8185/Blood Oath

Blood Oath
Date of Scene:	09 October 2021
Location:	The Laughing Magician
Synopsis:	The day started with Jubilation Lee deciding she wanted 'in' and ended ... well, it's just been a day. But John'll FIX IT, because it's just what he does.
Cast of Characters:	Jubilation Lee, John Constantine, Jonathan Sims, Nettie Crowe, Marc Spector

---

Jubilation Lee has posed:
    It's been an enlightening week for Jubilation Lee. She was quickly schooled in some of the basic intricacies of vampire gentrification efforts, saw it first hand, and made up with those she has been erroneously calling 'vampire hunters.' Each encounter with them left her frustrated in some small way, so it was fortunate that the faculty at her school gave her permission to use the Danger Room without an escort. They predicted she'd need some kind of outlet for her vampire aggression and they were right. To the surprise of the school, she's been running programs involving nests of snarling, feral vampires.

    The experience gave Jubilation insight into her new life. And, thanks to John's amulet, the blood of the local wildlife was able to replenish her after these long training sessions. After brief but careful thought, Jubilee knew that she had to make another trip to the Laughing Magician. This time, however, she came dressed as herself.

    Instead of the usual 'vampire skank' getup, Jubes arrives wearing a neon yellow, retro-style jacket over a black t-shirt with a blue and pink nebula graphic and BRING ON THE NIGHT in white text printed over it. The shirt is cropped at her ribcage to reveal a layer of pink underneath. Jubilee wears a pair of baby blue short-shorts over white tights. Completing the totally 80s retro look is a pair of rolled down yellow socks and black desert boots.

    Jubilation glide-walks (she can't help it!) over to the bar and slides into a seat. If given the opportunity, she'd place a wrinkled up five dollar bill on the bar and order a glass of AB Positive since Phoebe had mentioned that they stock it here.

John Constantine has posed:
    ...and John is in his typical spot on his Pauper's Throne with all his typical 'royal' supplies readily available. It's from a cloud of wafting cigarette smoke that he watches Jubilation approach the bar without a word until she sits down.

    "If it isn't Rainbow Bright Elvira," he murmurs once she's seated.

    It earns him a warning, "*Jooohn*," from Chas who greets the girl with a smile and a little nod of recognition of her order. The blood he pours doesn't look too much different than a glass of tomato juice, no real need to hide it. He does warm it slightly in the microwave before serving it with, "Don't pay any attention to him, I don't think he's been feeling well and that just makes him more obnoxious than usual." It's spoken softly, with a slight lean in but it doesn't stop...

    "I'm sitting *right here*," shot back from John. His focus finally falls right on Jubilation and he asks, "Everything all right, luv?"

Jubilation Lee has posed:
    "If it isn't Sting's Midlife Crisis..." Jubilee fires back, giving the man a faint smile, a mere curl of her mouth. Her tone suggests that she's merely participating in the game, serving the ball back to John, and not trying to start a fight or hurt his feelings. She's being a good sport!

    Chas gets a smile, too, but this one is a full smile. She gives the rumpled up money a flick of her finger across the bar in his direction. As a teen, it is impossible for her to handle money without making it utterly frustrating to receive. Wrinkled, folded, rolled. "Thank youuuuu," she sing-songs, reaching out with both hands to take the glass. Jubes looks around the bar for anyone that might be watching -- she's still a little self-conscious about it -- and takes a sip.

    "Everything is fine," Jubilation answers, now facing forward. Bar etiquette. "I just was thinking-- wait, you're not feeling well?" She tilts her head in his direction, concern knitted across her brow.

John Constantine has posed:
    "Chas is being melodramatic, it's his default mode," John points out before he tosses back the full glass of scotch in his arsenal and refills it.

    Chas slides the fiver back across to Jubilation and offers, "On the house, kid." He shoots John a look that's half annoyance and half concern, it's a real thing... the half and half, but he says nothing in response.

    "Just come because you missed my sunny disposition then, aye?" John asks. He does look just a little... peaked, a little pale, dark circles and red rims more prominent around those blue eyes making them look brighter, if a little watery.

Jubilation Lee has posed:
    Either too naive or too rude to even bother to insist that Chas take her money, Jubilee greedily reaches across the bar and scoops up her bill into a tight fist. It gets stuffed into one of the pockets of her jacket. "Thanks!" she chirps.

    "I've cracked tougher walnuts than you, John Constantine," Jubilation warns, smiling widely at him. "Sooner or later, you're going to like me and your entire world is going to come crashing down."

    Jubilee shrugs her shoulders and turns back to her glass, taking John's appearance as just another indicator of his hard living. Still, there's a weird feeling of deja vu around the smell of those cigarettes... and that booze. Oh well.

    "I actually came to talk to you," she mutters, bringing the glass back up to her lips. She watches John's reaction to that before tipping the glass back.

John Constantine has posed:
    The face John makes in return to that smile and Jubilation's announcement about cracking nuts is somewhere between horrified and 'whatever'. But the reaction is a blink in time and then it's gone. "Well, I have hears, so spill it... I guess." In preparation, he downs the second glass of scotch since her arrival, stamps out his cigarette in the ashtray and lights another. Pffft, hard living.

    Chas busies himself with bartender duties, but tries not to stray far enough that he's out of listening range. John, after all, can't be trusted alone with people.

Jubilation Lee has posed:
    Jubilee rolls her eyes at John's lack of enthusiasm for her plan to come talk to him. He should be so lucky! Jubes swallows the mouthful of blood and smiles contentedly. She closes her eyes and rolls her head around on the limits of neck's range of motion. Blood.

    Jubilation opens her eyes and pokes her finger at John. "For just a little while, pretend you're nicer," she teases, mock pouting. "So... I've been thinking about what you said. I don't like /how/ you say things, but I do listen," Jubes explains. "And, you were right..." OH? John was RIGHT?!

John Constantine has posed:
    "About which bit besides all of it?" John asks cockily, that Silk Cut tucked between his lips and bobbing up and down with each word. He manages, however, to speak clear as a bell like that. Practice makes perfect. "Is the amulet working?"

    He makes the smallest of gestures in the direction of the jukebox behind him, barely there, likely barely registered, but the thing drops Karmin's 'I Told You So'. The thing plays *vinyls*, did that ever come out in vinyl? Also, it's definitely not his normal musical fare.

    *ASSHOLE*.

Jubilation Lee has posed:
    "Yeah, it's working..." Jubes admits, frowning a little as she hears the lyrics of the song coming from the jukebox. Seriously, she gives him an 'attaboy and he can't even meet her halfway!

    "You were right... You told me that fighting the darkness would make things easier," Jubes paraphrases. "And... you were right." She turns to face the wall behind the bar for a moment, recalling that time spent in the Danger Room slaying holographic (though still dangerous) monsters.

    Jubilee knocks the rest of the glass back and sets it back down on the bar. "Look, Mister Constantine, I'm a vampire. And I was a mutant before that. I know what it's like to be hated. Have people be prejudiced against me because of something I didn't even do." Her brows rise. Perhaps she's referring to John himself?

    "The vampires from the rave... They're not me. They're not...good for business," she continues. A weird way to put it. "...And you were /right/. Taking care of them... Made me feel better." The frustration all the Danger Room vampires relieved tied right back to that poor feral vampire she pushed into the fire at the rave...

    "What I'm saying... Is I want in."

John Constantine has posed:
    "Please don't call me that. My name's John. I'm not a fan of Mr. Constantine," he points out, teeth just a little clenched together in the process. He lets his head drop back so he can stare at the ceiling and lets out a *grooooaaaan*. "And please stop with 'I know what it's like to be hated' speech. We all do, luv. For one reason or another."

    His attention falls back directly to her and he adds, "And *stop* telling me I'm bloody prejudiced. I have friends that are *demons*. It had nothing to do with being *prejudice* and everything to do with you being a *new* vampire. You accuse me of making assumptions when you do the same thing."

    He rolls his neck to crack it and plucks the cigarette from between his lips before adding, "Now, if you're done with all the angsty 'I've been mistreated because of what I am' bullshite, we can talk about you being 'in'."

Jubilation Lee has posed:
    "Yeah, well, maybe, but I don't like people assuming things about me the same as you don't, I guess," Jubes fires back, brows hiked. "I've been doing okay, you know, these past few months. No one's been hurt. I mean... I got detention for six weeks for accidentally 'glamouring' some kids into doing my hair, but it wasn't on purpose..../John/."

    "Just because I'm a new vampire doesn't mean you have to expect me to fuck up," Jubes points out, staring at the man. "I can't tell you /how/ but... I know how to control myself."

    Learning how to control your powers is Xavier's bread and butter... But she dares not say it.

    "...But, you know, I get it. You've probably seen a /ton/ of new vampires go totally sickhouse on people. But that's not me. It's not," Jubilee affirms. "And you can't blame me for being ticked at you saying it is." She takes a long, deep, pointless breath. Her vestigial lungs fill with unnecessary oxygen and then let it out slowly.

    "Anyway, we can just /drop/ it... I'll concede that you have your reasons to think I'm a fuck up if you concede that maybe I have my shit together and we can move on?" She turns again, giving her empty glass a nudge towards Chas.

    "I can fight. And I am uniquely attuned to the vampire situation, right? I /get it/... Seems like maybe I'm a good person to have on the team," Jubes suggests. "/Plus/... I'm really, you know, awesome to be around."

John Constantine has posed:
    "I'll conceded that it remains to be seen," John offers. It's honestly the best he can do because he *does* have experience in this department. "But if you want *in*, you have to listen to me. You can *never* question me when we're in the thick of it because it's not only vampires out there, Elvira." Here's to hoping he forgets that nickname eventually, huh?

    "John..." The 'be nice' is implied, it really is. But Chas takes the glass and replaces it with a new one, fresh and clean, blood warmed. Because who wants to drink out of a glass coated with stale blood?

