Owner	Pose
Chas Chandler	The Laughing Magician is closed to the general public for the evening. Chas didn't like kicking out paying patrons, but the situation was a bit more important than the usual Monday night crowd.     Once the bar was cleared of all non-essentials he hit he phones. The amulets provided by what had been wearing his "brother's" face, were suspect and he was rather happy that he still had insisted on more mundane uses of contacting people. "Laughing Magician. Now. We're getting some answers" was the message to all who had been there when they managed to retrieve John from the roof of the bar in the East End.     Two others of the crew who hadn't been there he managed to get ahold of: the vampiress, Jubilation Lee and--probably the hardest call he'd have to make that night--his daughter Phoebe. "There's been some recent developments that we're going to go over. Come to the LM." had been the message to Jubilee. To Phoebe, his words were kinder. "I know it's tough, but you need to be at the bar for this."
John Constantine	John, for his part, doesn't much care if the place is open or not. It's more a private wellspring than a business in his mind. He's been drinking pretty much since he got in, most of the way through a bottle of Special Reserve because if tonight isn't an excuse to bust out the hard stuff then nothing is. He's gotten dressed since his sudden return in London, wearing a button-down shirt that may have been white at some point has since taken a turn to cream. A red tie hangs loose about his open collar, and his trusty trench coat drapes over him. He's been mostly holed up here since his return. He's largely ignorant of Chas' message asking for others to arrive. A dog-end cigarette hangs loosely between his lips as he squints through smoke at the screen of a battered, sticker-covered laptop on the table he sits at. "Fuck me, I missed a whole season of Love Island. I love those miserable, crafty cunts."
Meggan Constantine	They came upon the midnight clear, the glorious song of old, From traffic plodding 'long the earth to flee November's cold. Someone in Hell's Kitchen wants a beating for playing the fugue of Christmas music from their cracked door or window. Declaiming the joys of the season a full fortnight, and closer to a month before it actually turns, ought to be illegal. Meggan hastens to escape the lyrical menace more than she does the cold or damp, the shelter of the Laughing Magician marginally safer than being caught out when someone finally loses it on the sixth replay of Little Drummer Boy. The door barely gets time to open before she already bypasses it, turning protectively to guard the bag pressed to the back of her hip. Another festive chorus goes silent, muffled thankfully from harassing anyone's eardrums. Prying eyes won't be likely to miss the silver-haired woman, though she does not make a sound while she walks, those trusty curb-stomping boots or not. She flattens the bag to her knife-pleated skirt to avoid knocking into any table or chair, veering up for the bar. Easy enough then to claim a stool, and give Chas a slight smile. "'lo." Short and sweet, that. She glances aside at John, gauging the drink before his current state of dishevelment. "Plenty of time to make up."
Zatanna Zatara	Tucked into the specially warded drawer is the amulet that they had all worn. Chas, rightly so, had suspected it and Zatanna hadn't disagreed. Until they made their own, they would all resort to the mundane phone. It hasn't stopped her from portaling directly into the bar. Despite the holiday season looming ahead, Zatanna has called off performing for the time being to focus on the latest developments with John and her other responsibilities. Not that she was responsible for John beyond the occasional whack in the back of the head. On a faint displacement of air, the magician steps into the bar. There is no top hat or fishnet stockings tonight - a black tailored jacket over high waisted pants, low heeled boots and an immaculate white shirt. She lifts her chin and sniffs her approval at seeing John dressed. "You would, right up your alley, John. Nice tie. Hello Meggan."
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe of course would be right down. Her hair was still in braids from last night's excursion, though at least she'd changed her shirt and tried to get rid of the smell of blood from fighting some primordial darkness vampire brood, so when the teenager makes an appearance in the Laughing Magician, it's in her normal jeans and some advertisional T-shirt promoting some soft drink or another, like any other night she'd be down being the barback and clean up at the Laughing Magician. She had known where all the 'hot spares' for the necklaces were -- after all, she was taught how to link them to new users. So everything had been turned back into Chas for safe keeping. Ordinarily she'd walk right in like she owns the place, but tonight?     She spots John and Meggan. Zatanna, and she looks to Chas, and then just takes a seat at the bar, bringing her hands up and folding them quietly, before nervously scratching at the worn leather strap around her left wrist.
