Owner	Pose
Constantine	John Constantine was not the usual sort they let into the Hellfire Club. Oh, the warlock knew his way around some hellfire but he was hardly the rich and influential sort that stalked the halls of the club. That didn't perclude him from working for some of them. One such member had a little hush-hush matter involving an succubus and well... John was more than happy to handle that quietly for a price. So, the night finds John at the club's bar, job done, pockets full of money, and the beefy neckless gentlement by the door eyeing him and wondering when John was going to hurry up and leave. The answer to that was, when he bloody felt like it. "Landlord!" John calls to the barman rasing a hand. "Another of these, mate," he says nodding down to his tumbler of whiskey. "An' don't you worry about the scratch."
Emma Frost	Emma Frost didn't frequent the club as much as she once had when she was a member of the Inner Circle, but she liked to show her face from time to time, if only to remind them she wasn't cowed, and hadn't yet died. She was sure someone had a betting pool somewhere on how and when. It was the sort of thing people in positions of power learned to expect: being disliked, and Emma was powerful in more was than one. Not to mention, she'd given more than her fair share of reasons for folks who might frequent the Hellfire Club to wish her gone in permanent ways. Silly creatures. Some of them actually forgot she could pluck that from their minds. Or worse. However, tonight she was ignoring the riff-raff as she liked to think of them, and instead of her usual seat in come quiet little corner, she had found herself a perch at the bar which gave her a view of the entire room. Fashionably late.. or rather, coming close enough to last call, and knowing full well they'd keep serving her until she chose to leave, just like any other influential member of the club, Emma had directed the bartender to a top shelf scotch and told him to keep them coming. It was only money after all, and she rather did like her scotch.
Constantine	The man with the succubus problem was rather highly placed at the club so not sure of how John relates to the man in question, the barman keeps John's drinks coming but makes sure Emma's drinks are poured first. Not that John minds, but it does give him additional reason to sit up and take notice, when his second drink is brought to him, he smiles and raises it to Emma as he looks down the bar. "Seems we've got similar tastes, mind if I join you?" he asks.
Emma Frost	Emma's gaze drags over John, who may have had a legitimate reason to enter the Club and not be asked to go back out the way he came in and find something more suitable elsewhere, but clearly did not fit it. "I'd say it was a free country, but money actually speaks louder than words." Still, she shrugs and gestures to the seat nearest her, and when the bartender gives her a questioning look, she nods, and the man gets a clean glass and pours John a measure from her bottle. "The next one will cost you. You'll have to earn it." Her smile is chill and feral.
Constantine	John is steady under Emma's gaze then, he grins crookedly at her comment, "Too fucking right," he says of money and freedom. "Especially in place like this." He downs his drink in one go and moves over a couple of stools so he's sitting beside Emma. The drink is accepted easily, raised and sampled. "Mm, good stuff, this," he says knowing full well how positively plebeian he must sound. The smile doesn't scare him off like it might other men, he'd seen worse, just maybe not on faces (he thought) belonged to humans. Really, it seemed like a challenge. "Guessing, this price's got nothing to do with the stack of hundreds in my pocket."
Emma Frost	"Clever man," Emma trills a bored laugh. "You almost earned yourself another with that statement alone. However, I think you can do better." Her glass is lifted to him. "Well, go on. I do hate to drink alone. And tell me, since you know my price isn't in that stack of hundreds, just what do you think you have that will interest me?"
Constantine	John smiles, at Emma's laugh, not like other men might, thinking it was a good sign and puffing up at the pat on the head, but seeing it for what it was, a challenge. He returns the lift of the glass. Then his mind sifts through possible things to offer, he starts small, it was always good to leave yourself room to build. "This," he answers and slides his business card over to her across the bar. It reads: John Constantine Exorcist, Demonologist, and Master of the Dark Arts 201-555-7182 As ice breakers went it wasn't bad, especially all that demon and darks arts stuff, he doubted it would get him to that next drink but it'd likely wouldn't get him kicked off his stool either.
