Owner	Pose
Chas Chandler	The Laughing Magician is pretty empty the occasionaly regulars coming in, getting their drink on, and moving on to their homes. Hell's Kitchen isn't the best of places to be out on one's own late, after all. There are a few straglers, hedge magicians and kitchen witches who stick around until the proprietor decides to kick them out. But they are on the fringes of the bar, in their own haze of smoke and booze.     Chas stands proud and straight behind the bar. His apron is spotless (despite serving drinks and preparing food for the patrons) and he seems content, all things considered. It would be difficult to guess that a number of his friends weren't there and his daughter was still in relative traction given his own cheerful demeanor.
Mairin Moran	Mairin slides into the bar looking only slightly better than she did last night. The headache is gone and she's changed clothes, but she doesn't look like she slept that much or that well. But hey, who has time for sleeping when there are hell-portal-closing devices to make?     Even so, she still manages a smile and a wave to Chas as she walks up to the bar. "Hey, Chas. How are you tonight?" It's a regular question, but theres a sympathetic bent to the tone that makes it obvious she knows at least a little of what he's going through and wants to show support. WHether she expects an honest answer or not is hard to say.     She slids onto one of the stools, lifting her satchel to set it on the bar-top, and a metal sphere the size of a baseball rolls nearly out of it before she can catch it.
Chas Chandler	Chas wipes a spot on the bar and smiles to Mairin. "I'm alright, Miss Moran, all things considered. Yourself?" he asks. His eyes flit toward the metal sphere. "I hope that's not dangerous..." he says as the ball rolls along the countertop. He finishes his spot clean and adds, "What can I get you? Food? Drink?"
Mairin Moran	Mairin hefts the ball in one hand and smiles a bit. "Not like this it isn't. It's what John has had me working on." She tucks it back inside her bag where it clink against all the other metal things she carries around in there these days. "Actually a ginger ale would be great, thank you." She glances around the bar taking note of JOhn's empty spot. "He's not here is he?" It's as much a statement as a question.
Chas Chandler	Chas reaches down under the bar and opens something. There's a soft hiss followed by another of the same and he comes up with a chilled green bottle and sets it before Mairin before popping the top off with a stiff (but practiced) jerk of his wrist. "Oh. For the tears in reality?" he asks.     He shakes his head. "No. Not here. He and a few of the others are taking care of some business across the pond. Not as dangerous as most of the stuff of late, but still..." He shrugs. The whole business with Phoebe's lineage has him a bit on edge still and this trip was no different.
Mairin Moran	She nods, probably to both questions, as she takes a drink. "Well he wanted me to leave some here, in case he has to go running out for another one. Do you mind putting them somewhere he can find them?" She fishes three of the little guys out of her bag. "And somewhere no one else will? They *could* be dangerous in the wrong hands." Like any tool, it's all in how you use it.
Chas Chandler	Chas nods and takes the items. "Back room it is then" he says, looking at them. "Does... uh... Does John know how to use them?"     It's not John's intelligence that he's questioning. John Constantine is smart as hell in his book. It's the fact that medium is a bit more than either of them are familiar with. Their focus (study and application) has been on more ancient texts, ancient rituals. This techno-magic (which he's started calling it) is something else entirely.     "I just... I'd hate to see it misused and waste all that work, after all."
Mairin Moran	Mairin laughs a little. It's an exhausted laugh, but it's genuine. "Yes, he does. At least he should, they were desinged to his specs. And we used one last night, so I think he has the general idea." She stops, thinking... "Actually now that I think about it he might not know exactly everything that it can do. I mean, he knows enough to get the job done but they can do a bit more. Do you think I should leave him instructions?"     She gets out a notebook and without even waiting for an answer, starts jotting down step by step instructions on how to use the portal-bots.     "By the way..." she says, without looking up from her precise flowing script. "I was wondering if I could ask you something," she clears her throat, "about Nettie." Yep... that was smooth and non-chalant. Good job, Mairin. No one will suspect a thing.
