Owner	Pose
Constantine	2 AM. Two figures are talking in the rain by a trash container at the back of the Buffalo Soldier, an ethnic restaurant which specialty might as well be cockroach a la rat. The dead end alley is dimly lit by a single dying sodium street lamp overhead. The first of the shady characters is woman shaped, says the way she's dressed with a miniskirt but a hoodie prevents any conclusion from a distance. The other is in a long trenchcoat, cupping a cigarette against the downpour. Whatever they're talking about is drowned. The revving of an engine is killed by screeshing tires. At the mouth of the alley, a large Cadillac stops, windows opened. SKRRRRAT! PAK PAK KAT KAT KAT, say a couple of submachine guns fired from the car, followed by the SKIDDIKIT PAK PAK of a semi-auto rifle and then POOOP POOOP PRRRRRRRP BOOM, a mix of other calibers, notably a shotgun. The female silouhette succombs to the hail after a pirouette. The man in the trenchoat somehow manages to avoid the unprecise suppressive fire but gets hit in the thigh by the birdshot before he can duck behind the containter. Men pour out of the car one by one, holding the door for the last one. "John Constantine! You have cheated me mon! I've coome for paeback!" Already the men are reloading their weapons. "Sales are final, Larry!" Constantine calls back, followed by a roaring lance of fire the size (and shape) of a horse which runs over the fatter of the gang of five. There is no cry, only a WOOOSH and then a pair of smoldering Adidas sneakers. The firefight resumes. Constantine is pinned down.
Lucifer	From the coast of South Africa to... New Jersey? No no that's not right. Little more to the right there chief. Wait... where exactly are you going?! Apparently right smack into the middle of a firefight. Shots ringing all around, the screeching of tires. The woman who falls (dead?) and the man who scoots behind a container. Lucifer looks one way and then the other before ears flick and he recognizes John Constantine's voice. Gunshots begin again and Lucifer just rolls his eyes and moves in the way of ... most the gunfire. "Well then... this is going to be interesting. Probably more interesting before it gets less. Nathaniel... you might want to gain some higher ground...maybe take that one with you." Motioning towards the container where John has taken cover. He looks to the car where the firefight is coming from. "Excuse me?! Uhm hi. Yes. Larry, was it? Could you all pause your miserable excuse of trying to shoot someone down and talk with me for a moment?"
Sinister	"There's definitely more filth than I was expecting and considerably more bullets flying..." A spang nearby Sinister and one that ricochets off his shoulder, before another lodges there gains enough attention for him to grimace and quietly march toward the dumpster, a hand held up toward the hail of bullets that seems to summon a spherical shield of reddish light. Lucifer is going to have fun being bulletproof over there. "This is not Kansas, my dear but did you drop a house on his sister?" Called back to the front of the alley. Steps therefore take him to the man behind the dumpster, looking with head tilted at Constantine. "I didn't think it was possible to make rastafarians angry. I thought the copious amounts of THC in their bloodstream made it a chemical impossibility, but you seem to have managed."
Constantine	"Fuk this poopoo!" shrieks the skinniest of the group, "He got Emil!" Skinny Bob then proceeds to throw his empty Uzi down the alley and run off. The gunshots tone down again due to lack of ammo. So does the rain. The sudden near silence is deafening. Eyes bloodshot and unimpressed, Larry turns to face the interloper. "I'm busy, Mr. Wings. Take a candy and be quiet." He swivels his green lackered glock and fires at Lucifer from the hip, two shots. The two remaining gangters, one with a buzzcut, the other with dreadloks, come side by side in search of protection, visibly shaken by the turn of events. Buzzcut is struggling to unjam his Uzi, the other doesn't know where to aim the shotgun, shifting from Sinister to Lucifer, back and forth. "Hrrrm. Everyone hates me, Nathaniel." John is clutching his leg, trying to stem the blood leaving him. "This one Larry, he's dangerous. He's got protection." He coughs, twice. "I may have sold him the wrong egg."
Lucifer	Wait. Wait wait wait. Did a group of people just try to lay into Lucifer with bullets. Guns. And now they're trying to take off down and out of the alley way? Uhm. No thank you. Lucifer holds a hand out towards that other end and two hounds, of the Hellish kind, appear out of nowhere. Hairs raised, teeth barred, dripping with salive while their fur also ripples with wave after wave of Hellfire. "Huh. Only the two. I must be slipping..." Then he looks back to the others. Larry, Curly and Moe...feeling each shot as they hit and then clink to the ground while he tilts his head one way and then the other. "You might want to stop that. Seriously. The more you try to fire at me with guns the more pissed off you're going to make me...and you will NOT like me when I'm angry..." His head twitches, and he continues to walk towards the Comedy Trio regardles of ammo status. "Now. Again. Weapons down. Let's talk."
