13692/Darliston

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Darliston
Date of Scene: 02 August 2021
Location: Darliston Bar
Synopsis: They leave this Halfway Lounge in the golden glow of John's abode, leaving behind their fears. For now.
Cast of Characters: Constantine, Askante




Constantine has posed:
3:30 says the Lion Head clock above the restroom of the Darliston. A twenty years old and some establishement, the Darliston is home for many Jamaican expatriates. The accents are rich, the ganja smoke is thick, the music is reggae and the place is half empty for happy hour. It might get more patronage at 4:20 though...

Two teenage couples are crowding the scorched and battered pool table. Even though they are clearly under age, no one is bothering them. The other noteworthy group is at the table near the bar, the one with comfortable restaurant benches. They sport coordinated sweat pants and bandanas, a gang. Sticking out like a sore thumb is that white man with dirty blond hair and a very British accent. "I trust you've got what I've ask for, partner?" Constantine says, not even trying to be disrete. It's that kind of place. "Fifteen gram of blessed nightshade ganja."

"Haha John, John! Tsk. You have to relax, mon. Relax! Show me what I asked, first," says the man in front, the one sporting all the golden chains, the neck tattoos and the trinkets at the wrists.

Askante has posed:
Askante isn't sure why it's here. Sometimes those trivialities do not grace it with an answer, but it steps in through the door with a stoop, two hands on the same side pushing the door wide. Bare feet make hardly a noise, despite their long-clawed toes as it peers around.

Nobody will look twice, unless they can 'see' after all and it shakes itself almost like a dog. A sniff, another and it grunts. "Not here. Not here. Where are you? You have moved yourself again..."

It marches past the teens, all along the bar to stare at a rastafarian elder in a booth smoking weed despite general laws that state you're not supposed to do that and fleetingly eyes meet. It then turns... slowly and cocks head at Constantine at the bar, amidst the others. It stares, which you know... it'll be doing regardless of how people see it.

Constantine has posed:
Unlike the rest of the clientele, Constantine sticks with regular tobacco. He puffs the smoke across the table, buying time. "A'ight." Slowly, he reaches in his trenchcoat hanging from the hooks, just at eye level. A small wooden box appears, the cheap kind you get with fake jewelry at Target or K-Mart.

John slides the box halfway across the table. "This's it, Larry." Larry pulls the box the rest of the way and opens the lid: a chicken egg. It's been painted with bright watercolors in a childish way, almost like it's Easter. "How do I know it's the real deal, John?" Larry asks.

Constantine has a little shrug. "Shine a flame at it and look."

Larry snaps his fingers; the man to his left offers a lighter.

"And what are you doin' here, friend?" John asks, noticing Askante. None of the gangsters seem happy with this new strange witness. They shuffle uneasily. One reaches for his gun, slowly.

Askante has posed:
"Hunting for the way in. I've lost it." Askante replies, but doing so it also taps a stone on its chest, an aborigine design on a smooth river pebble. "Found Crow's blessing though," it seems to have learned english. Or rather, it no longer has any trouble with the understanding. Bonuses are as they are. It looks at the slow gundraw. "No, mon. Don't be temptin' Legba to come have words. Would not be good for you, na? Leave it be. Him mean you no harm."

It waves a hand, dismissive of the situation and looks at the bar, around the side of it and promptly crouches down, shuffling along there in a really odd way, knocking on wood. "Go boutcha business, gents."

Constantine has posed:
The 'gents' froze and are sweating. Eyes are moving onto the hand reaching for the automatic. "Bossmon?" asks the man with trembling lips. His hand is shaking. The one called Larry clicks his tongue with annoyement. Somehow, he is not scared as much as his cohorts. "Let it be, let it be. It just a lost shadow," Larry decides. He trades the egg for his glass, which he pours on the ground, ice and all. "This for you, Shadow. Be at peace an' move on. Or stay."

Constantine nods approvingly. "That'll do it, I guess." He lights a Silk Cuts and throws it at Askante's feet. "So you can't find the way... an' Legba won't talk to you, right?" He looks over to Larry, who is shining at flame at the egg. Through the shell, a red glow intensifies, in the shape off a baby snake. Larry nods, puts the egg back in the box.

"Roads keep on movin', my spirit chum. After this, I'll see if I can help, 'right?" He turns to the Bossmon Larry. "Pay up, Larry. I'm in a rush, there's bad stuff afoot."

