8130/Birthright: Dead Man's Party

Birthright: Dead Man's Party
Date of Scene:	05 October 2021
Location:	The Laughing Magician
Synopsis:	John Constantine uses a Hand of Fate on a corpse sent to destroy him. Phoebe's past is revealed to her through the words of a long-dead relative. Lydia sends his soul to the afterlife, and Moon Knight now wants in on the action, as the Avatar of Khonshu, to ensure the girl's survival. Come for Phoebe screaming in fuzzy slippers over a mummy in the icebox, stay for Chas threatening John with a fire extinguisher.
Cast of Characters:	John Constantine, Phoebe Beacon, Lydia Dietrich, Marc Spector

---

John Constantine has posed:
    It's not quite the next *morning*, it's a little later than morning. After the events of the night before, John actually slept in. It's approaching noon-ish by the time he gets in touch with Lydia to see if she's down for questioning a dead guy.

    By the time she arrives, he has everything he needs all set up in the backroom, which isn't really much. He has that Hand of Glory out and, well, the dead body. He's respectful about it though, the corpse from last night is laid out on the heavy oak table and, for the moment, covered completely in a navy blue sheet. Why not white? It shows leakage too much.

    John has a Silk Cut tucked between his lips, but it's not lit. He hasn't, as of yet, started drinking for the day. At least not here, he does have that familiar 'scotch-y' smell already though.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    It was not precisely a restful night. Phoebe had gotten up, she had trundled downstairs and made coffee in The Big Pot in the bar, and had made up some breakfast sandwiches upstairs to bring down. She had in fact gone into the freezer that morning not quite awake to grab some frozen pineapple she'd stashed in there -- the industrial sized bag just wouldn't fit in the apartment freezer -- and had stopped, frozen in her sudden confusion over what she was seeing, bleerily eyed first thing in the morning wearing fluffy monster-feet slippers and pajama bottoms with chips and salsa dancing on them, suddenly comes to a realization just... what it was.

    -- and after the Blood Curddling Scream because she hadn't remembered she had a relative on ice, man, everyone in Hell's Kitchen might be awake.

    By the time John got there, Phoebe had calmed down, helped get things in place, and even kept breakfast down. She was wearing an old T-shirt with an advertisement for some medication on it -- another second-hand bargain brand find, her hair pulled back in a do-rag for this part, with a plaid overshirt and jeans.

    She was scratching occasionally at her left wrist in irritation. A new nervous tic.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia promised last night to help John and Phoebe dispose of the corpse. She's not exactly sure /why/ she promised this, though. Maybe out of some sense of duty to help out the teen girl. She shouldn't have to deal with this kind of thing with just John around.

She walks through the doors of the Laughing Magician and walks up to the bar. "Hey, there, Chas. Where's John and Phoebe?" She's directed to the back room, which she knocks on the door before stepping in.

"Knock, knock!" Lydia says, "How's everybody doing?"

John Constantine has posed:
    Phoebe's screams, when they happened, would have brought Chas running, shotgun in hand. ...it might have ended with a slightly grumpy, "Don't *do* that, kid," from the cabbie before he caught himself and asked if she was okay.

    But here, now, in the moment, John flicks a glance in Lydia's direction and then back to the hand... he's holding in his hand.

    The left hand of a hanged man, to be precise. It's been dipped in wax and turned into a candle. Isn't that going to smell wonderful on top of the already amazing scent of 'thawing, putrid, partially mummified, corpse'. Really clears the sinuses dunnit?

    "Either of you ever seen one of these in action?" he asks the girls before lighting the thing. Better than just lighting it and letting them deal with the shock of watching the dead come to life, right?

    Chas, the best mate and best cabbie in Heaven and Hell and all the realms in between is behind the bar, keeping one ear out toward the backroom for trouble. Bar's supposed to be closed for business so the door to that room's left wide open. So is, apparently, the front door. That is to say it's unlocked. Not even Chas is *perfect* and a busy mind coupled with the reflex of routine ended with him unlocking the door when he shouldn't have.

Marc Spector has posed:
The door to the street opens up and admits one of the bar's regulars. Jake Lockely looks as travel worn and bedraggled as usual. His jeans are oil-stained and showing signs of tearing soon. His shirt, a simple black pullover sweater, is serviceable but plain. His coat, a brown number of rugged leather, is scratched and faded in numerous places. He looks around the mostly empty bar and then to the man he considers a friend: Chas.

