8234/Let Me Help

Let Me Help
Date of Scene:	14 October 2021
Location:	The Laughing Magician
Synopsis:	When John Constantine comes to the Laughing Magician with injuries sustained in the course of his work, he gets overwhelmed with offers of help. There's yelling, slamming doors, and secrets revealed. Just another day that ends in y.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Jonathan Sims, John Constantine, Zatanna Zatara

---

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Just another night that ends in Y. Phoebe had been hard at work, splitting time between helping Chas manage the front, and managing the occasional order of food in the back. Is she supposed to be back there?

    Probably not. Luckily, things are just not always right at the Laughing Magician. Luckily as well that she uses he little fryer back there to make herself dinner. Much easier than messing around with hot oil upstairs. Phoebe was wearing just a plain black T-shirt, her hair pulled back, and she happily helped out during the 'dinner rush'.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon has a Job tonight, evidently, and so showed up to the Laughing Magician for food because he doesn't /really/ feel like messing up the House's kitchen again. Also he's trying to not be there /too/ much so he doesn't accidentally touch something bad and turn into a statue or something.

    He's wearing a /blue/ sweater today, and matching blue jeans, and sighs as he comes in and sees all the people. "You should just go get McDonald's, Jon," he mutters to himself, hovering there in the door. But he does stand there, debating.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe leans out of the kitchen, and she gives a smile. "Hey, Jon of Arc!" she calls out cheerily, setting a plastic basket of french fries and falaffel to the side, and breezily the teenager comes out, bringing a rack of clean glasses with her and she begins to re-load Chas's glasses-to-be-polished supply.

    "How's it going?' she asks. See? Happy Phoebe! Definitely not sad about anything!

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon stops dead and stares at Phoebe. Jon of /what/? "I... I'm not /French/," he manages weakly after a moment.

    Then he puts on a smile. Which is a put-on smile, because he's /also/ definitely not sad about /anything/, nope. We can all just play that game today! "Pretty well. You look busy?" He glances around, and then shrugs and goes to sit at the bar. Not in John's spot, of course.

John Constantine has posed:
    John comes in from the backroom after catching a lift from the House. He still looks pretty exhausted but he seems a small bit lighter somehow, despite the fact that he's sporting a nasty bruise on one cheek, a gash on the other and... is that glass sparkling in his hair when he gets closer to the bar?

    Chas looks up from serving up a Jack and Coke and lets out a little groan. It's not aimed at John, however, but just the situation. "So it *was* a poltergeist?" he asks

    "Aye, fuckin' poltergeist," John replies. They have to earn money *somehow* and the bar doesn't turn a profit. He slides onto his Pauper's Throne and tapping the bar top. Bring on the scotch! As he's waiting, he pulls an envelop out of his pocket and lays it on the bar. "Managed to squeeze an extra five hundred, so there's twenty-five in there rather than two. Should carry us another week or so, if not, I'll just 'circumvent' the system on the water and power, aye?"

    Truth of it be told, the Laughing Magician would be in the 'red' without John's side work.

    It's only after he has his scotch and Chas has collected the envelope AND he's lit a Silk that he turns his attention to anyone else that might be about.

    "Phoebe, did you finish that mandala book I gave you?" he asks of the girl first, then his attention turns to John. Not that he heard what the man was worried about with the House kitchen, but it's still something he forgot to mention last night. "You know, the House will just... clean up when you're done with stuff." All stuff, just in general. Handy House that.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Of Arc. You know. Short for Arc--" Phoebe pauses as the backroom comes open, and she straightens up, looking alarmed at John as he comes in, looking at Jon with surprise, and then back to John, passing behind Chas as he goes to put the money in the safe, and she eyeballs John and takes out a first aid kit. It even has a happy sunshine sticker on it, and she puts it on the counter next to John's scotch and ashtray.

    "... you've got class in your hair. Did it break a bottle over you?" she asks, trying not to sound like contending with a Poltergeist would have been the highlight of her day.

    "I finished it, I have it in my bag if you want to take a look at it." she replies and just -- reaches up to gently brush some of the glass out of John's hair and off to the side.

    "Was it a hard job?" she questions.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Even though it feels like a century since she graced the dive with her presence, the woman dressed in black slides through the wards like her high heels had wings on them and heads straight for the bar.

