Owner	Pose
Phoebe Beacon	There is a playground belonging to a public school 111 Adolph S. Ochs, on the corner of 10th and West 53rd. There's a couple of half basketball courts. Sixteen foot tall chain link fences, boardered by the school and an office building on the other side. Thunder rumbles threateningly overhead in New York City, threatening to douse the neighborhoods of Hell's Kitchen in an attempt to wash away the sins of the city... or at least that's how Phoebe interprets it. Gotham kids are hella dramatic.     Of course, the healer had alerted to the other Outsiders her location. She's got a tracker in that bag that she's hidden her throwing knives and a couple of do-dads and thinga-ma-bobs, and she's looking up worried into the heavy clouds. She was wearing another one of her Free T-shirts -- this time promoting a particularly famous soda-pop company with red and white, along with jeans that definitely didn't have holes when she purchased them.     She certainly did *not* share where she disappeared to yesterday, but she looks... tired. A little worn.
John Constantine	Along for the ride, kneeling near Phoebe, is a sketchy dude in a trench coat painting some sort of graffiti on the concrete surface of one of those basketball courts. "You get in this circle and you stay in it, no matter what," John mutters once he has his little bit of artwork finished. It's big enough to hold about four people, sigils all worked into scroll work and Enochian lettering.     He too looks up at the skies over the Kitchen and then those faded denim blues turn to the surrounding area. He allows his sight to shift to the other world, to the astral and mystical energies of it, without actually going astral himself. It puts everything atop the real of it, like an overlay, fuzzy around the edges but clear enough to give him an indication. First, is there anything lurking? Second, is the storm natural in nature or something else?
Laura Kinney	After learning that Earth was being invaded by aliens, sadly not the friendly Martian kind, again X-23 has been in the New York area anyway. Checking her various safehouses and gear caches. Quite what she expects to do with sniper rifles and grenades against a space ship who can say. But it does at least mean when Phoebe triggers the alert it's not long before she turns up. Dressed casually with a dark grey hoodie and yoga pants. With a rain coat over the top. Her 'I'm just a girl that's out for a run disguise' plus the coat helpfully conceals that she's come armed. Nothing too over the top. A silenced handgun loaded with armour piercing rounds and a little snub nosed revolver with some really unpleasant home made dum dum rounds.
Tim Drake	It's not often that Tim finds himself in NYC, any more. His parents used to enjoy making the trip up semi-frequently to catch a show on Broadway or eat at some fancy restaurant, but that was always adult time, no kids allowed. Not that even Tim, overly sensible from a young age, would have been able to appreciate The Book of Mormon as a preteen. Or been satisfied with a single crostini topped with some sort of vegetable turned into a foam that shouldn't have been turned into a foam. He's just a Gotham kid, through and through.     Not to say a little corporate espionage isn't enough to get him to cross state lines, which explains why Red Robin responds semi-promptly to Balm's signal. He doesn't announce himself, just perches on the edge of the adjacent office building, looking over the basketball courts. But Phoebe and Laura will get a notification through their communicators of his presence nearby.
Phoebe Beacon	The storm is completely natural; as natural as a thunderstorm in the middle of alien invasions and the slaying of various gods can be. There's always power in storms.     Phoebe looks at the circle, and then looks to John. Lightning flashes in the sky.     "Breaking out the golden bowl again?" she asks with mixed curiosity and a little tinge of fear, as the thunder rolls in a rumbling disagreement. It wasn't exactly a pleasant experience the last time she stepped into a circle with John Constantine on the design party. Phoebe is not wearing her communicator. Too obvious, but she has her trust placed in everyone around her -- Tim, Laura and John.     Laura would get a slight whiff of something familiar. A perfume on someone's body chemsitry, laying over it. Something peppery. A woman in a fancy jacket traces her fingernails, bold crimson against the fence and then disappears around the corner of the building.     The wind picks up around Tim, turning cold, with a bite in it.
John Constantine	It isn't long after John has the circle drawn that a yellow taxi pulls up and the best damned cabbie and best mate ever to grace any space between Heaven and Hell pulls himself out of the driver's seat. He wanders over and drops a duffel near John that hits the ground with a *clankclatter*. "Two shutguns, two long rifles, four .50cals. Salt, silver and blessed." ...rounds that is. He opts, for now, for a shotgun loaded with blessed rounds.     "Best I can figure luv, something's animating the dead to come after you, but twistin' it all about, makin' them into whatever those things are, that's why you haven't been able to find anything about them, they're a one time deal made all special for you," John tells Phoebe before he straightens and eyes his handiwork. "Let it shine, little one, I'll fire the circle when they show. They shouldn't be able to get through it," he murmurs before he's snatching up his own duffel and heading out of sight. It's true, she should be safe in that thing, John plans on using no small amount of energy to power it.     Chas snags his bag back up and falls into the treeline surrounding the playground opposite of where John vanished. Truly... vanished. Illusion is one of his fortes and what's invisibility if not merely illusion of the absence of a thing?
