7156/Drinking at Luke's

Drinking at Luke's
Date of Scene:	07 April 2019
Location:	New York City
Synopsis:	Two damned people, an angel and a spy walk into a bar...
Cast of Characters:	Constantine, Hellcat, Castiel, Melinda May

---

Constantine has posed:
Luke's was fast becoming one of John's favourite watering holes when he wanted to slum it with the normals. Wasn't as classy as Lux, but it wasn't quite so 'pending health code violation' as Josie's over in Hell's Kitchen. It hovered at just a bare inch above dive, which was about right for John. Only complaint he had was there was no stage for music, not that he'd expect much punk in Harlem but you never know.

That said, the booze was wet and boozy here and really, when it came to bars that's what mattered, "A flight of whiskey to start, squire," John says to the man behind the bar dropping a folded fifty on the bar. He'd normally run a tab but having seen the bloke that ran the place he didn't want to end up owing him money. Not on your life.

When his drinks are laid out he picks up one of the shot glasses and gives it a tilt, savouring the burn as thw whiskey goes down. A good start to another dissolute evening.

Hellcat has posed:
Trish Walker is sitting at the bar already. She's been in Luke's from time to time, here and there. Mostly, when Jessica is. Or was. But, she'd been on this side of the tracks for a story for her radio program -- and, the good thing about radio programs is you weren't nearly as recognized as TV personal. Almost not as much. Every few months her face would be plastered on a bus here or there, to advertise her show.

But now, she's sitting, alone, and nursing what appears to be a mixed drink of some obnoxious bright blue color. She glances over at the newcomer, squints at him some, sighs, and finishes off her drink. "Great," she tells herself, morosely.

Castiel has posed:
Castiel has no reason that he's come to Luke's rather than McAnally's, unless you consider taht maybe he's hoping to run into familiar faces - and while he knows he can run into John Constantine at the more mystical bar, it's a longshot that someone like one James "Bucky" Barnes would be found there.

As per usual, Castiel foregos the human norm of the front door and merely appears at the bar. At least he doesn't just appear sitting in a seat, but he may as well have for the amount of difference it would make. Coincidentally, the angel arrives at John's elbow, giving the warlock a scowl, "Did you bother going home since I last saw you?"

It's equally likely that the man hasn't as has, not that Castiel cares beyond the cursory of the thing, moving onto the barstool beside John, and ordering "Boilermaker, with an Apocalypse chaser."

It should be noted that Castiel's grasp of the vernacular was improving, but still lacking in many ways, though it's also true that he's been to Luke's often enough that his order is not only understood, but delivered without even a quirk of brow.

Constantine has posed:
John isn't sure what drew his attention to Trish first, her red hair, the aura but it's the aura that holds his attention, the way the infernal clings to her like a whif of brimstone. His nose wrinkles a little at that thought even as the whole business intrigues him.

"Thought I skipped this business by going to muggle bars," John murmurs to himself taking down the second shot of his flight.

That's when his angelic majesty appears at his elbow. "Dunno," John quips, "What day is i?" he asks with a thin slash of a grin on his lips. He jerks his head towards Trish, "You and this one going to throw down like y'did with Big Red?" he needles by way of instigation.

Castiel has posed:
There's a faint, grunted snort from the angel, "Would it matter what day it was?"

He's reaching out for his beer when John's words, and an unmistakeable stench, hit him at the same time. "You'd think you lot had broken the seventh seal the way they gallivant around here," Castiel mutters in disgust, his blue eyes a narrowed peer at Trish. Telling John, "Another of your friends? You realize you're only damned in the future, right, boy? No need to hang with the scum of hell just because your future lays there." No sense arguing with John that really, his doom is as much his own acceptance of the matter.

Muttering to himself, "Less stumbling into this crowd back at McAnally's. Hell, less of this hanging with Stupid and his older brother. And He wonders why I cast my lot in here."

Hellcat has posed:
"Another Blue Hawaiian," Trish tells the bartender, once he's done with Castiel's order. She brushes her red hair out of her face, and looks back at John, feeling his eyes on her. Guessing correctly at his inclusion of her in his statement to Castiel she squints at him, confused, and a little leery. Then, she shakes her head, exhales. "Knew I should've just gone home for the night," she tells herself, under her breath.

But now? Now she keeps an eye on the two men, who clearly have an 'interest' in her. Or, one of them does. Why, she can partly guess.