John Constantine	"Oh, Chas, thanks for arranging this," John says airily as Meg enters, eyebrows raising at Zatanna's comment, "You got any other special guests planned? Maybe me old dad? Or ol' Mister Carcer who used to beat the shite out of me with a cane for walkin' out of line in grade two?" He takes another long swig, this time from the bottle rather than refilling the glass, and mutters to himself in a nasally falsetto: "Oh John, we were so worried you were in Hell. We're so glad you're back. We're all bloody Gestapo interrogators now, don't ya know?" He goes back to looking at the laptop, yawning and stretching his arm in such a way that his elbow knocks the glass from the table and sends it to the floor with a tinkling shatter. "Cunt," mutters the tavern's namesake, leaning down to flick through the shards before glancing up towards Phoebe and nodding in as polite a way as he can manage, "Alrigh'."
Jonathan Sims	Jon finds himself humming the damn Christmas tune as he makes his way into the bar. He may not be Christian, may not celebrate Christmas at all, but damn if they don't have some nice music. He pushes in shortly after Phoebe does, wearing black slacks and a blazer, button-down and no tie. He looks like a damn government agent, but he hadn't bothered changing after work.     "Actually," he comments, "I /was/ worried once I figured things out, and I /am/ glad you're back." And... he does have a distinct lack of vitriol aimed at the man, though he may be the only one. He settles himself at the bar and gives the others a tired smile. "Evening," he murmurs.
Lydia Dietrich	Lydia is actually relieved to get a text from Chas. For multiple reasons. One, it's a /text/ and not some weird amulet or communication device that she's supposed to be carting around with her and two it'll be good to know what the heck is up with John. True, she's a little worried that John won't even remember her because whatever had been zooming around in John's skin would have been the one who originally met her. She breezes into the Laughing Magician, and pauses at the crowd gathered there. John sure has a lot of friends. This'll be interesting. She's wearing a simple outfit. Black woolen skirt, cream colored blouse and a forest green cardigan. As always ash black flakes of ectoplasm fall gently around her, evaporating into the air as soon as they touch anything solid. "Evening all," the pale woman says, pulling out a chair from one of the tables to sit in. "I hope we're doing well."
Chas Chandler	Chas gives John a look of mild annoyance at the snide commentary. "You knew it was coming, mate" he says flatly. "Can't avoid it forever. I say tear the fucking plaster off right now and move forward so you can get back to binge watching your shite reality shows." He leans against the bar looking over the gathered crowd and gives them all a level look.     "I suppose we all know why we're here. But I will spell it out for those that might not" he says, his voice carrying over the bar with ease. "For a while now, what we thought was John was actually a construct being puppetted by a demon. John meanwhile, has been stuck in one of the pits of Hell."     He looks at the man in question. "Sound about right?" he asks. There's not really any accusation in his tone, but the strain of the past is weighing on him and what it means for the future.
John Constantine	"You'd be surprised what I can outrun," John says to Chas with something of a glint in his eye, giving up his current Silk Cut for dead and lighting up a new one, "Got a lot of practice." As Chas explains the situation, John gives his shoulders a listless shrug and stands up from the table. "More or less like that, yeah. More the banks of a river of hellfire than a pit, really. And the construct is something of my own cheeky artifice. Made it a time back to pull the wool over on our demon friend, thought it was the real deal. 'Cept now he's half-inched it and is walkin' around trickin' cunts into thinking he's me. Just hope none of you jumped in the sack with him - old mates made of dead bits I nicked from churchyard." "But," John holds his arms out to the side like a ringmaster presenting his latest spectacle, "I tricked the old bugger again. Turns out, this soul already belongs to Samyaza, the Fallen Watcher, who just so happens to be dead as dead gets in the metaphysical world. So old mate's claim is, as they say, forfeit and I'm free as the Catholic archbishop in a schoolyard." "When that came to light, I got booted out. Landed in London."