Laura Kinney	The weather isn't idea for scent tracking, inner city rain tends to dampen smells, but Laura has a very discerning nose. The kind which can pick out a familiar smell even when conditions aren't great like this. <Her Cousin is here. The one we suspected was involved in the cult who kidnapped Balm.> she subvocals into the comms. Shifting position by darting across the street feigning a rush to the cover of a shop front awning. Nothing that looks suspicious but hopefully grants a better spot to watch from. A hand tucks into her pocket, resting casually on the silenced handgun concealed within. Trouble won't be far off.
Tim Drake	If there's one thing the Bats have down, it's the menacing pose whilst looming above the city streets. And sure, these aren't the streets Tim's used to brooding above, but (and he'll never admit this aloud) Gotham and New York are pretty similar. Close geographically and aesthetically, even if Gotham earns its name by being a bit more gothic, a bit more grim.     So Red Robin crouches on the edge of the roof, looking down at Balm as she tangles with things that are far outside Tim's wheelhouse. His cape snaps and waves in the breeze as it picks up, his silhouette illuminated by the inconsistent flash of lightning. Briefly he turns his head into the wind, where it nips at his face.     Rain and cold. It's enough to make him a little homesick. Gotham's the kind of place where even the weather seems to be affected by the perpetual gloom.     <<Copy.>> He doesn't have anything to report, not yet, and so he tears his attention away from Balm and that circle of graffiti to scan their surroundings again.
Phoebe Beacon	"... criminey Chas. That is a lot of guns." Phoebe states as she stands at the center of the circle, and she stretches out her fingers. She looks up to the sky, and then searches the rooftops a moment. She really, really wanted her armor for this one... but that would ruin the illusion, wouldn't it?     So Phoebe takes a deep breath, draws her feet shoulder-width apart, and brings her spread hands down, palms outwards.     John, int he Astral side, would see the glow in her grow, reaching ourwards, filling the space around her like gold powder on the outside of a bubble as the rain begins to fall around them, first in small droplets as a soft, gentle rain, shading the ground around them to darker, softer. It's a happy glow, the first smile and giggle of a child. The gentle touch of a parent to a forehead. The immediate area, even beyond her usual aura's reach has a sense of lightness about it -- and even in the normal side, the real life side where it shouldn't be happening, there would eb a low around her, dimly swirling with the healing energies she emits. It's a signal.     The air grows colder around them, and there is the smell of burning flesh. The air gets heavy, oppressive, and the rain begins to frost into little balls of hail pelting the people and the grounds around them.     This is not the normal apparations. This creature is far larger than a mastiff. It's as if some draft horse had escaped and has been bent out of shape, walking oddly on legs that have been broken and knotted and put back together. It shudders as it walks, a pair of dark red eyes peering from where its shoulders should be. A massive maw full of jagged teeth like broken glass, none the right size or shape, drags along the ground. Its saliva leaves burns along the ground as it makes its approach, going from the astral and crossing into the real world within a heartbeat. Its reptilian claws dig at the grass, and it rumbles words in an ancient tongue.     The woman in the colorful jacket crosses the street ahead of Laura. The scent is dimming with the rain, but though she's hurrying, Laura would be fast enough to pursue!
John Constantine	John and Chas have a different form of communication between them, it's a spell whipped up by the Laughing Magician years ago. It simply carries a mere whisper on the wind between the two of them, an unhackable whisper lest the person trying to intercept is pretty powerful. It's through that line that John says, voice barely even a *whisper*, "Something's building, Chas, I feel it. Be ready."     Too bad he's yet to loop Phoebe in on that spell yet! Asshole.     From his spot in the trees, Chas tenses, every muscle coiled like a snake ready to strike, it's an apt description for when Chas Chandler decides to move, it'll be with the quickness of a snake, something that belies his fairly lumbering size - at least as compared to his smaller friend.     "Now!" whispered still, but with intent and aimed at Chas from John. A few words uttered in Enochian brings up the protective warding of that circle - it's intent is to protect specifically from anything assembled or summoned forth or born of necromancy and black magic.     The pair of them, John and Chas, reveal themselves in unison, they've danced this dance so many times over the years that the steps are ingrained no matter the fluctuation in situation.     *BOOM* There's no silencer on that baby when Chas is within range to pull the trigger and let loose a blessed shotgun shell, complete with a little cross etched into the gold colored end.     John's right hand raises, a similar cross burned into his own palm, a brand. It's that brand he uses to channel this magic. His voice booms near as loud as that shotgun. Enochian again, the supposed language of the Angels themselves. For any that understand, the individual words aren't as important as the intent behind them: ... and that's to cleanse the thing of the evil controlling it, bring peace to a tortured soul and send it back to from wherever it was risen, twisted and bade to do such horrible things.     Hellfire, instinctual and having no need for concentration from the Magus dances in his left, just in case. Gunslinging the forces of nature or even Hellfire is never his first choice of action if it can be avoided, but it's certainly a good back up.
