I'm John Constantine. I do stupid in spades.

( 📩 → unknown NOT richard ): First of all, what* ( 📩 → NOT richard ): Obviously I wasn’t talking to you, Not Richard.  ( 📩 → NOT richard ): If you’re wearing a trench coat in 2021 then that’s a you problem. Get better tastes. ( 📩 → NOT richard ): None of your business.  ( 📩 → NOT richard ): Obviously so that he only has right shoes and can’t match pairs. Duh.  [ …. ] ( 📩 → NOT richard ): If this is who I think it is then I’m going to hit you over the head with said lamp.  ( 📩 → NOT richard ): I think a shot to your ego you don’t deserve to have in the place is well deserved. 

19) “I don’t even want to know.” // @the-hellblxzer

It certainly wasn’t the worst position he’d ever been caught in. And, frankly, given that Constantine was Constantine, Dick doubted it was the worst thing he’d ever happened upon, either. But… that wasn’t to say it wasn’t weird. It was definitely weird. There was no denying that.

Dick hung upside down from the top of the light pole, a tiny clay being below him, swinging its too-small arms in hopes of landing a punch. It wasn’t exactly a winning battle. Even if Dick had been hanging a bit lower, the thing wouldn’t have been able to reach him. The unfortunate side effect, of course, was that Dick couldn’t reach it, either. They’d been trapped in this stalemate for a few minutes now, and frankly? Dick was getting kind of tired of it. 

“Look,” he started, pulling himself upright so that he was balanced in a sitting position atop the light post, “I would try to explain, but… I’m honestly not sure I can. Can you give me a hand here? I’m pretty sure that thing is magic, so it’s kind of your jurisdiction anyway!”

//

There were plenty of crazy things John had seen over the years, and no, this was not the craziest. But it also was pretty hysterically ludicrous, and true to his word, he was not sure he wanted to hear how Dick ended up in this situation. The little clay being on its own would have been pretty funny. It trying to hit someone made it even funnier. But it trying to hit Dick while he was hanging upside down and trying to hit it at the same time? That took the cake. 

John stared up at the amusing stalemate, trying not to chuckle. Once Dick started to talk though, he just could not help it. "Yeah, on th' one hand, I think ignorance is bliss here. But on th' other, I wouldn't mind hearin' you try ta blab yer way outta it." The clay being was most likely magic, so Dick was not wrong. But as to it being John's jurisdiction, that was another story. "Uh, I ain't th' one who did whatever you probably did ta piss it off, an' if there's one rule in magic, it's that you gotta clean up yer own mess." No, that was not a rule, and it if was, John would not abide by it anyway. He just wanted to try and leave Dick, ahem, hanging for a bit. "What d'you want me ta do, anyway? Give you both some boxin' gloves so you can have a fair fight?"

“Might offer some kind of stress relief,” Robbie offered with a shrug. It was true for him, at least, that breaking things tended to ease some of the tightness in his chest, tended to unwind a little bit of the coiled spring waiting to snap. He wasn’t sure if that was a universal thing or if he was just fundamentally fucked up. (The two were not mutually exclusive, he supposed.) 

He snorted as the other man yelled back at the pumpkin, amusement clear in his expression. “Not like it could make Jersey any worse,” he shot back with a shrug. “Shit, sending them to Jersey might actually be a worse punishment than sending them to Hell.” Robbie would know. He had more than his fair share of experience with both. “So, guessing you’re real into the magic shit?” It was something that had sparked his interest, just a little, since Zee’s claim that the Rider — and, by extension, Robbie — was all tied up in that side of the universe. “Been at it long?”

//

"Oh, didn't think o' that. Good one, mate." Even though it would probably not be advisable to keep any of the talking decorations around, John might possibly be tempted to do it just for that. Smashing the buggers was awfully fun. "But I'm sure you could find somethin' else ta squash, an' maybe play some annoying voice in the background ta try an' recreate th' whole thing."

John had some idea of what places were worthwhile in America, but he did not know enough of the ins and outs to know if he would be improving Jersey or not by sending the pumpkins there. "I take it you ain't fond o' Jersey, then? I can understand that. There's plenty o' places in th' UK which might be improved by a few o' these pumpkins droppin' in." Real into the magic shit was almost good enough for John to put on his business card; better or worse than petty dabbler? "Yeah, you could say that." He nodded, a little on guard as to why the guy was asking, considering the vibes coming off him. "Too damn long. Trust me, it ain't a business anyone in their righ' mind wants ta get into. I'll tell 'em ta take up knittin' instead. What 'bout you? What d'you do when you ain't smashin' pumpkins?"

