2014.12.20 - The Blue Moon and the Laughing Magician

Marc was never known to be a particularly cheerful person..and today he's less so than usual. Being made to track down an exuberant girl trying to better the world-- his own dream when he was her age, really-- and trying to rob her of that for his divine boss...well, it makes him question anew the slice of life he leads nowadays. Suffice it to say when he gets a moment after one of Moon Knight's rounds and before Jake's shift, he's perfectly happy to spend that time roaming a random part of New York for a likely looking bar.
And then, there it is: it's a nice-looking bar, or rather a door to a bar. There's a bouncer, of course, but a nice bar would have one, wouldn't it? Currently the man is chatting up another fellow, this one in a trench coat and looking not altogether sober, but not exactly drunk either. He laughs a little too loud, but no-one seems to mind. And then the man glances to Marc, grin spreading, a nice, toothy and genuine grin. He motions him over. May not know him from Adam, but there's a light of hospitality and camaraderie in those eyes.
The grumpy street goer pauses when he notices the bar. He's not dressed especially nicely, and though he finds something vaguely intriguing about the place-- why hadn't he noticed it before? It's kind of distinctive-- he's thinking to just move on and keep looking when the trenchcoated bystander waves him over.
Well, why not? Making decisions based on grinning drunks may not be generally sound, but he -was- looking for a bar, and worst case the bouncer turns him away. It also doesn't seem to have any holiday decorations in the window, which is another selling point to Marc at the moment. He walks over, looking between the two standing outside. "Hey." he offers in greeting. "Is this place any good for getting a drink?"
"The best, mate." John throws his arm around Marc to usher him in, flashing a smile at the bouncer. And that bouncer is...curious, to say the least. He looks humanoid, but he's definitely not human. There's definitely some Troll in him or something. Maybe it's a costume, though? He doesn't look unnatural at all, it's just that it's a different scale here. "John Constantine, and you are?" Awfully friendly sort, but judging by his accent he's definitely not local.
Marc raises an eyebrow as he gets a good look at the bouncer on the way in, but is distracted by Constantine's sudden proximity and chatter. It's not like there aren't plenty of mutants and metahumans around. "Marc Spector." he replies, finding it almost strange to use his own name. He glances over to see if Constantine is still carrying a drink; he'd rather assumed the other man was just leaving what with being outside and seeming rather less than sober.
"A pleasure. Got some German blood in you?" John escorts the man in and to the bar, sitting himself down and patting the seat next to him. He folds his arms atop the sleek, well-finished wood and leans upon them as he catches the eye of the barkeep. Or one of them. There are at least two at the moment, though there might be more as they seem to wander off and back at random. "What's your poison? I find the cider nice this time of year. Hard, of course. Only real way to have it."
The newcomer chuckles a bit, tired, but just as glad for the conversation. "Sure; sounds like you know this place anyways." he turns to address the bartender directly, indeed ordering a hard cider. He turns to Constantine again, answering his previous question: "You're not wrong; my grandparents on my father's side were German. I'm guessing you're more directly from the other side of the pond."
Constantine orders the same, turning in his seat to face Marc a bit more fully. "I get around. Don't think I've seen you in here before. In fact, I'm fair certain of it. I'd remember someone with your looks. Take that as you will." Seems like his grin just doesn't diminish much at any point in time. When the drinks are delivered, he raises his, as if ready to propose a toast. "Got to drink to something. What's it to be tonight?" A small bowl of peanuts, and one of pretzels, is set down between the two.
Marc assumes he is referring to the scar over Marc's left eye. It doesn't stand out from far away, but at this distance it has to be fairly apparent. Marc takes his mug, his expression becoming faintly amused. "I suppose so." his eyes flick around the room, perhaps thinking of an answer, or just curious of the scenery. "Hm. To free will, then. Despite the ironic places it sometimes takes us." he offers, bumping his glass towards Constantine's.