Laura Kinney	Laura gives a discreet hand signal, something a fellow Outsider like Balm will know means she's on the tail of trouble and to stay ready, then gives discreet chase to the woman. Not quite sprinting, that'd be too obvious, but putting enough speed on it could be mistaken for a runner caught out in the rain trying to get home. Perhaps if she can get close enough to press a gun to the small of Phoebe's cousins back it'll end all this trouble quickly and quietly! Although X-23 is not enough of an optimist to think that'll be how things play out... Still if all else fails shooting someone in the caboose isn't explicitly banned by the Outsiders code of ethics. It's just heavily frowned upon.
Tim Drake	This is not the kind of business Tim often tangles himself in. He's been around enough to not flinch at the sight of the creature as it appears, though even he can't stand against the rapid pinging of hail against his skull. He ducks, one arm raising to shield himself, and then he makes an executive decision.     Magic isn't something Red Robin can help with, not really. But pursuing a suspect? More his speed.     While Laura follows on-foot, stealthily, Tim keeps to the shadows up above, crossing from rooftop to rooftop as he shadows X-23's pursuit. She's taking point, both because she's already on the hunt and because he respects her skills in this arena.     Still, he feels better knowing that she has backup. Balm does too, and Tim only glances back once at the two gun-wielding figures before he uses his staff to vault across an open alley and land atop the building beyond.
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe is still concentrating on emitting the signal when the thing makes its presence known, and as she drops and turns, her eyes go wide. This was not what she was expecting to see. This was so much bigger than the last one. She gives a cry of alarm, raising her left hand as the circle lights around her, and the massive creature's claws sweep to try and drag her towards its maw -- halted by the circle of protection and the sudden pain of a blessed shotgun shell. The shell sinks into its shoulder, below one of its rust-red eyes, but it turns and snarls at Chas and John.     And if Chas is quick, he might catch a smaller creature, double the width of a doberman with its maw placed where its neck should be as it launches himself at him!     The larger creature speaks in its ancient tongue again, hissing its words.     The woman seems to get a sense that she's being followed. She makes a couple of turns down alleyways. Laura would find, mysteriously, items popping up to be in her way -- trashcans being moved, a fence suddenly springing into being behind the woman, like a gate that was closing. Tim would be able to catch the dark red of the woman's jacket, something that looks too heavy for summer wear in New York.
John Constantine	It's not Chas that notices the second one, it's John with his *eyes* wide open that does. That Hellfire poised on his right hand gets lobbed unerringly in the smaller one's direction. Thing about Hellfire, it burns different than the normal thing and it clings a bit, like napalm and typically deals force with it to toss a target back a bit.     Hail, sleet, rain, none of it faces either man really - they've both fought through worse.     The sound of Chas's shotgun *cha-chinking* a second round into place precedes the next *BOOM* toward the bigger one. The reload is quick, practiced and without hesitation - he trusts John to have his back through the process.     When his spell is met with resistance, John just channels more energy into it, raises his voice, DEMANDS his wishes be done by the powers he's calling upon.
Laura Kinney	The commotion back where Balm is can hardly go unnoticed to X-23, her keen mutant senses hardly needed for the sounds of a shotgun going off, and she bursts forward at full speed. No need for stealth now. <Keep watch over Balm, I'll stay on the Cousin.> She says over the subvocal comms. Not exactly an order, Red Robin is the boss after all, but more a specialist calling her target. It might surprise Phoebe's Cousin just how little her obsticle course slows the mutant down. Laura simply vaulting small objects and when it moves to whole fences claws pop from one of her hands with a snikt. Making an X-23 size hole to leap through. Still who knows what magical tricks the mysterious Cousin might employ to evade pursuit now she likely knows it was a trap!