    "Fine, *Chas*," John grits. "Jubilation," he can hardly say it with a straight face, that's probably the reason for the nickname in the first place. "... if you *don't* listen to me in the thick of it, someone might get dead and that someone might not be you. You don't want that hanging over you. If I say run, you run, if I say duck, you duck, if I say cluck like a chicken, you do it... because it might just be part of the spell I'm working. Out there, fighting this shite, until you *know* all the ins and outs, I'm General John."

Jubilation Lee has posed:
    "Was that so hard?" Jubilee teases. John's half-hearted concession is enough for her, it seems. Chas's objection to the Elvira nickname gets a shrug. "Oh, it's okay! I'd kill for that body!" Jubes says with a shrug. When John can barely get through her actual name, Jubilation shakes her head with a mock look of disappointment. "Jubilee, then. My friends call me Jubilee sometimes."

    Jubes smiles again at Chas, accepting the fresh glass. "I swear, you're really running this operation, aren't you?" she mutters, grinning as she does.

    "Fine," is Jubilation's answer to Constantine's conditions, but she shares one of her own. "On the grounds that you'll actually /teach/ the ins and outs, /General/, and not keep them to yourself. Deal?"

John Constantine has posed:
    "Remains to be seen," John mutters in regards to 'was that so hard'. He won't know the answer to that until he sees if this deal is going to come back and bite him in the ass.

    He pours himself his third scotch since Jubilation arrived and ... downs it. Man's been drinking a *lot* lately, even for him. John's also looking a little more pale than usual, dark circles a little darker than usual. He doesn't look *well*. But he's looked worse, so there's that.

    Chas is behind the bar, as per the norm, babysitting so John doesn't get too terribly nasty. "You know it," he replies along with a wink for the girl. "Just don't tell him that."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The door to the pub opens and a tall man wearing walks in, dressed for the chill in black jeans and a green sweater with a brown leather jacket over top. After one step and letting the door close behind him, he stops dead, staring around for a long moment. Something in his eyes glazes over as he looks around, and then he actually slaps himself across the cheek. Not hard, but enough to sting. Blinks a few times.

    "Well," he mutters in a crisp Southern England accent, "I'm not dreaming. Probably." His eyes narrow as he looks around the bar again, as if actually seeing it this time.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Right about then, the door to the Laughing Magician opens, and in sweeps a youngish looking woman with silver-gray hair and bright aqua contacts. She wears cathedral boots, ripped jeans, and a black leather jacket, and she is smoking, furiously. Her hair is tucked mostly up into her hat, and she stomps in, heels on those boots tapping a moment, and she points straight across the room, after Jon walks in, to the proprieter of the bar.

    "JOHNATHAN ST. AGATHA OF SICILLY CONSTANTINE!" she interrupts, trying to look all intimidating for her short stature, made up for by the boots.

Jubilation Lee has posed:
    Jubilation reaches up and rakes her fingers through her hair and then reaches out for the fresh glass Chas pours for her. It's full of a thick, red liquid and has just come out of a microwave oven. She brings it up to her lips and then hesitates when she hears Jonathan's voice. "This isn't some weird thing where I walked through the door but I'm in England now, right?" she asks Constantine, raising her eyebrows. She tilts the glass back and takes a gulp.

    The next arrival causes the red liquid to come shooting out of Jubilation's nose. "Your...middle name....is Saint Agatha of Sicilly?!" she cries out, eyes wide. Blood dribbles from her nose and onto the bar.

John Constantine has posed:
    No, no Jonathon, you are not dreaming. And look, there's John sitting on the very same stool he was that night so long ago. But wasn't that somewhere in Liverpool? Surrounded by a cloud of cigarette smoke, a bottle and a glass near the ashtray at his elbow, it's almost as if it was that night again.

    His attention snaps to the door when Sims walks in, first because of the odd ping of the wards in the back of his mind but then it's the sound of the voice. "What the bloody..." Hell are you doing here, although it didn't begin as if it was going to be a *bad* thing, he was actually *smiling*. He should do that more often.

    It doesn't last long though, his moment of .... happiness? Over seeing an old friend vanishes when Nettie comes in screaming at him. "Bloody fuckin' hell, *what*, Nettie?!"

    Chas? Bless his heart and soul, just murmurs quietly, "You might not want to be here for whatever this is, kid," for Jubilation's benefit. He looks like *he* doesn't want to be here for whatever this is...

Jonathan Sims has posed:

    Jon /firmly/ steps aside to be out of the way of the shouting woman, his eyes widening. Jubilation's comment actually gets a response from him, though it's through a half-daze: "...I certainly feel like I'm back in England. Actually, wait. Wait, I didn't... miss my flight, did I?" And then he actually pulls out his cell phone briefly, to check the GPS. Yeah, no, he's in New York City.

     Jon draws a hand down his face. He looks tired, and drawn, but also there's about to be a row of some sort and that'll be interesting at least.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "The day I breathe his full name, dear," Nettie says, stalking by Jon (with an apologetic smile to the younger man) "would be the day that I say goodbye to this handsome, roguish mug. I mean, lookit him. He's adorable." Nettie states, and seems in surprisingly high spirits as she taps past Jubilation -- and then pauses, and takes a step back. She looks over her a moment. Critical eye, and then gives a soft 'hm' and then taps over to John.

    "Even if he's an asshole. Seems your girl's a little paler than I recall from the description." she states to John, coming up and clapping the other mage on the back, and gives a wink to the bartender.

    "Hello, Chas~."

John Constantine has posed:
    John points to Jubilation first and says, "No, that is *not* my middle name." The he turns his attention to Nettie, that same finger still extended. He's about to tell her to stop... but then she's not ripping him a new one. Startled for a moment, he doesn't seem sure what to do next.

    Don't look a gift horse, John.

    "Not the same one, luv," he explains before his attention shifts back to Jon. He stands and walks over to meet the man at the door. "Just a ... little bit of home, aye?" he comments without explaining further. "You look a little off, mate? You all right?"

    "Devilishly handsome," he tosses over his shoulder at Nettie, but those faded denim blues of his quickly turn back to Jon, because... the man doesn't look well at all. Pot, have thou met Kettle?

Jubilation Lee has posed:
    Jubilee drags the back of her hand across her nose and mouth, pulling away the blood dribbling out of her nose. Never laugh when you're drinking! "Not my type. Too many miles," Jubilee replies, grinning up from her seat at Nettie. Her smile fades, though. "Paler! I... Hold on..." Jubes stares at the opposite wall, a gentle frown knitted across her brow. The color begins to return to her face, first at her cheeks, then her forehead, and then her chin.

    "Better?" she asks, eyebrows hiked up.

    With a big grin on her face, Jubilation spins around on her stool and leans forward towards Chas. "Who are these people?" she whispers.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Well, now I /know/ I'm not in England, because that didn't actually lead to a fight," Jon says with a smirk that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He paces over toward the bar, glancing around with another frown. "...But it really /is/ remarkably similar. Right down to..." He pauses. Peers down at the bartop, eyes narrowing. He reaches out his hand to feel at a nick in the wood, as if checking to see if it's there. "What in the bloody..."

    Abruptly Jon shakes himself, shaking his head rapidly as if trying to get rid of whatever thoughts are bothering him. His tone is evasive when he finally turns to John, shifting a glance to Nettie and Jubilation before addressing the owner: "I've been better. I, ahh. I was. Reminded of..." He eyes the women again, with the look of a man trying very hard to figure out how to lie about something and not being very good at it. Finally he gives up, and slumps onto a barstool.

    "I needed a drink," he finally admits bluntly, though clearly that's /not/ the thing he's been trying to figure out how not to say.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "'These people' have ears, poppet." Nettie states, and she does not sit in John's seat -- that would be bad.

    "So wait, now you're taking on multiple teenage girls to teach? ... I'm..." Nettie blinks. "Impressed, actually. That's a whole new leaf for you. On a tree that I wasn't going to expect... really..." she purses her lips, and then looks to Jubilee.

    "Nettie. John and I go back a ways. He's one of my very best friends." the woman gives a smile, but doesn't offer a hand. "And your name?" she inquires, eyebrows rising up as she gives a very toothy smile.

    "And trust me, dear --" she looks to Sims, peering at the man, "John and I do have business, but it's not befitting a wee girl to be about when we discuss it. So at the moment, we're only prolonging... which I'm sure John will have a very good explaination for." she states.

John Constantine has posed:
    "I'm all about the authentication," John remarks, still vague. "Reminded of..." he prompts before shooting Nettie a... 'I'm not sure what to do with this' look. But he stays on Jon, as close as he ever gets anyway. "Jon, I think you know, Chas," he gestures toward the cabbie behind the bar that Jon may have met a time or two or at least spoke with on the phone. "...and this is Nettie and... that's Elvira." He points to Nettie and Jubilation in turn. "This is Jonathon Sims, an old friend. Haven't seen or talked to him since right before... my hiatus."

    Ravenscar, his 'hiatus'.

    "Scotch then?" Chas asks before assuming and just pouring the poor man a double of the stuff, near a triple truth be told. "On the house." Because they can make money that way right? Bar's not really here to turn a profit though.

    Then suddenly, his expression changes to 'I got this, Nets', because *this* is much better than whatever *that* is that Nettie wants to talk about.

    "Didn't know you were in the States, mate," he informs Jon. "Woulda looked ya up or something? What brings you across the pond?" Maybe, just maybe, if he can set Sims into one of his talking jags that goes on and on and on and on and then on a little longer, NettieBusiness can be avoided for another day or twelve. He has not forgotten that four hour long conversation about the different types of clouds and the differences between them.

Jubilation Lee has posed:
    "I like to think I'm teaching him a thing or two, too," Jubilee adds, smiling up at Nettie. She tilts her head towards John for a moment, expecting to see the world's biggest glare in her eye line, before turning back to Nettie.

    "Like my /name/. It's not Elvira. It's Jubilation," she introduces. "Jubilation Lee. Jubilee." She flashes the other woman a big toothy grin, though toothy in this case involves a set of razor sharp fangs she can't seem to retract.

