2013.07.08 - Death, Taxes and Temporal Metaphysics

John Constantine. There are very few people who can say for certain that they 'like' the British occultist and even fewer who would do so willingly even if they did so at all.

However, most people of 'magical' note and anyone who frequents the Oblivion bar, knows of his existance. He comes and goes almost at random, makes enemies with someone and then disappears for a few months while they forget (read: plan revenge), only to resurface later and start the cycle all over again.

Vorpal's name drops dont bring up much on the streets for a while. Most people assume the limey has died (or just wish he has), until one Sunday evening the cat is directed to the Oblivion bar, where it is said the Brit was spotted.

Spotted, more like sitting with a loud horn screaming 'I AM HERE'...

It doesn't take long at all to 'find' him once in the club, since he's sitting behind a piano with a giant water bottle full of ice and bourbon, playing AND singing.

"Fuck the mother fuckah, fuck the mother fuckah, fuck the mother fuckah, he's a fucking mother fuckah."

Fuck the mother fuckah, fuck the mother fuckah, fuck the mother fuckah, he's a total mother fuckah."

Fuck the mother fuckah, fuck the mother fuckah, fucking fuck the mother fuckah... Fuck the mother fucker..."

Fuck the mother fucking..."

"Pope."

"Are you taking requests?"

So a purple cat walks into a bar... Keith will be the first one to admit that his life has been reduced to a joke sometimes. For all he tries to make it as a hero, he keeps finding himself relegated to the dark spaces. And now here he was, in a bar full of supernatural creatures, and yet he still was the least supernatural of them-- his notoriety here came simply from his color. He couldn't cast spells, and he wouldn't know a spellbook from a cookbook. He went everywhere, and fit in absolutely nowhere. "You wouldn't happen to be THE John Constantine?"

Constantine isn't the greatest pianist to ever tickle the ivories, but he's not slouch either. Adding a bit of a 'punk' flare to an already punkish song, he sings through the chords with relative harmony while casting catty eyes at the purple feline approaching his pulpit.

When he jams the last of the cords, he reaches for a pack of silk cut cigars sitting beside a particularly over flowing ashtray near his big water bottle full of alcohol. Cigarette slips between his lips and he takes up a small book of matches, almost seeming to ignore Keith while wiggling the box beside his ear. Apparently the single match inside rattling around is confirmation enough for him to finally answer the second question.

"That depends." Dirty british accent, match striking into the curl of his palm which is cupped around the end of his cigarette. "Are you here to serve me papers or looking for child support? I don't remember fucking any cats..."

"Or does he owe you money? If the answer to any of these questions are yes... then no, I am not John Constantine." Pointing with two fingers at the back door, "He buggered off that way about an hour ago."

At this, Keith has to chuckle. "Every bit the charmer I was assured you'd be. Rest at ease Mr. Constantine... I'm not here to ask anything from you, except for your help. If you want to give it." The cat leans on the piano, looking at him and trying to measure the man. He was told Constantine was as amenable as a cat who had sat on a cactus. "A friend of mine was killed, mister Constantine. A good man... or at least I think he was killed. I was told you might be able to help me..."

Constantine takes a rather deep drag off his cigarette and lets the smoke roll from his nostrils in that slow fashion of someone whose been smoking for entirely too long. "Did he owe you money?" Playing a few keys on the piano, filling the air with music and the sweet scent of his very expensive cloves. His question is rather telling as to what Constantine considers 'friends'. "Did the people who told you this say I did things for free? Because these people, the ones who lied to you if they said that, are not very good sources of information if they did... you should strongly consider getting new friends, if that is the case."

"And stop calling me fucking Mister... people will think I'm respectable and I have a reputation to uphold."

"He didn't owe me money. He was my friend. One of the few I've got..." Keith says, trying to be nonchalant but the catch is evident in his voice.  "... so I'm not fond of misplacing them, you know?"

He looks at the man, wrinkling his nose at the smoke but doing nothing to wave it away. "How much are we talking about here?"

That was the question. As a registered BSA hero, he didn't have a lot of money. His resources were stretched at most until his next paycheck. But Booster was a friend. Constantine may not think much about friends, but he wasn't John Constantine.

He'd make whatever sacrifices were necessary. "Most people told me you weren't worth a gnat's ass in a bottle of cat piss," he drops it in, smirking.

"That's an even bigger lie." Constantine counters, reaching up to scissor his cigarette and flick some of the ashes into the little pile he's formed just to the side of the tray where they probably belong. "And you, as a cat, should be offended that they suggested it mate." Still... that's not the question or the important point here.