Chas Chandler	Chas sets the balls down on the counter behind them. They blend in well enough to look more like decoration than anything weaponized. He frowns as the young woman is writing out instructions.     "You could ask..." he says slowly, "I might not know the answer though. But I'll try." He sling she cleaning rag over a shoulder and gives his full attention to the technomage.
Mairin Moran	Mairin clears her throat again. "It's nothing big... I was just... wondering if she had, you know, any particular favorite things." She pauses to examine her instructions overly carefully. "You know... like flowers or food or anything." She shrugs, as if none of this really matters in the end. It's no big deal. Honest.
Chas Chandler	Chas smiles. Oh. One of those sorts of questions, was it? His expression doesn't hide that he seems to get the general premise behind the inquiry and he tilts his head to one side. "Oh. That's tough. Hmm..." he puts a hand to his chin in thought.     "I know she likes lime in her gin, which isn't what you're asking. Animals have always been a thing but she can't have them... they don't stick around her." He taps thoughtfully. "Books. Forties music..." He thinks harder and seems to hit on something. "Oh. Punk rock. She loves punk rock. Older stuff. Newer stuff. Doesn't matter. If it's loud, rebellious, and angry--she likes it."     He focuses on the young woman writing instructions. "Does that help? Or you looking for something else?" he asks.
Mairin Moran	Mairin *may* have just flipped the page in her notebook and just written every word of that down. She tears off the instructions she wrote and hands them to Chas without taking her eyes off of her notes as she re-reads them.     "Wait... She can't have pets?" She looks up. "What do you mean?" She has a weird expression, part sympathetic but also smiling. Making it hard to tell where she's going with that.
Chas Chandler	Chas nods and takes the instructions. "Something about her bothers them. Animals of all types just... try to get away from her" he says as he looks over the instructions. He might need to use one too at some point and if they didn't need a power source of their own, he very well could use them. "I don't know if it's part of what she does or if they just don't stick around. She can't have pets."     He pauses. "I mean... maybe a fish. But can you really call a fish a pet? It's more decorative than interactive in my opinion." Fish shade thrown by Chas Chandler in the bar.
Mairin Moran	She actually laughs a little at this, and her mood inexplicably brightens. "Huh... Well what do you know," she says to herself. Then looks back down at her list with a wide grin. "And... Angry rock music?" She reads incredulously. "You're sure? Do you kno if... If she likes to dance? Or anything like that?"
Chas Chandler	"Oh she loves to dance" Chas replies. "As for the punk rock? Blame John. One listen to the Sex Pistols and she was hooked on the genre." He shrugs. "To each their own, right?"     He adds. "She also likes to sing, but she thinks she's not good. But it's not that bad, really. I've heard a lot worse in my time. Hell, I've heard worse in the shower." He chuckles.
Mairin Moran	All of this goes down in the notebook as Mairin laughs softly. "So.. When you say she likes to dance..." She taps the end of the pen on her chin. "What kind of dancing?" She narrows her eyes... "Oh! Do you know if she likes old dances? Like... waltzes, that kind of thing? She DID grow up in that time. But, I'm not sure if that was really on her plate at the time. Her childhood seems to have been.... Different."
Chas Chandler	Chas frowns at Mairin's suggestions. "Umm... I don't know if waltzes are in her wheelhouse. Most of what she does is..." he searches for a word. "Freeform?" He was not comfortable telling the technomage that Nettie's prefered dancing was in the nude, in the woods, around a bonfire. That was *not* in his job description.     "I mean, you could ask her if you're curious" he suggests. "You planning on asking her out on a date or something?" There was no judgement in his tone, just idle curiosity.