    Jubes peers down at the glass of thick, red liquid in her hand and smiles. She brings it up to her lips, eager to finish it off, but something terribly confusing happens. Jubes sets the glass down, her mouth agape, as she watches John Constantine carry on a conversation with Jon Without An H. It's...friendly. Jubilee turns to look at Chas, giving him a 'what the hell?' kind of look.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Actually," Jon says, "I've been in the States since just before you stopped calling. I was at Columbia, remember?" A pause. "No, no, you were probably too drunk to remember." He says it without judgement, almost fondly. There's a pause, a furrowing of his brow. He opens his mouth like he's about to ask something, then glances between Nettie and Jubilation again. He grabs the scotch with a nod of thanks to Chas and downs it in one go, wincing at the burn.

    "Ahh. Damn. Yes, ahh... Jonathan Sims. MD, actually, now, but uhh... 'Jon' is fine. Pleasure to meet you both, Nettie, Jubilation-not-Elvira." He smiles to Jubilation and Nettie both, though again it doesn't reach his eyes.

    Then up puts up his hands. "And far be it from me to get in the way of whatever row was brewing when I walked in. Please, once Ms. Lee has left, feel free to continue." He's a dirty traitor, is what he is.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie's eyes soften a little as she looks to Jon and John.

    "That's not a discussion you get to have very often, boyo. I'll leave you to it." she states to the two, and sits down to the other side of Jubilee.

    "I thought all the adults knew each other." she states to Chas softly with concern, "At least he's not one of the pick-ups. I'd hate to drag someone out into the street." she states. "If I could have a gin, Chas dear?" she asks, blinking her eyes all innocently, and then she turns, and she looks to Jubilee.

    "You look like you need an explaination."

John Constantine has posed:
    John catches his lip between his teeth, just the lower left corner of it and shakes his head ever so slightly. 'C'mon, man, be a bro'... that's the message there. But his expression and his tone soften just a bit when he asks, "Seriously, something brought you through that door tonight," he nods toward the door, "...and it wasn't a drink. What was it?"

    Chas stagewhispers for Jubilee's benefit, "It's a miracle." It's really not though. Jon's obviously ... rattled by something so there's that. He's an *asshole*, not a total dick and this bloke's a friend. There's also the fact that he's definitely *avoiding* NettieBusiness and what better way than helping an old friend?

    He fishes his pack of Silk Cuts from his pocket and holds it out to Jon in offering.

    Chas serves up Nettie's gin lickety split and asks, "What'd he do *now*?" Voice lowered, but not a whisper.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon takes a cigarette from the pack and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a lighter that Constatine at least would recognize, a golden Zippo with a spiderweb design; both the lighter and the gold finger on the third finger of his left hand catch the light as he does so. The second is newer. He lights the cigarette and takes a long drag, frowning, then stuffs the lighter back into his jacket pocket.

    Jon tilts his head, like he's listening to something, and then shrugs as if to say, 'well alright then.'

    "I had a dream about you." Jon takes another long drag on the cigarette. "I think, given the contents, I can forgive you from dropping off the face of the Earth. Martin--" He stops. Swallows, as something pained flickers through his expression. "Martin was worried. Spent a bunch of time checking the morgues."

Jubilation Lee has posed:
    "Well... Jon...Welcome to the good old US of A!" Jubilee announces with a smile. She raises her glass into the air, blood sloshing around inside it as she does. Her smile fades, just a bit, as Nettie comes around and takes the seat on the other side of her. She looks over her shoulder at the other woman and shrugs her shoulders.

    "Do you mean... I need to receive an explanation? Or I need to be explained?" Jubes answers before knocking back the remainder of her glass. She sets the empty down on the bar and reaches up so she can pull her hair into a tight ponytail. With that handled, she hops off her stool.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "I don't need to have an explaination for you, Poppet. John takes on hard cases all the time. 'Neath all the thorns and vinegar is one of the kindest men I've ever had the pleasure of working alongside." Nettle states Jubes steps off her stool. She reaches, stealing John's ash tray, and stubs her own cigarette out in it. "And I've known him about as long as you've been alive, I wager. But what he's discussin' over there is his business, and if you are *smart* you'll leave him to it. My boyo's already in a world of trouble, which is what I came to talk to him about. It's not business for wee girls who are just getting their toes wet." she points out gently. "Nothing against you or the assumptions of your capability. But I know John, and he's saved my existence once or twice."

    Not life. Existence.

    Nettie looks at Chas, and she reaches into the pocket of her jacket, and pulls out another cigarette as she pulls over her gin. She taps her side, and then brings her finger up to her cigarette and lights it with her finger, since no one but Jubilee and Chas would be watching her, and she reaches into her bag, and pulls out a tarot card.

    "Had a bit of a night where I couldn't sleep workin' over lesson plans. Took on two apprentices myself, felt maybe it was time to try again after what happened to my last group." she states.

    Nettie having apprentices before might even be news to Chas. Especially given how even close contact with her, at length, begins to seep Death.

    "So I picked myself up a set of cards from the storefront and gave them a turn. I had a *vision*. Just a couple seconds. Haven't gone to Paulie with it yet, but--" Nettie pauses to whet her whistle, and slides the card over, face-down to Chas.

John Constantine has posed:
    "I'm sorry, he was a good man," John murmurs first and foremost. It's not that he's heard anything about Martin's passing, it's because he *knows* that look. He's worn that look, so many times. But then the rest of what Jon's said catches up in his brain and he pales even more than he was already pale. White as a sheet. "...what were the contents?" It's tentative, a quality rarely heard in John Constantine's voice. It's almost as if he doesn't want to know the answer.

    Chas's attention shifts to the two other men, drawn by that tone from John.

    Distracted, John says, "Elvira... stay clear of it all on your own, it's too dangerous, luv," when she stands. His attention, those faded denim blues never leave Jon though. He's waiting, terrified... a little horrified even... for the answer to his question.

    With almost the same expression as John, Chas takes the card and flips it over.

Jubilation Lee has posed:
    Jubilation's expression flattens at being called a hard case, but she lets it go. "What do you mean he's in trouble?" she asks defiantly. She turns to look at John, and then Chas, before settling on Nettie again. "What kind of trouble?" It's not her business, but that doesn't stop her from sticking her nose in it.

    Nettie's suggestion that she leave is chilling, but it also sets off a Rube Goldberg machine of practicality in young Jubilation's mind. Hell's Kitchen to Grand Central Station. That's fine. But then there's the trip to Westchester and, unfortunately, she's racing against the sun.

    John's directive to stay clear of it, despite getting her name wrong /again/, is enough to push Jubes over the edge. He told her to just blindly do everything he says and, while that's never been in the cards for her, she's not getting kicked out on her first day.

    "Alright, I'm going, I'm going," she mutters. "I have to get back before daytime, anyway..." It's a long ride back. Jubilee waves her hand in the air, certain she'll see this crew again. "Good night... Chas, I hope you win!" Jubilee points at the weird deck of cards that they're apparently using the play a game. As her final act of defiance, Jubilee brings her hand to her mouth and uses it to blow a kiss in Constantine's direction, so sure that he'll hate her for it.

    Jubilee sticks her hand into the air and flashes a peace sign for all to see as she makes her way to the door. She's taking normal steps, it seems, but she appears to be gliding on air... Weird!

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon doesn't answer right off. He takes a long, slow drag on the cigarette, maybe to recover from the way he flinched at 'he was a good man.' But then he says, slowly, "I used to think you were crazy, you know? When you'd call me at all hours rambling about vampires and succubi and magic. 'That nutter,' Martin used to call you. 'Stop listening to that nutter, Jon, vampires aren't a thing.'"

    Another long drag on the cigarette. He's facing away from Chas and Nettie; he watches Jubilaton leave but keeps talking in an easy, regular cadence. "Then I came to New York, and went into residency, and went to Gotham and Metropolis and... well. Maybe you weren't a nutter, I thought. Maybe you were mistaking mutants and supervillains for all of those things. I mean, the literal Norse god of mischief attacked New York and swelled my practice with people who had PTSD in the aftermath. Maybe there's a rational explanation for everything."

    "But then a few weeks ago I woke up from a dream about my missing friend. His whole life, laid out in every details. And I brushed it off, my mind making up stories because I'd read something about the 'Laughing Magician,' but... well..." He hooks a thumb behind him. "The Devil," he states. "And 'Tick Tock John' is written on the card. I suppose if my dream was correct, Ms. Crowe has every reason to be furious with you. Foolish thing to do."

    At no point had anyone said Nettie's last name was Crowe, though that /could/ be him knowing in general.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie gives a wave to Jubilee, absent a bit while she has things to attend to -- but as Chas flips the card over, and The Devil is certainly there. Tick Tock John is written on it as if the card is in reverse.

    And Nettie looks at Jon-with-no-H. Her expression turns absolutely cold as the youngster makes her exit, and she draws herself up to a stand on the footrest beneath the bar.

    "Well. You can't leave us in the dark, John. Who's this gentleman, and how the bloody *fuck* does he know my last name?" she asks. All that cool exterior melts away, and it's true. Nettie is positively furious. "Because the rest of my cards were burned into the table, and just this one was left in the middle where my Hanged Man once was. So. You better have an excellent explaination for both this gentleman, this card, and the vision I had of your Friend Below--" her voice is rising in a steady crescendo now, because not only is she furious, and upset, but she is worried. So very, very worried, to the point of her eyes watering up "-- AUCTIONING OFF YOUR THRICE-DAMNED SOUL FOR TORTURE."

    And she slams her palm down on the table. "/DAMNIT JOHN/."

John Constantine has posed:
    His whole life... every detail. John looks a little like he's going to be sick. His mouth opens as if he wants to say *something*, but nothing comes out. His *whole* life. Astra? Ravenscar? Nergal? all of it? *All of it*?

    Chas' eyes widen when he flips the card, then narrow when they shift toward John.