“You call this cooking?”

@the-hellblxzer​

Sharon put down her burger slowly. Looking at it for a long moment before popping her lips and looking up at Constantine. “And what would you have? Hot tea and crumpets?” She could have phrased it a thousand other ways that weren’t rude or offensive, but Sharon had lost her taste for civility years ago. And Constantine was always quick to match her energy. (She knew she didn’t have to hold back with him. Or apologize for existing how she did.)

“This is the best in the Tri-State area. What would you do that’s so much better?”

//

By now, John had gotten pretty used to everything subpar in America. That did not mean he had to like it, though. And yes, he had had his share of rubbish cooking back home, but somehow even the lousiest English fare was a feast compared to American food. "Oh yeah, 'cause I'm a real high-class Englishman," he countered, "Th' Queen calls me over fer tea all th' time." He might have rather had tea, but he really would have tucked into any pub grub. And yes, burgers were not a far cry from that, but again, somehow the American version paled in comparison. 

Nudging a french fry across his plate, he said, "Fer starters, I'd soddin' call these what they are--chips! How come you Yanks gotta change th' names o' everythin'? People look at me like I'm a nutter when I ask fer these an' get a pack o' crisps instead!"

For once, they had good timing. John showed up as everything magic in her life blew up at once - and she was quietly grateful that he was there to help her sort it. Even if she wouldn’t say anything remotely close to that out loud. Admitting she needed someone else to help her out with magic felt like… it was too much, simply. Humiliating. And saying it out loud felt like it would invite something else to slip in and come after the two of them.

"When you say it like that, it makes me worry,” Zatanna replied, but the worry didn’t reach her eyes. Whatever it was, they’d be able to handle it - or John would. (And Zatanna would have to take a step back and offer just advice, depending on what sort of trouble he had found in the shadows of the world. A grin touched her lips, the strain of the moment shifting as she shrugged her shoulder in response. “I see you two have the same haircut. You’d think you wouldn’t want to be matched with family like that.”

Her gaze shifted back at the question, swallowing she nodded her head, unable, for a moment, to say the words out loud. “It’s been making me sick,” she explained quietly. “My basic teleportation spell had me losing my lunch all week. I’ve had to use cars.” She huffed a laugh, knowing that it sounded stupid and spoiled of her - but regular means of travel had never suited her. There was a lot she needed to tell him about this, but it was something that needed to be said in private. She didn’t know fully what was going on, but by the way John had asked his question… did he know? And was that how he found her? “I’ve got your back,” she informed, glancing at him with a curt nod of her head. She put her hands up in front of her and started whispering some phrases backward.

//

Granted John was not positive about his conclusion, but it seemed pretty highly likely. A pregnancy was something that could throw a person's body off balance, so add magic to the mix and it was a recipe for disaster. He had known magic users who had children, but he had never been around any of them for the pregnancy, so this was uncharted territory for him. As it surely was for Zee too. But he was willing to do what he could for her, if there was anything he could do.

"Well, if all this stuff gets too outta hand, then you might have cause fer worry. But at the moment, we might have it in hand. Might." If it really was Zee that was unintentionally causing this mess, he was certain she could get enough control to calm it down. It was just a question of her getting the chance to get said control, which would be a little difficult if they had to keep fighting off animals and pumpkins and skeletons. John returned her smirk, countering, "Ah but that's why I want people ta know I come from th' gutter. Makes 'em always quick ta underestimate me, which makes it even better when I put the sorry gits in their place."

If he had not been one hundred percent positive about his hypothesis before, he was now. If Zee's magic had been on the fritz, something like this had to have been inevitable. "Oh, that's a shame. I sure wouldn't use a car if I could help it." He was trying to lighten the mood, but it was clear that she too guessed something was up. "Seriously though, that's what I was worried about. I think we might be able ta put a stop ta alla this, but I think we better send these critters packin' first." Sending out the spell he had been building between his hands, John pushed back a bunch of the animals, a barrier forming between them. He did not doubt for a moment that Zatanna would have his back, and since she could clearly cast spells when she focused, that gave him hope that she would be able to rein all this in if she put her mind to it. "I know you do, an' you bet that I got yours. We can take on this, Zee, all o' it. Together."

