[ got no salvation / got no religion ]

[witchsupreme]

WHO: witchsupreme thelaughingmage
WHAT: Magic people doing magic!
WHERE: somewhere in a gutter in New York
WHEN: Evening
WARNINGS: just look at who is in this log. just. look.

Comments

[witchsupreme]

The particular brand of magic that pretty girls were born with ensured that Nico never had to buy her own drinks. When she took the time to 'goth up', she was striking. She was just the target's type---dark, dangerous, and pre-equipped with daddy issues---so she didn't have to put much effort into convincing him that he should get to know her better. A light touch at the inseam of his slacks, a knowing smirk, and a completely forced interest in his bragging about 'real' magic later, she had him eating out of her hand.

He couldn't shut up about his wonderful plans. Nico had to sip her drink and hold her tongue...because really, if you were going to summon up a Great Old One, why the hell would you choose Basatan, Master of the Crabs?

Something kept tugging at her peripheral, a faint nagging feeling. She glanced to the side, trying to pick the source of it out amid the frenetic mass of sweat and leather and limbs on the floor.

To anyone else, he probably would have blended with all the rest---that was what he was good at. But Nico knew him and knew how to see him, so he leaped out like the hidden picture in a 3-D puzzle.

John Constantine. Now, wasn't that interesting?

[thelaughingmage]

John almost laughed out loud when she melted out of the shadows to sidle up next to the idiot.

Nico matched the decor, but hell if she blended in. She was turning heads where she stood, a live wire crackling with ominous, barely leashed energy. Even mundanes felt it without knowing what it was. She drew them in like suicidal moths, and fried them just about as easily.

No surprise the arse went for her. A man who wanted blindly enough to truck with Outer Things would never have the self-preservation to keep away from that. This knob-end sat behind unscalable walls of narcissism and played with lightning while he thought he was untouchable.

Nico could take care of this, but John was rather in the mood for something less easy.

Of a sudden, he wasn't blending anymore. An arrogant lift to the chin had the obscurity slipping off his shoulders as he started toward them, nakedly dangerous and smiling sly as a shark with a secret. Rich-boy had the scent on him. John could smell it over the sweat of the crowd--the reek of deep oceans and magic. He'd already tapped it, had the taste, wanted to go further.

John could do further. "Magic's like Christmas, innit?" he purred. "You just can't resist a sneak preview. See anything you liked?"