6022/Mixology is Like Magic, Right

Mixology is Like Magic, Right
Date of Scene:	19 December 2018
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	John Constantine takes Willow to a bar run by the Devil! Drinks are had, and horrible slander about marshmallows is spoken!
Cast of Characters:	Constantine, Willow Rosenberg

---

Constantine has posed:
John had been cryptic in his texts to his sometime apprentice.

John >> Come to

He entered the address in Bludhaven's Melville neighbourhood.

John >> Important rite of passage.

Then he went silent, standing outside the little island of civilization in the otherwise tattered neighbourhood, Club Lux, the bar drinking spot literally run by the devil. Of course, John was a regular.

Putting his phone away and tossing his smoke in the gutter he walks inside giving a big grin to the bouncer, "A'right mate, a flustered looking redhead is going to be coming by in a bit, want you to let her in and show her to my table as soon as she gets here," he pulls a couple of twenties from his pocket and pushes it into the man's hand. "That work for you?

"A little light," the bouncer says.

"You're a tight one," John says pushing another twenty into the man's palm. "No delay, and no carding."

Then John wanders into the bar and grabs a booth in the lounge and orders himself a beer and a shooter to start the evening off right.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
It was probably a good thing that Willow didn't know the place by virtue of its address. As it was, she cheerfully texted John back:

Willow >> Sure thing. Should I bring anything with me?

Because the best rites of passage she knew involved ritual items. In fact, Willow was getting rather excited at the prospect of whatever it was John had planned, and by the time she got to the address he'd given her, she'd convinced herself that she'd somehow passed a point in her training where she was, to use gaming terminology, about to level up.

One can imagine her disappointment at seeing the storefront to the Club, and further when she works up enough nerve to step inside the dimly lit interior.

"Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," she whispers to herself, getting ready to bolt.

Constantine has posed:
John pondered the reply to the text before he settles on:

John >> Smudging sticks and fifty bucks.

He didn't need the smudging sticks, but a little extra money didn't hurt. Especially with what this place charges for a pint.

...If he didn't already know the devil ran the place that'd be a sign...

He was just in the middle of ordering a second of those overpriced beers when he saw his apprentice enter. "Make that two beers, luv," he says to the waitress. "Owner knows I'm good for it."

Then as the waitress wanders off, he waves to the red-haired witch. "Oy, Willow, over here."

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
A quick check of her laptop bag, and underneath the couch cushions later:

Willow >> I have five bucks. And smudging sticks. See you soon!

One could almost imagine her having to restrain herself from adding smilies or hearts or something on the end of that.

Of course, once inside the club, Willow's disappointment grows. She was pretty sure she wasn't going to need those smudging sticks, and that John had only texted her because he was short on his tab for a drink.

She deflates, looking smaller than ever standing there trying to figure out where John is. That is, untill he calls her, and waves her over.

"Let me guess," she sighs when she makes it to the table and plops her satchel atop it. "You forgot your wallet at home. Well, five bucks is really all I have." Plus about 70 cents, and Sam's transit card - which was how she was making her way home after this. "I even brought the sage."

Yes. Willow is tres disappointed.

Constantine has posed:
A dissapointed Willow was a tragic sight to behold and it pulled on even John's heartstrings.

"Nah, got my wallet, just having a lark is all," he nods to a spot across the booth from him. "Take a load off, luv. An' have a drink with your mentor. Like I said in the text, right of passage."

Just then the waitress returns with the beers and sets them on the table. "Even got our first round."

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
"What kind of a cruel joke is this?" Willow laments. "I brought my *sage*." As though that were all the explanation he needed for anything.

Her disappointment remains, but she does stop lamenting long enough to peer at this rite of passage he's speaking of. "Our first round?"

Oh, Willow isn't quite that much of an innocent, but since she's not of age, and John has already shown himself to be a bit of a jerk, she's not sure if he actually *means* he's bought her a drink. And if he has, she feels obligated to add, leaning in to keep it between the two of them, "I don't have any I.D. you know. And I'm..." Willow makes a vague gesture that's supposed to be translated into 'underage'.