    Chas is a Big Man. Typically he's just a big old Teddy Bear of a big man, but he's big. So it might be a little surprising how quickly he's *over* the bar, has John by the lapels of his coat and is shaking him *violently* as if he's nothing more than a little rag doll. "WHAT DID YOU *DO*, JOHN?!! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!!". He's also very loud when he wants to be. He's also being *really* rough with a much smaller and slightly shocked by *all of it*, John.

    Certainly Chas wouldn't *hurt* him, but the man's so damned enraged by what he knows that card means that he's actually spitting when he speaks.

    Sorry Nettie, he has no answer at the moment, his brains are being rattled about in his skull like it's some sort of maraca.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    It's Jon that responds, a kind of infinite sorrow in his voice. "He made a deal. I believe not the first one; I don't know all the particulars. Unlike with most things, I don't remember every detail of my dreams." He swallows. "But. Ahh. One year from the time of the deal, to ensure that this particular demon is the sole owner of his soul, in return for protection for others he cares about."

    Brown eyes track to look at Nettie. "Like he said. I'm Jonathan Sims." A beat. "The Archivist." He blinks a few times. "Hunh. That actually sounds... hunh. That fits."

    Then he shakes himself and reaches out, gently, toward Chas. Not putting a hand on the larger man, but more of a pacifying gesture. "Ms. Crowe and I walked in at the same time. Whatever powers of harmony exist in the universe clearly want to save him this trip to... Hell, yes? Hell is an actual, real thing, is it?"

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Chas, he can't aswer if you turn his brain into Yogurt, and I definitely don't want to explain that one to Paulie." Nettie states quietly, though she does drain her gin. She reaches for the bottle, but is too short to reach. She gives a sad face.

    "Less than a year, now. You cut a deal with /fuckin' N/, John. /Again/." she hisses, and then she brings her hands up and shakes her head.

    "Annette Crowe. Call me Nettie. You don't want to archive anything about me, squire." she mutters "More of a shite life than most have. Forgive me for not shakin' hands." she states, and then mumbles a word, and crosses her thumb over her forehead to try a defensive spell to keep out prying eyes.

    "Aye. Not one of his friends wants to see John put into Hell, which now I assume includes yourself, Mr. Sims." Nettie states, her outburst having drained most of her anger.

John Constantine has posed:
    Chas *shoves* John away from him suddenly, like his best mate is a snake that might bite him... or like he might kill the guy if he remains in close proximity. "A *year*?" he spits out. "To protect who?" But then the big bear of a man just tosses his hands in the air and says, "I can't right now... No, I can't..." and storms off toward the back to cool off.

    John lands on his ass when he's shoved. "Bollocks," he mutters as he's pushing himself back to his feet, slowly. He spins to face Nettie, "The *fucking world* was ending as we know it. I was *dead* anyway..." Or so he thought, but once again, he survived the unsurviveable. "I was fuckin' making sure the lot of you would be *safe* in what followed if you survived the Demogorge's bullshite. I'll *figure it out*."

    Too much happening at once, his jaw clenches shut tight as his eyes for a second, the little muscle in his cheek strained and twitching. "Archivist?" What? Catch up John. His head's spinning from the rattling, he's a little drunk. He'll get there. "No..." Just a tiny shake of his head before he opens his eyes and looks at Jon. "Gertie's the Archivist. I *know* because I fuckin' call her once a bloody week."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks at the other John slowly. "She's dead," he says, tone suddenly bitter, snappish. "She's dead, and she left me some title I don't understand and enemies that showed up when I went home to handle the details and killed my husband, and I /just/ got back from both funerals today and couldn't face the empty flat. So here I am, checking up on you, because you've evidently called my /grandmother/ more than me all these years and..."

    He stops. Closes his eyes. Counts backwards from ten, slowly. "Thank you, Nettie," he says. "It's... this is... very, very new. I don't /mean/ to peer into people's heads, it just keeps... happening." He sounds irritated by the fact. "And mirroring their moods, which is... not ideal."

    Then, "No, you know what, I think this anger /is/ mine. You don't call for eleven years, and then I get your life story dumped into my head because some higher power wants me to come help save your arse from a deal you made, which is perfectly reasonable on its face except that I think your friends, yes including me, would rather have you around than heroically sacrificing yourself, Demogorge or no." A pause. "What's the--no, no, I am asking questions /later./ Later. Right now, I am angry. Because... because... honestly, because for /just/ a moment I thought maybe /someone/ I cared about wasn't dead or dying." He glares at John.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "He's not dead or dying yet. We can always duct tape him to his sunshine girl. That'll be enough to piss him off, piss her off, and pretty sure no demon's going to get within a mile of that girl once she's properly trained up and rightly possessing of a sense of what she can do." Nettie states, and she takes a deep drag off her cigarette, and though she is plainly furious, John's just got news that someone he wasn't expecting to pass... has passed. And even she's got a sense of propriety where that's concerned. She stands, and though she's short, she walks up to the two, and she looks at Jon.

    "You. Sit at the bar." she states in a voice that brokers no argument, and then she looks to John.

    "You. Get me the bottle of gin, and we're going to sit and have a little chat. Because right now..." she takes a breath, and looks up with a 'fuck me' expression -- and not in the /fun/ 'fuck me' expression way.

    "We're going to need details. You decided to damn yourself a fourth time to protect people. We're going to need names. Who holds the contract? Your friend below, I wager, and we can't simply walk into Hell and take it." she considers, , that hand-rolled cigarette getting dangerously close to her fingers. The tips are stained yellow again; she's been stressed.

John Constantine has posed:
    "How could I, mate? You saw it..." *ALL OF IT*. "I couldn't." Call in those eleven years that is. "I wanted to. You don't *know* how many times I dialed every bloody number but the last one. I couldn't drag you into it."

    John's hands lift to the side of his head, not touching just hovering there. "Just STOP! Give me a fuckin' minute!" He holds a finger out in Nettie's direction without really looking at her. Don't. Just. Don't.

    "Assassins..." Because right now, that's the important bit to *him*. He walks toward Jon, right up in his personal space, muttering something under his breath along the way. Might be Latin? But it's hard to say until the last bit in English that he says loudly. "Show me..." But before he says that last bit, John jabs at Jon's forehead with the index finger of his left hand and places the one of his right on his own... right above the eyes, in the middle, where one might imagine a third eye would open. He's not 'digging' in Jon's mind, save for that one particular detail, show him the attack, the *assassins*.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon's expression goes slack and he starts to speak. John gets visuals to add to the monologue, but everyone else around can hear the resonant, sonorous voice, with that hint of 'English theatre training' alongside sounding painfully more posh than it really is.

    "I'm in Gran Gertrude's flat, going through her things. She has more artifacts than I remember, and I'm picking up the statue of Thoth, it's calling to me, and something about that explains the dreams..." A pause, brief. "And then there's a crash, and Martin's shouting something. I turn to look, and a group of people's broken down the door to Gran's flat. Martin demands to know what they're doing but they say nothing. They're focused on me. I need to remember, for a police report."

    And John gets a /good/ image of the group of assassins, a clear view, pristine in the mind of the Archivist.

    Jon is still talking. "My tongue is thick with static and there's an odd whine in my ears as I repeat Martin's question. The static flows out on the words and they actually stop and respond. They tell me they're here to kill the Archivist. I take a step back. /I'm/ the Archivist. I didn't know that until this moment, but I /Know/ it, a thing True in the eyes of the gods. They are here to kill me."

    "Martin seems to understand that without being told. He yells at me to run, and launches himself at the men. He is dead before I can react, a knife in his chest. I cannot let his death be in vain. I run."

    There are tears streaming down Jon's brown cheeks by the time he's done, but he looks dazed as he blinks himself out of the trance. "Wha...? What was...?"

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "That's spellwork, lad." Nettie states, and she's a good lot more gentle than she was momentarily. Her anger at John's put aside. For now.

    She reaches and grabs on Jon's sleave, and lifts his hand a moment, and then she very gently reaches up and wipes at the tears in his eyes with a hankie, careful to not touch his skin.

    She breathes out, and then takes a step back, holding her hands up for a moment and murmuring gently. "I'll make some tea. Just... sit down. The two of you. Can't stand to see people mournin' and angry at one another. Nothing good comes of it." she mumbles, and she goes to get mugs. They serve coffee here sometimes, they've got to have mugs, right?

John Constantine has posed:
    John's hand drops away from Jon's forehead. "No. Nononono," he mumbles quietly. "*Fuck*," hissed, almost growled. "Why..." Whispered, not like 'why me' or 'why Martin' or 'Why Gertie', but literally *why*, like he's missing something. He reaches up to place one hand on the side of Jon's face, down a little... near his jaw. "Hey," he sort of snaps, just to garner attention. "I got this, they're gonna pay."

    ...no other details, but that's John Constantine. Talk of his deal is forgotten and he *obviously* knows something the rest of the room doesn't and he really doesn't seem as if he's going to share with the rest of the class.

    "It's more than that," he says to Nettie. "It's passed on to him now." His brow furrows just a little, his voice drops and his attention goes back to Jon fully. "I called her so it could all... the things I *know*, what I've *seen*... Hell, Heaven, the spaces between... someone *needed* to record it all, remember it when I'm gone." He nods his head toward the bar. "Have some tea."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Something about the word 'tea' has Jon misty-eyed again, but he reaches up to brush it away. "Yes, that's what I'm... gathering. We had a long talk, in my dreams. Gran and I. I... don't remember everything." That seems to bother him, but he presses on, his tone becoming more detached as he moves to sit down again. "The Archivist has existed for millenia, a living recorder, a repository of information. However horrible your life has been, Nettie, I /absolutely/ want to Archive it, which is... not a judgement or statement of..."

