1964-09-20 - Belles, Bourbon, & Banishments
Summary: John finds he'sstill getting his strings pulled, though after chatting up Harper, it would seem there's cause as to why. Curious.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
harper constantine 

That's the funny thing about life.

When you don't have to be some place, then it's a great place to be. But when you don't have a choice except to be in that place, then the shine starts to wear off. Harper isn't exactly confined to Lux, but it's definitely one of the few places she can be sure that the people who are hunting her won't stop by the cause trouble, and so she's found herself here on a regular basis now - and not just to pick on the bartender, either.

Still, if she has to be here, then at least she can dress the part. It's the height of cocktail hour, and she's seated at the bar in a slinky, dark blue silk dress. The illusion she wears to turn her hair from dark brown to auburn and her eyes from brown to green is almost half-hearted, lacking the usual blurs to the rest of her features, but she wears it all the same. Habit, perhaps.

The staff at the door were quick to some asshole from getting in. There was a commotion, and in such a nice place too. But the charming asshole that showed up potentially 3 drinks up already was John Constantine. Apparently he was known, even in New York? Nah, not really. But here where the want to keep him out was not nearly as the debt that gave him entrance? Well, that was quite a thing.

They parted and in walked a handsome, rung out, blonde who couldn't afford a decent suit but could afford to walk in like he owned the place. He slid up to the bar, paused, and looked Harper over, and then back to the bartender with an upnod. He mused, "Ahhh, what're we drinking tonight?" That was a question for her, maybe the Brit was seeking recommendations. Bruised knuckles fished out a half pack of smokes from his jacket, arching an eyebrow curious to the response on that.

"Bourbon," Harper answers, raising a rocks glass with just a breath of liquor left around the melting ice cubes, a wry smile curving as she turns to look him over. "When Jack's on the bar I usually just have whatever he feels like making, but he doesn't seem to be in tonight, so it's an old standby for me."

Speaking of which. She raises the glass a little further, tipping her chin toward the current bartender to request another before setting it back down on the counter. "They do make all sorts of interesting things here, though. If you're feeling adventurous."

Constantine says, "Right then we are, luv." He looked up to the bartender tilting his head to the side. "The lady says we're having us a bourbon. Hang it on my tab." The bartender set a glass down in front of him and poured turning, when two fingers went up to stop him. "Oi, mate, I said we were having us a bourbon. Ya know what, leave the bottle. It'll only save you a trip." He dug out a twenty though and slid it to the bartender for his troubles before John took the bottle and poured it over Harper's withering rocks. "One thing I can't stand, it's a patron not committed to the cause. Cheers." He lifted his glass to her with a tilt of his head and a glance around before going back to her. "Does the lady have a name?"

Harper quirks a brow as Constantine takes the tab and the bottle, smile settling a little deeper at one corner of her lips. "She does," she drawls, the few words still carrying the unique lilt of New Orleans, where the south meets the blur of French. "Although I'm not always in the habit of sharing it. Then again, seeing as how you're sharing the bottle…"

She reaches over to top off her own glass, then raises it in a lazy salute. "Harper," she offers in introduction. Looking at her straight on, it's hard for someone trained in magic (and familiar with its use in illusions) not to see the shimmer of it around her, delicate golden webs masking her hair and her eyes from the casual view. "And you?"

Constantine tilted his head and set the bottle down, arching an eyebrow noting the subtle glamour on her, and sucking on one eyetooth thoughtfully listening . Interesting, but if this was the Big Boss' place? Hardly surprising. Still, that made for an interesting bit of frosting on the cupcake. Never trust someone slinging illusions. He would know, he is one of those untrustworthy fellows, wasn't he. Very interesting. Still, he introduced himself, "Constantine. John Constantine. You visiting or with the establishment?" He wasn't going to ask outright, but he was sometimes subtle like a bull in a church. She was shiny and he couldn't not want to know things. Interest clung to him like yesterday's cigarette smoke and the faint smell of… cinnamon, jasmine and …copper?