Askante has posed:
Askante sniffs at the silk cut cigarette that came tumbling to where it crouches and it blinks at it. "Pffffuh," it finds what it was looking for though, whiskey in an old bottle. Standing up straight, it eyes the label, looks at the gang and the deal being made and studies again for a few moments, the exchange of egg. There's a shake of head and it goes back to hunting, which brings it up against an order of chicken wings, partially eaten and left to go cold. That's snatched up, too and it wanders out from behind the bar, cheerfully ignoring the jamaican gang /and/ Constantine now.

A nod to the old Rastafarian and it heads over there, sets down the chicken, puts the whiskey on the table and cracks the bottle open, then turns to the door that leads to the back of bar, staring that way. "There you are," it chuckles softly, waits it seems, for John Constantine to be done his trade.

Constantine has posed:
"Emil, give the British witch his... Holy kush," Larry orders on a gentle tone. The one named Emil, a rather rotound dude who looks more like a fancy futon than a man in his stretched shiny sports garb, provides with a small plastic bag with three cubes of blueish stuff. As Constantine reache for it, Larry warns, "It better do the job, Connie, or me boys be comin' for you."

After a pause, Constantine snatches the bag and pockets it. "You sure don't like your 'boys' a lot, Larry. See you 'round, gents." Leaving no money behind, he goes to where Askante is awaiting. "Show me, quick. I don't trust 'em pot heads."

Askante has posed:
Askante makes several complicated hand gestures in the air and walks through the door to the back room, unstopped. It reaches one hand behind itself, proffering that to grip onto-- then the world turns through ninety degrees and a single shade of octarine and there's a veil of beads and stairs going down. A dim red glow permeates the stairwell and it looks back over his shoulder at Constantine.

"Papa Midnite has quite a few doors. Doors don't stop me." It says this cheerfully, as it trots downward, turns a corner at the bottom, where presumably a cellar would be, except that there's a bar.

A rather nice bar, by comparison with the place up above. It glances around, nods and slinks itself off to the side, to a red-velvet draped cubicle where it can curl up. "Peaceful," in a place where /others/ dwell, that is a very strange thing to find.

Constantine has posed:
Bracing in the doorway, Constantine lets out a whispered colourful curse. "Been a while," he says. Now that the verticality remains vertical again, he finds a glass flask of rum and unscrews the cheap plastic lid, all the while climbing down the stairs. "You'd think with all the doors he's got, Midnite'd show up in Ghana when there's a white vampire to quiet..."

A new lit cigarette later, he makes his way in this bar he's never been to, or remember. He follows to the box and sits opposite. "Mind if I ask where are we? Sure, I owe you a blessin' but getting me lost, it's kinda bit... mean."

Askante has posed:
"This place is called Edgeways. It ends up connecting to a few other places that Midnite manages as boltholes. No humans usually, as it's outside of here. It's basically just a little bit sideways and up. Good place to come and meditate though, there's connections to the up-there..." ASkante gestures upward with four arms, looking ever so zen as it does so. "Close to the Astral. I don't like the other shadows so much, though they're probably more useful. Would you like a drink of happy daydreams, or something a bit stronger? They do a good shot of concentration."

THe DAemon waves a hand at a passing transparent... entity, setting a simple wooden token on the table. "Peace of mind and whatever my friend is having."

Constantine has posed:
"T'was nice to sleep right for a change," Constatine agrees, nodding. "I'll have some... huh... clarity, I guess?" Who knows how much of what 'clarity' goes for in this witching speakeasy, let alone 'insight' or 'wisdom'. 'Truth' has to be VIP Reserve. "Yeah, clarity for me." He leans back and watches Askante for a half second. "Askante, is it? Library couldn't find that name and I emptied like two rows worth of dusty scribbles. What 'bout the Crow? And which way you're huntin' for?" As he flicks the ash from his cigarette, something vaporous and cat-size gets in between the ash and the carpet, opening a mouth where its back should be to swallow with a 'NUM!'. "Aaah... don't go too far, lil' buddy. Chainsmoker here."

Askante has posed:
"I'm older than your library, John Constantine. Probably by... a millenia or two. When I first saw men, they sheltered in caves and wore furs, hunting the Long-tooth and the Two-horn. Elsewhere, it was the Dires. Lots of things wandered the dark then, before men were wise enough to know how to bind them down. So I kept them afraid of the dark." It smiles at the question though, removing the pendant at its throat and showing it to the Hellblazer; just a stone, painted with aboriginal art of a crow-man. But it has Power, with a capital P, not the fading kind, but the permanent. "It was stolen. It is not stolen any more. Crow's blessing." And it slips it back on. "I know the tongue of everything that speaks. Last time I needed to learn a language, well, you heard me speaking Greek. It was then, when I walked to the Styx and back, sometimes."

