Owner	Pose
John Constantine	Somewhere in New York, a serious ripple in the mystical plane. Heading out like a wave from New York, reaching even Bludhaven.   Following the ripple, there's a message rings out to two people specifically. The sender was John Constantine, and it was serious. "Right, not much time to explain, but I need backup in New York. Quick as you can."   In the Washington Heights apartment, a barrier had been erected, glowing around a bed that had been floating three inches above the floor. The sparse home had been made into a place of exorcism. The wife and boy of the man on the bed were in the corner, shuddering with horror. "I told ye not to stick around. That was why."
Illyana Rasputina	Lady Rasputin must be in an intrigued mood. Not for her the classic attire of a badass about town. She sports a pair of black pants, true, and knee-high black boots with enough buckles to be a Vertigo feature. The ankh of Isis hangs from her throat, and she toys with the pendant, flashes of silver thrown on the midnight-blue t-shirt spangled by /Supreme/ written across the front in album coveresque font. An image of refined imperfection, her. Humming under her breath has something of a harsh quality; not because she lacks a pretty voice but because the eerie melody belongs to another place, another time. 'Quick' may be the quickest for her. John Constantine asks a question. Give him two shakes of a sacrificial lamb's tail and there she is, the world splitting and folding around her on a spatial axis that isn't right. It doesn't reek of magic at all. "You pick the strangest locations for a date." A smirk, then. Floating beds? The demon queen of Limbo is in the right place.
Zatanna Zatara	It really doesn't matter what Zatanna was doing when she got the message. She could have been in deep research, she could have been watching ''Outlander'' and eating ice cream. When her phone starts to chime with 'Always Look on the Bright Side of Life', she knows it's from John. A quick wave of her hand and a couple of words, and she's in her work outfit, and vanishing from Shadowcrest to appear at John's loctaion. Dressed in her black trousers, white corset top, and short black jacket, the sorceress appears next to Illyana just as she mentions a date. "Don't think he could handle a threesome with us, love." she says coyly to Illyana before she is raising her brow at the situation and frowns slightly. "Oh John, what have you got us into." She's said that a lot in her life.
Stephen Strange	"That bloody man and his half preparations." Stephen scowls to the woman beside him. "I will return in due time sweet Clea, though, do wait up for me, I fear you watching further into the life of this 'Joe Exotic' without me." Stephen says, taking the tv remote and tucking it into his breast pocket. "I shall return in little time." The Sorcerer Supreme says before he starts to walk towards the doorway to the hallway off the den in the Sanctum. The red and gold cloak sails across the room, fluttering past the tv and pausing a moment to give Clea a kindly wave and blow her an invisible kiss before falling into Stephen's hand and taking the gesture to move to his shoulders in stride.     Stephen opens the door of the den and steps through into the appartment where he spies Zatanna, Illyana, and John, with a few horrified and ensared individuals. "I will assume Zatanna has already asked what have you gotten us into this time?" Stephen notes as he shuts the door behind himself.
John Constantine	The blonde haired mage had been holding up the magical barrier with both his hands, a golden light whisping from his palms and enforcing the salt ring barrier. "Okay, one: not my first time with a demon, so don't underestimate my sex pistol, Luv."   And there was Strange. "Ahh, the modest Doctor. Right on schedule."   John kept an eye on the barrier, making sure not to break it. "Was just gettin' to that part, Weird. So, lovely family over there gets ahold of me mobile number, give 'em a hello, says the father 'as some sort of affliction."   "El tiene un demonio! Ayudarnos por favor!" From the lady in the corner of the room. "Right, Luv. We are on it." He comments back to them. "So, seems a standard lesser demon, come to find out, when a lad forces this demon to name himself..."   "I WILL FEAST ON YOUR ENTRAILS, JOHN CONSTANTINE!!!" Says the afflicted man on the bed. "He turns out to be Beelzebub, one of the highest order of demons...my favourite."   The bed flips up, resting against the wall, and the man with it. "DO NOT SPEAK MY NAME, CHARLATAN!" The guttural demon rings out, while parts of the bed are starting to smolder.