"Free will! Fuck the puppetmasters." John laughs, and it's a raspy laugh with lots of character, so many levels of weathering over what must be so many years. He gulps down a good quarter of the glass and smacks his lips, setting the drink down with a pleased sigh. "Best cider you'll have. Avalon cider, you know. Land of apples."
Though Marc takes a less hearty drink, his expression suggests he certainly doesn't find it disagreeable. "Sounds like you're speaking from experience. So where are you from, Mr. Constantine?" he wonders. He still seems more weary than anything, but it's now tempered with growing curiosity.
"All round," John answers easily, and unhelpfully. But whether mercy takes him over or something else, he quickly adds to it as he picks up a peanut and pops it into his mouth. "Born in England. Lived a long stretch in Scotland. But don't call me 'mister'. Makes me feel like I'm talking to a goddamn cop." There's a pause when he swallows, then he takes another mouthful of drink. "How about yourself? From around here?"
This gets a 'snrk' from Marc. "I've traveled around my fair share, but I grew up in Chicago. ..And I'm not a cop, but I did used to be CIA, way back when." he gives a shrug though. "I was never a big fan of the formality, though, so no loss there."
"You made the right choice by getting out. Doesn't suit you. Is that where you got the, ah...?" John gestures across his own eye, clearly a reference to the scar. "Very dashing. You must not spend too many lonely nights, eh?" And he laughs again. He seems so jovial, almost fatuous at times, but there's a certain...something about him that indicates that's not exactly the sum total of him. He may look like a half-drunk sot full of laughs, but his eyes go much, much deeper. Like they're never looking at the surface of things. But then, he wouldn't be here if he were so superficial.
Marc has been coming to that same conclusion himself.. so perhaps Constantine shouldn't be surprised when after replying a bit flatly, "Oh no, I -always- have company." he goes on to say, "By the way, where the hell are we?" he nods to the wall. "..There's no hardware in those lamps, and it wasn't foggy outside when we came in here." he notes, his attention flicking to the windows as well. Not that he seems terribly concerned.. at this point it's all still a rather welcome distraction, giant bouncer and extra-dimensional bar and deceptively shallow stranger and all.
It's not that his mirth is less than genuine, there's just more to John than meets the eye. Or perhaps more that is indicated best by meeting his eyes. "Welcome to Oblivion," he replies, only the faintest hint of an ominous quality to his voice. But that could just be the phrasing. "*The* Oblivion, to be sure. Everyone here is touched by magic in some way. Mages, magical beings, witches, wizards, warlocks, and...what does that make you, mate?" He leans a little closer.
Marc Spector raises his eyebrows at the explanation, but in a way, that makes everything click into place. It certainly explains the interest. This man is just scoping out an unknown quantity; a reasonable thing to do with a newcomer with ties to the supernatural showing up. Marc leans on the side of the bar slightly, opening his mouth to answer-- a strange flicker goes over his face, and his jaw tenses for an oddly silent moment before he shakes his head as if dispelling something to reply shortly, "..Small time god's avatar."
This time, when John laughs, it's a hearty laugh and deeper than anything he's done before, at least around Marc. He claps the man on the shoulder, shaking his head, then starts to rummage in his coat. "Mind if I smoke?" He pulls out a pack that reads Silk Cut on the front in quite an elegant package, in its simplicity. "I mean, you're not the first avatar I've met. Much better-looking than the others though. Seem to have your head screwed on straight."
A bemused shake of the head is Marc's only reply regarding the cigarettes. "Really." he wonders, "I didn't think there was much of a market for that lately." he lets the comment on his looks slide by again; then again he's had experience with that having been around Frenchie for so long. "And what's that supposed to mean, their heads aren't usually screwed on straight..?"
John slides a cigarette out and then shifts the pack so that more are out from it, offering Marc one of his own. Then once it's taken or refused, he stows the pack and produces a nice metal lighter, flicking it and lighting the tip of the one between his lips. "Yeah, take a human with limited experience and shove cosmic knowledge beyond human experience in them, and sometimes even other consciousnesses in there -- that what you mean by no lonely nights? Cos that sounds like a lonely night to me."
