7767/1000 Faces: Party Like it's 1999

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1000 Faces: Party Like it's 1999
Date of Scene: 09 September 2021
Location: The Laughing Magician
Synopsis: The crowd at the Laughing Magician share their little slices of life, hope, love, heart and soul. Maybe just enough to tip the scales in favor of the world lasting past Friday night.
Cast of Characters: John Constantine, Nettie Crowe, Terry O'Neil, Simon Trent, Tynan Ireton, Cain Marko, Gabby Kinney, Meggan Puceanu

John Constantine has posed:
    An offer of free booze doesn't go unnoticed in a place like Hell's Kitchen. It's just a Thursday night and it's fairly early, barely passed dark, but the place is already packed. Or maybe it's not the free booze? It could be the fact that the rumors of John Constantine either having gone insane or having been replaced as a pod person are spreading.

    The bar stool no one ever sits in but John, that nasty thing, is empty despite the crowd, his Silk Cuts are there, as is his ashtray and a glass for his scotch, but the man and the actual bottle are not.

    That's because John is standing on a table, in all his trench coated glory, singing along with the little vinyl playing jukebox in the corner near the stage to...

    ~'Hooked on a Feeling' by Blue Swede.~

    Not only is he leading the entire bar in song, but he's really getting into it. That bottle of scotch in one hand is sometimes a makeshift microphone, he's snapping the fingers of the other, doing a little spin on one foot here and there, hands raising in the air and swaying from time to time... hips giving a little swivel.

    Rumors must be true, John's gone insane. Or maybe the world really *is* coming to an end tomorrow?

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    World's ending. There's a party.

    Nettie Crowe, owner and purveyer of the *Fine* magical apothecary Candle, Booke and Belle is making her way in, her silver-white hair behind a bandana, wearing a black T-shirt announcing some space-themed band's tour two years back that's been altered to have a corset-laced back, a black skirt, leggings, and knee-high boots, and her nose wrinkles a moment as she listens to Hooked on a Feeling. She gives a grin as she steps down all six stairs into the bar, raising a hand and calling out "Oi! Chas!" with greeting, since the Laughing Magician was busy holding court -- and his own personal concert.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The world is always coming to an end, in Terry's experience. Like Roseannadanna used to say, if it ain't one thing it's aundda. You either get caught in the Warzoon invasion and disappear into a paralell universe for three months, or some crazy cult leader tries to bring ZZGU to Earth. The Cheshire cat is one of the few patrons not engaged in song or booze as he sits at the bar- but rather he's indulging in sulk and soda, which may not be as fashionable a combination, but it's decidedly him at this moment. As the adage says, to thine own self be true.

Or was that a mistranslation and was it 'to thine own elf be grue?'

He's not in his 'superhero' chucks, but a simple olive jumpsuit and black sneakers. The jumpsuit has the obligatory cut-out hole for the tail. He glances around at the assorted patrons and asks Chas for another hit of the vanilla coke- he's definitely hitting the hard stuff. He glances at Nettie as she calls out to Chas, almost spilling his soda in the process. "- crap, sorry." He rubs the sleeve of his jumpsuit across the bard to mop up the drops he spilled.

Simon Trent has posed:
     There's a look from Simon of confusion at his surroundings. The elderly man setting back with his pipe stuck in the corner of his mouth and a newspaper under his arm. "Place is normally so quiet." He says to himself as he looks from one face to the next. Clearly the world really is ending, because there's no way this many people would show up at THIS place otherwise.

     Simon sips at his Cherry coke with lime as he pulls out his pipe from the corner of his mouth watching the sorcerer dance and sing his merry little heart out. There's a genuine look of confusion across his face as he's trying his best to settle in having had his usual seat taken up by other guests leaving him somewhat out of his element.

     Still he's got his freezer burned french fries, too sour coleslaw and yes even his cold in the middle chicken tenders to keep him company along with that lovely drink. What more could a man in his 60's ask for? Not much he figured to himself as he watched the proceedings with mild interest.

Tynan Ireton has posed:
    Tynan is probably the only nonmagical person in the bar...maybe...All she heard as she was riding through was free booze. As a professional mercenary, as well as being half Irish, this means INSTANT STOP! The woman walks into the bar, listening into the song. "Damn somebody thinks the world's ending. Where's the whiskey?! And it better not be domestic!", she calls out. The woman takes a moment to think about things. "Also, any rules on mutants?", she calls out. The woman knows a few bars that have rules on mutants and drinking, especially if they have destructive powers.

    The woman walks around a little bit, wearing cargo pants, and a black tank top. She has on a black rider jacket that has a depiction of Shiva as well as Bahb Catha. Rather unique marking for the woman who looks asian, but has trademarks of Irish blood, not too mention her thick irish accent. "So, whose birthday?"

John Constantine has posed:
    Chas greets Nettie with a smile that may not be as wide as he'd normally offer, but it's genuine and warm. "It's official, he's lost is bloody mind," he tells her before he's off to serve up a drink down the bar a ways.

    Set up near the little stage is a table with a sign over it that reads - Give Blood, Help Save Lives -. Should one decide to do so and get a resulting hand stamp, there's free booze all night at the bar. ...after a story told that is, on the stage even. The means of extracting said blood might be a little suspect. It's a small dagger, ornately scrolled, the hilt gold and the blade silver. It's just a little pinprick and a drop though; served into a golden bowl nearby. Handling it all, from prick to bowl to sanitizing the dagger after is one Sister Anne-Marie, she's 'dressed down' in a grey dress and a shorter habit, but still obviously the Sister she's chosen to become.

    When the world's coming to an end, John still has friends from the past he can call upon to help.

    "Everyone's welcome!" John calls from the table top just as the song ends. "Spot of blood and a story for free booze!"

    Or... don't pay the price of admission and just pay for the booze, free choice and all.
    He hops don from the table, bottle in hand, and makes for his stool. It's not the first time he's been up there though and likely won't be the last tonight. He pauses along the way to slip an arm around Nettie and press a kiss to her cheek. "Thanks for comin', luv," he whispers before taking his place on his Pauper's Thrown and pouring a bit from bottle to glass.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "... holy shit, he got Annie to come." Nettie straightens a moment, talking to herself as she regards the nun, her cheeks going a little red. She feels about her ever-present vest, finds her cloth pouch and pulls out a hand-roleld cigarette, which is to her lips as she gives a smile to Terry. "Ooch, careful there lad! Don't wanna make a mess 'fore the world ends, yeah?" she gives a smile, reaching for her lighter when John finishes his dance, calling out, and she gives a smile as he approaches. She loops an arm around him as he kisses her cheek, and she gives a laugh.