Harper laughs, smile flashing bright for just a moment before she shakes her head. "No, I don't work here. Well. I don't work for here, though I've been known to take a business meeting or two here. Benefits of a place where people know they shouldn't start anything, makes it good for hammering out terms." She leans back in her seat a bit, twisting to look over the bar, and while it's mostly carefree, there's definitely an edge of something hunted about it. She's used to watching her surroundings, but at the moment there's something more focused about her attention.

"Should probably start considering it, though," she muses, wrinkling her nose before lifting her glass for a hefty swallow of the bourbon. "You're not a usual, though," she notes when she lowers it, pointing over the rim. "I've spent enough time here to recognize that, at least."

Constantine wasn't a usual, but was apparently known. Wasn't that one of life's conundrums? He cracked a wry grin and sipped his bourbon, then giving a tilt of his head admitting, "Ahh, we might've done that. It might also be why we've been asked to stop." Did he care that he was generally unwelcome? Nah. Being necessary as an asset would do just fine. It didn't stop him from being slightly cocky and entirely amused at the very least. "So what sort of business are ya running, luv? And is not being usual really a bad thing? Boredom's the soul killer. Well… that and the evening news." And other things. You know what let's not focus on those other things right now.

"You started something in here and didn't end up a pile of ash?" Harper asks, smile wry. "Well. Sounds like you're more interesting than I realized." She takes another sip, rolling her shoulder and waving a hand at the question of what she does. "This and that. Contracts. Security." Espionage. "Business has gotten a bit…complicated lately, though. What about you? What sort of business were you in bringing trouble here?"

Constantine cracked a wry grin to Harper who apparently knew enough. "Awww, but it ain't for their lack of tryin, luv, let me tell you. Contracts and Security? You sure you don't work for the establishment?" It wasn't wariness, it was pure amusement. If the answer was yes, she'd have known and if she did and was playing coy anyways? Cheers to her. John? John was focused on his drink, on her, and also on the corners of the room. He wasn't concerned overly. For all of his great and magnanimous outstanding debts he could not pay any of them unless alive and fit to do so. He considered how forthcoming he was willing to be yet. "Technically? Other people's contracts you might say. One might say I argue with and against debt collectors."

Harper, for some reason, looks less than convinced. Maybe she can tell a liar when she sees one. Though she doesn't seem particularly inclined to call him out on it at the moment. After all, he's buying the drinks. And he's new and interesting. "That sounds like it takes a little bit of arm-twisting. But you don't look like the bruiser sort." She grins, taking another sip of her drink. "Which means you've got some other skills, I'd guess."

He pulled out a card and slid it to her, still amused as maybe it was a prank, or perhaps so brazen he just didn't give two shits anymore. the card read: John Constantine (next line in fine print) Exorcist, Demonologist, Master Dabbler of the Dark Arts. Dabbler was penned in in tiny letters. He noted, "I hate standing on pretense, but you could say that. Now, I would not be heartbroken were you to abuse the knowledge on that card to give us a look up sometime either. You strike me as being terribly bored by a lack of theatre on the floor, or perhaps you are, as those pithy Chinese bastards say 'living in interesting times'. How's New York been since you got here?" Apparently he did notice the tilt in dialect.

Harper reaches out to take the card between two fingers, brows rising as she reads it over. "Well, that is interesting," she muses, walking the card between her fingers thoughtfully. "New York was all right," she chuckles, tracing a finger of her other hand along the rim of her glass. "Decent work. Not too boring, but safe enough. And then a couple weeks back, things got…more 'interesting.' Demonologist," she muses, looking back to the card. "Know anything about angels?"

Constantine chuckled, and finished off his drink before pouring himself another and her one. "You're alright, Harper." She weathered the truth of it all well enough. When asked about Angels though? He snerked. "What do I know about Angels? Bloody well too much. They're always expecting you to do things, never willing to help, aaaaaaalways willing to criticize how things get done. Their timing is just shite when it comes to being at all convenient." Someone was speaking from way too much experience. "Great flock of pigeons never leave well alone. Out of curiosity, why are we asking?" The bottle was set back down and now she had his complete attention. Well near complete. There was still keeping tabs on where the bouncers were in the room and people who had entirely too much interest in his conversation.