    He reaches a hand up to run it through his hair, frustration suddenly entering his tone. "I don't understand /any/ of this, and I want to. I /need/ to. It's like... it's there, this itch in the back of my mind that won't go away." He shakes a hand at the back of his head to demonstrate. "Like I haven't had a smoke in a decade. Who are all of you, really? Is magic real? If magic's real, how does it work? Who is the Demigorge? Who is this demon? How is Hell even a thing? Is Heaven a thing? If Heaven and Hell are real /and/ I serve Thoth then someone had better call the Pope, because there's a great deal of misunderstanding about the actual nature of the universe." The last is said half-jokingly, but he's resting his elbow on the bar and his head on his hand, looking tired. "What did you just do? What did you see that I'm not understanding? Who killed Martin? Who wants to kill /me/? Why didn't Gran ever... /tell/ me any of this?" That's a little plaintive. "Have I /always/ been meant for this? Is that why I became a psychiatrist?"

    He shakes his head and swallows, looks over to Nettie. "Thank you," he says softly. He frowns and swings his gaze back to John. "Let me help you," he says, almost pleading. "Christ, that's ridiculous. I don't /know/ anything about anything, anymore. But I can't lose anyone else, either."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Well gee. I wonder what an Archivist does, and how he knew my last name was Crowe, and why I had to ward my brain so that he doesn't get my story, because -- no offense, Jon, you seem like a good lad, just a wee bit stressed right now -- mine's not that important in the grand scheme of things." Nettie mutters, and she sets about. Kettle is on a burner. She doesn't quite feel comfortable behind the bar, everything's sized for bigger hands to work it. And she just breathes out, and does what Nettie Crowe does best -- bury it.

    "No, dear. /I/ don't want my life recorded. It was supposed to end when I was fourteen. And that-" she glances to John "Is all that needs to be said on the subject. I'm not what's important right at this moment." she takes a deep breath, and she considers. "... I had one of the Pope's numbers, by chance. But I don't think it works anymore."

    She rinses mugs with hot water. Four of them. The ritual is a familiar practice for her.

    "Well, if I may chat a bit -- magic is real. My name really is Annette Crowe, and I was supposed to die at fourteen after doing something very stupid. But magic fixed it." she taps the mugs a moment "Mostly."

    "Magic is the application of will through condiuts like spellwork, or ki, or tien, or ka on the world around us. Heaven and Hell are both real -- in various forms, since there was just the whole Demigorge issue where Death was a bit messed up -- but John knows that all better than I do. I just did some babysitting." Nettie gives a small, gentle smile.

    "... an' I never told my nieces or newphews, or grand-nieces and nephews of their birthright, because my brother forbade it. So. Think of that what you will. I reckon not everyone has such callings."

    She digs into her vest, and she sets a couple of teabags in the pot to brew.

    "Oi! Chas? You calmer now, young man?"

John Constantine has posed:
    John's head tilts ever so slightly to the side when he shakes it. He has one hand doubled into a fist that just sort of bounces a little right at chin level before it drops to his side. His teeth catch his lower lip again and that side to side motion of his head becomes a little more insistent, quicker if not bigger. "You *saw*, Jon. Don't ask me that. You can't ask me that..."

    All the people he's lost, all the people that have either died violently or turned away from him because they couldn't *handle' what he does. If Jon got the whole thing, the entirety of Constantine's life, he saw all of that as well.

    "It won't be *me* that's lost..."

    "I can't look at him yet, Nettie!" Chas calls out from somewhere in the back, but that doesn't mean he hasn't been listening.

    "I'll handle it, mate. I promise you that, they'll *pay*." Seems he intends to start working toward that end *right now* because he's heading for the 'other' back, not the kitchen back but the backroom where there's things and stuff and books and spells and ingredients and baubles that are spelled.

    He's about halfway there when he staggers and almost hits his knees. "Bollocks!" Another stagger, down on one knee. "Not *now*, Elvira," he mutters under his breath.

    Pale turns to ghostly so, his hands shake. His first attempt to stand fails, second he manages it. "Not now, not now..." he repeats like a mantra. "... bloody hell, I *hate* this day."

Jonathan Sims has posed:

    Jon holds up his hands. "No, no, I... respect your desire to not be Archived. I don't /want/ to pry into people's private business." He pauses. Wrinkles his nose and frowns. "Well, no, no, I /do,/ but I very much respect privacy and confidentality and even if you /did/ tell me your story nobody /else/ would hear it if I could help it. Except the next Archivist, I suppose. But I am not going to insist. Your business is your own." A pause, then, "We /all/ matter in the grand scheme of things, though. Every life is unique and valuable."

    He sighs, then, scrubs both hands through his hair. "He was /my/ husband, John, you do not get to... to take /retaliation/ away from me just because--" He stops. Brow furrows, staring toward the other man.

    Then he's out of his seat and moving over toward John, kneeling down beside him. He reaches out a hand to take Jon's wrist and press his fingers into the blood vessels on the inside, to press the back of his other hand to the man's forehead and then thumb back his eyelids. "Elvira... Ms. Lee? What does she have to do with..." A pause, and then he looks at the man quite sternly. "You are going to need to give me a good reason /not/ to put you in an ambulance to get you treated for shock." He /did/ say he was an MD, and there's more authority in his voice now than John would remember. "At the very least I think I will have to insist you get some food, and surely there must be juice in this bar?"

Marc Spector has posed:
    The door opens and lets a regular in once more. Jake doesn't look good, but then again he rarely does. Hands stuffed in the pockets of his weather beaten coat; his shirt and jeans looking like they could use a run through a washing machine last week and his boots. Well, they're at least in decent condition if well worn.

    He tosses the butt of a cigarette out the door before it closes behind him and tugs the bill of his newsboy hat down a bit lower as he exhales a long billow of smoke. "Ey... Chas! I need a..." he begins and then looks up to see that there are those in the room that he knows. Some he doesn't. And one he wasn't expecting.

    "Doc?" he says to Jon Sims; his Chicago accent bleeding through even more than usual. "What the fuck you doin' in a joint like this?" Constantine's kneeling on the ground doesn't seemt to phase him much, after all the last time he was in here the man was doing low-level necromancy and speaking to corpses, so this is paltry by comparison.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Not mine, poppet. Not mine." Nettie gently smiles at Jon. "I know you're trying but like I said, I'm not the--"

    And she pauses a moment as John goes down. "John? -- /JOHN/!" Nettie cries out. The tea is momentarily forgotten, and she dives for the other magician. This one she's a little more careless touching, putting her arm around his shoulder as she turns and looks up at the new guy walking in, and then she calls out "CHAS!" towards the back, and points at Jake. "You! Lad, lock the door behind you.

    ANd then she whispers something quietly, and she holds John tightly.

    And her eyes narrow.

    "Oh, my poor, soft-hearted boyo, what have you *done*?" she mutters.

    "I don't think this is one that the medical field is going to be able to... field. CHAS -- is the girl upstairs?" she calls out again.

    "Here, help me get him up and to a Booth. Something with a back so he doesn't fall off and crack his head."

John Constantine has posed:
    "Because a hospital can't treat a bloody spell," John snips in return, voice strained, irritated, but pitched low in the hopes Nettie doesn't hear him, but then she's there already with the knowing of it all and the telling.

    "Grab what you want, Jake, I'm not looking at John right now," Chas calls from the back. Oh but it's *killing* him to not run out when he hears talk of shock and ambulances. "Someone just let me know if he passes the fuck out or dies! Because I think I might break his nose if he's done something else insanely *stupid*. I think she is!"

    "Just give me a minute, it'll pass," John mumbles. ...as soon as Jubilation stops munching on bunnies for dinner. "I *hate* this fuckin' day," he repeats his earlier sentiment. "Just... gimme a minute." Truly it already seems to be starting to pass. That is to say, he doesn't seem to be getting any worse. "She stopped." Just a beat and he adds, "I had to, Nettie. I had to make sure she didn't kill anyone. She couldn't live with that."

    Well, what the Hell, everything else is out there in the open for all and sundry to know. "The assassins, they... all had tattoos on their necks. They're connected to my 'friend from below'."

Jonathan Sims has posed:

    As Nettie moves, Jon's entire attitude shifts. He goes from "I'm the authority" to "Nettie is the authority" within moments; he nods and shifts to help Nettie get John into a booth. He waves a hand at Jake as he does so. "In a minute. Do as she says."

    He looks to Nettie, half-ignoring John. "So it /is/ blood loss, just... blood loss because of a spell connected to... Elvira. She was drinking blood. Vampire. What the hell, why not? Vampires." He sighs. "What /would/ help? Is he actually losing blood or just... mimicking the effects?" Shocker, he doesn't trust /John Constantine/ to be honest about his own physical health.

Marc Spector has posed:
    "Every fuckin' time" Jake mutters as he reaches behind him and locks the door. He moves to the bar and reaches over for a shot glass and a bottle of dark liquid. He pours himself a shot and downs it before pouring another. He turns and looks at the group settling John into a booth.

    "It's like I told Chas, trucking with spirits and weird shit never ends well for anyone." He downs another shot, pours another, and sips at this one. "Kinda wish you were in a better condition. Got a letter for you from... uh..." He glances at Nettie for a moment and then says, "Our friend that wears a lot of white."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    JOhn's placed in a Booth, and Nettie begins to tap on her vest and pull things out.

    A wand. Some small crystal balls the size of bullseye marbles. A deck of very, very old cards that are wrapped in a silk.

    "Mr. Sims, if you would please sit to the other side of the booth. New guy -- Hallo, I'm Nettie, I'm one of John's friends, pleasure to meet you. Is this in regards to a dark haired teenage girl and is this in regards to the overly perky one who stole my seat or the one with the cunt of a cousin? If so, it may have to wait a moment until he's fucking *functional*" she asks, setting up some sort of divination ritual. Unlike John, she's been out of it so long, she's forgotten some of the cheats.

    "And I suspect that he did something dumb, because this man is secretly the biggest fucking *softie* on the planet.

    And she takes a blade from her bag, brings it to her palm and slices accross it, and then presses it to the white cloth.

    "For the love of the All-Seeing, Show Me what was Done?"