The sarcastic magician leans forward, 'dooooooooonging' the keys with his elbows so he's staring the kid right in the eyes. His mouth makes a quiet clicking sound while he sucks at his teeth considering something. "You'll owe me one. And before you say yes..." He's quick to stop the kid from agreeing, because he's pretty sure he's got him figure out. "Think long and hard about it. This isn't one of those favors you will never have to repay. I /will/ be repaid... and you /will/ repay it. You picking up what I'm putting down?"

Yellow-green eyes look back, narrowing. "I think I'm catching your drift. So the next time you have some dirty work with the supernatural coming up, you'll have Ernestine give me a Ringy-Ding and tell me to come spit-spot to put my tail on the line?"

"Something like that, aye." Constantine nods and leans back to play out a quick, jaunting, tune on the piano keys. His cigarette straightens between his lips, "Or you can fuck off and find someone else. There may be others who can find this out for you, but no one is going to do it as quickly. You get what you pay for." While he is every bit the bastard everyone says, he is also a very knowledgable occultist and skilled in this sort of thing. Fireballs really aren't his speciality... mucking around with the dead, though?

"Oh, what the fuck, last week I jumped through the eyeball of the Loa of the Dead and kicked him in the brain. I'm in, Constantine, and I'm a mancat of my word. If you can find out who the woman who killed him is... and anything I can know about her, I'll owe you *two* favors, how's that?" The cat says, sipping from his water bottle. He's got a bracelet, marked as a minor... or, well, under 21 anyways.

John eyes the kids bracelet while reaching out for his water bottle. He unscrews the cap with two fingers and swishes back a long pull of the chilly brown liqour inside, then offers it over to the cat. "You need some vices, mate. I can already tell that swearing isn't your thing." Thick gray smoke coils out from the magicians nostrils as he nods in ascent.

To his credit, he doesn't even bat an eyelash at the admission of going into a loa's eyeball and kicking its brain. Either he doesn't believe it, which in this crowd is silly, or... well he's John Constantine. That's not the strangest thing he's heard... not even the strangest thing he's heard 'today'.

"Alright then, I suppose you should take me to where he 'died'."

The cat chuckles and shakes his head "No thanks... getting drunk isn't a good idea for me. I tried it once and my illusions... let's just say it was embarrassing." He nods towards the door, "He died in Times Square. Care to see a slice of the big apple?"

"Wait.. you're telling me you got drunk and did something embarassing?" Constantine stares at him like he just farted out 'I love the Queen'. With that same pretentious, barely concealed, sarcastic quirk of his brow partially hidden beneath a whisp of curly blonde bangs hanging down over his face like part of a drape.

"I'll never understand why you Yanks can get away with having a city named after a British city and be applauded for being so fucking creative and forward thinking..." Shaking his head, bottle and cigarette in hand, Constantine rises from his piano stool and starts for the door. "But whatever, you aren't paying me to give you a cultural relevance class."

"Because all your colonies were so creatively named," the cat winks and heads for the door. He had to admit Constantine wasn't an easy person to like, but he liked the fact that he was forthcoming with his nastiness. It made for a good change.

"We didn't have to be creative, we had a global spanning colony." Constantine counters, "You know, all seven continents? As a matter of geopolitical fact, we are still a colonial power and the queen..." Only 'minute' contempt there, "Is still on the printed money of three United Nations 'countries'. When Barack 'I have a dream' Obama can boast that, I'll take appointments for eating my own shoe... until then, salute the Union Jack and keep your 'independence day' hypocrisy out of my morning coffee news programs, eh?"

The cat opens the door, revealing Times square as he laughs at this. "Ah, right... let's try to forget the whole point after World War II where you were asked what was behind your back and you went "Oh... it's just India and several other countries" and were forced to put them back. You can keep your Queen... genes like that created a man with satellite ears." Ok, this was fun. Jibing allowed him to vent things he hadn't really been meaning to vent. And at least Constantine forced him to stay on his toes.

Constantine sneers at the cat, canting his head as the pair walk out of the front doors of the mystical bar, right onto one of the many seedy streets of New York (because it's all about the convenience when with John).

The cigarette comes up to his lips for a long drag, "Oh bugger all, I bet you're one of them blokes who is all gung ho about coming in and saving the day during the war too, arent you?" Glancing at the kitty as the walk. Constantine speaking rather loud and right here on July 4th weekend, of all times. He doesn't even acknowledge the stares.

"And you clearly missed the entire first part of the century, mate... you did 'listen' to George Bush, aye? I mean that man sounded like he had the special olympics in his backyard... and you want to toss stones at Prince Charles? So he looks goofy, at least he knows how to say nuclear."