Sinister	Nathaniel glances back to where most of the action is taking place, peering through the shield of red light and a moue of lips. "Oh, dear. That could end up very badly for them, you know. And I don't hate you. I find you strange and unusual and interesting most of the time, so..." At the appearance of hellhounds Sinister's free hand twitches, fingers wriggling in the air a moment and fixing on the car that they all piled out of. "No, bad Nathaniel. Do not flip their ride. Collateral damage alone would be embarassing, however... the temptation is far too great..." He gazes fixedly at the guy with Dreds. "<<Butterfingers. You can't hold a gun. Also your seem to have forgotten how to talk in anything other than chicken.>>" He intones the words in smooth, cultured english and smiles briefly at Constantine, looking at the man's leg. "Well, alright, I could probably do that..." pointing at his thigh, pressure is applied on all sides around the gunshot, effectively putting a tournequette of telekinesis all around it. He then spits out the bullet that had lodged in his shoulder, out into his palm. "What did you go and do a silly thing like selling someone the wrong egg for? Although I should probably preface that with; what egg and why would you sell him the wrong one?"
Constantine	Skinny Bob almost reaches for the diner's backdoor. Almost. He shrieks when a giant fiery paw slams at the door, barring the way. The other fiery mastiff moves quietly to flank, leaving no escape. Growling playfully, the dogs begin pacing, watchful. Nearby, the lady is... bubbling? Rainbow colored blood has been spilling out of her, like a box of crayon left on an oven iron. Her corpse is quickly evaporating in a multicolored pastel mist, leaving behind empty clothes. Larry considers his handgun with a glimpse. "Hell, mon. Okay, let's talk." A shudder runs through Larry but he manages to signal his men to lower their weapons. Buzzcut gives up on the repairs and just slings the Uzi. Dreds drops his 12 gauge like if it was a wet soap. He looks up to Larry and says: "Booooook! Bok bok bok booooook!" Larry sighs. "Useless." Pop, Larry explodes Dreds' head with a shot. Mushroom bullets. Larry has another shudder and this time, he lets out a whimper. Constantine struggles to get back up but manages, pulling himself up at the disgusting trashbin. A rat the size of a cat darts off and skitters away in the night. "Well, I'm not sure. I thought I sold him the right egg. I've no clue why he's off his rails." Then he sees the rainbow mess. "I won't sleep tonight, you know..."
Lucifer	Lucifer whips his head to the side and gives a sharp whistle. The hounds back away, but not completely. They have their target and if command is given they will strike true. Then he looks, briefly, to the bubbling, rainbow misting woman who suddenly just goes poof and that gaines a raised eyebrow. "Interesting..." Moe's head goes asplody. Well that can't be good. Then his attention goes to Larry once more. "Alright. Egg. You said you got sold a bad one. Why do you think it was a bad egg?" Asking this as he begins to levitate all the shells off the ground and moves them towards and into the dumpster.
Sinister	Sinister grimaces as Larry takes out Dreds and shakes his head, disappointed it seems. He glances sidelong to Constantine, looks down at the leg but the TK tournequette is still holding. So instead, he glances at the Uzi, which flies through the air to his hand and is snatched before it gets there, turned about. "Never did like these things..." he holds it up, narrows eyes at the mechanism that was jammed and pops the bullet that got lodged in the chamber out with a flick of a finger. For a man that doesn't like them, he fixes it rather quickly and competently, checks the semi-automatic's clip and smiles over at Curly. It seems appropriate that he in this scenario is the one with the buzzcut. The uzi is waved slightly, almost in a cheerful greeting, then he slings it over his shoulder by the strap and saunters up the deadend toward the now trio of jamaicans and Lucifer, his hands going into his pockets. That smile is everything. Cheerful, effacive, almost vaccuous, suddenly full of teeth and wide with dimples nodding to the gangsters, as if the hellhounds weren't there and they didn't just shoot the shit out of this alleyway. Called over his shoulder "...This seems like the least of the weirdness you usually end up in. But I'm dying to hear this egg story now, so... I suspect the shot will require a bit of removal of pellets, but we can handle that later."
Constantine	The vanishing wisps from the rainbow lady smell like a fairground. There's a smell of cotton candy in the air, thick and sweet. Now popcorn. Now That and fresh urine from the pool Skinny Bob is slowly sitting down in, sliding his back against the wall. When the expanding puddle reaches one of the Hellound's paw it produces a hiss as it evaporates, not unlike the sound of metal being tempered. "What in Hell, mon! Mamma, coome get you boi..." Skinny Bob squeaks between sobs. The only able henchman remaining slowly crabwalks to the back of the car. "Start her, man, start her!" From behind the wheel a small boy, no more than eight years old, pops out. The purple cadillac revvs, tires screech and the car starts away, leaving Buzzcut running after it. Not that it concerns Larry. Larry's eyes are bulging. He's having a flopsweat. "Poison. The egg's poison." A convulsion takes over Larry, putting him on the tip of his snakeskin cowboy boots while his arms and head are being pulled backward. Through his shirt, something moves down there. Larry belches as his abdomen swells twice the size. "I should have one like you with me at every meeting, mate," John says to Nathaniel, admiring the precision work. "Not those, though." He nods at the Hellounds. "They tend to..." He limps once, to get a better look at Larry, over there. "Aw man, he /ate/ it. WHY DID YOU HAVE TO EAT THE EGG, LARRY?"
