2012-07-13 Pariah Corner

Constantine is rarely considered a regular in any particular place. Even if he frequents that place often enough, the rank and file don't usually appreciate his company and it belays any notion that they'd be glad that he's there. So the Cheers theme is right out.

Sometimes it's just not that great when everyone knows your name.

John is sitting back in one of the lounge areas, clustered up into the corner of a little booth with an ashtray close at hand already starting to look like a master work in carsenogenic delight. Smoke boils from his nostrils, the culprit responsible one of his silk cut cigarettes dangling from his stubble peppered jaw, hanging on for dear life as he stares slack eyed at the surface of the table upon which he's leaning.

A glass of whiskey beside his hand, both of which are laid across one another on the table, sends off a little pool of condensation that trails into a symbol he's rubbing out with the tip of his index finger absently.

Zatanna Zatara, world renowned stage magician and respected member of the proud Zatara line of Homo Magi, walks into a bar. No, really. Usually, unlike John, she is greeted warmly. Tonight, however, it's a bit chillier of a reception. You see, this very morning, it was announced that Zee has signed on to be part of the Justice League. In effect, she's just become a Magical Cop, and a few of the Oblivion's shadier denizens are less than thrilled. She expected it though. She smiles and nods to everyone, even if they turn their heads away.

Spying Constantine in his lonely booth, the new pariah makes her way over to the old. She's wearing leather pants, a bustier, and a leather bolero jacket, rather than her stage outfit. "Wanker," she mutters at him with a lopsided grin. She slides into the seat across from him without an invitation. "Does this spot require a brooding permit? I haven't renewed mine yet."

John gets that chilly feeling when the universal beginnings of a bad joke are worked into the cosmos. No, seriously, he glances up the instant Zee walks through those doors.. and is already snickering when the thought occurs to him.

Magical cop. That's bloody b.e.a.utiful.

Tapping the end of his cigarette against the edge of the ashtray when she picks, not terribly unexpectedly, his booth. Pariah must stick together.

He'll take his mantle back eventually.

"Tart." He retorts easily, motioning across the table with two fingers scissoring a cigarette,

"No, you don't have to brood, but the first rounds on you... and the second. You're fucking my reputation being seen with you... got to make it worth it." Smirking, leaning back with an arm cast over the back of the booths bench.

"Like your reputation could be any worse than it is, John," Zatanna says with a snort. She settles back in the booth and props her booted feet up on his side. She does wave a server over though, and orders a couple of scotches, neat. "So, I might need some lessons in being a societal pariah from you. You'd think I was wearing a badge or something." She smirks. "Been a while. How've you been?"

John half nod, half shrugs at Zee's diagnosis of his reputation's medical condition, "Well, I'm prettier." Nobodied agree, probably. He reaches forward towards the crumpled pack of smokes laying on the table to pull another out to roll up into his mouth, reversing his filter to light the new. "Well, first lesson. When you walk into a bar, yeah? Flash your tits." Puffing a few quick drags, then stabbing out the filter into the pile of burnt filters. "Feel free to practice if ya like."

Shaking his head, turning his glass, and draining the few little dribbles left at the bottom. "Not bad.. comes and goes.. Resently better than others. You? Besides joining up with the big boys, obviously... why?"

"I think my stage outfit is close enough to flashing my tits for me, thanks. Besides, not like you haven't seen them," Zee retorts. At his question about joining the Justice League, she grimaces. "I have to admit to having an ulterior motive there, and it's not just to make the government fund my fishnets budget." She drums her fingers on the tabletop lightly in a strange rhythm. "I was hoping that with all the publicity it's getting, maybe my father will hear about it. Maybe he'll come to see me." She's still hanging on desperately to the idea of John Zatara being alive.

John, again, half nod half shrugs in acceptance of this reply, "Cant blame me for wanting an encore." It's fleeting, especially when she gets serious about her decision. "Why, Zee... you little minx you. Using the federal government to accomplish your own goals." Tsking in a playful sort of way, shaking his head. "What would that big floating lad in the armored underpants think?" The empty glass is rattled at a waitress and Zatanna pointed at indicating who's taking the tab.

It was in his contract.

"You know, I could probably call in a favor, see if he's over..." General, random, directional waving. "On the other side.. It'd be easier than selling your soul to the politicians."

"He's Superman. He tries to see the best in everyone. If he didn't have people like me around, he'd probably be in big trouble," Zee points out. "And I'm hoping that I'll be able to call in the big guns on the team if I do find Dad and he's in trouble." John's offer gets an arched brow. "I don't need you to call in favors for me, John. Save those for yourself. You get into a lot more trouble than I do." Hahahahahah. Not really. She nods at the waitress to confirm the refill. "Plus, this way, I can get into some places I normally would be trespassing. Government authority and all that jazz, as long as I need them."

"I pulled his super fat out of the fire a few nights ago.." John snorts quietly, shaking his head, "Superman. He's like a reality tv show. He probably walks around pretending to be a fuckin' human in glasses with slick black hair." Leaning towards the ashtray to tap off more ashes and draw another deep drag of curling steel gray that escapes from his nostrils.

"Eh, you ask me, you don't take a super 'man' to a wizard duel..." Raising his hands, shrugging. "Bollicks, Zee.. what if they actually 'have' information about your father? You telling me that'll sit right with you? Walk in with your security clearance and viola, the big reveal, he's in tibet... we forgot to mention it, but thanks for playing? Please..." Shaking his head slowly, "Bloody target, if you ask me.. But you didn't ask me... Maybe you should, next time you take a federal contract. Hope they have dental."

