch Time

1000 Faces: Crunch Time
Date of Scene:	07 September 2021
Location:	The Laughing Magician
Synopsis:	John relays information, but manages to get no further in the direction of the entirety of an answer. He'll stand and face it armed with bits and pieces and the hope of one little girl with a tea cup.
Cast of Characters:	John Constantine, Phoebe Beacon, Achilles, Aldrif Odinsdottir, Jane Foster

---

John Constantine has posed:
    As per the usual when John calls together something that's 'community' specific, the Laughing Magician is closed to the general public. The man the bar's named after is in his usual spot, that stool no one else ever wants to sit on. He's also surrounded by the usual stuff; an ashtray half full, a pack of Silk Cuts, a zippo lighter, a glass and a bottle scotch to refill said glass. Smoke wafts from the cigarette already tucked between his lips, trailing a lazy path to the ceiling.

    He doesn't greet those that come through the door individually, but the best damned mate and cabbie in all the realms between Heaven and Hell does, at least with a nod of acknowledgement.

    That isn't to say that John Constantine is radiating anger and danger the way he's been known to recently, no, not that. He actually seems pretty chill in the face of the end of the fucking world.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe comes dashing in from outside. "Sorry, forgot my key upstairs -- couldn't change." she states as she comes down the six stairs with her backpack in one hand, a coffee in the other, and her eyes going wide as she looks to Chas a moment with a smile, and ducks behind the counter to trade her backpack for an apron.

    Her braids are pulled back in a braid bun at the moment as she looks to John, and raises her eyebrows.

    "Are we expecting a big crowd tonight?" she asks, looking over to the Laughing Magician.

Achilles has posed:
    Following close behind Phoebe, Angelo has a bag in one hand, with a logo on it for a place nearby... named Stella's Stellar Bagels. He lifts the bag and says, "I have fresh bagels. Still warm, if anyone wants one." That said, he sets the bag down on a nearby table, along with a drink carry tray with two of the four cup slots filled, "And fresh coffee too." he adds, "Just plain black coffee for anyone who wants some."

Aldrif Odinsdottir has posed:
And in walks Angela. She is her usual tall, stoic self except that she's weearin a pair of jeans and a T-Shirt that has the newest version of She-Ra on it with Catra leaning against her. She walks in to the place and goes straight to the bar, sitting on a stool and looking to the others here before she looks more directly at John. She wasn't sure she had a lot of information on all of this but she does have some and she's far more interested in hearing what the man has to say.

John Constantine has posed:
    "Well, considering I was fashionably late?" John looks around the, basically, empty bar and shakes his head. "Not much of one. Figures, aye." He plucks that near spent Silk from his lips and stubs the thing out in the ashtray before lifting his scotch glass for something between a sip and a swig.

    Something strange happens next, for a moment John Constantine looks almost overwhelmed, sounds it too when he says, "I'm not even sure where to begin. Does the list of which Gods have fallen and to who even matter anymore? I think the point of it is that the Demogorge is awaken; angry and hungry thing that and it's coming to devour the Gods and we need to stop it."

    He pauses for another more than a sip, not quite a swig. "I have a lot of little bits and baubles of things found out, but there are still holes, pieces I must be missing. I know where to head it off at the pass, I know why it's fuckin' pissed off and seeking vengeance, I know we have to turn it from its path in order to get it to fix shit. I have some seeds of life and destiny that might keep everyone alive if they get eaten by it and I think turnin' it back has something to do with heart and humanity and just *living*, but not sure where all that fits in. I know the dead will be there in droves to bear witness and that there will be no underworld or this world anymore, they'll be one in the same. I know that, somehow, we need to channel energy that's already there; changing, in motion in order to keep the dead from being controlled and used against us. Lots of pieces, but if they make one definitive answers to the problem? I'm missin' it."

    He pauses to light another cigarette and says simply, "So, discuss."