Zatanna Zatara	"I need a drink," Zatanna says darkly after getting a gauge on how many sheets to the wind John is. He only mentions his grade two teacher when he's well into a second bottle. "Nope, not a bit worried. Your soul is like shoe leather, John. It would take something very acid, indeed, to digest it. But, as Chas says, we need to get to the bottom of this." She glances at Phoebe with concern as he describes the cons within cons within cons that freed him at the last. "The master of loopholes and the con. Those dead bits held up fine, John. Had me fooled but not enough to get into the sack with you." As inured to the demonic as she is, Zatanna snorts to clear her nostrils at the thought of having danced with the demon.
Meggan Constantine	They truly are garbage reality programs, showcasing the dregs of British society, but it's not to say Love Island or Big Brother aren't compelling, much like an impending train-wreck. "Zatanna, hello." Meggan has a bare trace of a smile for the humming Man in Black, teeth set to her inner lip to avoid adding to the festive condition. Her attention fades sharply away to no point in particular, and she crosses one leg over the other, settling back onto the stool. "Good evening." A proper greeting for Lydia is soft, not without some fizz, her evident curiosity having to wait. The more to avoid detracting from Chas' essential message or John, once the rusted instrument is oiled and coaxed once more to play. Interruption won't come from her way, piecing over the scattered puzzle thrown before them for a picture waiting to be seen. Slowly, then: "Infernal Punch and Judy show, then. Absent the Jack Ketch at the end." She gives a look from Phoebe back to Zatanna, then shakes her head a little. White pearl shades swirl around her shoulders.
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe, for her part, is keeping up a poker face, though she's listening, she's not looking at anyone really, mostly examining the bar. Or she looks at her nails, or irritatedly scratches at the leather strap covering her left wrist, feeling her cheeks and ears burn, until she folds her hands again on the bartop.     "Well, that's that then." she states with a thick voice, trying to hide the shudder of her lower lip as she forces her shoulders to a relaxed position.
Jonathan Sims	Jon nods to Lydia as she comes in, then focuses himself on Chas and John and the discussion. He looks John over, frowning slightly. He's firmly tuning out his empathic senses just now, there's too much chance for volatility and too many people in the room, so all he has to go by is his own normal read on the con man, and... he's never been great at reading the man. A decade of radio silence didn't improve his chances.     So he sighs and pulls out his own cigarette and lights it up, frowning as he glances about, eyes settling on Phoebe for just a moment before shifting back to John. "Had me fooled, too," he admits, "but then that isn't hard. At least... right until the end. Then, well... then I seriously thought I might have been sent here to kill you. Just as glad I wasn't." He says it flippantly but there's a faintly haunted air about him. "Is the puppet still, ahh... running about?"     His gaze shifts back to Phoebe. He frowns for a moment, sighs. Then puts his attention back on John.
Lydia Dietrich	Lydia nods as John makes his case, her eyes going to the others to gauge their reaction. "Glad to have you back," she says, "though you're probably wondering who the hell I am, and why the others let a vampire run around with them." She chuckles, "Hopefully the real you won't make me want to punch your face in on a daily basis." She scowls as she considers something. "So meat-puppet-John is still running around out there? Do we have any idea what he's going to try to do now that you're back?" Her scowl deepens as she realizes something else, "We should also avoid staying at the Curio until Zee can get a chance to look at the wards." Her eyes look around to the others, "We all put our blood and an awful lot of power into that and who knows what kind of corrupted spell he wove into it without us knowing."