Emma Frost	"Oh, you are a funny thing, aren't you?" Emma slides a perfectly manicured hand across the space of bar between herself and the card and puts a single fingertip upon it, drawing the thing to nearby the silver coaster her drink sits upon, and then, and only then, picks the thing up. "Exorcist. Demonologist. /And/ Master of the Dark Arts? My, we are a busy man, aren't we?" She flicks a not-quite bored gaze from the card over to the man himself. "I suppose the next question is, how much do you actually believe yourself. Followed by how many women has this worked upon?" The card is flicked back with a precise gesture. She's memorized the thing - not that he might know. Let him wonder. "You might want to keep this for your next potential conquest. I hear these custom jobs are quite expensivve, and you may want a second drink on that date."
Constantine	John doesn't react at the 'funny thing' remark, though Emma might pick up the internal flinch. "I spent a lot of nights in," John says of his triple specialty. A complete lie. What John knew of the dark arts came more from survival than books. John stops the card as it's flipped back and lifts it putting it smoothly back in his pocket while he contrives to look thoughtful. "Two, and one bloke," he says pulling the numbers from the air, the details weren't important. "And I take it pretty seriously, not the last part though, more of a petty dabbler," he confides with a tone that could be taken as serious or joking depending on how much one believed in magic. "An' whose to say all this is an act for your sake?" John counters with a glance down the bar at the bartender. "Might be trying to get Tom there jealous." There's a smile at that and he glances back to Emma.
Emma Frost	The internal flinch is noted and filed away. One never knew when you might need such information. And Emma hadn't gotten to where she was without taking advantage of every single edge she could get her hands on. Except at cards. There was no fun in cheating at cards. The point there was to pit yourself against your opponent and see if you could avoid losing in spite of such a handicap. Emma had gotten quite good at that. "Impressive," she says of the lineup he'd gathered with the business card. "Two. And a bloke." Her glass is lifted again, in mock salute of the man, the measure within downed and the tumbler put back upon its coaster, a fingertip tapping the bar. While she waits for 'Tom there' to refill her glass, she regards John calmly. "Why do I think it an act for myself? Two girls and a bloke. You might swing both ways, but the females rank higher. And you threw the male in, if not for shock value, then to be somewhat self-deprecating towards my suggestion you were using the cards to impress and get laid. You also wouldn't have invited yourself over to share a drink." She shrugs. "Doing well so far? Go on, drink up and let Tom refill your glass. I want to hear about this petty dabbling. You've earned yourself a second measure. Possibly a third depending on how entertaining you are, and whether or not you think I believe that nonsense about spending a lot of nights in with regards to the first two."
Constantine	John doesn't blink at the assessment but he is surprised by it's accuracy that much shows in his thoughts, as does his amusement, but one doesn't need telepathy for that, his smirk tells the tale well enough. He returns the salute but doesn't drink just yet. "All true," John says. "Honestly can't remember how many times it's worked, mostly because I was sauced at the time, but by the game we're playing I figured a bloke in the mix was more interesting than without. Do, swing both ways as it happens, though," he smiles as Tom fills Emma's glass. "He's dishy enough, but not really my type," he gives Tom a 'sorry mate' shrug. The rest of the assessment is met with quiet amusement, John is not someone who's used to being an easy read. There's no panic there though, just curiosity, like a man watching a stage magician to see how the trick's done. "An' I'd say you were spot on," John answers truthfully. "And what do you want to know about the dabbling?" he asks, as he downs his drink and sets down the glass for Tom to fill.
