No, mate. I'm shit at relationships. Never had one that I didn't ruin somehow. I know how to fail them and how to see when they're failing. It doesn't take magic to know when someone's miserable and putting themselves through hell.
Bevvied. That's a new one. I like it. ... Can you be at the Shaker in, say, half an hour?
[he realized that one of these days he should probably ask John where, exactly, in LA he was staying, as he shoved his feet into his sneakers and fumbled for his subway pass]
Old term for me, new term for you. Get me drunk enough and I'll introduce you to a whole world of slang. It'll be like word of the day, only plastered Liverpool drinking culture.
Ill be there. Wouldn't miss it for the world.
[He might just find out then that John doesn't stay in LA at all. He's teleporting to see Ronstadt at every chance he can get.]
[When John arrives at the Hula Shaker, Ronstadt's commandeered the booth in the corner, under the warm yellow glow of a pendant lamp that was probably scavanged from someone's 1960s rumpus room. The booth seats are a pea green, and the tables lacquered, deep-red wood. Kitschy carved Tiki masks and prints of topless hula dancers grace the walls, and fake vines and hibiscus flowers twine around the wooden false trellises over the booths.
Ronstadt's got two empty drinks at his elbow and his phone in hand, but he's not really looking at it so much as through it.
Behind the bar, a blonde with her hair up in a messy bun is mixing drinks, wearing a white Hawaiian shirt with pink and orange blossoms over a black t-shirt, shorts, and bar apron. She looks up at the opening door and calls out: "Hey! John, right? He's over there. Save him, wouldja? I don't wanna give him another Mai Tai until I know he won't try to drown himself in it. His tab's still not square."
Ronstadt's eyes get a bit of focus at that, and he blinks up out of his stupor as though Monty had just woken him up from a nap.]
[It's so fucking kitschy. Walt Disney would certainly nod in approval to the sheer level of theming. It's the Tiki Room in the flesh, Don the Beachcomber's own type of work, all it needs to top off the awful show of tropical nonsense is old Bing himself singing something from Waikiki Wedding. It's over the top and gaudy and ridiculous and frankly trashy.
But honestly, John doesn't hate it. Theme bars usually have more character than the slick nightclubs anyway. Those are only good if you want to look important and pat yourself on the back for having a good chunk of change in your pocket while trying to woo overpriced birds in tight dresses and designer heels.
This is worlds away from that.
This is definitely the kind of place he can see Ronstadt loving.
The bartender catches his attention quickly, and he nods in response. Looks like he's on drunk wrangling duty here.] No worries, luv. I've got him. Need his tab covered? I don't mind paying up. [Ronstadt is one of the small handful of people he'd actually say that for. If this was a bigger place, he'd trick them into thinking he'd paid. But this doesn't seem like a corporately owned place at all. No, it's more down home than that. And those people tend to actually deserve the cash they get for their services.
If she doesn't want him to pay up now, he'll just continue on to the booth.] Have a nice nap?
[he gestures to the opposite side of the booth, his movement slow and sluggish, as if some demon of depression is sitting on his arm like a falconer's bird and weighing it down]
Just kinda got a head start.
[his phone slips from his hand and clatters onto the table, unlocked]
[John moves towards his seat, but when the phone clatters he doesn't have the slightest bit of self control and he has to look. He almost wishes he hadn't. But selfishly, he's glad. And he fucking hates it. He's a bastard for being quietly pleased that the bird is off shagging some drummer. It's a horrible feeling. And he forces that wicked bit of happiness to the back of his head for now.
But he's so glad for a little less competition for his best mate's heart.] Oh, Ronstadt. [It's such a sweet tone for him, quiet and comforting. And he settles, rubbing his arm gently for a moment.] You deserve better than to find out that way. But birds usually fly away. Especially from people like us. Probably for their own good too. We're in another world, friend.
