8249/Trouble in Paradise

Trouble in Paradise
Date of Scene:	15 October 2021
Location:	The Laughing Magician
Synopsis:	After the events of "Vanished," John is fine, but the Archivist is not. There's a fight, and then Chas is reasonable, because of course he is. There are sandwiches, hugs, and ultimately someone's sleeping under the blue carebear blanket. But what is John up to in the back room...?
Cast of Characters:	Jonathan Sims, Chas Chandler, John Constantine

---

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon told Constantine that he needed to think, and he did. He couldn't be in that strange House tonight, not with his mind reeling and his heart aching and his body exhausted. But he couldn't just /leave/ entirely either, couldn't go walking down the streets of New York. There were people that wanted to kill him. And Phoebe had offered a blue carebears blanket.

    And besides, he'd said something earlier that made him realize someone else deserved to know what had happened.

    So he comes out of the back room with his hands in the pockets of his slightly oversized cardigan, hunching his shoulders a bit. It's late enough that there probably an't all that many customers, so he makes his way to the bar without much worry. He looks like hell--there are still a few bits of Jubilee's blood on his shirt where he'd held her to protect her from Phoebe's Light, and he is /so/ damn tired. Nonetheless, he gives Chas a tired wave and a weak smile.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas was worried about a lot of things. John (Constantine) had been doing the usual burning the candle at every conceivable angle, wick or no; which often led him to seeming more like a puddle of melted wax day in and day out. But that was normal. He had thought the arrival of Jon (Sims) would bring a level stability to the their like before. But, Jon wasn't the same as he was when they knew him before.

    He mops the bar with a rag and looks up at the arrival of their old friend with a smile of his own, but then he notices the blood. "Holy shit, Jon... what happened? Is that...?" he asks before getting a snifter and pouring some of the good scotch into it. He can tell that the blood isn't Jon's but that doesn't lessen his worries any. If anything it heightens it. But he doesn't let it show, that isn't what Jon needs right now.

    He has a knack of knowing just what people needed when they came to the bar. It might been mystical, a lot of random things were around Constantine, but it could just be good intuition. He slides the snifter of amber liquid to Jon before turning his attention to the man.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "It belongs to Jubilation Lee," Jon says in a tired voice. He sits down on a stool and stares at the scotch. Sighs. "What the hell?" He reaches out to take a long gulp of the scotch, then fishes his cigarettes out of his pocket and his lighter out of the other.

    As he fishes for a cigarette and works on lighting it, he continues in a near-monotone, "There was a demon. I think it was a demon? I don't know, it looked like some kind of terrible insect and it was coming out of the darkness and it claimed John's been closing its doors." He shudders, takes a drag on the cigarette and drains the rest of the scotch, then goes on, "Phoebe had to bring out her staff and I protected Jubilation." Chas knows the girl's a vampire; he's been around for the conversations. "She survived, but the Light still burned her." He sighs. "That poor girl. Both of them, really."

Chas Chandler has posed:
"Christ..." Chas replies with a shake of his head. He pours another into the snifter; not good to down scotch in two like that (especially the good stuff), but he's not going to begrudge people's drinking conventions.

    "So it was a demon. You guys took care of it?" he asks. His expression is hopeful. After all, demons were diffficult, but nothing too out of the ordinary for John and others in the mystical community that he runs with. "And Jubilee... is she, did she do what she needed to heal up? I have some more blood in the cooler, not fresh but... it can help her if she needs a quick fix."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon shakes his head, staring down at the snifter. "That's just it," he says, no intonation in his voice at all. "She /did/ feed. Killed a horse." A pause. "And she very nearly killed John."

    He looks up to Chas. "Don't worry," he says, and does his best to put on a smile. A hint of expression creeps into his tone, an attempt to force reassurance into the words. "He's alive. We destroyed the amulet, you see. She won't... she won't be hurting him anymore."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The speed of the emotions that runs through Chas: worry, anxiety, fear, relief, and then worry again leaves the man reeling enough that he has to use the bar to support himself. "Thank. Fucking. God..." he mutters.

    Then he looks up. "How?" he asks. Whether he's asking how the amulet was destroyed, or how John's still alive is unclear. Maybe both?

John Constantine has posed:
    It's not uncommon for John to end up in the bar near, or after, close to just sit there on his Pauper's Throne and drink while paging through some giant tome or another from his library. Tonight it's a big old leather bound thing with no apparent title.