Illyana Rasputina	The blonde would probably have opinions about Outlander and the use of menhirs for temporal teleportation. As the mistress of it, Illyana probably would. She tucks a strand of her jagged bangs behind her hair, the rest given a blunt cut falling down her back. "We came dressed up with somewhere to go," she tells Zatanna, the roughshod approach of Russian mangling English very little except to establish a jagged apex and sudden drop between consonants to vowels. "One way to know." The Sight-saturated perceptions twig to the Sorcerer Supreme -- hi, boss -- stepping through his foxfire portal. "Mister Doctor. Company." Giving John a once over, and then the cowering pair. Yes, kids, there -is- a teenager in the building here to help. Her frosty countenance probably makes things worse, not better. "Bozhe moi. Been a while." If the possessed soul starts speaking in tongues, it'll be just like home. That other home. The one where she has the horns and the tail on a bad day.
Zatanna Zatara	Quietly, to Illyana, Zatanna comments quietly. "More like a super soaker, if you want to be frank." That is said for the blonde's ears only. But she's recognizing the bigger issue. "Illyana, would you kindly give Johnny a hand. I'll keep the barrier going here. Demonolgy isn't my strongest suit." Stepping up, she touches Hellblazer's shoulder lightly. "Alright, like we practiced. Transfer the barrier to me, and I'll take it over." "Hello, Doctor," comes the sorceress's response as she waits to take over the barrier from John. "Refsanrt dna nehtgnerts eht reirrab." she commands, absorbing John's magicks seamlessly as she takes over and offers her strength to him, "You alright?" It's asked in genuine concern. "You have a plan, I assume?"
Stephen Strange	Demons. Of course it was a demon- Oooh, one of the greater Lords of Sin also. Great. Stephen rolls his eyes in John's direction before he steps fully into the room "Good afternoon Illyana, a friend of yours?" He asks with a motion towards the bed as he moves towards the child and mother. "It is scary, it will be, but it will be done soon." Strange informs them with his incredibly infamous bedside manner as he turns towards the trio of other mystics.     "Help her." Strange says as if he's looking over his shoulder, and yet there's a nod there from his colar and the cloak slips off his shoulders and shifts a bit to make the look less tacky, taking on a deeper shade of red, and brighter more glistening golds as the cloak falls upon Zatanna's shoulders, not only allowing her to fly without expending her own magics, but enhancing her own mystic reserves.     "Make sure that barrier doesn't fall." Strange tells Zatanna before he looks to John and waits for the blond man's response to the question.
John Constantine	"'Cept this man over my shoulder is not dead, dear." John's lips curl in a wry smile as Zee approaches to help. "Like old times, Luv." He comments, before transferring the barrier to Zee. He'd been holding that up for a good while, he had been quick to send out that message to everyone before he had to actively keep it open.   John relaxes just a bit as that specific weight was lifted from his shoulders. "To banish a demon of this caliber, at least three are needed." The afflicted man starts to contort and grow larger, ripping through his shirt as a gut develops, and a black substance starts to drip from his mouth. "Right, la familia, afuera, we've got it from here, and it may get messy. Best you just...go on, yes. We will get yer husband back." The cowering family sticks to the wall as John and Doctor Strange escort the two non-possessed members of the family out.   Once the two had exited the bedroom, John removes a cigarette and lights it up. "Holy water blessed by a pope." Which he removes from his trench coat, handing it to Strange. "Which leaves two substances..." John offers the group. "A blade forged of the underworld." He turns his gaze to Illyana there. It was a legend, but he had done some homework since their first encounter. "And the tears of a damned man." To which he approaches Zatanna, looking her over before he gazed to her eyes. He removed his flask and took a large tug off it, and palmed a small phial. "Come at me, Zee."
Illyana Rasputina	Demonology -is-, however, where John and Illyana share talent in common. She casts a smirk threaded by icy facets to Zatanna as she goes about the protective barrier upkeep, like you do when mystics are stuck together and forced to contend with Big Problems of the (B)(P) variety. Her thumb swirls in lazy terms. "Hell Lords are subjects or masters," she explains sidelong to Strange, probably preaching to the crowd. Her thumb hooks around the top of her leather pants, Sex Pistols for the modern age. Her enchanted gaze tracks the Cloak ruffling past to crown Zatanna with its vermillion glory. "Hello you." Note to self, get a cool cloak. In the meantime, it's going to be alt concert glory and She crooks her fingers in a come-hither motion at John, almost smirking, triangulating her position to form the hypoteneuse with Strange as the second point and the Englishman as the first. "Let me kill two birds with one stone, da?" When the Soulsword comes, it behaves like the awe-inspiring artifact it is. Even quiet, the blade attracts notice, not the sort of mall-bought aluminum blade for a mantlepiece. She shrugs her shoulder and it's there at her back, the midnight hilt shining with a rainbow iridescence over her shoulder. Strangely, it closer resembles a scimitar than its usual form, a hint of sinuous femininity, with the telltale forking running the length of the runnel. That, more than anything, screams exactly who she is.