Chas Chandler	Chas snorts at Jon's retort. To Sims he nods. "That is something we need to get to," he says, "but I think filling him in on what his little artifice did would be a good idea first. Cause... there's a lot to cover."     He looks at Meggan and Zatanna. "Some of it I know, some I don't, and some you're probably going to want another bottle for." This last is given with a glance to Phoebe.     "How about I get everyone something to drink--illicit and non-illicit alike. While you guys fill him in on the finer points." He turns to start serving up drinks for the gathered guests.
John Constantine	"That's okay, Zee," John answers, offering a wicked and mean little grin, "I know nothing'll turn you away from the real thing. Well, contain yourself for the sake our secret meeting, alright?" He gestures towards Meggan, still grinning from ear to ear though it's a slightly softer expression. He moves behind the bar, shuffling around before he produces a foil bag of potato chips and loudly pops it open by squeezing one end. "Okay if I eat these crisps, Chas mate?" he asks, already in the process of doing just that, "Think you can order us in a Ruby or something? That Indian joint around the corner makes a fuckin' mint Tikka Masala." Lydia's question prompts John to shrug again: "I mean, not really. You let Chas boss you around. I figure there's no accountin' for tastes, right?" He wanders back over by Chas, leaning up to wrap an arm around the man's neck and rubbing his knuckles playfully over the top of his head: "I'm just havin' a bath. Stop lookin' like someone took a Jimmy in your cereal." Letting go, he lopes back to his table and slumps back down into the chair: "But don't fret about ol' Nergal. He's been made now. Just a matter of evicting the unwanted tenant and sending him back to Hell. That's what we got the big guns for, right?" All of that to say nothing about visiting the bar and not getting anyone anything.
Zatanna Zatara	Zatanna shares a stricken glance with Jon, rolling a shoulder like trying to rid herself of the burden of John's demonic body bits still roaming the earth. She gazes at Meggan a moment, trying to fathom what it means to her before letting her attention return to Phoebe. Stifling a sigh, "Put the bottle and glasses on the bar, if you would please, Chas. Good question Lydia." Eyes narrowed, the magician clears her throat and shakes her head, eyes lidded wearily, "Not a problem, John. Don't hold your breath. We wouldn't want you to go dying on us before you resume your romances."
Meggan Constantine	Meggan raises her hand, palm facing outward, to decline the drink. "Thank you, Chas." He wants to push the point, he can. Instead, she twists carefully on the stool as her nimble fingers make short work of a battered brass set of clasps holding together her bag. The top flap snaps back to reveal a bottle secreted among whatever minor treasures and academic gramayre she deigns to carry. Paper curls back at the corner, a hand-printed label that announces a place name instead of the contents. Putting the bottle on the bar is offer enough. "Putting blood into a spell led by it's a liability. Works both ways round though, supposing it contributed any." The quiet tone doesn't hide her chewing over thoughts in her head. "Breadcrumbs, that's what I'm thinking." Locked in the transit-point from autumn to winter, she casually stretches her fingers out to balance the bar. "It has to want something."
Phoebe Beacon	"Zee and I both helped set up the rest of the wards after everyone left, so our fingerprints are in it too. Just for the record." Phoebe states, as she grips the side of the bar and goes to stand. She looks to Chas a moment, and then drops her gaze a moment, and shakes her head, and takes a breath.     "Well. Pretty much anything I could do or say is suspect, so best not to fuss. He was my teacher. Anything that wasn't instinctive or forged on my own was learned through him, from my Latin grammar to Sumerian pronunciation. He tattooed my wrist to bind my aura, but I know the spell required upkeep so now I just have a tattoo with a really great story attached." she flexes her fingers, staring down at the bar, biting on the inside of her cheek a moment, and then she gives a shrug.     "I've got a different place I can sleep at."