    It's also not unusual for him to show up dressed as he is tonight, like he's ready for bed. His flannel lounge pants are purple, covered in little zombies all saying 'brains' with their arms outstretched and a t-shirt that reads: 'Don't worry, Zombies eat brains, so you're safe'. - in 'Zombie green' letters.

    He always looks like he could spend a little more time in the sun, like any time in the sun *at all*, but tonight? He's as white as the t-shirt he's wearing. "Any rumors of my near death are highly exaggerated," he offers along with a cheeky little half grin on his way past the bar to his stool on the other side.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon flinches, visibly, at Constantine's voice. "No they're not," he says softly. He doesn't look at the man. "If I hadn't managed to lift that sledgehammer, you'd be dead." There's no emotion in his voice. It's a statement of fact. "I still don't know..." He looks down at his hands, flexes the palms open. "I still don't know how I did it. It was so /heavy,/ how did I..."

    He shakes his head, closes the one hand, grabs up the scotch glass with the other, the one holding the cigarette, takes a shaky sip. He does not look well, at all.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Given recent events and everything else, Chas isn't surprised to see John coming down to the bar as he is. "I have to agree with the shrink on this one, John" he says staring at the man. "I get that with the amulet's destruction the life force was likely transfered back into you. At least all that she didn't already absorb. But even so... you don't look good, mate."

    Despite his criticisms, he offers, "Anything you need? Like, I don't know, a meal?" There is an edge of scathe in his words, but it's a fond thing. More motherly than adversarial. "Have you eaten since you guys got back?" he asks both men, it's clear in his tone he assumes the answer is a resolute negative.

John Constantine has posed:
    "Mate, do you have ANY idea how many situations I've been in where people can say 'if blahblah hadn't happened' you'd be dead? It's a bloody day endin' in Y is all it is." John slides on to that stool and opens that Big Honky Book. The pages are beautiful illustrated with pictures of... nasty ass demons. It would almost be easy to believe that it was some sort of D&D Monstrous Compendium if it weren't for the fact that everyone knows it isn't and everyone knows those images are of very REAL monsters.

    "Until I'm actually *dead*, don't make it a thing or you'll be havin' a fuckin' *thing* every other sodden day. This *is* my life, Jon, it's what it is. So, you think hard on all this insistence upon helping me because *this is what it is*." His words, his voice, it's not so much heated as it is intense and trying to make a damned point. Tonight, all of it, that's what it means to be pulled into John Constantine's orbit, so *get used to it*.

    "Just a drink and an ashtray, mate," John replies. The man *is* infuriating sometimes. But when he looks up from flipping through that book, he's wearing a smile. It's a real one even. It's still only a little half of a thing, just the left corner of his mouth turned upward, but it's real. "Paulie's crossin' the pond, Chas. He's movin' here." Well, hot damn, the idiot finally did it! Decided to stop making himself *miserable* by pushing his one true love out of his life.

    His attention shifts back to Jon, his voice softer. "It sucks, tonight sucked, every fuckin' time I go out there, it *sucks*, but there's nothin' to do about it but move on to the next day, tackle the next... demon, vampire, cunt necromancer bitch... whatever it is, all that can be done is one foot in front through it all."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Something just... snaps in Jon at that point. "Fine," he says, and there's a shaking, shuddering edge to his tone. "I won't make it a thing, then."

    He downs the last of the scotch. "I'll be fine," he says to Chas, pulled out his wallet and placing a fifty on the bar. He's still not looking at John. "I need to /think/. Not all of us are used to being used as conduits for /gods/. I'm going for a walk."

    And he turns to walk on out the door, if nobody's going to bother trying to stop him.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas brightens at the mention of Paulie coming over. "About time we get some good news around here" he replies. And then Jon is storming out.

    Too much to ask for a night of happiness it would seem.

    He gives John a *look* even if he knows it won't do any good before he moves around the bar to stop Jon. He scoops up the fifty on the way, pocketting it. He might be a good guy, but running a bar isn't cheap. He catches up to his old friend and puts a hand on his shoulder near the door.

    "Hey, mate," he says in a low tone not meant to carry far, "he doesn't mean to come off like that. Really, he doesn't." He searches Jon's face for any hint of relief. Surprised at just how different the man looks from the college kid he was a decade ago.

