14094/The Devil's Lair

The Devil's Lair
Date of Scene:	29 January 2022
Location:	Club Lux, Melville
Synopsis:	A typical night at Lux, except that it's not, because Director Fury was there, as was the Hellblazer, Quicksilver and Genesis, who may have drawn a line in the sand.
Cast of Characters:	Lucifer, Sinister, Genesis, Quicksilver, Nick Fury, Constantine

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Lucifer has posed:
In typical fashion, the high and mighty of New York City have gathered within Club Lux to indulge in any and all fantasies one could think of. There's drinking, dancing, romancing, private rooms, a casino, and plethora of other vibes to get ones vices on. The music pumping out of the DJ Booth is some form of pulse-beat electronica, which just gets people in the zone to dance their hearts away, or nod their head in the corner. Whichever works.

Lucifer Morningstar, owner and proprieter, stands in his usual perch. That nook just at the top of those spiraled stairs, whiskey in hand as he surveys those who have come to bless him with their presence tonight. Sin drivels out of the gathered crowd and he drinks it in quite literally while also taking a literal drink of his whiskey. Nothing too exciting catching his eye just yet but the night is fairly young.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister is a descriptor. It is also a person. Sometimes, he has the moniker of 'mister' and sets himself apart deliberately and purposefully by the colour of his skin and other signifiers of his otherness. Not tonight though. He looks like what he would if he were a human being; grey eyes, but a fit build, hair neatly tied in a ponytail and hanging down his back in impeccable lines. Smart lines, leather dress coat, black T-shirt and chinos, wingtips and a pair of mirrored raebans on the bridge of his nose, which he peers over. He is close to Lucifer, elbows on the railing, dangling hands over the edge with his attention on the floor below.

"This, I believe is a January compensation. I was not expecting there to be this much activity on a friday at the end of january." In his hands is a cognac, cradled in the dangling digits.

Genesis has posed:
At the entrance foyer there was a boyish looking teen with dark greyish blue skin. He was dressed in a suit, also dark, with a white shirt and thin black tie. His hair was short and styled handsomely, a long scar like mark across his face made his head look like an animated Pez Dispencer, and his eyes; his eyes where uncanny and sickly. Hazy red, with dark circles within to hint where he might be looking finally tiny bright orbs rest in the center like the distant reflection of a door left open to the outside.

Evan's expression ranged from passive to determined, a look of determination was fleeting and disquiting on his small frame, like something else lived inside him and was peering out at you. Walking into the club he was accosted at the door but negociated his way in cooly, calmly, showing some modicum of wisdom a breath older than his appearant age.

Once he was in the club proper he stopped, placing himself firmly in the precise middle of everything and then sponged it all in.

Lucifer has posed:
"Well it is the end of January... people are finally coming out of their homes, trying to shake off the winter blues I suspect. Getting their vices in where they can, while they can, because they can." Lucifer quips back to Sinister before taking another sip of his whiskey. His head nods to the beat of the music blasting from the speakers, and then his head turns sharply so his focus can go to the front door. Nothing escapes him here. Quibbles with his bouncers especially. So when the young teenager makes his way in, and there is nothing done to hide his appearance, a loft of a brow is given before he nudges Sinister and motions.

"And even more interesting just stepped through the door. His eyes are almost as red as the quartz you sometimes sport on your forehead, my dear." He grins then, finishing his whiskey and setting the glass on the tray of a server who just happens to be passing by in that moment. "...Perhaps I should go introduce myself..."

Sinister has posed:
"Ahhh, the seasonal affect," Nathaniel Essex chuckles, nodding once though. "As long as it is purposeful and keeps the juices flowing, there's literally no argument here." Oddly though, he turned his attention toward the doors moments before there even WAS any fuss at the gate. There isn't a great revelation on his features as the mind perceives what the eyes cannot see, but there IS a loft of the eyebrow, a minute nod to the surprise of a moment he hadn't anticipated. Drawn back to the moment by Lucifer Morningstar, he looks away from the entrance with just a fragment of a delay, enough to say that focus was drawn there.

"Yes. Ahhh... you should." He looks back, leaning forward over the railing to fix attention firm upon Genesis. He stares a few long moments, then withdraws from the column of the club's spotlights as they shine down on the dance floor, withdrawing to the shadows. But in those shadows he's still looking down at exactly where the youth stands in the midst of it all.

Genesis has posed:
The small statured teen waited patiently where he could be seen. His hands where down by his sides, back straight, body still. There was no dance in him despite the reverly about. He was waiting for something. His eyes were unfocused into the middle distance. His body refused to be jostled and somehow managed to keep people just far enough away, preventing him from being knocked to the ground by accidental enthusiasm. Otherwise he left everyone and everything around him completely unmolested.

If Lucifer approached he was picked up at some point by Evan's gaze, he braced a little, like he had some inkling and it was clear this was the reason he was here.