    "What the hell are you holding?" he asks with an arched brow, as the door closes behind him. His voice is strong, but low toned and has the accents of a man who has spent the majority of his life smoking cigarettes.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Nope. But I can guess that it's going to smell horrible, sound horrible, and probably feel awful. You're not going to break out again, are you?" Phoebe asks. She might be Just A Little weary and grumpy, because although it's not the FIRST time some necromantic thing has been on her food in a freezer -- which she would have to have explained to Chas about a zombie head on vegan mac and cheese at one point when she had calmed down -- it's the first time she's probably been related to it.

    She takes a jar out of her pocket and hands it over to Lydia.

    "Menthol ointment, it'll help keep the smell out of your nostrils. Medical examiners use it for really, really awful things." Phoebe states, offering it to the witch first -- and then -- oh, hi Marc.

    "... um... Halloween party practice?" she states with a paper-thin cover-up as she looks to the bar regular. He'd probably know the young barback who usually accompanies Chas on his nights on.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia makes her way fully into the room and looks at what John has in his hand with curiosity. "Is that an actual Hand of Glory?" As macabre as it is, it's one of those artifacts that is somewhat notorious in the magic community. "Those are a bit hard to find nowadays," she says, watching John light it. "They really don't hang people anymore, but aren't they typically used to open locks?"

She looks over her shoulder when a new face appears. "Hello," she tells Jake. "We haven't met before. I'm Lydia." She holds out a hand for him to shake. "A friend of John's I take it?"

Lydia gratefully accepts the ointment and puts a dab under each nostril. "Thank you, Phoebe," she says. "It's better already."

John Constantine has posed:
    Chas visibly cringes the moment the door to the bar opens and only relaxes just a little big when he sees who walks through it. Could have been worse, could have been a clueless nobody mundane, right. "Jake, mate, can you lock that door behind you? John's... busy."

    "*CHAS*", John complains. "*Sorry*, but it's not like he doen't *know* that you do...*stuff*," gets shot back.

    But neither man kicks Jake out so there's that?

    Chas because he likes the guy and John just because, "I don't have time for this. Just stay out of the way." He waggles the wax covered hand and says, "This is going to let me talk to," he points to the corpse, "...him." The smell? Does not seem to bother John in the least.

    "Locks... yes, to doors, all sorts of doors."

    He hasn't lit the thing yet, but he does now. All five fingers. He raises is voice, and makes the words happen all clear and concise despite the cigarette, unlit, between his lips. "Hear me, most Unnameable of Devourers, he who guardeth the Golden Gateway. I seek an audience with one in your embrace." Seriously, about the most LAME of lame spells to ever be spoken, sounds straight out of Harry Potter that, but hey, John didn't write the thing. One more time, louder... "Hear me, most Unnameable of Devourers, he who guardeth the Golden Gateway. I seek an audience with one in your embrace."

    ...and the corpse, on the table, under the sheet, begins to rattle and shake. With his free hand, John pulls the sheet back from the poor dead guy's face.

Marc Spector has posed:
Jake reaches behind him and locks the door and nods at Phoebe, "Nice try, kid." He gives Lydia a slight smile as he takes her offered hand. His fingers are calloused and rough. "Chas' actually. But John's part of the package so..." He shrugs as he releases her hand. As John starts intoning the spell he shakes his head. "Not the strangest of things I've seen or heard..." The rattling of the corpse does garner a sharp look and muttered curse before he moves gingerly around to the bar.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    THe corpse rattles and shakes, and there's gasping and screeching as lungs that no longer stretch try to take in air, as fingers where tendons have been tightened impossibly by drying try to grip at the sheet. A voice cries out, rusted and dry like a sheaf of paper set aflame as the wizened, blackened corps sits up, eyelids dropping dust about them as Death surrenders this one -- for a time.

    Phoebe is both fascinated and abhorrant, the smell of mint and the sickly sweet scent of burning flesh in her nose as her stomach gives a lurch and a drop, but to her credit she watches with intense focus.