[He slurps at his third mai tai, slightly diminishing the pool of blood-red grenadine at the bottom, then plucks out the cherry with a rueful smile. He'd wanted to bring Faye here, he thought miserably. Wanted to see her reaction to all the kitsch and the tinny luau music that played softly in the background. But instead she was playing half-grade bars with some band he'd never even heard of. And letting their drummer play her in ways he'd never even -]
Ugggh. Shit. I'm so - I'd hoped that wouldn't matter!
[Ronstadt slurred a little, putting his free hand over John's, holding it there, as if he'd lose his new friend forever, too, if he let him move it away]
It doesn't matter to Vez. He thinks it's awesome. What the hell is the matter with her?
[John is really hoping a waitress will pop by soon, if this place has any. He's never been here before, so he doesn't know. But he does know that he doesn't want to leave Ronstadt alone right now. Even if that means missing out on the boozing for now.]
I'm sorry, mate.
[He hates that nagging awful guilt that comes with the contact. He's so fucking selfish, and he does mean that he's sorry. He's sorry that Ronstadt is hurting, it kills him. He's also sorry that he's such a selfish prick, that he's thoroughly glad she's not in the picture right now.
John Constantine knows he's awful. And he knows he's a mess. But he damn well will be there. He'll do his best to help his friend get through this. And he'll do it without villainizing the poor woman. He's a bad person, sure, but he's not a homewrecker in any sense of the word. And he wouldn't make a move on someone who was happy with a sweetheart...
He owes her, honestly. But how she went about things wasn't right. And that's irritating him.]
It shouldn't matter. You're right there. But she's made her choice, even if it's a hell of a bad one. You're a good man. Anyone would be happy with your company. [He leans in more, closing some of the space between them.] But I'm here. I'm hardly some little pretty thing to take your mind off of her, but I am recently paid and I'll cover drinks. And get you home at closing time safe. So I guess that's good for something.
[when John calls him a good man, that seems to slam him out of his funk. Is he, he wonders? Sure, he'd done all he could to stop Kenner Lash from that nasty business with the Shadowmancers, he'd given some ghosts and humans alike a little relief from the stress of their existence, but ... well ... he'd done some awful things, too, in his ignorance. He's trying to balance them out, but it feels like the scale is constantly tipping and will never settle.
But he wasn't expecting John to lean in like that, somehow, and he pulls up out of his self-hatred spiral, chuckling softly at the comment about 'pretty things'. Ronstadt takes the umbrella out of his mai tai and tucks it into the lapel of John's trenchcoat.]
There. Now you're prettier.
[He raises his arm and his voice, trying to keep the slur out of it]
Monty! Bottle of your good whiskey for my buddy John?
[Oh no, that's cute. It's weirdly adorable, and even if he's an older rough looking man suddenly there's this bit of absolute delight at being told, even jokingly, that he's prettier than the object of Ronstadt's affection.
It's probably the booze he had before even showing up, more than anything else. But it's still something that holds appeal.]
All it takes is a little umbrella and I'm a right beauty queen. Don't let the ladies in on that secret, or there'll be one hell of a tiny umbrella shortage.
[Oh, he's already so drunk. Or at least it's got it's hold strongly. Those silly looking little drinks are always deceptively strong. John wonders, idly, if he'll have to haul him out himself.]
Oh, so I'm getting the good stuff tonight? Let's celebrate then. She's made her choice, but mate, the world is your oyster. You're free, and there's going to be a queue forming to get to you before you even realize it.
A Q? What happened to A through - oh, right. [he laughs a little] British. ... You know, I don't even like oysters. Where does a saying like that even come from?
[he leans his chin in his hand and makes an exaggeratedly thoughtful face, as Monty comes over with a bottle of Glenfidditch. While Ronstadt's preoccupied, she pours plain mix into his glass and winks at John. Monty's done this dance a few times, it seems. Maybe not over girls, but at least over Ronstadt's waves of misery, watching the tide. He only notices motion at his elbow, not detail, and grins]
You're the best, Monty. ... See? This is why I come here, she keeps 'em comin'.
"I'm just glad to see you stayin' alive, Ronstadt."
[she claps him on the shoulder and heads back to the bar]
You wanna talk about someone with girls linin' up waiting for them to be free ... there she goes, man. There. She. Goes.
