8372/Back on the Job

Back on the Job
Date of Scene:	22 October 2021
Location:	The Laughing Magician
Synopsis:	Nettie is again the conversation topic du jour at the Laughing Magician. John was raised in a barn, fed on poptarts and Phoebe gets to listen to a MOST embarrassing conversation with her usual stoic self.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Mairin Moran, John Constantine

---

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe Beacon(-Constantine-Chandler) doesn't like downtime. She's either studying, working, or working out, and since agreeing to stay behind the safety of Constantine's wards it's not as if she has the room to run around with physical training, so she's doing the next best thing.

    Being the best barback ever. Fruit's been cut. A grocery order's been put away, she's signed for a beer order ("Are you even old enough to drink?" "Nope, but dad's out at the moment.")

    The bar's been scrubbed down and cleaned, mysterious sticky objects removed, and she's assembled a grocer's order projected for next week.

    So, as the bar opens for its small 'lunch' crowd of day-drinkers, Phoebe is on hand wearing a black T-shirt stating that she has no idea, either, her braided hair pinned back and showing her under-cut, and some of the slowly healing scar tissue on her shoulder and neck.

Mairin Moran has posed:
    Mairin actually almost bounces into the Magician, her mood is that light. Almost as curious, she is NOT carrying her usual satchel full of books and robot parts. The only tribute to it is a moth, roughly the size of a man's hand. The little bot flutters areound her head, lands on her shoulder, then flies off again to circle a light much as an actual moth would do.

    "Afternoon, Phoebe," she calls as she wanders over to the bar and hops up on a stool. "What's good for lunch? You know I don't think I've ever actually eaten here."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "There is nothing ever good for lunch at the Laughing Magician. I have some lightly fried fish fillets, some mechanically separated chicken fingers, frozen french fries, processed burger of questionable standard with or without gravy --" she jokes with a grin, ands hands Mairin over a paper menu. It's got ketchup stains on the top.

    "And you'll have to wait for one of the actual tenders to come in before you can get any alcohol."

Mairin Moran has posed:
    "That's fine," she waves a hand dismissively. "I don't drink. But some lightly friend fish sounds great. And a ginger ale?" She catches her moth on one hand and sets her on the bar top where she crawls around investigating the menu. The wings are paper thin metal, set with little devices that are hard to make out but must help in it's flight because there's no way those wings could lift the weight.

    "Is John feeling better?" she asks with a concerend frown.

John Constantine has posed:
    Is John feeling better? Well, that depends on one's definition of 'better' now, dunnit? The portal from the House of Mystery opens in the back room, allowing him to step through. It's only seconds later that his presence is announced to the world by his bellowing voice.

    "Bloody *Hell* woman, the only thing your house is haunted by is the spirit of the brainless bird that owns it! Call an exterminator like I told you before! You have bats in your belfry, that's what's making all the noise!"

    He steps out of the backroom looking as if he'd really love to toss that phone into the next level of Hell, or the one after that, maybe all the way to the last one.


Feeling better, it's relative innit?

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "That... is a first." Phoebe trails off a moment, her lips pursing before she breathes out, and goes to duck into the kitchen. Since Mairin's close, she just raises her voice a bit as she works the fryalator. "Fish n' chips and gingerale--" she trails off as the door to the backroom slams open, and she leans her head out of the kitchen as John makes his way in.

    "Morning!" she calls out cheerily to John as she minds the hot, bubbling oil.

    And she looks to Mairin. At least John has some color. It might be red with anger, but red's a color, right?

Mairin Moran has posed:
    Mairin gives John a wide smile. She's starting to get used to his bluster and better able to tell what is actual anger and what is just... Well John being John. "Good to see you vertical," she says, one finger stroking across the back of her moth friend. "I hope everything turned out okey?"

John Constantine has posed:
    "Bloody woman started calling me at FIVE AM. I've been to her house SEVEN TIMES in the past month. There is nothing *there* but bats in the attic." John's grousing isn't particularly meant for anyone to respond to, seems he's mostly venting.

    Why is everyone smiling and chipper? He stops in his tracks just outside the door to the back room and the 'fuck I should run' is written all over his face. He stares a little longingly at his Pauper's Throne, way over there, across the bar. ... SIGH.