Lucifer has posed:
As Sinister disappears into the shadows, Lucifer gives a little smirk and then shifts from his perching spot to walk down the spiral staircase to the floor below. His intention is clear, and those who would be in his way somehow manage to miss him by an arms length or more. He's like Moses, parting the sea, only instead of water it's people. They just sort of...flow... to other spots and make a path for the Devil to walk and approach the man just standing there in the middle.

"Lots to take in when one first arrives. There are also better spots to be instead of the middle of the dance floor." He grins, like he does, that Devilish sort of way that seems to usually draw people in without much more effort. "How about we go to the bar. I'll get you a drink. Let the people down here have their room for fun."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister moves like a snake through the foliage, or and eel through the dark waters. People move out of the way andd he too, moves like he's a force of nature, wending in andd out of each encounter from one side of the balcony to the other, never once taking his eye off the figures down below, even though there is steel andd concrete, porcelain tile and carpet between himself andd them. Over the other side of the railing he rests and elbow, gazing down from the shadow, not the spotlight, observing. The Devil andd the boy with the scar -- eyes narrow but nothing else, he's ... there. Do not forget!

Genesis has posed:
Evan listened -intently- to the man and then nodded slowly, he stepped forward to show his intent to follow the man to the bar. He was silent on the trip through the crowd, but once at the bar he accepted his drink and just held it in front of his solar plexus with both hands. His tone was delicately curious when he finally spoke.

"I wanted to ask about the old ways and the old names."

Evan had an odd habbit of not breathing, even to speak. Where most people would inhale and then let loose, he produced his nitrogen somewhere within his body and expelled it to cause sound, it meant that exhallation had no appreciable smell, but was also notable for this. It was clear he had no intention of drinking either, but would hold the glass politely until their conversation was concluded.

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer orders himself another whiskey and then waves the bartender away. Lux has two bars, a smaller one below and a larger one above. So below they remain for the time being and cautious blue eyes watch the kid in front of him. "Old ways and old names? I suppose depending on how old we're talking I could rustle up some information for you..." Ears flick and he tilts his head just slightly before taking in a breath to let out slowly. While he doesn't *need* to breathe, he does, to keep up appearances. The fact that the one across from him doesn't care to do as much is...interesting.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister settles himself on one of the barstools up above. At one point, one of the bartenders sweeps by, to check on the cognac situation, but observing it altogether full, she sweeps away again. There's a slight narrow of the eyes, but in the shadow, non-glowing eyes with no other signifier don't really show up much on the radar. The cognac he still has is cradled in a palm, the glass tapped in a frenetic manner, like some kind of distracted morse code. Tap, taptaptap, tap! Tap!

A very small smile manifests fleetingly, then is chased away by the clinical application of the observer.

Genesis has posed:
Evan listened and then explained, "I was given the name Genesis." he glanced down at his drink a moment, comparing its color and quantity to Lucifers, "I learned that in Greek it means origin, and is also the name given to the first book of the Old Testament." he glanced back up at Lucifer, "The template I was copied from is named Apocalypse. Also Greek, it means Revelation, which is the last book of the Old Testament." he seemed to know Luci probably knew all this far better than he, as he gesticulated apologetically with his hand.

"The template was given another name, however, which my current human name is a farce of. I am Evan Sabahnur, a form of En Sabah Nur. This was the name first attributed to Apocalypse. In arabic, as I am sure you know, it means: The First Light or The Morning Light."

Evan paused there, hoping Lucifer would pick up what he's putting down.

Lucifer has posed:
"I'm assuming your name isn't attributed to any of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse that I'm familiar with." Lucifer offers, mostly in jest, partly in perhaps a moment to stall the man in front of him. "Aside from that I am afraid there isn't a lot that I can offer you. Names are interesting things...and sometimes given with purpose. Sometimes as a coincidence. I don't know you well enough to really determine if it's one or the other..." He smirks, sips, and seems to be pondering as he watches the boy. "You're a mutant, are you not?"

Sinister has posed:
Sinister exhales long and slow, raising the cognac to his lips for a long, slow, but terminal sip... the draining of the glass is absolute as he sets it aside for the next pass of the help. Caught in a crux of a moment, to descend has mixed outcomes, depending on the face he wears -- and thusly not compelled to be one face or another, he remains in observation mode. Perhaps to give himself time to come up with the reason why Evan Sabahnur's doctor would be enjoying himself at Lux. Or perhaps why he's associating with the devil himself; aaaaaaaah, but for the flip of a coin.

He smiles to himself though, in his observation.

Genesis has posed:
The boy listened quietly, expertly hiding his disappointment if there was any. He watched the man sip his drink, the way he inflected with his tone and measured with his hands. His response, "I don't think so, I would meet all the expectations a lay person would have for a mutant." a long and weighted pause, "But mutanthood implies being born with some corruption of human DNA during meiosos." he raised two fingers to make half of a set of quotey fingers, but slowly and lazily. "I can alter my own DNA whenever I wish, so I guess that brings up something of a Ship of Theseus arguement, but I'm not sure."