John Constantine has posed:
    "Stop fussin'. I'm *fine*," John grouses. He's no longer falling over, just looks like he's about to. His voice is just a little *whiny* and he might even kick his feet under the table a few times when he asks Jake, "What the bloody hell does *he* want?"

    FUCK THIS DAY!

    His hand trembles though when he raises it to his forehead. "Why does *he* want you dead?" It's more to himself than anyone in the room. "Doesn't have anything to do with me. It can't... so why..." Babbling, first sign of 'overdrive to fix the problem'. "Why would someone want..." He stops mid sentence to aside to Nettie, "Can't be broken without the amulet." ... then right back where he left off. "...kill an Archivist."

    DING! He's still pale as a ghost, shaking like a leaf, but he's actually shoving himself up from the booth. "I got it. I got it. They wanted it. *He* wants it. But who? Someone in the family." BABBLE! Manic, that's the only way to describe it, that wild look in his red-rimmed blue eyes. If someone doesn't stop him, he's on his way back to that backroom again.

    ...and Nettie will see what was done and also see that the spell can't be broken without the amulet.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon moves to the other side of the booth as directed, sits still, and frowns at Jake. Looks up to the ceiling. "Yes, yes, I know," he grumbles, clearly annoyed at something.

    But then John is moving. Jake's too far away, and Nettie's performing a spell, so he slides out and grabs John by the shoulders. "John! You need to sit down. You can go do whatever you need to do once you let Nettie finishes her spell. Okay? First, sit down. Then whatever else it is you need."

    A pause, and then an odd static that those with magical ability might sense: "/What are you talking about? Who is trying to kill me/?" Jon blinks and shakes his head. "Sorry. Sorry. Ahh... /damn/ that's... I need to learn how to stop doing that."

Marc Spector has posed:
    Jake answers Nettie first. "Teenager... the other two I've got no clue about." He sips more of the dark liquid. At the nonchalant cut on the woman's hand he arches a brow. "Great... more magic... Why do I come here again?" he mutters.

    Then he nods to Constantine. "I don't know. I don't ask question when he looms on a streetlamp and tosses an envelope to me. I just do as he says..." He rolls his neck. He's still a bit shook up from the encounter with Moon Knight probably. "Which was to bring it to you and make sure you read it. But... I'd listen to the two over you before you get up. I mean, one of them's got a knife so... might be a good idea to just stay put." He finishes the shot and pours yet another one as he pulls a simple white envelope from inside his coat and sets it on the bar.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie has John pinned inside a booth. Last time this happened was in a very different, very loud pub in Liverpoo-- no, no it might have been this pub. Just a very different night.

    And country. Magic is messy.

    "Damnit John Constantine--" Nettie growls, and she sweeps up her materials and looks to John.

    She reaches out and places *BOTH* hands on John's shoulders.

    "Lad. You're dumb at the moment. And I forgive you that because of all the fuckery you've been about for the vast majority of your life." she murmurs gently, "But for the love of God, John, this one. Just this once. Let me help you do this. I don't need you dying on me now, and neither do both the girls you decided to pick up." she murmurs, and she brings her hand up. She presses it gently to John's cheek, her aqua eyes looking to those faded denim. It's notably not the palm that's bleeding that she's pressing against him. That's in a fist against his shoulder. Waste not, and all.

    About that moment, a crow hops up onto the counter. It looks at Jake up and down.

    "I heard Fuckery, and all I see is some cabbie who's not the nice one."

John Constantine has posed:
    At first it seems like John might try to pull away, continue on. But the sound of his name being snapped? Yelled? His pale blue eyes focus on Jon. He nods a little bobble headed nod. "I need to sit down. I really do."

    ...and then he does, *hard*. "Fuck, I feel like *shite*." Do they make candles with twelve ends? Because he's been burning his at at least that many. "I'm sorry, Jon. I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to *see* all of that..." His life, his *fucked up* life. It's truly the stuff of nightmares, he has them often.

    Then Nettie's all talking and looking and... fuck his head's *spinning*. "*All of it*," he murmurs. Did his voice just *crack* a little? Oh, WHOA. It's been *killing* him since the second Jon confessed it. All the things Gertie was told, ALL of the things... are now in his friend's head. Probably things even *Nettie* doesn't know. Those faded denim blues flicker in Jon's direction and then away again. "How can you even look at me now, mate?" Back to Nettie, "I have to fix this. I can't let them hurt him." But his voice is quiet now, remorseful? Sad? Tired.

    "Just bring me the bloody letter, Jake." So he doesn't have to try and stand again.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon steps back as Nettie moves in, sits back down in the booth heavily, and pulls a pack of Silk Cuts out of his jacket. He pulls out the golden lighter again, shakes a cigarette from the pack and lights one, puts it in his mouth, then pulls out another and offers it to John. He'll offer another to Nettie and/or Jake, too, if they want.

    "You don't know what I've been doing since you've been... out of contact. The first person I ever sat down with as anything approaching a professional therapist had watched her children starve in No Man's Land. She'd done everything she could to save them--gone without food herself, had them sleep all day--but nothing helped. All three children, dead, because the United States government decided an entire city full of its own citizens wasn't worth bothering trying to save." There is a suppressed anger in his tone, a flickering light in his eyes. "The things you've seen, the things you've done... you /care/. You're /trying/. Maybe you're making bad decisions, but you're doing it for a reason. You're not... /indifferent./"

    Jon pauses. Then, "I'm... not Christian, John. I don't deal in Heaven and Hell. In absolutes. /Ma'at/, the principle the Archivist follows, isn't about that. It's about /balance/. The river ebbs and flows. People live, people die. Angels and demons are both part of the natural order, evidently. You walk between them; in some ways that puts you in balance in a way few people can claim to be."

    Then he adds, "Besides... if Thoth hasn't seen fit to judge you after Gran died and sent all that to him, who am I to do so? That's not my job. Never has been, really. I'm here to help people heal."

    "You should listen to her." Jon gestures at Nettie with his lit cigarette. "Let her help, if you won't let me help. We walked in together. That /means/ something."

    He glances at Jake, then says, "...Mind pouring another? Unless Nettie's making good on that gin. Or tea. I could really--" He stops, blinking at the crow.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Jake stares at the crow for a long moment then he looks at the bottle of liquid he's drinking and shakes his head. "Guess I'm not surprised, to be honest I expected talking animals sooner than now." He shakes his head, downs another drink and flips the shot glass over on the bartop.

    "Since when did stick up their ass doctors drink?" he asks, but he does reach over the bar and takes up another shot glass before pushing away from the bar and walking to the booth. The hand with the shot glass snatches the letter from the bar as well. It was his to deliver after all and one thing Jake Lockely is, is dependable.

    Once at the booth he sets shot glass and bottle before the doctor and then offers the letter to John. "Look, what you got going on here is none of my business. I keep my mouth shut, my head down, and just make deliveries like I'm told--whatever it may be. But..." he glances at the roughed up magus and says, "I'm no expert, but you look like you're taking on a lot of shit and maybe" he pauses, "it might be a good idea to delegate. You gots three people here" apparently he's including Chas, "sticking their neck out for you... maybe four, though I don't know what you and Moon got going on, just... it might be good to bring those people in to help once in a while."

    The amount of energy Jake used to say all that looked to wear on him and he rolls his shoulders. "But you don't got to listen to me. Just putting my two cents in from what I've been seeing."

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Just a figment of your drunken imagination, squire." Corvax states as he gives a huff, fluffing his feathers out, and then he hops off the bar, and onto John's stool, looks like he MIGHT be considering befouling it, and then he hops over to Nettie.

    Nettie is comforting John.

    "I know my lovely, I know. You're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, and you're not letting any one try to take the weight from you. You an' I have had the rough road, but your girl needs you. Paulie and Chas need you." She tilts his head forward, and she presses her forehead against his. "I need you. Here. On this side of the veil. Who else am I going to check my phone at odd hours to see messages from, right?" she asks gently.

    "I'm here now, so whatever it is, John my lad, it's together. Yeah?"

    Corvax croaks out. "Blah, blah blah. Either do it or don't, Constantine!"

John Constantine has posed:
    John's full attention shifts immediately to that fucking bird. Oh-no. His expression, the way his eyes narrow and the way his shoulders square. That means nothing good. Not right now anyway. Stand him up at the gates of Hell and he won't back down from the challenge, he's proven that on numerous occasions.

    That cracking, soft voice is gone when he says, "Move, Nettie." His hands are still shaking, he's still pale, but there's that fire in his eyes - figuratively for the moment. "I'm going to need a wee bit of your blood, Jon." Because he has a spell to perform and a family member to identify. "My best guess," he begins before he stands. "... someone wants you dead so someone else can pick up the mantle of Archivist. That means the someone else has to be a family member. That means... I can find them using your blood." And that's just what he intends to do.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks at the other John for a long moment, then pours himself a drink and downs it, wincing at the burn again. "I do not, in fact, have a stick 'so far up my arse I eat splinters with every meal,' Jake. Your knowledge of me is limited to a professional setting." A pause. "Which reminds me. I need to speak to Mr. Knight, if you could pass on the message? I'd really rather not contact him through normal channels, it... I have an ethical quandry I'd been trying to avoid, but evidently I'm /not allowed to just ignore it./" He casts an annoyed glance at the ceiling.

    Another shot poured and downed, and Jon seems fortified. He pushes himself up from the booth, putting the cigarette back in his mouth. "Right." There's terror in his eyes, but that only seems to have galvanized him. "Right. Let's find out who wants me dead, then, so we can track the bastards down and let Thoth judge them." It's... not a side of him anyone in the room has ever seen. But, then, none of them have seen him /afraid/, or know that when it comes to 'fight or flight' Jonathan Sims defaults to 'fight' regardless of his inability to throw a punch or a spell.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Jake steps away from the booth after delivering the letter and lets things go. "Uhh... if you guys are going to start flinging magic around again, I should probably... not interfere." He looks decidedly uncomfortable at the prospect. Since when did Doc get mixed up in magic. There was more here than he was aware of and it bothered him.