"You look like you are straight off of one of your side hustles, John. Is broken glass the new glitter? Hello Chas! You look a lot better than He does," she nods toward the owner. Then smiling, calls out a greeting, "Hello Jon, Phoebe, have I interrupted a powwow?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks slowly at Constantine. "You know," he says conversationally, "I could offer you something for the trouble of putting me up at your House. A few hundred, perhaps? Much less than the cost of a hotel room for the entire time." He knows John isn't likely to take the offer, but he has to make it, for his own conscience if nothing else.

    "A powwow," Jon notes aside to Zatanna, "is a sacred social gathering. Typically in the modern day it includes singing, socializing, and competitive dancing. This would in no way be a 'powwow.' I believe the proper term would be 'impromptu conference.'"

    And then, now that he's done being a pedantic arse, "But no, I'm just here for dinner, myself. What's on special today, Chas?"

John Constantine has posed:
    "Lamp," John explains. He's probably got a goose egg up there somewhere too. "I'll take them home and look at them before bed. Did you do the last three left handed like I asked?"

    Once the money's stashed in that safe that looks as if it has no lock but surely does, Chas wanders back to crowd one more person around John. He reaches out to snag his best mate's chin and turn his face from left to right. "Looks like that time in London when I... anything broken?"

    "No," John replies before his attention turns to Phoebe. "Not the hardest, no bullets at least."

    Chas cracks a grin at Zatanna's comment and says, "I *always* look better then he does, Zee.

    John reaches up with both hands to ruffle them through his own hair. Little bits of glass go flying. "Gotta pay the bills, luv, not everyone was born choking on silver spoons and shaking golden rattles," he quips, but there's not any bite to it, it's mostly just a friendly jab.

    "I'm not charging you *rent* when I have you living in my house to protect you." He sounds as if that's the most *absurd* thing he's ever heard.

    "John, we could probably use..."
    "Shuddup, Chas."
    "I'm just sayin', if he's wil.."
    "No, Chas."

    Some days Chas wins the battle, others he doesn't and he's learned when to pick them and this isn't one to pick so he lets it drop with a helpless shrug in Jon's direction.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "You probably have a mild concussion from head trauma -- do you want me to take a look?" she asks, lifting her hand away from John's head as he brushes the glass out himself. She wrinkles her nose a moment, brow knitting before she checks John's scotch for glass (because that would be a horrible thing for John to ingest regardless). "Not take care of. Just... just look." she adds, ducking down to pull the mandala coloring book out of her bag, along with a spiral notebook, and turns both over to John for his review. "Yeah, no, I get it. Getting shot's pretty awful. Worse when it's something like your liver or spleen." she states, as if that were *also* a thing that happens all the time to her.

    Well, it used to.

    As John turns his attention to Zatanna, Phoebe gives a warm smile to the great magician, and then goes to Jon.

    "I think I've mastered not serving the mechanically separated chicken fingers half-frozen. I have half a bag of frozen falafel if you don't feel like mechanically separated chicken fingers. If you want really fancy mechanically separated chicken, there are some mechanically separated chicken patties in the shape of friendly dinosaurs."

    She pauses a moment. "And I think there's also some cod fillets for fish and chips."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Of course, you do, Chas."

Jon being a pedantic arse, feels like he has set the compass back to true north; all is right with the world. It makes her so happy, Zatanna releases a breath with the relief of a pent-up sigh.

"I forgot the drums. Will you forgive me?" She bats her long eyelashes dramatically and rolls her eyes at her ingenue imitation.

"Ah, so it was a side hustle," Zee comments while Chas and John argue and ventures, "Maybe if you let normals into the bar more, you'd see some revenue." Her own work performing magic is somewhat controversial among other magical users who have bandied words such as pimp about it. She assigns those critiques to one category: jealousy.

"You need a first aid kit on hand for him at all times, Phoebe, don't you?" As Phoebe lists a litany of processed food, Zee's eyebrows rise. "Call me pampered but is that what you all serve here?" is asked increduously.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon's eyes go distant at 'fish and chips' and then he /flinches/ and shakes his head. "Falafel's fine," he says softly. The list of things he's going to have to avoid so they don't trigger painful memories only climbs over time. He should maybe do something about that. Talk to somebody or something. But that would make him /not/ a hypocrite and we can't have that.

    He smiles at Zatanna. He can't help it. "I don't know any indigenous American languages to sing in, so we're even I think. What's wrong with the menu, though?" He seems genuinely confused. That's just pub food, right?