    "Wouldn't miss it for the world. Grab me a gin with extra lime, will you Chas? I've... gotta make a re-acquaintence." The Greywitch gives a wry smile. "... might have to just gimmie the bottle." she adds on, gives a nervous swallow, and the short ever-young Witch makes her way to donate her drop of blood.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Right," the cat says after finally cleaning up his own mess, "And this is me without any booze in me," attempted joke. And then Nettie heads over to the donation area.

He has to admit he is curious. But he is also instinctively averse to the presence of nuns- for a gay youth who went to a very severe Catholic highschool, that's probably not terribly uncommon.

"What's the blood and the story supposed to do, though?" he asks no-one in particular, since the party seems to be happening around him. He's making an effort to push against the doldrums. He's just trying to get a little more 'oomph' to get there.

"Can I have another, Chas?" That's the third soda in a row. He's either going to start vibrating from a sugar overdose or beelining for the bathroom. Whichever happens first.

Simon Trent has posed:
     "Probably something mystical." Simon offers to the cat as he stands up from his spot still holding that pipe in the corner of his mouth as he sets down his newspaper onto the table. He's still rocking the Mr.Rogers look in more of a diluted tone to it, even as he walks over towards the blood donation center his attention dropping down onto the dagger.

     His eyes lock behind the counter next to the nun where he alone sees the visage of the Gray Ghost (Mystical mayhem marks this place, but what harm can a little blood do?) He thinks to himself in the Gray Ghosts voice looking into the goggles of the visage that he alone sees for a long moment before taking another drag from his wood pipe.

     "If the man says the world's ending I trust that this is some devious way to stop just that." He pauses for a long moment to tap his pipe lightly at the side. "Either that or he's gone completely insane, which I'm fairly confident to rule out."

Tynan Ireton has posed:
    Ty walks up towards the knife. She's kinda curious about things though, as she watches whats going on. A part of her is kinda skittish about anything involving giving blood, as well as people knowing something about her. Then again, Ty is young, and free booze is hard to pass up as well.

T"What type of story do we have to give?", she wonders outloud as she stands in line. The woman sucks in a quick breath, steeling herself for her turn at the knife.

John Constantine has posed:
    There's a slight line at the 'blood bank', some people that might be in the know, others who just see John as a quirky bastard and are really just interested in the free booze. Chairs are set up around the stage, those metal folding deals, for people that want to have a sit and listen to the tales of others.

    The story unfolding now is from a young woman who finally found her courage, through the love and support of friends and family to leave an abusive relationship. Her voice is soft and quiet, but her spirit isn't.

    The one before was a man telling the tell of the birth of his first son after years and years of trying. Before that it was a school teacher talking about a few of her most difficult students, children set on a wrong path and her great joy at getting through. One of them's in medical school now, another learning to educate others himself and yet another a social worker for the addicted and suffering. Another was a man who had his life changed by the right addiction counselor after spending years in and out of jails and rehabs; he's part of a Big Brother program now when he's not working his job at the local animal shelter.

    One drop, one story, one more little piece of humanity at its finest and its worst

    Annie smiles brightly at Nettie as she approaches, but her voice is more somber than that when she asks, "You think he can pull this off? Really? Beating back the Hunger with 'life'? ...or as he just gone mad as we all figured he might one day?" The fact that she's here shows that she still cares for the Laughing Magician, but her faith in him may not be quite as strong as her faith in the man above.

    Chas is quick with another coke for Terry and a vague-ish answer. "Help beat back the darkness with a little light, if I'm understanding it right. When John's got a wild hair, I don't get much in the way of explanation outside of batshit crazy rambling. Most times the batshit works in the end though, so here's to hoping." It might be noted that there's a little highball glass that he's actually carrying around with him to the point that it's never far away and, from it, the tiniest little sprout of a plant peeks through the dirt packed into it. Weird.

    "Something meaningful, luv," Annie tells Tynan, that smile of hers gentle and voice not as somber as it was with Nettie.

    John shifts and stands from his stool again and makes his way toward Simon to ask, "So, you gonna donate, mate?"

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Good to see you outside the convent walls, Annie. Don't think I could get you to stop by for a cuppa at my shop?" she offers. She knows the answer's going to be no. Not with how she holds her hand out. "Just be careful. With all the shite going on down there I'm scared it's a bit too strong for most anyone else. Even some of my customers have noticed it." she gives a soft murmur. That pallor of death that hangs around her -- the heck was she doing in a party for hope and good. She doesn't flinch when the blade touches her skin.

    "Annie, you know if anyone can pull this bullshite off, it's gonna be our John. Not a man alive or dead that can do what he does. I should know. I've /checked/." she states in a playful way, and she looks to Annie, looks her in the eye and says:

    "Besides. He went fucking nuts looooong ago, Annie." she smiles, clapping the Nun on the shoulder. "Let me know if you need a break or a drink..." she pauses, and gives another playful smile. "Or a dance."

    And with a smile Nettie turns to Tynan.

    "Give us your best triumph! Or better -- give us a joke! We all like jokes." she states, and then raises her unlit, unfiltered, hand-rolled cigarete from her mouth and holds it aloft.

    "OI ALL YOU BASTARDS! Here's to you!" she cheers, and goes back to the bar to sit to the side of John's stool..

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"I don't doubt it," Terry answers Simon, "I've seen him get snarky with an archangel. There's something big brewing, alright. And to think I helped save the world not two days ago, and it's already going to end again." The Cheshire shakes his head and takes a sip of his soda, "That's gratitude for you, isn't it?" He smirks a little, "But... ABBA is supposed to release a new album in November. I can't just let the world before I've had a chance to hear it, right?"

He frowns, "I'm afraid I don't have much light right now. I'm not really in the best of places..." He finishes his soda and huffs. "I'll think about it. Can't let the world end anyways..." and then he glances at the door to the gents.

"Please excuse me, I'll be right back." He slides off the stool and heads to 'powder his nose'. Guess it was the latter rather than the former.

Simon Trent has posed:
    Simon offers a low belly chuckle smoke rolling out from the corners of his mouth at the discussion of archangels. It's difficult to read if he believes the story or not but he certainly seems in high spirits all the same. He gives a bit of a nod and a wave towards Terry as the cat goes to powder his nose.

     "Of course" Not even a moment's hesitation from the elderly man as he offers a friendly smile towards John, breaking eye contact with the apparition before him, which promptly vanishes from his mind to stand over the shoulder of constantine. Giving a firm nod back to Simon. "If I didn't believe in you one hundred percent I wouldn't have come all this way for free drinks I can't have."