@the-hellblxzer​

( 📩 → dickwing unknown ): Did you steal my jacket?  ( 📩 → dickwing unknown ): I am the thief of this fucked up family. Give it back, now.  ( 📩 → dickwing unknown ): I’ll steal all your left shoes and your lamp. ( 📩 → dickwing unknown ): I already stole your lamp, actually.  ( 📩 → dickwing unknown ): Broke mine, but I digress. ( 📩 → dickwing unknown ): Give me my shit back!

(✉️ ➡️ sus): right. sounds legit. i definitely believe you (✉️ ➡️ sus): oh, you a magic guy? i bet you /did/ do this. what, were you trying to reenact nightmare before christmas? (✉️ ➡️ sus): suuuure. (✉️ ➡️ sus): i tossed one off a roof. it was fucking awesome (✉️ ➡️ sus): yeah, no shit. they’re assholes. my cat somehow found a way to take up my entire bed, and she’s like, tiny. she does it just to spite me (✉️ ➡️ sus): well, you should probably have a drink. this shit doesn’t seem like it’d be much fun sober (✉️ ➡️ sus): and i already told you, i don’t believe you!

Arno let out another disgruntled sound at the mere concept of exorcism. “If you’re gonna banish anyone, it would be him,” he muttered, jabbing a thumb towards Tony, who would’ve given the same sound of displeasure if it wouldn’t expand the already disconcerting uncanny valley twin territory he was living in since Arno’s appearance.

“No exorcising,” he said, looking to his brother first as if to reassure him (he was not reassured) and then back to John. “Why do people always think I’m doing something sketchy?”

“Because you usually are,” Arno muttered.

“Because I usually am,” Tony allowed, “but I’m actually doing something nice, okay? I got John here so I could, you know, let you bond. As uncles.” (Was uncle an appropriate term for John and his child, considering their history? Tony wasn’t entirely sure.) “I was just wondering,” he continued, “if there was a chance, if there was a possibility, because you know, this thing’ll end soon, you know? Nothing’s permanent, I know that, but the whole ‘veil of death’ lifting is pretty neat, and I was wondering if there was … if you could strengthen his link, or something.”

Arno blinked. “What?”

“If you could help him stick around,” Tony continued, unperturbed, “so he could meet my kid, maybe. So my kid could meet him.”

//

A part of John would not have minded banishing Tony, but, as he had already ruminated, he was going to give him the benefit of the doubt for now. "Yeah, I figured not. Can't imagine you'd wanna banish him after bein' reunited. If that'd been my brother, I'da probably tried ta reach out ta him on th' other side." He had tried to reach out to his mother, but had never been able to connect, which was always one of the biggest regrets of his life. John nodded in agreement that Tony was indeed usually doing something sketchy. "No lie there, mate. Glad you both agree." Then again, John was usually up to something sketchy too, so he probably needed to refrain from throwing stones.

Bonding...as uncles? John gaped at Tony for a moment, not entirely sure what to say. Not about bonding with his ghost brother, but about Tony considering John an uncle to his child. "Uncle? Yer considerin' me an uncle?" He was flattered, certainly, but he would have expected Zee to say something like that to him, not Tony. "I appreciate that, mate," he said quietly, before clearing his throat and taking in Tony's request. 

"Yer not th' first one ta ask fer somethin' like that, an' I'll confess ta have looked into it even before that, fer me own reasons." Again, because of trying to contact his mother. "Granted whatever's goin' on here is makin' th' ghosts a lot stronger than I've ever seen, but...I still don't know if'n I can make it stick. I'd definitely be willin' ta give it a shot though, fer both o' you." He nodded at both Stark brothers in turn, amazed to find himself actually hoping he could do something to make Tony happy.

“Well, I haven’t caught you using perfume samples from a magazine to cover up the smell — so I think you’re doing pretty good.” That was one scenario at the community center that Colleen was in no hurry to repeat, but the image was still burned into her memory. “I guess it’s a job that someone has to do… how do you get paid then? Because I doubt this is like a video game with a chest of gold at the end.” Then again, it was supernatural crap that she hadn’t believed in until a few years ago. Maybe there was a hoard of gold someplace here. “Christ,” she mumbled, looking up at the sky. “Guess we better hope they have a good grip on that broom.”