    Then, drawing his 'pedantic arsehole' armor around himself again, he says to John, "I wouldn't be home regardless of your protection. Perhaps I'll just order regular delivery to my secretary and negotiate the price with Chas, since he's /reasonable/." A pause, and then, "If she doesn't look at it I'm going to, and then you can't pretend you don't have a concussion later on when I'm lecturing you about alcohol and internal bleeding." Which is ridiculous. He knows it is. But he's feeling... odd about John, given everything.

John Constantine has posed:
    "My head's harder than all that, luv," John replies to Phoebe. No truer words, right? Hard headed *asshole*.

    ...and that is all Chas can take. He's reached his limit, truly. He slams the glass he was polishing down on the bar so hard that the thick bottom of it cracks, although it doesn't shatter. It does make a hell of a loud noise though. "For fucksake, John, JUST LET HER FUCKING HEAL YOU!"

    John had *just* opened his mouth to say something to someone, Zee maybe? He was looking in her direction anyway. Then Chas is breaking shit and bellowing and those faded denim blues turn toward his best mate. Protest, it seems he might, but in the end, his mouth snaps shut only to open a few moments later to quip, "Yes, daddy." At least he's an agreeing *asshole*.

    "*Thank you*," Chas snaps in return.

    All Sotto voce', John says, "Did you guys run out of Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch, that' *always* makes him cranky?" It's aimed a Phoebe, but he'll be still and not fight her should she do her thing.

    "If you want to risk the death of your secretary eating the food here? More power, mate." He might not even be joking.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "It's... it's a bar, Zatanna. I mean if you want, I have some cotton-candy grapes and a couple of baguettes upstairs, but I was going to try my hand at ma--" hshe stops as the glass comes down, and she feels the tension come to a head. Her shoulders tense as Chas's voice rises up to a crescendo, and she physically shrinks back in defensive mode, her fingers curling slightly as if she were going to have to try and restrain someone, and she doesn't look pleased at the prospect -- but Chas acts as Common sense filter, and as John just... agrees (... barely), she turns to Zatanna and Jon, looking apologetically to them for the outburst.

     "... I /am/ a first aid kit." she quietly replies to the earlier comment "Hold that thought."

    And she moves to put herself between her dads, and she comes up to John, and gives an apologetic look. "I'll just... ease it, if you want." she whispers to him, and she brings her hands up. Her left hand still has the leather collar wrapped around it, partially hiding the white tattoo on her wrist that keeps her warded.

    "And nope. It was on sale this week, so I bought two boxes. Try again."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Ah, yes, all is right and true in Constantine land. Chas' angry outburst at Constantine makes the unflappable Zee jump. She closes her eyes as the little bubble of happiness at returning among old friends bursts. Silently, she wishes, "Let Phoebe do her work."

Sighing she looks at Chas, "Can you pour me a double scotch, please, single-malt." She doesn't have it in her to be angry at John's belligerent need to refuse help. Even though, it's the reason she came through those doors once again.

"There," she whispers into the thick air of hurt that slowly dissipates in the bar after Phoebe works her magic.

In defense of good food, "Some bars make great food, Phoebe. People actually go there to eat it. It would be worth the risk of putting a few good things on menu. I'd lean toward my roots and suggest falafel and hummus which are not hard to make."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Arc--yes, that's his nickname now--glares at John and folds his arms over his chest. "He's just tired of your bullshit," he says, glowering. He hasn't told Chas all that's been happening of late, he has no idea if John's told him, but 'John is doing bullshit' isn't hard to figure out, given... everything.

    His brows twitch into a frown at Phoebe's reaction. He recognizes trauma responses when he sees them. He chews on his lip, distracted, his brain running through possibilities to try to help the girl and discarding each of them in favor of 'have to get to know her better first.' Fuck. It's harder to help people when you have to be /friends/ with them too.

    So instead he focuses on Zatanna and says, "If you are here to ask for his help," he nods toward John, "I am going to have to say that unless the bloody world is ending the answer is 'no.'" It might be hard to take him seriously--as tall as he is, he's scrawny and nerdy and looks more like a rumpled professor than anyone that could back up such a threat. But his voice is firm. "I suspect Chas will back me up on this," he adds. Well, he's got Chas on his side, maybe that's part of why he's feeling so able to be firm about the matter.

John Constantine has posed:
    "No, you *are not*." John *was* ready to let it happen, but after Phoebe's statement to Zatanna, he's waving his hands about to wave her away. "That isn't what you *are*, Phoebe." That, right there, is why he hates this and doesn't allow it to happen often. He *hates* the idea of using his *daughter* as a... just using her in general.