    She does, however, offer Jake the same ointment jar for his nose.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia takes a step back, giving John room to work. The gruesome scene before her rattles her. She'll never get used to necromancy and how gruesome it really is. Hell, she'll probably have nightmares about this tonight. She had them last night, that's for sure.

The menthol is keeping her from getting the worst of the smell, but it's bad enough, still. She can't help but feel a bit queasy from it all.

John Constantine has posed:
    John only has until the candles burn out, but that *should* give him ample time. There's nothing here to hasten the process, nothing can get through his wards that might try to do so. The hand burns just as normal candles would. "Tell me your name," is the first request.

    "... tell me what you know of Asenanth, Leksandria, Julia, whatever she's calling herself today," is his next. Not wanting to overwhelm the poor corpse, he stops there for the moment.

    Chas pours Jake a double, top shelf, scotch, from John's personal stock that not even *John* drinks on the regular because it's too expensive because, "Sorry, mate, I know it's a little shocking the first time." He slides the double across the bar. "So, the new bartender we just hired quit..." Pointed look at John, there's a *story* there. "So you'll probably be catching my usual fares until we get a new one hired." Casual conversation as if a *corpse* didn't just sit up in the very visible backroom.

Marc Spector has posed:
Jake waves off the ointment Pheobe offers him. "I drive a cab," he says softly. "Decrepit corpse is hardly the worst thing I've smelled." He eyes the shuddering, moving thing and lets out another sigh as John starts asking questions. As Chas pours him some of his finest he nods. "Thank ye, kindly. I'll take good care of them for ya, until you get back on the road." Maybe he wasn't joking about the corpse not being the strangest thing he'd seen since he seems perfectly capable at continuing the casual conversation with Chas.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Tiberian" The Corpse says, "Son of Ashraf." the corpse whispers further, as if it was difficult to speak. "Leksandria, daughter of my sister Bahiti. Destroyer. Beholden of Darkness in her heavily-weighed heart. She... murdered..." the corpse tries to take a breath, dusty and awful. "Cannot go on-- stuck..."

    Phoebe watches quietly, her arms wrapping around herself. This was someone she was related to. If Leksandria was her cousin... this was her uncle. Bahiti would be an aunt. Ashraf a grandfather.

    "Suit yourself." she murmurs to Jake as she watches and memorizes the names. She feels her stomach roll again in rebellion.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia frowns in concern. "If his soul is stuck, we have to help him move on." She sets her purse down, and pulls a leather bound journal from it. She starts flipping through the pages, "Ever since our run in with the specters, I've been working on something that will help ghosts, angry spirits and so on to move on to the afterlife."

She keeps flipping through the pages until she finds what she's looking for. "Aha! It's not really an exorcism. It's more of a gentle push to encourage them to leave, but I believe I can modify it so that it's more of a shove than anything else." A tendril of ectoplasm pulls a pen out of her bag and she starts scribbling in the Journal. "If we act quickly enough, we can use the Hand of Glory to unlock any chains that might be binding his soul to his body."

John Constantine has posed:
    "She murdered? Who? How many?" John asks. Ashraf... did anyone notices his breath catch a little at the mention of that name. His expression... it's gone blank in a way that usually indicates he's trying to force it to be blank.

    But those hidden emotions swim in his faded denim blues - anger bordering on rage, regret, sadness... all colored by maybe a little madness. He's gotta help this guy. ...and...

    "Where is your father?" That guy too. His desire to rip the Bitch in Red's head off and piss down her neck just grew another five sizes.

    Chas is still keeping a wary eye on the backroom and the goings on there. "Damnit..." The cabbie, truly, knows John Constantine better than *anyone* else, be them friend, lover, whatever... Chas knows John better than he knows himself and he *knows* that look. He turns his attention briefly to Jake. "You wouldn't happen to have any free time to help fuckin' babysit a crazed, obsessed mage, would you?" he murmurs quietly. "Before he gets himself killed in his blind race to kill an evil necromancer?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "All... dead... Chenzira. Omari. Paisi gone in Leksandria's hatred, her body destroyed. My brothers and sisters... my love Omorose." The corpse's face twists, pained, eyes unable to weep as it tries to bring its hands up.

    "The... village... burned in her hatred. Marius and the baby--"

    The fingers begin to burn low. The pinky finger burns out.

    "... all gone. Unable to cross. Between worlds. Hiding in the ashes."