Emma Frost	Emma looks over and Tom and gives him a look that is both apologetic and 'I told you so' all at once. "I'm sure he's used to it by now. Tom has seen more clientelle poured into the back seats of limos than times you've pulled that card out in hopes. If I recall, Tom there has a lovely partner at home who provides him with enough reasons not to take any one of those clientelle up on slurred offers to accompany them home, even with the added enticement of wads of cash that make that stack of hundreds in your pocket look like allowance for some freshman at the local highschool." While Tom pours John's drink, she picks up her own tumbler and turns in her seat so that she's not only regarding John full on, but more than casually relaxed about the matter as well. There's a soft tsk from the woman. "Now, see? You disappoint there. It's not really a matter of what I wish to know. You're entertaining me. The real question is, how serious do you think I am about all this, and just what tactic do you think best to use." She smiles again. Not quite so feral. Still certainly chill. "No fair trying to get me to give you pointers on how best to push forward. What you do next will tell me a lot about you, Mr. John Constantine. Exorcist. Demonologist. And Master of the Dark Arts." "But here, let me give you one for free. I'm not about to tumble into bed with you, no matter how charming you think you might be. The stage, as they say, is yours."
Constantine	John takes Emma's remarks in stride, "So, what you're saying is I should have charged more, hm?" he says of his wads of cash being little more than a freshman's allowance. Very much not the point but it was amusing in the twisted turns of John's mind. Though he does give Tom a nod, "And good on you staying loyal," he lifts his glass "Cheers," then sets it down for Tom to fill it. There is a smile and an inward curse at his apparent mistep but John rallies and carries on with good humour intact. "Dancing for my drinks am I?" John says of the situation. "And I wouldn't take anything off the table, haven't been as charming as I can be yet." It's a joke, one meant to by time. He thinks over what he might say about the dark arts to keep the game going, thoughts of demonstrations of power flicker across his mind, dark images of impossible creatures that reek like a slaughterhouse and other unbidden thoughts like a name, Astra, which is quickly shuttered away behind iron doors of denial bolted shut with pain. "Well, it got me damned to hell," John says of the dark arts. "How's that grasb ya?" he says. "An' not in the clinging to the Bible, I'm a bad, bad, man, sort of damned neither, but there's an honest to God spot reserved for me down there." Most of that was true, he was skirting the edge of his pain, making light of it, though some of the truth rings through in his voice. "But all in a days work for a master of the dark arts now inni't?"
Emma Frost	When John downs his second, and puts his glass down again, Tom looks to Emma. Emma shakes her head no. Really, she could care less, but it was principle, and while the money was no object, it wouldn't do to let John think he'd somehow softened her up. Or been amused by his quaint boldness. Greater men than John had tried that on her and failed. The move reeked of boredom to her. Though John's comeback that he hadn't yet been as charming as he could had Emma quirking a brow at him. "Now, see. I should be offended. You used the card on me first, when you had actual charm in your back pocket?" Really, though, she was listening in and plucking those thoughts off the surface of his brain. It wasn't really cheating she told herself. She wasn't chasing down memories. It wasn't any more than recognizing pupil dilation at a decent deal sitting in an opponent's hand. Or the slight tremble of fingers as a chip was tossed into a pot belying the confident smirk upon lips that were trying to create a lie of the bluff they were making. "How does what grab me? That you're damned to hell? I suppose I could feign shock and awe. Purhaps drip soothing words upon you about how terrible, and isn't there a way you can fix that?" He might note she's not made mention of what a load of poppycock it all was. Or how there was no such thing as hell, let alone being damned to it. She might not be one of the faithful, nor might she even be called a believer in such things, but Emma Frost was no fool, and she'd seen more than most. "There are more things in heaven and earth, John Constantine, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." "And yes, I think you should have charged more. He needed her gone more than he was about to quibble about a decimal point. However, you'll know better next time, won't you?"
Constantine	John notes the third drink isn't forthcoming but carries on, barely flinching at the line about the card. "Oh, haven't yet begun to charm," John says with evident irony. He tilts his head about the damnation thing, remarking, "Well it is pretty terrible," he smirks a little. "And not just as a line," he adds with a little bit of self-depricating humour. "As for fixing it, for ten monthly payments of $99.99..." he jests then looks down at his empty glass. The bit of Shakespear earns a curious look, "An' what am I to take from that and your lack of doubt about my damnation?" he asks, with a tone to match his look. There is an edge to that curiosity, a feral quality. "Don't suppose that means you actually believe in magic?" he asks. Then she starts talking about his little job, and he gives a long considering look, with all his senses, trying to gauge just how she knew, was she listening, or was she using something else to get what was in his head. "Or maybe you do a little yourself?" he asks. "Or is there a bug down the other end of the bar I should know about?"