    "John," Chas warns.

    "No... no, she's not some walking medical kit to be pulled out whenever my job gets... tough." His attention shifts to Zatanna. "Zee, you do it." ...and it's not like *that* either, it's not like... he wants to use *her*. But Phoebe's a fucking *kid* that shouldn't be forced to... It's just not right.

    It's just not right.

    "Damnit," Chas mutters before he busies himself with pouring that double. "Sometimes I swear, I could murder him, Zee, but he'd just fucking come back." He doesn't MEAN that and pity the fool that ever tried such a thing in front of Chas Chandler.

    "She's not asking me for help mate, she's... here to fuckin' butt in and try *to* help." He doesn't mean that either, really. John's gaze flicks to Phoebe and then to Chas, "I'm NOT using her like that!"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "-- Ch-D-JOHN. Just -- please. It was a joke. I'm not being /used/. I swore I would *never* be used again after the Silo. This is not being used." she motions to the mirrored bar wall "You don't have me chained to a wall and forced to heal rich people to put *money* in your pocket, keeping me drugged and barely alive so you can bask in my light and feel better!" Phoebe finally loses her own cool. "You think I don't know the difference? That I don't know what could happen to me again if everyone knew the extent of what I can do?" she asks incredulously, her dark eyes looking up at John. "At least if I do this, I'm /helping/. I like to help. That is literally what's kept me going since my entire world got turned upside down when I was thirteen is that I /could/ do something to help. /Let Me Help/..." those big, dark eyes look to John as she steadies herself with a breath.

    "We all know I'm the best at it. I regrew your *lungs*."

    Pause.

    "/Twice/."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna slides from her stool. Then, screws her eyes shut, and balls her hands into fists. She hates being startled which makes her anger burn brighter, "What the hell? Have I turned into a bloody lightning rod or something? Of course, I'm not here to ask for help but to offer /mine/! Of course, Phoebe is not an object to be used and discarded at will. If she is an object, she is an object of love and care. So do it, John. Don't shout at her and belittle her love, damn it. Honestly."

Shaking a finger at Jon, "You have your work cut out for you with HIM!"

Offhandedly, she mutters, "sdnuow skrej eht laeH .tuo ssalG.tuo ssalG" (Glass out. Heal the jerks wounds)

Stiff with anger, she approaches John, "You would say butt in, wouldn't you? I want nothing from you. I don't need to salve my ego by offering help. Don't you see love staring you in the face? You git! It is in every person here and you run over it with your ego like it was somebody's discarded sandwich in the street. How dare you! And still HERE WE ARE!"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon suddenly blinks and tilts his head at Constantine. Puts up a hand. "No," he says. "No, Phoebe, it's not... it's not /you/. It's him. Please, just... just... oh /Christ/." He reaches up to rub at his face. "You can't get something for nothing. If you want to eat, you have to work. This is the cost he pays for the magic. Which is why he should be /doing less magic/ and letting people /help/ him, which I've been trying to get through his thick damn skull for the past few days."

    He hesitates, then says, softly, "...It's hard for him to accept, Zatanna. Love. It's..." He stops again, and turns away. He knows. He /Knows/ why, burned into his memory now in a way that will never leave him, every painful thing that happened to the man, every scar and burn and horrible word from the people that were supposed to love him. Every person lost because of being connected to John Constantine.

    The fact that he had to reassure him, last night, that the Archivist's own problems /weren't his fault/. For once.

    He turns away to look at Phoebe, instead. "Whoever made you think that this life is okay, that it's normal... I'm sorry." The sorrow on his face, in his voice, is profound. "Children should not be fighting crime. Children, even children with powers, should not be..." He clenches his fists, shakes his head. It angers him, to a degree he cannot explain. He might have told Phoebe he'd let her make her own choices, but he doesn't have to /like/ the choices she's been offered.

    Finally, he manages, "Even the helpers need help. Doctors need their own doctor. Therapists need their own therapist. Vigilante world-savers need... well... friends. Others to help alongside them. That's what John's trying to do, I think. To let you be helped. Let the adults insist on making sure he gets help, himself."

John Constantine has posed:
    John doesn't say a word, not a single word. His expression is fixed into... just blankness, poker face in overdrive to hide anything he might be feeling. He stands from his Pauper's Throne of a bar stool and snatches his bottle off the bar.