    The corpse begins to recline. There is no liquid seeping out, just cracking skin as the body decays further, turning to gray-red dust against the table.

    "Marius... the baby..."

Marc Spector has posed:
Jake sips his scotch and then looks at John. "You want me to try and contain that?" he asks wryly and shakes his head. "I'm not the guy you want. But I know a guy. He might be better equipped to keep a lid on him if you need him watched." He paused taking in the words of the corpse. "Then again, he might just help him kill the necromancer. But pretty sure John'll get through it. That's sort of this guy's play. He takes the hits so his allies don't have to."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lyida finishes her calculations and steps forward before the candles can burn out. She steps forward and starts chanting something in Hebrew. They're nonsense words, for anybody who understands the language, but anybody familiar with Kabalistic magic will know that she's reciting one of the many names of god, calculated with perfection to escort the poor man's soul to the afterlife.

Amber flares of magic course through her ectoplasm as she draws arcane sigils into the air, leaving behind glowing images. Once the sigils make a complete circle, she stops her incantation with a final word, and pushes her hand through the circle. The sigils fly forward as if she pushed them, into the body.

John Constantine has posed:
    "Nonononono!" John barks. He moves the Hand of Glory closer. More questions, he has so many more questions. He lets out a frustrated sound that's half growl and maybe half yell. "Fuckin' *cu..." Americans John, they don't like that word. "*BITCH*."

    Hellfire, the literal stuff, flashes in his eyes, just a quick thing and gone; a reflection of his rage and frustration.

    "No! We had time!" he snarls in Lydia's direction, even though it's not Lydia at all that he's angry with.

    Marius... the baby. The baby... baby...

    The baby.

    It's almost eerie the way he goes from all that to still in 2.2. He turns his head in Phoebe's direction, those faded denim blues slightly narrowed in thought and repeats, "The baby."

    Chas just gestures in John's direction. "It's never good when he gets like that." His voice is pitched low, so so so low, barely audible to Jake's ears over here at the bar. "Never good." So, yeah, please help? It's unspoken but clear as a bell.

Marc Spector has posed:
Jake narrows his eyes and then turns to Chas. "How soon you need him?" he asks, sipping more of the scotch. "I mean, what's the timeframe on John going after this necromancer..." He gives a look between Pheobe and John again before leaning back a bit on the stool.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The corpse is hit with the amber light, and the soul is separated from it. There's a flash of blue and then -- nothing. The soul returns to the aether from which it was pulled, slammed backwards through space to where it had been stored. Unlike other ghosts, unlike other spirits, it doesn't cross -- it just goes 'elsewhere'. After all, there's no room in God's arms for creatures such as them.

    The corpse falls back, even deadder than it was before. And it dissipates, turning to dust with the sound of an exhaled breath.

    And Phoebe stands there. She looks up at John, her dark eyes to the faded denim, and she presses her lips in a thin line.

    "John. Is... is this--" she begins, but she can't quite finish it, giving a swallow of a thick knot in her throat.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
"If we waited any longer the poor man's soul would have been stuck between worlds forever!" counters Lydia. Softer, she hugs herself. "And now we know he's not the only one. His entire family... murdered... their souls resigned to this fate."

Her nose wrinkles in distaste as the corps disintegrates. "There goes all the food in the freezer," she says. At least it's not /her/ freezer to clean.

She turns back to Phoebe, her expression softening. She doesn't have any words for the girl. Just... sadness.

John Constantine has posed:
    John lifts a finger to point in Phoebe's direction; a little shaking kind of gesture, hand bobbing a few times. "The only one that survived. The one that got away." There's significance there, but his mind's racing about a million miles a minute. It's almost like he's not even *seeing* anyone else in the room.

    "The village. I need to go to the village." A shake of his head and Phoebe's question finally registered. "Uncle, maybe?" A beat and he adds, "I need to... to go." Right now, today, this second, immediately. Seriously, he's ready to step through the House of Mystery and right out into that destroyed village right this moment without a second thought or a *plan*.

    ...any body got a tranq dart?

    "Timeframe? Like a schedule?" Chas barks out a little mirthless laugh. "Like whenever he gets a wild hair? Now even maybe..." But... "*John!* Barked, attention getting. "*No*!" Like he's talking to a naughty toddler.