And then Castiel confirms it. Trish's lips tighten, some. She looks back at them both, and says quietly, "If you don't like the company, you can always leave, boys." Then, she tries to go back minding her own business. But. It's hard. Really hard. Her mouth remains set, as the new drink is delivered, and she doesn't touch it. Not yet.

Constantine has posed:
John has to consider that, "Not really," he finally realizes. Damn when did everyday start blurring into the next? Well, probably about 2005, punctuated by the odd moment of mind shattering horror. Ah the life of an exorcist and 'petty dabbler'.

Looking at Cas, John says, "Great, now she's heard us and we seem like a right pair of wankers," he says. "sides damned or not I'm not on any side mate, save my own," he lies. "I'll hang with who I bloody please."

"Might as well join us, luv," John says. "Don't worry, me and my mate here aren't trying to get in your knickers," he says thumbing back at Castiel. "'sides this one here wouldn't know what to do."

Castiel has posed:
Another of those grunts from Castiel, the trench coated man turning to orient his body towards John, beer brandished like a holy symbol of complaint, "Wasn't aware we were trying to keep this between the two of us. Unless that's your way of saying you saw her first. I have to say, John, your taste in women leaves a lot to be desired."

"Not on any side? Says the man already digging his pit in hell. You know you're only damned there because you've decided to accept that, right?" Okay, that's not entirely true, but semantically it's close enough. John's Fate might have more than the usual element of pre-ordained to it, but then again, Castiel knew more intimately than most that Fate was what you made of it. There was a Winchester boy walking around alive and well and with his own soul because someone, or rather some angel, had decided not to accept that Fate.

His attention draws to the woman, regarding her more fully and finding her not exactly what she initially seemed either, the oddity enough to stay his usual venting of spleen on 'her sort'. Turning back to the bar with a resigned, "Great. I talk too loudly he says, and then he invites her over. No contradiction there, John." Though it does bring up a whole other poitn, "And what the hell is a wanker anyway?"

Hellcat has posed:
"It's the British term for 'inconsiderate asshole'," Trish offers casually, looking directly at Castiel, "And, I'd have to agree with you," she confirms to John in his estimation of just how they sounded. Or, sound.

The 'undesirable' woman in question does take her drink after thinking John's offer over a few very long moments, and rises from her stool to move over to where John and Castiel confer. She doesn't look entirely happy about it, and in fact almost looks resigned as she comes over ... but at the same time - she might as well find out what they're up to.

Constantine has posed:
"I dunno, last one wasn't so bad," John muses about his taste in women. Well, okay she wasn't his /last/ per se, but last he could remember the name of and that was what counted in the end, right?

"An' yeah, yeah, hell is what you choose to make it, heard it from ol' Lucy himself and I still don't buy it, time comes, I'm gonna burn, but damn if I'm not going to have a little fun while I wait," he says. Speaking of, his ensamble was missing something so he reaches into his coat to dig out his smokes, sticking one in his mouth and lighting it with his lighter this time. "Ahh, that's the tricket," he says as the first hit of nicotine finds him.

"What she said," John says to Castiel about what 'wanker' means.

When Trish sits, John adds to Castiel, "I'm full of contradictions, mate, it's part of the human condition," his head turns Trish's way and he slides a card across the bar to her, "Name's John, this is Castiel, care to tell us your story?"

The card reads:

John Constantine
Exorcist, Demonologist, and Master of the Dark Arts
201-555-7182

Castiel has posed:
Castiel shakes his head as he nurses his beer, the demon touched on joining them, and John wallowing about his women. "Last one the one you were drowning yourself in your beer over?" Because that was a conversation and a half, and one the angel hadn't ever expected to be part of as a participating member and not just one of the peanut gallery. But even he has to admit, "Lucifer isn't one to lie." Adding, "But he doesn't tell all the truth, either."

Still, it was John's funeral, and much like anything, you couldn't help those who wouldn't be helped.

Or, you could, but you get thrown out of Heaven for it. Castiel wasn't sure what you got for undamning someone like John, or if it was even possible.

He does, however, snort appreciatively to the explanation of wanker, which might be a surprise to the others. "So, your basic Michael."

He doesn't contradict John's introduction of himself.

Hellcat has posed:
"My story?" Trish smiles at that, but it's not a warm smile that you might give a friend, or stranger you'd just met that you thought you might like. It's a bit more cynical and a bit more - well, perverse in the dark and ironic department. "I'm Trish." She almost seems to say more, but stops herself before any words progress out of her mouth.