Marc waves off the cigarette, though he looks rather shaken by Constantine's casual observations. "..Is that really typical," he says slowly, "or am I just that easy to read?" he settles on replying. He hasn't met other avatars himself.. so he has no frame of reference for what on earth could be considered 'normal' for such a thing.
"Mate...don't worry yourself too much. You look like you're getting on well enough. You're here, aren't you?" John finishes his cider and waves the empty glass at the nearest barkeep, who takes it with a chuckle and goes to get another round. "That's a start. So...that toast, free will eh?"
Marc hms, taking another drink of his own cider. "..I think maybe you should make the next toast." he says, a hint of ruefulness there. He's realizing he's learned very little of this Constantine while being made pretty thoroughly himself. Besides, if he starts talking about Khonshu it'll only get Moon Knight's attention. "So, what is it that makes -you- eligible to be here, I'm wondering?"
John reaches out without even looking up, wrapping his fingers around the glass before it even gets to him. The bartender is a little surprised, but in this place it's not that shocking. "Everything," he answers, almost a purring quality to his tone. "So what do *you* want to know that you don't already know? I'm an open book. Though make a note, mate: once you've read something, can't unread it ever again."
The jovial warning give Marc slight pause..but then, if he was the sort to veer off at the implication of danger...well. His life would have gone very differently. He taps on his glass, looking the shabbily dressed blonde over. He looks human enough, but who's to say with magic involved? "Would you always have been welcome here?" he wonders finally, "..Or d'you have a story to that, same as me?"
"Probably." John's grin doesn't diminish at all. "I mean, I've got a story, but I'm not sure if you really want to hear it." He reaches down and takes up one of the pretzels, holding it out in front of Marc. "Little salt with your sweet?" Though it's not entirely clear if he's asking about the story, his life, or the food and drink...or all of them.
Marc tips his head, but takes the pretzel, popping it into his mouth. In case that isn't taken for an answer, after he eats it he says, "Well, you seemed like you wanted to talk when you came over.. I don't know how long I have, but for now I've got time."
"I used to be a right regular sort. You know the type -- I played music, like a stupid little teenish bastard I thought I'd be cool and play with magic. Toss a fireball or two, right?" John picks up his drink and sips a little more of it, more restrained than he has been up to now. "Didn't quite go the way I'd planned. Then again, what ever does, right?"
He gets a somber nod in return. "No, I guess not. So you're..some sort of magician, then?" Marc asks.
"Some sort," John echoes, amusement clear in his tone and on his face. "So do you, er, that is...do you dress up in a nice bright skintight kit and go kicking people's arses all night?" He pushes up a bit, a little closer. "Do you have a *cape*?"
Marc gets decidedly skeptical at this, looking across at John. "..You knew who I was before I came in here, didn't you?" he retorts-- if John didn't, then assumedly his guess is entirely on the nose.
John holds up a hand, shaking his head. He looks own to his drink again. "I should've made a toast, but you didn't have your fresh drink yet. Maybe I can wait until the next round to make mine." Another sip of his, another gulp, and he tilts his head back and looks up at the ceiling. "I don't know who you are, other than what you've told me. But you can tell me or not tell me."
Marc had gone out tonight to drink, originally.. he shrugs, and downs the last of his cider, waving to the barkeeper for another. "Well, in that case you're a lucky guesser. My god does in fact expect a certain image to be projected, and I don't really care who links that to me; and yes. It is in fact tight and bright and even has a cape. A cloak, nearly.. that part was there in the ruins right from the beginning of all this."
John finishes his cider off and sets the empty glass down, motioning for another for himself too. "Nice! Tight and bright. Hope to see that, sometime. May not be my approach, but I can always appreciate a little drama in fashion. Or eye candy as they say now." The glasses are set down on the bar, and he takes his new one in his hand. "So let's drink again! This time, how about...to new friendships?"
This earns an amused eye roll from Marc. "I wonder sometimes." though he takes up the new drink, pausing consideringly at John's toast. "New friendships, huh? ..Those don't tend to end up very well for my friends." he warns. "Whatever keeps me alive and kicking doesn't care much about extending to others." it might seem an ironic warning coming at Constantine, but Marc seems to mean it.