Jonathan Sims	Jon exchanges that stricken glance with Zatanna and sighs. Frowns thoughtfully. His eyes go distant, flicker through memories. He winces visibly, then says, "It wants to hurt John. That's... all it wants, really. Make him miserable in whatever way possible. Hurt his friends, ruin his life, dump him back out into the middle of it to clean up the damage..." His gaze tracks around to them all, one by one. Lydia, Chas, Zatanna, Meggan... Phoebe.     His gaze settles on the teenager, finally. "Why would you be suspect? This isn't your fault." His expression softens. "It's /not/ your fault, Phoebe. It--" He sighs. Well, that's partly for John and Chas to address, not him.     A little louder, and directed at Chas, "Personally I don't feel the need to tell John what his meat-puppet did to me. It was a bad time but I'm handling it. I'm glad to answer questions, but I'm not going to play into its 'make John miserable' agenda any further than I need to. It wasn't his fault, it's done, I'd appreciate getting to kick it a couple of times. Maybe more than a couple." He glowers, and takes a long drag on his cigarette.
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe looks back to Jon, and she takes off the leather strap around her left wrist, and holds it up. On the inside of her wrist, above all th ose blood vessels and nerves, there is an intricately tattooed magic circle.     "Like I said, Dr. Sims, everything I learned in the occult and magic that wasn't within me, I learned from him." she replies "Why wouldn't it be suspect?"
Lydia Dietrich	"I'll take a Manhattan this time around," she tells Chas. She's not entirely sure what the actual John would think about keeping a stock of blood in the back for his new vampire clients. That's for him and Chas to work out. Taking her drink, she turns and takes her seat at the table and nods to John. "I suppose not," she chuckles. "I'll make sure to catch up with you later for a more formal introduction." She nods to Meggan. "It bled with the rest of us," she tells her. "It was awfully fond of using blood magic, though it was /very/ insistent that I never drink from him." She snorts, "Not that I ever wanted to, but it told me that it had 'demon blood running around in it's veins.' Now I know why." Her eyes turn back to Phoebe with sadness and sympathy. "Possibly, but /you/ aren't suspect, Phoebe. I suspect most of what he taught you is legitimate, though trying to pull apart which from what is going to be a chore."
Zatanna Zatara	Forging ahead is what Zatanna wishes to do. But, not without a heartfelt desire to give a short, swift kick to the perpetrator of the misery. "Phoebe and I can break the spell. We'll examine its heart closely because that is where John worked alone. He didn't want either of us touching it." It is Zatanna's tacit endorsement of Phoebe's Magic. I don't believe it for a moment. Oh, wouldn't it have just loved to have taken a being as good as she is to its dark heart. Phoebe," Zatanna nods with pride to the young girl, "must have been frustrating for the other one. A being of light and healing is a tough nut to crack. But, nothing evil has changed her that I can discern."
Chas Chandler	Chas serves up Zatanna and Lydia's drinks as well as adding anothe glass next to the bottle he offers to Zatanna (probably for Jon). He looks to Phoebe and shakes his head. "I can vouch that what he taught you was the true deal. But yeah, you and Top Hat can rework the spell if you want. And you can still stay there, Phoebe. Or you can take back your room upstairs if you want. No worries either way."     He looks at John frowning at the bag of crisps the man so judiciously stole and continues. "Look, the point is... it's out there and putting your face on a number of issues that you probably don't want anything to do with. Remember the woman you wanted jmping out of a cake? She's probably on a similar level as Nimrod" he didn't want to use the name Nergal any more than John, "and she's pissed because it thumbed *your* nose at her. And she's bad news when pissed."     "I guess the big question on a lot of our lips is, can you track it and can we kill it?" he asks after drawing a glass of beer from the tap for himself. "And how soon so we can get back to work on the real threats out there? And you can work on getting your life back on track, shitty reality shows, crisp stealing, Catholic bashing, and all."
John Constantine	"That's it," John says simply, pointing the bottle at the Archivist, "Simple as that. No magic doodad, no special power. Just that. Pure, simple, Cain and Abel-style hate." A long gulp from the bottle he already commandeered for himself, followed by a hissing breath. "That is to say, by virtue of knowing me you're all wearing big targets. Sorry. But regardless, I've bollocksed him before and I can so it again." Seated at the table, John overhears Phoebe's story though it does look as though he's simply fixated on his drink. The smile fades from his face, the bottle is glanced at then pushed away across the table. "The other bloke, you mean?" John says, louder now and glancing sidelong at Phoebe, "Did all that?" He extends a hand, beckoning her closer with two fingers: "C'mere, give us a butchers.'