"You're forgetting Prince Phillip, Johnny. Remember? 'Don't stay here too long, or you'll come back all slitty-eyed?' That's up there with Bush senior puking on the Japanese prime minister's lap." Keith laughs. "You know, if you want to rile me up, you're wasting your time. I couldn't care much about politicians. Bugger the lot of them. But I enjoy matching barbs. Now... Booster was killed... close to there."

Constantine narrows his eyes at the cat, mouth taking on a slight smirk with cigarette smoke boiling out of it at one corner. "Fair enough." Which is not the same as saying, you win. More, we'll get back to this later.

Turning to regard times square with another long pull of his liquor and a slow exhale of smoke from his nostrils. "Right, so what I'm going to do here is going to make a scene..." Which doesn't really bother him on any other night, but Fourth of July is kind of a big deal all weekend here in the City with Insomnia.

That's the only warning before the limey is off drinking from his bottle in one hand and glancing around the area with his cigarette burning between the fingers of the other.

"Why should today be any different?" the cat quips. He didn't like the idea of disturbing the peace... or the piece. But he owed it to Booster. "If you want I can get official and calm people. Flash the BSA badge and all."

Hmm. Well, fireworks and people awake means flying broomstick travel is right out. In most places. Rain's learned where the visible parts are and aren't. Though, she's on foot now, with ... a lumpy shoulder. That's really odd. Those who can pick up magic would register her as a magical sort and - an imp hiding in her coat. "I'm SORRY, but you can't poke your head out. We can watch the fireworks online or something. I am not -" She is walking past Keith and Constantine, still arguing with ... her shoulder.

The shoulder arguing in and of itself wouldn't rate much higher than 'crazy bag lady' or 'possible date for the fireworks' on Constantine's meter, were it not for the magical 'feeling' he gets off of Rain and her lumpy back. The old, blonde haired brit glances at the woman, cigarette still hanging from his lips.

He glances back at Keith and offers a dismissive shrug, "Honestly couldn't care, mate. You want to make things easy and flash your 'second rate hero' badge, be my guest." Turning and smirking once he's nolonger looking at the kitty kid. His hand goes inside his coat and comes out with a small leather bag and a worn down hunk of black chalk. "Excuse us, we are interrupting your celebration of hypocracy to do something of actual importance to 'this' century." Hands out at his sides after putting his water bottle of booze down... pointing two fingers at Rain. "SHE is talking to an imp hidden in her jacket."

If only the Wizard of Oz had employed these tricks, rather than a simple curtain.

Second-rate hero. That one 'did' hurt, but the cat wasn't going to give John Constantine any ammunition. Instead, he steps bacck and watches what he is going to do... And then the man points at a perfectly normal girl.

Celebration of what? Rain's purple eyes might constitute odd or contacts. But they are most certainly natural. Dang witch's marks. She blinks owlishly at him. Harvey pokes his head out of her coat. "Hey! Harvey, no!" She sighs. She apparently heard just enough of that to look like she just got caught. "Um. Hi." She pushes the imp back into her jacket. "May I help you, sir?" Look normal, look normal. Unfortunately, she's suffering the cruel paradox of 'the more one TRIES to look normal, the more it doesn't.

And that's enough. The people in Times Square celebrating the Fourth of July weekend all sort of turn to stare at Rain with that 'angry mob' expression one must certainly have expected to see directed at Frankenstein's monster. Constantine stands there smoking his cigarette, one hand holding his chalk and bag beneath his arm which is curled up across his jacket, while the other has retrieved his bottle of whiskey.

"Maybe it's a racoon?" Quirking his mouth, eyes sort of bulging at her. But he's just adding fuel to the flames, really. New Yorkers are all curious lot when it comes to people trying to be 'normal' while hiding things in their coats. 'Let's see what you have theres and 'I hope it's not a bombss are permiating about the gathered.

The Limey is slipping backwards to a less observed area to start drawing something on the ground. A big circle in chalk with some sort of crazy marking sat five of the points where a star would touch the outer surface. Whistling to himself as he fills in some of the empty places with sprinkles of black sand from his little bag.

Did he just use a completely innocent witch as a distraction to preform a necromancy ritual in the center of a very crowded Time Square? Yes... yes he did.

The cat narrows his eyes. Trust John Constantine to make him feel dirty by association. The cat steps up and draws his registration badge, "Bureau of Superhuman Affairs. I've got this. Please, just move off to the -other- side, please. We need this area for something, thank you, please move along." He says, waving his arms and shooting Rain an apologetic look.