"Oh, suits me just fine. Story of my life. Chin chin." John reaches out with his glass and touches it to Marc's, a dull chime rippling through the golden liquid. "We can get together and commiserate. Follow a magus down his path, and you won't come back the same." He lifts the drink to tip to his lips. "If you come back at all."
Marc looks more intrigued than anything. "You're serious."
John's brows rise even as he goes for another mouthful, and he pauses before taking that drink. He licks his lips and swallows what he has in his mouth before replying. "Course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"
Marc gives him a puzzled look.. But really, in many ways they don't sound so dissimilar. If this guy isn't over thinking the ramifications and dangers, why should he? It's kind of refreshing to just toss all that for a bit. So he shrugs, downing a swig of it himself in acknowledgement of the toast. "Why not? Though I warn you, I'm not the best with names, Smiles. Hope that's not an essential trait you look for in drinking buddies."
"Nah. Names are important when you're dealing with demons. Not so much when you're dealing with old Johnny. But, er, if you can't remember my name...I confess feeling a bit sorry for you." Constantine grins again, giving Marc a gentle nudge with his elbow. "So I'm guessing you have powers, or gadgets, or summat?"
Marc shrugs, managing to look a little embarrassed despite himself. It was -John- of all things? Well. That just proves his point, then. Admittedly that's a name he historically has trouble with anyhow-- Frenchie's a Jean-Paul. "The last name stuck better," he mutters, "But seeing as you don't care for formality.." he retreats to drinking his cider again until John asks another question. "..Some." he allows. "Mostly I'm a normal guy."
"Yeah, and I don't even care if you pronounce it properly. I mean it's Constantine, rhymes with brandywine, but everyone says Constantine like often-seen. Which I suppose I am." John swishes the cider around in its glass, the liquid rippling as it catches some of the low light of the place. The atmosphere, the ambiance, of the Oblivion works well to relax and soothe. All the better for being neutral territory. "Normal doesn't exist, handsome. The one-touch washer just pulled a con on you."
You say, "Like Madame Eglantine, from the Canterbury tales. Old English pronunciation." he agrees. He can remember literature, but not people he meets, apparently. Though then he blinks. "The what now?""
"You know," John casually remarks, with a wave of his hand. "Put your dirty laundry in, press a button, and about an hour or so later you've done the washing. Or don't you get your hands dirty?" His eyes flick up so casually, but they go right to Marc's own. Probing eyes. Eyes that penetrate past the facades he knows so well.
Marc has his share of dirty laundry..from the CIA, from after, even from before. But if John sees signs of it there, Marc doesn't seem defensive so much as questioning. "..I wouldn't say that. But I didn't mean some apple pie and whitewashed fence ideal of normal; I just meant that I'm not one of those out there lifting trains or shooting lasers from my eyes."
John, of course, has opened himself up as completely as he ever does, sitting there practically defenseless to any of Marc's own probing. There's little about him he's kept secret, but there's plenty there that has to be known to ask about. "So I can cross trains and laser eyes off my list. Good to know."
Marc snorts at this. "List?" he asks. Is he trying to guess what costumed person Marc is? If he's familiar with Moon Knight at all, he would think he'd already long since given it away. Marc is curious about John, but of what he has asked so far, it seems like the other man almost has to work to give straight answers rather than clever deflections. But perhaps that's simply habit, weather it's intended or not.
That's the thing about John: one never really knows what one will get with him. Any sort of assumption about him is usually wrong, not because he's terribly complex in general, but because he's often unpredictable and frequently ridiculous. "I think I'm going to like keeping you company. When you don't want me to piss off, that is."
To this Marc only gives a dry but sincere chuckle, having unbristled quite a bit from when he came in. "..I think I might just like that too." he agrees. "Though I guess it's even odds who gets fed up first; this is a pretty good day for me on that head-screwed-on-right front you mentioned."