     There's a bright hopefulness to his smile and a twinkle in Simon's eye as he speaks that unending optimism can't help but shine through even with the supposed end of the world around the corner. It's infectious to some of the folks around him who had seemed on the edge just a few moments prior. There's no magic in his words, just that strange natural aura of him as he pats John on the shoulder.

Tynan Ireton has posed:
    Tynan nods her head a little bit. She nerviously chuckles a little bit, and nods her head to Annie and Nettie. She takes a deep breath as she presses her finger on the knife. THe woman takes a deep breath, and thinks carefully. She decides on telling what she hopes to become.

    "So, I'm a mercenary. I take my name from the name of King Arthur's legendary blade, choosing its meaning then directly taking its name. I'm Dark Caliber. My dream is to own my own private mercenary company. And to be able to take the type of contracts that I want to take.", she says.

    Ty rolls her neck. "I'm hoping to make a company that others back home can join, and not have to become evil bastards.", she says. The woman blushes horribly though. "That...ummm, meaningful enough?", she asks. THe woman bites her lip as she looks away. Ty has no hestitation speaking about being a mercenary, but not her dreams or why she wants to own her own company.

John Constantine has posed:
    Something crosses Annie's features in the moments that Nettie finishes speaking. Regret, that's definitely regret and her voice is laden with it when she replies, "Aye, I know he did." Then she's back to pricking fingers and collecting blood in a bowl, because that's such a normal thing for a nun to do, right?

    "Well then get on up there, aye?" John offers Simon a wink and a snap-point toward the stage and the 'collection' table before heading back in the direction of that Pauper's Throne guarded by Nettie. He bumps shoulders with her and says, "No... Nettles, not the way it works. Get up there an tell your bit, now, aye. I'll be puttin' mine in later." His bit, not his blood, that'll come much later in the evening and through the day tomorrow, blood, sweat and tears into a last ditch Hail Mary spell to save the world. "Annie looks good, yeah?" Little bit of a wistful quality to his voice that remains when he announces, "Went to visit Paulie, I guess he's to blame for all this." He raises his scotch bottle to indicate the 'all this' of it.

    When the jukebox cues up, 'How Sweet It Is', by James Taylor, John doesn't sit. Instead he snatches Nettie up by the hand and drags her onto the nearest table. He really wasn't thinking end of the world parties when he didn't put dance space into the layout of the bar. It's table or bar or nothing if one really wants a little room to move.

    "It'll do nicely, luv," Annie replies with that same sweet smile. For just a moment, that tiny little prick of a blade causes a feeling of being a part of something bigger than self washes over Tynan; a feeling of belonging to something on such a grand scale that it's almost overpowering for just a moment. A little reminder that we aren't just one, on an island alone, but a part of it all; a part of the great big, fucked up, inside out, beautiful thing we call Humanity. Even with all it's dark corners and nasty bits, it still shines bright and strong, a beacon in the dark.

    "Now here's your hand stamp, drinks on the house," Annie adds as she stamps the back of Tynan's hand.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Well if it's Paulie that's behind you bein' in such a good mood, maybe I should send him a basket. He still drinks Absinthe, yeah? I'm sure I've got some proper absinthe spoons somehwere in my storage bunker." Nettie replies, bypassing the story, and she looks uncomfortable.

    "No one wants ta hear my story, John my boy, thought it was supposed to be a happy event!" she states, retreiving a bottle of gin for herself, and twisting off the top. She doesn't bother with a cup, and then at probably a look, gets a glass-- until she's picked up and dragged up onto a table.

    She busts out laughing then, her hand going to JOhn's, her other on his shoulder as she dances with him, her chunky boots clopping on the table like horse hooves.

    "John Constantine, I am entirely *NOT* drunk enough for this type of music!"

Simon Trent has posed:
     Simon looks down towards the dagger for a long moment before finally pricking himself against it. He feels the strange sensation and from that moment knows exactly the story to tell. It was one that had stuck with him for years.

     "It was back in the summer of 75, I met a young boy on the side of the street back in Gotham. He'd lost his parents a few years prior and fell into poverty, but the poor kid looked just like me at a glance" He pauses for a brief moment as he stands on the stage looking towards the crowd as the music plays blaring out over him. "He was tired, and hungry, and didn't have much in the way of anything the world would want from him." He chuckles lightly to himself looking towards the microphone. "But he was the best acrobat I've ever known, and I saw some potential in him." He sighs low down for a brief moment. "So I took him in the best that I could and sent him to school to be a stuntman, raised the boy like my own son."

     There's a bit of a glimmer in his eye as he speaks thinking back to those times long since past. His hand clutching together on his pipe firm. "He was a hell of a stuntman, and the best friend I could ever have asked for." He pauses a long moment looking up towards the ceiling. "It was during the filming of the Gray Ghost that he really shone like a diamond, made the series what it was." He chokes up a little bit as he speaks looking back down towards something at the far back wall that only he can see. "We were filming the mid season finale, when it happened." He pauses for a brief moment. "Someone loaded the wrong round into a pistol on set" He takes in a deep breath. "'We.. I lost him in the ambulance ride, and the last thing he said to me before we lost him was the words 'Are you proud of me?'."

     He finishes on stage before slowly starting to walk away from the microphone unsure of what else to say or do in the heat of the moment.

Tynan Ireton has posed:
    Ty nods her head, and sucks on her finger a little bit. That hurts a little. The woman takes a moment to adjust hre head. That felt weird as hell, but well, whiskey will fix that. She heads over to the bar, and orders her whiskey. THe woman sips it a little bit, wondering what all that was about. THen again, who cares! WHISKEY!

John Constantine has posed:
    John leads Nettie about the table, making certain there's enough room behind her that she doesn't fall off when he spins her out and back in again. He's even signing along with the song. When he's not talking that is, "No, Nettie, it's supposed to be about life and that's not always happy. Point is to tell something that means something. I got my bit in mind."

    Another spin out, back in and, "Paulie reminded me of something's all..."

    But John's attention is caught by Simon, he stops dancing and stands there on the table to listen through to the end. The whole bar's pretty quiet by the end of it, only the music from the jukebox making any real noise. "So, were you, Simon? Proud of him?" John calls out in question. His tone about as soft and gentle as any will ever hear it. "If so, tell him, aye? He'll hear you and the dead need a little reassuring right now..." Whatever that last bit means. "I know it doesn't help to hear it from a crazy stranger dancing on a table top in a pub in Hell's Kitchen, but it wasn't your fault either, wasn't anyone's."

    Chas serves up Tynan's whiskey with a smile and, "Much appreciated, luv. Need all the help we can get on this one."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie gives a soft sound, not quite convinced that the world would want to hear her story. Any of her stories. She's spun out and back in, leaning against John and smelling all of herbs and dust and a little bit of feathers and Death, but when Simon tells his story -- she grows a little quiet.