Wait. What. Rain's jaw drops. She stares at the mob and Constantine. "Uhmm. W-why are you -" She looks scared. There's fear in her eyes. Oh geez. "Oh, don't worry! No bombs. I like it here, but um, see." She waves her hands. See. Nothing in her hands. Think fast. Think fast. She has to concentrate a moment. It takes a couple of minutes, long enough for a puff of smoke and something to go pop. "Sorry, Richard..." But she's opening a little portal and pulls from her jacket - A DUCK! A male mallard. "Ta da! A duckie!" Duck is cute right? Poor Richard seems as surprised as amyone else. Constantine might pick up that the imp teleported and Rain pulled the poor archaeologist turned duck from her jacket instead. In other news, she pulled a fast one. Richard quacks. She looks weakly to Keith. "His name is Richard. Harvey." Yes.

Constantine finishes his circle, letting Rain dig him a bigger opening from the eyes that might pry into his dark magics off to one side. But nothing is ever going to enough to wash off the sound of him speaking... There's no real 'words', at least not 'human' words coming out of his mouth. It is horrible and dirty, each syllabol like someone tearing a hole through a nuns dress with a knife or slicing a childs throat. (I don't use these things to describe it for shock and awe, I'm using it to appropriately describe how 'terrible' the sound actually is)

People turn away from Rain and scrunch their faces at the blonde occultist standing in the center of a black circle... some of them grimacing and one lady actually vomits. Heaving up whatever she's just eaten having just 'heard' the sound of Constantine casting whatever horrible magic he's conducting amongst them.

Someone brings up a camera phone to take a picture and the Brit snaps his fingers, creating a flash in front of him... While he is not immune to photography, they'll find that those pictures leave only a white flash of light rather any traceable image of him.

Aaaand Keith is reconsidering his deal with the occultist. But he had already given his word, and he was too in to draw back. The cat quickly snaps his fingers and creates a wall surrounding him, Rain and Constantine. It is glowing, and purple, but it should at least keep them out of the public view. "I'm sorry, miss..." he says to the woman who just PULLED A DUCK OUT OF.... Dear god, this was already getting stranger and stranger. And Constantine's speaking made his stomach churn "... I didn't want to leave you at their mercy. He really shouldn't have done that." he says, apologizing to Rain.

Rain manages to send poor Richard home before he has to hear this. She blinks, wincing at the noises. She frowns, looking to Keith. Yes, she pulled a duck out of a portal in her jacket. Out of her pants would be another story altogether. "Thanks. And that's fine, it happens. What's going-" She looks queasy. "Ugh. What's going on? You really should be careful here and around Brooklyn. The barrier-" She stops herself, going quiet. She puts her hand over her mouth.

If the 'words' coming from Constantine's mouth are horrible, the image from the otherside of the portal he's opened is probably... well it's not nice, but it's at least tame. The underworld isn't a horrible place, persay... but living eyes aren't really meant to see it either. Chaotic, some fire sure, but for the most part there's billions of billions that call it 'after' home and would get rather offended if people started saying how terrible it is.

Don't be rude.

Constantine disappears into that portal, which closes behind him with a 'pop'.

Then immediately reappears.

The Occultist comes back out look like he's not shaved in a month. His beard is scraggly and laced through with gray.. and his clothes stink of sulfer, sweat, vomit, and have dried blood stains. His eyes roll back into his head leaving just whites and a bit of blood dribbles from his nostril and the corner of his mouth... and he goes down with a huff on the concrete.

Keith invaded the body of Baron Samedi. He thought nothing would shock him at this point. Holy hell, was he wrong. "Oh... damnit!" the cat says, running towards him and kneeling next to him. The wall is still up, but it waves a little as his focus comes under some trouble. "....John?" he says, reaching for a pulse.

Rain blinks. Well. She did meet a demon or two in her time. She stands quietly, doing her best to remember mom's words not to judge too much. She watches, worried. And then Constantine comes back as he is. She moves over, too. "Should I fetch some water? Or I guess conjure booze might be more popular." She undoes her jacket and offers it over. "Um, here."

Constantine starts convulsing a bit, eyes trying to focus on some point, any point above him. He has a pulse, a strong pulse... a very strong pulse and he's awake, in that he seems to be aware that he is 'somewhere', but the jury is probably still out on of his knows where that somewhere is.

"Medicine..." Pointing to his pocket with a cough that brings up frothy dark red blood and small black piece of lung. Have that mental image and consider us even for christmas.

Arm too weak to fish the medicine out himself, it just sort of flops down onto the concrete.. The 'circle' smokes and then the sand and chalk both evaporate right into the concrete, but the 'smell' of death lingers. It may never go away, honestly.

