2013.07.08 - Shadowcrest and Windfalls

Whatever the clock says, it is actually last night sometime well after midnight when normal people would be in bed or at least passing out in a drunken stupor. Then again, this is not a story about normal people, so what they do or do not do is irrelevant to the situation at hand. Constantine is one of those people, those select few people, who always has a way into the mystical mansion that is Shadowcrest, but he is also one of the few of those select few who ever comes there... at least until he needs something. 
So why change that? 
The ornery git appears in the foyer looking like he's just braved at least three of the seven plains of hell. His skin is pasty white (even more so than usual) and his eyes are sunken and hollow. There's more gray than usual in his hair... and his beard is thick and scraggly. Then there's his jacket, always a little dirty, it is now scarred with black soot and marred further with the hints of dried blood. Also he is smoking and flicking ashes on the floor. Because it is always best to act like you have no manners when coming to ask for help. 
"Zee? Have I told you how beautiful you are lately?" Shouting into the echoing halls with a glance around. "You are, you know?" Flattery. 
 
Shadowcrest - well after midnight. Normal people tend to always sleep at normal hours. Yet, for the dark haired magician that is currently up idly reading through one of her father's (and now hers) many arcane tomes? She's hardly sleepy, or asleep. The mansion is quiet at the moment, the temperature always the same, regardless of the season, a perfect temperature of seventy. The halls are quiet, save for the sound of a loud echoing (and familiar) voice - a voice that causes the magician seated ever so comfortably within the over stuffed chair to cringe. Blink. Cringe. And then rise upwards with a graceful sweep.
Several seconds tick by from John's yelling, to when Zatanna actually shows herself, ticks of the clock, and the first person that greets John isn't Zee - no, that duty falls to a skinny black Siamese cat, that idly yowls out its annoyance at the stranger. My-Pie continues to offer that penetrating stare at John, settling into the doorway, to gaze at the intruder with its golden, feline eyes. 
The next sound is of course a quiet, "And you look just as wretched as the last time that you wanted something." Zatanna's standing in the doorway leading into her library, her dress is casual - jeans, silken shirt, and a dry expression on her features, mouth quirked into a half-grin. "I'd offer you a glass of tea, but I imagine you're going to raid dad's bourbon anyway. What do you want?"
John glances at his cigarette which is particularly burnt to the filter and sighs. Another comes out from a pocket in his coat and the old lights the new while the limey glances around for somewhere to put it out... Turning this way and that until he finds something that's probably expensive and likely irreplacable to twist the amber out upon. Which is a good time for my-pie to come yowling into the foyer staring at him like he ran off with the milk. 
Constantine whirls on the animal and locks blue eyes to golden, narrowing his as if this were a great beast rather than a house cat... Smoke coils up from his nostrils threatening, but probably lacking in inpressiveness, until he hears the familiar voice of the mistress of the manor. At least, to her, he smiles around the filter of his cigarette. 
"You really need to learn to take complements, Zee.. I said you were beautiful yeah?" Ham it up with a smile. "Probably better if I just skip to the bourbon for this one." At least he doesn't ham it up long. "This is important." Walking towards her with his fingers pulling open his coat to show the extent of his disheavel, as of this might change the temperature of her greeting some. 
 