Tim Drake	<<Okay, X-23. We'll meet back up at the RV point after.>>     And just like that, Red Robin has pivoted, leaping out into the night air as he brings his grapple gun up from its holster on his hip. The pop of air as it fires is muted by the storm beating down on him but it flies true, and within moments Tim's made it back to the basketball courts. He climbs up and over the tall fencing with the ease of long practice and as he ascends to the top, he tosses an explosive shuriken towards the larger of the two creatures.     Will it do any damage? Honestly, no idea. He's banking on it being distracting at the very least, so that it might provide an opening for someone with actual magical firepower to lay down some real damage.     In the meantime, Tim lowers his shoulder as he hurtles towards the ground and manages to tuck himself into a smooth roll to maintain his momentum as he springs back to his feet and darts towards Phoebe.     "You good?" he asks his teammate as he withdraws his staff, eyes wide behind the lenses of his mask.
Phoebe Beacon	The burst of Hellfire makes the smaller one back down, its teeth are fused finger-bones, the tips sharpened, the arches unmoving as it whips back and forth, screeching <It burns! It burns! God, Preserve me, it burns!> in greek, trailing backwards, shaking its head back and forth.     The huge creature arches its body as Chas hits it again with the blessed rounds, the creature twists about, retreating slightly, and then giving an inhuman howl. It screams in a dozen voices, constructed of flesh and bone and the stench of a funeral pyre.     And it SMELLS WORSE when the normal explodive shuriken strike its side, and it turns hissing, and tries to dive at Tim as he stands in the circle.     Phoebe has seldom been so happy to see her cohort, and she gives a wan smile to him.     "Oh. Peachy. You know." she states in a deadpan as she backs away from the strike of the creature as its corrosive spittle burns holes in the pavement beneath it. She looks rather queasy at the stench as the rain picks up harder, turning to a downpour after it has frozen to the ground -- and the huge creature sweeps a baw, trying to scrape away at the protective scrolling of the circle by ripping up chunks of the pavement.     It yells again, child-like in anger in Greek: <I must get the mouse! I want to go home to my mother! My Mother!!>     And the smaller one, weakened by Hellfire, attempts to make a leap for John's thigh!
John Constantine	*BOOM* The sound of that shotgun rings out again as the thing lunges for Tim. The man's a crack shot, better than most trained in the trenches, he aims center mass. "I got this one, John!" Chas bellows, knowing the plan in full before coming in.     John's attention then shifts to the smaller one, no Hellfire burning in his hands this time. In fact, after a single blast of force; air, wind, whatever one chooses to call it, to knock the smaller back a few paces, but not before it gets a chunk of Johnmeat for dinner -little too close to the family jewels that, ouch - but even though, he grows still. Out loud, in Ancient Greek, "I'll send you home to your mother, if you help me... fight it, come to *me*." His lips then move without sound, intent and will still there despite the silence of the words. Ancient Greek still the language of those barely there words, the purpose of them to wrest control of the pitiful creature from that which created it.
Tim Drake	Unsettling, is what that is. Tim can go up against a lot without it shaking him, crazy clowns and giant sewer creatures and worse, but those are familiar terrors. It's not that Gotham is free of magical horror, not really, it's just not often something you encounter on the streets.     But Red Robin just takes in a steady breath (through his nose, even though the stench burns) and nods to Balm. "Why can't we ever have a fight with something that smells nice?" he asks as he looks up to the lumbering beast trying to get at him through the protective circle. "The summoned spirit of a Bath & Body Works or something, yeah?"     He knows that it's Phoebe they really want, and they're trying to get at her. The least Tim can do is continue to provide some of those distractions while the trenchcoat and cabbie do their good work, so he ducks out from the circle--on the opposite side from the creatures--and he climbs quickly to the topmost point of the nearby playground structure. Somehow despite his scrambling, his feet manage to remain planted on the slide as he ascends, and then he's in a good position to toss out a couple more of those exploding shuriken.     The electrified tip of his staff crackles in the pelting rain like a flare, and Tim keeps his grappling gun in hand, ready to make a quick retreat.
Phoebe Beacon	"Be careful what you wish for!" Phoebe replies to Tim as he ducks out of the circle. She might have just said 'be careful' and tacked on the 'what you wish for' -- because can you imagine the headache fighting a summoned spirit of Jasmine Dreams or the overwhelming birthday cake stench of A Thousand Flames of Vanilla Cupcakes?!     BOOM! The shotgun rings out. The creature looses more of its singed skin and tries to dig under the circle, panicked, crazed between the pain of the blessed bullets and the sensation of losing more of itself with the exploding shuriken.     And finally, the big creature turns, and decides that Chas is the bigger threat -- it can go back to get Phoebe afterwards. She's not leaving the circle, but she watches and shouts in horror as it goes after Chas.     And its drooling glass-filled maw snaps, its broken, twisted form galloping with supernatural speed as it leaves hissing, burning destruction in its wake and then goes to leap at Chas!     Confused, the smaller creature halts its attack, although its boney maw is stained with John's blood (and probably a bit of his trousers sticking out of its mouth). Its dull, crimson eyes cannot blink, wetted by the rain, but its halts its attacking, and obeys the spell that John is using.