Keith can only smell but a whiff of it--- and is thankful that his sense of smell was damaged in that warehouse fire. He reaches for the 'medicine' and produces the cigarettes... Alright, you don't argue with occultists. Who knows what was in that crap? The cat hands them over and offers to light them, should he need to. "John, what the hell did you do?" Looking at Rain, he adds "Hold on to that, miss..." WHERE was this woman pulling stuff from? Then again, considering what John just did, he wouldn't put it past the flavor of the night to be surrounded by supernaturals. "... we might have need of it ere the night is over." He tries to ignore the desire to puke seeing what John coughs up. Really. Because he knows that the surly git would just make a joke about a hairball, even in this condition.

Rain looks concerned. "Medicine-?" She looks worried. But she won't get in Keith's way, though she started. "Um, I had my jacket with me-" She explains. She peers at Keith, a little boggled. She looks worried. She asks, "Does he need someone to heal him or something?" She hasn't seen this one before. "Reminds me vaguely of- er."

The cigarettes, once Constantine can see them, are snatched away from the cat and one is slid down into his mouth... hand producing that same book of matches which he shakes up beside his ear weakly to the sound of a single rattling wooden stick... That, at least, brings a bloody smile to the brits face.

Still, he has to hand the matches to Keith to light his cigarette. That's right, he's going to implicate this kid in the worsening of his health.

John Constantine is all up in your conscience making you do horrible things.

Coughing a bit, he finds a few extra words and settles his eyes on Keith. "Your friend isn't dead."

There's a quiet 'but' somewhere in what he said. "He also isn't alive... infact..." More blood, more pieces of anatomy that is- oh booze... Someone summoned booze right? We'll say yes, Constantine grabs those summoned booze and drinks from the bottle like most people would Aquafina.

"... what? how is that even possible?" the cat says, his face falling after the initial smile at the first half of his answer. "We need to get you out of here..." he watches John snatch the bottle of booze out of Rain's hands.

Well, Rain is - just going to go with it. Her eyebrows lift. "Um. Well. See. Living is a spectrum. We think of living and dead as absolutes in most cases, but this ignores various states of existence above and below this plane," She explains. "That's the usual theory, anyway. It is entirely possible not to be either." She remarks quietly. She just blinks at this one.

Constantine rolls his eyes up to look at Keith, staring at the cat as if he were a purple cat in the mi-... As if he were a purple lobster in the middle of times square.

"Your mate... He's not in the afterlife..." Sucking down a long drag of smoke that does more to clear up the cough than coughing was doing, but he's still got blood oozing from the corners of his mouth. Even if he is starting to sit up and slouch forward with his elbows on the knees of his dirty trousers. One hand comes up to stroke his newly grown beard. "But he isn't exactly alive, either. In fact, nobody seems to know who he is at all. And I did a thorough investigation... no stone unturned..." Turning his head to spit a mouth full of blood onto the concrete and wash whatever remained down with another pull of whiskey and drag of his cigarette.

"You sure this bloke even exists?"

Suddenly, it hits Keith "...wait... no...." he shakes his head "... this doesn't make sense. Michael is from the future... the twenty-fifth century. But..." he pauses, suddenly thinking "... what happens if you die in a time before you ever existed?" he says with barely a thread of voice, hoping that there was a flaw in his reasoning and that Booster hadn't simply blinked out of existence because of the unbelievable act of dying before he was ever born.

Rain listens, tilting her head. She offers Constantine a handkerchief. "Sounds like one heck of a time paradox. I heard of time travelers ending up here now and then. There's that future people building in Metropolis. I had to deliver yarn to a lady living with um, Booster- Ah, heck, what was the name..." She taps her chin. "But there was a Rokk fellow and some folks from various dimensions. I only know because I was checking out Central park that night," She waves a hand. "Um, since I think it got blown up by fae once. But you didn't hear that from me."

"Every time I call my mates back home, I speak to the future." Constantine observes with a perk of his brow, clearly not above time zone humor at this junction in the strange evening he's apart of. He takes all of it with a relative grain of salt, to his credit. Then again... John Constantine. Not exactly 'weird' by his standards.

Another drag of his cigarette and his gaze settles on Keith, smoke roiling from his nostrils as he considers how to tell the kid what his 'theory' on time traveling death is. "Technically, there wont be any record of them being alive in the first place... and since the afterlife is a bureaucratic nightmare for people who are registered living, it seems likely to me that anyone from the future better strongly consider advocacy for anything that extends life."

Another long drag, offering the kid the bottle of booze again. "Because I'm pretty sure your friend is fucked."

The young man who goes by the codename of 'Vorpal' takes this as well as a punch to the face. If he weren't kneeling, he would have probably taken a few steps back. He lowers his head, his hair obscuring part of his face-- which is a good thing, because of the look he's currently sporting. It's as if he doesn't even see the bottle before him. "... there's ... nothing anyone can do for Booster?" There's a slight double echo to his voice, but that could just be a trick of acoustics.