"I came here to drink, boys. Not tell stories. Especially mine. Sorry." But her eyes drift to John's card, and she squints at it, "I suppose that's one way to drum up business," she says, wryly. But, if she has anything to add to her uniqueness, she clearly doesn't seem on openly discussing it with the other two men who have more or less openly stated they know something's funny. And that isn't like most servants of Hell, either.

"You guys looking for the Devil of Hell's Kitchen?" Trish asks this with a very serious, curious sort of manner as if that is exatly where the discussion naturally would be led, or someone who wasn't from Hell might think it was really going.

Constantine has posed:
"Don't I know it," John says of Lucifer as he takes a long drag of his cigarette letting he smoke out across the bar so as not to throw up a smoke screen for their new companion.

As to Michael being a wanker, "Certainly his reputation, never had the pleasure m'self."

When Trish turns down the chance to tell her tale, John nods, "Probably smart, given we're just a couple of blokes in a bar," he admits. "'An, it's also better than spillin' my name from my own lips," he says of the card.

As for the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, John shakes his head letting a bit of ash fall on his coat, the coat doesn't burn, "I hear he's a dishy sort, but my business is with the other sort of devil, as is his, well, some of the trime." He wasn't quite sure what Cas did to fill his days, drink obviously, but then John wasn't in a position to judge.

Castiel has posed:
"Devil of Hell's Kitchen?" Castiel flashes a furrowed brow of a look Trish's way. "Why would someone call themself that?" Unless he were a true devil or demon, but then again, Hell might frown upon that little arrogance, and like their more Divine counterpart, Hell's main keepers weren't known to be all that forgiving.

As for her story, "Your choice, but you stink of the damned. If you're trying to hide, you're doing a piss poor job of it. Also, I wouldn't touch that card. John's an alright sort, but I wouldn't trust him further than I could throw him, and those sorts of things usually carry a compulsion."

John earns a shrug, "It's true." Of his telling Trish about the card. And of Michael, too, though the angel usually expounds more thoroughly upon his opinion of the Archangel than that.

Hellcat has posed:
Trish listens. It's one of the things she does very, very well. Listen. Dealing with people as she does, she gets a feel for them - and while not right all the time, that 'feel' is something she's learned to rely on. Trust. And, while John's words have her noding in what might be a 'glad you get it' gesture, Castiel's words are slowly tipping the scales, and the furrow of her brow and the corners of her lips downwards.

She leans close. Closer still.

Her eyes level with Castiel's. And she says, very, very quietly in a forced tone, "John was wrong. You're not a wanker. You're a complete and utter piece of shit." And, as she pulls back, her hand, on her glass, is already moving forwards with the absolute intention of pitching her drink onto his face.

Constantine has posed:
"Think because it sounds scary," John offers about the 'Devil of Hell's Kitchen'. "Sort of like Batman, shame though on my side of the pond it means butler." Or close enough anyhow.

"Hey, I've never..." John cuts himself off, well that' wasn't entirely true there may have been a time or six. "I didn't do this one anyhow."

That close lean in though, that's like brewing storm clouds, and says, "Cas, mate, might be a time for an apology," he remarks, cringing so as not to be in the splash zone.

Castiel has posed:
Another of those consternated looks from Castiel. "Batman? Do you humans sit around all day thinking of the most ridiculus names for yourself you can think of?" Clearly, while sitting at the movies, Castiel had missed a whole swath of human proclivities.

Trish's reaction, however, is truly unexpected, even though it shouldn't be. He's been failing at human interactions long enough you'd think Castiel would be used to the usual reaction. To be fair, he was much better at this communication thing than when he'd first arrived, but like regional foods, and some more obsucre alcohols, the angel was something of an acquired taste.

"I am apologizing for being a complete and utter piece of shit?" His brows knitting into a confused line that do little to pinpoint if it's the apology or being a piece of shit he's confused by. However, being one of the Lord's foremost warriors (or formerly so, something something about The Lord demanding an apology and until then no full Grace for you) he's prepared for the attack, a hand flashing out and grabbing at Trish's wrist. " I do not think you really want to do that." Well, she might, but something says it's ill advised regardless. "John is suggesting I have offended you. I am willing to consider that might be the case, though I wasn't sure your kind got so upset about being called out."

Which, as he considers it, does seem odd. Upset because he was an angel, yes. But for being called demons? Not really.