"i'm betting he's a janitor. Or something like a train engineer," Zatanna muses. She plucks up her own glass of scotch and swirls it once before taking a swig. She feels the slow burn trace down her throat to roil in her belly as she ponders her response. "If they know where he is, then I'm a step closer to finding him. If they don't, I've eliminated that possible information source." She leans forward, resting her forearms on the table, irregardless of whatever sticky stuff might be there, so she can look Constantine in the eye. "You know me John. You know that I wouldn't join this group if I didn't think I could do some good by it, or get something good out of it. I'm not going to police the magic community unless someone is stupid enough to do something asinine publically."

"I know, I know.." John pats the air and shakes his head, "It doesn't mean I agree. Tangling oneself up in the affairs of the fucking blue bellies just seems like a ticket on the train wreck line." To bring it back to superman's ticket counter side job.

"But you're smart. Smarter than most. Just mark my words, in a few months, all the hype will be worn off on this experiment and people will be right up in arms. Justice League of Dictatorship, with powered 'heroes' at the beck and call of the evil magistrate. Fuck all, do you know how many of them slimmy worms are in bed with the devil?" Drawing on his cigarette, "Me either, but I bet it's a fucking lot."

"I'm hoping with the willingness of a few to sign on the dotted line for the public good, the public can be appeased for a while. Otherwise I'm worried they'll be burning mutants and witches at the stake and it'll be Salem all over again, with a genetic twist," Zee admits. She leans back again. "I think at least this reduces the chance of the government pulling a trigger on us. I'd rather not be locked away in Blackgate or whatever just for having powers. A few good examples can go a long, long way."

John's brows go high in a long arch, cigarette nestled between his lips. As it comes away a stream of smoke snakes from out from between his teeth. "You think they'll actually use you all for something substantial? How long before it's a powered police force, eh? Or a weapon of mass destruction..." Flicking off towards the wall, gray ashes raining down onto the table top. "Captain America, that wanker got his reputation kicking nazi's in their collective butticks. You want some of that action? Zatanna playing cards, putting Al Quada in their place one fishnet round house at a time."

"John, would YOU want to tell Superman that he has to do something he doesn't believe is right?" Zatanna asks. She grins. "Pretty sure the government suits would piss themselves before even thinking about it. Superman is our ace in the hole. As long as the president and company play nice, he keeps things in line. If they piss him off, I don't expect anything could keep him under their thumb." She sobers after a moment. "If I do get any clues about my father, can I count on you to help me find him, John?"

"No, but I'd tell him he looks bloody rediculous in that blue armor." John diflects the question with a literal smoke screen of exhaled blue-gray clove sweetness. "Listen..." Taking on a serious tone, after a long drink of whiskey... The glass sits on the table to be turned slowly, "Politicians can sugar coat anything, love. I..." Shaking his head, sucking down his cigarette. It's stabbed into the ashtray with a little extra emphasis, "Yeah. You know you can, Zee..."

The pack of smokes is lightly tossed with a twist of his wrist and another taken out between his lips. A small box of matches replaces the crumpled pack and is brought up to his ear to rattle slowly, "One left.." Holding the book up, pushing it open, and striking it into the palm of his hand cupped around the front of the cigarette.

"Just be careful with them. The road to hell is paved in good intentions... or so the brochure says."

"I'll be careful, John. Promise," Zee swears. "The minute I think things are getting hinky, I'm out of there. The feds don't have an all access pass to Shadowcrest or anything. If I have to disappear for a while, I can."

John motions, "Well there you go. Staying one step of head of morons is the only way to seperate ourselves from them... that shite is contagious." Another warning, though this one is delivered with a smirk and a lean back into the corner of the booth. One leg comes up to lay straight out across the bench he's sitting on. "Now... did I read the name right, did they really sign a blok named Martian Manhunter? You think he could sound a little more omenous?"

"And is he green? If he's green, I'm calling fucking bullshit."

"Green as grass, Johnny boy," Zatanna quips. "Doesn't look like ET or Paul though. I haven't formally met him or Colossus yet. Sure that'll happen soon." She tilts her head. "What about you? What have you been up to, besides smoking like a chimney and putting a dent in the Oblivion's booze supply?"

"Following leads on the end of the world, love." John says with a smirk, totally ignoring the fact that he is now obligated to call bullshit on a Green Alien from Mars.

"You know, doing the real work that saves the world, while flashy wankers in spandex punch robots in the face. Someone's got to do it, yeah?" Motioning at himself... then draining his glass of whiskey.

"Someone's poking a big bees nest up here... Manipulating all the Darklings. That or they're organized. And they're too fucking stupid to organize..."

Zee frowns at that, before draining her glass. "Well, if you need me to poke around some, or just beat up some mystical naughties, you know where to find me. Shadowcrest's library is still as stocked, and cranky, as ever." She stands, tossing some funds down on the tabletop to pay for the drinks. "Take care of yourself John," she says with a small smile. "I've missed your grouchy ass." She grins and saunters out of the bar.

John reaches for the bills, folding them over his finger, and sliding them away into his pocket as he slips from the booth himself. "Don't be a stranger, Zatanna Zatara." He doesn't get the first step before someone's intercepted him, motioning to the empty table and demanding payment. "What, don- fine.. here.." Thrusting the money at them.

Last cigarette is stabbed out and the pack and book of matches is slipped into the pockets of his coat and he too is headed for the exit. Much to the delight of some of the snooty eyed patrons. All of whom get middle fingers directed at them as he passes.

One for each side, just so nobodies left out.