John Constantine	That shotgun goes off again, this time it's *point blank* range to face, but it doesn't happen before Chas goes down under the attack, left bleeding from a gaping wound to the side of his neck, arterial blood spurting everywhere.     But John keeps chanting, his best friend laying there *dying* and he keeps chanting in that quiet voice. Once he has the thing fully under his control he commands, "Take me to who did this awful thing to you so that I can destroy it and send you home to your mother," still that perfect Ancient Greek. Man's French is rusty, but he can speak Ancient Greek and Enochian fluidly - weirdo. If the smaller one moves as if to lead the way, John'll follow with only a brief moment to call out, "Don't let anything take his body!"
Tim Drake	Watching a man die is not what Tim was expecting to happen to him tonight. He's not immune to it, even if it's not anywhere near his first experience with death. So he calls out a thoroughly useless "Look out!" just before the creature bites down.     There's no missing the noise he makes, echoing Phoebe's own horrified shout even as he fires off his grapple gun.     Behind the lenses of his domino mask, Tim's eyes are wide. Each strike of rain and hail against his exposed skin, what little there is beyond the armor of his costume, joins the crash of thunder as mute background noise. He's hoping coming in from the creature's blindside will be enough for the impact to knock it off its feet, but Red Robin tosses out another explosive shuriken (he's running out) to soften his target up just before he swings in, boots first.     If not, well, Tim will deal with that as it comes. Right now he's just trying to draw the beast's attention away from Chas.
Phoebe Beacon	Once under his control, the creature turns around under confusion, as if not quite understanding, and then it hops off and begins to run back towards the school. The further it runs from Phoebe, the less physical it becomes,     When Chas goes down, Phoebe screams, and she rushes to the side of the circle, but finds she's halted in the same way that the huge creature. She looks up, and goes "No, no no no!" and pounds on the wall of the protective circle. "Come get me! It's me you want, right?!" she calls out, and then launches a long string of words that are not /quite/ Greek, but trying to get the attention. Themysciran's close, right?     The huge creature, meanwhile, now that Chas is bleeding out, limps. Its fleshy body is reforming, slowly, around the explosive points -- only for a couple more to strike against it, followed by a bird!     The creature turns, and there is a intake of breath -- and then vomits forth an ichory, reddish-black mass from its form, corrosive fluid launched towards the young hero!
John Constantine	John's off, on his own, as it usually ends up, chasing that thing. When it starts to fade, he commands it to *stop*. He back steps, holding on to the leash he's formed on the thing and bids it to follow until it's whole and real again. Briefly he ponders the advantages of keeping the thing, shakes it off and asks, "Who did this? Who made you?," in that perfect Ancient Greek. "If you can't tell me, show me..."     Is it possible, can the link he's formed with the pitiful abomination *show* him, mentally?     He can sense the other one weaken and begin to reform through the mystical senses he has open.     "Use that light, luv! All of it! Chas is FINE!" He bellows, in English, hoping his voice carries over the storm. ... as he drops the circle. Of course if she finds herself in any real danger, the damnable spelled rock he dropped into her pocket somewhere on the way here will pop her right back into that circle so he can bring it back up again. Pluck her up by the scruff by an invisible force and drop her like a helpless kitten. *ASSHOLE*
Tim Drake	It's not quite the impact that Tim was hoping for, and his boots are deeper into monster ichor than he'd really like them to be (his preference would be for NOT AT ALL, thank you) but it was a possibility he'd planned for. So he grabs for a handhold and skitters like a drowned cat across the creature's back.     Not quite fast enough, though, because the arc of corrosive fluid is aimed right at him. With a sweep of his arm he brings his cape up to protect himself even as he's sliding over top and around the beast, and with a practiced motion unclasps the collar from around his neck, leaving his cape behind as he lands on the ground opposite.     He doesn't depart his brief petting zoo fun ride atop the creature without leaving a tip behind for the experience. Several small thermite explosives have been planted in a neat line following the trip he'd made over the creature's back, blinking red in the dark of the stormy night for only a brief second before Tim detonates them.     And then he's diving for Chas, trying to pull him into the protective circle.