Meggan Constantine	Hers is a calm rooted deeper despite the conversation matter. Cool eyes tinged barely green, the mist of a morning, settle on Phoebe's tattoo and then rise. Meggan breaches a faint smile. Cautiously feeling out the moment, she muses aloud, "Why would you be thrown into suspicion by someone else's actions? Rough and unkind to make accusations of you, Phoebe. As it would to level them on anyone else here." Whatever olive branches can be extended might be forming a whole grove by now. The white-haired empath draws a line on the bartop. "Yes, we can, Chas. Of that I've not a smidge of doubt." She looks down the line of her shoulder to John. "Though hurting anything with your face, take none too personal. It's not you." Chewing her lip thoughtfully doesn't much mark her too-pale skin. "His blood's toxic either way. Do you suppose you might be able to extract any of it?" Open question there aimed at none in particular holds a curious resolve, serenity etched in the sheen of an idea. "Like to like, I'm thinking."
Phoebe Beacon	"I'm from Gotham. Suspicion is kind of a way of life." Phoebe replies dourly to Meggan, and she gives the pale woman a bit of a wide berth as she goes to meet John for the first time.     It was weird, not seeing the recognition in the pale blue eyes, and she holds out her left hand, fingers calloused and the bright white of the ink against her darker skin.     "I was a good student." she states softly, and then she turns her gaze away from him, her shoulders rising up a bit.
John Constantine	"I'll bet you were, luv," John answers, no snide disbelief or sarcasm in his voice for a change, "Probably taught him a thing or two, huh?" He shifts the leather band to get a look at the tattoo, tilting his head from side to side. He clicks his tongue against his teeth. He's gentle with his touch, though he can't quite hide the smell of stale smoke and booze that fills the air like a miasma around him. He's completely disregarding the rest of the conversation around him, focused on Phoebe for the moment. Remembering, perhaps, a face from a long time ago. His brow furrows. "Tough little bird, aren't you?" He offers a friendly wink, noisily patting the back of her hand. He seems as though, for a moment, he's got words in his throat but they're not exactly being forthcoming. "Probably a bit weird to try and start from square one, hm? But all good things have to start with an introduction and like it or lump it, we're newly acquainted. John Constantine." He turns Phoebe's hand over in his palm and extends the other to shake it. Once. Twice. Thrice. "You've done it now, you know. I'm the worst bloody luck there is and now we're mates. Let me hear some of that Sumerian."
Zatanna Zatara	After knocking back the glass, Zatanna puts it down with a clack, gasping at the fumes, making her eyes water. "Another one, please." Turning to the others, arms akimbo on the bar behind her, "We can trace it. I'm sure of it. We have traces of his demonic blood in the wards here and in the amulets. Right?" She sends John a jaundiced look, "Not like we aren't already used to having targets on our back. Welcome to our reality." Her gaze deepens into a frown as Phoebe approaches him, threat implicit in her down-turned mouth as he gently examines her tattoo. "We'll need a sample of his blood now, won't we?"
Jonathan Sims	Jon glowers a bit more at Phoebe's initial response to his question, but fortunately doesn't have to say anything much because the others comment and say... basically what he would have said. So he just puffs on the cigarette, frowns thoughtfully.     He watches John interacting with Phoebe and something relaxes in his shoulders. Lets out a slow breath. He glances to the glass on the bar, to Chas, and says softly, "Just a Coke? Need to be up early."     Then, a bit louder, "Zed's right. I think most people here joined the little, ahh... group that the meat-puppet put together in order to fight just such problems as, well, itself. Which... bears explaining. It had a right proper 'Dumbledore's Army' going on."