Emma Frost	Now. Not Emma nods that Tom might refill that glass, to which Tom dutifully complies. "Ten monthly payments? I think you've watched too many infomercials. If only the quality of our souls could be fixed by bits of plastic embedded with a Ronco decal. Or ten easy payments." She chuckles at herself and finishes her own glass, gesturing for Tom to fill it again. "Hell is such a parochial word. Did you know that some cultures have no such belief? Of course there are those who do not believe in a heaven either. I suppose damnation comes in all sorts of flavours." "As to what I do or do not believe in, I live in a city populated by those who claim to be gods, John Constantive. If I fail to disbelieve their claims, then how much deeper do I have to dig to accept yours of a berth beyond the fire and brimstone awaiting you. I think the more interesting subject here is how you earned such a curse." She shrugs, and tells Tom. "We're moving to a table. Send the bottle and a friend for it. You can put them on my tab. We'll manage on our own." Taking her glass, she gestures to John to do the same, and leads off to a darker corner of the place, not eludicating further until they've found themselves more privacy.
Constantine	John gives a quick "Cheers," to Emma as his glass if fileld once more. "Well, got to do something to fill the late night hours," he says of the infomercials, before saying, "Ronco decals? That's what those things are called, hm? Learn something every day." He says before saying, "And yeah, shame I can't pay off the lien with plastic, but, what can you do?" he offers. "Heh, well those cultures are wrong, seen folks from both heaven and hell, been to the latter personally, they're there, now if those folks who don't believe are bound there, that's another story. Never did ask Death what the deal was with for the lucky sods who don't believe. Not that she'd be like to tell me." "An' true enough, with a couple thousand gods showing up on our doorstep so to speak just now, guess magic and reserved seating in hell isn't so much of a stretch," he says. "Not many think that way though, so," he lifts his glass in salute before taking a swallow. "As to that tale, we'll have to talk cost, it's not one I part with easily," he says, before rising and following Emma where she leads.
Emma Frost	"So you have a price," Emma says with a smile, once he's joined her. Betraying perhaps a small amount of cultered interest. "That should have been your lead in. Not the card, or a reserve of charm. You're certainly more interesting when you have a story to dig up than when you're trying to be just another man stumbling over himself to be noticed." "Of course, that does raise the possibility that you're just as bored and uninterested in this whole scene as I am, and that this is all a game. A game where you'd be happy to take one for the team, to speak, if I showed any interest, but really, that wasn't your actual game from the start." She doesn't even ask him how she's doing. She trusts he'll tell her. Or he won't. But she'll still know. "I do believe that second bottle buys your story. But we can play it your way. You asked, do I dabble? It all depends on what we mean by dabbling, John." There's a glimmer of amusement cast over the edge of her glass as it's lifted to her lips. "Emma, by the way. Emma Frost."
Constantine	"Noted for next time," John says of Emma's advice. And it is true, the suggestion is noted, filed away as 'make them come to you'. He moves through the room easily, ignoring the dirty looks of some of the patrons, though now that he's with Ms. Frost, security has stopped giving him dirty looks. "Well, it was about 'taking one for the team' at first, but then you were actually interesting and from that point, the game's been about the game as much as anything," John admits readily. "Not that I wouldn't take one for the team, if it weren't off the table, suspect it'd be interesting as the rest of the evening." Then he settles and considers her words, "It's a dark story for just booze, but, booze and some information, I could live with that," John says leaning forward, glass cradled in both hands. He considers her, "Not magic then," he says of her answer. "Don't see the spark, and not just cold reading either, that'd get you most of what you've done but not all. Getting close?" he asks. The name does get a furrow of his brow as he struggles to think of where he's heard it, then a flash of recognition as he does, "Guess I should be embarassed not to know it right off," he says. "Good to meet you Emma. Though a bit of free advice, never good to give someone like me your name from your own lips," he says and takes a sip. "It's the real reason I carry the cards."