The cat, naturally, is absolutely unimpressed with John's whirling, it continues to remain in the doorway, staring at John with those penetrating feline eyes. It sits there for a long time - before moving off as soon as Zatanna speaks. The creature disappears into the depths of the mansion, quietly padding off to find other sport to stare at. 
Without batting an eyelash, Zatanna makes no move, nor fluster at John's compliments, she simply gazes on at Constantine with her own blue gems, unblinking, and unflinching. "Uh-huh." She finally gets out, about to continue when.. well.. the full extent of Constantine's appearance, blackened, bloodied and all are given a thorough once over. "Next time, bring flowers, it'll go farther." 
With a swift gesture to one side, Zatanna motions John into the safety of the library, "What happened?" Should she even ask? The question is left open, "And do you want me to..?" Heal him? That much Zatanna is pretty sure he'd want, but you never know with Constantine. 
The library - even in the dead of summer has a fire flickering on in the fireplace, though currently no heat emerges, it's just for show. A stock (always kept well maintained) of many liquors lines the back wall, as the magician strolls idly through, her voice a soft, "Sdnuow ytnelpa esolc pu." And even as she speaks, John will find - well, Zatanna is a fairly good mage after all.
Constantine lets his coat fall closed as he steps in line behind her on the way to the open study. Once within he's pulled off his coat and tossed across the back of an arm chair, rubbing one dirty hand across the back of his neck. "Like these?" He asks, flicking his finger back up when she turns to cast her spell. Clutched in his palm are bent and slightly broken flowers and a perked brow. "They didn't travel well..." Shrugging. 
His eyes are already turning towards the booze. "Got a job from a little cat bloke. He comes around the Oblivion asking if I can find his mate, who he thinks is dead, aye?" Waving his fingers and hand as if this sort of thing happens all the time. And... given he's John Constantine... it probably does. 
"So he takes me to Time Square..." Watching the major of his wounds heal, nodding his thanks but not actually 'saying' it, while pouring himself a tall glass of very old scotch. "Fire works display, I wont say I didn't take a bit of delight in trampling the yanks celebration of their independant holliday of hypocracy... anyways..." Draining the glass. 
"His mate is some sort of time traveler or another. And I find out..." Pointing to one side, "This wanker is not dead. Long story short, he shows me this picture of a six armed tart and I start having memories of some extradimentional being who fancies dragging people off... My question for you is." Pause, pouring more. 
"You want to get dinner? Long night and I didn't want to eat alone." Sure, that's totally the only reason he's here. 
 
With a dry grin, Zatanna's fingers collect the broken assortment of flowers, to gaze down at them. The expression is -almost- warm, almost, there's that flicker of a grin to her features, before the poor abused stems are collected together and put into a vase with a quick, "Srewolf ecalp sevlesruoy ni esav dna retaw.". The vase appears on her mantle, there they at least look half-way decent. The warmth of a smile is the only real 'thanks' that /John/ will get, though it is there.
Settling onto the edge of one of the over stuffed chairs that sit in front of the fireplace, Zatanna silently listens to everything that John has to say, without interrupting, nor saying even a quiet 'mmhmm' in between. Digesting the information, and what she can gather, the dark haired magician's brows quirk upwards ever so slightly at a few points - after all, six armed tarts and extra dimensional kidnappers aren't /uncommon/, but certainly still unique. 
The last question -does- take Zee off guard, though with all that John said, she's quite willing to listen to more, and assist if he requires it. Rising upwards, the Mistress of Magic inclines her head with, "The answer to the question is, of course." She states with with a flourishing sweep of hands to one side, "Where did you have in mind?" There's always /something/ else, but Zee..? She is content to go along for the ride, for now at least.
Constantine takes his time with the second glass, leaning back against the wall to take stock of the study as if it's the first time he's been here. The cigarette he's been nursing burns slowly between his lips, but hovers a bit dangerously close to the new 'beard' the brit has grown. "I figured some pizza or something equally inexpensive. The cat man hasn't paid me yet and he isn't exactly rolling in the green backs to begin with..." Which is not to say this is pro bono work. That just wouldn't be his style at all. 
The glass comes up for a sip of the old scotch and a little easier breath. "So, have you ever heard anything about time travelers not ending up in the afterlife? I went over and talked to a few 'people' who still owe me favors... none of them had even the first clue who this bloke was. But the cat was pretty adament that he 'does' exist... and I 'have' seen the Booster Gold fella on the tele. Selling axe body spray or something... heroes." Waving his hand. 
 