Zatanna Zatara	That vermillion cloak settles around Zatanna's shoulders and she feels the gentle boost in her powers, it's crimson glow entertwining and rising with the cyan and sapphire of the magical maid's own powers and she licks her lips with the palatable taste of the power it presents to her, more than enough to handle the barrier. "Thank you, Doctor." she responds to Strange, a flash of a swift smile, before she watches Illyana and John go to work. Then Illyana is pulling the soulsword from herself, and the sorceress lets out a soft whistle of appreciation. That was very cool, and then John makes a request of her. One that she has really... avoided. A lot. "You need me... to make you cry?" The young woman stiffens, and she closes her eyes. "Goddamit, Johnny..." she whispers. Her heart thumps in her chest, and she starts to speak. "When you met me, John Constantine, I had such... feelings for you. My dad warned me not to go into this with my whole heart, and I did." she starts off, soft, quiet, her trembling hands the only sign of the anger she's building up within her. "I let myself do something I never did before. In my naievity, in my desire to impress you, I gave you my heart, my soul... I gave you ''everything''." The young sorceress bites down on her lip, shoving additional power into the shielding. "We loved. We fought. We had a relationship. We had everything. I never expected unicorns and roses with you, John..." Her lips tremble, the tears forming at the corners of her own eyes. "Do you remember... you asked me, Mento, and Sargon to come to your aid. Just like now. But I couldn't lie to my dad. And I had given you that piece of me. I let you lead me into that world, tantric, pleasurable, wanton...." she chokes on a sob. "...he wouldn't let me be near you without him, because he was scared that I'd fall in love with you." "I already was, John. I was already in love with you... but in that room, that night... when the Beast took Sargon and then took my father -- it was me he should have taken. It was me he had focused his gaze on. But my father took that. Because he wanted me to have a future with //you//. He put his baby girl, and my heart in your hands as he turned to cinders." "...and what did you do with it, John?" she asks him, quietly, raw emotion in her tone, in her voice. "You set me aside, like another one of your playthings. Except it was worse than that. I wasn't one of your one night stands, one of your casual flings. I wasn't the Midnight Nurse, or... whoever... I was part of you, you were part of me." "And you set me aside like so much rubbish. Why? Was it because my father was no longer there? Was the thrill of sneaking me off to fuck my brains out no longer a challenge? Was that all I ever was, John? Another notch? Another conquest." "You hurt me, John. And here I am. Again. And I don't know //why//."
Stephen Strange	Strange blinks at Zatanna and John. A couple of times before he steps closer to John, takes the holy water, blessed by a pope. Strange looks at it and then steps away from John and over towards Illyana, "Not sure which show is more entertaining..." The wizard whispers into the blonde sorceress' ear as he wants to fade away into the shadows, but there is also a demon here that needs to be rebuked. Not John, or the sorrow of Zatanna's heart either.
John Constantine	John's demeanor goes from his usual lessez-faire, to a much more concerned one as Zee rips into him. There's so much he wants to retort, but where to start.   "Zee..." His eyes starting to redden. "It was never you."   A moment before he starts to clarify. "Between yer dad, and Nicky, and Sargon...Astra...all of me mates befall grim fates." And the tears start to roll. "Anyone close to me...dies or gets damned to hell." He collects the tears on his face, and continues. "That's why I went me own way. Because I could not stand to see the same happen to you. I did not want you to die...because of me." More tears collected, enough for the group to do their work.   "Right." The Laughing Magician holds the phial in his hand, and sniffs, composing himself. "Right, Strange, some of the good stuff to that holy water, if you could." He looks into the phial of his tears, and the lacrimal fluid starts to glow a faint white. "We coat the soul blade, and we send pie and mash here back to hell where he belongs."