//

No, John had never been that desperate, thank God. "Uh, that's an oddly specific example. You tellin' me someone's actually done that?" His line of work was the proverbial dirty job but someone has to do it, and definitely not one with a good pension. He basically got paid by scraping cash together where and when he could--from few the times he actually got hired to use his magic, from selling the occasional rare trinkets that he did not need, and even working an odd real job once in a great while. "I get paid in gratitude, luv, by people thankin' me fer keepin' th' world safe." That was bullshit, and his smile showed it. "Look, I don't exactly live high on th' hog, ok? I don't need a lot o' dough t' stay in dives, so I pretty much jus' squeak by." John shook his head at the speck in the sky. "Hey, it's their fault fer gettin' on it! I learned long ago you don't wanna mess wit' magic you don't understand." He paused, then added, "Not that I ever stopped doin' that, o' course, but you get me point."

The first thing Cass noticed (other than the angry pumpkins, of course) was the blond man’s accent.

If it wasn’t a New Jersey or British accent, she sometimes had to take a moment to understand what people were talking about, but this? Cass was downright bewildered. She knew he was saying words, they sounded like words she should know, but wow, she wished he’d repeat himself.

“Um,” was her eloquent response.

Then Cass glanced over his shoulder at the angry pack of jack o’ lanterns that were getting closer by the second and accepted that maybe she didn’t need to know exactly what he’d said right now. Stepping off to the side, she quickly realized these pumpkins had a goal: getting the blond man—who was starting to look familar… Jake? John? Had to be someone in her line of work either way. That meant she needed to be Black Bat right now.

“Um,” she repeated, but it was more of a shout this time. “Jack, follow me.” And she ran off to find a dumpster she could hide behind to change before he could catch up.

//

Yes, John could understand that people who were not used to seeing the crazy shit that he was might not know what to say about a horde of attacking pumpkins. Still, her response was not quite what he had been expecting. "Ain't you got some kinda comment ta that?" he asked, even though they did not exactly have time for chit chat, "Doesn't need ta be real witty, but maybe jus' acknowledgin' that this ain't somethin' you see every day!"

After she gave another neutral yet louder response, he figured that was about all the comments he was going to get. But then she called him "Jack" and ran off. "Jack? Who the bloody hell is Jack? I'm John!" Alright, she was close, but why was she asking him to follow her? Running away from the pumpkins, he supposed, which was not a terrible idea. "Ok, sure, whatever you say, luv." Shrugging, he ran off after her, with the pumpkins hopping along in hot pursuit.

The pumpkin he was bitching at just… disappeared. Robbie stared at the place where it had been for a moment, trying to determine the odds that he’d imagined the damn thing. After everything, it wouldn’t be entirely surprising if he’d finally lost it, but hallucinating talking pumpkins didn’t really seem like his scene. His question was answered when the street’s other non-decorative occupant spoke, accent curling around his words, and Robbie snorted. 

“Magic,”  the Rider provided in the back of his mind, a faint sense of interest rising up in the demon’s consciousness. “He’s a sorcerer.” 

“No shit,” Robbie replied silently. “Is he a threat?” The Rider’s response came in the form of infuriating silence, and Robbie blew a frustrated huff of air through his nose. Whatever. The enemy of his pumpkin-shaped enemy, in this particular case, was going to be a friend for the time being. 

“All you, man,” Robbie gestured to the pumpkin with a grin. “Wouldn’t want to mess up my boots, right?”

//

There was a certain amount of satisfaction in smashing the pumpkins, but just blinking them out of existence did have its merits too, such as making less of a mess. John hoped his new companion had not minded his vanishing of the pumpkin, but either way, it was too late now. There was definitely something about him, something that really was reminiscent of a demon, but again, he was not doing anything but fending off the pumpkins too. So John still was reserving judgement, especially seeing that the guy definitely had a sense of humor.

"See, I'm bein' conscientious, savin' people from havin' ta make a mess smashin' these li'l bleeders." He returned the guy's smile, then turned to the pumpkin, who was starting to retort. Who you calling a bleeder, you--it got out before John waved his hand and sent it packing. "What was that? Couldn't hear you, mate!" Glancing at his companion, he added, "Also, don't ask where I'm sendin' 'em 'cause I gotta confess even I don't know. That spell was written in some ancient gibberish when I learned it, and while I think I'm sendin' 'em ta another dimension, I might be sendin' 'em across th' river ta Jersey for all I know."