Lucifer has posed:
No, friend, whether you like it or not, these abilities are mutant-like. Lucifer thinks this to himself but only just. There is, admittedly, another conversation happening elsewhere that is keeping the Devil on his toes in many ways where the boy across from him is concerned. "I suppose that is one way to define mutant-hood. But I would be pressed to define it in a few ways. Some mutants weren't born with some of the powers, abilities, and physical features that they now possess and still are considered as such." He offers, takes another sip, and then seems to consider the boy a bit more. "You do remind me of someone...if I am to tell the truth...and I do not lie. I simply can't."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister, up on the balcony surrounding the dance floor, shifts just a little more, standing and moving around the 'vip' gallery until he can keep an actual eye on both of the indiviuals down below. Cigarettes are removed from his black leather duster, the case flicked open and a single one tapped down in a nearly ritualistic manner. Nobody stops him smoking either, despite the law. As is fairly usual, nobody even pays him much attention. Steel grey eyes narrow on the tableau below, as he lights with a lucifer. The match gives off a lovely little whiff of cordite, one eyebrow flicking up as he watches.

Quicksilver has posed:
In one moment, there's no one at the door, and in the next, there's someone there. Whether or not it's an unusual thing is likely largely dependant on one's experiences. A white-haired fellow has come to be outside the nightclub, beyond the door, and he reaches out his left hand to pull open the door and step just inside. There, he pauses, a flicker of curiosity showing in his blue eyes. He wears a pair of matte black shoes, black dress slacks, and a light blue casual sort of button up shirt. A stylish black leather jacket is pulled on over the shirt. Though Pietro had run the distance to get here, it's no indication of him having been in a hurry. He simply gets impatient. Walking is slow. He takes a moment to glance across the interior, taking in the details in a look that seems unlikely to be enough to do so. Shifting his weight, he takes a step to start on his way towards the bar.

Genesis has posed:
Evan Sabahnur stood holding his untouched drink, his posture very still gave him a pensive air. His pale blue skin labeled him as either an outsider, or one of the many outsiders who differentiated himself by not blending in. His gaze was hellish and unwelcome to most, a sickly reddish pink with only enough definition to hint where he might be looking. He was slight of frame and a little short, but there was a terrible presence within him that almost seemed to peek out as his expression shifted from passive to determined; like someone inside him was peering out through his eyes.

"I didn't come all this way to argue." he said to the charismatic man at the bar. "Who do I remind you of?" he wondered.

Nick Fury has posed:
The shadows were his old friend. Nicholas Fury moves silently, smoothly, and without notice into the shadows of the Club, as though he was born to the darkness. His eye scans the area, looks for threats, and then settles into a spot that seems to be the least threatening. It was as though he was always there. It was not a normal occurence to have him arrive in a bar. Now, however, it may be important. Motioning for a drink, whiskey of course, Fury waits and watches.

Constantine has posed:
John knows his way around this club and he finds Lucifer where they usually dwell. He gives him a wave on his way to the bar, his gaze lingering on the strange looking boy. "The usual, Katyusha," he orders. He lights a cigarette while he waits, scanning the place. He spots a man whose white hair does not quite fit with his age, to whome he nods in acknowledgement. John looks to the patron near him who orders a glass of whisky. When John gets served a full bottle of single malt he grins to the whisky drinker, having won the size contest. He fills his own glass, says "Cheers" and empties it hungrily.

Lucifer has posed:
"A very dear friend of mine. It's your eyes... well and the whole altering your DNA bit..." Lucifer offers to Genesis for the moment before finishing the last of his drink. "I know you didn't come here to argue. You came here seeking answers. Answers that I am not sure I can rightfully give at this time. You spoke of your name being like mine - if pronounced in the Arabic. Your other name is Genesis, and you're aware you're something akin to Apocolypse. And somehow link that to the Revelations. Am I following along well enough here? I mean I can verify all of that, if that's what you want, but I am confused why you're asking me when you seem to be well aware of these facts." All of this said, and he feels the other eyes on him, but seems to be doing well in shaking the feeling of being watched off. For the time being.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister's awareness is blipping like a radar at the moment. Potent minds, familiar minds, here and there and everywhere. He glances to the door the moment that Pietro arrives, checks how he currently appears (Human, much like Doctor Wessex, for Pietro's benefit) and then there's JC getting whiskey and... "Goodness me..." a quiet mind that one, but there. Just. There. Fleetingly, he looks directly at Fury, then whisks himself off of his stool, cigarette dangling and makes for the stairs, spiralling down to the floor to approach where Lucifer is doing his thing. The cigarette is drawn one more time, down to the butt then as he draws close, is pinched out and simply handed to the proprietor of Lux as he slips onto a seat nearby.

