8787/Getting to Know You-Balm

Getting to Know You-Balm
Date of Scene:	23 November 2021
Location:	Apartment 3A (Phoebe's Apartment)
Synopsis:	Constantine pays a visit, via an insistant house, to Phoebe. Neither are good at the 'getting to know you' game. John is supportive of masked vigilante activities, Phoebe just still doesn't know what to think of The Man himself.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, John Constantine

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Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe Beacon wasn't the strongest member of the Night Brigade OR the Outsiders, but she tries her best. She had put out a small fire earlier in the apartment with the advising to a friend 'circle, then practice casting'. She was wearing a tank top that was showing the gnarly, whorled scar on her left shoulder where she had nearly lost her limb due to poisoning and black magic, and a pair of casual jeans with blow-outs on the knees, her typical regalia for work mystical hanging on a peg by the door that was marked 'NOT A CLOSET'.

    She was sitting on the overstuffed chair, with a thick tome balanced on the arm,, thumbing through aged pages, a notebook by her side and a long-forgotten cup of tea on the coffee table. Her hair was pulled back and french braided to keep it out of her way, and her leather sheath with a trio of throwing daggers was balanced haphazardly against a toaster in the kitchen area. The door's probably not locked.

John Constantine has posed:
"Knock knock," John calls from the front door, rapping on it with his knuckles even as he pushes it open and steps into the apartment, "Don't shoot."

He doesn't really expect her to have a gun but, hey, this is America

"Oh, okay," he murmurs to himself, looking at the nameplate on the door and turning back to glance over his shoulder. What was a moment ago was a hallway in the House of Mystery is now the hallway outside Phoebe's apartment, "I get it. Pushy bloody house."

"It's me."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    It is America, and she is from a particularly violent part of it. Phoebe raises her eyes as someone shouts Knock Knock, and she puts a dried leaf in as a book mark, and reaches for her sweatshirt to pull over her shoulders as JOhn enters into the apartment.

    She gives a sidelong smile, and gives a shrug. "Always been nice to me. Even hooked me up with a room with a view during the three days I was confined to it." she states.

    "Don't mind the nameplate -- I haven't gotten around to getting it changed back yet. The Other One always made sure to introduce me as his kid, like it was some sort of protective charm." she states, drawing to a stand. She looks down at her Pac Man Ghost socks. Purposefully mismatched colors, and then back to John.

    "I don't have scotch, but I can make a cup of tea or get you a fizzy-might-be-lemon water?"

John Constantine has posed:
"Funny, him wanting to play house," John muses, wandering into the room with hands shoved deep into his pockets, "Might've seemed like a nicety, but it was all just a great stab at me."

He shakes his head when the drink is offered, raising a hand in refusal.

"Jokes on him, though. You don't seem bad at all. Colour me ... not inconvenienced."

He looks around for the first remotely flat surface and drops down on it, resting back on his hands.

"I'll be honest, I don't play gettin' to know you very well. Never been very forthcoming about all that. So maybe I can set some misconceptions straight. What'd he tell you about himself - about me?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I figured. Surround you with a bunch of newbies who all love your attention and want to be friends." she states dryly, and as he sits on the couch (third hand, a couple of cigarette burns here and there, but it's clean).

    She looks uncomfortable for a moment, and she looks to John, her eyebrows raised up, and she gives a shrug as she reaches down and scratches at that leather wrap that hides the white tattooed-on circle.

    "What was pieced together from him and Chas? Your father was an abusive alcoholic who blamed you for your mother's death, you grew up in Liverpool, Chas was your best friend since you were little kids. Picked up punk rock and the occult sometime in the mid-teens, where you met Annie, who later became a nun, and then a woman named Yazmin Sabry and her niece when you interrupted some Neo-Nazi giving a pair of black girls a hard time. From there you continued on, had a band called Moucus Membrane, you played guitar." she recounts as she picks up her cold tea, and looks back at him. "You spent time in an Asylum after..." she trails off, and she frowns. "I heard about that." she admits, quietly. "A little. Chas told me."

    And then she rubs the back of her neck. "You're a conman, magician, exorcist, self-described dabbler in the dark arts. In Cartomancy you're represented by a Nine of Diamonds, which tends to just bring down the other cards around it." she picks at a pill on her sweatshirt.

    "Not a word of anything have I told anyone since it's not their business, and I'll assume it's not mine anymore, either."

John Constantine has posed:
"Loves to take it upon himself to air my dirty laundry, that one," John says of Chasm, frowning slightly as he does, "But that's that then, I suppose. You've got the broad strokes. Everything Nergal knew, or the things I wanted him to know. You might find out in time that all those things played out ... a little differently to how you might thing. Or how Chas thinks. But that's another story. 'Nother time."

He waves a hand at the idea of it being her business: "You know it if you know it. I'm not expecting you to forget. Same way I'm not expecting you to take off and leave me alone. There's a responsibility here, even if I didn't court it."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "You don't have any responsibility for me. You're not the one who decided to pin the name on the donkey." the girl replies, and Phoebe reaches down to pick up the leather book with its demotic Egyptian script.