His energy was one that was immediately recognizable. They had worked together for years - and had been in a relationship that was on and off for years. When John entered the city, Zatanna knew. But she was having a hard time pinpointing where he was at. She didn’t understand it. The wave of magic kept rolling across the city, and each time she thought she had a lock on him, she felt a flutter in her stomach, causing her to stop and put a hand there. Waiting to see if she’d feel that same pressure on her hand - but it was like a joke. This kid wanted to be known but didn’t want to be too well known. (The drama of it all. It was certainly her kid.)

She was standing near a cafe, walking towards a seat when she heard John, her hand still on her stomach when he started talking - and he quickly put things together. Between saying American’s partied too hard (which he wasn’t wrong about) to a shocked question asking if she was pregnant (which he also wasn’t wrong about). “Yeah-” but she didn’t get much further than that when she heard the sound too, defensively taking a step back as she watched the animals come wandering out of the darkness.

“Friends of yours?” Zatanna asked, forcing humor into her tone. “Maybe relatives?” A joke too far, perhaps. She looked towards John, a fragile smile on her face that likely betrayed the nervousness she felt. She had never been the type to back down before. Never hesitated when it came to dispatching things that were in her field of magic, but everything felt off. And there was a fear that weighed on her chest that if she used her normal methods, she would make things worse.

//

He had gone looking for Zatanna to see if they could make sense of this together, but now John was wondering if he might have already made a bit of sense of it. Knowing she was pregnant put a whole new spin on things, and not just because of his personal feelings. Being pregnant was a big event for anyone, but for a magic user? That was a another thing entirely. Quickly he recalled having seemingly sensed Zee's magical aura all around him. Could it be that this was--unintentionally--her doing?

But, as always seemed to be the case with them, naturally they were thrown right into the shit again before they could really get down to brass tacks. "Ok, I think I got somethin' ta tell you 'bout that--other than congrats, that is--but I think it'll hafta wait a minute." Her cracks were met with a quick sarcastic laugh, considering he certainly deserved them. "Oh yeah, there's me great uncle righ' at th' back, that mangy mutt. Bet you can see where I get me looks, huh?" 

All joking aside, John was ready to fight off the horde of animals. He rubbed his hands together and readied a spell, energy glowing between his palms. Turning, he met Zatanna's eyes, noting her expression of concern, and the fact that she did not have a similar spell going herself. Did she maybe guess what he was pretty sure he had figured out? "You ok, Zee? I mean, other than havin' th' li'l nipper comin’ along. I mean are you ok wit' yer magic?"

[TEXT] i would never do that! i’m just chilling! minding my own business! // @the-hellblxzer​

(✉️ ➡️ sus): ooh (✉️ ➡️ sus): see that’s what i tell people when i definitely did whatever they accused me of (✉️ ➡️ sus): so  (✉️ ➡️ sus): what’d you do? huh? (✉️ ➡️ sus): did you kick one of those talking pumpkins off the roof? (✉️ ➡️ sus): fist fight a cat? (✉️ ➡️ sus): explode a sewer rat? (✉️ ➡️ sus): accidentally streak through times square riding a broomstick? (✉️ ➡️ sus): come on. you gotta tell me.

“That is your worst joke by far.” || @the-hellblxzer

There was a list in his desk (somewhere. Pepper probably knew where) with an itemised catalogue of people to call when shit hit the fan, dependent on circumstances and consequences, should Tony be indisposed and unable to make the call himself. John Constantine, while infinitely useful in his talents, was pretty far down that list for no other reason than he had a reoccurring tendency to bring out Tony’s gripey side (for lack of a better term). Maybe John did have a point. Asking about Arno’s ghost, and being met with oh, I just found him in the parking lot when the man shared Tony’s face was, perhaps, not one of his better moments of comedy.

“Sorry,” Tony deadpanned, the look on his face as he turned to meet John’s eye evident of how not sorry he was. “I haven’t exactly had much time to work on my twin material.”

“You’ve had over fifty years,” Arno provided, over his shoulder (could John see him? Everyone else seemed to, but Tony wondered if it was different for magic people to see ghosts than anyone else).

“Mom forgot to tell me you existed,” Tony retorted. Arno gave a slight, pantomime wince.

“Ouch,” he said. “Harsh.”