Constantine has posed:
"You brought it?" John asks with a grin. "Didn't think you would. Not bad."

Then he takes one of the drinks and slides the other across the table to the spot he indicated.

"Right, our first round, enjoy it luv," he says before he's tilting his head at her little gesture.

"Movie, film or book? Can't make heads or tales of you charade there, 'sides this isn't the place for that sort of thing, have a seat."

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Willow blinks, confused. "Of course I brought it. You told me to."

And, well, because her best friend /was/ the Slayer, and her mentor Giles - she lived in a world where if someone told you to bring the sage, you brought the sage. And often holy water, and warding charms as well.

Willow doesn't mention those are also in her satchel. John might laugh at her.

"This isn't charades!" Willow protests. "I'm.." She leans in again, and stage whispers, "Not legal."

Constantine has posed:
John's almost touched that she brought the things just because he asked. She was too good this girl.

Even so John can't help but tease...

"Not legal? I thought I was the only one here on a fake passport," he says. "Anyhow I think you're safe, don't think they let ICE agents into places like this. Or cops in general."

Yes, he's totally pulling her leg.

"C'mon and have a beer, I promise it won't kill you.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Willow has no clue how to answer John on that front. Not legal? She almost doesn't catch his meaning, then flusters, her cheeks going pink. "I mean I'm not old enough to be here."

Nooooot, that it seems anyone here cares that she's both underage, and has a beer in front of her. Which prompts the girl to ask, "Uh.. just what kind of a place is this?" Because other than some fast and loose shenanigans at some of the university bars, where they weren;t always so circumspect about checking IDs, Willow was pretty certain the fines for serving a minor were strict enough that that beer shouldn't be in front of her. Unless, of course, it was one of *those* places. (Not that Willow precisely knew what one of *those* places was. She just had a suspicion it wasn't good.)

Constantine has posed:
"Oh," John says around a swallow of beer. "Forgot this country had draconian liquor laws, twenty-one," he shakes his head. "Barbaric. Now, sixteen, that's a drinking age."

There's a smile and a swallow of beer before he continues.

"As to the type of place this is, it's probably one of /those/ places if /those/ places are run by the Devil."

He lets that sink in while he smirks into another swallow of beer.

"Drink up, we can talk and drink at the same time."

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
"I am not sixteen," Willow declares indignantly, snatching up the bottle of beer in front of her and taking a swig - a thing she almost immediately regrets as the taste and the bubbles hit at once, leaving the young woman to gag and choke on the stuff.

"Ew, this is horrible. Who drinks this stuff?"

John does, apparently. John.

Constantine has posed:
"No but the drinking age back home is," John supplies before he bursts into a laugh. "First time?" he asks her of the beer. "Trust me it gets easier as you get drunker."

John laughs at the question. "Me for one, you for another, c'mon, I'm one and a half bottles ahead. If you want to learn real magic might as well get a taste for this stuff, trust me, it'll make you want to drink, count on that."

To make his point he downs his beer. "Barkeep! Two more!" he shouts to the bartender. "And bloody well keep 'em coming."

Then back to Willow. "See, educational and all mentory."

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Willow crinkles up her nose in something of both disgust and distrust. Oddly enough, it doesn't stop her from having another swallow. A swallow that is followed by another grimace. "I don't understand how this is related to magic?"

It hadn't come up in any of her research, that's for certain. Then again, John had a unique perspective on life.

Constantine has posed:
John offers a wry grin as Willow continues to drink her beer. Though it's a grin that quickly fades when she asks her question.

"It's what you do when magic goes wrong," he says of what drinking had to do with their Art.

"Well, it's what /I/ do when magic goes wrong," he offers with a pained glint in his eyes. "Helps you forget."