Two glasses are brought by the transparent entity, one a crystal clear blue, the other a kind of rosey sunshine hue. "As to what way I'm hunting for, essentially? The way through. Paths have shifted and that's a little frustrating. I'll find a dowsing and hunt the laylines and then I'll be able to travel through again. I don't know where I'll be needed. I never do."

Constantine has posed:
He can't prove or disprove the spirit's origins but the talisman is REAL. Constantine whistles approvingly. "Keep it safe," he says, a hand wanting to touch it. He doesn't, so it looks like he's waving fingers at the trinket. "Cheers," he wishes to both the waiter and Askante before trying a gulp of the clear aqua liquid. "Hrm. Tastes of coffee and newspapers. More like... Sunday cartoons. I guess stock exchange didn't make the cut." He tries another tastes, puts the glass down. "Brr."

"Travel through worlds, that's what I'm hearin'. It's a tall order, even for you. Requires special... permissions." Constantine hasn't met a drink he couldn't tame and he's not about to give up. He pours rum in it from the flask until the mix is half a finger from the brim. "See, since you were asleep, new management moved in."

Askante has posed:
Askante tilts its head, lifting its peachy pink and shoots it back all in one go. The resultant look of blissful calm says volumes. "Clarity is an aquired taste, I guess... but it mixes well with alcohol. Many a inebriate has walked home with pure clarity of mind, even if he doesn't know his left from his right."

It rests elbows on the table though, steepling both hands one over the other, resting its chin on interwoven knuckles. "New management? It doesn't matter what management is there. No power can stop me from crossing the barriers, they do not have the right. That was granted before they opened their eyes. But it's never easy. Mostly it's the navigating that is trickiest. Particularly in the Dreaming."

Constantine has posed:
"Oh but they know, they know. That's why it's veiled." Constantine tries his Sunday Rapture (might as well name it at this point). "Hrm. Better. Notes of resolve, aftertaste of hope. Not my usual." Nevertheless, he drinks some more and with a smile. "You gotta break a deal, pay the toll. See, after Merlin unleashed The Dragon... well. Old Gods and the new One, they switcharooed. In the gap, demons, gargoyles, vampires... many faes, they chose to live on Mundo with humans. Unicorns though... tsk."

Constantine drums his fingers, pondering. "The Order of the Dragon hid the way. They all dead by now but they rule from the grave, y'see. One's the head from the Crusades but that's lost, I think. If'nt you'll need somethin' that can poke holes, like The Spear. There's one guy who knows but I care not to bugger'im. Doctor Fate."

Askante has posed:
"Poor wayfinders. No wonder you are frazzled and smell like old sweat. Well, now you know a wayfinder. I don't know if you'll know how to call me, but I don't need spears, or permissions. I just need me. You have to bring your own protection though, I don't offer that. I probably won't die. Probably. No guarantees on mortals that want to travel though, it's dangerous in there. Why I prefer the astral, it's less... well, fraught. ALthough you can get lost in memory." Askante spreads two of its hands, the clasps them again.

"I think.... I should probably watch the screens that tell stories on them, sometime. It seems like a lot of things arrived in the time I slept. I was not anticipating meeting Poseidon on the shores of America, under the lady Collossus, that is for sure."

Constantine has posed:
John lets out a short grunt in his glass just before he finishes it. "I don't watch it. Sucks your wits off 'til you drool. You're welcome to poke my books though, as long as I get to ride with you." As he turns his head to scan for a waiter, it's there. "Get me some focus. Clarity's a bit too weak, luv." He lights a cigarette from a new pack.

"There's places where the Veil still parts, where they ley lines meet. Stonehenge's one, at the right times, with the right people and stuff. One got swallowed by the sea, 'nother's up in the Baltics but you gotta walk past The Green. Themyscira... look, I'm just tryin' and make it easier for you. Take it or leave it, I can ward m'self. I've been places too."

Askante has posed:
"Hole to hell under New Jersey." Askante muses that, nodding. It watches as the transparent server sets a tall champagne flute down, half filled with a golden liquid that glimmers and shimmers sharply on the eye. It however, is mellow and relaxed. Peace of mind will do that. "I appreciate it, really. Truthfully. Do your books report on the antics of the gods and men that walk the earth now? That would be fun to read." Well, autobiographical comics are potentially that sort of thing, but it's probably not quite the same. And when you have the mystery house, occasionally a door opens to the right ley line nexus, one supposes.

"So... what were you doing with those men with guns? They did not seem like charitable types."