    "Mornin', love," he replies to Phoebe as he steels himself for that long walk.

    "What *is* that thing?" he asks of Mairin, against his own better judgement, he's a little curious but he's not entirely certain he wants to hear what could be a long and scientific explanation.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "You want a coffee?" Phoebe asks as she pulls the fish; the fries need a little bit longer. She gives a hum for a moment, and pulls out a blue box from under a cabinet, and pops the contents into a toaster oven.

    She comes out with a red basket with paper towels laid down in it, with fries and a big piece of fried fish for Mairin, and wiping her hands on her apron she leans down to the little cooler and pulls out a ginger ale, pops the crimp-top on a bottle opener, and sets that with a clean glass next to Mairin.

Mairin Moran has posed:
    Mairin flicks her finger and the bot flutters over to John. It might even land on him if he lets it. "It's a combination of modular interchangeable parts configured to take the appearance of a moth with a micro AI that enables me to instruct it to accomplish various small tasks." she answers, knowing full well he doesn't want anything that detailed. "But the short answer is, it's a tool. It is whatever I want it to be."

    She takes a drink of ginger ale, and diggs into her fries while she waits for the fish to cool a little. "Thank you Phoebe. I'm really glad to see you feeling better. I'm sorry I never got the chance to visit."

John Constantine has posed:
    Rather than walk around the bar, John walks behind it, snags a bottle of scotch, a glass and an ashtray to place on the spot in front of his little Pauper's Throne and then scrambles over the bar rather than walking all the way out and back around. "Got it, love." But that is *not* coffee.

    His brow furrows slightly. Shouldn't have asked. John Constantine is a *smart* man, some might even say he's up there at genius level intelligence and it shows in the way he handles magic and rituals. He did not, however, make it past second levels in school, his upbringing wasn't conducive to the whole 'stay in school and stay off drugs' thing. Charlie Brown's teacher is speaking at him again.

    ...and he is definitely *not* letting that land on him. He swats at it if it tries.

    "Bloody fuckin' robots will be takin' over the world," he mutters under his breath as he pours scotch from bottle to glass.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Oh, neat! So it's a Mr. Potato-head robot that you can attach like, micro-filament screwdrivers to for fine work in dangerous environments?" Phoebe tries to translate, and she gives a little grin to Mairin, "but basically 'robot moth'." she smiles, and she reaches up to put her hand out -- until a timer dings. Ding!

    She ducks back into the kitchen, and on a solid plate, with a folded napkin, produces two strawberry poptarts, frosted, and sets them in front of John.

    Just in case.

Mairin Moran has posed:
    Mairin briefly considers having the moth pester John by flying around his head dodging blows. It would be good feedback on the AIs ability to keep up with external stimuli. But she's in too good a mood, and actually wants to keep John in a good mood. Because... reasons.

    So she holds out her free hand that isn't shoving food in her face, and the bot flutters back. It actually makes a detour toward Phoebe and probably would have landed on her hand instead, had she stayed there. Instead it heads over to land on Mairin's finger then crawl up her arm to perch on her shoulder where it just slowly flexes it's wings.

    When it's settled, she hopes down and slides her food down the bar until she's two stools away from John and sits back down.

    That's the idea, yes," she answers Phoebe as she comes back out. "I can configure the parts into a moth, a fly which is faster, a rat, or even a small rabbit if I really needed to, but that would take all of them. And then, thanks to John, I can also implant a spell into whatever I make, with a trigger to release it." Yep... That's all because of John's pushing.

John Constantine has posed:
    It's also a good idea to not have one's robot moths irritate John Constantine if one does not want them to turn into little balls of Hellfire smelted scrap metal. He eyes the Poptarts though. He actually *did* have breakfast, but it wasn't *Poptarts*. Paul frowns a bit on Poptarts. He lifts one of them, takes a bite and chews experimentally. They better not be generic! He can *tell*.

    Mouth full of food, he mumbles, "Do you want a little gold star or something, Kitten?" in Mairin's direction.

    From a long, deep inside pocket of his trenchcoat, he pulls a book of the most complicated mandalas to ever be called such out and lays it on the bar top.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    They aren't generic. They're the Good Brand. And Paul frowns at Poptarts, but Phoebe sneaks them a little bit.

    She does, however, take a look at the mandala, and she purses her lips.