"We are terribly popular, tonight, aren't we?" A nod is given then to Genesis. "Evan. It's good to see you out and about." And for all intents and purposes, it seems as if he's genuine as anything.

Genesis has posed:
Genesis listened quietly to Lucifer for a long moment, dragging the moment even longer by not responding right away. Then finally he looked down at his drink and back up again. "I don't understand the connection of these names to the dogma." another long and pregnant pause. "I don't understand my place or his in the dogma. I don't understand why we have old names."

Then Sinister spoke to him, and he swiveled, knowing the voice and then the face.

"Oh." he said, seeming surprised by the lift of his eyebrows. He stared at the Doctor, waiting his next words patiently.

Quicksilver has posed:
The white-haired man forces his stride to a walking pace despite his own opinions on the matter. Walking is 'normal', by most standards, albeit a boring pace to partake of. Lifting his left hand, he lightly combs his fingers through his hair. A lock of it falls forward to land lightly across half his forehead and partially obscuring one of his eyes as well. He doesn't seem to mind, or if he does, he doesn't do anything about it. Pietro weaves his way amongst the patrons between the door and the bar, then stops once he's reached the bar.

His right arm lifts so that he can rest his forearm against the bar's surface, leaning lightly there, and he glances briefly towards the barkeeper before his attention turns back out across the patrons. While he waits, the fingers of his right hand softly tap against the bar, a fidgetty sort of thing that is perhaps a sign of impatience. Time ticks differently, to his perspective. He catches the nod that's offered in his direction by Constantine, and one of his eyebrows nudges upwards a touch before he gives a nod in return.

Nick Fury has posed:
Fury's ears and eye are open, taking in the environment with an observant air. His look at the waitress as she approaches him is one of feigned indifferance. Nodding as the drink is placed in front of him, Fury pushes a $20 towards her, more than enough for the drink. This place has an interesting clientele that was for sure. Lucifer. Pietro. Constantine. The kid. He may need their help.

Fury feels Sinister look at him. However, he does not meet the gaze. That would be dangerous. Fury knows who he is. It would not do well to be known or make himself known. After all, this was a different kind of mission.

Constantine has posed:
Something pulls Constantine's attention on the newly arrived Sinister. Kid. Sinister. Kid. Sinister. Lucifer. His mouth remains slightly ajar for a few seconds then he cuts in to get the barmaid's attention. "Sorry, mate," he says to Fury. "I'd trade my bottle with the special reserve, love? Nathaniel is covering that." He gives the twenty a funny look and then to Fury. "Good luck, pal. She don't do patrons. Ever," he says, meaning the barmaid. As a peace offering, John offers Fury a Silk Cuts from his pack.

Lucifer has posed:
"Well I couldn't tell you why you have old names either, to be fair. I didn't name you, had no part in any of that. It could just be coincidence that such is your name..." Lucifer offers, and then side eyes Sinister when the man joins him. "Aye. Quite popular. I sense eyes... and I am not all too sure if I want to have some of these eyes on me, to be fair. I mean... I like attention - don't get me wrong - but only the good kind. Bad attention is... bad." He offers this and then looks between Evan and Sinister a moment. "Should I leave you two to....catch up? I should probably go make a round or few to the other guests before too long..."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister ought to be flattered by Fury's reaction. He's still marked the head honcho of shield as being there. Very little gets past his mind, when he's alert. And tonight, he's alert. It's something to do with the company, as it so happens. He nods over toward the barkeep at the words from Constantine, his approval of the swap of bottles and as Quicksilver's over there, nods to him also. They met before, there was a weird moment or twenty, but he's wearing the same face as then, amongst the scoobies. And then, focus is back on the proximal: Lucifer and Genesis. "Morganstern," he says in a warm tone toward Lucifer, consideration given. "Might be wise," a single flick of eyes is sent toward Fury at this. "That way first, I reckon."

Then there's a tilt of the head, oh-so-slight as he watches the attention being given him by Evan. "It seems you've reached a point of inquiry where rationalism and symbolism have collided in a confusing manner. It's all to do with myth and history and the taking of power, by the sake of a name. Once, it was arrogance, then emminence that made that name a truth. In your case however, it is a legacy. A surname, denoting origin. A reminder of where you come from and not who -you- are. Mind, there's something to be said for legacy memory. Neural pathways that have been so set into a genetic structure, that they persist from one generation to the next." He smiles at that, a little darkly. "Scientifically speaking."

Genesis has posed:
The young man with the heavy gaze listened to the Doctor intently. He did not interrupt. He did not look away.

"I see the truth of it."