For the first time, he narrows his gaze down upon the woman, purposefully trying to decipher what she is, willing to concede there may be more here than he originally accounted for.

Hellcat has posed:
"My -kind-!?" Castiel makes an even bad situation worse. Trish's face is starting to turn red. And, it's not with embarassment. Through clenched teeth she says another thing that will likely confused the holy bejeebus out of Castiel. "If you do not let me go, right now, I swear to God I will break your fucking nose. And it will take me a -lot- of convicing to stop there."

Her free hand is clenched, restraining herself from going off in full on Castiel. Throwing a drink on a guy in a bar is one thing. Starting a fight? A whole different ballgame. Especially when you're a minor celebrity. Her lawyers and her agent would not be happy.

"You don't think people like being told they smell like they're damned? Fuck you. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, you condescending, stuck up, arrogant piece of shit. You think you're better than me? You don't know what the hell I've been through, and I sure as shit am not about to tell you. I don't owe you that. I don't owe you a goddamn thing, you self-righteous son-of-a-bitch."

She doesn't even take a breath. She doesn't give him a chance to react. To speak. She keeps talking, the words flowing out of her like a waterfall now, as if she had no power, even if she wanted to, to stop them from coming out.

"I don't care if you're a mutant, or a meta, or just a plain, ordinary human like the rest of us. I don't care if you can snap my arm in half, or breathe fire. Don't. Care. Let me tell you something, Castiel. My kind? My -kind- are people who try to -change- this fucking city for the better. My -kind- are people. Who are out there, trying to make a difference, while you - people like your holier-than-thou arrogant asses are pissing on with your self-righteous pricks. Maybe you should stop judging people, and start actually -doing- something other than making yourself feel stronger by pushing people down."

She glares at him, then. Infuriated. And the windstorm dies with one last sentence. "My -kind- aren't like you at all, Castiel - we're not the ones making this world a worse place to live, that's people. Like. You."

Constantine has posed:
John offers a shrug for Batman, as if to say, what can you do? "I think the tights cut off the circulation to the brain," he reasons.

Though that doesn't explain tonight's little fiasco, no tights, but not a lot of thinking going on. Lots of words though and sharp ones at that, so much so if they'd be blades, the floor would be awash with blood.

"Easy now the both of you," John says stubbing out his cigarette on the bartop. "Cas, let her go," he warns the angel. "She's not a demon, and unless she's got an Oscar stashed away in her purse, she's not the type to dabble in the dark arts either."

He gives Trish a look to confirm his hunch. The sort of vehemence she brought out was hard to fake, John knew from experience. As for the demon bit, unfortunately, John could see those bastards even through their human guises. He could be tricked, but he didn't see the percentage in it, coming here to fool him and Cas on a random Friday night. No, his gut said this one was alright and if he was wrong, well it was likely that gut would be spilled on the floor.

"An' count yourself lucky, you're not like his kind, luv," John says to Trish with a nod towards Cas. "'e's an angel of the lord."

A looks is tosseds back to Cas. "Sorry to give it away, mate, but better that then me wearing her drink, Blue Hawaiians are hard to get out of my coat."

Castiel has posed:
Castiel, as it happens, doesn't need John's confirmation of what Trish is. She might stink of demon, but she isn't one. Sure, there's that little peculiarity of.. well, aura isn't rightly it.. but something that lingers about her. Still, she isn't of Hell.

"You aren't a demon," the angelic says in gravelly confusion. "You reek of them, but you aren't one." Which proposes a whole other scenario, one that has him frowning in concern, even as he lets go of her wrist, quite certain that the woman is likely to haul off and hit him, or follow through with that drink he'd just aborted. Niether of which he'll stop, aware he's fully earned either. "I'd thought.."

Only, nevermind what he'd thought. The rest of what she says leaves him struggling with both confusion over her vitriolic tirade at him, and the growing urge to rise up and show her not only how wrong she is, but that he's not someone to triffle with.

Other than that was exactly the behaviour he'd decided was detestable in Michael and his lot, and had spurred not only the choice to intervene on behalf of the Winchester boy, but to not back down or return to Him, doggedly cowering and begging for the final bits of his Grace to be restored unto him.

"I'm not here to destroy or judge anything." At least not how she means it. "Tossed in with you lot to be done with that." For once rather speechless.