    And she gives a sad smile. The Dead do need reassurance.

    "Aye, old son. SOmetimes life just decides to knock the wind out of your sails." she states, and she brings her hands to her face, hiding the evocation that sparks her ciggy.

    "Awright, awright, I'll tell a story, but I'm gonna need a cup of gin an' some proper music for it."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry finally comes out of the bathroom. Look, it was a /lot/ of soda, okay? Actually, it wasn't /that/ long, but he stood outside by the bathroom afterwards through much of Simon's story. He sniffles a little, and makes his way to the bar with a thoughtful look.

"You got coffee? I'm going to need courage to go up there." Yes, he's decided that he's going to go with it. "... is the nun super judgy?" he asks Chas, "I sort of have had bad experiences with super judgy nuns."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie passes behind Terry.

    "She's a friend of John's. I don't think she'll judge on you, boyo. Unless you really, really hate the Pistols, but then I think John would judge you more."

Simon Trent has posed:
     "I think I am." Simon pauses during his walk down off the stage, looking over towards the far end of the bar as he sticks his pipe back into the corner of his mouth. "He was.. I know I'm proud of him." He makes his way back towards a seat looking to dig into his soggy chicken tenders and a nice drink to go with them. Even as he unfurls the newspaper from in front of him at the table, and stuffs his pipe fresh with pure tobacco.

Tynan Ireton has posed:
    Ty nods her head. "Well, offer up a contract, and I'll look at helping. I'm from one of the darkest parts of the world. Madripor, but Dad talks about Ireland a lot, and I havn't seen it.", she says. THe woman stretches out a little before she sips her whiskey.

    "And Dad's is Northern Irish. We don't know a damn thing about giving up a fight until we used every dirty trick in the book. And make up a crapload more.", she smiles evilly. "Just felt I had to say it though. Havn't had much luck with work on this side of the Pond.", she tells.

John Constantine has posed:
    John loops an arm around Nettie's shoulders to drag her close and press a kiss to the top of her head before his old friend heads off toward the spot light. He hops down off the table and goes back to his bar stool. He polishes off the glass of scotch he'd left there and pours another. ... and polishes that off.

    He watches as a young woman on the stage tells her story of surviving the 'system' long enough to be adopted by the people she called mom and dad from age fourteen up... and how much of a struggle it was to just let them love her in the beginning. She's now a hospice nurse.

    "Annie's good people," is what Chas has to say on that matter to Terry. "One of the best, but most that decide to stick around John Constantine in any way are. Something has to offset his nasty attitude, aye?"

    There's a table set up near the stage with a banner above: Donate Blood, Help Save Lives. But it's not the typical blood drive; not with a nun sporting a ritual looking dagger and dropping drops off fingertips into a gold bowl. Once the sacrifice is made, people exit the line to the stage to share their meaningful stories be them happy, sad or both.

    "Get up there, girlie," John calls out to Nettie. His smile's encouraging, but his posture's a little guarded now. "I'll go next, aye? Unless someone else is of the mind to."

Cain Marko has posed:
     Depending on the soundproofing of the bar and the sharpness of peoples ears, those assembled might hear some extremely heavy foot steps descending the uneven stairs outside. The door opens, and somebody fills the doorframe. He's on the massive side of human, all red hair and flannel and jeans. He glances around the room, noting the occupants. When he spots the nun with the dagger, one of his brows twitch upwards. Well, that's a little strange now isn't it? It's not enough to make him turn around and leave, though. He scratches at his chin briefly, then smirks to himself before making his way over to where the nun is taking donations. He offers an oversized hand to her. "Go ahead. Take some." Of course, he's sort of on the invulnerable side except when it comes to magic. So, he doesn't expect her to actually be able to cut him.

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Behind the lumbering mass that was the Juggernaut a smaller, more diminutive figure trots along keeping pace easily. Gabby was just spending some quality time with her friend. If he felt like a drink, then he felt like a drink. However the ambiance in this room causes her to look around with wide-eyed curiosity as well when he approaches the nun. Leaning her weight on one leg she peers around his bulk toward the nun and the sign with eyebrows raising. "Just how much blood do you need? I've got plenty." Well. Of course she lets poor Jugs go first!

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie permits John's affection. She breathes out a moment as he kisses her head, and she shakes her head and kisses his chin, grabbing her glass of gin, and she drinks the pine-scented alcohol down, replaces the lit cig at her lips, and makes her way up to the stage.

    "Alright, alright, so John says I've got to tell a story, an' do I have one for you. SO!" she claps her hands. "Once upon a time..." she trails, and goes "no, let me tell this... other..." she frowns a moment, and she rubs the back of her neck, inhaling through her handrolled, and looks to John, then looks out to the expectant crowd.

    "I'm older than I look," she states, lamely, "An' once upon a time, there was a lady by the name of Addison Lynn McCormick. Lady feared nothin'. Boxed better than the army men she bound up, an' the only ones who could fix a wing on the fly better than her had Russian last names." she states with a measure of pride.

    She swirls her gin, and then just downs it. She doesn't even remove her lit ciggy from her lips.

    "Two months yesterday woulda been her birthday, except she was killed in a camp, riotin' against a bunch of facists. Had the opportunity to go, and chose to stay, to fight, and spit in the face of certain death 'cause she could. Lovely woman, wish you all could have met her." she states, awkwardly, and then she goes to get off stage in a rush.

John Constantine has posed:
    The music for the night is in definite contrast to the whole blood donation set up. It's 70s Pop tonight for the win. The current track is 'Reelin' in the Years' by Steely Dan.

    Sister Anne-Marie holds the recently sanitized dagger just so and pricks the end of Cain's extended finger. OUCH! It actually breaks skin! Because it's magic and that's all the explanation needed. A single drop is added to the bowl, the little wound pressed with a piece of cotton gauze and she offers the big man a smile, gentle and kind that. "Now give us a story, luv, aye? Because we all count for something."

    Like everyone that gets stuck by that dagger, for just a moment, that tiny little prick of a blade causes a feeling of being a part of something bigger than self washes over Cain; a feeling of belonging to something on such a grand scale that it's almost overpowering for just a moment. A little reminder that we aren't just one, on an island alone, but a part of it all; a part of the great big, fucked up, inside out, beautiful thing we call Humanity. Even with all it's dark shadows and nasty bits, it still shines bright and strong, a beacon in the dark.

    John puts his fingers to lips and whistles loud for Nettie. He doesn't immediately move to take his place up there though, not yet. But he'll get there. He downs another glass of scotch in an impossibly short amount of time from the last.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie retreats quickly to the seat next to John. She claps a hand over his shoulder, puffs at her ciggy again before she puts it out in his ashtray and goes. "Terrible story teller, me. An' you got me all turned around and dizzy." she accuses, playfully blaming John for her inability to tell a good story about Addie!