    "Just, you know how he gets sometimes." He frowns. "He's trying to protect everyone and doesn't realize that sometimes he's the one that needs protecting. And when it comes down to it, he doesn't like acknowledging that sometimes he needs others to watch his back." By his expression, it's a feeling that Chas knows all too well.

John Constantine has posed:
    "That's my bloody point, Jon," is offered up from over there, on that Pauper's Throne. "You have no *idea* what you're doing. Having a bunch of information downloaded to your brain overnight isn't *experience* with this shite." He slams the book shut and stands. "You don't have to go anywhere. Because that would be bloody stupid with fuckin' ... *him* hunting you. I'll go. But you need to sort your *own* mess before you can even think about helpin' me with mine on the regular. ...and I don't mean the assassins and that shite, you need to sort yourself before you can help me sort that too."

    He never did get his drink so he heads around the bar to snag a bottle... which likely means he's only heading for the backroom rather than home, home has plenty of liquor. "...but me *nearly* dying? It happens often. Ask Chas how many times he's *actually* died in the past oh, five years?"

    Then it's off to the back with him, so he's not in the way of whatever this thing was supposed to be.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Not everything in the world is about John /fucking/ Constantine, Chas," Jon hisses from between clenched teeth. Chas is one of the few people Jonathan Sims has to look /up/ at anymore, and it makes him feel like a child; he hunches his shoulders and glares in a way that's all too reminiscent of that pedantic, annoying Oxford kid who spent his scholarship money on his friends and was so terrified of losing them that he backed down from every argument unless he was drunk. It's reasonable, maybe, that Constantine is so convinced Jon just can't handle the world he lives in, that Chas thinks the problem is Constantine's attitude.

    There's pain is his eyes, though--the last decade hasn't been kind to John or Chas, but it hasn't been kind to the Archivist, either, if in a different way. "Neither of you have bothered to ask what I've been doing over the past decade. The things I've seen. The people I know. You think your world is bad? You don't /know/. This is... this is... /child's play/ compared to some of what I've..." He shakes his head. He can't tell them that anyway. Patient confidentiality.

    Instead, he just shakes his head, raises his voice. "You hear me, John? This isn't about /you!/ You think you're the first person I've watched nearly die? Piss off!"

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas sighs. "John, stop. Please. Both of you" he says. Chas is a man of many hats and one of them that's been getting more and more use of late has been that of diplomat. "Come on..." He looks around at the bar, noticing that Jon and John are the only patrons.

    He steps past Jon and locks the door. "Both of you, please sit." He gestures to a booth. "I think... I think we all need to clear the air a bit."

    "You're both right" he says, gesturing to John. "Being friends with John Constantine comes with a measure of... 'almost end of the world, must be fuckin' Tuesday' with it. But at the same time, you" he gestures to Jon, "lost nearly everything only a few weeks ago. And before that... well... we weren't really talking much. At all."

    There's a hint of guilt there. After all, it was Chas who cut the line when John went missing all that time. He could've brought Jon and Martin in, told them more, but the pain was too fresh. When it had healed over (mostly), things just... it never felt like the right time.

John Constantine has posed:
    John stops and turns, hand still on that backroom door. "You say that like you *asked* me. You didn't. You came into my bar with *ALL* of my ... with everything about me just downloaded into your bloody head. You didn't *ask*. Did you ask Chas? Did you ask him about the time we nearly lost Geraldine? Oh, no, wait... that was just downloaded into your fuckin' head too, so don't pretend to be this 'better than us' friend that came here and *asked*, you came here *knowing* already."

    He opens the door, but he's not finished yet. "No, it's *not* about me, Jonathan. It's about saving my daughter, it's about stopping whatever that was from continuing to open rifts in reality all over the motherfucking place, it's about FIGHTING DEATH GODS AND WALKING ALONE THROUGH THE BLOODY UNDERWORLD SO THE REST OF YOU LOT CAN KEEP FUCKING BREATHING. And right now, you're making it perfectly clear... that it *is* better that I do it fucking *alone*."

    He shifts his attention to Chas and quips, "It's bloody clear, mate. I'm a self centered fuck all shite friend. Clear as a mother fucking BELL."

    He steps through the door and SLAM.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I didn't /ask/ for this," Jon hisses, glaring after John. Not that he can hear. "I didn't..."