Emma Frost	Emma's lips purse over might. "You're assuming you're going to remember my name long enough to do anything with it, John Constantine." Now the look she gives him is one of pure amusement. And should he think on it, there's no memory of the name he's just warned her not to so freely give away from her own lips. "No harm. No foul. As for taking one for the team, John, should the opportunity ever arise, I assure you, there will be no walking away from the experience with such a blase review as merely 'taking one for the team' falling from your lips."
Constantine	"Ha, well, it's not like I am going to forget-" John begins with a cocky smile until he reaches for the name and it's gone, feeling like the fingers of his memory were closing on air. There's a moment where he sits there gobsmacked mind groping for the name. "Bloody hell," he says finally giving up the search. "You're a telepath aren't you?" He'd heard of them, but he'd never met one, or given the current evidence, maybe he'd met hundreds, maybe there had been telepaths all around him all his life and he'd never know. Given what he could see that others couldn't, he found the thought amusing and strangely comforting. "So's that name? It ever coming back?" he asks smiling, like some audience member of a magic show who'd just had a trick pulled right before his eyes. John's smile settles to something more him, crooked and matched with a sharp glint in his eyes, as he lifts his glass to her, "Well, here's hoping you'll let me remember it, if it comes to that."
Emma Frost	Emma is patient while she waits for his response. Watching as he grasps at air and comes up short. How he walks himself to the most... logical?.. conclusion. After all, if he's really been damned to hell, and can legitimately claim to be an exorcist and a dabbler, why should she be the only one forced to accomodate her beliefs in the unlikely. Plus, she has the added benefit of being able to remove this entire night's conversation from his mind should she so choose. When he comes up with the correct answer, and then asks if the name is ever coming back, Emma sits back in her seat. "I tell you what, John. I hear how and why you got yourself damned to hell - no lies - and you'll not only get the name back, I might even let you remember this evening." Her glass is lifted to her lips, as she adds, casually, "Maybe even let you take one for the team."
Constantine	Telepaths. He'd heard rumours, but mostly about some of the aliens that had come to earth but this was new and not entirely unwelcome either. "So what else can you-" he begins before Emma speaks again. The offer, especially the last bit, gets his attention. It could well be more games but at this point he's curious enough plus the scotch had loosened his tongue some. Still though, he needs a bit more and taking the bottle he fills his glass and has a long sip. "Well, when I was coming up in the world as a warlock, a friend of mine's daughter, she got possessed, if you seen The Exorcist, that ain't half of it, would have been glad to have green goo spit up on me," he says, a shadow falling across his features as he tells the tale. Like with all trauma the memories come unbidden to John's mind should Emma care to see. It's a gruesome little film of memories, a poor girl tormented from within. "Anyhow, nothing me and my mates did were working and being the flash git that I was I hit upon what I thought was a brilliant idea, what if I summoned another demon to take care of the one inside her. I had a name of one, a powerful one, an' with that name I could make it do what I wanted. Turns out, I had the wrong bloody name." He takes a drink. "Anyhow, thing comes, an' it rips the demon out of her alright, devours it too, right there in front of us, was all chuffed, and feeling proud, right until it turned on my mates. I drove it back, but it already had the girl, an' the portal was closing, so I sent 'em both on to Hell." John lets out a sigh. "An' that's why I'm going to Hell."
Emma Frost	A bubble of laughter escapes Emma. "The wrong name? Oh, John. You poor thing. In all the stories I've heard of pissing contests and let me tell you how big my dick is, that has to be the best." She so amused she even lets him get away will not only pouring another glass, but filling it. "Now, see? There was a story worthy of the expense of that alcohol you're guzzling like a two dollar whore. You do realize that bottle there probably costs as much as, if not more, than that pocket of bills you're so proud of?" Again, she doesn't sound so terribly worried by that fact. She might not have more money than god, but she's not hurting for it, either. "So, let me see if I've got this straight, you're going to hell for sending her there? Or did you somehow foolishly let your name slip from those cruel thin lips of yours and that demon took advantage of the fact?" And yes, she peeked in. Why ask for a tale if you aren't going to dredge yourself in the details of it. Besides, she did say without a lie. How else was she going to know if he was lying. Then, appropos of nothing, Emma imparts, "I was a pole dancer once. Believe it or not."