Then he placed the drink Lucifer had been kind enough to procure for him on the bar, as if he no longer cared for the charade of it. "I was exploring the concept of the Soul, and..." he paused, "...I ran into the thought experiment about the Cretan boat, they took away each plank of it slowly over time and replaced it with a new one. Then they asked, is it still the Ship of Theseus? Later, another man named Hobbes asked the question, if you kept the old peices, and assembled that...is that the Ship of Theseus. It lends itself to the question, where does the soul of the boat reside, and I could not help but absorb the metaphor and wonder; who's soul do I have. Do I have a soul?"

Quicksilver has posed:
A glance is given towards Constantine as the man steals the barmaid's attention in order to make his 'trade'. He exhales a soft snort of breath, and continues to patiently -- impatiently -- await placing his own order. And once it is his turn, he gives a small nod to the barmaid before saying, "Stolichnaya, a double, please." There is naught more that he asks for. The fingers of his right hand continue to lightly rap-tap against the bar in front of him.

While Pietro awaits the order to be fulfilled, which will take too long while taking as long as it takes at the same time, his blue gaze wanders. He catches sight of others, but Sinister causes his gaze pause as he recalls that one-off meeting with the fellow from some time ago, and he gives a small nod of greeting. Perhaps he'll have to wander this way more often, given the unusual company that the place seems to lure in. The glass of vodka is set in front of him, and it pulls his attention back. He gives a nod of thanks to the barmaid, then moves his right hand to claim the glass, picking it up before giving the liquid a slight swirl about. Could he be here just for the vodka? Anything is possible, for there are times when he is inclined towards being a bit... random.

Nick Fury has posed:
As the girl tries to flee, Fury looks over at John, and then adds, "No problem Mr. Constantine. I understand completely. It is hard to find good help nowadays." Fury pushes his glass to the side. Nathaniel. Then he follows John's gaze to the $20 before it is grabbed. "Fair enough." Fury smiles as John offers the silk cuts. "Thank you. Generous of you."

Fury's eye does find Sinister once more, watching him. There was a lot behind that look, and with a slight nod of respect, Fury lets the being know he knows. It was a mutual sign of respect. Next, Lucifer. That was a whole different "kettle of fish". Fury frowns. Deeper than his normal frown. Plans within plans. The kid. Genesis? And last, Pietro. Why was he here...?

Constantine has posed:
John quirks an eyebrow at the man. "Do I owe you something?" he asks, searching his memory fruitlessly for some deal he bailed on, one in a million. "Did I exorcise your mammy and you want her back? No. Refunds." He fills his glass with that special reserve liquor. That's the weird thing about it: the sticker on the bottle is black with only the words 'Special Reserve' etched in sans-serif characters. No date either. Nevertheless, he tries it, downing down half his glass.

John finds himself licking his lips, regretting immediately to have drank this heavenly distillation so quickly. With wide eyes, he meets the gazes of Fury and Pietro, in turn. "Gentlemen, I'm not in the habit of sharing but you have to try /this/. Bring your glasses closer."

Lucifer has posed:
Silent as the grave he never came from, Lucifer smirks and exits stage left from Sinister and Genesis without another word. Maybe he'll meander towards Fury, maybe Pietro...or maybe for the moment he'll go find himself a nice little corner to hide within and watch for the time being. Curious, more than anything, since there's quite a many strong presence in the club now.

Sinister has posed:
"Hmm." Well, don't you just have conundrums to unravel? Doctor Essex doesn't order a drink, but one of the waitresses brings a cognac and sets it on a paper doilee next to him without saying a word. He takes up the tumbler and sips it as he considers. "Inferrance of meaning is a given thing. It is not an essential quality of matter or even life. It takes a mind, a consciousness and a system of mores, to place a value on a thing. A samurai sword, handed from father to son for generations is the ancestral blade of that family. FIve hundred years ago it was forged, four hundred years ago, the blade broke and a new end was affixed, reforged and refolded a thousand times, to the hilt. That hilt, three hundred years ago was replaced as the wood had split. The wrapping had been replaced time and time again, as hands wore it down and sweat ruined the leather, even when cared for. But the father handed the son a sword that had been handed down time and time again. It is no less the family sword, just because only a little of it remains original. The sword does not care. The people do. The soul does. And you asked. Therefore you can answer your own dilemma with jurisprudence of thought."

There is a pause, very keenly felt as he nods back to Nick Fury, then fixes eyes on Genesis once again. "And yet, Boat of Theseus... you are more than the sum of your parts and origins. Consider the naming of things to be reminders and truths in their own right, but let them be what they are, only."

He rises from the stool then, gesturing an invite for Genesis to follow as he wishes, bringing himself and his cognac closer to Pietro, Constantine and Director Fury. Not a glance is shot back to where Lucifer vanished; it's what that man does on a regular basis. "Gentlemen," to Constantine and Pietro, he catches the barman's eye and nods, bringing the special reserve to bare again, just in case of acceptance, then looks directly to Fury's safe spot. "You are never out and about. So, although I am disinclined usually to interfere with things unless by design, you have me intrigued."