Marc Spector has posed:
"Then I guess I better go get ahold of him" Jake says and downs the rest of the scotch before pushing away from the bar. He heads towards the door and frowns. "For what it's worth... I wish you the best... all of you, whatever you're going to do." And then he unlocks the door and steps out.

    Maybe five seconds pass before the door is opened and a different figure steps in. He's not a regular. The white suit, white shirt, white tie, white gloves, and white shoes he is wearing are all pristine. As is the nearly featureless white mask covering his head and face. A single crescent shape on the forehead vaguely reminiscent of a moon is the only notable feature on the mask; even the eyes are white. He gives a look around the room and then focuses on John. "So... when do we leave?" the voice is resonant, clear, and slightly commanding in intensity.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "John?" Phoebe questions as he points at her, and then he begins to go manic. She looks at Chas, and then she opens her mouth, and then she turns to John, her eyes welling up with tears.

    "You're not going without me!" she states, looking to JOhn as she practically chases him about the room, reaching to grab his sleeve -- not his arm proper, though. "You can't leave me behind on this one! You *can't* go alone!"

    And then Moon Knight walks in. ANd she looks to him and opens her mouth a moment, just... absolutely befuddled by his appearance. This was definitely the weirdest day so far.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
"John, wait!" Lydia calls out, resting a hand on his shoulder to try to restrain him. It's not a firm grip or anything. Mostly there to catch his attention. "You're always running off without thinking about things," she cautions. "Stop. Think for a moment. Come up with a /plan/. Give yourself time to prepare."

Then the guy all in white walks in. That gives her a pause. Still, since she's been with the Brotherhood people in costumes kind of come part and parcel with it. She just shakes her head, "Please. Lets just /think/ about this for once."

John Constantine has posed:
    John turns toward Knight. "The bloody hell are *you* doing here?" he asks. Does he even remember Jake just being here?

    Chas just murmurs, "Subtle," under his breath but makes a mental note to thank Jake later.

    "If there's a mouse in that shiny white pocket, might want to take it out, mate, before it piddles and leaves a stain." Well, one thing Knight's arrival on the scene did... snapped John out of his little manic moment a tiny bit.

    Then there's Phoebe and Lydia and yakyakyakyaknagnagyaknagyak. *WOMEN* John sort of jerks away from both of them and raises his hands to the side of his head, not quite touching, just hovering there, fingers splayed and tense. "SHUDDUP! I can't think!"

    It's not that he doesn't *like* Moon Knight. It's not that he's *angry* with Phoebe or Lydia, it's that he's frustrated and things are moving way too *slow* on this matter for his liking and the way he handles that is snark and lashing out.

Marc Spector has posed:
Moon Knight, or Mr. Knight, as this iteration of him is called just looks at the anarchy unfolding. He walks forward and without much preamble grabs John by the collar, lifts him from the ground, and shakes him. It's a violent action, but not hard enough to damage the magus. "Come to your senses, man! You know you're no good like this!" His voice is still resonant and commanding but carries a harshness to it that cuts through. "You want to go to Egypt, fine we go. But not until you chill the fuck out!" He looks aside at Pheobe and Lydia and adds. "What can you do? I know The Hellblazer here fairly well, you two... I do not know." He is still holding John off the ground, with relative ease it would seem.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    John pulls away from her, and he yells. Phoebe takes a couple of steps back, her hands up as if John was going to physically lash out at her -- or worse. Her whole body tenses, defensive, but she's quiet, half expecting a blow or an insult -- but then Moon Knight goes to lift John up and shake him.

    "Hellblazer?" she questions, her nose wrinkling a moment, and she slowly puts her arms down, and looks at John.

    "/Hellblazer/?" she asks again, incredulously. What was that about codenames, John?

    She gives a swallow, and then motions to John. "He's my mentor." she states. Like that explains anything about her abilities any more than the corpse being her uncle does.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
John's tantrum is met with a roll of the eyes and Lydia turns to Moon Knight. She is always surrounded by bioluminescent green mists so what she does probably has something to do with that. "I'm a witch," she says, and then waves a hand through her mists. "And a mutant. And for God's sake, put John down before he blows a gasket."

