Another day, another hangover, another Hair of the Dog that bit him... and that was one hell of a nasty dog. Demonically possessed bulldog, red eyes, frothing, and let's not even begin to think about the toxic farting
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Alas, you could fill a thimble with what Imri knows about non-wine alcoholic beverages. You want his friend Eamonn for whiskey, and perhaps one of his foster mother's Menekhetan acquaintances for beer.
Still, there's a smile, and it's not vanishing like Imriel's smiles tend to.
That may not exactly be what John has in mind when he says "pleasure", or thinks about repayment, but no worries about that now. John's not exactly up for a romp at the moment. Not that he'd ever admit it.
"So what's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?" When in doubt, go with the classics.
"Accosts is a pretty good word for it, I think." John knows it's impolite to point out that he can pretty much come and go as he pleases. For the most part. "A lot of folks find the Bar brings them here for some reason or another."
He looks at Imri's wine glass. "You trying to nurse that til all men or free or something?"
[ooc: What he sees are mostly ways to hurt and manipulate people, and he hasn't looked at John closely enough to tell quite yet. Luckily for his sanity the perception is intermittent. If you want to do a narrative dump of all John's issues, feel free! Imri can always do with some extra angst! :D]
"Sorry."
And a rueful glance becomes a rueful smile turned in John's direction.
"I'm not at my best today."
It's just one of those days where nothing's quite right and you don't know why.
John nods. "I know the feeling. Don't worry about it."
[OOC: John Constantine is one of the most powerful mages on his Earth, or a complete fucking conman, depending on who you ask. Among other things, he perpetrated the greatest con since the Serpent in the Garden conned Eve into eating the apple: he sold his soul to all three Lords of Hell, separately without the others knowing, so if he dies Hell will go to war with itself to fight over his soul -- and then Heaven will have to get involved, and that will bring on Apocalypse. John *can* die... but it's in the interest of every single supernatural being in his universe that he does NOT. EVER. But there's a price: almost everyone in John's life -- lovers, friends, relatives -- sooner or later they all die. Mostly because of John. Being a friend of John's is lethal. And the ghosts follow him everywhere he goes. They are not happy.]
[ooc: Oooh. Hmmm. Yeah, Imriel will pick up on whichever parts of that John most tends to feel like shit about. Aaaand angst countdown in three... two... one...]
This gets a curious look, followed by an abrupt wince.
Through the eyes of Kushiel's scion, John is a mess of old pain, most of which Imriel doesn't understand and all of which he wishes he didn't know about.
Sometimes the blood of an angel is a damned inconvenient thing.
Blood of an angel? Try having the blood of a demon! Why else do you think the dog died?
John notices the wince, but doesn't know why. "You all right, pal? Want one of these?" He pushes over the bottle of aspirin that the Bar conveniently provided for his hangover.
John seems to sense something is wrong. He's not the most compassionate of men, but ...
"So this friend of yours is getting married. Nice girl? Good match? You, ah, have a gift picked out and such?" Yep, changing the subject, hopefully to a happier one.
A sympathetic glance from the far-too-pretty D'Angeline boy as he quietly orders and sits on a nearby barstool.
Hey, it's cheaper than wine, all right? And fizzlier!
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Still, there's a smile, and it's not vanishing like Imriel's smiles tend to.
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"So what's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?" When in doubt, go with the classics.
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So he just... shrugs.
"Waiting for the door to turn up and let me out. I've a friend's wedding to attend."
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Eventually he'll figure out that it always gets him right before serious shit is about to go down.
Eventually.
"And thank you, on his behalf."
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He looks at Imri's wine glass. "You trying to nurse that til all men or free or something?"
He lights another cigarette.
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Rueful glance downward.
"Oh. No."
He's just a slow drinker when he's not wallowing in angst.
Sip! Mmm.
"It's good wine. Thank you."
Possibly he's repeating himself on that point, but eh.
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Most boys this pretty are not so awkward. It's intriguing.
[OOC: I checked your profile. If Imri notes "flaws and fault lines", he'd probably be more than a bit freaked out by John. Just sayin'.]
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"Sorry."
And a rueful glance becomes a rueful smile turned in John's direction.
"I'm not at my best today."
It's just one of those days where nothing's quite right and you don't know why.
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[OOC: John Constantine is one of the most powerful mages on his Earth, or a complete fucking conman, depending on who you ask. Among other things, he perpetrated the greatest con since the Serpent in the Garden conned Eve into eating the apple: he sold his soul to all three Lords of Hell, separately without the others knowing, so if he dies Hell will go to war with itself to fight over his soul -- and then Heaven will have to get involved, and that will bring on Apocalypse. John *can* die... but it's in the interest of every single supernatural being in his universe that he does NOT. EVER. But there's a price: almost everyone in John's life -- lovers, friends, relatives -- sooner or later they all die. Mostly because of John. Being a friend of John's is lethal. And the ghosts follow him everywhere he goes. They are not happy.]
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This gets a curious look, followed by an abrupt wince.
Through the eyes of Kushiel's scion, John is a mess of old pain, most of which Imriel doesn't understand and all of which he wishes he didn't know about.
Sometimes the blood of an angel is a damned inconvenient thing.
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John notices the wince, but doesn't know why. "You all right, pal? Want one of these?" He pushes over the bottle of aspirin that the Bar conveniently provided for his hangover.
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How do you talk to someone about what you see in their soul?
You don't.
So he just sips his wine, tries not to wonder, and resists giving it a second look.
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"So this friend of yours is getting married. Nice girl? Good match? You, ah, have a gift picked out and such?" Yep, changing the subject, hopefully to a happier one.
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"I've never met her, but yes, I think they'll do fine. From what he's said of her, at least."
Shrug.
"We were on the road to the city where he'll marry her when the door stole me away. I'll think of somewhat appropriate to give him when we arrive."
Or won't, as the case may be. The town being on fire tends to disrupt wedding plans. But Imriel doesn't know that part yet.
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