Nick Fury has posed:
Fury smiles at John, shakes his head and pushes his glass towards him. With a final look at Pietro, Fury excuses himself. "Need to use the little men's room. Be right back." Looking up at Lucifer, then Sinister, Fury pauses. A nod reveals that he heard Sinister, intrigue indeed, and what that meant for SHIELD, and finally takes a LONG look at Genesis. Pauses. Then Fury moves into the men's room...and somehow...is gone. Like he was never there.

Genesis has posed:
Invitation declined. Genesis stayed where he was, allowing the Doctor to leave unmolested by him. His eyes unfocused into the middle distance, his lips moved imperceptably. He worked thought it, chewed on it, molded it back up from pulp and destroyed the idea in his mind from a thousand angles.

Then it was upon him, the idea furrowed across his brow, and then germinated in his eyes, and then and then and then...peace settled upon him.

Evan Sabahnur, called Genesis, moved deliberately cross the room toward Sinister on his way out. "When I inevitably defeat you...I just want you to know, there will be a period of time where I reflect on the valuable lessons you have taught me, it will be similar to when a human mourns a lost parent...at least as close as I can make it." and there is something in his expression, his hellish, horrific eyes, which glows with a determined sincerity before he nods once and makes his way out.

Quicksilver has posed:
The white-haired man raises an eyebrow slightly as he slants a look in Constantine's direction. He lifts the glass of vodka and, like the uncivilized man that he occassionally is, he drinks it in one go before settling his glass back to the bar's surface. There's a flicker of curiosity that passes through his eyes at the questions that the man poses, and he shifts his weight as he turns to be able to lean his hip against the bar. "Do you mean me, or do you mean him?" he asks, giving a slight nod towards Fury. There's a slight accent to his words, somewhere likely Russian.

His gaze turns to the 'Special Reserve' bottle that the fellow holds, and he idly toys with his glass for a moment or two before he nudges it along the bar and somewhat towards him, giving a small nod along with the gesture. He's not unwilling to try new things. His gaze flits across the space, settling on Sinister as the man approaches. And once they're near, he gives a nod of greeting. "Doctor," he says, a hint of a smile touching at the corners of his lips. He glances towards Fury, but there is nothing more that he says, instead watching the fellow head towards the men's room only to never return. Strange company and oddities. The latter seems to stack up a little taller when the youth approaches and says his piece to Sinister, which causes Pietro to raise an eyebrow slightly. "Well, that's a delightfully bold gauntlet to toss out there," he says quietly, with a bit of tone behind the words.

Constantine has posed:
Constantine sees no issue in a glass being drained. Alcohol is meant to be drank, slow or fast. He doesn't pour the Special Reserve in Pietro's glass yet, distracted by the departure of Fury - more Special Reserve for us , the arrival of Sinister - who gets a smile and a nod and the troublesome dramatic storming of the little guy delay his sharing of magical liquor from Heaven with his bar buddies.. "Kid..." he says, waiting for the boy to turn around, which doesn't happen it looks like. "... bring all your friends. You'll need them!" He gives Sinister a meanful look of 'what the flip'. No need to dwell in the past or even the present, he fills Pietro's glass.

"John," he introduces himself to Pietro. "Never seen you around here but you know Nathaniel so... you can't be so bad." He refills his own glass then crushes his cigarette in an ashtray. How civil. But then Lucifer has vanished? John makes a point of lifting his glass and place it just beside the coaster he was given, right on the bar's rare wood. "One of yours, Nathaniel? For a moment I thought you were him."

Sinister has posed:
The glasses, both Pietro's and Constantine's are topped up with the special reserve. As far as whiskey goes, there is something unexpressably good about it. AS if it were distilled from the tears of angels, or some such nonsense. Smooth. Poignant. Poetry in a glass. And totally not vodka. If you don't care for whiskey, it's whiskey, right? If you do? Well...

And then there's Sinister, listening to the challenge that came out as audacity -and- strangely enough, as respect. He inclines his head as Evan turns to him, then makes his departure. Quicksilver and the Hellblazer's own words added to the heels of Genesis, he looks at both of them, all smiles and sparkling eyes. "Ah, me, I love it when you get a positive result at the end of all the work. I'll have a glass of that too, please Dave." And a THIRD special reserve is set down and he swaps his cognac for it, chinking his glass lightly against John's. "I'll explain if you want, or you could just chalk it up to my machiavellian machinations."

Quicksilver has posed:
The white-haired speedster looks over to Constantine as he speaks, offering nary a comment to what's said to the youth, though he offers a nod at the introduction that he's given. "Pleasure to meet you, John," he says, a hint of a smile touching at the corners of his lips. He glances over to Sinister, then back to John to give a small nod. "Da, I met him once before. I'm Pietro," he offers in turn. He doesn't offer a last name, but this might be where he finds out if what could be called his reputation -- such as it might be -- has preceeded him at all. "This is my first time coming here. I figured that I would stop by and see what it is like," he says in a thoughtful tone of voice.