Lydia Dietrich	Lydia laughs at the thought of being a target from Flesh-Puppet-John. "I'll add him to the list," she says, taking a sip from her Manhattan. Meggan's last question causes the gears in Lydia's mind to start turning. "The amulets?" she suggests. "He used blood, ours and his, to tie it all together in a kind of communication network. Maybe we can use that to locate him?" She nods to Jon. "Which is weird to say the least, but we've proven to work well together, and I think that I'd rather we stay together to keep battling the things that go bump in the night than abandoning it."
Chas Chandler	Chas is quiet as he watches John and Phoebe meet for the 'first time' for real. There is a wistful look in his eye and he smiles at the sentiments John gives the young woman. He nods and takes a sip of his beer, content in that John Constantine is going to be John Constantine.     He nods to Sims and fills the glass he left for scotch with some Coke from the fountain dispenser he had set up.     He sets the glass before the therapist and nods. "Yeah. That's the big thing. We're... sort of ramshackle group of mystics, metas, and the occasional normie--" he waves a hand, "talking about me here--who look into the bump in the night goings on that lurk around and end them if we can. We went by the name Night Brigade but it looked like there was some movement into merging us with the Justice League of America, sort of an off shoot, I guess?"     He looks to Zatanna for a moment and arches a brow. "I wasn't at the meeting and only got the cliffs notes from well..." he shrugs and goes with calling a duck a duck, "Demon Constantine."
Zatanna Zatara	A deep breath and a glance at Chas and Jon relax the frown into sober expectation. Zatanna won't be content until she is confident that Phoebe finds some peace with the man she is shaking hands with. She shrugs at the question with a small, sad smile for 'demon Constantine.' "Phoebe was there, too. We agreed to call on one another when there is trouble, essentially. Allies. Consider the Justice League as being NATO on some levels. Diana called me recently. Call it a hunch on her part, but a demon was devouring ships in the Mid-Atlantic. But, she had no idea where the thing came from. It could have been an alien threat for all they knew. The fight would have gone on forever without a spell caster. Just as an example."
Phoebe Beacon	The smell of stale smoke and alcohol doesn't bother her. She's used to that miasma, the smell clung to her clothes while she was barbacking and apprenticing or practicing or running after....     She lets him handle her wrist, though doesn't seem unsurprised when there's not much said about it. She gives a rise of her brows at the compliment, and actually does give him a slight smile at the pat on her hand.     "Phoebe. According to the Gotham Court of Youth and Family Services, your legal problem for the next three months. Pleasure to meet your acquaintence, John Constantine." Phoebe introduces herself, and then she feels her cheeks darken a touch as she clumsily explains she's magical and made of light in Sumerian.     She looks around, and then shr ubs the back of her head.     "All of the amulets were inscribed with a tracking spell that would call him -- at least... mine is." she explains, and she rubs the back of her neck.     "I hold it in my hand and say 'Find Me' in Latin. It pings my location to him, like... a beacon. My amulet was made different than the others." she touches her silver locket a moment through the fabric of her shirt, and then reaches to re-cover the white tattoo with the leather strap. Now that it's close enough to see, it's an especially worn dog's collar that she's using to cover the skin.
Chas Chandler	Chas seems to consider the situation at hand and nods. "I think... I think that's a good place to call it." He quickly adds, "For now." Because God knows it's not over. "We can work on what to do with the Demon Constantine another night" he says taking another sip from the beer he has.     "Trapping it. Hunting it. Whatever we do, we're going to have to plan" he shakes his head. "I don't know if John being back will limit what it can do... and we've seen what it can do." He runs a hand through his hair. "You're free to finish your drinks. They're on the house tonight or well..." he nods to John. "They're on his tab, which is just about the same when you get down to it. But I think calling this meeting adjourned is a good move at this time."     There is still weariness in the man, something deep and seated and... strangely obfuscated from those with empathic abilities. But he seems content enough with the outcome of the night.