    His shoulders slump. "I didn't ask for this," he repeats. He's staring at the floor now. "I don't... I... I didn't mean..." He hunches his shoulders. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry. Just... J-just... just tell John I'm... I'm sorry. I h-have to... I..."

    He's clearly not quite thinking clearly; he turns to go try to open the door, even though it's locked.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas stares at the slammed door for a moment and then turns to place an arm on Jon's shoulder again. "Come on... sit" he says. "I meant all three of us, but at least the two of us can do this." He does his best to coax the man toward the aforementioned booth.

    "John will... he'll come around..." he hopes. "Just... he needs some time to cool off and... he just needs some time. I think we all do here and there, right?" He pats the tabletop giving Jon a more direct hint at his desire.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "This is why you don't treat your friends," Jon says in a dazed kind of tone. "Emotions get high, you give bad advice, you're too close to it all. B-but I... I don't know how else to..."

    He sits, not really paying attention. Mostly letting himself be led. "He's right, you know. I don't know what I'm doing. I mean, things went okay. I've heard of far worse! That's... that's the thing he doesn't... get, I... I know things, I /know/ things I can't /say/ because of patient confidentiality, and okay maybe it's not /worse/ than demons and vampires but it's... it's... it's just as bad, in its way. People wind up hurt, people wind up dead, does it matter if it was an alien or a demon? Does it matter if it was a vampire or a terrorist?"

    He shudders, staring into the middle distance. "It went okay. It might not have, but it went okay. Nobody died, nobody got badly hurt, but if I hadn't... if... what if I... I mean, he's /right/, I'm a fucking liability, I don't /know/ what I'm supposed to be doing and I keep running off and when the trance comes on I can't control it and I can't /fight/ for shit..."

    He finally manages to stare at Chas. "What if I'd failed? Wh-what if... what if... I'm not strong enough, next time?"

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas thinks for a moment and then shakes his head. "I've learned that asking those sorts of questions doesn't help anything" he says. "You can't sit and think about the 'what ifs' in this life. If you do, you'll spend most of the time worrying about the next step and freeze."

    He rises and pulls a bottle and two sets of snifters back to the booth. Filling them both he slides one to Jon. "Freezing isn't good for your health. You've gotta keep moving, that way you keep learning. You keep growing."

    He gives the shrink a smile. "So you're a liability right now. The only way to fix it is to make yourself, not one." He pauses. "I'm not a doctor, not bound by any confidentiality laws or whatever. But I've learned when people need a place to talk, Beerman is right under shrink in most cases. If you want to talk about... hell, anything, I'm here."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I have a therapist," Jon says. "But... but, ahh... I can't..." He starts laughing. "She's not... exactly... I wasn't /this/ when I... I mean, /I'm/ one of the people that people like John turn to, you know?" He shakes his head, and reaches up to run his hands through his hair.

    "I didn't freeze," he says. "But I... Christ, I'm /confused/ and I'm trying to figure this all out, and I can't /do/ that when I'm... I was supposed to have /training/, evidently. A whole lifetime of it. And instead I'm... making it up as I go. And John... John's just..."

    He closes his eyes and puts his forehead to the table, ignoring the drink. "John's wrong about one thing," he mutters. "/I'm/ the terrible friend. Man risks his life for me and takes me in and I'm... /bitching/ at him like some ingrate. He should've thrown me out. Christ."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas shrugs. "He wouldn't do that. Because I wouldn't let him" he says. "I may not be able to talk sense into the man, but we both get a say in what we say to our friends." He nods and sips his scotch. Not his prefered drink, but when you're drinking for a friend, you drink what they drink. "I'm going to tell you a secret, and you can't let John know I told you this." He doesn't look too frightened of the prospect, despite the dire conditions he's set.

    "John Constantine didn't come out of the womb slinging magic that could topple the gates of Hell." He fixes Jon with an intense look. "No one does. Even the big guns out there... Superman, Captain America, Mr. Fantastic... they all had their periods of growth." Another sip.

    "And yeah, sure you've been thrown into the deep end because of the whole thing with your cousin. But, you're going to grow and there are people around you who aren't going to let you fail. John, me, Phoebe, Nettie. All of us are here for you and want to help however much you are willing to let us." He glances at the door John left from. "Even if some of us are more grumpy about the way we do it than others."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon looks up and gives Chas a flat stare. "Why, I'd forgotten your wisdom, Chas. People have to /learn/ how to do this 'hero' business?! Please, do, tell me what the color of the sky is, or perhaps where babies come from. You know me, couldn't figure out my way around a proper shag if my life depended on it."