Hellcat has posed:
When Castiel lets go of Trish's wrist, she yanks it back as if his touch had scalded her - of course, nothing is further than the truth. But, John likely has seen women react like that from time to time - it's a look of repulsion.

Her eyes flash to John, who for probably one of the few times in his life being pretty decent at being a mediator, rather than an instigator (even if the latter happens sometimes unwittingly).

"Great," she spouts, as Castiel's true nature is revealed out of hand to explain things further. It's all she has to say on the matter, for now. Maybe she's already said what she needed to say, and she's spent on being verbose.

"Whatever you thought, it was wrong. And we're going to leave it at that." The latter is said very pointedly, her eyes still ablaze as she stares daggers at Castiel. But, some of that vehemenence is gone. There's no physical assault coming. What little of her drink didn't slosh over the side is put down her gullet in an instant, and she closes her eyes, taking a few cleansing breaths.

Then, she tells Castiel, "Welcome to New York City. Where not everything is what it seems. And calling out people on what you -think- will piss everyone off at you. So maybe you shouldn't do it. Ever again."

Then, finally her eyes slide away from Castiel, back to John's card. She looks at it again, and then pockets the card without further comment on it.

"So, maybe you're not a complete wanker," she tells John.

Constantine has posed:
John's still not sure how /he/ of all people ended up being peacemaker here, but he sure as hell wasn't going to do it without another drink. He slams back the final shot of his flight and draws a little circle in the air with his finger for the barman. "'nother round, think we're all going to need it."

Then with that, back into the fray we few, we happy few we band of buggered...

"Don't mind him, Trish, he's just learning our ways, and that," he gives Cas a pointed look. "Not everything he thinks, should come out of his mouth." There is a tight, smile with those words and the look given to Cas.

"Plus, he's an angel, means being opionionated is second nature. Especially when it comes to all things infernal. He's had some choice things to say about me and I'm only damned." A smile there, as if to play that off as a joke.

"Anyhow, he's right though, what he said, threw in with us humans, agains't the will of the Big Man upstairs, so, gives him a bit of credit in my book anyhow."

He leaves his argument there, knowing pressing too far is as bad as saying nothing at all.

"As for me," he takes his drink when it comes. "Pretty much a wanker, but I hide it well," he lifts his drink. "Cheers."

Castiel has posed:
"You're not just damned," Castiel mutters, "You're as stupid as Stupid, and an ass besides." Mind, he totally agrees with the need for more drinks, downing first one shot, then another, working his way into his Apocalypse with gusto, the order perhaps a portent, however unintentionally, when he'd made it upon arriving.

He did, however, have a thought. A rather stray, but possibly pertinent thought. "This is like the chair, isn't it? I am to hold a chair even if she is able to do it for herself, to show her that I acknowledge and respect her." Thinking, too, of how Darcy had said May had this secret, hidden, feminine core she wouldn't admit to, but he was to tacitly acknowledge. "She is hurt because I have spoken about a thing she does not wish others to know about her. It does not allow her the illusions she is creating about herself."

Totally, and perhaps surprisingly, grokking public and private for a change. This last coming with a nod for himself, and tossing back the third and fourth Horsemen in anticipation of the round John just ordered.

"Not so sure He hasn't some plans," Castiel has to admit, grudgingly. "As far as his punishments go, He's handed out worse for less. Still, stuck here unless I apologize. No intentions of that as long as you're all pawns, so I suppose we're at a stalemate."

Which seems to be alright by him, the angel lifting the side shot to his boilermaker, and incidentally the last of his whiskey, and salutes first Trish, then John.

Hellcat has posed:
"Also. Don't monologe aloud, where people can hear you," Trish says, darkly. "And no. I don't want people to know. And no. I don't have any illusions about myself. I just don't want to be reminded eveyr minute. Thanks."

She remarks, then after rubbing the bridge of her nose, "Now, Castiel, Mr. Angel, you're going to promise me that you're not going to go repeating any of this to anyone. I don't need my life ruined. So. You're going to promise me that you're going to keep all of this to yourself."

She looks askance to John, "You may be a wanker, then. But, I think you have enough sense to not go jabbering this to the world. Him," and she points to Castiel, "I'm not so sure on. But, if he's as angelic as you say, I'll trust he'll hold to his promise."

She looks expectantly to Castiel.

Constantine has posed:
John looks back at Cas in dumbfounded amazement. "We were /just/ talking about this, mate," he says about voicing things that better left unsaid as Castiel, perhaps more accurately than John would like, lists his faults.