Illyana Rasputina	<<Let me stab him next time,>> Illyana replies in Russian. She trusts the Sorcerer Supreme understands, else it's likely Strange might mistake her commentary for complaints about his favourite TV show. The sorrows and travails of the distressed magicians beside her find no mark with her blackened heart and fractured soul. How could they? To have and hold, to lose most perilously require experience. Youth does no favours to showing a jot of empathy, even worse if anyone in the room knew how old she -actually- is. Mystic child labour laws may be more Victorian than Digital Age, but someone deserves a stern thrashing for bringing an elementary schooler into this. She reaches behind her to procure that sword with a practiced gesture so smooth, it hardly bears commentary. The glinting scimitar parts her hair without touching so much as a pale golden-white strand, clearing the sheath assembled more for the convenience of not explaining a floating relic. With the proximity of the infernal, it '''sings''' in a rhapsodic key at the edges of arcane perception. It's but a shard personifying the minority of her soul holding such transmuted purity, and the vessel cracked extends the Soulsword to point at the man in the bed. Claiming her mark, no doubt. The uncanny resemblance to Leighton's Gwynhwyfar about to knight Lancelot or Galahad might be eerie, for all it enables John the easier time of pouring his loss out with sanctified water and blessings of Christ's vicar. "We have so much catching up to do," she adds to the possessed man -- or more likely the demon behind him.
Zatanna Zatara	"I can still turn you into a toad, Strange." Zatanna's tone may not broker rebuttal at this point. "I should have just kicked him in the nuts." the young sorceress is not happy with having to spill all of that to two people that didn't need to hear it, but it's effective. It's got her putting everything she has into that barrier. "I'm already damned, John. I'm damned because I'd follow you straight to hell to help you." Which is why she's here. Now. Again. And again. She shakes off her hurt and her anger. "Let's get this done." she says, lips setting into a thin line as she works. She's not going to yell at John right now. She already knows the effects of allowing her emotions to bleed into her powers. It's why a girl that should be dead is now alive, and has had her whole life changed.
Stephen Strange	"The night is still young Zatanna, let us not discount any ideas." Strange notes as he removes the top to the container of holy water. Turning towards Illyana and her soul shard sharpened into a maleable and deadly point and edge,     "The poison to the wound, the coming infection of those that shant withstand the burn." Stephen says a ritualist words as he turns the container above the blade, allowing it to be washed in the blessed water.     Once that is complete Strange looks back to Zatanna and nods once. "I am aware of this, an awkward time to point this out, but you are your own woman." Strange retorts to Zatanna, he knows exactly why she brought it up, but this isn't the best time for quips and quibbles.
John Constantine	"Dambala aus gosh, suffaka petaso!"John pours out his tears on the soul sword, and along with the holy water, imbue the powerful weapon that much more harmful to the higher demon. "Maybe you'll get your wish."   The cigarette, had not been inhaled since he lit it, the smoke was a ward, spreading around the room as the flume protects the humans, and human-demons there.   "On three, Zee, the three of us need to attack hold it down while Illyana stabs the bastard's heart. Should be alright for the poor sod underneath though. "   John raises his hands, with golden array patterns holding themselves in front of the hands. "One, two, THREE!"
Zatanna Zatara	"No offense, Doctor, but if you don't understand why I said what I did, then you don't know the first thing about friendship." Zatanna says, irritation crawling into her voice. "So if we can save the Doctor Phil introspective for when this is all over, I'm fine." She nods curtly to John's words, pressing slightly more into the cloak. She's not going to cry again. And then she thrusts her left hand forward as her right hand holds the barrier. "Esnaelc ot Anaylli rof etatsorp mih dloh dna Bubezleeb fo sgel dna smra eht dnib Selehpotsihpem fo Sniahc!" Magical chains leap from her fingers, wrapping around the afflicted man's wrists and ankles and yanks him straight up off the ground to assist in the binding of the demon to prepare to him for Illyana's attack. The boys can do something more phsyical, but she's pumping her magic directly into the binding.