"Yeah, the best of friends always have the worst arguments." It sounds like another casual remark, but there's a certain part of John's tone that reflects it's not so light or without feeling that it may seem on the surface. He's probably been there, and more times than he really cares to recall. "You won't always find me, unless you really do need me. Probably the same with you. And everything doesn't always work out all neat and tidy. But sometimes it does."
You say, "If Khonshu wants me there, I'll be there. ..But the problem with serving a god of justice is that you can't bring justice to people until they've committed a crime. Anything more, I'm on my own."
He adds, "Not sure how it works for you, but." and shrugs with a bit of a grimace.
"Khonshu!" John proclaims. A few heads turn, then slowly go back to whatever they were doing before his outburst. "So. Does he like to steamroll you, or do you get a say in what you do? Cos I'm pretty sure standards from his heyday don't always mean much nowadays. How's he at listening?" The man lights up another cigarette and breathes in, then smoke pours from nostrils and mouth as he continues to speak. "They say communication is the backbone of a healthy relationship."
The abrupt exclamation actually causes Marc to startle-- probably just as well he's down to the bottom of his drink or he would have spilled it. Though he opts to just empty at that point in place of having any ready reply to the sudden uncomfortable stream of questions. "You make it sound like you know him, though I'm guessing you don't."
"I'm not the one he chose to stick his justice into." John remarks, with just a hint of mirth. Just enough to indicate it's not really meant to be offensive in its crass and suggestive nature; it's just Constantine's own crass and suggestive way of speaking. "But that's pretty much the same with any relationship, too. Can't really see much of it clearly if you're in it. Why I wanted to know, principled fella like you..."
Marc shakes his head. "What?" seems he's having trouble keeping up with John's train of thought. "Why were you shouting..? And what was that about the standards of his heyday before?"
John waves a hand, then leans to prop his cheek on the hand. "Surprise? Amusement? Why not?" He rummages a finger through the peanuts, not so much because he wants to eat any, but because it's something to do. "When you're the avatar of some god no-one this century's heard of, there's gonna be some culture shock, mate. I'm just wondering how much he listens to you since you probably know the world a lot better than him."
Marc stares irregardless of the casual peanut investigations. The idea sounds so reasonable when said so offhandedly, yet so incredibly foreign. "That's..not really how it works. He saved my life, in exchange for my service. It's not a friendship."
"Did you really get a proper contract? Or is he just bullshitting you?" John leans back, picking up his half-spent cigarette for another puff. "Thing is, I know more than a few of these gods, spirits, and otherwise otherworldlies who are so out of touch with the world, they end up making a real hash of even the thing they're supposed to be good at. No harm in wanting to look over the fine print. If you're good enough for Khonshu...maybe you're good enough for other gods too. Gods that might be more willing to listen."
Marc stares at John like he's not quite sure what he's hearing. "I don't..it's not like I signed a paper, there was j--" he abruptly glares, leaning forward and setting the now empty cup down sharply. "That's enough! It's not a matter of technicality, it's a matter of what's right, and serving Khonshu is right!"
John tilts his head back, and so easily he breathes out a few smoke rings, one in the other in the one before it. "Calm your tits, Krontep. There's a reason why you don't see fights in here." It's like it's so easy for Constantine. It probably isn't terribly difficult, after drinking as much as he apparently has. But he doesn't seem any more drunk than when he came in. If anything, he seems more coherent and sober. "The louder the rhetoric, the more certain I am that I struck a nerve. You're the one you're trying to convince with that, aren't you?"
The other man shakes his head, his demeanor sharp and energetic where it was mostly tired before. "It's not rhetoric, it's fact, and it's what I exist for. I won't fight you in a neutral place, but I won't suffer this kind of treasonous talk either. Marc agreed to this, and that's the end of it."