"Booster bronze...? Booster Gold? Really shiny guy?" Rain asks, peering over. "Because I delivered some yarn to a lady who was hanging out with him. Some kinda futurey building league thing. I remember a couple of them mentioned something about galaxies and people from different dimensions. That's not really my thing entirely, although there are theories about strings and wavelengths that in theory, one can cross entire universes and timelines." Pause. "Um, sorry." She's a nerd. Freaking engineering majors. She looks worried, and stays near the two. "Interesting," She considers Constantine's words. "And a Brainiac person. Might ask them. They were more about time travel. No idea about your friend, though, sorry."

"If he's dead? No, not a whole lot. Not for what you're paying, anyways." Constantine is not without offering to do the impossible, for a price. Then again, "But I didn't say he was dead.. you yanks are all quick to negativity..." Shaking his head and again wiggling the bottle at the cat, "I'll ask around about time traveling dead people. If there's a building full of them, I'm sure someone has seen one die."

"I don't usually give the wankers in charge of the afterlife credit enough to piss on themselves if they're on fire. So it is completely possible they don't know their arse from their elbow. I told you I would find out if your mate is alive... and while I honestly think you should get some friends from your own 'time period', I'm a man who honors his deals." Mostly.

And Keith has gotten nothing conclusive from the deal. Not that that is John's fault- leave it to Booster to have a complicated not-death/life. But that doesn't make it any easier, nor does it leave the uncertainty "Yes... Booster was... is... a friend." He looks at Rain, for the first time closely tonight, and seems to find her familiar. But where could he have seen her? It was easier for other people to remember him--- he was purple, very visible in a crowd. In weddings, everything blended together and he wasn't likely to remember someone vividly unless they were introduced to him.

When he looks at John, his eyes are red. Not from crying, they are literally glowing red. "... looks like the only way I'm going to get an answer is if I find the source of this mess..." he extends his hand and projects an illusion onto it. It is somewhat blurry, as it is an image he remembers from the TMZ report taking with a phone camera... a six-armed woman. "Her. How can I find her? Who is she?"

Rain is quiet. She hms. "Hey, I wasn't too negative. I have a few dead friends. They're pretty okay," She waves a hand. "I even had one help deal with some basilisks that were causing problems." She tilts her head. She goes quiet, peering at Keith. "I think we've met before. And I think I met your friend. He might be modeling for calenders now, actually." She taps her chin. "I wish I could help you more, but I think this is between you two," She remarks.

SIX arms? Constantine tilts his head and strokes his beard thoughtfully, "Shiva." Glancing up at Rain who he has already tagged as a worker of magic of some sort. "Never seen her before, but she looks like the Hindu goddess Shiva.." Considering while taking another drag of his cigarette.

The smoke crawls out of his nostrils, handkerchief finally used to wipe some of the blood from his mouth. Eyes never leaving the image once he's looked from Rain to it. "I have heard rumors of an extra dimensional being who uses a six armed vixen as an armchair enforcer. That would be right up his alley, aye? A time traveler?" Shrugging a shoulder, glancing up at Keith. "I'll ask around about it, but I wouldn't expect much from that."

"Please, find out. I'll pay any price." The cat says, closing his hand and offering it to Constantine to help him up. There is a card clenched in one of his fingers--- his. He offers a similar one to Rain with his other hand. They contain his name, codename, phone number and e-mail address. Someone like him has little need of secret identities.

Hmm. "Be careful saying that when it comes to magic. So - take that back and think more carefully. If you bargain yourself away, you may find the price far too painful. Or there might not be enough left of you to celebrate. Trust me, I've seen waaaaaaaaaay too many wannabes get nailed in some contract," Rain carefully takes the card. "Um. What's your friend's name? Divination's a specialty of mine," She smiles. "I can do that, for sure." She looks to Constantine as he looks to her. "There is Shiva. I heard rumors of an assassin under her guise or something, but there's all kinds of rumors depending on how much booze is involved," She notes. "There's also been cults of assassins, so - I wouldn't know, honestly. Could be anything from bad drugs to wanting to sound cool," Rain remarks. "Shiva would be a good start."

Constantine reaches out like he intends to take the offered hand and instead takes the book of matches he handed to Keith instead, pushing himself up to his feet with the other and dropping the book down in his coat pocket. Both hands brush some of the dirt off the back of jacket, but this will do nothing to clean the burns and blood stains... nor the beard he clearly hasn't gotten use to and currently tugs at.

When Rain starts offering up words of wisdom about 'not bargaining with magic' the occultists shoots her a look like she farted in church and really has the appearance of someone who wants to reach out and gib smack a stranger. Instead, he takes a drag from his cigarette and stares at Keith with the smoke whisping out from the corners of his mouth. "Don't listen to her, she's a witch. You can't trust witches..." Bloody grin.