Phoebe Beacon	In the Astral Realm, the boy that John is able to see stops as the creature does. He tilts his head, and then says <The Lady in Red. She woke me and told me to find a mouse, and catch it as quick as a cat. That the mouse was keeping my mother up at night and she could not sleep. I am supposed to be sleeping.> he replies, and through the link, that leash he's gotten on the creature and the boy, he would get impressions.     A desert with a clear blue sky, palm trees near the murky blue of an ocean. A dark place, and then summoned around the side of the building, bade to fight the rats and to capture the mouse. The sight of a woman is there, but it's fuzzy, garbled, mishapen. Eyes in the wrong place, mouth sewn like a doll and a black shell for a nose.     Something smells like a piss-soaked club, knocking about ears. <... I'm cold.> the boy whispers quietly.     Tim would find himself coming over the top of the huge, drafthorse-sized creature that's spat ichor at him. There is sizzling on the cloak, used to protect him -- and a good thing, too! The hero would find that the creature bucks to try and get him off, the motion slow and alien to the limbs that are splayed more like a lizard or a spider than a mammal. The maw of jagged glass drags noisily against the broken pavement of the basketball court as it turns.     The thermite lights up the night with its own lightnign and thunder, sending singed chunks of clay-like rotten flesh through the schoolyard. The creature howls in pain, screaming in anguish in a dozen voices.     And once the barrier is dropped, the two Outsiders switch. Phoebe lights up the light as her light staff comes to be, soaked through to the bone as her tears disappear into the rain, putting herself between the creature, and Tim and Chas's body, jaw grimly set in the slick rain.     She trusted them. She /trusted/ them.     "I'm so sorry." she whispers to the beast as it stands, brokenly in the middle of the schoolyard, trying to summon acid. Its interior oozes through the holes that the thermite has blown into it, and she brings all of her aura back in, focusing all Light into the staff which lights up the basketball courts and greenery of the school yard with such brilliance that it would be blinding as she delivers a blow to the beast.
John Constantine	"I know," John replies to the child. No one's around to hear the genuine compassion in his voice, the hurt he has in his heart for the pitiful thing, all the better... some might think him soft for it. "But it's okay, it's all right now, the mouse is caught... you're free to go." He hasn't gotten much, but John just can't stomach seeing the poor thing suffer any longer.     "Go, lad, go home to your mother, she's sleeping peaceful now and so should you."     He raises his voice then, that loud booming thing he can muster when he wants to be heard. "I know you're here! I know you can hear me! And know this, John Constantine is coming for you! You want to mess with a little girl! With *children*, well I'll come play anytime you want, bitch!"     Chas... well, he's dead. Eyes fixed and staring, blood slowing as his body empties itself of the last of it. No protective circle is going to protect him, not anymore. Man is gone.
Tim Drake	Tim is aware that Chas is dead even as he bends down to clamp his hand on the man's neck, around the injury. His forehead wrinkles as he looks at the man's face. A stranger, yes, but one that was helping Phoebe, and that's enough for him. More than enough, really, for someone like Tim.     He says nothing, lips pressed together, grim and silent as he looks up at Phoebe between him and the beast.     His staff is in his hands once again, but for now he remains where he is.
Phoebe Beacon	If your heart didn't ache for the boy, what kind of person would you be? The string binding him to Phoebe snaps. The boy, wrested control, and freed of his task, gives a nod. <I'm so sorry I bit you! I thought you were a rat and I a cat! I shall not wake her up when I crawl back to sleep. > he promises, and turns, calling out "Meter? Meter--" before he fades away. The creature bubbles and melts, its acid eating itself from the inside out without a ghost to temper it. John raises his voice, and looks to the light.     The creature is giant, and struggling. The circle in Phoebe's left palm has lit up, and she is pressing her hand to the creature's head, feeding it light.     The greater creature withers, its supply of acid ichor already exhausted, and crumbles to pieces. Clay and rotten flesh built around the broken form of a great horse, with the skulls of three people sewn to it -- two at its shoulders, one skull rotting and pitted at its stomach.     Phoebe gasps, and collapses down to her knees, her skin bubbles and boils from the corrosion, and then neutralizes the ichor. There is still a string in the Aether that is connecting her to the ghosts within, piled upon one another.
John Constantine	Despite the blood still running from the wound to his thigh and the possibility that bits of him that shouldn't be might be flapping in the wind - that was *really* close - John sprints back toward Phoebe. Ghosts? Those are well within his wheelhouse, so well that they're barely even a thing to think on.     He skids to a stop, hand extended, that branded cross to bear to protect himself from any attacks, Ancient Greek for spoken word, "Tell me who did this and I will set you free!" ...and he will, he'll wrest control just as he did with the boy, if he has to die trying. He'll keep his word, he'll free all three, but first he needs answers.     He's much more willing to hold adults hostage to get them than a child.