Constantine	John nods, still a bit quiet in the wake of the tale. "Yeah, right stupid move of me to summon the thing in the first place. Should have just put a bullet in her head and been done with it. Would have been kinder." Though he does note the cursing and the mention of the bottle. He smiles, putting on his cocky grin over the gloom left by the tale. "Well, the booze tastes better going down than the bills I reckon," he offers with a bit of a wry chuckle. He does note she doesn't seem to mind the price tag, and if she doesn't then why should he. "It's more that I was dicking around with powers that I shouldn't be and ended up putting a girl in hell for eternity because of it. Rules say there's no coming back from that," he shrugs. "Or so the folks upstairs tell me." He plays it off easily, but there's a certain undeniabe ceritude to it all. Sipping from his drink, takes a moment to appreciate the news for a moment, studying Emma. "You?" he asks, "Must be bloody good if you can afford all this?" he says with a look to the bottles, weighing if the tale was true or if it was bullshit. "Though with all that stuff about dicks measuring and two dollar whores, guess there may just be more to your story, than money and polish." "So, how'd all that come to pass? The dancing to all this?" he asks her.
Emma Frost	"Rich girl goes bad. Claws her way back to the top. Old story. Boring as.. well, hell, if you don't mind my saying." Emma brushes it all lightly aside. "I wouldn't worry so much about it, John. You might want to tuck a few more of those names away for future use, but I'm sure a warlock doomed to enternal fire and brimstone can stumble across a few more and knows what to do with them. The rules should still apply. Consider yourself a purveyor of a very useful and powerful commodity and make like any smart prisoner who knows he won't live to see the end of his sentence without protection: Buy it." Another amused moue of lips and glimmer in those blue, blue eyes, "After all, what more can they do to you? You've already been condemned to the worst place such things can get you." Then she pauses, and laughs softly. "You're still trying, aren't you? Despite what you've been told, you still think there's a chance at redemption."
Constantine	"Nah, don't mind," John says with a shake of his head. The joke Hell didn't hold much offense for him. There is a little nod from John at the advice about buying protection. "Got more 'n a few tucked away, for just that reason," he says. "Good to be in with a few of the screws before you start your sentence.," he says. "Though most wouldn't cotton on to using names so quickly," he says lifting his glass in a salute. The rest is given a further nod before his blue eyes meet hers. "True enough, like they say can only hang a man once, and when I'm there it's not like they can damn me again." The laugh earns a bit of a frown and he lifts his cup to his lips to hide it, a defensive, move., as he shrugs and says, "Might as well, right? Beats laying about in my underwear watching soaps." Though as much as he brushes it off, there is more to it than that.
Emma Frost	"I think it's delightfully quaint. Though I'm guessing there's more to the story than what you're letting on. And you needn't look so hurt," Emma chides. "Though I suppose I understand how you fail to see the amusement in it all, being part of the tale." She explains lightly, "Have you never read the original versions of the Little Mermaid? Offered the chance to save herself, she fails to take it, and instead commits the sin of killing herself instead. Spends eternity in purgatory, smiling at the good children, and crying tears for those who are naughty. The smiles lightening her sentence; the tears adding to it. And yet, she believes." "There's an irony to it. It's the story of Sisyphus with a Disney spin, long before there was a Disney. Well," she corrects herself, looking thoughtful, "More Christian morality tale. But as far as those went, this one was atually rather hopeful. She truly believed that she might earn being human she'd lost for failing to set the blade upon her love instead of herself."