Jane Foster has posed:
You know the thing about superheroes, they need a costume or a cape to go anywhere. The mask helps preserve a tangible sense of identity. Lesser known heroes don't exactly have that problem though, and a hoodie or a fresh pair of glasses are good enough. A few randoms come into the Laughing Magician, those with a speck of talent to get them through the door. First's a young Black man with a dog in a vest with a harness, the handsome well-behaved German Shepherd probably the eyes of the operation.

Few minutes after that, a 30-something woman in a split t-shirt and grey cut-off jeans and lots of tattoos breezes in. She isn't stoic or cute, scowling as she looks around and then hunts for a spot. She missed the offer for coffee but not if it happens to be on the menu. "A mug. Biggest you got. I'll need all I can get."

Achilles has posed:
    Glancing towards the new arrivals, Angelo picks up one of the to-go cups on the table. "Fresh brewed." he says, in a -far- less strong English accent to that of Mister Constantine over there. "Bagels too." he adds.

    Then his head turns and he looks to John, "The gods?" he asks, "I wonder if my Great Grandfather is still around." He pauses, "You might know him as Zeus."

    But he picks up one of the bagels, a cinnamon one, and starts spreading cream cheese on it.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe is allowed to serve coffee! She gives a smile to the man with the man with the German Shepherd a smile and a cheery "Hello! Careful, it's about thirteen steps to the bar edge. Seats to the right!" the literal ray of sunshine calls out as she stashes her coffee below the counter.

    And she sets about brewing a fresh pot of coffee for the lady with a lot of tattoos. And since they're here, and it's closed to the public at the moment, she just assumes that they're OK.

    "I don't know if the list matters anymore, I didn't get the chance to update mine after --" she pauses a moment, and looks as if she's trying to find a euphemism for what she's about to say next as she looks between John and Angelo... "... did something *really* stupid." she finally settles on. Admission, first step to solving the problem. She sets the coffee pot on its machine and switches it.

    "So you have seeds of destiny? How many? Do we have to plant them and let them germinate for them to work?"


    She pauses, and she tilts her head back at Angelo.

    "I'm pretty sure if something happened to Zeus, I would have heard about it. I've got a few ins at the Themysciran Embassy."

Aldrif Odinsdottir has posed:
"Is that why all those death gods were causing such havok?" Angela asks as she looks over at the coffee and sneers at it before looking then toward John again. She gives Jane a brief once over, blinking slowly at her before she shakes her head and looks to John again, "I dealt with some strange happenings that involved death gods doing what they do best. I was unaware of any god eater." Angela casually rests her hand on the bar, fingeres tapping.

"Is this enemy not someone we can simply kill?" She asks, "I have killed a great many powerful enemies with just skill and strength of arms. I don't know of many things that can survive without their head attached."

John Constantine has posed:
    "No, this mess began when one of them got greedy, offed Baron Samedi and unbound the Ghede, leaving the Court of Death basically unchallenged and a free for all started." John actually barks out a little laugh at Angela's last bit and says, "Luv, were it that simple? It'd be sipping scotch on a beach in Hawaii, it's been a bloody hell of a few months. It can't be killed, only sated or satisfied another way and sent back from whence it comes to sleep, fuck, get piss drunk, whatever it does when it's not out eating Gods. It's the Gods of death it comes for, they've done pissed it off with turning Death upside down; what I'm guessing is a grave affront and blow to ... his mother. But it won't stop there and as fucked as the human race is *with the Gods*, we're more fucked without them." A long drag from his Silk and a billowing cloud that obscures his features from view for a moment before his attention turns to Phoebe.

    "I have no idea, Phoebe, Suriel stated they needed someplace to grow, but seemed to sound as if the human body would serve the purpose." A beat before, "Just *really* stupid? How about stupid of such mammoth proportions that it even outshines most of *my* stupid, how about that, aye?"

    Attention shifts then to the newcomers, the woman in particular. "So, seer," yes he calls her right out. "Tell us what you've seen, had to be something or you wouldn't be here, aye luv?"