    "I'll just be over here..." He moves to a far booth and sits down hard. "Every. Fucking. Time," he grumbles as he reaches into his coat and withdraws a pack of cigarettes. They're not Silk Cuts (he's not British.) He pops one out, takes it in his teeth and lights it with a simple black Bic.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "All right, fine, let the bird bully you, but you're drawing from me. I've got my good deck with me. You've got shit left for anything other than your stupid will and all that fuckin' spite." Nettie states as she lights her own cigarette. Everyone smokes here. She grumpily looks at John.

    "Really. You're letting /Corvax/ bully you about now?" she mutters as she hops up out of the booth, and she tilts her head back.

    "We can break the familiar's neck. I'll be a wreck for a week, so I'd like it if you were to stop in, but the resultant sudden burst of extra energy could be used to act as catalyst."

    Nettie tilts her head back. "It'll just be awful and I'm going to need to order a live chicken"

    Corvax looks AGHAST. "... WOT."

    "You worked him up, wanker."

John Constantine has posed:
    "Will and spite, I got both in spades, Nettie," John agrees, almost proudly. "I got this." He vanishes into the backroom without another word to anyone else. He returns quickly though, not hard to find supplies when they've been used so many times in the past week.

    A gold bowl, a ritual dagger, some crushed up root of some sort and chalk for drawing a circle. That last bit, he does on the stage as it's the only floor space big enough. He does that in silence as well. Art, it's really the only way to describe it. He makes it look so easy, even with the slight shake to his hands, all those perfect sigils and swirls and letters from Ancient, long dead languages. It's a double this time, a circle in a circle, one meant to protect those outside from what's in and one to focus his own magic.

    With every move he makes, every line drawn, that stubbornness, that willful 'fuck you' attitude of his grows.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Nettie just gives an angry look to the crow, who appears to be mollified a bit and just gives a soft caw.

    "... well. I'm going to go and make sure Chas hasn't locked himself someplace and is cryin' like a wee tot. If he dies, come grab one of us." Nettie states sternly, "Otherwise, I'll be back in about ten minutes."

    And she pushes off where she was pushed to the side to, and heads back to the back to check on Chas.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    While John is off getting the ritual implements, Jon says idly to Jake, "Since the Powers That Be, including but not limited to Thoth, decided to send me multiple signs I needed to come make sure this arsehole doesn't get himself dragged down to Hell. Like I said, you don't know much about me." He smiles brightly at the man, not even seeming to realize that the question he's answering wasn't spoken aloud.

    And then John is back, and the Archivist is so fascinated to watch the spell that he barely manages to wave at Nettie as she leaves. He stands and walks over toward the stage, still puffing on his cigarette, watching in fascination.

Marc Spector has posed:
Jake stops mid-puff and looks at Jon, his eyes wide. "Uh... right Doc. I... I don't." His hand shakes as moves his attention to the Magus on the stage. This was /way/ above his pay grade. He just wanted to deliver the letter and get something to drink, but no. Now he's stuck here watching more magic and having Doc over there hearing his thoughts. Great fucking day to be a normie, right?

John Constantine has posed:
    John stands and carefully steps outside the circle to study his work. He bends to pick up the dagger and offers it to Jon hilt first. "I can do it if you can't." Cut himself that is. "Palm's easiest. I need enough to coat the bottom of the bowl and a little up the sides." Coat, not fill.

    "Fuck me, she's pissed," he mutters after Nettie's gone.

    "Don't enter the circle and don't touch me no matter what," he tells Jon. The dagger bounces a little in his hand from the trembling. Is this really a good idea? He seems determined regardless.

    Once the dagger's taken, he goes back to snatch that envelope and read the letter. Too many fucking irons in the fire. But then he actually lets out a little sigh of relief, if only because it wasn't more *bad news*.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon takes the dagger and swallows, but nods. He takes a breath, then squares his shoulders and slices at the palm of his right hand. He's left-handed, after all. He then goes to let the blood drip into the bowl.

    "What will this do, exactly?" It's a clinical sort of question; he's been trying to ignore the whole 'someone wants me dead' business. He has. And admittedly whenever he /stops/ for a moment he's probably going to fall apart. But he hasn't actually stopped yet.

John Constantine has posed:
    "Show me who wants you dead," is John's vague answer. Blood in the bowl, bowl in hand, John steps into that circle and kneels. He rocks back so his ass's on his heels and pours that vial of crushed root... right into his mouth. It's *instant*, the way his eyes start to roll back a little in his head like he's struggling to focus them or even keep them open.

    A little spark of Hellfire on his fingertips and a muttered few words in Enochian put flames to the bloody bowl. The soft chanting starts, same language. John sways a little like he might just fall over. Then he steadies and stills. So. Fucking. Still.

    Until he jerks, like a spasm, his head drops back, eyes that were closed open to reveal nothing but whites that are actually inky black now. Fuck...

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon... watches. Drinks it all in, eyes very wide, pressing the heel of his right hand idly to the wound on his left. He's almost as still as John as he watches the ritual.

    Idly, though, to Jake: "Could you grab me a rag or something? For the wound." He can find out if they have a first aid kit or something later. Not a /high/ chance, but possible.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Jake snaps out of his observations and nods numbly. He rises and steps closer to Jon. "Is he... are his eyes supposed... to be like..."

    He gestures to Constantine as if to explain as he reaches into a pocket and takes out a clean white handkerchief. He passes it to Jon. "I just... how long before we decide he's in a coma or something... and get help from the others?"

John Constantine has posed:
    It's a shame that Jon can't see what's happening, see the trail John's following from that blood in the bowl to the one he's focused on, the one that means his friend harm. Because it's an amazing thing really. It's also not easy, blood magic never is.

    The strain of it shows quickly in sweat beading on John's forehead, in the way all his color drains away, in the way his muscles jerk and twitch involuntarily. It's a little frightening to watch, particularly for a newbie.

    It's a good five minutes, maybe more... it seems longer than that, before the flames in the bowl flare halfway to the ceiling and then fade away to reveal an actual *face*. It's a woman, obviously a family member, there's a resemblance, but does Jon *know* her?

    She turns to *look* at John.

    "I'm coming for you. Tell *him* he's crossed a fucking line," John hisses, barely audible. Eyes still all fucked up and rolled back, he thrusts one hand forward. The mystical blow he delivers sends the woman flying back, but it's only enough to bruise. Had he not been weak going in? It might have ended it all then and there, but he is and it doesn't.

    Then, just like that, it's over. John drops forward on his hands and knees, his eyes back to their normal faded blue. ...and he *vomits*. Black, nasty, foul looking ichor is what that is, something that should *never* come from a human being and there's so fucking much of it.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "We wait," Jon says simply. "He'll be done when he's done." There's something... odd about his tone, like he's not all there. He takes the handkerchief without looking away, wraps it around his hand, eyes still fixed on the whole thing. He has no outward reaction to any of it, none of it at all, rooted to the spot just... /watching/.

    And then it's over and he stumbles back, right into a table, eyes wide now in a way that has nothing to do with /watching/ and everything to do with fear and confusion. "Sasha?! But... but that's... /she was at the funeral,/ I don't..." He's shaking, too stunned to think of helping John, clutching at his hand and staring at the spot where the woman's face had hung in the flames. Jake might have to see to that.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Jake looks between Jon and John and then grumbles, "Fucking Christ..." he says as he moves to the bar, he looks around and gets a rag and then calls. "Chas... I'm not the fucking janitor and Constantine just vomitted tar all over the ground."

    He moves back to the stage and says. "I don't know much about all this shit so I'm just going to set this rag here, you can at least clean yourself up with it. The rest... like I said, I'm no janitor." He shakily sets the rag down just outside the chalked circles and steps back. He continues to mutter under his breath. "Where's fucking Chas at..? I didn't agree to this babysit bullshit. That's Knight's thing, not mine."

John Constantine has posed:
    Chas was, in fact, already on it. That is to say he was on his way out from the back the moment he heard John vomiting. "Fuck..." Because John is *still* vomiting. First thing the cabbie does is snatch up the vial to smell it. He tosses it aside with another, more urgent and kind of scared, "*FUCK*." Then he's down on his knees next to John.

    There's love there, Gods is there love there. It's platonic, but it's deep. "That's it, get it up..." he murmurs *gently*. Stuff's splattering all over Chas, but the man doesn't care. "Get it all up, John."

    When it seems the vomiting bit is finally over, Chas eases John back to lean against him. He puts one hand on the the mage's forehead, the other on his chest.

    John himself? Is out like a light, breathing shallow and too rapid.

    "He shouldn't of done this, not now," Chas seems like he's talking to his damned self. "Dream Root and fucking *Belladonna*. Damnit..." Nightshade? Isn't that shit *lethal*?

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon swallows, staring between John and Chas. "I... I didn't--" He stops. He knows. He /Knows/ what John will do. He /Knew/ what John might do, and he let him go on ahead and do it. He closes his eyes, shuddering. "/Fuck,/" he says in a tone of utter sincerity.

    He has to take a moment. To top his own shaking, murmuring something to himself, a slow countdown from five, grounding. Then he shakily pulls himself to his feet by the same table he just stumbled into. "Does he need anything? Belladonna's poisonous, but--" He laughs. "Tonight, I will believe just about anything. Just. Chas? Does he need anything? Hell, if there's some medicine you don't have I'll write the damn prescription myself." He walks over to the stage, legs still shaky, drops to his knees in front of Chas and John. Reaches out a hand, and stops. "Please, /gods,/ tell me he didn't poison himself for my sake."

Marc Spector has posed:
    Jake just shakes his head. "Well, fuck." He looks between the doctor and the mage and just sort of deflates. To Chas he says, "You gotta figure out how to get a handle on him, man..." His expression is still serious but has an edge of sympathy in it. "He's going to end up dead and sure, maybe he can come back from that--I don't fuckin' know--but it's going to stick if he keeps this shit up. You're his best mate, you gotta get through to him somehow."