Tim Drake	Even now, Tim's still got his hand on Chas's neck, and he looks away from the bright light surrounding Balm. Away and down, into the face of a dead man. The tips of his gloves are thin enough that he can feel the lack of pulse, and with a grimace he pulls away.     There's blood on his hand, so he uses the other one to brace against Phoebe's back, hopefully somewhere that hasn't been touched by the creature's ichor. "I got you," he murmurs to his teammate.     Little else he can do beyond that, and stare at the remains of flesh and bone where the creature once was standing.
Phoebe Beacon	The three spirits bound to the body and still tethered to Phoebe, drawing energy from her to remain physical, are visible now to even Tim, though they would look faded, like an old memory.     One also speeks Koine Greek, though a newer brand than the boy did. Another is spitting commands back in Latin, eager to be removed from these bonds, and the third is a timid, whispering woman.     The first asks for John to take him home; he was supposed to be home to his wife. There was no sense in him being here, but a Red Lady had bid him come to capture a rodent.     The second is ordering John to take him to the Lady in Red, as she promised him life again after the charlatan on the docks sold him a vial from an Empire Beyond the Mountains.     The woman cowers away from John. When she speaks, it is modern, and it is Coptic: <She whispers in her room of darkness and binds the loose souls who wander, or pulls them from their sleep. When we awoke, we were one, and we were here, bid to catch a little mouse.>     Phoebe feels Faint. She does not look back at the circle. She looks to John, and whispers "John... your leg--" and teeters slightly. She feels Tim's hand on her back, and she does something uncharacteristic. She leans into Tim, her eyes closed a moment.     ... mostly so that she doesn't throw-up. The smell of burning flesh isn't something that someone who nearly lost both her parents to fire really wants to encounter.
John Constantine	"Who's the Lady in Red?!" John bellows, temper getting the better of him for a flash, but he knows that, if they knew, they would tell him. So the battle begins anew to wrest control away from whoever has them tied to Phoebe.     But he doesn't free them, not yet, first he closes his eyes and let's his astral self walk, at least partially. It's a feat that's not easy, keeping one part of himself here and letting another drift along the magic, the 'leash' controlling these pour souls to try to catch a glimpse of the source, just a peek.     It might seem he's dead, for a moment or two, still standing; he's that still, his breathing that shallow. If they can't tell him, he'll find it another way, the answer to his question.     If it works, fine, if it doesn't... okay, either way, once he knows? He'll come back to himself and begin weaving the spell he used before.     Harder this time, takes more effort for three than it does just the one, but John won't give up until he's wrested control of the souls away, until he's brought them to him to be set free.
Tim Drake	Tim's getting bits and pieces, now. He understands Latin, and the Koine Greek being spoken is closer to modern, enough that he can pick out the occasional word. Not enough to form the whole story, but enough to get the sense of how deeply into something he has no business being in Tim is. But all he does is rise up to his feet and keep himself steady against Phoebe. His bloodied hand still hangs at his side, but he moves the other to her shoulder, using his weight to help her stay upright.     If the smell's getting to him at all, his expression doesn't show it. Not yet, at least.
Phoebe Beacon	"I really miss my hood." Phoebe whispers to Tim as she stands, wincing. "Is Chas...?"     The source is good; the suggestion that once they had captured Phoebe, they would have been freed was strong. All about capturing a rodent, a hiding, scared little mouse. Be a cat, catch the mouse, bring them home to mistress. The Lady in Red, disfigured face sometimes with features wrong, other times stitched like a poppet, other times?     <Asenath.> the woman gives a name. The Lady in Red. Another sorcerer.     <Asenath.> The Koine man replies.     <Asenath.> the grumpier man replies, and adds in Latin: <The Witch>
John Constantine	Now he has a name, there's so much power in knowing a name. John sets the spirits free to wherever it is they're supposed to be. Then he's spinning to kneel beside Phoebe, defiantly - mostly - hiding the wince the pulling at that thigh wound causes. "You all right, luv?" he asks before finally addressing Tim...     "What *is* it with you lot and those ridiculous costumes?" he asks before he nods toward Chas - poor dead Chas - "Help me get him into the cab over there, aye? It's time to go."
Tim Drake	"Yeah. I kinda want one myself," Tim answers as he looks up into the rain. It pelts against his face, and he gives himself a little shake though it does little for him. His hair is plastered across his forehead, nearly covering the lenses of his mask. At least he can say the rainwater tastes as bad in New York as it does in Gotham.     He doesn't answer her aloud when she asks after Chas, only shakes his head. He pats her once on the back and then exhales. Before his breath catches in his throat as Constantine addresses him.     For a second his throat works without making a noise, and then he just gives another shake of his head. "It's body armor," he answers, and then wordlessly he bends down to help haul Chas's body into the cab.