Harper reaches for a small clutch purse on the bar top next to herself, slipping the card into it before she picks up her glass again. "Because I'd like to know how to keep one off my back," she answers, glancing toward the door once more, searching those corners. "It's complicated my life in ways for which I was not prepared. Gangsters, military, intelligence operatives. Those are things I know how to shake. I'm at a bit of a loss as to how to shake an angel, though."

Constantine arched an eyebrow slouching a lean to the edge of the bar and taking a casual glance around. Maybe it wasn't he that people might be looking at. Well, that was crushing to the ego as much as it was a relief. Or perhaps it was possibly why the door let him in, or why he was tipped to come out to Lux. Too many coincidences for his taste and he'd happily and conveniently blame Lucian for all of them.

His worn, bruised hand rubbed at the stubble jaw of his giving that more discerning thought. Right. "You sound like a woman after my own heart." He paused and added with a faint flinch of his eye, "Let's not try to rip it out from its insitu position, yeah? Well… I can say with certainty that Yes, I can help you. Should is another story, but if I did all the things I should do? Well those nice men likely wouldn't have let me very far into the room." Dark brown eyes stopped picking the room apart and gave her a faintly sympathetic look. "Sounds like a right bugger of a mess, luv, but I don't know here is the optimal place to talk about it." Now he did resist making a glib over breakfast comment stacked with pancakes and innuendo, though did offer, "If you're free post hangover tomorrow, perhaps?"

Constantine paused and added curiously, "Have you tried using a grasshopper for your angel problem? 1 part creme de menthe, 1 part creme de cacao, 1 part single cream?"

"Well, here's about the only place I'm sure I won't be interrupted by the bastards," Harper smirks, shaking a hand through her hair and setting her glass aside. "But I appreciate the sanctity of a good drink. Especially if you're already on sufferance here. Which is a story I'd like to hear some time," she add, amusement coloring her voice. "I don't, however, think that mixed drinks are going to chase off angels, or else they never would have shown up here in the first place."

Constantine pulled in his cheeks thoughtfully, "Eeeeh they may not ward off annoying celestial hosts that think too highly of themselves, butit will attract you a demonologist at large." A sage nod followed. He was speaking from experience. He might be speaking on behalf of only him too. There was no bother to clarify this. On a more serious note he inquired. "You have a name? Names? Do you know what their business is with you that they want?" They needed a motive. They always had a motive to mess with mortals.

Harper grimaces at the question, setting an elbow on the bar and propping her chin up in her hand. "Well, it wants me dead," she summarizes. Although really, that requires more explanation. "Apparently, someone in my family tree broke a few rules. Particularly one about fraternization. I don't know who, I don't know how far back - I was dropped off at a church orphanage when I was just an infant without any sort of explanation. But according to the angel that tracked me down, I'm an abomination that needs to be cleansed from the earth," she drawls, dry.

Constantine paused and looked up from his drink. In fact he set the bourbon down. His finger twitched on the edge of the glass. He found himself suddenly, and unfortunately, quite sober. "Yeah. We… definitely need to speak tomorrow. Keep my card on you and…" He dug through his pockets He pulled out what looked like a key ring with a few metal coins stamped on it. With a sigh he flipped through muttering "No…no…no…I still have this!?…no..no..this will work" And off of it separated out what looked like a flat, round wooden token. "Here. Until tomorrow keep this in your knickers if you have to. It's a token of Lakhmu; Babylonian god of protection. Optimally you'll want to put that in a dish of salt and under your bed. If not, eh, well, keep it on you" John Constantine; patron exorcist of pissing off angelic hosts since 1919; yours for hire. Looing back up to the door to the back and then back to her, "Tomorrow then. If you're staying here and the number doesn't work?" A faint ssmirk crossed his features with a bitter amusement, "Well let Lucian know. Clearly he knows how to get ahold of me." He would never be able to get away from that guy. Debts were going to be the death of him; now ones taht weren't necessarily his own. Oh joy.

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