Now he finally takes the card and looks at it... flicking it against the other hands out stretched index finger. "Do you have facebook too? What the bloody fuck is wrong with heroes these days... if this goes to a government issued smart phone, I bet you my last god damn cigarette you have angry birds on it."

Pointing the card at the cat... "Whatever. I'll ask around and I'll keep your 'tab' open on the favors."

"Don't get smart with me, John Constantine," the cat snarls. Of course, Constantine and Rain might sense that he's magical in origin... though depending on how knowledgeable they are, they might even sense the touch of the fifth dimension on him. "Looking the way I do and not being able to conceal it, I don't have much choice about what to do for my living." He takes something out of his denim vest-- a decidedly non-smart phone, one of those cheap burner types "And it goes to this. I want her name, what she does, and what sort of crazy voodoo she owns that could do THAT to Michael. And any tips on stopping her would be nice, too." The cheshire's niceness drops by about ten points. Part of it is the news that clear up nothing and only make him feel worse... and part of it Constantine's snarkiness in the face of his discomfort. The cat pauses, and looks at Rain "His name was Booster gold, and you heard what happened to him."

Hey! Rain eyes the occultist back. "... can TOO. It's not like I've ever turned anyone into a newt." She pouts. "... that and um, I wasn't worthy of the coven and -" She just stops there. "Sorry. I mean, you CAN bargain safely and if you you read the fine print, you'll be okay, just - watch the terms, you know? I guess that applies to all contracts in life, though. Pay attention and all that jazz," She crosses her arms across her chest. "Besides, I gave you free booze. I can't be evil." So there. She looks to Constantine. "And honestly, I'm not trying to take any of your business. It's more a general warning," She holds her hands up. She carefully tucks the card into her pocket. "What is it with this magic business and angry British people? I really don't get it," Sigh. "Though, once I figured out how to cure hangovers..." Hmm. She shrugs. "Look. I'll keep an eye out for your friend." Pause. "There's a guy named Booster Gold in Metropolis. They're kinda big league for me," She explains.

The cat may as well have just proven that Santa Claus was real in a room full of down syndrome babies when he goes all snarly at Constantine. The snarky brit grins around his cigarette filter, but slowly reach to scissor it away from his mouth. "Listen, so that we're on the same footing... I can sense all kinds of weirdness going on with you." Waving his hand at Keith in an all inclusive sort of way. "And you tickle me a bit, but don't get catty." He takes a great deal of delight in finally getting to make a cat joke.

He also takes another swig of his conjured booze and nods to Rain. "I never said you were evil, just untrustworthy. Some of the best people I know are the ones I trust the least.... I have this theory, the only people you can really trust are liars."

Explanation.

"Liers will always lie. You can trust them to do so... honest people are the ones you've to worry about. Unpredictable gits." Taking a long drag and blowing smoke up into the sky. Eyeing the witch when she calls him angry... "I am not angry. Snarky? Sure.. jaded? You bet your sweet ass.. but angry? Brits do not get angry... we get polite." Pointing. "Or move to America." Motioning to himself, since clearly he's anything but polite.

Back to Keith. "I'll do what I can, but extradimentional beings aren't my specialty. Lucky for you I know a lady who knows a thing about a thing. And I just so happen to have been putting off seeing her anyways."

This has a strange, calming effect on Keith. It's as if the claws retract. "I understand. Keep me posted, please. I don't have many connections... but I was in a group that helped Superman deal with Baron Samedi... he might remember me." By the way he refers to himself, it's clear that the 'second rate hero' jab had hit closer to home than he wanted it to. It hurt the most when you believed it already. "... I'll start looking for people who can help me take her on, and maybe he knows someone." It's clear from the way he speaks that he already knows very well that he is uncapable of doing it by himself. He's angry, not stupid.

"The man missing, or dead, IS Booster. John Michael Carter." he clarifies to Rain, and looks around "...we should adjourn for now, we're not going to find out anything more here, and we're attracting attention." He could tell there were people crowding up behind the glowing walls.

An amused look. "Well, okay... snarky was probably the best word," Rain stands corrected. "And yeah, there seems to be a lot of you guys doing that. It's not a bad thing. This country thrives on folks from all over," She shrugs. "And that is an interesting paradox. Though, frankly, I have nothing to gain by lying to you unless you'd like me to think up something interesting. Furthermore, you seem to be able to figure out whatever it is I am or do." She goes quiet. "I'll help as I can, but this seems out of my league. Like I said, you might check out Metropolis or something like that. People from other dimensions would stick out here." She notes. "If you trust my advice to be entirely newtation free." She eyes Constantine for a moment. She seems resigned to quietly roll with the punches. "Anyway, be careful with that spell in Brooklyn. We have a La Marz-- La - whatsits- rip through there ages ago and the barrier's been a bit thin. Though, maybe that makes it easier. Beats me."