    "... that's... hugely complex." She states. And she was even getting really GOOD at complex magical circles.

    "... is that for your hunt?"

Mairin Moran has posed:
    Mairin takes the jibe in stride. "No thank you. I prefer my gold stars from Nettie." She looks down at the book as JOhn lays it down, chewing her fish slowly... and slooowly shifts over one more spot. "I actually wanted to ask you something," she mutters. John's found her weakness. Not laser pointers. Not little stuffed mice.

    Circles..

John Constantine has posed:
    He gets that first bite swallowed and washes it down with half a glass of scotch. Breakfast of champions, innit? Poptarts and scotch. "No, that's for you. Copy it exactly the *first* time and maybe we'll work on minor summonings next week," he tells Phoebe.

    Complicated is really a mild term compared to that book, there are ten of the things in it, each one more insanely detailed than the last. Perfect the first time.

    "Well then ask it, Kitten, no need to announce asking before the asking," he quips at Mairin before taking another bite off that processed toaster pastry.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "-- what's it meant to summon?" she asks, taking a closer look. "All the ones I have so far are holding, binding -- one fire evocation --" she trails off a moment, taking a closer look at the large mandala.

Mairin Moran has posed:
    Mairin looks longingly at the book, and wishes briefly that she had the imager attachment on her moth. But then shakes her head. She's not John's student. And she doesn't want to be. She's Nettie's and Nettie will teach her what she needs to know when she's ready.So instead she just takes another bite of food, washes it down with ginger ale, and then takes a deeeep breath.

    "I wanted to ask you for some advice," she starts. "About Nettie."

John Constantine has posed:
    "Don't piss her off?" Good advice that.

    John's attention shifts back to Phoebe. "As they are, nothing. If can copy them though, you may be ready for the next step," he explains further, all of it, both Mairin's answer and Phoebe's, is delivered around Poptart, mumbled.

    He had to have been born in a barn.

Mairin Moran has posed:
    Mairin rolls her eyes slightly, but presses on. "Yes, I know that. But I don't know anyone who knows her better than you do. I just wanted.." She sighs in mild frustration. "I just need to know if she would ever be interested in me. As anything other, more than, an apprentice," she adds before he can make that obvious connection. "I know you two..." she makes a vague hand motion...

John Constantine has posed:
    "Shagged? Few times, aye." Born. In. A. Barn. "She doesn't typically like the bits on her partners to dangle, so..." He shrugs one shoulder before downing the other half of that scotch and then adds, "Suppose you could stand a chance, what with having an innie and all. ...and if you can get passed that whole 'can't be touched' business she has goin' on. Pretty sure that's why she settled on danglies with me. She can touch me and me her." Why else would she *ever* shag the likes of him, right?

    John refills his glass, there's still a second Poptart on the plate, but the first is gone. He lights a Silk Cut from the pack, tucking it between his lips and indicating food's over. With that cigarette bobbing up and down he asks, "Shootin' a little over your head with that one? Nettie's a lot of woman, you're still just a wee Kitten." Like he wasn't just a pup? Isn't just one still? "... have you talked to her at all about any of this?"

Mairin Moran has posed:
    It's doubtful John expects anything he says to garner any specific reaction from Mairin. It's all just part and parcel with who he is. A month ago, Mairin probably would have left in an indignant huff. But she's not that same woman anymore. Not by a longshot. And a little crudity doesn't even phase her.

    On the contrary, she smiles a bit.

    "Nettie is increadible," she says with conviction. "And I'm lucky to even know her." She shrugs slightly, "I haven't, no. I didn't see much point if she only went for 'the dangly bits'."

    She frowns slightly, tilting her head to one side. "What do you mean 'can't be touched'? I know she doesn't like to be... Are you saying she actually *can't* be?"

John Constantine has posed:
    "Something about death and nightmares and some such," John offers with a vague little wave of his hand. Apparently the details of what type of bits she prefers is fair game, but the rest if it isn't.

    He squints one eye against the smoke from his cigarette and reaches down to unbutton the sleep of his shirt so he can push both it and sleeve of his trenchcoat up just about five inches. That little bit is all it takes. The tattoos begin right about here his sleeve hangs normally, just a slightly above and it's clear that they probably run up the length of his arm.