"Hmm." Zatanna's brows furrow together at the information, pondering over the words - especially the name of the hero that is 'lost'. "Yes, I have had the unfortunate time of watching those commercials - though I do not know the one or ones hawking them." Not that the men and women those commercials use aren't good to look at, mind, but the commercials are - unique is the best word that Zatanna can come up with. Personally, she could make a much better one, with more flash, and charisma and .. now isn't the time to ponder commercials or shows. 
"There are any number of ways a time traveler, or anyone can not end up in the after life." Zatanna begins, her voice remaining quiet, just loud enough to be heard over the crackle of the fireplace. "From demonic intervention, to alternate dimensions that grab hold and don't let go." She intones, though really she's sure that John already knows this - it's probably rhetorical, but Zatanna speaks up anyway.
Rubbing her jaw in a thoughtful manner, the dark haired magician's fingers lift from her jaw to run splayed through her dark locks, a deep breath taken in and let out slowly. "So you're seeking Booster Gold? I can inquire within the Justice League if they know of him?" She inquires, gaze lifting upwards to stare thoughtfully at John. 
"As for dinner, pizza is right out. I shall pay, and we'll go somewhere much nicer." Pizza is just not on Zatanna's thoughts right now.
"I figured demonic shite was involved... There's always demonic shite involved. I was wrong." Constantine assures her, pointing over to his jacket, leaving the hows and whys of the blood stained garment to the imagination for the sake of having another long drawn out tale. John rattles the glass a few times and watches the liqour slosh about within, then cants his head thoughtfully back to the raven haired mistress of magic, "Aye, if you think they'd be interested. I'm more curious about this vixon with six arms." 
Glancing up at his host with the bare hint of a grin and a perked brow, "Jealous yet?" Teasing, maybe... probably not. The contents of his glass are drained and the cigarette tossed in after one final drag. "Alright, if you're offering to pay, a gentleman must accept." Which was probably his goal the entire time. He 'did' suggest pizza, afterall. "Just nothing with a shirt and tie requirement, please? Last time I went to a fancy place like that, I got in a fist fight with the cook over where he could shove his escargot. Bloody frenchmen." 
 
"Why yes." Zatanna states with a fluttering of her eyelashes. "A six armed vixen is right up my alley. Can you even imagine." The quirk of her mouth to one side offers her teasing nature, though she's quick to add, "I'll see what they may know, or what they don't know." Which is usually more important at times. "Sounds like you've got yourself into a fine fix, John." Zatanna continues, one hand idly plucking up Constantine's coat, to offer a few backwards words to it, the fabric freshening upwards, the blackened state and blood stains disappearing as she speaks. 
The garment is offered to John, as she - herself - is now decked out in a bit better attire. A slight flash of light the only sign of her alterations into a nicer pair of slacks, heels, suit jacket and shirt, and a satchel that is attached to her wrists. 
"Nothing requiring a tie. I thought that nice new Tai restaurant in upper Manhattan might be more the thing though." Zee states with an incline of her head to one side, gesturing towards the exit out of her library. "Shall we?"
John smirks at Zee's teasing retort and shakes his head, "You don't want me imagining that here in your study, love." Reaching out for his coat and slipping it over his shoulders before shifting the lapel out to sit nice and uneven. Middle of the summer and he wont go anywhere without the thing. "And I wouldn't call it a fix, honestly. Just a place holder for the next time hell freezes over... I still have time share and it is impossible to sale realestate with the weather how it is down there." 
Cigarettes come out from an inside pocket so John can twist his wrist and grab one between his lips, rattling a small box of matches up beside his ear to the soulful sound of a single wooden stick inside. That has him grinning a bit and retrieving it to light his cigarette, "Tai... now you really are trying to kill me. Thankfully, it's sunday. Lord's resting, so I might slip out before he even realizes I died." Offering the mistress of magic his arm. 
"Let's." 
Category:Log