Dunno. They're slimy, awful things. No one would eat them if they weren't aphrodisiacs.
[Oh, Monty is a good one. A true keeper. John nods at her gratefully, she knows how to take care of her patrons. And has obviously done so for Ronstadt in the past.] She does, mate, she does. A good bird, that one.
[John snorts a little at the comment about her going.] Alright, so a lesson from someone who's been around the block a time or two and knows a bit about ladies. Don't date the people who serve you beer, who cut your hair, or who write your legal papers. Bad news all around, those relationships. [He takes a drink from his glass, and blinks at the quality. Not bad at all.]
Yeah, but you gotta hope that how gross they must feel goin' down isn't enough to keep things from goin' up, am I right?
[he snickers a little, glad that for once his company at the Hula Shaker will appreciate a dick joke.]
I wouldn't date Monty, her girlfriend would kill me. And I don't have any legal papers. Maybe I should. Not even sure how that would go, to be honest. Nobody to leave anything to.
[that's a grim thought, and he takes another long drink of Mai Tai, draining half of what Monty filled in.]
[John snickers in response, just as much to Ronstadt's snickering as the joke itself. It's such a cheap, immature joke but it's amusing none the less.] Well, I can't say that's never been a problem for me.
[He honestly should lay off on it, but it's amusing to him anyway. And it's the truth, he's never had a problem with anything going down...
He still doesn't like oysters though. Not unless they're served deep fried.]
That's a good reason. Never get between a girl and her girlfriend, it never ends well for you. I'm not one for legal papers either. You're in the will though, I hope you know. [Since they've gone down the death route already, he's going to play with it.] When I kick the bucket finally and old scratch comes to drag me down to my reserved suite? You'll be the proud owner of one book of obscene and potentially illegal magics, two hundred packs of my brand of cigarettes, and the lucky boxers I stole from Batman himself.
[he nearly chokes on his next sip as John keeps talking, a coughing fit almost obscuring the litany of his eventual inheritance]
Wait - I'm in your will? Seriously? We - I mean - I've known you for what, a couple months? And I'm in your freakin' will?
[his phone screen glows up at him, and he's offended by Faye's even tangential presence at this conversation, picking it up and stuffing it in his pocket. Fuck Faye. He's damn sure he's not in her will. He's pretty sure she doesn't even have one yet. Of course, neither does he, and he doesn't have much worth passing on, but ... John's comment thinks maybe he should get going on it. This magic shit is dangerous, and Kenner Lash and Zemora showed him that first-hand. Maybe leave his tapes to Hattie, his vinyl to John, his best kicks and his wardrobe to Vez. Yeah. But still -]
I don't know what to say, other than, uh, obviously, don't die, that's bad, I don't care what I'm getting, I'd rather have a friend than his stuff. ... Also: I'm sorry, but did you say "Batman"? As in, East Coast urban legend? I should know better than to ask if you're kidding, but are you kidding?
Of course you're in my will, don't be a prat. Why wouldn't you be? If I get dragged down to hell someone might as well benefit from it. The demons won't enjoy all I've collected. And I don't want my ex to get my spellbooks. I've got something else in mind for her. And Chas-[Oh, that cuts off suddenly. And yes, spellbooks, instead of spellbook. John doesn't like making it sound like there's some ridiculous magic inheritance to be had though. It sounds snobby that way to him.
He personally doesn't like to think about it either. He's already well aware of how many hands are reaching for him, he doesn't have a happy afterlife to look forward to. But there's something that's pleasing somehow about the fact that he has someone in his life right now that doesn't actually and actively want him dead.
Ronstadt's a keeper, he thinks. A better person than John deserves to have in his life. John's been so selfish, desperate to Faye out of the picture without being shitty about it, thrilling when he gets what he wants despite his friend's suffering, and here the man is being better than John on every possible level.]
I don't plan to. [John takes a drink, and nods.] Yeah, he's real. A real tosser. There's this nonsense they do, it's basically a super heroes club for the cowl and tights types. Not into that, personally. But I was roped into something called the Justice league dark. Equally stupid. But at least it was full of more interesting people. And he was part of it.