Achilles has posed:
    Nodding to Phoebe, Angelo takes a bite of his bagel. He chews thoughtfully as John speaks, and then he tilts his head. Okay, he has no idea Angela is Asgardian. He just knows a lot about a lot of things. He's had a lot of time to learn these things of course.

    "If this thing is eating death gods, Asgard would be like an all you can eat buffet for it. Freya, Odin, Hela... all had their dealings with Death. What with Hel, Valhalla, and Folksvang as locations for afterlives depending on how the warrior died."

    Okay, so he is thinking aloud. "Can it defeat all three of those if they team up? Or if Odin summons his Destroyer?" Yeah, ancient myths hold a lot of truth. He lived through most of them.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe's cheeks and ears turn darker a couple of shades as John says that, and as she pours coffee for the witch -- in a giant, tripple-sized mug in cheery Pink, mind you -- she spills some of it on her thumb, which she waves behind her a moment, and she sets the coffee in front of the woman with the drastic punk undercut.

    "A living or a dead body? Or does it not matter?" she asks. "If we go for some sort of literal meaning of what Suriel said, then it should only be women's bodies. Field versus seed and everything, and because it's the /Mother/ that was hurt, but I mean, what do I know."

Jane Foster has posed:
The witch in a slashed t-shirt pretty much has to pull the headphones out from one ear. She scrunches her pierced nose, taking in the sights, and then plops it right back in. The conversation is still audible. "So this is it, huh. Coo'. You got coffee, you gotta point in my book!" The swinging ampule of blood or something made to look like blood swings from a thong around her neck, bouncing like the chains hooked from her belt to her back pocket. Plunking herself down in a seat, she doesn't choose to sit with anyone. Legs stretched out in front of her are a tripping hazard. "Can't be thaaat stupid if you're still kicking, right?" Someone's going to ask, so she cuts it off at the pass. "I'm Merry. Or Maria," finger quotes, "if you're mama, so don't be complaining about the stink-eye you get."

The other new entrant is a hell of a lot more polite, nodding in no particular direction to Phoebe's instructions. He has to pass those obstacles with the assistance of the German Shepherd, who doesn't wag his tail or perk his ears. He focuses entirely on guiding his human -- Amadi -- up to the bar. The conversation has to wait. Seats to the right, his hand goes out to feel them. With the guide dog leaning patiently, he sits heavily on one of the barstools. "Death is a great enemy that sprouts two heads when one is cut off," he says congenially in Angela's general direction. His eyes are strangely black, no distinction of iris and pupil from afar, but they're not capable of making her out more than any other. "It takes more to destroy ideas. Maybe less, how many of us know how to operate a telegraph machine?"

The witch snorts. "Newsflash at eleven, friendly Greek dude, Folksvang is actually in Staten Island. Places I would not be... hmm, anywhere named after a god or a god's house, juuust saying. I mean, probably not gonna start chewing up peeps at a church but--"

"Yes, it will," Amadi says quite peacefully. "There will be no corner not visited by the Hunger."

"--I was gonna say first off." Sure she was. Maria rolls her eyes.

Aldrif Odinsdottir has posed:
A frown and Angela shakes her head, "I still say we reseve the option of trying to cut its head off." She casually nods as she leans on the bar and then looks to John more directly, "How many has it eaten so far?" She asks, "I don't care who, just how many. Does it get stronger with every bite it takes also?" She then considers the other part and looks over at the others. She casually listens before shrugging her shoulders, "As much as I dislike the Asgardians, old One Eye himself woudl likely prove difficult even for somethinga s powerful as you say." Angela rolls a shoulder and shakes her haed.

"My talents come in my speed and strength. I am an Angel of Heven. If this thing comes, it'll likely want to get some of my divine spirit as well, but it'll get a hell of a fight. I can offer up the ability to slow it down. Perhaps knoc it down." She nods her head, "I just need to know how long you need."