//

While John might have thought about his reaction to getting a call from Tony, he had probably thought he would ignore said call. Tony and him hardly got on at the best of times, and now everything between him and Zee had made John even less inclined to give him the time of day. But now knowing that they were going to have a baby, well, even he was not so heartless as to completely give the father of Zee's child the cold shoulder. Still, he was hardly at his most congenial either, especially when there was a sodding ghost who looked exactly like Tony standing right there.

"So, that's yer twin brother, then? Nice ta, uh, meet you, Mister Stark." It was hardly the first time John had seen a ghost, but a ghost of yet another Stark was something pretty interesting, even for him. "I can't imagine you called me here ta exorcise him, so what did you want me ta do? 'Cause I'm usually banishin' ghosts, not bein' a family therapist fer 'em."

(NO HANDS): for OUR MUSES to witness someone else taking off on a broomstick.

@the-hellblxzer

"Do you get paid to handle this shit?" Colleen asked conversationally, looking up at the night sky, trying to find the person who had just taken off, but it was hard. They were just a speck in the night sky. (Which was also very dangerous, but Colleen was trying not to focus on the 'what happens if they fall' question that was screaming at her from the side.) "Because if you get paid - I should get paid. This is bullshit." She glanced at Constantine. "What do you Brits say? Piss? This is piss. I take it you don't fly, do you?"

//

The idea of him getting paid for dealing with weird shit made John give a sarcastic chuckle. "Luv, look at me. Do I look like I get paid fer anythin' I do?" Yes, he had gotten paid by some people for exorcising demons, but that was few and far between. He certainly was not getting any pay for any of the craziness going on here. "Sorry ta say but if you hang out wit' me, you ain't gettin' nothin'. I'm like th' Ghostbusters at th' beginnin' o' th' movie, an' I don' ever move up ta gettin' expensive clients." Fly? Who did she think he was? "Uh no, I don't. Yer gonna want Superman fer that. Best I could do is ta maybe levitate somethin' a li'l off th' ground. There's no way I could get alla th' way up there." He gestured up to the person on the broom, who was now pretty impossible to see.

(TOASTED MARSHMELLOWS): for OUR MUSES to get roasted by some animated decorations. // @the-hellblxzer​

This shit was getting annoying fast. Robbie already spent more time than he’d like to taking out humans who needed a one way ticket to Hell, but now? He was stuck doing the same for goddamn pumpkins, too. The Rider didn’t seem to give a shit about them one way or another — he was adamant that people ought to remain their primary focus — but Robbie wasn’t about to sit back and give a fucking Jack-O-Lantern a free pass. 

Especially not when they were so fucking annoying.

“Yo, flame head,” one sneered, rolling towards him. Robbie’s jaw clenched tightly, and he gripped a chain already soaked in pumpkin seeds and fibrous strands. 

“I’m gonna learn how to make fucking pie just to put you in one,” he threatened, rearing back to kick the pumpkin. Before his foot made contact, the thing just… disintegrated. Robbie stopped, foot still hovering in the air. A quick glance around showed him the likely culprit — the only human in a two-block radius, also surrounded by foul-mouthed pumpkins. Robbie made his way over. “You need help killing these things? Because I’m feeling pretty helpful.”

//

John had been insulted a lot of times over the years, but being insulted by sodding pumpkins was a new one even for him. The buggers were everywhere it seemed, hopping around and talking smack. Washed that trenchcoat lately, buddy? came from one side of him, and he turned to find a smug pumpkin bouncing next to him. "Oh ha ha, ain't you a wit, then?" John commented dryly, "Let's see if'n yer still so witty when yer pulp!"

A quick spell and the pumpkin was smashed, and mercifully silent. But there were way too many of them around for John to take care of them all. At least he was not the only one doing so. Looking up, he saw someone down the street. Another guy was giving some of the pumpkins a good thrashing, and John certainly did not blame him. Granted he did get a bit of a sense of brimstone about the guy, along the line of what he felt in the presence of a demon, but hey, the guy was in the same boat, and John was willing to  give him the benefit of the doubt. For now.

Before he could stomp on one of the pumpkins, John waved his hand and made the pumpkin vanish. "I'm sure you were jus' dyin' ta stomp that bugger, but at least now you don't hafta clean any seeds outta yer boots," he said as the guy approached, "An' ta mate, I'd love some help. These things are really gettin' on my soddin' wick." On cue, another pumpkin pranced over, making snide comments about both of them. "You wanna get this one? Or you want me ta send it off ta oblivion again?"