#laughingmagi

Not as such, he texted back rather quickly. I've several unwanted guests who wouldn't appreciate your presence in Sunnydale, much less my home. I do apologise for the short notice.

"Ah, John! Come in, come in!" The angel's smile was radiant. It seemed like he had a very good reason to be as he ushered the man inside the bookshop in the exact way he never did for his customers. Those get the musty smell, unwelcome aura, and ludicrous prices.

A muffled buzz from between couch cushions tears her attention away from the television and prompts her hand to probe for the smothered device.

There it is. The text makes her eyebrows furrow.

@laughingmagi for a plotted starter.

ㅤ"You're too sweet, thank you," he told the barista with a pleasant smile at her chatting, which was friendly and absolutely flirtatious - and also slowing him down in pointing out that she'd handed him the wrong drink. He couldn't see the name on the cup, obviously, but he could smell the contents; someone had ordered a black coffee, so it was likely that they were going to be disappointed if he didn't get it swapped before the other got his latte. His lips parted to try interrupting her just in time for his jaw to snap shut as she distractedly slid a cup that he was fairly certain was his to a man who'd stepped up beside him, taken it with a soft and half-awake sounding 'excuse me' and sipped out it before Matt could get a word out.

ㅤWell, that was that, wasn't it? Matt didn't know what face the man made, but he heard a surprised little sound at the unexpected flavor and turned his head in his direction automatically. He'd been worried he'd have to play off not knowing what was going on, but there had been a scent distracting him since before he'd arrived in the coffeeshop and it had only gotten stronger, and just turning to take in the man's presence with intent to ask about the drink brought something very important into his direct awareness.

ㅤThe scent was coming from the man himself, all frankincense, sandalwood and...a fresher, earthier smell laid overtop with cloves and chalk, something almost intoxicating about the whole mixture in a way that Matt wouldn't have considered it all to be otherwise. He smelled like a church, but also something almost blasphemous, and Matt was having a very bad stretch right then, but he wasn't so distracted or oblivious that he didn't notice that his own temperature rose a bit with an increase in his pulse just at getting hit full force in the face with it. It felt warm, like being just a little too close to a fire on a rainy day, and his question died on his lips.

ㅤHe must look a wreck, a blind man with a fresh bruise and cut on his cheekbone that surprisingly wasn't a result of his night shift, stopped at the counter facing this stranger and utterly without words for a few too many beats before he forced a smile and some kind of reaction. "I'm...so sorry, are you okay?"

ㅤIf he was lucky, the stranger's name would be visible on the cup in his hand.

It's a dimly lit bar downtown on a thursday night. nothing too exciting. a drink and scoping out faces for a number of reasons. plenty. some of importance, some not. have a little bit of fun, absorb a little bit of flattery here and there. it was good for the soul, right?

noise had erupted from the other side of the bar a few minutes ago, a gruff looking man doing what looked like ....magic tricks. from what she could see.

sasha smirked to herself in her seat, taking a sip of her martini. when he was finished he placed himself at the bar as well, the woman watching from the corner of her eye for a moment.

sitting up straighter, sasha turned herself to face him, one leg crossed over the other with a bright smile that matched her earrings that caught in the light.

" that was sweet of you to entertain the drunks. how charitable. " she teased, accent thick with russian decent. she was curious about him.

" when you pull a rabbit from your hat: tell me--where does it come from? " squinting while fingers drummed against the bar top.

"I've been dealing with several situations at once," he says sharply. "They all want my head."

    He was a little drunk. Okay, a lot, but New York tended to have that affect on him. It was too enticing, the late night bars, the glittering artifice of American excess. However, since he’d landed in JFK, he’d neglected to get a room. John had been wandering for hours, it seemed, until he found himself in the Village, not quite remembering how he’d gotten there. His fingers passed over a building’s address plaque as he walked by. 177 Bleeker Street. It reminded him of something. A place, a story, but more than anything, he felt power. He put a hand against the door and he swore it emanated a warmth.       John swayed backward when the door opened before he even had a chance to think of knocking. Ah – There he was. Stephan Strange. It was good to match a face to the legends. He was terribly handsome too, which was a pleasant surprise. 

     “Hi – I’m John Constantine,” John drawled, eyes as focused and intent on the man despite how fuzzy he was round the edges. “Y’mind if I crash f’the night?”

The house had been cold and quiet for a couple of days. He felt like she’d been pouting, given the resident class of students she’d been hosting had gone back to Kamar Taj after their archival class had finished working on one of the upper store rooms. With sixteen acolytes bustling about, she’d finally begun to feel... lived in. And now it was just him again, drinking rose tea and ruminating over New York’s bustle and his separation from it. He’d been half tempted to go out and have a drink himself, when suddenly a knock came at the door.

A knock. In the middle of the night. Right when he needed it.

And from the way the house brightened up immediately, he knew that she was interested in whoever was at the door. He understood why, when finally the man’s features finally compiled into a realization, though it took him a minute for them to coalesce. 

       “  you could’ve stayed in my apartment, john. you didn’t have to come with me.  “ she doesn’t mind the company, but it wasn’t like he hasn’t stayed at her place before. sometimes with her knowing, sometimes she comes in and finds him. zatanna’s had a few years to get used to it, so she can’t say that she’s surprised anymore. that ship has long sailed. she glances over at him from over her shoulder, eyebrows raising over her sunglasses. “  i wouldn’t have been long.  “