Constantine	"That does take some of the shine from it," John admits wryly of being part of the tale. "Though if it were some other poor sod, well, can't say I wouldn't see the humour of it." He gives a shake of his head for the tale then sits back to listen as Emma spools it out for him. "A little darker than the one with the siging lobster, but, I see the hope in it. An' me and the fish girl have a lot in common, that balancing of the sentence and that fools hope that one day we'll be free. Though, these days I'm more of a realist, trying to keep other people out of Hell even if my ticket there is bought and paid for."
Emma Frost	"We all have our weaknesses," Emma admits. "I suppose as far as they go, yours is innocuous enough." She doesn't apologize for laughing, though. "Well, this did take a turn towards the serious, didn't it? Though I dare say this man is much more interesting than the one who asked if he could join me at the bar."
Constantine	"I'd ask what your weakness was, but like as not wouldn't remember it five seconds later," John jokes wth a wry grin and a slight wrinkle of his nose. No request for an apology is forthcoming either. His ego is made of sterner stuff. "It did at that, likely my fault for telling grim tales," he says with no real regret in his tone, more like amusement at how far he'd strayed from his purpose. Though it did feel good to get it out. "An' I have to say the same for you, the advice about the names, good stuff for someone not in the Art, might have to ask you to put you name back so I can pick your brain again," he says with a smile and he looks down at his glass. "An' your taste in booze isn't bad either."
Emma Frost	"Of course my taste is booze is good. I earned evvery penny I've ever spent upon a bottle. I have no shame in enjoying the fruits of my labours." She considers, nodding to herself. "I'll give you Emma. Really, I shouldn't leave you that. Or this evening. entirely too much danger for a man who is self-admittedly collecting the names of the damned to keep his own soul from eternal withering in the flames." She grins, pouring herself a fresh glass of scotch. "I know, there's a certain hypocrisy to suggesting I should worry about that given I gave you the very same advice to do so." Emma shrugs, "What can I say. I'm a complicated woman." "And a woman who tries to be less than interesting at the best of times. It saves me the boredom of extrciating myself from the self-involved and the fawning idiots of the world. I rather find I don't have the patience for idiots." "I suspect you won't abuse the information I've left you with. You've too much faith and hope in that redemption of yours."
Constantine	John smiles into his glass, "Thank you for sharing the fruits of those labours then," he says and takes a sip and savours it, not guzzling like the proverbial two dollar whore. And with the saying of the name Emma was once again in his grasp like the veil had been parted and that part of the name was returned. "Truth told, you probably shouldn't," he admits freely. "Can do a lot with half a name, but, you've my word I won't. Besides you knew I wouldn't use it or you'd never give it over in the first place." He may only have half of her name but he knew that much of her, she wouldn't have given him a weapon she thought he'd use on her. "The best ones are," John says of complicated women. "The men too. Simple is bloody dull." "Heh, and don't get me started on idiots, though, I hope I don't number amoung them in your lofty estimation." John smiles at the end, "Like I said, you'd never give me a weapon you'd think I'd turn on you. You've my word on that." The word of John Constantine still had some value even if you often had to check the fine print. John drinks down what's left of his glass, taking a moment to enjoy how it burns down his throat. "Well, Emma," he says, setting the glass down on the table. "It's been an evening, and I may end up forgetting all of it, even so, I'd hate myself for not asking,care to take one for the team?"
Emma Frost	He was right. She'd never leave him with a weapon if she thought he would use it. Certainly there was some danger another might pluck it from him and use it so, but if they could do that, and had the desire, they were already a threat. She finishes what remains in her glass, and nods that he should take the remains of the second bottle with him. "No sense wasting it. I've already paid for it." But it's his offer that has her pausing and considering, giving him a sad sort of smile, "I think you'd find me a terrible disappointment, John. I may let you walk me to the car, though."
Constantine	John gives a cheerful nod of thanks, "Don't mind if I do then," he says putting the cap on the bottle and taking it with him as he stands up. The sad smile and the claim of being a disapointment gets a raised brow from the warlock. "Can't see how," he says of the disapointment before he lifts a shoulder in a shrug and in gentlemanly fashion, offers an arm, "But I'll take what I can get."