Mairin Moran	Mairin jots a big question mark next to dancing then flips the notebook closed and tries to shove it into her bag. "What? I mean..." The notebook misses the bag and it takes her two more tries and focussing very specificly on it to get it in. "I just... Want to know more about my mentor.." she tries, looking up at Chas with a face that says she already knows he's not going to buy it.     She sighs. "I don't know..." she finally says, looking down at her drink and holding it with both hands. "Maybe? I guess. I mean..." She looks up, cringing slightly. "Is that a bad idea?"
Chas Chandler	Chas shakes his head. "I mean... okay, there are some who will look at the situation and grouse about student-mentor relationships being 'problematic' to which I say 'bollocks.'"     "It's only natural that someone that involved in your life is going to be a source of affection and that almost certainly will only grow as the relationship deepens."     He gets out a clear tumbler and pours some amber liquid into it. "What's really important is what you want and what she wants and... really to hell with what anyone else thinks, right?" He chuckles. "Now... if you ask her and she says 'no'? You gotta respect that and don't let it ruin the original dynamic you have going." He downs the amber liquid in one go and pours more into the glass. "Your studies are just as important and your love life... moreso sometimes."
John Constantine	From the House to the backroom of the bar, in only the amount of time it takes Jon to help John through the actual steps of it. Once in that backroom, the sounds are unmistakable, at least to Chas.     Dream Root, Chas doesn't like it. John's been using it for years and he deals. Morning Glory seeds, same. Hell, LSD, same... just about anyting John uses for that 'full out of body' ritual crap, Chas has never really been a fan, but he tolerates it.     Except Nightshade, except when his best mate *literally* poisons himself for the sake of a short-cut. That, the man's always *hated*. But he's also learned long ago that John's going to do John and he's adapted. That is to say he's found an antidote for the stuff that 'sort of' works. Calabar beans and some other herbs and crap all mixed together and boiled. It at least *helps*.     Back to the sound - it's the sound of John retching, puking, gagging, spluttering and it's *non-stop*. That's a Nightshade puke fit if there ever was one.
Jonathan Sims	"Chas!!" That's Jon, supporting his friend and ignoring whatever's getting all over his clothing. He has absolutely had worse substances on his clothing, given having raised a child and been a med student and so on. "Tell me you have physostig--Calabar bean, tell me you have Calabar bean!!"     He's going to have to get used to this whole 'poisoning yourself on purpose' business. And learn the remedies.
Mairin Moran	Mairin listens to Chas' advice with brow furrowed attention. It seems sound. ALl the same things she'd already gone over a million times in her head. But it feels good to have someone else say them. She hears a little bit of Thomas in the words too... Asking what she wants and saying to hell with everyone else.     She's about to answer when... Well the back room errupts and whatever she was about to say is blown from her mind. She half-stands from her seat, but knows better than to run into the back room.
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe was finally dozing back off after reluctantly taking another round of pain meds. She was at the point of tears that time, waiting for John to get back when -- a clatter downstairs. She stirs to wakefulness, and she hears shouts. She carefully swings her feet out, plates and bowl already washed and put away careful-like, and she begins to make her way downstairs wearing Autobot pajama pants, monster feet slippers and an old tank top, carefully picking her way down the stairs and poking her exhausted looking head out.
Chas Chandler	Chas sighs at the sounds. History had burned the sound into his head. "Get him in here, Jon!" he calls and eyes the two remaining patrons of the bar (aside from Mairin).     Almost as if on puppet strings, they get up and simultaneously exit the place, the final one out locking the door behind them before pulling it closed.     Before they're out, Chas is putting on an electric kettle and getting out the pre-packaged sachets that he had prepared for this very occurence. He also gets a clean mug (sometimes he serves coffee) and sets it on the bar.     He looks to Mairan and arches a brow before making a gesture for her to sit back down. That is if she wanted to stay... some might not, given what state John is obviously in.
