Good reaction time. Didn't necessarily do as good with the demand, but the fact that DJ hadn't shot at him? Good self control. John had learned early on in his life that you didn't startle someone with a weapon, or someone who had a military background - and that carried over to his hunting life too. But hey, he wasn't exactly alive, now, was he? As real as he felt to himself, John was switched on enough to know that an ordinary bullet would go straight through him. Which meant, for the first time in a long, long time, he saw the funny side to this situation.
John didn't move; not at all phased by DJ's reaction or the weapon pointed in his direction. "Unless you're using salt rounds in there, I don't think that gun's going to do much good." He gives DJ a look. John isn't here on purpose. His presence here was because of DJ, and while John had never really heard of anything like this in his time alive, that didn't mean he was shocked. Not much of anything shocked him anymore. But the question: what's going on here? Yeah, John wants to know the answer to that, too. His gaze shifted off his grandson, and to the journal that lay on the table.
"Is that thing really still in one piece? It's gotta be, what? Sixty years old by now?" He remembers who gave it to him, too, a guy called Fletcher Gable. Good man. Great taste in journals, apparently, too. "I think you conjured me." He looks back to DJ, eyebrows raised. "Does that happen to be in your wheelhouse?"