Emma Frost	Emma eases herself from the table. She could have stayed and had a few more on her own, but as far as endings to evenings went, this was also sufficient. It's with practiced ease she slips her hand to rest upon the crook of that arm, giving another of those soft, considered laughs. "I don't do people terribly well, John. Which means I also don't do intimacy on any meaningful level of engagement. I find the act rather perfunctory, and, well, these days, not as necessary as you might think considering the effort required to engage in it. You'd be expecting something I can't rightly say I can deliver. Or, as it happens, worse." Emma nods to Tom as the pair move through the room, heading for the exit. "On my tab, if you will, Tom." He nods, and goes back to his duties squaring away the place for the night. Once outside, she directs John towards a very expensive sports car.
Constantine	John's look is sympathetic even as a touch of disapointment shows through. "Not a great one for people either, tend to like to keep my distance, focus on the fun and sweaty bits, then let them be, gets fewer of them dead," John says matter-of-factly. When they take their leave of the dark corner John offers Tom a cordial "Night mate, no hard feelings?" before bathing in the scorn of the wealthy men and woman watching him leave with Emma on his arm. He was willing to leave taking one for the team where they left it but one word lingered and he couldn't keep from asking: "Worse?"
Emma Frost	"Infinitely worse," Emma agrees, pausing at the driver's side door of the car. "I could leave you with memories of a night you'll never forget. Make you take every experience you have from this evening onward and compare them to it and come up wanting... only it would all be a lie. That's really the sort of woman I am, John." She pats his arm and releases her touch upon him, "I rather like you more than that. So perhaps we call it a night and leave others to take one for the team."
Constantine	John takes Emma's words in and turns them over in his head. "Doesn't sound too terrible," he jokes lightly, moving his arm back when she let's go. "An' trust me, I've met worse," he says. And slept with them, he adds mental with a inward cringe at some of those memories. "Lucky them," he says of those phantom others, but it's lightly spoken and coupled with an impish glint in his eyes, "Can't let them have all the fun though," he says as he reaches up to cup her face as he bends to kiss her on the lips. As he does he wonders if he'll remember any of it in a second or two...
Emma Frost	"It's a little like purgatory, John," Emma says quietly. "Believing in something you can't ever have. Trust me. It's better this way." His kiss, though, takes her by surprise when very few things do. Though few face Emma Frost and aren't cowed by her presense and sheer force of will and confidence. Even in business, once her repuation grew, males learned she came to the bargaining table just as strongly as they did, and that she didn't back down. Ever. She was formidable, and she knew it. She wore that like armour. So when John cups her face and dips his head to kiss her, it happens before... well, not quite before she's had time to react. The touch upon her chin telegraphs what is to come, and truly she could have stopped it then. No, the surprise was in that he dared at all... or maybe only that she allowed the kiss. It's a soft kiss. More than she's led to believe she's capable of giving, even if it's clear that somewhere in the kiss she remembers that she's chosen to say no, and that no good down this path lies. When the kiss breaks, "I've left men gibbering idiots for less. You're either a brave man, or a fool, John Constantive. Now, go before I change my mind and decide to make you regret that."
Constantine	The kiss is not what John expected. Honestly, he didn't think he would even get close before she shoved him away or ripped his mind to shreds. As it turned out none of that came to pass and the kiss that came instead was soft, almost yeilding, and all too brief. When it breaks, he steps back, smiling in the face of her words, "A little of both, most like and I don't doubt you have," he says taking her advice and moving away. "I'll take my leave," he says calling the door to the House which appears out of thin air, he opens it and lingers in the door way, turning with a smirk, "Though, it was a bloody good kiss." Then he disapears inside.
Emma Frost	There's a soft laugh that echoes after him as he walks through his door, only barely heard as she opens the door to her own car, "That's what you think..." Then she's driving off into the night. Silently admonishing herself for allowing the kiss to happen. Possibly regretting not taking one for the team, however perfunctory she's declared the act to be. The only thing she knows for certain is she was right not to leave him with those memories of a night that didn't happen. There was a certain cruelty to that she didn't feel the need to inflict tonight. It was a long, lonely drive home.