John Constantine has posed:
    "The Demogorge hasn't eaten any yet, the whole fool lot of them have been destroying each other." John polishes off his scotch, pours another and downs that one without coming up for air. "Dunno, luv, seen a lot in my days, fought a lot, tricked a lot, brought down things bigger than myself through a little skill and maybe a lot of dumb luck. Never had to fight a Demogorge before. Don't think it's going to be as easy as just a physical beat down though." The last is aimed at both Angela and Angelo.

    "She said they can be used on the dead or recently dead to bring them back... so I guess both? I'm flyin' blind here. Doin' what I can to figure out what can be figured, but I don't have all the answers. I think the 'women only' thing is a throwback to a time when men couldn't adopt children or some such. Don't think it holds anymore."

    Amadi gains attention next with, "There will be lots of them not visited if I have my say. That's why I'm here. I haven't walked through the underworld, made deals with both Heaven and Hell, been run through by a God, *ridden* a God... to have it be the end, to not win the war." He's not bragging, he doesn't sound boastful at all, just sad really and very tired. "Not winning is not an option I'm willing to consider at this juncture."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "So do we bring dead gods back to life with them to summon them to our side?" she questions, and she leans back, tapping her fingers against the bar a moment.

    "Have you... asked the guy who sent us after the mask?" Phoebe questions, "Could we bring the Baron back, or summon up Mama Brigette to aid us in the fight?" she considers, thinking laterally as she tries to troubleshoot something she doesn't fully grasp... and then just goes quiet, and reaches down to drink her own coffee.

    "You can't not win. I like the world. All my stuff and the people I love are here." she comments quietly from behind the bar, sitting on an overturned milkcrate. Mysterious voice from beyond the wood, this one.

Jane Foster has posed:
Merry as Maria is, she has a giant pink cup of coffee to swallow as fast as she can. The thick sheets of coffee taken black as can be swirl around while she puts her head to the rim rather than lift it up fully. It's pink and big, therefore perfect. "S'what life's all about." Coffee. The sacred drink has the witch licking her lips, rather than dabbing at it. She isn't breathing very much between sips.

Amadi pets the dog between the ears, giving his guide a reassuring touch. "The famished beast grows stronger as it eats more, angel of Heven. I'd say so." The French accent he has gets a little stronger as he murmurs to the dog. "Mais non, young lady, that is not always a choice. Not everything is meant to be solved by higher powers. Can't or they won't, we have to do the work."

Maria chews her cheek, and then waggles her coffee around. "I don't know jack or shit about seeds, sorry to disappoint you there. Never able to keep plants alive or nothing like that. But like, this lady here is all about beat it, beat it, all you have to do is beat it," yes, she croons that song with a cheeky grin. "You let her do her beaty thing, that keeps its eye on the prize, and you can do your... whatever you do?"

John Constantine has posed:
    "Spoke to Midnite, he's the one that warned me about the dead being turned into army's against us, the one that told me that there won't be an underworld and a this world, no line between the two." To the last of Phoebe's questions he shrugs. "Thought about it, with Samedi gone, I doubt she's much in the mood, pissed off widow and all it. Could still try." He looks as if he's actually considering it, a fact more clear when he says, "I could probably manage pepper infused rum, some candy, don't know where the fuck to get a black rooster this time of night."

    His brow furrows a little, his Silk is drawn from, he's just *quiet* for a way longer stretch than John Constantine is ever quiet. When he speaks, it's with a crooked little half grin that's honestly more sad than it is anything else as well. "Only plan I got is to show the bloody bastard my heart. All I need in that regard is for him to open his sodden mouth long enough..."

    Should be an easy task to get something called 'The Hunger' to open its mouth, right? "So you just keep it busy and off eatin' Gods until I give the signal? You'll know it when it happens."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... corner of West 139th and Cumberland in Gotham. They're open odd hours." Phoebe answers back. Why she knows the answer she'd rather not say, but her nose wrinkles in a bad memory. Of course, where she's sitting would be hard to see the expression. "Unless they got closed down again for cockfighting."