Cain Marko has posed:
Cain still has that faint smirk on his face until the nun actually pricks his finger. "The hell?" He shudders briefly at the feeling that washes over him, then inspects his finger afterwards. Naturally, the wound is already gone by the time he looks at it. He flexes the finger once, then glances down at the nun. "...yeah, sure. Whatever you say Sister." He looks at the stage, then grimaces. Finally he clomps his way up there and moves to his spot. "Uh, yeah. So." He actually looks kind of uncomfortable. Not a common thing for him. "I'm not gonna go into exact details here. Think of it as... metaphorical and shit. So, there was once a guy. He had a brother. And his brother was an asshole. Always showing his brother up. Acting like he was better than him. Spying on his most private moments. And everybody else acted like the one gettin stepped on was the bad one. Well, this continued for a long time. Through their childhood, through school, right on to when they were adults and working together in....a foreign market." He has a brooding expression on his face as he thinks.

"Anyway. One day, it's all finally too much for him. The pressures of this new job, where he ended up having to work with his asshole brother, made him snap and he just tried to run away from it all. But that brother wouldn't let it be. He followed after him, pretending like he wanted to help but really just to lord it over him again. And he hit rock bottom. It felt like the world was collapsing on top of him, and his brother showed his true colors by abandoning him when he needed him most." The brooding has turned into a scowl, his eyes narrowed. "But in that moment, he became strong. And decided to never let his brother or anybody else step on him again. So he started digging his way out of that weight. And he digged, and he digged. And it was dark, and lonely. But eventually he saw daylight again and got his confidnece back. And he's been his own man ever since." It might not be an entirely unbiased story. But nobody said it had to be totally accurate, did they? He gives himself a shake, and then says, "Anyway. That's it." Then he stomps his way off again, a little harder than before. He doesn't actually damage anything though. Moving over to the bar, possibly bulling some people of the way if they're too slow, and slaps the top of it. "Gimme whatever you have that's strongest and a lot of it." Not that it'll do a damn thing to him. But he can pretend.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
A millennium-turning party wasn't something Meggan was exactly up for back in the day, but she might well be out for it now. She is at least dressed straight out of 'Empire Records,' a full Liv Tyler look going on, bumped forward a couple years to meet the needs of the spot. Her footsteps trace a path through Hell's Kitchen for the Laughing Magician, a necklace swinging under her cropped sweater and a few flowers woven into a braid. Pausing, she steps inside, loose hair blown lightly off her shoulders.

Humming a tune softly under her breath, Led Zeppelin, brings her ever onward toward the bar. A price to be paid, then.

John Constantine has posed:
    Cain's drink is served up, an entire bottle just for him, on the house. Chas offers, "Thank you," sincere and heart felt along with it.

    John slips off his stool and heads for the stage, without a word or a look back. He doesn't give his blood, that part for him will come later during the weaving of the spell. He lifts the microphone from its stand, not something required. The jukebox dies off as he begins to speak. "My name's John Constantine. Some of you've heard it, some haven't... to those that have it means different things to different people. But that's not the matter right now, is it? I'm here to tell the tale of a young lad from Liverpool England that thought he knew a lot about everything, but turned out he knew but a bit about nothing."

    He pauses to take a swig from the bottle in his hand before continuing. His voice is soft, distant even, as if the telling of it needs to be from a distance. "I banished a girl to Hell," way to cut to the chase, aye? "...I thought I could help her and I was wrong. I live with that every day of my life. I can't fix it. I still have nightmares about it. But without it, I wouldn't be who I am today. I wouldn't have met the *people* I know today, the ones that matter, the ones that stand by my side and believe in me to the bitter end of it. Without Astra and the pain of it all, I wouldn't be the man havin' a party so maybe all of you can have a part in saving the fuckin' world. I'd change it if I could, go back and not make that mistake; only if it wouldn't change my path, but it would. I could have decided to not give a fuck, I could have turned cruel, evil even, in the wake of it all. But I didn't. I guess my point here is that we're all shaped by the good and the bad in our lives, the failures and successes in them, but it's up to us to choose how they shape us. Most shape up okay, most try to do the right thing." He holds up his bottle all toast like and finishes with, "So, keep on shinin' on and when you get spun around by that beast called life, straighten it back out and keep livin', because that's what this flawed thing called life is about; figuring it out and going to the grave with more questions than answers. It's not much, but it's what we got and I, for one, plan to hang on to it by tooth and nail if need be." He winks, swigs from the bottle and makes his exit back to his stool.

    Only those that truly know him would know the cost of telling that tale to the Laughing Magician. His smile's still there, his mood still seems good enough, but those that know him well would know that the telling of *that*, short version or not, was likely even harder than the tasks to come if the world's to be saved.

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney falls silent when the woman is on the stage telling stories about someone she once knew from a long time ago during a war. It sounded a lot like some other stories from others she'd heard in the past... Old stories by people who didn't look that old. When John claps so enthusiastically she looks back to him thoughtfully. But then her attention is stolen away again and she rocks back on her heels watching as Cain gets his finger pricked. The fact that it works is curious, but moreso is when he heads up to the stage to tell his story. She listens with rapt attention, a sympathetic expression creeping over her as it goes on. It's not until he's finished that she tears her gaze away again to look over to John when he takes the stage to tell his own tale. Which wasn't much of a tale as he rambles through it so quick. The point is there, though.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie pours herself more gin. She pauses, turning as John goes to take the stage, and she blinks her eyes. She looks to Annie, then to Chas, the color draining from her face. She sets her glass down in her lap, and she listens sharply to John on stage. Some people in here for the free drinks may think it's all a show, but she just sits, and watches him with understanding, and patience in her expression, holding the bottle she was about to pour from in her lap.

    She purses her lips, and as John finishes, she watches him, giving a proud smile.

    "Now, lad, we all carry the load a bit. Jus' like now you get to watch me blubber about my wife."

    And she swings directly from the gin bottle. So classy.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Astra. It's a word and a prayer, a curse and something heavier all at once. Something so rarely spoken thus that Meggan casts her jade eyes to the stage when someone departs it and John takes his place up there under the lights. Her pace slows fractionally, the instinctive floating taking her through those already finding spaces to be seated.

Almost silently she drops to a vacant stool, tucking her feet beneath her, and turning her attention to the Laughing Magician. The curious rounding of her mouth holds against saying a word, but then breaches into a smile as he tapers off through messages that scatter hope among the crowd like seeds over tilled soil.