Constantine glances between the pair of them and cants his head, sweeping his fingers across the long whispy blonde curl that keeps falling down across his forehead. If he were anyone else he would probably feel bad about having ribbed the two so hard that it appears they're both sort of buckling to the onslaught... but he's not anyone else. Or, rather, he doesn't tell them that they're making him feel a 'little' guilty. And further, he ramps it up so they never deduce it themselves.

"A melting pot, aye. I've heard that. Melting down anything worth a damn, putting a big yellow sticker on it and shipping it off to china to be massed produced. Don't get me wrong, I love child labor as much as the next guy, but seriously; you don't have to be 'proud' of it."

And it's fourth of July weekend.

Thankfully he doesn't celebrate that holiday. "I'll keep that in mind." To Rain, nodding. "Next time I want to tear a whole in the fabric of spacetime or open a doorway to the seventh plain of hell right in the middle of Central Park.." Perking a brow, "Or during football season."

To Keith, "Probably a wise move. I've been sitting here wondering when someone would mention it so I could impatiently tap my foot looking at this purple wall..." Brushing off his hand, holding up a finger like a stage magician about to pull a card from his sleeve and... he glances at the purple wall, tapping his foot with his arms crossed impatiently across his chest.

Oh boy, football. She puts a hand to the side of her head. She looks to Constantine and eyes him. "Well. It has its ugly parts, just the same as any other place in the universe. And America is hardly the only one buying from those factories." She shrugs. Rain is quiet. "Actually, the Fae beat you to central park. They left a large, smoldering crater for awhile. It's fixed now, though. And I guess it's more that your magic might be more potent there, too. Or you might well rip a hole." She takes a deep breath. She rubs her temples. Right. Maybe this is MORE penance. "Maybe you're more karmic penance. I must've been awful at some point." Hmm. "Anyway, I should probably leave you two alone. I'm sorry I couldn't help you more."

Keith doesn't have the energy to deal with the cantakerous Brit's jibes. He barely hides the fact that Booster's fate is tearing him up, really. Booster was the first hero who noticed him. He had given him advice, even training. So what if he was a self-promoting ham? When the undead swarmed New Orleans, it was Booster who put himself at risk to save people in the path of being torn apart.

Keith has always believed that you found the true color of a person in moments of crisis, when life and death were the only two possible choices. That's when you saw braggarts turn corward, or the quiet and shy turn into lions. Whatever Michael's faults, and there were some, Keith knew better. It is why he looks as if he has lost someone he cared about.

"Right, time to disband... I'll give you one last illusion to help us mix into the crowd." he says, his voice dripping with waryness as the illusion of... a crowd actually comes over them. It would be easy to slip ammong the illusory people once the walls come down. And come down they do, the crowd a little shocked to find another crowd looking at them.

"We'll be in touch, you have my card, both of you." That's Keith's voice from somewhere in the crowd. The cat makes a quick step to disappear into it, casting an illusion over himself to resemble a normal human, at least until he's out of the area.

Constantine shoves his hands into his pockets and slips into the crowd, curling his finger over the corner of the kids card thoughtfully. Sure, he kind of wanted to help the kid out, I mean everyone gets pleasure from those cat videos on youtube, right? But there's no doubt that he's working the angles as he walks through the illusionary crowd and into the real one.

Whistling for a cab once he's clear of the main congestion point and slipping in with a cigarette rolling up between his lips and the small book of matches rattling up by his ear. Assuring him there is still one more in there... With a quiet sigh, he pushes it open and pulls out the single wooden stick to light his cigarette. The back window goes down and he scoots a bit closer to blow smoke out into the New York night air.

"Where ya headed buddy?" The cabby asks, drawing Constantine's attention with his mouth puckering in around his cigarette.

Once whe's blown the smoke out, "No idea, mate. So, just drive and we'll know when we get there." It gets him a strange stare, but he simply shrugs and looks out at the moon. "But first go by a CVS, I need to pick up a razor to shave off this bloody beard."

Everyone loves those cat videos. Surely, there is a spiritual manifestation of the joy of watching cats do cat things somewhere in the world. Rain would like to help, but this is so far over her head. Oh well. If there's an illusion on her, she's going to conjure up her broomstick and beat traffic. Witch style. By flying over it. Which does explain her deep seated hatred of pigeons. She looks to Keith. "Thanks. And yeah, I'll keep an eye out. Be well." She waves to the two and will wander into Ye Olde Darke Alleye with her broomstick.