With his glass having been filled with liquor, he reaches towards it and picks it up. The liquid is mildly swirled, and he takes a faint sniff of the aroma that rises from it. Then he takes a sip of it, letting the liquid roll over his tongue to taste each flavour it offers in turn before he swallows it. It might be interesting that he drank the vodka while he savours the whiskey. Perhaps it's a thing or perhaps it's merely coincidence. "This is better than other whiskeys that I have ever tried," he comments. Which isn't to say he drinks swill (he can afford not to) but rather to say that this is a level above top shelf brews.

Constantine has posed:
John taps his glass back at Sinister's and raises it at Pietro's health. "Well met." Then he takes a single sip of the whiskey and... tastes it. For a moment, his gaze is a thousand miles long, lost in a trance. "Hey, it's fine, Nathaniel. I don't expect to learn your long history in a week. Thank you for this." He takes a long drag from a newlit cigarette and lets out a cloud that join the already thickening fog overlooking Lux's. "Are we go for that oversees trip? As much as I enjoy my hotel room, I'm getting antsy. I know I must be on their list already."

Sinister has posed:
"Jolly good," Sinister sips, lets his eyes close and smiles at the flavour. Oh, he knows it. He's had it a time or two. "It is quite exquisite, isn't it? And yes. We shall be. I'll forward you the itinerary. We have... to save the world from the likes of myself," the glass turned in his hand, he looks at the amber liquid with the barlight as backdrop and he continues. "Consider that young man to be an experiment in nature, versus nurture. Also, whether an object set in motion, will always remain in motion, if perpetuity is fuelled by the potential of genetic memory. His progenitor is probably one of the most dangerous beings on the face of the planet. But he... as you can tell, is a cocky little hero, who will one day eliminate the bad, bad doctor that has only ever actually helped him... but whose reputation he's learned of in a lovely school."

At this point, Sinister side-eyes Pietro. "Pietro Maximoff, known as Quicksilver, brother to Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet witch. I do keep up with current affairs and past events. I must admit, I've been curious about you for a while, now." Turning to look at the man fully, instead of sideways, he kind of fixes grey eyes on the middle of the whitehaired fellow's forehead. "Are your thoughts as fast as you are?"

Quicksilver has posed:
Shifting slightly, Pietro adjusts his stance in order to have his back against the bar and thus be able to keep an eye on the room in general as well as Sinister and Constantine. Positioning is important, even for one as quick as what he is. He looks briefly to John at his words, then turns his attention to Sinister and inclines his head as he slightly lifts his glass to indicate it. "If this is courtesy of your efforts, then thank you for it. It is a taste that will not be soon forgotten," he says, a smile quirking at the corners of his lips.

The glass is lifted, and he takes a sip of it, once more savouring the brew of liquid that is held within it. "I have a strange feeling that I ought not ask who 'they' might be or why they have a list," he muses, a touch of wry amusement to his voice. He gives a soft chuckle, and then faintly shakes his head. "Is every life not an experiment, in its own way?" he asks, raising an eyebrow slightly. And he falls quiet then, as Sinister elaborates on what little he has in the way of ties as well as linking names to perhaps better known hero-names. Not that he and his sister were always heroes, but the past is a mottled creature. "True and true, in regards to who I am and who my sister is," he comments, giving a nod. One of his eyebrows nudges a touch upwards. "Oh? What is there to be curious about?" Pietro asks, a hint of curiosity in his voice as the question is posed. He lifts one of his shoulders in a bit of a shrug. "It could be said that they are fast enough," he suggests. It doesn't really answer the question, and he knows it, but sometimes he's an ass that way. He keeps the glass held in one hand, and his other has fallen to his side, fingers idly rap-tapping against his slacks. The world is slow, and even though he should be well used to it, it still causes impatience in him.

Constantine has posed:
"Maximoff," John repeats. "It's swell I'm meeting you first, Pietro. I don't mingle well with other magical people most of the time. That way, you can make up your own mind about me without your sister nagging." He lets out a dry chuckle, which he immediately wet with some of that exquisite whiskey. He remembers something and from his trench coat he produces a rectangle of hard paper that once was intended to be a calling card but now is dog-eard and stained. It reads: 'John Constantine - Exorcism & Paranormal'. The card is offered to Pietro. "In case of need. Don't worry about using a phone, it just works as is." He offers Pietro a wink.

John turns his attention to Sinister. "Let me know if you scout more... talent. I'll make more hats."

Sinister has posed:
Eyeing the exchange of the card from Hellblazer to fastest thing on two legs, Sinister groans lightly and chuckles. "Whatever you do, do not concentrate on that card too hard, when not in his presence. The resultant arrival is something you won't ever forget." He advises, then leans himself sidelong against the bar. His is a less aggressively 'alert' state, but he'd still be open to react to just about anything coming close, morever because he'd know it was coming before it got there, when he's spent the evening rather 'aware' of things.