A look goes back over her shoulder to Chas, eventually, and a nod his way. Familiar faces and whatnot.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry finally girds his loins. Or puts his courage to the sticking place. Admittedly, he has no idea /how/ you gird your loins, and he isn't entirely sure which is the sticking place, but nevertheless he marches on like the Republic. The dagger is given a cautionary glance, but a blood ritual is not the weirdest thing he has done. A little prick isn't going to hurt anyone. Having been assured that she wasn't A Judgy Nun, the good sister gets a faint smile from the Cheshire cat as his skin is pricked, and the blood joins the collection, releasing a brief sparkle in dark purple hue as it falls.

"My name's Terry. Or Vorpal, I guess. I was born not too far from here. I was also born in Wonderland. I'm a local kid. I'm also the Cheshire Cat. And I was a Titan. I'm not sure I'm still one anymore."

He sticks his hands in his jumpsuit pockets as he shuffles a foot on the stage. "I grew up kind of hiding who I was. I remember Saint Sebastian's with a memory most unkind-" a quick, nervous glance at the nun, and back to the audience. "I had to hide who I was. The fact that I liked men. But somehow they knew... I swear they did. Day in and day out, I was told what a disappointment I was, that I couldn't do anything right. Never would. Because I was a child of sin." He chuckles a little. "The church wasn't exactly a big fan of single mothers."

"And then I grew up. And I kept hiding in a way. Wanting to be a journalist is kind of like telling other people's stories and not your own. So it was /safe/, right? Except that then I got these-" he holds up his hands, covered in fur, "and the rest of it, and suddenly I was part of a story, not just telling it. I found people I thought I belonged with, finally."

He is silent for a second, "And, you know, the thing about friends is that you're always juggling. Everybody has secrets, right? And you've got to decide what secrets need to be kept, what promises need to be honored. And no matter what, someone is going to be hurt, no matter if it's the right thing to do. I was entrusted with a secret. And because of my choice to keep it, we ended up saving the world two days ago..." he smirks at the circumstances, "But even though it was the right choice, it was like Saint Sebastian's again. Two of my closest friends railed into me like I was the greatest screw-up in the world for keeping the secret. I feel I have lost the place where I belonged... because I am too proud to be somewhere where I'm not respected."

He exhales quietly. "The world is in danger again, so here we go again, right? Because you have to do what's right, no matter the cost of how you get there. Because we've got to save the world. It's where we keep our stuff. I'm Terry O'Neil, and maybe /one/ day I'll stop screwing things up, right?"

He slinks off the stage and heads over to the bar. "... another soda."

Tynan Ireton has posed:
    Ty takes in a deep breath as she orders another whiskey. The woman takes a moment to rub her neck as she noticed that Cain...got cut. And that story...She's heard stories back home about somebody named Cain being called Juggernaut, and being invincble. And the knife cut him. Then again, that knife is paying her drinks.

    Tynan shakes her head a little bit, and decides she better take some aspirin now. The woman takes a second to make a tiny slashing motion with her fingers, and notices that nothing happens. Her fingers don't even smoke. "The...hell?", the merc wonders aloud. Ty takes another drink of the whiskey, and does the motion again. Nothing...She really focuses this time, and tries to open the portal again. "Not possible...", Ty goes. This time she focueses really hard, and makes a very aggersive slashing motion, only to see sparks start to come out of her hand, and it starts to burn.

    The woman doesn't hesitate though as she looks up. "Water.", she asks for. Ty's eyes have a distant look in them as she tries to ignore the burning pain on her hand. Once she gets the water, she pours it on her hand, and looks at it with a look of WTF. Her power...never did that before. Its...always been there, and she looks very confused...

Cain Marko has posed:
Uncorking whatever it was they gave him, Cain takes a long pull of it. It's basically water to him, but he can at least imagine what it would be like if it actually burned going down. He sets it back down with a clunk and sighs, glancing around for the tiny feral mutant that he arrived with. Who's much better company than the other tiny feral mutant most people are familiar with. Then he looks up at the stage as John and then Terry take the stage. He listens silently, then grunts. "Maybe I shoulda gone to a different bar." He still looks grumpier than he was when he came in. Which is usually not a good thing. But doesn't seem to be reaching dangerous levels.

Gabby Kinney has posed:
"I know I'm young but I do have stories, too," Gabby offers up even as she holds her hand out for the nun to do the pricking. "Don't worry about hurting me I can't feel it," she assures more out of habit than any real worry that she might be worrying the nun. It didn't seem to bother the woman to have pricked the fingers of anyone else after all.

Once the blood is drawn out--It is rather difficult to, but some manages to come out before the tiny nick heals over--Gabby glances at the stage as Terry departs. For a moment she starts toward him intending to offer him a hug simply because that's the kind of thing she does, but he goes for a drink. So she pauses, and turns to bound up the stairs to the stage herself.

The teen who looked questionably young even for a teen hops to the center stage to stand with one hand raising to wave to those in the bar. It seemed the sort of thing to do. "Hi! I'm Gabby Kinney, nice to meet you all. This is my first time on a stage! But not the first time with spotlights on me, though those were more search-lights.... Anyway. I talk a lot. Not sorry." A quick breath is drawn as she apparently focuses enough to Get To the Point.

"I hate oatmeal. I know it's something stupid to hate, but I grew up on nothing but oatmeal, and scientifically balanced protein shakes or veggie shakes. For fourteen years." A glance runs over those who already spoke with a smile toward them all. "You've all been so great sharing everything, and I could share why I had such a strict diet but I think maybe a different story needs to be told. Because I've seen a lot of death, and fighting, and there's enough of that right now. So I'm sharing... The first time I ate icecream. And chocolate. A number twenty-five with chicken and noodles."

Smiling wider her eyes shut with a look of sheer bliss. "Do you remember the first time you all ate your favorite food? The way the flavors roll around your mouth. The urge to just keep eating even if you're full. I remember it all because it was so recent for me. Every single thing I've gotten to try has been amazing. Even the horrible stuff I didn't end up liking I'm glad I got to try. Every experience that's new, and exciting, and it's my *choice* this time whether I want to keep eating something or not eat it. MY choice what I do like, what I don't. I have that freedom now to just... experience. Everything and anything and it's amazing. All the little things that are so easily overlooked are what make life just... Just so *great.*" Her hands spread wide in an expansive gesture. "No matter what happens, bad or good or otherwise, we all have the ability to make choices even if it's just something stupid and small like what flavor icecream you want or whether you're going to live your life for yourself, or others. It's all your choice and you're all amazing for making that choice in spite of what the rest of the world might want of you."