    Not a word. He doesn't even *look* at any of them. He just starts for the backroom and, presumably, back to the House of Mystery? From there, who knows?

    Chas just watches John go this time, picking and choosing his battles and maybe just outright knowing when his best mate's had more than he can handle? "That went well," he quips, voice dripping with uncharacteristic sarcasm.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe was about to take a look at the goose egg when Zatanna just -- does the work for her. She stands there with her hands in the air a moment, to either side of his head, and then she drops her hands, and she turns.

    "He is *not* belittling my love for him, and why would you even *suggest* such a thing?!" Phoebe asks incredulously of Zatanna, turning to face her. Her ears are darker, it might be embarrassment or anger making her flush, but her voice is very even as she takes a breath. "He could have asked for anything from Set. New spells. Forbidden knowledge. Next week's Powerball numbers, but he's trying to save me, AND my family. While he's trying to save Jubilee. While he's trying to save everyone else that comes his way except himself. He could have asked for anything. He could have saved himself," then softer

    "He should have saved himself... but that's not him. So, don't you suggest he's belittling *anything* about me. Ever." she takes a shuddering breath. Maybe a bit of a snotty one, she's close to crying. "/E v e r/." Phoebe's eyes well up with tears. "You don't have that rig--" she looks to the side, "Oh, balls." she mutters, and grabs the mandala coloring book and notebook, and goes to hop the bar and to just knock gently on the back door.

    And she ventures just the tiniest "John?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
    Zatanna pales at the dressing down she is treated to from the young girl. In a low clipped tone, she addresses Phoebe as the girl dramatically walks away.

    "We have history that you don't know about. I suggest it because words count as much as action, Phoebe. Words are power and he is not always careful of his. Do you think I would be here if I thought him a true abuser? You mistake me. He is not the only one who faced Set for your sake. Do not tell me what my rights are or aren't in his regard! Oh, fuck the drink!"

    She stands her ground unwilling to add door-slamming to the night's drama by walking out.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Let him be, Phoebe," Jon says, and then slumps into a barstool. He folds his arms on the bar and puts his face into his arms. He sobs, once, and then sucks his breath in and holds it there. He's not going to cry in public. He's /not/.

    Then he looks up and says, "Chas... can I get that falafel, please? And a rum and coke without the rum." By which he means 'I'm paying you for rum I'm not asking you to pour because I don't know how else to get you money without just passing it over the bar.'

    This is his job. He has trained for this. He can do this, really. So he says, in a quiet-but-firm voice: "We all love John." He stops. Clears his throat. That came out wrong. His skin, too, has flushed darker. "W-we all /care/ about John. There are people you don't even know exist who would pull down the firmament of Heaven for that man." He Knows it all, after all. "He is not the problem. /We/ are not the problem. The things he's /fighting/ are the problem. And I am /certain/ they would all be /quite/ pleased we're spending energy bickering amongst ourselves."

    He looks to Zatanna. "You want to help him? Perhaps you can help me, and thereby help take something off of his plate." John's not here. He can't protest. Hah!

John Constantine has posed:
    Chas's voice is soft enough that everyone will have to pay close attention to actually hear what he's saying. "They do count, Zee. ...and he knows that and he uses that to push *everyone* away. Because he's not *wrong*." As he goes about making good on Jon's request, he raises his voice to still be heard. "It's not his fault, I'd never blame him. But the people that love him *do* die at an alarming rate. I know, because most of them... are people I loved too. He can't control it. It's his family's curse. So when he bites with words, when he bristling and acting like an ass... it's not because he doesn't care, it's because he loves you enough that he's hoping... you'll walk out of his life and stay alive."

    His attention shifts to the door and Phoebe. "He's gone by now, kiddo. I'll see that he gets the books if you're not around when he pops in tomorrow. It's time for you to head upstairs and get some sleep."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I could run it over to Gotham--" Phoebe states, with an appropriate pause for Chas to level a look to her "I know where the door is--" but she chooses her battle, and knows this is not one she was going to win. She takes the books, and using the stool next to John's, she goes half-way over the counter to grab at her bag, and pulls it out. "Jon can have the falaffel and fries." she states softly to Chas, gives the big man a one-armed hug and leaves the mandala book and the notebook in his capable hands. "G'night. Goodnight Jon." she states to Sims, and gives a polite nod to Zatanna. "Be safe out there." she states, and then heads up the stairs to the loft apartment.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
    Jon's sob aches in Zatanna's throat like it were her own. Her face, pale and stolid, as she refuses to break into tears, she places a soft hand on Jon's shoulder understanding the source of his pain then seats herself next to him.