Gazing at the spot on Pietro's forehead though, even when the man's turned away, he blinks, then blinks again very, very slowly as if caught in some kind of 16th speed security camera footage. Abruptly, he jerks himself straightened, which comes overbalanced and his elbow falls off the edge of the bar because of it, ALMOST spilling his whiskey. He would have, if he'd not then gone cross-eyed staring at the liquid that is now telekinetically held in place "...None of that, thank you very much." He tells it as it snakes back into the glass. "Pietro, I believe you are the very definition of the Speed of Thought. Incredibly interesting, that was. And no, I didn't probe, I simply skimmed over the top of and promptly slid off the side. You could improve on that though." Pause, beat. "However, I do not suspect you would want to know the list, unless you're exceptionally bored and have a thirst for horrendously dangerous problems."

Quicksilver has posed:
The speedster looks sidelong to John, and then he gives a nod. "Da, Maximoff," he affirms, a smile rising to tug up the corners of his lips. "Why do you not mingle well with those who have magic?" he asks, curious on that particular matter. He and his sister are often together, after all. And she is definitely magical, in what might be considered an extreme sense. "From what I have seen, I have been given no reason to avoid you," he comments. That might be a bit harsh, but Pietro's only just met the fellow and friendship takes time. And Pietro isn't necessarily that great with making friends. As the card is offered forth, he lifts his free hand to claim it and give it a brief scan before he nods once and tucks it away into a pocket of his slacks. "Thank you, I will bear that in mind," he says. Interesting.

The glass is lifted, and he takes a sip of the whiskey, finding it to be quite pleasing. He looks to Sinister, and one of his eyebrows quirks up. "I will keep that in mind as well, and will only focus upon the card when an appearance is required," he adds. He seems a touch amused at that, and for a moment wonders over the variety of situations that John has appeared in the midst of. Pietro tilts his head a touch to one side, and he lifts the glass of whiskey whilst he regards Sinister at those unusual blinks that the fellow takes, which is a curiosity to him. And he smirks a touch -- he'd been a split second from reaching out to offer balance, but it hadn't been needed and so he hadn't moved. "Nice catch," he comments, lifting a hand to gesture slightly towards the telekinetically controlled liquid. His brow furrows for a second at the confession that's offered. "It is a possibility," he allows in regards to the speed of his thoughts, inclining his head towards Sinister. His curiosity has been piqued, however, and he can't help but to ask, "How might it be improved on?" There is a certain thirst for knowledge in him, and he offerss no explanation as to where or how he learned to bolster a mental defense to start with, for he's certainly not of psychic or psionic powers himself. "Would you have probed and prodded had the defenses not been there?" he asks next. He's gotten into the habit of keeping them in place. "I could do without dangerous problems, although exceptionally bored does happen to find its way into my time," he comments.

Constantine has posed:
John shrugs and smirks nonchalantly, the cigarette at the corner of his mouth releasing a tiny avalanch of ash that rolls down his trench coat. "I'll keep it simple: I make things go weird, especially magic. No one likes a show off, I guess." He takes another sip and almost leaves his glass on the bar. No, he changes his mind and keeps it. "I must use the privy, friends. Keep me some of that reserve, right?" He makes his way through the crowd toward the restrooms. Sure, he's going at boring walking speed but he navigates with such ease, like if he knew ahead where to be.

Sinister has posed:
"Thank you," Sinister inclines his head at the compliment, turning eyes on Constantine a moment, as the man makes to depart. "Sleep well." Restroom? He knows the truth. The door out won't lead to the club again. He looks back to the speedster, places a single digit on the bar top and a piece of paper seems to appear there. Upon it, is a sketch, or rather a lot of sketches, of physical activities illustrated in terms of calculations and mathematical understanding. Throwing a ball, catching one, picking up a pen, moving a hand to a glass of water. He removes his finger and the paper vanishes again. "You calculate all actions in the blink of an eye. Imagining those actions calculated as a series of confined boxes of activity, all stacked atop one another, around you, above you, behind you, oscillating between the variety of the mundane, it would take a slowed mind to a place of extreme fatigue and confusion, attempting to read the intent you have -in this moment-. Compartmentalizing the boring in the imagination. As to whether I would have, had I an inclination? I could have then. I didn't. I wanted to see how fast your thoughts were and in that I am satisfied." Brutal honesty, for the win. And because he could do without dangerous problems, nothing further is offered there.

Sinister slips from the lean to standing, inclining his head to Pietro. "Do have a good night. Your first drink was free, the rest you have to pay for." He smiles faintly as he turns to head toward the elevator up. "Rules of the house." It's opening before he even gets there, then closes behind him.