John Constantine has posed:
    "Uh-oh," Chas intones quietly from behind the bar. It's at least indication to the others that he's pretty confident Moon Knight isn't really out to hurt John. If that were the case, there'd be a shotgun pulled from behind the bar already.

    "Get the *fuck off* me, mate!" John bellows. Man for someone that has lungs scarred enough that they barely work some days, he sure can YELL when he wants to. But that yell is backed by something else, his hands raise, palms out, squarely in line with Moon Knight's chest. The amount of sheer concussive force he lets loose would likely knock a mere mortal through the wall... maybe even kill them.

    Clue number two there that John's familiar with this guy. He *knows* what it'll take to shove the man in white back and away.

    Of course it all likely leaves John stumbling to keep his feet under him when he's dropped from Moon's grasp in the process.

    "*Fuckin' Arsehole*", John grouses, channeling Chas a little bit there, but more British.

    Once he rights himself, he closes his eyes and sucks in a breath, deep one, and lets it out slowly.

Marc Spector has posed:
Mr. Knight's patent white shoes slide over the ground before he slams visciously against the door. He stands there a bit before reaching up to straighten his tie and tug out the wrinkles in his coat. From the slight twist of the mask on his face, he might be smiling. "Good to see it did the trick. Now, if you're ready to talk sense... we can get to business." If the concussive force blast hurt him, he isn't showing any signs of it.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe takes a couple more steps back from the fight, raising her hands up in case it were going to come to more blows -- but Knight's now calm and sorted himself out. John's calm...er.

    And she turns. The dust that was once the remains of Tiberian, son of Ashraf, has deteriorated now to dust, the magic that had kept his body together finally having faded. The spirit was gone, and she busies herself with turning the navy sheet back over it so that it would stay together, though her hands are shaking hard. It takes all her concentration to keep the sheet neat as she goes.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
"And there he goes," Lydia sighs, shaking her head.

While the men are busy posturing at each other, Lydia makes her way over to the girl. "Hey," she says gently. "Are you okay? Let me help." She moves to help Phoebe with the sheet, her eyes filled with concern for her.

John Constantine has posed:
    "That ended with less broken glass and splintered wood than I thought it would," Chas murmurs, more to himself but loud enough for the room to hear.

    "Not somethin' I picked, luv," John points out to Phoebe in regards to her last question as he opens his eyes again. "My name is, and always will be, John Constantine." Now that most of the wind has been shaken from his sails, it's easy to see how tired he is, despite having *slept in*. Sleeping in is really relative as to how much it counts based on what time one fell asleep innit?

    Chas was heading in Phoebe's direction, but lets the other female in the room handle it and busies himself with pouring John a double from that bottle he served 'Jake' from earlier. He holds it up and wiggles it a little, "Mr. Knight?"

    John scrubs his hands over his face and snaps out, "I'm *missing something*." Frustrated still, but not ready to run off half-cocked and balls out. That's progress.

Marc Spector has posed:
Mr. Knight tilts his head at Chas. "And just what would I use to drink it, goodman?" he asks. He *does* have a mouth under the mask, doesn't he?

    "Mr. Lockley only had enough time to mention, Egypt, necromancy, and something about a child. I figure you could fill in the blanks if I needed anything. Or perhaps if you needed a second sounding board to help facilitate your thoughts." He does however move forward towards the bar, seeming to hold no ill will toward the mage who tried to put him through a wall just moments ago.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "No... I got this. Please." Phoebe states to Lydia.

    "... I've spent my life since I was five years old thinking I was abandoned because my family didn't love me. The last three years thinking no one could love me because it was my powers that made them care about me. Doubting... every bit of affection that came from anyone until John found a way to turn it off." Phoebe states softly, and she pauses, tears coming down her cheeks. "Now I find out that I had family. They had names and faces that I'll never know."

    She wipes a hand accross her face. "He doesn't do touchy-feely stuff. I'm just doing this so he has an excuse not to look." she whispers to Lydia. "I'll be fine in a minute if you just ignore me." she lies. "I'll take care of ashing the remains and the sheet with it. Least I can do."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia's heart breaks for the poor child. "You're not the only one I know who thought their family had abandoned them, only for it to turn out that they had died not knowing their daughter was still alive." She takes her hands off the sheet to let Phoebe to continue to work.