    "I just want the drink, Please," she pleads with Chas rubbing her fingertips on her temple.

    "When will he learn that he can't control what others do, no matter his power? It's part of the contract, you know. Risk. None of us can control it. We all eventually lose the ones we love."

    Almost in a whisper, she adds, "So we love the ones we have as well as we can. With everything we've got.

    "Do I want to help him?" She shakes her head in disbelief at the question. "What can I do for you, Jon?"

John Constantine has posed:
    Chas serves up Jon's soda and food and then Zatanna's drink. It's different for him, he's been around John since acne and awkward, the entire time, no breaks... no years long separations and reunions. So he gets it better than most, understands it better than most.

    Everyone loses people they love, but not at the rate of John Constantine.

    "I dunno, Zee... seems he can control what a lot of others do. He ran you off." It's not an accusation, it's not spiteful or mean. It's just...

    He loved you and he ran you off... and Annie and so many others that he loved, pushed away to keep them 'safe'.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon stiffens, briefly, at Chas' words. At the whole conversation, about people being run off. He has to swallow, hard, to keep from breaking apart. Not least because he's terrified he'll go that way, whatever he's been saying to John. But he's terrified of a /lot/, lately. Then he shakes himself, shakes it off. He sighs, watching Phoebe go for a moment. "That poor girl..." he murmurs.

    Then he turns to Zatanna. "It was... a turn of phrase," he says weakly. "I know you want to help. We all want to help. You're not wrong, but emotions are... messy. They rarely make logical sense, and there are... other... factors at play."

    He frowns and shakes his head. "That's of no moment, though, really. So. The thing that John is helping me with, the reason I'm living in his House just now, is that my cousin has teamed up with a demon to try to kill me and become the Archivist herself. John is... intimately familiar with this particular demon." He frowns. "I... don't know if you /can/ help with that. But even aside from the business with the demon--she's sent relatively normal assassins after me already. I know nothing of this world--of magic, of the players involved." He spreads his hands and then goes to pick up his soda with a nod of thanks to Chas. "Even 'this shop has real magic books' would be helpful."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
    "Yes, yes, he did. I was too young to get what was behind it. Getting to know him sometimes is like scaling a wall with glass embedded in the top of it. I didn't understand. I don't die easily," she says with a touch of belligerence that might make John proud.

    Zatanna's mouth opens in a long silent "Ah!" of understanding. "That demon. Now, it comes together. He nearly dropped the name you are skirting to me last night. Best not to say it aloud. Words count.

    Tapping her lips with a perfectly manicured nail, she closes her eyes and tilts her head back in thought. "John has kept you alive so far, obviously. He's good at it you know. But you say he is stretched thin, between you and ending the trouble that Phoebe and her family are in? It comes together for me now. Of course, I'll help. I have dealt with demons and jealousy before. What does Thoth have to say about your cousin trying for the position?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon regards Zatanna for a long moment. "She is older than me. She is trained to be the Archivist. She /should/ be, by all rights, with our grandmother dead."

    And then Jon smiles, and it's probably the most /fierce/ smile Zatanna or Chas both have ever seen on his face. He spreads his hands. "And yet. She is not the Archivist, and I am. The principles of /ma'at/ place a high premium on family loyalty. She had our grandmother killed, and that /alone/ would disqualify her for the position. Thoth's reaction, I believe, has been to steer the Archivist toward someone who knows how to deal with said demon. Thus John's former relationship with my grandmother, and thus my being led here, to meet people who are aware of these matters."

    His eyes spark. "That demon will /never/ gain the power of the Archivist, not merely by killing people until it comes to someone who serves him. Thoth will not let that happen. One hopes he never thinks to make a more direct attack through the astral plane." He frowns slightly. "That would be... less than ideal."

John Constantine has posed:
    "Just sayin', he's pretty good at getting people to do exactly what he wants," Chas murmurs. It's late, the place is all clear save the three of them, so he goes to lock the front door.

    It's on the way back from doing so that he breaks the sacred rules of 'brotherhood'. It's not something he does often, but when there's a need for it, a true need, it's not above him.