"Oh! So I'm talking to Khonshu, now. Pleased to meet you." John sits up a bit straighter and leans his head from one side to the other. "Listen, thing about treason -- it's next to impossible to prove, and in case I have to remind you...you're not in charge around here. It's been a few centuries since anyone's even heard of you." He ashes in the glass receptacle next to him, then takes a peanut and crunches it. "So I scared the piss outta you, good to know. Thing about contracts, though...they're usually the *beginning* of a working relationship, not the *end* of them. And old Johnny knows a whole lot of loopholes where uppity godlings just like you can't see them for looking down their nose at the world."
the now rather angry newcomer shakes his head hotly. "I'm not Khonshu, I'm Moon Knight, his chosen. He woke me up to put a stop to this. Khonshu has a great many things to be done in this world, wrongs to right and good to do. This is a warning to you not to interfere in what isn't your business."
"Everything's my business, sprout." Rather pointedly, John lets another puff of smoke out towards Marc's face, in his general direction. "Free tip: giving someone a mental problem doesn't pass as a miracle anymore. Can you just fuck off and give me Marc back? You're a one-trick pony, mate."
Moon Knight coughs, too busy being emphatic to not inhale. But then he retorts, standing up, "No. Our work takes priority. If you're not going to respect that, then this conversation is over."
"So you're talking to me about respect, is it? Listen to me and listen good." John snubs the cigarette out, smoke curling over his lips as he speaks. "Respect starts with not taking control of someone whenever the fuck you happen to feel like it. You want respect? Earn it. Cos I'm pretty sure on the grandiose scale of respectability in gods, possessing probably the only person on Earth who gives a toss about you because your feelings were hurt in a bar isn't very high up."
Moon Knight's eyes narrow, clearly affronted.. but perhaps surprisingly he says, "I'm not oblivious to Marc's problems, I share his head. I don't do this if it's not important..I don't do anything if it's not important. But someone needs to do our work, and he needs to think about the bigger picture. Khonshu could have been far less kind, and you're wrong to malign him. He's a god of justice, and Marc was hardly a saint. He wanted to make a difference, to know right from wrong. Khonshu gave him that chance and saved his life." it seems that's the end of the matter as far as he's concerned.
John appears to listen, eyes trained on the man. He takes a sip of his drink, leans to the side, on his arm, on the bar. And then he laughs. Once. Sharp as a damascus blade. "You think time to himself isn't important? Knowing that, even just for a few happy hours, he could spend time with someone who doesn't have a stick up his arse so far he's gargling it? None of us is a saint. Not even you, sprout. No-one's on all the time. It burns people out until they're just scorched little used-up husks. If you don't give enough of a fuck about him not to even let him have the decency of the occasional time to himself, what life is that? How's that learning about 'justice' exactly? Making a difference." He laughs again, though more of a chuckle this time. "Sit down, fuck's sake. I'm thinking about you too. Who're you gonna pull the strings of after you wasted the last fella on Earth who can be bothered?"
Moon Knight seems rather surprised at the continued assult, and how to handle it.. Constantine isn't a target, at least not yet.. so what is he supposed to do with this? He should probably just leave, but he doesn't know how to argue John's points, and doesn't like that. There's nothing urgent right now, except-- "..I'll stay. If you stop talking about severing our ties to Khonshu. Who are you, anyways?"
"I didn't say to *sever* them, love. I was implying that perhaps now's the time for renegotiation. It's very 'now'." John motions to the barkeep, who perhaps is relieved to see some lowering of tensions. Another round is delivered shortly thereafter. "John Constantine. All-round roaming bastard with his fingers in every pot you can imagine."
Moon Knight looks at him sidelong. "..I can tell you don't like our arrangement, Constantine. But I don't see what good it would do to change it. It does what it needs to now. I don't know what you mean about Marc being wasted.. Marc isn't being wasted, he's doing more good than he ever did on his own."
John reaches over to slide the cider closer to the decidedly stodgier drinking partner he has now. "Bottoms up. Your turn to make a toast." Either he's said his piece already and is waiting for it to be truly considered, or he's more interested in getting a little of the aged apples in the other man. "So do you smoke?"
Moon Knight looks down to the cup, finally if warily sitting back down, apparently done making a scene for the moment. "I don't know." he answers. "What is it for?" though apparently he does in fact drink; he touches something under his shirt saying, "To Khonshu." as if it was the obvious course, and downs a good portion of the cider.