Illyana Rasputina	The Russian sorceress holds firm within the barrier, the Soulsword an extension of her arm and completely unwavering for the time being. Now if conversations extend to an hour, she might be in trouble. Possibly an explanation for why she used a lighter weapon instead of a vicious Zweihander or even a staff. "We are a damned threesome," she asides to Zatanna. "Do not give him reason to measure up and feel inadequate, da? Next stop, not Hell." Once the spill of holy water hits the blade, the sword goes up in flames. Flames of the sort circling suns and dancing on the heads of saints, fueled on the eldritch invocations that make eternity glow and the abyss spin as one radiant presence. She advances to the floating bed, cautious and tactical. They aren't the ones crowned in horns if things go arse-over-tea kettle, more than likely. "Do not put so much stock in wishes, Englishman. They have a nasty way of turning true." She raises that flaming sword and her armour is already manifesting as a cascade effect, the intersecting plates crawling in a midnight wave down her arm from the spiked pauldron and overcoming the pop-art t-shirt. Just an extension of the sword, much as the Eye marks Strange's mantle and John's cigarette is a part of him, and Zatanna's fishnets make the world wiggle in anticipation. She, rather, doesn't use a flourish of fencers circling the mark. Here is pure violence in its eldritch manifestation, a flaming beacon singed with prayers and wistful emanations and dire purpose, all tied up with a bow that Beelzebub is keeping her from seeing if Poldark involves yet another season of shirtless Ross. Or torturing demons by making them stock shelves. Whatever a teenaged sorcerer-queen does for fun. Bouncing into the fray means a pair of bounding strides to leap with the reinforced strength in her legs, springing up and arrowing in on the chest, left side down with the blade. The kind of arc meant to punch the blade straight through the ribs, and clean out the other side. "Say hello to the Dark Lords for me. Dazvidanya, blyad vokzal'naja." It could go wrong. Too much fun.
Stephen Strange	"By the Horay Hosts of Hoggoth!" Strange invokes the names of greater mystical beings than himself and he then calls forth the greatest restrictor he knows, of and summons, "The Crimson Bands of Cyttorack!" And the red bands of ribbon unfurl from the sleeves of the wizard to wrap and bind the other spells on top of the demon possessed, pressing down tighter and tighter still as the spell's effects compound.     "Do make it quick Illyana." The wizard recommends.
John Constantine	Mystic chains wrap around the demon's appendages, along with the Crimson Bands of Cytttorack, holding the beast down.   John's own mystic energy does more than hold down Beelzebub's host. The demon blood in John's veins also does its work to weaken their target, hell can fight its own kind, and that was what John had, along with his own allies.   No matter where their lives took each of them, the mystic was their common part. making these four a magical powerhouse.
Zatanna Zatara	"Drive it home, Illyana!" Zatanna calls out to the Russian sorceress, the other sorceress working to use the chains, now that Illyana has started to force the demon twain from the man to pull the hellspawn back as she grits her teeth, already soaked with sweat from the exertion of magic as well as having to share something so intensely personal. Sapphire eyes flash sharply as she focuses on the task at hand, pushing everything else out for now as she wants to protect the family. Everything else is a side mission.
Illyana Rasputina	Chains, bonds, and demonic blood: the worst kind of party. What with a girl in full leather and atramentous metal astride the bed, driving the incandescent weapon into someone, the innuendo is surely hitting the nosebleed state. Illyana has one knee dipped deeply, the other leg supporting her weight, and both hands clenched tight around the Soulsword's hilt. The double-edged blade rams downward into the demonically-possessed man, plunging through his back and wrenched in a vertical line. She draws a starburst that way, repeated stabs at a viciously rapid pace if somehow Beelzebub wants to hang on in the worst possible way. There is no point in shouting; no value in chanting. Fixated on breaking through, she rides out the vicissitudes of the exorcism. Whatever would buck her off only inspires her to launch right back in, heaving forward or crashing through fire. It's the inverse of Excalibur, trying to drive the sword into the infernal stone. Die, die, die, my darling.
Stephen Strange	Strange only dare stand watch as Illyana does the stabbing, John does the instructions and preparations, and Zatanna is the support for the whole group. Stephen is the self described 'safety net' and as he watches the trio work, he is reminded, that he is still just a man. Clea claims he is this, and it strikes a nerve, but this, this puts some other form of perspective upon the Sorcerer Supreme. Keeping his focus upon his own spell, keeping the man bound in the mystic hold of a murderer's row, a team that shouldn't have an equal on this planet, plane, realm, or dimension.
John Constantine	Beelzebub's body is not hardened against this kind of attack, the demonic aura around the place flashes at the first plunge of the soul sword, the air gets hotter, and even the sky outside seems to grow an eerie black-red.   The demon Beelzebub's black viscera douses the room, and with all four of these powerful sorcerers, stands no chance.   When all is said and done, the demonic body falls to the ground, along with the bed, and the rest of the room. Through one of the corpse's wounds, a hand pokes through.   The poor sod who seemed to have caught a case of demonic possession, emerges from the corpse. And stands, horrified at the turn of events. "Maria! Maria!" He cries out, while the corpse of the demon fades into the ether, it's corporeal form being banished back to hell.   Maria, and their daughter pretty much run into the room, and embrace their father/husband. "Ahh, a Kodak moment. Demonic viscera and all." John comments, puffing in that cigarette.