He shakes his head even as his lips tug up at the corners with amusement. At least he was getting a good night out of all this.

As for Trish, John downs his drink and crosses his heart with the empty shot glass. "Me, won't breathe a word of it, 'an it's not like you've exactly been chatty Cathy to begin with," he says by way of promising his own silence.

Castiel has posed:
"I was not..." Castiel begins in protest, but realizes the futility of arguing whether or not it was a monologue, given that John has thrown in with the girl and also decides to scold him for his words. There was a reason Gabriel was left with the job of announcing, and not Castiel.

Trish he shakes his head at in simultaneous amusement and surprise, because few have accosted him so directly. "Who is it you think I am telling these things to?" The angel's gravelly voice notes his amused disbelief. Then again, he is rather unique amongst most of the Choir, having an actual comprehension of humans as individuals with unique worth as opposed to collateral damage and points counters in an endless war. "I should introduce you to Stup- To Sam. You and he would get along just fine I think. Could share your equally poor opinions of me and compare notes."

Sam might have mellowed over the past year with regards to the angel, but he certainly had initially mistrusted him on levels that would make Trish's current attitude seem positively welcoming anod cordial.

"Not sure what kind of promise you think will suffice. I'm not in the business of selling secrets or bartering them for favours or souls. So you've been there. Now that I know, I know."

Which might not exactly be a promise, but it's idling in the neighbourhood.

Hellcat has posed:
"And, now that you know, there's no further need to ever discuss it again. Ever." Trish holds Castiel's eye for a long, silent moment before she expells a breath.

"Well. I'd say it's been a pleasure, gentlemen, but, I can't. Have a good night." She stands up, and drops a couple bills on the table to pay for her drinks.

Constantine has posed:
This was one of those moments where it was best to say, what was that line from that move, 'My name's Paul and this is between y'all'. Or put more eloquently discretion was the better part of valour.

John keeps quiet until Trish is up and taking her leave and even then he only offers a: "Night," raising his empty glass in salute before signalling for the bartender to give it a re-fill.

Castiel has posed:
Castiel is more than certain that a large portion of this conversation had flown right on over his head, leaving him more than slightly perplexed at how things had gone so very, very wrong. "I just said.."

Castiel turns his confusion on John, "Did I not just say who would I discuss this with?"

Hell, literally, hath no wrath like a woman scorned, or, as happens in this situation, insulted.

Constantine has posed:
John shrugs and recovers his cigarette from the bartop and re-lights it with a touch of his finger. "You did, in a manner of speaking, but women mate, once they get going..." he says with a shake of his head.

"Really do need to work on your honesty, though, a little bit of lying goes a long way, especially with the ladies." Or the fellows, though John would save that little nugget for the advanced class in human communication.

"Isn't May some sort of government agent?" he was guessing her name wasn't agent. "Shouldn't she be teaching you about this sort of thing?"

Castiel has posed:
"Lying?" Again with the perplexed look, brows knitted together as he tries to puzzle this out. "Why would I lie?" It wasn't, so to speak, part of his makeup. Ommission was generally as close as he got. Outright refusal more the norm. "I thought women did not like the lies. Maybe that is why - you did not say her name, but you were not happy."

However, talk of May has Castiel reaching for the latest of drinks that John has ordered. "I do not think Agent May wishes to teach me about women. She has suggested that I may need male friends for this. Though maybe you are not the best of examples either." Given John's complaints of the other night.

Melinda May has posed:
There are only a handful of phone numbers that May will answer for regardless, and Castiel's is one of them even though of the last three times he's called her, two of them were pocket dials. This makes pocket call number three.

Hearing a bit of the background noise, she doesn't even have to ask for a trace on the angel's phone, she can tell he's in a bar. And, based on the faint snippets of a british accent she hears amongst the background noises, she knows who he's hanging out with, and likely which bar they're at.

Entering the bar, she spots the two men promptly and walks over to stand directly behind Constantine. And then she just stands there, to see how long it takes either of them to notice.

Constantine has posed:
John nods, "Yeah, the telling of untruths," he explains. "They don't like like big lies, but the little ones, those are what keep a relationship going, grease for the wheels."

He takes a drag of his smoke. "An' nah, never lied to Katie, that's my bloody problem. Told her I liked things as they are." He frowns and takes a drink at that.

"An' heh, beast leave teaching you about girls to Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. They owe you more than I do, more likely to stick with it, because, I figure, it's going to be a looooong class."