John Constantine	John has a white knuckled grip on that blue necklace that Lydia had handed off to him. He's not letting it go, no matter how bad it gets. ...and it's getting bad. Light headed, barely able to catch a breath during the brief moments of 'not retching', he's near dead weight for Jon by now, his feet barely moving one in front of the other.     Pale, sweating, eyes rolling about in his head as if he might pass out. Truth of it is, it likely won't *kill* him, even at the high concentrations he used tonight, but it could come close and it would definitely leave him feeling like he wished he were dead and out of the game for longer than can be afforded given what's happening.     "Phoebe..." choked and spluttered out before he brings up nothing but yellow, foamy bile with a hint of red tinted mucous. Gross. So. Gross.
Jonathan Sims	"For Christ's sake, Chas! I can't--augh!" Jon is doing his best to manhandle John into one of the chairs in the back room, turning his head to the side so he won't choke on his own vomit. His tone is not panicked, just loud and firm. He moves John with that same gentle firmness; this is, in fact, something he (mostly) knows how to deal with.     "He's not going to make it out there, I need help in /here/! And somebody find Phoebe!"
Mairin Moran	Mairin makes sure the notebook is carefully stashed in her bag before sweeping it off the top of the bar and stashing it under her seat. Anything to do with puking is way out of her ken. Further even than romance. And she wants to make sure Chas has as much room to do whatever he has to do. She also picks up her drink, then stands and backs up the bar from the back room door, just making sure everyone has plenty of space. For... whatever.
Phoebe Beacon	"-- oh god what did he do--" Phoebe begins, and she moves too quick for herself, immobilized arm making her visibly wince, but she comes around to the backroom, grabbing up the clean bucket that was now kept in here for such nasty emergencies. She gives an apologetic smile to Mairin over her shoulder as she goes.     "-- good, you turned his head --" she immediately turns onto caregiver mode, in spite of her lack of power at the moment. "Ingestion -- ugh. Is that dreamroot?" she sniffs, and she wrinkles her nose as she also grabs for the wet-wipes. Of course, doing it one-armed doesn't help much, takes her longer to get some clean up done.     "Dad? Still with us?" she asks gently, reaching for John's shoulder.
Chas Chandler	"It's more than dreamroot" Chas says, coming into the back with the boiling water from the kettle and the mug with the sachet in it. "Nightshade again..."     He shakes his head and pours the water into the mug. "Swift and dirty but it'll get you to the astral quicker than anything else out there when used right. This..." he says, gesturing to John. "Isn't using it right."     He gives Jon an appreciative look and says. "I got it from here. Thanks for getting him this far. You might want to go up and change? Come back down after, he might be well by then" he says, looking at the vomit on the man's clothes.     Then he moves in and, without seeming to mind the vomit-blood mixture clears John's mouth with a finger. He then slowly tips the steaming mug to John's lips. "Come on, mate. Drink up. You know how it goes..." he says softly, soothingly.
John Constantine	"Put this on, love..." is aimed at Phoebe. He offers a shaky little nod for his best mate, he *does* know how this goes.     But John no sooner gets the first bit of Chas' concoction down and it happens, the hand that was reaching out with, the one holding the necklace, opens... it drops to the floor. Then it closes again into a too tight fist. His eyes roll back in his head, then they close and every muscle in his body is twitching, jerking, spasming or contracting. If not caught, he's sure to jerk his way right on out of that chair.     The seizure phase, something Chas has seen before too, just not so *soon* after ingestion and maybe only once; the first time John ever added the Nightshade shortcut to the routine because as soon as that first time happened, there was sure to not be a second. He must have been in a Big Damned Hurry tonight, added more than normal, sped up the process with a little magic. He's skipped right over the hallucinations phase, that might be a good thing. Hallucinating Hellfire wielding warlocks are *never* a Good Thing.     If Chas managed to save the last of the contents of the mug from spilling all over, there may only be a small window between this and the unconsciousness phase that'll follow to get John to finish the stuff.     Isn't using it right indeed, so much not using it right. But it was *Phoebe* and the mounting pressure of feeling as if he was running out of time. Can he really be blamed for wanting to take the shortcut off the fucking cliff rather than walking down the mountain to the valley?