    But then she frowns, and she pokes her head up over the counter, eyes narrowed at John.

    "If you die, Chas'll be sad." she states. Might be a little stung about the mammothly stupid comment earlier. "... do you want me there to help?"

Jane Foster has posed:
Amadi stiffens a bit. He looks off into the between spaces, putting a finger to the pressure point over his eyebrow. "That one's bound to be deep in mourning, and not so kind to talk. Be losing your husband, callers in a time of grief may not stand so well." The German shepherd presses a cool nose to his hand, still quiet and steady there, not going anywhere too far. Good boys are good. "Plenty are past talking now. They went silent or kept their own counsel."

Mary rolls her eyes plenty hard. "Ooh, dramatic pause. I still like beating the tar out of the thing to buy time for other grand gestures." She sloshes around her coffee, because pink mug, hot coffee, and the tunes in her ears are all completely worthwhile. "I'm just saying, you have anything special or sacrificial up your sleeves, now is the time. Throwing divining sticks all day long gets the same message."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Later in the evening, after more clean-up was done, Phoebe stretches her shoulder one moment, as if it were sore, and she turns to the other two still in the bar.

    "Can I ask you two a question? Like, related to magic, so more business and theory than practical, I guess?" she asks of the two, looking to Chas and John with curiosity as she pulls off the apron she was wearing to clean under the bar.

    That's what apprentices are for, after all, the dirty work.

John Constantine has posed:
    Chas stops... tallying the drawer from lunch. Not polishing glasses, OH GOD, the world IS ending. No, really it's because there ARE other tasks to running the bar. "That's really not my area of expertise, kid," he answers honestly. He's picked up a thing or two over the years. But... yeah, he's the guy with the muscles and the guns.

    "What is it?" John asks, blunt and short and to the point before he refills his glass of scotch, working only on the end of his first bottle of the day so it's not *too* terrible.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "So, in folklore, in Japan, it's said when an object reaches a hundred years of age, it sort of gains a life of its own. Like how sandals and umbrellas become ghosts." Phoebe states, and she draws out her backpack. She's had to graduate from a messenger bag, and she pulls out something wrapped in an old T-shirt.

    "That's not actually how it works, right? That's just folklore?" she asks, hopping up onto a stool on the other side of the bar and beginning to unwrap whatever she's brought into the bar. "I figure this isn't 'alive' since there wasn't commentary on it when it crossed the threshhold."

John Constantine has posed:
    "All folklore has some basis in the truth, Phoebe," John points out even as he opens his sight wide to look at whatever she's unwrapping before it even gets unwrapped. "Inanimate objects collect the spiritual energy of those they come into contact with over the years. It's how talents such as psychometry work, reading of that energy. Never seen it before myself, but that doesn't make the fact that it could be possible for an old enough mundane thing to have a spirit of its own, a mishmash of all that energy."

    In his head he's swearing to all that's holy and not that if whatever's unwrapped blows up his bar, there will be HELL to pay.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Well I figured on that, but I wasn't expecting to have something jump around the bar making faces at us in early Meiji-era Japanese." Phoebe comments breezily, and when the objects are unwrapped, it's a mismatched set of cups. The glaze on the outside is deep brown-ish black, none are the same size, and all appear to have been broken at one point, and repaired with gold.

    "Would you beleive it? Each one of these cups is over a hundred fifty years old. This antique dealer had no idea what he had. Kintsugi pieces!" she states with a tired sort of excitement.

    The big one she turns over; it looks like the top had been cracked off roughly circular. It's got a golden hue to the inside, and some spots are simply filled with gold. Another one she turns over and it's a soft, warm pink on the inside, a white flower with five petals inscribed. A long crack has been repaired.