Lucifer	"So you bought an egg you knew was poisoned just so you could eat it? What are you trying to prove, that you're the toughest jamacian gang member in your little pal-ship?" Lucifer asks, looking around the scene with the fleeing Caddy and Curly, the dead Moe, a disappeared dead girl, and... well... The hellhound leaves it's current target as Lucifer gives a sharp whistle and goes after the Caddy. One slam into the wheel and the tire blows thanks to the hellfire that makes up the hound's fur. So that's not going anywhere. Attention goes back to Larry and Lucifer takes a breath and lets it out slowly. "You know. You're fucking lucky. Like really fucking lucky. If I were you... I'd thank me for giving you another shot. Then I'd take a really long hard fucking look at my life. Cause these types of moments don't happen often, if at all." And then, in a moment, Lucifer spreads his wings and they shine a brilliant white even in the darkness of the alley. He reaches, and he plucks a few several. One, by the quill-tip, is driven into Larry's forehead but as soon as Lucifer's hand releases it, there's a blinding flash of white - Larry is healed. Lucifer then kneels next to Dredlock and places a feather over the man's chest. It might work, it might not. He glances around again and then wings over to the now stopped Caddy and stands atop it's roof. "Hear me now! Ye of sinful hearts, dark souls, and cruel minds. Change your ways now. Heed this second chance. Or else the next time you see me it will be within the caverns of Hell and there will be nothing but torment and misery for all of your eternities! Now be gone! Or it's the Devil to pay!"
Sinister	"Hold that thought," To Constantine, with the blowing of a tire and a child at the wheel, /something/ makes Sinister reach out a splayed hand toward the disabled vehicle. It swerves and skids, but before it can actively crash into it by dint of paniced kid at the wheel, the entire thing, one and a half tons of it, levitates, along with Curly who is kind of... shoved toward the back door of the purple cadillac so he's only concentrating on the one overall object. Raising his hand, Sinister draws the vehicle to hovering just above the ground, so Lucifer's demonstration and landing-on-roof has maximum effect. His eyes are then firmly on Dred, watching to see if this mystical mojo will work on the newly asploded. He crouches there, fascinated. "I can be quite useful in a pinch, when I'm motivated. Lucifer is more so though, when he's feeling like teaching valuable lessons. Who the heck swallows a weird egg, anyway? I'm guessing voodoo." IIIIIIiiiiinching closer, he leans over the dead man. "Come on. Come on... I want to see what can be done with you."
Constantine	Through a real miracle the whole incident came to an end. The living are healed, saved, redeemed even. Larry ends up taking a knee, breathing deeply like if a weight had been taken off his shoulders. "You mon... you're... Jah bless. Jah bless!" The unflappable gang leader is shedding tears through a thousand yard long stare. Same goes for the one kept by the Hellhounds: he also is letting out healthy sobs of joy. "Mamma, you boi's cooming home! Heaven on Earth, you boi's cooming home mamma!" Not that he can move at the moment, overwhelmed by celestial bliss. Constantine takes one hobbling step toward Nathaniel, then another toward Lucifer. "I tought I was a dead man five minutes ago. Say... hrrm. Do you guys, you know... eat? I know a place." He tilts his head, watching Sinister watching the man who's head is less than a full head. The hole in the man's skull is rapidly knitting while breathing resumes. If it wasn't for the vacant stare, one could bet for a full recovery. The drool coming out of corner of the mouth suggest special care. Better than nothing? "Holy Father in the sky..." Instead of asking questions, he finds his flask and takes a long, long sip. "I owe you big time, both. I say we leave before the mundanes, show up. This way..." With a bloodied hand, John opens the door that shouldn't be and holds it open for his friends. Unnoticed, unseen, a near invisible shape leaves Larry's pant's leg and snakes toward the nearby storm drain...
Lucifer	In that moment, Lucifer feeds on ALL of it. Those cries, those sounds of men seeing redemption in the eyes of the Devil. It's an interesting thing to bear witness to, but if it works it works. Take that, dad. You're not the only one who can inspire and impress people. Lucifer hops off the car then and walks over to Nathaniel, brushing the man off a little. "You got yourself a little messy there.." A glance down to Dreds man. "We should probably call the coroner. I don't think I can heal this one..."
Sinister	Sinister smiles. It's not a very nice smile, given the tilt of his head and the winsome edge of lips that bespeaks a whole lot of interesting times ahead. A circle of electricity manifests over his head and over the brain-dead Dred -- the feather held onto life, if not to mind -- and several biomechanical tentacles dip down through the hole to haul off the rastafarian. "Aux contraire. No need for the coroner just yet..." though with the dusting of himself, he grimaces. Ew. Brainsplatter and filth. Grabbing his shirtfront, Sinister rips the entire of his outer layer of clothing free, revealing an identical set beneath that's considerably cleaner. He balls the layer of epidermis though and tosses it through the hole before the ring of electricity collapses. He then stands, looks Lucifer in the eye, with a wicked little jolliness about him and then to Constantine with a clearing of the throat. "We eat. You though, have the luck of the irish," with the electrical ring vanishing and redemption for the survivors in their own hands for now, he slides an arm round the devil and nods to Constantine. "I could murder some good fish and chips."