    He looks at Jon and snorts. "The man's a time bomb of 'fix it' from what I've seen. So, yeah, he just poisoned himself for your sake, Doc. My words to Chas go for you too. Hell, I'll even tell Moony to try again if he has to. Maybe he's learned something in this past week, fuck if I know. Just... Constatine's going to get dead before he's able to fix everything if he doesn't learn to take a break from it now and then. He's not the only one trying to save the world and he needs to get that through his fuckin' head if he wants to do anything besides pass out and nearly die every other night."

    He runs a hand over his head, scraping off the newsboy cap in the process. "I shouldn't have to be the voice of fuckin' reason around here. You guys are smarter, stronger, and more experienced in this shit than I am, just... maybe fucking act the part once in a while. Fuck."

John Constantine has posed:
    "He did, mate," Chas replies quietly. "He'll live but there's gonna be more..." Before he can even finish the sentence, John's throwing up again. Still out cold and throwing up again. Chas is quick to turn him on his side to keep him from aspirating that nasty crap.

    "Ah, John, what the *fuck*?" He just looks a little helpless, not much to be done now but... wait. "He also pulled some black ass shit, blood magic's dark shit, man." Which is why John's gagging and barfing up black *goo* instead of straight scotch.

    "There is no 'getting a handle on John Constantine," he tosses back at Jake. "Seriously man, I've been trying for *years*. He's going to do what he's going to do and all I can do is pick up the fucking pieces."

    ...at least the man everyone's talking about is done puking again... for the moment and Chas has him settled back against his chest again.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon turns to snap at Jake. "I know! Christ, I've got the man's /life story/ on repeat in my damn dreams! Why do you think I'm /here?/" He stops. Jake wasn't here the whole time. Jake doesn't know. He swallows. Then: "Chas has the right of it. He thinks he /deserves/ this. And I have no idea how to convince him otherwise."

    He turns back to Chas and John and stares at the goo. "Good /lord/." He shakes his head. "What usually happens, when he does this kind of thing? Vomits, sleeps it off? Will he need food or hydration or..." A pause. He swallows. "I... he won't let me help him, but maybe..." He runs his hands through his hair. "He did this for me. I'm supposed to be here to help /him/ and he finds some damn way to..."

    Then, slowly, "If there's nothing I can do for him... is there anything I can do for /you/?" There's sympathy in his gaze as he looks at Chas. He knows something of the pain of being the one doing the helping.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Jake sighs and looks at the dozing mage. "Fucking idiot..." he mutters. Then louder. "I did what I was told to do. Look, just... I've said my piece about it. I know what it is to watch friends throw their lives away because they spend so much time dealing with everyone else's shit they don't see to their own."

    He pulls the cap back over his head and heads for the door. "I'm going home. Good luck, Chas. Doc, keep the cloth, I've got another. And I hope you guys manage to figure out how to deal with the bomb, before it blows and takes everyone close with it." He unlocks it and steps out into the mild night.

John Constantine has posed:
    "Watch your fuckin' mouth, Jake," Chas warns dangerously. They may be friends but *no one* gets to call John Constantine an idiot... but Chas.

    John makes a little sound, kind of a strangled moan and Chas murmurs almost in his ear, "I gotcha, mate. I gotcha." How many times has he said those words since the two of them were acne and awkward? Since they were basically kids? Too many.

    "If he gets it all up, yeah, that's it. If not, he'll probably hallucinate." Which is *always* fun with a mage that can toss around Hellfire like a flame thrower.

    He considers Jon's offer for a long few moments before, "Well, I'm gonna take him upstairs to my apartment. Maybe just stay for a bit, until I *know* he's going to keep breathing? He *knew* better, he was too fucking run down for this shit tonight."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon nods. "I can do that. I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..." He shudders and looks away, guilt in his expression. "I just... Christ. My /cousin/ tried to kill me, and my husband died, and... I wanted to know." He laughs, bitterly. "I have the feeling that's going to become a refrain. 'I just wanted to know.'"

    He looks back to Chas. "If you need anything else, don't hesitate. Coffee and a bagel in the morning, whatever." He scrubs his hands through his hair again, frowning. He's trying to avoid going home. Of course he is.

John Constantine has posed:
    Very gently and very carefully, Chas shifts and stands only to bend and lift John like he weighs *nothing* 'bride over the threshold' style. "So, you saw it all huh?" he asks of Jon before he nods his head toward the back of the bar, the house back, not the back room. "Stairs are right through there."

    Everyone should have a Chas in their life, that one friend that'll shake the shit out of you for being stupid, but still carry you up the damned stairs after you're more stupid.

    "He's not *always* this bad. There's just so much shit going on right now."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon stands, legs shaky, following Chas. "Yeah. Yeah, I saw everything. And... I know he's not always this bad." He smirks. "Sometimes he's worse."

    He sighs. "We met... kinda like this. In this bar, actually--I think it was /exactly/ this same bar, and I'm going to have to find out how he did that. But Martin and I were in Liverpool for a match and John got himself fall-down drunk and... well. Honestly, Martin was worse about being a mother hen than I am." The pain in his voice is almost palpable. How many times had he worked himself into falling asleep at his desk and been carried back to bed by Martin? How many times had he woken screaming from a dream and been held by him? And... now he's gone, and so is all of that.

    "I should have... I shouldn't have gone /along/ with it at least. Christ." The Archivist is evidently just as prone to self-flagellation as--well, no, not /as/ prone. It's hard to beat John Constantine for self-flagellation. But he's up there.

John Constantine has posed:
    "I'm not even sure how he did that," Chas replies, confirming that it is, indeed, the *same* bar. He takes the stairs two at a time, even with his burden. He's about to do some fancy shifting and juggling of things to get his keys when...

    "Bloody hell... put me down, mate..." It LIVES. And it's talking. Damn. It's likely *everyone* was hoping that wouldn't happen so quickly.

    Chas? Well, he does as requested because John's a force of fucking nature and to not do so would likely cause a thunderstorm. He hovers though, holding on to one of his best mate's arms to make sure he stays on his feet through the door unlocking process.

    "Did you know her?" John asks Jon. His words are a little sloppy and slurred but at least they make sense?

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon folds his arms across his chest and glares at John. "I did. And you are /not/ going after her without me." He pulls out one hand to hold it up. "I don't care what arguments or... or reasoning you have. I just don't. She wants me dead. She killed our grandmother and my husband at the /least./" His jaw shifts stubbornly. "She's /mine./ Agree to that, and I'll tell you what I know."

John Constantine has posed:
    Chas opens the door and gestures, "Inside boys, before he falls the fuck down the stairs or something?"

    "You don't get it..." Oh yes, John's going to reason and argue, but he does have *good* reasons. "You say you saw it all, right? I can't speak his name, to do so could invoke him. My first Silk Cut. That's who's behind this."

    Is it true? Does Jon know *all of it*? Seems he's about to find out. That's about as vague a clue as he can give as to the identity of the person... monster... demon that sent those assassins.

    "INSIDE." Chas? He's getting a little irritated.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "He wants me dead," Jon says as he steps into the room. "I get it. I get who you mean, I won't speak his damn name either, but for /Christ's/ sake!" He drops his arms to his sides, hands balling into fists.

    "I /get/ that it's dangerous, I /get/ that it's... soul-threateningly dangerous, but he's already after me because of what I am. So, alright, you fix this, you go after her, and everything's great and fine, except I'm sitting here with no information and no experience. And then what happens when you're distracted and you can't come help the next time?"

    Jon's jaw shifts again. "Besides, even if you don't buy all of that--she /betrayed our family./ If I don't... if I don't /balance/ that..." Oh. He blinks. "Oh. Oh. This isn't just me. She... she /betrayed the family./ That's... that damns her soul, all on its own. Ammit will eat her heart, whatever else she's done."

John Constantine has posed:
    "Fine, but you do as I fucking say," John replies after a moment or six of *staring*.

    "Huh..." Chas murmurs, likely without even meaning to do so. Did John just *agree* to let... did he just .... weird.

    John seems to have more to say on the matter, he even opens his mouth to start before he follows along into the apartment and heads *straight* for the sofa to nearly fall onto it. He's still pale, shaking, sweaty and now he's shivering pretty violently and just *staring* at Jon like he's waiting for something to...

    Click - there it is. "Not... if her soul already belongs to a powerful Hell Lord," John murmurs, thinking out loud. "She's sold her fucking soul." It's just a guess, but it's a good one and a subject John is *intimately* familiar with.

    "I'm... gonna grab a blanket," Chas says to everyone and no one. Really? He just needs a minute. It's been a Day for him too.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon stares at the other man for a moment, then shrugs. "He and Ammit can fight it out; that's not my business. Thoth judges the souls, he doesn't do anything else to them."

    "Sasha. Sasha James. My cousin. She's a few years older than I am; I suppose she should have gotten the mantle, now that I think about it. She lives in London, but who knows where she actually..." He shakes his head. "I had no fucking idea."

    "You need to rest. You're no good to anyone if you don't. I'll check on you in the morning. I..." He hesitates, then says, "I have someone else I need to go talk to, and then I suppose I really ought to go home."

John Constantine has posed:
    John struggles himself to his feet and it IS a struggle. But, there's one more thing he needs to do. He places the palm of his hand on Jon's forehead, closes his eyes and starts murmuring in Latin. For anyone that understands the language, the words aren't important, just the meaning of them. Something about hiding from the sight of enemies, blah blah.

    Jon might feel it, the magic flowing through him, covering him like a warm blanket until it settles. It'll only last a day or two, but for now no one that's after Jon will be able to find him.

    ...and it's all John has left in him. He staggers back and falls onto the couch, shivering even more than before. Chas appears with that blanket and a muttered, "Damnit, John." He shoots Jon a grateful look though, for helping... for coming at all after seeing it all, for staying. For maybe being one more person that'll stand beside the crazy bastard that is John Constantine. For being one more person that may walk his path with him.