    Well, that's... more normal Jon, anyway.

    And then his expression softens. "How /is/... I mean... you're a father now. I'm so late for congratulations." He stops, choking up suddenly. "M-Martin would've... knitted /so/ many..." He has to stop, in order to not break down.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas reaches out and puts a large, rugged hand over Jon's. "Hey. Hey, it's okay. Go ahead. It's just us here." He smiles softly looking around the empty bar. "Everyone needs a good cry sometimes and I've been told I'm a good person to do it around." He squeezes Jon's hand softly. "Let it out if you need to. I can talk while you get it out."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I've barely... the only time, since he died, w-was... today, and..." And the other night, when he and John had cried together.

    He buries his face in his hands and sobs. It's quiet, his crying. It always has been, as if he's trying to hide the tears and the sobs.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas has been described as an island in the midst of a storm and this is no different. He sits in silence for a moment, letting Jon get the first tears out before he starts speaking.

    "Yeah... I'm a dad now. Maybe not the best, but I love my girl more than anything in this world and I will do *anything* to keep her safe." The transformation from soft caring friend into steel wall of fortitude might be jarring. When it comes to things Chas considers his, he can be unstoppable. The hardness subsides and he resumes to calm tone.

    "Geraldine is nine now. Mom's not really in the picture anymore. Her and John didn't get along well and I got along with John better than I did her so..." He shrugs and sips his drink. "What can you do, right? Love is a very fickle thing at the best of times."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I wouldn't know," Jon says softly through his tears. "Seems like once I start I don't know how to stop." His shoulders keep shaking, but he's listening.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas nods. "I hear that. I used to be that way, maybe becoming a dad worked that out of me" he shrugs. "If you want... and it wouldn't bring up too many bad memories, I could introduce you." He smiles. "I think she'd like to put a face to the voice on some of the old albums of yours I play from time to time. She likes your voice."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon looks up and blinks at Chas. "You... you still play those..." He laughs. "Christ, that's /ancient/. And Geraldine /likes/ that stuff?"

    He sniffles, wipes at his face, and picks up the scotch to take a drink.

John Constantine has posed:
    The ruckus that happens in the backroom isn't something Chas is unfamiliar with. It's the sounds of an overtired, over-stressed, overwhelmed... scared John Constantine that's feeling useless and frustrated because he *hasn't fixed it*.

    So. Fucking. Much. Going. On and he has yet to truly *solve* or *fix* any of it.

    First it's the book flying and thunks against the door with a loud 'bang' of a sound. Next, it's the scotch bottle hitting the wall and shattering and through it all, John's loud ass mouth, "Stupid bloody wretched useless piece of shite *book*..." One can easily insert the name John (or probably murderer or killer) where book was. Even he can, in his head, in his father's voice.

    A growled out sort of scream of frustration comes next, followed by, "What am I bloody fucking *missing*?!" He kicks something, probably a chair and he probably regrets it because those things are *heavy* wood.

    A classic 'I'm too exhausted to think straight' John temper tantrum, something his best mate likely either chooses to ignore when they happen or offer the Chas equivalent of bending John over his knee, depending on the big man's mood and how much of their stuff or himself it sounds like John might be damaging. In regards to the latter, this one seems to be minor compared to that one time, in the flat in Liverpool, when he was trying to track down something that was feeding on delivery drivers and couldn't find that last piece. That time cost them a TV, a stereo and Chas's favorite chair.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon looks up and over at the screaming. "Do you need to handle that?" he asks. "I..." He swallows. "I won't leave," he says. "Not... not alone." Something seems to have clicked somewhere in his head, finally.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas looks at the door and sighs. "No. No. This one is minor. I think I will make him something to eat, if he decides to recognize that doing all that work on half lifeforce and no food might not be the best idea. Bloody fool that he is sometimes." There's a fondness in his tone even with the implicit insult.

    He rises from the booth and moves over behind the bar to start cooking up a steak sandwich: strips of good meat, onions, peppers. "He might bruise his toe but the scotch isn't *too* expensive... yet. And that book's probably been through worse. If we start smelling sulfur and smoke starts billowing from under the door, *then* I'll step in. Send him to Paulie since that might be back on the table."