    "Did you know he made a deal, Zee? With *him*, during all that Death nonsense? That he summoned *him* and made a fucking deal. He has about nine months left... he's supposed to find a way to void his contracts with the other two so he'll only *his* and spend the rest of fucking eternity at *his* mercy. In exchange for the safety of six people... me, my ex-wife and kid, Phoebe, Meggan and Nettie. *He* stays clear of us and comes to our aid of others of his kind mess with us and... John's *his*."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Were I one to follow the gods, I could have imagined being an acolyte of the ibis-faced one. He is just," she replies dreamily lost in thought." She notes the spark in Jon's eyes with approval. "She sounds an evil bitch. Thoth would be having nothing to do with demon friends. I believe he won't let someone of her ilk take someone like you but the gods help those who help themselves."

Over her shoulder to Chas, she agrees, "Don't you know it!" Then for the second time that night, listens open-mouthed in shock to something concerning John. "He what? He didn't. WHAT? There had to be some other way. What other two are you talking about? That soul-eater wants nothing more than John's power to augment his own. Chas, sit here and explain this to me like I'm stupid, please."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon gives Chas a grateful look. "Thank you," he murmurs. "That one wasn't mine to tell her."

    Then he sighs and settles back with his falafel. "John has made deals with three different demons in the course of his life," he says in a sardonic tone. "It's part of what keeps him from having to pay up--they'd spend too much time bickering about who actually gets his soul." He sighs. "That's what Chas means. He's supposed to become /only/... the first one's. He could have used Set to negate that somehow, to balance it, but... he didn't. Because of course he didn't." A beat, and then he adds, "I think I'm supposed to help with that, somehow. It's too damn convenient, my showing up the same /instant/ Nettie does, to face him about the matter." He frowns. "Convenient for /him/."

    Does Chas know about Synchronicity? Why Jon shudders a little at the thought of it, of being used that way? He's still not remotely used to the whole idea.

John Constantine has posed:
    "Yeah, you weren't around for that." Chas settles in on a stool behind the bar. "He was dyin', Zee, lung cancer. Nothing was working. Then he just disappeared one night, came back about a week later cancer free. Tricked the First of the Fallen into curing his cancer in exchange for his soul when he dies, then went and sold it to the Second of the Fallen. No... like Jon there said, no one knows who's supposed to get him, so they really don't want them down there, it'd start a war."

    The man pours himself a long needed drink before continuing. "If he finds a way out of his contracts with the other two, the First will definitely bring his cancer back, he'll be dead and ... *his* within a week. At the very least, he could have asked Set to claim him too, fourth mark... and a much better option than the other three."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
    Zatanna is surprised at the facts, not the morals (or lack of good sense or ego) that assumed that three demons could be used against each other.

    "What a cluster-fuck", she breathes, knocking her knuckles against her head. "Thoth protect you!" Then realizing what she just said, "Well, all of us for that matter. I have to think about this. That is not a no but I don't want to rush into this and make it worse. Oh, gods forfend!"

    She snickers at the idea of flogging a set of tar-ridden lungs, not once but twice.

    "What could we give them to let everyone including John alone?"

John Constantine has posed:
    "Not even worried about the first two right now," Chas explains. "Not even worried about negating John's *original* deal with *him*, just the recent one. Honestly, having the three vying for him keeps him safer. If they all think they have claim and none will concede, he doesn't go to Hell if he dies. He's stuck here until they can figure it out, but it's better than *Hell*."

    Not usually one to follow John's drinking path, tonight's different. He tosses back the double he just poured and pours another.

    "He was in here mumbling something *early* this morning about... some kind of illusion spell. Diggin' through the backroom in one of those manic moments of his. I think... whatever he's thinking has to do with your issue, Jon."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon smiles at Zatanna. "I believe that is the idea, yes," he murmurs. "If John would stop for a moment and realize he's being given the tools he needs to handle this." He rubs at his face. Frowns over at the bar. No, he has something to /do/ later. He can't get drunk.

    Instead, he pulls out a pack of Silk Cuts--the exact same kind John smokes--and offers one to each of the others before lighting his own and frowning thoughtfully. "I honestly don't know. I, ahh. For my /own/ problem, I cannot think of many options before warding the power or--" He stops. "I am /not/ going to destroy it except as a /last resort./"

    Since no ibis shows up to poke at him this time, he goes on, "...I /may/ have suggested John could summon /him/ and then maybe I could... draw out his Story? And then..." He frowns. "Thoth would judge him, but I don't know that Thoth has the power to /destroy/ him. Fuck. Back to the drawing board."