"We have their names," she says. "We know where they lived. If you want, I have resources that can help us find pictures of them if they're out there." Then again, that may just be twisting the knife for Phoebe.

"I can't..." she begins. "It's just not in my nature to turn my back on somebody who's hurting," she says gently. "If you ever need anybody for the touchy-feely stuff I'm here for you."

John Constantine has posed:
    "Yeah, right, of course," Chas replies. His tone is ... well, it's the same one he uses on John when John's being a little batshit. It's not judgey, it's just sort of 'knowing'.

    "More for me, mate," John offers before he settles onto that stool no one else ever wants to sit upon. The ritual begins. He lights a cigarette, Silk Cut of course, downs his first double without coming up for air, refills the glass and damned if he doesn't down that one. The third one, however, he takes a little slower.

    It's true, touchy-feely, John does not do. It's something he never *learned* to do. His father's 'affections' came in fists and cigarette burns. He's pointedly not looking at the back room and the girls.

    Chas, however, is keeping an ear and an eye... but staying out of it. ...for now. A girl needs women in their lives too, not just an old washed up CabbieDad.

    "I don't even know where to fuckin' start, mate." Because he can't *think straight* at the moment. "The girl over there," he gestures toward Phoebe. "I think she's... a descendant of Khonsu. I think. Her cousin is an evil bitch that's trying to capture her... for what? I'm not sure. I think she's using Phoebe's blood to power the necromancy she's using. I just don't fucking *know*."

Marc Spector has posed:
Mr. Knight's face jerks to Pheobe at the mention of John's suspicions. "That's... significant" he murmurs, his eyes narrowing on the girl.

    There is a long moment of consideration before he nods. Then he looks again at John.

    "How long has it been since you've slept? You look more like hell than usual. And now, even looking like you do, you want to go rallying off to Egypt to save the girl. Admirable, but how do you think she'll feel if you die during it? She cares about you. I don't pretend to understand what you do, but I know mentor-student relationships. You're important to her life now and instead of thinking about the consequences of your actions you're so focused on saving her life that you can't see that you need to keep your own in the process."

    He is silent for a moment and then says, "I'm going to give you a choice. Either you go to sleep on your own, you get you're friend here to drug you into sleep, or I will knock you out." The intensity of his gaze is strong enough that he might be serious. "The choice is yours, the result is the same. You. Get. Sleep. You're no good to her, your witch friend, or me in this condition."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I *have* help. He's in the next room trying to figure out now what he's missing before he goes ballistic again." Phoebe replies to Lydia, and she looks back up at her. "You have a coven and a group of people who helped you figure out who you are, decended from royalty. He's helping me figure out who I am. It's just a different process," she folds the sheet again "that's all." she states, and she folds the sheet in, holding the dusted remains befdore it goes without a whole lot further ceremony into a giant ziplock bag, and Phoebe grimly seals it with a 'Sorry, uncle Tiberian.' to the remains, and then she comes out of the backroom.

    "Priestess, probably early Dynastic, but hey, my blood's apparently everywhere so who actually knows if I'm related to this one, that, one, or the other one." she states in exhaustion, and she looks back to Mr. Knight.

    And then she turns to John's back, and she takes a deep breath, and tilts her head back.

    "He won't sleep if you threaten to drug him. He'll stay awake on pure anger and spite." she finds herself saying in John's defense, and she stretches her jaw a moment, and holds the giant ziplock bag of navy sheet and Uncle Tiberian in her lap as she tiredly looks to Chas. "It's too early to go to sleep anyway."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia watches Phoebe go with a certain amount of sadness. "That wasn't the kind of help I meant," she says softly, mostly to herself now that Phoebe's gone. She sighs, and shakes her hands to get herself back into the game and follows the girl out.

She's scowling now. Thinking, as she takes a seat on one of the stools. "There's something that Tiberian said that's stuck with me," she says, twining her fingers together on the bar. "Something about Leksandria's body being destroyed. That would imply that she's not corporeal anymore." Her scowl deepens. "Maybe she wants to inhabit Phoebe?"

John Constantine has posed:

    "Preach it," Chas murmurs quietly. It's not like Chas himself hasn't sucker punched John right and proper when he was batshit about this or that... even broke his jaw a time or two. It's easy, sometimes, to forget he's still there quietly polishing glasses and listening to *everything*.