    The third one had been broken a few times, it looks like. Spiderwebs of gold cross its form, and when she turns it over, the inside of the cup is a brilliant blue, the exact blue of a crisp Autumn mid-day sky.

John Constantine has posed:
    John studies each cup as it's unwrapped, but it's the one that's blue on the inside that catches his attention. "Chas..." he raises a hand and makes a 'gimmee' gesture. The cabbie complies by handing John a towel from behind the bar and then he hurries off to the back room and return a few moments later with an ornately scrolled wooden box.

    Those two really HAVE been together too long, it's almost as if they read one another's thoughts. Do they? Maybe? Inquiring minds want to know.

    Take extra care to not touch the cup with his hands, never letting it come close to bare skin, John uses it to pick it up very carefully and tuck it away inside the box. A few words spoken activate the warding on the box.

    "Not gettin' that back until I have the bloody time to figure out what's makin' it shine." Magically that is.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe watches for a moment, looking rather confused. She parts her lips to ask a question, watching as Chas moves to hand John a towel and then grab a containment box.

    And then she looks dejected.

    "Well.. I mean, I know it's probably monumentally stupid but I got that one for you. Kintsugi is about appreciating something that's been broken down and put together again, since the ceramic won't crack through the metal, the breaks become the strong points. I just thought..." she pauses, and then she frowns, and shrugs.

    "It doesn't matter what I thought. I'm sorry." she states, and stuffs the T-shirt that was protecting the cups in the bag, and motions to the other two.

    "Nothing on those ones?" she asks, "If so, I'll just take them upstairs."

John Constantine has posed:
    "It wasn't stupid, kid," Chas murmurs with a *look* tossed in John's direction.

    The look is returned with one of his own that says 'WHAT?!' "Aye, I'm sure I'll enjoy my morning tea in it once I make sure it won't turn me into a mushroom or make me shrink to inches tall," he assures along with a bright smile. Morning tea... as if, but he is *trying*.

    "Your question earlier Phoebe..." John shakes his head. "I can't. What we're up against is no place for a *child*." He raises a staying hand before she blows her top over being called such. "...and that *is* what you are, Phoebe. Not only in years, but in understandin' of what the mystical is all about. Your assignment for tonight is to research all you can on the Atum, son of Gaia, and what he turns into when he's pissed."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe doesn't look convinced, and just gives a shrug as she carefully wraps the other two back in the T-shirt.

    "No I promise what I thought was stupid, I saw that color blue and immediately thought of John and how dark his house is. I can make a wooden stand that will show the outer and inner glaze. My dad used to have a collection of them." she states her reasoning for it, and adds "... and you can put scotch in it. The glaze'll withstand alcohol."

    And she stays seated as John speaks. She doesn't protest at all when he states that it's no place for a child, but she purses her lips a moment.

    "... is it the same Atum that's like, a primordial Egyptian god?" she rubs the back of her neck.

    "I'm going to need actual books, if they're in Coptic, Demotic, Themysciran, Japanese, English, I can read them. Sanskirt I can translate with my guide but it'll take time."

John Constantine has posed:
    "One in the same, luv. You'll find what you need in the backroom, don't take them out o that space." Because they'll be on lone from the House of Mystery and were just deposited back there on John's will.

    "Go on, scoot. Got drinkin' to do, might as well enjoy what could be the last days and all."

    Another look from Chas says 'not stuff you say to a *child*, John'. But out loud he only comments, "Don't worry about it, kid, John'll figure it out before that happens."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe picks up her coffee and takes a breath, and gives a nod. "Right, ah -- I'll just get right to it. I'll put the information on your spot for the morning." Phoebe confirms with John, and then she turns to Chas.

    "I know he will. That's not the hope I gave up." she states with the absolute certainty of stating that the sky is blue and that John is also sometimes a jerk -- but Phoebe ducks into the back room -- with John's permission -- grabs the first book, and procedes to /cram like it's finals week/.