He finishes his beer in a swallow before bellowing to the bartender. "I thought I told you to keep 'em coming?"

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Willow doesn't look any more convinced by his explanation than when she asked. "You don't just try to learn from your mistakes and make them right again?"

She had to admit, she's made some spectacular errors - thuse prompting the strict labelling of all things in the fridge with warning labels, including the crisper drawer marked "Magical components: Do Not Eat" where she hid her chocolate bars. It was only a little white lie.

Constantine has posed:
"Sometimes," John says turning his empty glass on the table. "Other times problems can't be fixed and all that you can do about them is drink yourself into oblivion."

"So, I suppose, what I am saying is as much a warning as a lesson, if you don't fancy spending your nights in places like this trying to forget things you can't forget because they're burned into your bloody mind, then maybe it's an idea to turn back from the path your walking now before it's too late and there's no going back," he says soberly as the next beer comes.

"You get me? This is a nasty business we're in and it's only going to get nastier from here for you."

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Willow is all wide-eyed and innocent. I picture perfect ad for exactly the very thing he's talking about.

"I don't undertand? Why would I want to frequent.." She looks around. "Just where are we anyway?" Because it most certainly wasn't a university or college bar. And so far nobody was looking askance at her age, or the fact that she had several beer bottles in front of her, waiting.

Willow dutifully drinks more of her beer, making faces the entire time.

Constantine has posed:
John shakes his head.

"I told you it's a bar, owned by the Devil, they're understandably loose about the rules here," he says. "Sort of his thing, old Lucy."

He takes a sip of his new beer. "And I didn't mean exactly this place, but places like it. Common for our sort. We've all got things we want to forget."

"This making any sense to you?" he asks, puzzling at her. "Or I am I just flapping my gums for nothing?"

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Willow continues to look slightly bewildered. That is until he mentions the Devil. "Wait! You brought me to a place that the Devil owns?"

She peers at John, trying to gauge if he's making some sort of joke at her expense (which he is, but not precisely that joke). "Like Lucifer? That Devil?" A small moan escapes her. "Buffy is going to kill me."

Constantine has posed:
John nods, "Yeah, he's not in right now or he'd be playing the bloody piano right now or some bollux. But yeah, he owns the place. Not a bad as his sort goes," he gives a shrug,

When Willow studies John's face, he looks completely serious, but then it's John, that doesn't mean much.

"As for her Slayer-ness, just tell her it's recon, can't have the Devil living it up right under your nose without a little look see at his establishment, eh?" John offers a plausable lie. "Though I'd leave the part about the beers out. Can sleep it off at the House if you need to before showing back up at your little shoebox in Gotham."

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
By this point, even with as little as she's had, Willow is starting to feel just bit toasty, and her cheeks glow with a faint rosy pink that threatens, at any moment, to clash with her red hair, and the inevitable freckles.

"Oh, Buffy would be so mad," Willow giggles. "And he plays the piano? How come they don't teach us that in school." Because wow, is that ever a version of Lucifer that she's never heard. There's another giggle. "Does he sound like Billy Joel?"

She does have to ask, though, curious, "Why do we have to drink to forget? Don't you just wake up later and remember it again?" Though as she asks, it almost answers itself if you consider John and his drinking habits.

Constantine has posed:
Oh yeah, Willow is a lightweight no doubt about that, and John scans the bar quickly to make sure there's nothing too nasty here tonight that'd like to take advantage of that fact. Finding none, he settles back and takes a much smaller sip of his own beer.

"He does, not sure he's a Billy Joel man, his stuff runs more Lounge. Probably plays a mean fiddle too if the songs can be believed," he jokes with a bit of a smile. "But maybe that's only when he's in Georgia."

"Think you know the answer," he says. "Most of it fades some eventually, but it's a real bastard until it does. And the rest, well, the rest is there for good." Which is why he sometimes mixed his booze with pills, not that he was going to be responsible for introducing /that/ to the girl. He was a bloody bastard, but he wasn't a monster.