Jonathan Sims	"/Silene undulata/ or /capensis/?" Jon asks Phoebe, more for information than anything else. "Definitely /atropa belladonna/. He downed whatever it was to go into the astral realm." He frowns at 'isn't using it right.' Well. Hardly surprising.     And then... Jon doesn't move. "I'll change later," he snaps to Chas, and moves to catch John and ease him to the floor so he'll be safe until the seizure passes. Then he'll make sure the man's head is held properly to help Chas get the rest of the liquid into him.     "Grab the necklace, Phoebe," he says while he's helping John move. "That's why he did this--that necklace is from your ultimate ancestress, and should help you stabilize."
Mairin Moran	Mairin stands there, alone, in the bar, listening to the god-awful comotion in the back room. And, being the scientist she is, her curiosity eventually gets the better of her and she walks around to where she can see through the door and into the horror that's happening behind it. And that's where she stops. Her forgotten drink in her hand, her face blank as she observes the price for reaching too far. For going too fast. Taking shortcuts. She's reminded of herself, shaking and wretching on the linoleam of a Wal-Mart she's sure as hell never going to step foot in again. Her head splitting like a melon. And that was nothing compared to this.     It's miserable. And a part of her wants to back up and walk out and forget she ever saw it.     But she forces herself to stay. To watch.
Phoebe Beacon	"Former and of course he used nightshade and we don't have bezors --" she trails off, because of coure, first-aid minded when Phoebe goes into crisis mode, but she winces, goes for the necklace and catches it.     No fifteen-point check? No looking at it with Sight? No --     -- time to pontificate. Phoebe looks to Mair through the doorway, and she gives a wan smile, and then with her good arm she loops the neckpace over herself.     She tries her power on herself first. And slow, swelling pustules form on her hand, until there is a golden glow that follow a heartbeat, eminating out through her veins and nerves.     Her right and left hands both light up with circles on the backs and on the palms. Phoebe's eyes glow white-hot, and she raises her good hand into the air, holding it as if in evocation.     The flare of magic in the backroom is nearly blinding, flooding both the bar and the room witl brilliance. Her full aura is turned on, and Healing energy is pushed out. Her shoulder and her wounds heal on her hands. The toxicity of the Nightshade drops as John's body heals from its effects, and everyone in the vicinity feels warm, and cozy,and even hopeful, her warding circle still unbound from the Gala Night.     Mairin, meet Phoebe's real self.
Chas Chandler	Chas was about to try and get more of the stuff into John but then Phoebe's giving them a Light show and he stops. "Then... it works?" he asks, sounding surprised. "And your arm?" he asks, looking at the sling and bandages over the gaping wound.     He looked at the (formerly) incapacitated mage, hoping that the magic was as effective on him. Jon too is given a glance. Did everyone in the room feel how good he suddenly felt?     They were going to win. Leksandria was going to be defeated and their family could be whole again without worry or pain or terror. For once.
John Constantine	John's seizing stops and it's that moment of truth between that and unconsciousness when he's hit with his daughter's magic. He sits up, shields his eyes with one hand against that blinding light and shakes his head a bit to clear it before...     He's on his feet, "No. Nonono. NO...." He reaches out to snatch Phoebe's wrist and trace that white inked tattoo with one finger while murmuring an incantation under his breath. Always the pragmatist in the group, innit so.     "Can't let that light out yet, love. Too much of a Beacon."     Maybe they'll win, he does feel more as if they will, but he's also still *keenly* aware of the threat out there until they manage to do so.     Once that's done, John has to turn away from the room at large. Unaware of Mairin's presence in the other room, he turns almost directly toward her, those faded denim blues all too bright with tears born of *relief* before he crams his thumb and index fingers into the corners of his eyes to stop that before it gets out of control.     After a deep breath, he turns back around. "I think we go after the demon that's feeding Leksandria power first."     Planning, it's so much easier than emotional bullshite.     "Chas, I'm gonna bring a few books down from the House that I need you to look through. I'll leave the name of the hell bitch written a piece of paper." He's not even willing to risk *spelling* it out loud right now.     He glances in Jon's direction, his expression a little conflicted. "Thanks for dragging me back," he murmurs a little awkwardly.