    "Bollocks... where was I?" He thinks for a moment and then starts. "Oh, yeah, your old band. Geraldine loves them. She likes the stories and the variety of types of sounds you guys used to use keeps her occupied when she's listening."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon raises a brow, but then shrugs. "I still sing. Nothing new, not for ages. Kind of lost the will for it after... well..." Chas would know, about the house fire that killed Jon and Martin's housemates. The reason Jon took up graduate school in America instead of England.

    "Martin and I got married," he moves on. "Ten years this August." He twists the ring on his finger. "How do you... does it ever..." He sighs. "I guess it's different, for you. Not... not to imply it's /better/, but it's..." He chews on his lip, frowning. "I tend to liken it to trying to compare a third-degree burn to a kidney stone. They might come from different places but they both /hurt/. It's not worth trying to say which is worse. I suppose you had to figure out how to grieve and move on, too."

John Constantine has posed:
    Something that can even be a little more terrifying than John's temper tantrums? Well, it's when something *clicks*, something settles in, an idea, something else he can do to get one more step closer to fixing it.

    Without opening the door, he calls out, "I'm going to Whitechapel so Paul can baby sit my bloody body!" Which would translate easily enough to Chas... he's going on a Walkabout somewhere, a stroll to the Astral to find something or someone. It's a thing that leaves his body vulnerable. Looks like someone else is going to end up with a steak sandwich.

    Then it's quiet back there and a few moments later, after snagging Jon's hairbrush from the House, he's on Paul's porch knocking lightly on the door, 'I'd Really Love to See You Tonight' playing on a radio in the room the Fallen Angel happens to be in.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas stops in the midst of preparing the sandwich to chuckle. "Guess this is your sandwich now" he says to Jon as he finishes and moves back to the booth, sliding a small basket with the sandwich in it to the man.

    "Yeah. I did. Geraldine helped a lot. But... you just have to get out there. Have a support group. Friends. And such" he glances at the door that John is likely no longer behind.

    "Some other things got in the way and distracted me from it all." He pauses and realizes who he is talking to. "Oh... you probably know about Rav--" He cuts off and doesn't finish the word. It's still too painful for him to think on for long.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I do," Jon says, and his eyes suddenly blaze with fury. "It's still in operation. If I can figure out how to manage it, I'm going to get it shut down. What they did... it's /wrong/. It's not what we /are/."

    He has to stop, and take a breath. That is personal, to him, for a variety of complicated reasons.

    "I don't... have friends," Jon admits slowly. "I know that's bad. I do! I've tried. But it never..." He sighs, and pulls the basket closer, pulls out the sandwich. "It's... hard. The band, and Martin... they were the first friends I ever had." The first? He was /18/ when he met them. "And then they all died, except for him, and it's... it's just... it's so hard to... /risk/, you know? Get close, and then maybe lose them, and so many things..."

    He pauses, then slowly admits, "I haven't been able to have tea since Martin died. I just flash to him standing there, smiling at me, handing me a cup. Waiting, every time, to be sure it was... /right/." He huffs out a laugh. "Like he could've made a /bad/ cup of tea."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    "You're wrong you know" Chas says to Jon. "You've got friends. Now. From what I hear Moon Knight is training you. John is looking out for you. *I'm* right here. Phoebe and Nettie and Zatanna. We all care for you. You're part of the family now. Whether you like it or not."

    He smiles and gestures to the basket. "You think I make that for anyone? It's not even on the menu. Sacrilige to serve it in NYC most of the time. Longstanding feud between Philly and New York."

    "No. I make it for my friends." He waves a hand to dismiss any naysaying on the true recipient. "Besides, I knew John wouldn't take it. Too wrapped up in what he's doing. It was going to go to you in the first place. And... maybe in time, you'll have a nice cuppa with me. But we can work up to that." He smiles.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon's... not quite listening. He is, but... there's something else, underneath all the rest of his defensiveness and tears and stuttering.

    Finally, as if he hasn't heard anything the bartender has just said, he asks, "Chas... have you ever wanted to die?" There's an odd static on Jon's tongue, a thickness to the words. Brown eyes track to look at the man, wide and a little frightened, but oddly intent. There's a compulsion behind the words, to answer them truthfully and fully, without holding back.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas doesn't seem to even notice the effect at first. "More times than I can count on one hand" he says. "I did once, you know? Or well, came close to it. Fire in a London club. Body burned beyond measure. Screaming. So many people screaming." His expression goes slack. "Then it was quiet. Not a sound. And then pain. So much pain. But it was all in reverse. I felt the skin reforming over my body. The hair regrowing from singed tips. The soot and dust coating my lungs being expelled. And then... I was whole."