    "Shuddup, Chas," John quips.
    "Fuck you, John," Chas replies.
    "You said we were never going to speak of that," John deadpans.

    Then John just looks smug when Chas says nothing further. That *had* to be a joke, right? His attention turns back to Knight. "I sleep..." It's not a *lie*, he does. He slept this morning even. ... a little. "Look, last night that *bitch* sent a deceased *human being* kept trapped in a rotting corpse by necromancy in here as a murder weapon. She was stupid enough to show her hand and use the attack here, if she hadn't been, I don't know how many could have potentially died. She's sending corpses of animals twisted into monsters and animated by tortured human souls after *my* student. I'll sleep... long and hard, when it's over. I will *sleep* before we take our trip." He just doesn't promise how much.

    When Lydia speaks up, John shakes his head. "No, it was Paisi's body that was destroyed." The sadness there, it's a rare thing to actually hear in John's voice, see in his expression. That's personal on a level deeper than it just being Phoebe's family. "I'm pretty sure I've hit this bitch more than once. But that doesn't mean you're *wrong*, if she wants Phoebe's power, a way to do that would be possession."

    He glances at the girl they're all talking about almost as if she's not here and closes his eyes. Ah... so much he wishes he knew *how* to say, but he doesn't so he looks away again after opening his eyes.

    "I'm gonna do some reading," he murmurs instead before pushing up off his stool. "I'll be in touch, Knight," he even claps the man on the shoulder as he walks by.

Marc Spector has posed:
Mr. Knight grinds his jaw in frustration, or at least that's what it sounds like he is doing. "So you'd rather read and get yourself killed than actually help your apprentice" he says. "I get it. How much you mean to her doesn't really matter." He leans back in the stool. "I can watch over her while you *read.* She may be what you say, or she might be something else... either way, Khonshu feels that her survival is necessary and as his Fist, I will see that no harm comes to her while you busy yourself with... *reading.*" There is an ascerbic tone to his voice as he says it to the man's back, but he lets the man move on past.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Hey," Phoebe turns to Mr. Knight. "John's done more than /anyone/ else in my life to keep me alive and safe. You don't get to judge him on that!" Phoebe states with a certain level of aggression towards the man in white "You don't know what he's been through, don't know what levels of absolute... just... bullshittery he's gone through to keep me safe! So you know what? Piss off!" Phoebe states, and she flashes the reverse peace sign at Moon Knight, looking very grumpy. Maybe John's rubbing off on her a little bit, and she blearily turns to Chas, then to Lydia, and then to Chas again, and then puts Tiberian-in-a-bag on the counter.

    "I'll bring this to the docks to give him an actual sendoff that he deserves." she states, and then tilts her head back.

    "After nap."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia gives the Moon Knight a dark glare. "We don't want to go in half cocked and unprepared. Sometimes /reading/ will give you /answers/ to questions you have." Already she's not a big fan of this guy.

She gets up off her stool, "I'm going to go home and do some /reading/ myself. I'm going to work on that spell that I've got to see if I can cut the time it takes to cast. Maybe we can use it to blast out the soul of one of those mummy-assassins before it gets a chance to try to kill us."

As she turns to go she rests a hand on Phoebe's shoulder. "Call me if you need anything." With that she turns to go, and once outside she's gone in a flash of purple.

John Constantine has posed:
    John stops in his tracks and turns to face Mr. Knight. "What did you just say? You fuckin' *wanker*!" He raises one hand, Hellfire engulfing it, not just dancing in his palm or on his fingertips. "You waltz in here with *no fucking clue* what I've done, what I haven't done... just no fucking clue and toss around that kind of shite."

    Chas grabs the fire extinguisher. "Jooooohhhnnnn, don't do it."

    "*ALL I'VE FUCKING DONE IS KEEP HER FUCKING SAFE."

    Chas pipes up with, "Knight, just... go, he'll call you when he's going to Egypt, k? Just... go."

    It takes every ounce of self-control he has in him for John to douse those flames. "You need to get out of my face right now, Knight. Before I lose my temper. And stay out of it for at least a fuckin' day."

    With that, John turns and heads for the back room.

    "Fucking *WANKER*," is the last thing heard before he opens the portal to the House of Mystery and vanishes.