John chuckles, and it's such a warm sound. "See, you're not such a twat." Though John is. Sometimes. He claps the other man's shoulder and tucks his own back, before taking another pretzel for himself. "But seriously, got to work on this time-share thing. What if Marc'd wanted a tumble? Can't deny him the most basic human needs, right?"
Moon Knight stares rather blankly. "If it had threatened Khonshu's work, then definitely. Besides, this body isn't just his."
"So now at least I know you take me seriously. How about you, then? What do you want exactly?" John's turned to the side, to face the man more openly, much like he did with Marc earlier in the evening. He hasn't really seemed too guarded, but maybe it's the location or the company, or the combination of the two. "The body's not just yours either."
Moon Knight seems puzzled by the question. "What do I want..? To carry out Khonshu's will and bring him glory." He seems somewhat settled now that John seems to be taking Moon Knight's stance seriously as well. "That's what I was made for." if he didn't exist before this deal that Marc made, then 'sprout' is actually probably not that inaccurate an appellation for him, as it happens.
"Right, but what do you *want*?" John carefully puts the emphasis on it this time around, nursing his drink and eating the occasional peanut and pretzel as he listens to whatever the man has to say. "If you're just a sycophant, why bother popping up when you don't have to? Unless you want to get shit-faced with me and have possibly the most awkward first snog of your life."
Moon Knight just looks perplexed, at least until his face abruptly flushes. He looks even more confused after that. "I don't know what that means, but I think Marc does." Moon Knight notes a bit warily, as if accusing them of conspiring with code. "And.." he hesitates. Constantine seems to realize he isn't doing exactly what he ought to do. "I just wanted to understand what you were saying. If it's a misunderstanding, then I shouldn't alienate an ally; and if you are a threat then it is better if I understand the nature of it." he says a bit slowly, as if it's one of the first things he's said he was working out as he went instead of just declaring the 'right' answer.
It takes a moment. Or more accurately, John takes a moment. His face is impassive for several seconds, silent and not even filling his mouth with his beloved alcoholic drink, nor taking the time to light up for his habit that has proven nearly deadly for him already. Slowly, a thin smile spreads on his face, and then he shows a bit more of the tooth. Surprisingly well-kept teeth. Just as he's surprisingly well-kept, for being the kind of man he seems to be. "Look, I'm sorry. It's just in my nature to question, and I've taken a liking to old Marc. I don't have much of a good track record with gods, devils, or anything else like that...some of them, sure. But the world's a different place now. Even the big-business angels and demons are losing ground, these days."
Moon Knight listens intently to all of this, finally nodding. "..They are." he agrees. "..And if you meant us no harm, then..then I apologize for my tone earlier, Constantine. I'm glad I stayed to talk to you." though then he stands up again. "..But we should go. We have work soon."
"Work?" John looks back to his drink and then finishes off the last of it, before he quickly gets to his feet. "Need a hand? I don't wear tights, but I can watch as you cavort." Then he offers his hand. "Or if you'd prefer to wait for another enchanted evening, I think you know where to find me."
Moon Knight says, "No, it's not -my- work, it's peripheral to that--" he pauses, blinking at the proffered hand.. but takes it in a strong but somewhat more tentative handshake. "Marc will, at least." apparently he wasn't 'awake' enough for the first part of the conversation.
"Oh, right. Well, if you need a hand..." John looks the man over again. "Oh. And, ah, just some more free advice since I know you love it so: don't say snog, shit-faced, shit, twat, fuck, or cock around Khonshu. I'd say he probably wouldn't love it." John Constantine, ever the charitable gentleman.
Moon Knight blinks. But just says diplomatically, "...I'll..keep that in mind. Good night, Constantine. Safe travels under Khonshu's watch." with that he heads out..and if Constantine did follow in some manner, he'd find that he went to a Cab company-- possibly even the same one Chas works for-- if he's even on this continent, anyways.
Category:Log