    "John's doing of course" he says softly. "Forty-seven souls... in here." He taps at his chest. "Forty-seven, and I'm the only one alive." He sips his drink. "There've been other times. I got hit by a train. Impaled on a telephone pole. Blown up a few times. It's never fun. And I always come back. I usually drink to one of the names of the victims of the fire for a day or two after. Just... to remember them. Their sacrifice."

    He sips more and refills his glass looking at the liquid inside. "It's... tough living for forty-eight people. But it's my lot and I'm going to make the best of it. But there are times yeah... when I just wish that I hadn't had a friend like John Constantine after that fire. When I didn't have to carry the souls of all those who weren't as fortunate."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon just stares at him for a long moment, drinking in the Story... and then blinks and shakes himself. "Oh. Oh /Christ,/ Chas, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean--" He hunches, looking suddenly ashamed. Even puts the sandwich down.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas blinks and leans back putting a hand to his head. "Ow, bugger all that fuckin' hurts..." He winces and looks at Jon. "That was it, wasn't it? The power? You just ask a question and people can't help but just pour out their answer. And you... you feel what they say, huh?" He doesn't seem insulted or violated.

    "It's okay, Jon. Really. It is. I'm surprised it worked truth be told." He tugged down his collar to reveal the swirls and runes of a ritual spell carved into his skin as a tattoo. "Most of the time I can't be psychiced by anyone. That your question asking thing gets around it... might be important to know."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "That... is important to know, yes," Jon says softly, eyeing the whirls of the spell.

    Then, slowly, "I wanted to die tonight. It was..." He swallows. "Peace, and void, and... /forgetting/." A pause. "Did I ever tell you, Chas? That I have a /perfect/ memory? I remember /everything/ in exact, precise detail. Perfect clarity. Every argument, every terror, every joy, every... /everything/." He shudders. "I wanted to forget, /so/ badly. But more than that, I... I just wanted..."

    He looks down at the sandwich, hiccuping a moment. "I miss him so much," he whispers, and then takes a fierce bite.

    And there it is, the thing that's underlying his attitude tonight, the reason he needed to 'think,' the reason he flinched and turned away and yelled at John. And he could never, ever tell his friend that he'd wanted to die there. Not when John's doing so much for him.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas sits for a moment. "Why?" he asks, sipping his drink. "I mean. What triggered it?" he clarifies. "Just... the demon? Or something else?"

    He hadn't gotten the full account of what happened out on the island after all. He didn't know exactly what Jon had done. Only that there was a demon; they stopped it; Phoebe nearly killed Jubilee but Jon saved her and Jubilee had nearly killed John, but Jon had saved him too.

    As far as what Chas knew, Jon was the big damn hero of the day up north by all accounts.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "It's what the demon was offering," Jon says. "Others were susceptible, too, I could... feel it. Jessica Cruz managed to get past that... made a big green flyswatter and swatted the demon." He smiles, chuckles. "Zatanna's magic was instrumental... she saved John's life. Phoebe drove it back with her staff, I channeled Thoth's judgement, Jubilation distracted it with... plasmoids? And John closed the door."

    He looks up to Chas suddenly. "He was so happy. So... /bright/. He trusted us, all of us! He... he's... /better/! I imagine that's Paul, to some degree?" He sighs. "And I just... was an arse."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas nods. "That'd be Paul" he says. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, Jon. Really." He reaches out, an offertory gesture. "But... you don't have to beat yourself up. You shouldn't." He frowns. "I mean, what you got saddled with... it'd be hard on anyone, even someone who was prepared for it would probably find it pretty overwhelming. And you don't even have that luxury."

    "Your reaction to all of this is understandable and honestly, I'm surprised it wasn't expected by others." He glances to the door to the back once again. "Maybe there's just a lot going on and your plight got lost in the waves. And for that... I'm sorry."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon shrugs, frowning down at the table. "There's so much else going on. You were here. I mean, he cast a ritual he didn't have the energy for the night I showed up. There's Phoebe, there's... Lord, there's so /much/. What does it matter than one man is scared and confused and misses his husband? I haven't... I haven't wanted to..."