Beaming again she grows quiet, then blurts, "You're all great! Don't forget it!" And then she hops right off the stage to half-run over to the table Cain is at rejoining her friend after such a goofy, silly, and perhaps innocent telling.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Fingers trailing against the bar paint a steady pattern that goes back and forth in sharp knotwork, Meggan listens to the storytellers more than anything else. Voices reciting their tales are entrancing; John's wreathed in forgotten shadows and Terry's brewing images from fresh emotions in the vocals. Everyone's arts pack a punch when it comes down to it, and isn't that the point?

Head tilted, the empath's hair spills like a torrent of moonlight tinged faintest gold, and she breaks into a sad smile wreathed in compassion for the trials undertaken by the cat. A pale flame anneals the undercurrent of her response, catching as she gives him a quicker smile from the audience as he rallies. Once he departs from the stage, Terry earns finger-curled wave.

It takes her longer to shift her gaze back to whatever Tynan is up to and the other formidable gentleman with an equally formidable tale passed before she entered. A ghostly greeting offered to Cain in passing, she strays to the table where the good sister is taking donations as Gabby begins.

Cain Marko has posed:
When Meggan greets him, Cain glances her over curiously. His expression softens slightly and he raises his free hand to her before taking another drink. Mostly he's focused on the tiny girl talking on the stage. He smiles slightly when she finishes, and after she joins him he bends down to scoop her up, giving her a hug and a kiss atop the head in a decidely big brother sort of way. Or maybe uncle? Something along those lines anyway. "You're a good kid, Gabby." Then his gaze wanders back to the fae girl who seems to be about to take the stage. He murmurs to her, "This seems like kind of a strange bar, huh?"

John Constantine has posed:
    John refills his glass now that he's back at the bar and needn't worry about a glass being sloshed about while he's moving about. He downs his fourth in too short a time after looking over the rim of it at Nettie for a moment or two. The shadows in those faded denim blues run deep, but there's also a metaphorical fire burning in them - the distinction needs made, sometimes the fire's literal. He's not willing to let the world go without a bloody fight. ... even if the blood might end up being his own shed.

    It's when he's turning to face the stage and listen that he spies Meggan. His gaze lands on her for a moment, two, frozen and then those denim blues close and he turns his head away toward the stage before opening them again.

    "You know, kid, it's not unknown that John..." Chas shifts a little awkward like, not judgy or anything, just... it's weird to talk about *John*. "...you know... sometimes, more than sometimes even, takes a man (One time it was even a sharkman! But that's not Chas's to mention) to his bed. Ever wanna talk to someone that won't think on it once, let alone twice, you know, the whole gay thing." Rambling Chas, that's what that is! "...just he's an asshole, but he does listen when needed. We also value a secret here. And thanks, for sharing, couldn't have been easy and that's a bit of the point." After that awkward bit, Terry gets his coke and Tyran gets water along with, "Not in here, luv... wouldn't try it again, might explode in a burst of sparkling glitter that never washes off or sommat like that."

    After having taken care of a few more rounds or a few more piled at the bar, Chas comes to stand in front of Meggan. "Meg, he's still turned upside down and inside out from... what happened down there, from everything that's happened in the past few months and now it's all coming to a head, he'll get it upright eventually." He leaves out the 'if he lives through the end of it' bit. No, he didn't miss the 'lookaway' from his best mate. There's not much that Chas does miss when it comes to John's 'cues'. They've been together since acne and awkward, after all.

    Gabby's story brings a smile, genuine one. John cheers for the girl's honest, open... love of food that's just about the sum total of what it means to be human put in such simple terms.

    The Jukebox blares out 'Put Your Hand in the Hand' by Ocean and John's on his feet in a flash. It takes a beat, three, hell maybe even ten, for him to charm Sister Anne-Marie up onto a table with him for a dance and a duet. The dagger, for inquiring minds, is tucked into a pocket in the folds of her skirt, donations closed for the duration of the song.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie grabs a new cigarette from her threadbare pouch, and she gives a bright smile to Gabby. "YEAH, GIRL!" she applauds. She probably yells half in John's ear, and man can she be loud when she wants to be. She's clapped, she's taken Gin, and she's feeling a bit punchy -- though looks a half shake jealous that Sister Anne-Marie gets a dance with John before Nettie gets a dance with her.

    She gives a small smile, and siddles up to Terry.

    "Nettie Crowe, how you do, lad?" she asks. She does not offer to shake hands, and she gives a grin to him.

    "What Chas here is trying to say, is that 'this is a judgement free zone', an' more to the point," she sips her gin. "If someone does start judgin' on that count, I know the wards don't do shite against a nutshot from me. Unless they've been changed." she states with a smile, and then looks to Meggan.

    "Ah, so we meet at last!" The Witch says with a smile to Meggan, and gives a wave. "Sorry I'm not in my best form. Been a bit of a drink when I have to bring up my ol' wife."

Tynan Ireton has posed:
    Ty nods her head as she looks at her hand. It seems to be healing pretty fast. The standard rate when she uses her power. It just feels odd to her that her power doesn't work here. Out of all the places in the world...her power doesn't work here. This makes Ty smile...more then a little bit.

    "Alright. Just never been somewhere where I...didn't work.", she says. Its weird phrasing it like that. "Most bars have thrown me out cause of what I do. Hell, I even got thrown out of Ol' Patch's bar back home.", she says.

    "This has to be one of the best bars ever!", the woman smiles even more. Ty is estatic. "Hell, I may come here before work and after work from now on. Just have to make sure I pull out my wallet before walking in.", she says. Then the woman looks down at her hand...and frowns. "Damnu air!", she cries out, looking at the fresh pink skin...where the hand stamp was sopposed to be...

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
"Chinese food can change the world!" An enthusiastic preamble once it's safe to speak without interrupting another member of the pseudo-Moth Radio Hour, since those contributions deserve the fullest consideration. Meg pauses to look over her shoulder, the emotional milieu as distinct in source and nature to her as most would distinguish colours or food flavours. Interest recoiling in her way resonates in a totally different key than denial or the mercy stroke delivered by Chas.

The table might as well be an altar for what is laid out on it, jewels without compare. Feathered sheets of silvery hair steal from behind her rounded ear, falling over her face, leaving her smiling expression half-hidden. Ducking her chin, she greets Sister Anne-Marie with her palm upraised in benediction. "You are so welcoming. A warm heart serves as proof against all doubts," she murmurs to the nun, her slanting green eyes echoing the first wild blush of spring convulsing hollows and vales touched by the sun. The dagger in its elegant repose earns a meaningful glance. "You will need my help to scathe my skin, Sister. I may be better proof against blades than words."