As for May entering, John is drinking and chatting so his eyes aren't on the door. Must not owe anyone money this week.

Castiel has posed:
"If you liked things how they were, then why are you here with me?" Harlequin movies, and Sam, had taught Castiel only that for some reason men were supposed to prefer to be with the women they liked, or was it that women preferred the men they liked to be with them? He wasn't sure anymore. Dean's approach was rather more callous than that, and Darcy hadn't covered this aspect of things. It wasn't like Castiel was about to ask May... who, regretably he hasn't noticed either arriving, or that he's pocketdialed.

Likely for the best, to be honest.

"If you mean Stupid and his brother, Stupid is a romantic, and his brother is off in the wilds of.." Castiel shrugs. "Montana I think. Someplace with a sasquatch as a national bird."

Yeah, still things about humanity that Castiel had to learn.

"I do not think women like the little lies either. At least I do not think May would like them." Which seems to be his rather illustrious example to hold all other thoughts on women up to. Leaving him to have to admit, "She would probably have said I should not have said that woman stank."

Melinda May has posed:
Oh, is THAT what caused the raised voices she heard on the phone? The angel is correct. "No probably about it, Castiel. You should not have said that. Now you get the additional penance of telling me why you said that."

And if her speaking up startles either man into some sort of violent reaction, she's fully ready to defend herself.

Constantine has posed:
"'Cause she didn't mate, an' I can't blame her for that, sooner or later hanging around with me was going to get her dead," he says taking a long drag of his smoke burining all but down to the filter. "Selfish of me to even get involved there."

He stubs out what remains of his cigarette. "Think you mean Washington. Ol' Sasqu-y is always rattlin' around in that part of the world. Anyhow, yeah those two, they seem like the sort to have their share of romantic entanglements. Perfect teachers for you," John insists.

John was about to offer his own opinion there when May appears, setting John to starting before he recovers and turns on his stool. "Agent May, so good of you to join us."

Castiel has posed:
"I am confused," Castiel reaching for his next drink. "She did not like things but you did. But you were selfish to get involved." In tones that said that sounded a bit ridiculous, even to him. "If you were selfish, why did she get involved. Wait, we are talking about the sexual intercourse?"

John stubbing his cigarette out gets a, "Washington. Montana. They all have trees. And cabins. I'm not supposed to be spying on him." Adding, "They also do not agree on what is appropriate when it comes to women. I am not sure they are ideal role models." Then again, he hadn't actually *asked* them.

May's appearance can only mean one thing, though, and with that Castiel puts a hand into his pocket and pulls out the very activated, and still in call, phone. With a sigh, he hands it over to May. "I do not know how that happens. My hands were nowhere near my pockets." Unless it had occured when he'd leaned forward to stop Hellcat from tossing her drink in his face.

Speaking of her, he had a small dilemma. To say something, or not say something. His usual methods employed, and given it's May, Castiel goes for evasive. "She had a peculiar odor. I merely observed it reminded me of something."

Melinda May has posed:
May nods in response to John's greeting, then takes Castiel's phone when he offers it to her. There's not really much she can do with it and not make it unusable for the angel, so she just pockets it for now.

"Unintentionally pressing buttons happens to everyone at some point or other," she admits. "Though I do have to ask, exactly how did you state this observation?"

Constantine has posed:
"'Course we are mate, and she didn't like... ah never mind, not important," John says reaching for his last drink and knocking it back. "But of course you're doing it all the same," he says with an approving nod. "Well, tell the lads I said hi."

As for May's arrival and the questions to Castiel that follow, John takes this opportunity to clapt the angel on the shoulder, "This is one's all you, mate," before sitting back to watch the show.

Castiel has posed:
Part of John's answer explains everything. When it came to sex, humans were utterly and completely illogical and ridiculous. To the point it didn't even bear trying to figure it out. Or, maybe that was a question better suited for someone other than John, who, by his own admission, had a rather broader interpretation of the rules of engagement so to speak.

"Maybe you should be paying the women for the sex and not complicate your life so much," the angel observes.

As to May's question, there was little way to answer that without revealing things, other than mumbling under his breath, "I may have said her kind, and suggested she was less than human." Which may be all May needs to know, especially as those sorts of phrases never leave Castiel's mouth in a polite manner.

The phone, well, he was glad to be rid of it, though it was likely going to find its way back to him knowing May.