    A pause, and then he sits forward and peers at Chas. "Illusion spell? What?" He frowns at Chas. "I /swear/, if he goes off and does something without /asking/ me I will... I have /so much/ knowledge up here if he'd just tell me the questions to ask!"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
    "Illusion spell?" she waves a hand at the offer of the cigerette. "I stopped and have paid for it in just a few more pounds which I carry pretty well, thank you!" Zee pats her hips under the well-cut jacket."

    Frowning, she says rubbing her forehead in concentration, "Thoth could destroy him. Stand judgement on the one after John? I think that an immortal can be judged by their peers. Exactly, Jon. Chas we can't Let him out there throwing spells wily-nily at the demons and expect to escape once they suss him out."

    After a moment's reflection, "I have half a mind to ask for Persephone's help."

John Constantine has posed:
    "If I had lay bet, John'll come out of this on top and with Jon here safe too. He always does. It's just pissing me off that he's *ignoring* it so far. Putting everything on the front burner but his recent deal." Chas tosses back his *second* and then stands.

    "Last minute, figure it out at the eleventh hour shit SUCKS." He snatches a towel and starts wiping things down in preparation to head upstairs himself, but... "You two hang as long as you want."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs. "Thoth may be a god, but... I don't know. I just don't know. Maybe /Thoth/ could destroy him. Thoth through /me/, a mere mortal?" He shakes his head. "I don't know enough about this to know if that would work. I'm willing to try. I don't know if John is."

    He frowns at Chas. "I trust him to come out on top... until he doesn't. If I didn't trust him, I wouldn't be here. If I didn't think he'd manage this..." He suddenly buries his face in his hands. Shakes. He's not going to cry he's not he's /not/.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"I'm not betting on this one, Chas. But I will help, Jon. Count on me," she says earnestly, having made her decision, "Thoth will not let an Archivist of your stature go in the face of a murderer, it violates the principles of ma'at. Even Set might frown on it." She knocks back the drink that Chas finally poured for her.

"Would Thoth work through me, do you think? On your behalf? Because of my magic?"

Zee regards Jon's shaking shoulders with real compassion, she has had her own moments like that over John. "Like my father, who never should have disappeared. We never thought he could be taken from us."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs and looks up at Zatanna "I'm hardly of much 'stature.' I'm scared all the time and I run away and... lord, I don't know if I can ever be what Grandmother Gertrude was. She did this for /fifty years/ and raised three children along with it." There's profound sorrow in his voice. Even if it wasn't new grief, it would still hurt, but he hasn't had time to adjust.

    But he frowns, thoughtfully. "He... might. I have no idea what sort of relationship Thoth and Persephone have, these days. The... /reality/ of the gods is a very new thing to me. I'll try just about anything."

John Constantine has posed:
    "I'll give you a little hint about one thing... getting the asshole to eat some real food," Chas begins as he's finishing up that last bit of clean up. "Stick a plate of something like cheese, apple slices... crackers, finger foods... next to him while he's distracted in his research. It'll be gone in like ten minutes. He won't even known he's eating it. I think his body just screams.. LOOK, it's not Poptarts. Eat it now."

    John Wrangling advice given, he starts toward the back. "Zee, just lock the door behind when you go. Jon, he's made it so you can portal to the House, right?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Well," she says, staring into the bottles mirrored behind the bar. "You might be a chip off of Grandmother Gertrude's block. Thoth wouldn't take anyone, you know. The Gods don't work that way from what I figure. We can alwaaaays ask, right?"

"Listen Chas, I need some sleep. I won't be staying long. I'll lock up. I don't know if he has let me into the house yet or if he wants me there. We could all take turns cooking for him, he always liked what I cooked him. Thanks to my Italian-Turkish background we always ate so well at home."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon nods. "Maybe I'll do that with the leftover koshary. Or, no, that requires a fork." He sighs. "Cheese and apple slices it is. Like a bloody /toddler/." He rolls his eyes. Then sighs.

    "Martin would've thought of that." The grief dripping from his voice is almost palpable.

    No. Nope. Nope nope no that way lies trouble. He pushes all that aside and draws up his emotional armor. He finishes his falafel and places far more money onto the bar than is really proper to pay for the coke and the food. "Yes, but I've got another engagement tonight." His tone is all business. "Thanks, Chas. Zatanna, I'll poke about and see what answers I get. Thank you for your help, whatever you're able to give."