    There are tears dripping down his face as he eats. "What if... what if I've... been so damn /cavalier/ about things because I want to die? Because I'm hoping Sasha's assassins show up and finish me off, or some monster or demon does?"

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas slides from his side of the booth and slides in next to John. He's a big man both in height and his bulk, but there's a solidness to him. He wraps an arm around Jon's shoulders and brings him in for a hug.

    "Hey. Again with the 'what ifs'" he says calmly. "You can't... you can't let yourself focus on that. I don't think you've got a death wish. Even with how much you've changed, I think you genuinely want to learn to use this power of yours for the betterment of others."

    "You're too good a man to give up like that, Jon" he smiles, internally laughing at how familiar the words sound, even directed to a completely different person.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon stiffens at first, at the touch, and then relaxes into the hug, sighing. Sobs a little more.

    "I haven't been sleeping well," he admits. "I keep having these awful dreams. I always had awful dreams, but he was--" He stops. Hiccups. "What am I going to do without him? It's not just f-friends, it's... I forget to /eat/ sometimes, I get buried in things, I..." A whole life, intertwined, and Jon's not great at taking care of himself. "That House is so... /empty/, but I know it's safe, but I just can't... it's just so hard to face the silence and the... it's... it's all so /different/."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas nods. "I know. It can be pretty... creepy" he says. "And as for what you're going to do? I... I don't know. I mean, maybe you can stay with me? Not like I'm completely inept at taking care of wayward mystics who forget that they're entirely human for the most part." He smiles. "John's an outlier and shouldn't be counted as part of the study."

    There was a solidity to him that Jon might be able to pick up, a sense of security and a solid foundation. "I'll definitely make sure you eat at the very least. Again, John's an outlier and shouldn't be counted to my track record."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Mmm. Depends on... I mean... depends on John," Jon says. "He thinks I'm safe in the House. I guess here, too, but..." He shrugs. Sniffles.

    "I know I have friends now. Or that I can. That's what brought me out of it, gave me the confidence to face the demon. Zatanna knew /just/ what to say, Jubilation saved me from running off, Phoebe's... well. That girl's bright as her name." He smiles.

    Then it fades, a little. "But I'm just so... exhausted." Well, he /was/ slinging a bunch of power around, of course he is.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    "Where are you supposed to be tonight?" Chas asks. "If you *have* to be at the House, I'm tempted to veto the order and have you stay here for the night. You can use the couch, or the bed I don't really have a preference. The place is as warded as the House is and you won't be alone." He nods. "That's the kicker. I don't think you being alone right now is good, for anyone, mystical barriers or not."

    He slides his glass to this side of the booth and finishes the scotch. "I'll talk to John about long term plans. If here is doable, I think it might be the better option. For now, you finish your sandwich and then we can get you upstairs. You need rest, and if I can get at least two of you mystics to listen to me on that I think it might just be a record."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I listen," Jon grumbles. "Anyway, Phoebe said something about a blue carebear blanket on the couch, since Ms. Cruz has the air mattress. That was the plan, I just... needed a cigarette. And needed to tell you what happened." He sighs. "We saw how well /that/ went."

    He hesitates, then says, "Can I ask you for a favor? I, ahh... if I give you my keys, can you grab something from my flat for me and bring it back here?"

Chas Chandler has posed:
    "That would be my couch, yep" Chas replies with a smile. He slides out from the booth to let Jon get up and out as well. At the mention of the favor he nods. "Sure, what do you need?" he asks offering out his hand for said keys.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon stuffs the last of the sandwich into his mouth, chews, swallows, fishes in his pocket for his keys and hands them over. "There'll be a box in the front hall, should be the top of the stack, full of throw pillows." He describes one of them, a thing with tassels. What on earth...?

    "John asked for it," he adds at the end of the explanation. "I, ahh... well." He shrugs. "Also, do you have a pen and paper?"

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Chas pockets the keys and doesn't seem too confused by the pillow request. Or if he is, he doesn't comment. "Got it and... yeah." He moves behind the bar and leans down.

    There is a clatter of plastic. Maybe a tray for a printer and he rises with a small stack of white printer paper. "Sure. Gonna write out an apology to John, huh?" he asks. He grabs up a pen from the register and motions for Jon to follow. "Come on, we'll get you settled and you can work on it while I go get that pillow."