    Should inquiring minds want to know if there's more than just the arm? Yes, yes their are more, but he's not playing show and tell with those. Just what can be seen is ... well, it looks about the same as the warding on the walls in the Laughing Magician, a conglomeration of mismatched Mysticism that all comes together to form a work of art. Scroll work and sigils and letters that form words from languages long dead.

    "Warding," among so many other things. "... makes me shaggable."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe takes the other poptart. She wipes down the counter, and she made a wrinkled-nose look at John about his bluntness about his shaggability and the types of bits, though her ears get a bit darker as it's further discussed. She's just a wee girl after all, and inexperienced with such things on her own hangups.

    She does, however, look over as she wipes down the bar at the tattoos he does show. Along with probably those little round scars.

    "He is really good at warding." she states, scratching absently at her wrist as she takes acloser look at the complex mandala and is certainly NOT listening to details about dangly bits and innies.

    Not that she cares, mind, her only date ever was with another girl!

Mairin Moran has posed:
    Mairin smirks. "Lucky you." But there's nothing in her tone that sounds like she means it. She can't imagine doing that to yourself without good reason, and she doesn't want to know the reasons that spurred John to that level of protection.

    She takes a deep breath, considering. "So are those the only obsticles you can think of? Not being able to touch her, and her being out of my league?"

    She's ready for all kinds more. Expects them, really, from John.

    She does give Phoebe an apologetic look though. She would rather have had this conversation in private. But getting John to move would have been more trouble than it was worth.

John Constantine has posed:
    Little round scars indeed. John pulls his sleeve back down and buttons it. Maybe Mairin saw the scars, maybe she didn't? Years faded, a lifetime ago, childhood faded, and just about the size of the end of a cigarette.

    "I am really good at warding," he agrees with Phoebe. A paranoid man like him would be, wouldn't they? But what's that saying, not really paranoid if they're actually out to get you.

    "I mean, I don't bloody well know..." Overall, surprisingly, John's not really run into many obstacles in the 'getting shagged by who he wants a shag from' department. "I guess you have to figure out if she returns the shag desire or something like that?"

    He's obviously not thinking in terms of *relationships*, his brain doesn't just auto go there as quickly as it goes to a romp between the bed sheets.

    He also doesn't seem bothered by having this conversation in front of his teenage daughter who will, if he has anything to say about it, never have sex with a boy or a girl until she's well into her fifties and out of child bearing years. ... or at least until he can cast a 'put those eggs on ice for later' spell on the girl.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe shrugs at the apologetic look. "Honestly, I've heard people talk about way worse in way more graphic detail. This *is* a bar." she comments. And she gets a tight-lipped as she shakes her head.

    "Honestly, if you feel that way about someone and you're willing to risk getting hurt, broach the idea over coffee or something. Make it clear you respect them and you're op en to the idea of going further than a friendship, but don't be disappointed if they say 'No'." she pauses.

    And then her lips purse again "No, no, I take it back, worst they can say is 'no' and then laugh at you and call you ugly."

    Phoebe will never get over that freshman dance.

Mairin Moran has posed:
    "This has nothing to do with--" Mairin sighs and rolls her eyes. "Thank you for the advice, John." She pauses, then adds a more sincere, "Really. I do appreciate it."

    She looks over at Phoebe at her advice and grins. "You're right Phoebe. But I can't imagine Nettie saying anything like that. More likely she'd just wipe my memory of ever having known her and set me on my way." She says it lightly, but she's pretty sure that's a distinct possibility.

    Then she's back to her food, having much more to think about now.

John Constantine has posed:
    "I can ward against that *too*," John pipes up with, but he's so far over his head here with all this 'girl talk'. He downs his second glass of scotch ... here in the bar anyway, he likely had several before getting out of bed even ... and pushes himself to his feet. He stub his current Silk out, lights another and snags his bottle of scotch.

    "First one, by tomorrow," he tells Phoebe in 'firm dad voice' regarding that book of ten mandalas.

    His phone pelts out Amazing Grace, Dropkick Murphys style and he fumbles to tug it out as he walks across the room.

    "John Constantine..."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Yessir." Phoebe comments, looking over the complications. Her fingers are already twitching, itching ready to go, and she blows out a puff of quiet air.

    She can have it done and perfect. She's pretty sure.