    "I also know the bare basics of why you're called The Laughing Magician. He probably thinks that you might be bothered when all of these 'pups' that got adopted begin to die in crossfire or strokes of bad luck. Or maybe he wants to annoy you to death." she remarks, though there's just the hint of a thin smile on that statement.

John Constantine has posed:
"I admire the martyr thing," John answers, clicking his tongue against his teeth, "And believe me, I recognize a chance to bugger off when I see it. But fact is I'm not interested in that. Chances are you've got just as much chance of dying away from me as you do with me. Probably more. So enough with the 'you didn't buy a ticket for this train' stuff. Don't change your nameplate - except maybe take Chas' name off it, I dunno. Makes us sound like a couple of gingers."

He clears his throat, squeezing the bridge of his nose: "Not that I've a problem with that, mind. Had plenty of equal opportunity fun in the 60s, believe me."

He clears his throat, eyebrows raising as though something has slipped out that he didn't intend.

"Either way, stick around, okay?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe pauses, and she pushes her glasses up a moment to look at John.

    "What does being a redhead have to do with--" she pauses, and she tilts her head back, and looks to the side "NEvermind. Also, knew that part, didn't judge then, still not judging. That would be /way/ hypocritcal of me." she replies, and she swings her legs up.

    "So, other than my Ancient Sumerian pronunciation and the fancy aura-dulling tattoo work, I don't... suppose you have any questions about my abilities. I mean, Chas knows probably everything else. Sims can fill in blanks if needed from what was told to them..." she pauses, and gives a raised-eyebrow look to John.

    "Also, that's how the last name appears on the Adoption paper work. Beacon-Constantine-Chandler. Too long for a bus pass."

John Constantine has posed:
"Jesus Christ. Names long enough to join the aristocracy. And I thought Constantine sounded pretentious."

A grin cracks his face for a moment before he shrugs his shoulders.

"I'm not much for asking what you can do. Obviously, you've got a handle on some of it, the rest'll come with time and practice. Not like you're gonna be my costumed sidekick or nothin'. Think it's more about making sure you don't grow up and turn into a little shit, right?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I was actually supposed to start joining in on investigations as a costumed sidekick. We had complementary masks picked out and everything." Phoebe states, her lips pursing as she levels a very even look at John.

    And then as if she hadn't said anything: "Been on a couple of investigations. Recently killed my evil cousin with help from some Brigade members and some costumed superhero friends of mine. Think I have a pretty solid foundation to not grow up and turn into a shit of any size."

John Constantine has posed:
"Well, you're on your own with the costume lark," John points out, pushing himself up to his feet, "But I guess I can be supportive. What's your costume look like?"

He begins to move around the apartment. He picks things up, turning them over in his hands, then putting them back on the shelf slightly askew.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Well. At least that's the same.

    "Pretty much a dress shirt, skirt, leggings and a hooded jacket with a backpack. I'd fit in well with fast Vintage fashion." she states from her chair as he picks up items. The dried mushrooms rattle in their jar. The rose petals flutter a bit. Full cans of white spraypaint and a jar of small books of matches. A medical display of the bones of the hand. A small box of white cowrie shells. A pink teacup from Japan that's been repaired with gold. Very slightly magical. Used to tell fortunes.

    The bookshelf has several leather-bound old books that smell of aging pages and glues and strings. They're in various forms of Egyptian, ranging from Arabic to Coptic to Demotic, to Hieroglyphic. THOSE are old and magical.

    Behind the couch, the working circle is burned in on the floor. Definitely magical, and has been used.

    One clear jar has burned red foil in it, wrapped in singed jutte twine. Definitely magical.

John Constantine has posed:
John nods his head and lapses into silence. He proceeds until he's examined everything, not bothering to say all that much. When he's finally done, he takes a few steps towards the door and leans lazily against the frame.

"I'm gonna leg it," he offers, "But it was good to get to know you better."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "All right," Phoebe states, rubbing the back of her neck, and she exhales. "Be safe out there, John." she offers as a bid of farewell, and awkwardly stands near the door. "Thanks for letting me stay on."

John Constantine has posed:
"Nothin' to thank me for. Sounds like a good match, y'know?"

John also stands awkwardly for a moment, before he opts to ruffle Phoebe's hair with the heel of his hand. He lets out a sigh, immediately lights up a cigarette, and steps into the hall.

"Alright, then."

And away he goes.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Ack! Hey!" Phoebe protests at the hair ruffle (because coily, kinky hair is hard enough to manage), and as he lights up and steps out, she watches him go, her lips pursed a moment, and then she closes her door, and looks at everything that got put back askew, and straightens up, and takes a moment to touch that silver locket around her neck, checking to make sure that pain in her chest didn't kick too high, and checks over her books.