"Anyhow, the point of all this besides they've got bloody good beer here is I think you're ready to learn more magic, real magic, and I wanted you to be sure you really wanted to walk down that road, it's the sort that if you go too far you can't walk back from."

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Willow has to admit, she's had a few things go south in her time, and he's right, for a time the stupid, it burns. As does one's dignity as it takes a beating. So far, though, her discomfort has faded all on it's own in time... with the copious application of ice cream and chocolate. She'd have to admit that.

"Lounge music is pretty.." She's not sure, really. Other than a few movies where it seemed like the piano players were trying to simultaneously mourn your best friend while singing a chipper drinking song and contemplating doing a seductive dance on top of the piano, Willow wasn't sure she really got what lounge singing was.

"I like ice cream," she says absently, drinking, as it happens, the remains of her beer and smiling proudly. "You're right. It's not so bad when you get to the bottom." She hiccups, and holds the bottle upside down to peer into it, making sure it's gone. "Empty."

Nodding to his question. "Oh, that. Yes. I'm sure." She blinks at him. "We're talking about magic, right? Not that other stuff."

Constantine has posed:
John judiciously helps himself to Willow's second bottle. "Best we start small," he says about the drinking. Also it saved him time between beers. As for the musical discussion, "It's alright, few songs worth listening too, prefer punk myself."

"Anyhow you lost me with the ice cream," he says with a smirk.

"And yes, I mean the magic, and what do you mean by the other stuff?" he asks.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Willow ohs, and actually looks disappointed when there isn't a second beer there. At least for a moment, after which she's not sure if she drank it or not, leaving her looking rather perplexed. "Oh, ice cream. I like ice cream when I'm sulking. Like when you make a big magic mistake. I once turned someone into a thing, and couldn't figure out how to turn them back. It was bad. I ate ice cream for a week."

Constantine has posed:
"Transmogrification, tricky stuff," John says of the transformation of people. "Did once turn a woman back into a cat once, long story..." he shakes his head. "And ice cream, huh?" he takes a swallow of beer. "Did that work? A week of Rocky Road and problem's forgotten?" he asks.

Not that he was planning on switching gears now. One he wasn't the worlds biggest fan of ice cream, two, to his mind booze would always be the way to make him forget and three, woudn't cut such a dashing and mystrious figure if he got chunky on ice cream.

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
"Cookie dough ice cream," Willow counters. "I don't like Rocky road. Too many marshmallows." She nods to herself. "I think it helped. I mean, it didn't turn her back from being a rat, but there's only so bad you can feel after a week of sitting on your couch in your pajamas and eating cookie dough ice cream."

She loosk over at him. "I have no more beer."

Constantine has posed:
"No such thing," John insists with a grin. "Marshmallows are the best thing about Rocky Road," he says before giving it a nod. "Well maybe we can figure out how to de-rat your fiend there. Has to be some spell for that," he says pondering the options. "An' to each their own then, if ice cream does it for you, then who am I to argue with that."

As to the beer, John raises his hand, "Oy, another here, eh," he says. "Just don't mention any of this to Buffy."

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Willow makes a disgusted face that rivals the look she'd given him when she'd first tasted the beer. "Ew. How can you say that? They're.. puffy, and sweet, and make your mouth feel all strange." She didn't even like them roasted. Or stale. They were just aa big nope on the Willow-meter.

When her second beer arrives, it's cupped in triumph, a wicked little grin slipping onto the young woman's features. "Tell Buffy what?" Ever so innocently.

Constantine has posed:
John snorts. "That's just unnatural. Bet you don't like Lucky Charms either," he says shaking his head ruefully.

That doesn't last long though, the smirk about the beer has him grinning and offering his beer up to clink against. "Knew I liked you for a reason," he says. "Despite your snack based bigotry."

Willow Rosenberg has posed:
Willow gives a soft harumph that is followed by a giggle. She does, however, it should be noted, finish that second beer.