An indirect answer to Chas? She faces him with that radiant smile. "Of course, Chas. How could I ever judge him from being in the middle of the storm when I have walked through it, and seen what battering that gives to the psyche?" She taps her fingers to her lips, then to her throat. "Great wisdom from a great friend. I intend to heed it," she adds. She holds out her palm and lays a long finger along the heart line, tracing the arc. On the retrograde swing back, her nail turns to metal and barely manages to penetrate deep enough to track out a few crimson beads shining ruby-bright upon alabaster. The force it takes is disproportionate for what wells up, but even those few beads contain enough saturated magic and life-force to almost vibrate at the right key. She tips her hand over, letting them drop into the golden bowl, giving the blood a little command to join the rest.

Then, fully certain of the contribution and sending the last beadlet running from unscarred skin, she hails the Witch with a wave in kind. "You need never apology. May we toast her and rejoice at her memory at some point, darling!"

John Constantine has posed:
    Sorry Nettie, might have to be jealous a little bit longer. A subtle gesture toward the jukebox and the next vinyl track that drops is 'Share the Land' by the Guess Who. There seems to be a general theme of the music tonight, life and love, sharing and coming together ... with a little God tossed in for the lovely Sister. That next choice keeps Anne-Marie up there and has her expression softening a little toward John - a man she both loathes and cares for in equal measure.

    Their *third* dance is to Norman Greenbaun's Spirit in the Sky and that's the final round. John places a chaste kiss to her cheek and she pulls a simple gold band off her left ring finger; the symbol of her choice to 'marry' a 'man' that can never share her bed. "I want that back, John Constantine, *when* you come back to us at the end of this, but until then may it bring you some measure of the comfort it brings me." He heads back for his stool, her for the donation table just in time to greet Meggan warmly, but her smile and her tone? It's a little sad... "Thank you, dear." Sad about what? It's hard to say, but it's there nonetheless.

    Chas offers Tyran a wink and a drink, on the house. "Luv, world might not be here after tomorrow night, not much worried about it and I heard you tell your story. Decent mercenaries huh, group like that might have something in common with him," he nods toward John.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Well, my Addie went out of this world on her own terms, screaming her revenge to the sky like a vengeful demon from Hell--" Nettie states, and she brings up her hand again and lights her cigarette with a small invocation and a little lick of flame, takes a couple of puffs and then continues: "Loading wee children into sacks for me to carry and shooting Nazis in the--" Nettie stops short as Annie makes her approach, and Annie gets a warm smile, and Nettie leans over to give the nun just the quickest peck on the cheek. Don't want the visions of death to hang around too much, whatever the Wards are doing to stop them.

    "Good to see the kids getting on so well together." Nettie offers as a deflecting joke, much better than trying to explain why someone who looked in the early twenties was talking about shooting Nazis.

Cain Marko has posed:
     Eventually, Cain notices that the Honey Badger he's holding seems to have fallen asleep. Maybe she hasn't been getting enough rest or something? He considers the young girl, then glances around. Quietly raises to his feet, and makes his way to the door. Well. Quietly for him. He raises a hand to those in the room as he goes, then opens it and disappears into the night. Time to bring Gabby to... wherever it is she stays at when she's in New York proper. Things were getting kind of emotional there anyway.

Tynan Ireton has posed:
    Ty looks at Chas a moment, and shakes her head. "Even decent mercs can't really fight with saints. Just cause he's done bad things, or screwed things up, he's still a saint.", Ty states. "And for those of my profession, tomorrow's never promised, so everyday, tomorrow may not come.", the woman tells. For somebody whose so young, that seems fairly deep.

    "He's got people to look out for him, and well, I got work on the weekend. I'm saying that things will work out, no matter what, so I can't afford to worry about the world ending.", Ty says with a small smile. She finishes the drink.

Meggan Puceanu has posed:
Meggan casts a look after Nettie when the Greywitch chooses to speak her story. After all, was a round not promised to raise and make merry with at some point? That point may not be now, but an empty hand without a drink is a sorrow not to be borne here in the Laughing Magician. Not tonight.

A price already tithed, she reaches for a glass of whatever libation is at hand. Truly it's all the same, might just be water and flavourful additives, but appreciated all the same for a liquor-bound kiss that ends up rapidly metabolized down to its constituent parts. "To love tomorrow, and no regrets today," she adds, raising the glass to her lips. The rim presses inward, and the wisdom of the smile daring Tynan's viewpoint amiably on things. "Good way to look at matters though. The world nearly ended two days ago. It may end tomorrow. Is anything so foretold that it cannot be rewritten?"

John Constantine has posed:
    John slips off his stool before downing another glass. He's still smiling when he calls out for Nettie and then calls Chas's name as well. "You lot keep the drinks comin' and the place from burnin' to the ground, aye? Have work to do."

    To Annie, he smiles a little bigger, if only because she's come so far to be here perhaps. "Bring me the bowl at night's end, aye, luv?"

    "Aye, John and you bring me my ring back on Sunday." A wink and a little cluck of his tongue is all the response he'll offer. He won't promise. And then he's heading for the back room without looking back.

    Chas can't help it, he barks out a laugh. "Been hangin' with John Constantine for a lot of years and I've heard him called a *lot* of things, but never that, luv, never that." He pulls a bottle from the shelf and sets it out in front of Tynan. "... but sometimes, only briefly, I guess it's not far from the truth."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "You can keep your toasts an' odes to yesself. If I were half as strong as I could have been, I would have wiped the fuckin' camp off the map with a half-thought. Instead, I let grief eat me over twenty years between wars. Tooko a bit to get m'head out of m'ass." Nettie states, and she takes the bottle up, giving John a salute.

    "To the maddest Bastard I've ever had the pleasure of sparking cigs with." she salutes John, and then puffs of her cigarette again, eyeballing Meggan with almost an air of suspicion (because you don't live long without being a little bit suspicious), and she shrugs.

    "Welp. I've dredged up the dead for the evening m'self, should probably hop back to the shop and set myself up with tea. I'm sure your wee ward will be making her way about soon to contribute to the party." Nettie states, teetering slightly.

    She pauses, and mumbles something, and then brings her hand to her cig and extinguishes it, and gives a bit of a grin.

    "God bless the Irish, y'mad childrens." she states to

Tynan Ireton has posed:
    Ty nods her head to Chas in thanks. "Well, you say that. I've been on a few battlefields, dispite how young I am. I'm starting to get a feel of things. People do crazy things when they think its the end, but he's got something in mind, and people to back him up. Thats something that I don't think I'll ever really have. Even if I do get my pmc. Thats a sign.", she tells.

    Ty salutes those around with the bottle. "I think I better get going, or I may pass out on the counter.", she tells. "Give'm hell, and if not, just kick their arses so hard they won't ever be sittin' again!"