Constantine has posed:
"I've got a whole story just for that. Philosophers and saints, arguing. Hard to tell who's faithful from who's misled at times. And yet, there's bits of true power here and there." Constantine rises the tall glass to his nose to sniff. "Strong." He rise an eyebrow at the question. "Ah that. Bizzness as usual, y'know? Demons and monsters try an' get in, I put 'em away. This time, a manbo's been selling zombies on Craiglist to pay her bills. Some got loose, I walked up to her, she cursed a friend... Now I've got less than a moon to break the hex. Dirty work."

Finally he tries the Focus. "Hmm! Dee's butt that's sharp." His eyes are looking at the glass with purpose. "Can't say I wanna get hooked on that one. I need my chaos."

Askante has posed:
"It's an occasional vice," Askante nods, still mellow as all get out. One drink. It is not a dabbler, it seems. But that's because it knows what it wants! It also squints at JC, because he definitely leads an interesting existence. "Bad ju-ju. I got me a bonafide, but I need to get that back from the devil. He borrowed it," a bonafide, the fingerbone of a man wrongfully accused, who died for a crime he didn't commit. The finger points to the truth, no matter how bad that truth might be. That reminds me, I should return the scribe's quill to the magic shop and retrieve my mockingbird's tongue. Time was though, I dropped a few Mambos and Mambas to Samedi and left them there. Didn't always have a choice in that. You could do with a good Gris-Gris though, but I don't know if anyone makes them potent any more."

Constantine has posed:
John coughs in his focus, splashing some over the table, some over his trenchoat. Not that it'll change anything for the trenchcoat. "Him? Sorry. I met him a few days back. He lives on Mundo now. Can find him in the Yellow Pages. I'll introduce you..." A pause. "I can show you to his club. Yeah. You do keep busy, Askante. Amma hafta keep up. See, I don't like waves in the tapestry much... and I've got many loose ends waitin' to get a jump at me."

Askante has posed:
Well, at least he'll be able to sniff that part of the trenchcoat and wake the fuck up sharp and snappy. "I used to. As you have noted, it has been a while and things are turned upside down. I've just collected things. Sometimes favours. Also the eye of Phobos, who is every bit the jackass he was once, at least inside his mind." Yellow pages? Understanding the words and appreciating the context are not quite synonymous. It looks puzzled.

Constantine has posed:
"What Eye of Phobos? There's like three. One's godly, one's alchemical, the last's cursed." Decided to not get sidetracked, Constantine downs his glass, bottom's up. "Gah. This I'll regret soon. Look. World's changed, I can guide you here. You can show me the old ways. Seems we got a partnership goin'." He sighs.

"Humans invented ways to talk over distance, the telephone. The Yellow Pages list the names and addresses of shops an' bizznesses, with a number to reach 'em. An' then, they made it a billion times more tricksy with the Internet. It's like, I dunno, a new Vulcan's on the rise or somethin'. Above my station. Mebbe Poseidon'd know. Pro'lly not though, he's got his noodles full of kelp." John taps the side of his head, spins his pointer in a loopy loop. "Whaddya say? You, and I, travellin'?"

Askante has posed:
Askante considers all of that. "I will find a phone. I will ask the odd girl with her automaton to show me how it works. And then yes, we will travel. Wherever you need to go. Old ways and new." It shrugs, smiles wide and full of teeth, none of which are sharp right now. They sometimes are, but not at the moment.

It giggles a little though, at the kelp in the noodles. "The real eye. The ones that are in his head. He has returned, after the godswar for Olympus, in the son of Aries. He doesn't want me harshing his mellow and pointed me at humans." Pause, beat. "Where do you need to travel now? We can leave, if you wish. You just must take my hand to step through the way. What you do after, well, that's just the rules. To cross, you must hold my hand."

Constantine has posed:
Constantine nods, affecting a most uncharacteristic smile: the drinks are getting to him. "First, we stop by my home to get my friend, right? Then... eeh. Well, the mansion's not keen on sendin' me where I wanna. So we might as well visit The Devil, for your fingerbone. I've gotta hunch ya'll need it to deal with good ol' Percy. 'fter that, how 'bout a stop at the Smithsonian? Never could break in there before, it's bound to have somethin' you need, like a talkin' head." He rises. "How do you pay, in here? Karma?" Please let it not be karma. Already, he's opened the magic door to his castle in nowhere.

Askante has posed:
"I already paid," ASkante notes, as the wooden token had gone. It seems happy enough though, to slide out from its red plush seat, to step through the door to a place of Mystery. And that? All for another time.