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe gives a Tim a small, sad smile, and pats his shoulder. She breathes out, and she then goes to John.     "John. Your /leg/." she states with a little more oomph, but since she's not injured (thank you to John for that one!), she goes to help Tim with Chas.     "I'm sorry, Chas." she states to the presumed corpse of the man, and she helps haul to the cab. "Can you drive, John?"
John Constantine	Before he sets about helping Tim, John gathers up the two abandoned duffel bags and loads them into the trunk.     See, the thing about Chas? He comes back. He always comes back. The length of time it takes him to come back is directly related to how violent a death he suffers. This death? It was a day ending in Y in the lives of John Constantine and Chas Chandler.     They don't make it to the cab before the man's wounds begin to knit together, his eyes snap open and he sucks in a gasp of a breath. Before... "Bloody hell, put me down, mate, it's embarrassing."     "Welcome back, Chas," John replies before nodding at Tim to drop his end. "Next time shoot the thing before it rips your throat out, I mean, that's the plan right?" he grouses.     "Not *my* cab he's not, no feckin' way!" Chas complains once he's on his feet. "Sorry for what, kid?"     ... AWKWARD?
Tim Drake	Tim gets his hands hooked underneath Chas's arms and lifts with his knees, all the while trying not to stare down at the corpse he's now tasked with hauling. It's a grim job, but someone's got to do it, and his breath puffs out of him softly as they move towards the cab.     He doesn't startle when the corpse becomes a living person once again, basically in his arms. Well, he does, but startling for Tim is often just a few rapid blinks, which no one can see him do behind his mask. Carefully, he sets Chas down, and looks at Phoebe for a second before he just sort of... uncertainly gestures at the man. "We need to sit down and have a long talk," about this, about everything, is what Tim means as he looks at Phoebe one last time, offering her a smile that honestly looks like it was a struggle for him to manage.     And then he turns to go collect the scraps of his acid-eaten cape. Best not to leave any evidence of a Bat out of Gotham.
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe is not used to things coming back to life. She knows she didn't have enough oomph to bring him back. He was out of range most of the time.     She... actually gives a physical wince when Red Robin states that they need to have a talk. "Ah... yeah." Phoebe states. It's clear that they're familiar with one another. And she looks between John. And then to Chas, who is now living.     And then she does something very unusual. She ducks in to *HUG* Chas, because that should be surprising enough that no one's going to question how she knows Robin, right? Right.
John Constantine	"Wossat leave now, mate? Thirty-three?" John asks.     Chas nods, "Yeah, I think so. No, wait... wait... thirty-two, there was that time in Texas with the Wendigo."     "Ahhh, right, that one was pretty gruesome," John replies.     Weirdest, most vague conversation ever is interrupted by Phoebe's incoming hug. OOF. Chas wraps his arms around her like a favorite Uncle might a niece, or even a Father might a daughter. "Whoa, hey, it's okay, I'm fine, kid," he assures before pressing a chaste little kiss to the crown of her head. "I guess we forgot to mention it, sorry."     "Time for all that later," John mutters. "Shotgun, cops, questions... best to avoid all that, innit?" Speaking of shotgun, John has permanent dibs on that seat in the cab. He climbs into the passenger seat.     "Need a ride somewhere?" Chas asks Tim. Knowing Robin, if that's the strangest thing they encounter in a day, it's not a *day*.     ...Chas'll grouch about John bleeding all over the seat later, that's a promise. For now though, it really is time to bail.
Tim Drake	There's not much left of his cape, but Tim picks up the remains anyway. He holds it out from his body, pinched between two fingers, until he's sure there's no more acid potentially lying in wait to start eating through his gloves. "Thanks, but I have my own ride," he says as he glances back over his shoulder, and gives a polite nod to Constantine and Chas before he looks, once again, to Phoebe.     There's not much silent communication that can happen without eye contact, so he looks away. His grapple gun is unhooked from his belt. <<Keep me in the loop, Balm. Worried about you.>> And then he's in the air, clearing the top of the chainlink fence just before he alights on a nearby building's roof and disappears. A few moments pass before the roar of a motorcycle erupts into the silence of the night nearby, slowly fading into the distance.
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe stays outside a moment, and she looks at Tim, the same sort of wordless communication, and she lowers her gaze, adn then turns back to the cab.     "What he said. Busy guy, Robin." she goes to get in the backseat of the cab     "The /leg/ John." she states.
John Constantine	"Will keep, luv," John replies... and it will, it's mostly mundane type damage, unless there's acid eating his bone. John's tough, demon blood and all it. The bleeding is already slowed compared to what it might be otherwise. "We'll be back at the bar soon enough to handle it proper."     ...and they certainly will be with the best cabbie and best mate from Heaven to Hell and all the places between driving.