Jonathan Sims	Jon raises his hand to shield his eyes, even though it doesn't entirely help; Phoebe's Light is blinding in all respects. The wash of warmth and hope eases some of the tension in him--but only some. There's something else, some terrible darkness touching his mind, and it's resistant to even Phoebe's Light.     So he doesn't smile as widely as he might, stays just a little stiff. He doesn't look like he feels as good as Chas does, but he /does/ smile, and eases himself away from John to let him get up. Turns the smile on his friend.     "Any time," he says. And then, "Though if you're going to keep ruining my sweaters maybe I'll just leave you to the tender mercies of the British Museum's guards next time." It's clearly a joke; he's grinning.
Phoebe Beacon	5R    Phoebe's arm was grabbed -- the immobilized one, and John retraces his hand over that binding circle that keeps the light clamped down tight. She blinks a moment, looking almost affronted. She looks around a moment, as if seeing the Back Room for the first time, and then awkwardly reaches over to undo the immobilizer. How did this go again? Ah, yes. Velcro straps.     "Phoebe is unusually quiet, her fingers going to the blue tone necklace, and then abck to John, Jon and Chas, and she gives a small nod, peeling back the dressings.     There's a scar, faint, but the skin's there and it looks like the joint's no worse for wear as she stretches it.
Mairin Moran	It's a rollercoaster for Mairin. Misery and despair... light and hope... And then, tears? From John? It all jumbles up along with her own feelings for Nettie, so recently pulled up to the surface until she's just really not sure at all how she feels.     She takes a step back, as John launches into preperations for his next mission, and just shakes her head. He never stops. Ever. And she sees, for just a brief instant, a version of herself. Not a mirror for sure... But an echo of some kind. And, after a long moment, she turns around.     Maybe she *should* get some sleep. And... you know what... Maybe she *should* talk to Nettie. She smiles as she picks up her bag.     Maybe.
Chas Chandler	Chas smiles as the small scar. He rises to his feet. He places his hand (the clean one) on the girl's forehead and nods. "Fever's gone too" he says. "But John's right. Not yet. If she can trace the power, no need to go giving her a ping." He nods to John's instructions.     "No rest yet, right?" he says. He looks at Jon. "You feel up to helpong me?" he asks the Archivist. "Two pairs of eyes are better than one. And to be honest, you're more likely to go out when things hit the fan than I am... just in case John's unable to give directions to all the others a second set of instructions couldn't hurt."     He glances around the mess of the backroom. "Place can never stay clean for more than a day or two, can it?" he murmurs with an exasperated sigh.
John Constantine	The rush of 'oh thank God' adrenaline that hits John when he sees the wounds healed and hears that the fever's gone nearly takes him to his knees... internally. Externally he has that poker face of his up and in place firm.     "It's not over yet, Phoebe. Even if we may seem in the homestretch, can't drop our guard now. You understand me?" He has faith in his kid, but she's still a teenager and he needs to be sure she's on the same page.     "Wouldn't be the first time I landed in jail. Both here and abroad..." Like that time in Mexico, wasn't that a hoot. "... wouldn't have been the last either. If Hell can't keep, a cell surely can't, aye?" it's all offered to Jon.     Then, to Chas... His voice drops a little, softer. "I'm sorry, mate. I had to get it done, she was too vulnerable without her powers." Sorry for the Nightshade and the scare he knows he gave his best mate. He really is, but he also doesn't *regret* his choice.     "I'm gonna go take a shower, get this stench off."