[The fact that Constantine cuts himself off startles Ronstadt a little, but ... he doesn't mind. He's used to Hattie keeping all kinds of things from him, usually for his own safety. It's not a long stretch of the imagination to figure that his new friend means the same.]
Tosser, huh? Where does that fall on the insult scale? Is it more 'dickhead' or closer to 'motherfucker'? You did promise me a crash course in British.
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Re: TFLN Overflow for John
Date: 2021-08-31 06:14 am (UTC)Re: TFLN Overflow for John
Date: 2021-09-03 12:49 am (UTC)... Speaking of. If I'm really gonna do this, that's exactly where I'm headed. I'm sure as shit not doing this sober.
o/
Date: 2021-09-03 12:59 am (UTC)Getting absolutely wasted tends to be the best way to deal with something like this.
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Date: 2021-09-03 02:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-09-03 03:53 am (UTC)We'll get drunk wherever you feel best getting drunk. I'm easy.
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Date: 2021-09-03 03:55 am (UTC)I say that because you, uh, actually Look Like One. Unlike yours truly.
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Date: 2021-09-03 04:48 am (UTC)Let's go to your favorite place. We'll get some mai tais, I've heard they pack one hell of a punch.
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Date: 2021-09-03 01:09 pm (UTC)[he realized that one of these days he should probably ask John where, exactly, in LA he was staying, as he shoved his feet into his sneakers and fumbled for his subway pass]
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Date: 2021-09-03 09:48 pm (UTC)Ill be there. Wouldn't miss it for the world.
[He might just find out then that John doesn't stay in LA at all. He's teleporting to see Ronstadt at every chance he can get.]
Text -> Action
Date: 2021-09-03 10:28 pm (UTC)[When John arrives at the Hula Shaker, Ronstadt's commandeered the booth in the corner, under the warm yellow glow of a pendant lamp that was probably scavanged from someone's 1960s rumpus room. The booth seats are a pea green, and the tables lacquered, deep-red wood. Kitschy carved Tiki masks and prints of topless hula dancers grace the walls, and fake vines and hibiscus flowers twine around the wooden false trellises over the booths.
Ronstadt's got two empty drinks at his elbow and his phone in hand, but he's not really looking at it so much as through it.
Behind the bar, a blonde with her hair up in a messy bun is mixing drinks, wearing a white Hawaiian shirt with pink and orange blossoms over a black t-shirt, shorts, and bar apron. She looks up at the opening door and calls out: "Hey! John, right? He's over there. Save him, wouldja? I don't wanna give him another Mai Tai until I know he won't try to drown himself in it. His tab's still not square."
Ronstadt's eyes get a bit of focus at that, and he blinks up out of his stupor as though Monty had just woken him up from a nap.]
Action
Date: 2021-09-04 01:30 am (UTC)But honestly, John doesn't hate it. Theme bars usually have more character than the slick nightclubs anyway. Those are only good if you want to look important and pat yourself on the back for having a good chunk of change in your pocket while trying to woo overpriced birds in tight dresses and designer heels.
This is worlds away from that.
This is definitely the kind of place he can see Ronstadt loving.
The bartender catches his attention quickly, and he nods in response. Looks like he's on drunk wrangling duty here.] No worries, luv. I've got him. Need his tab covered? I don't mind paying up. [Ronstadt is one of the small handful of people he'd actually say that for. If this was a bigger place, he'd trick them into thinking he'd paid. But this doesn't seem like a corporately owned place at all. No, it's more down home than that. And those people tend to actually deserve the cash they get for their services.
If she doesn't want him to pay up now, he'll just continue on to the booth.] Have a nice nap?
Re: Action
Date: 2021-09-04 02:05 am (UTC)[he gestures to the opposite side of the booth, his movement slow and sluggish, as if some demon of depression is sitting on his arm like a falconer's bird and weighing it down]
Just kinda got a head start.
[his phone slips from his hand and clatters onto the table, unlocked]
That went real well.
no subject
Date: 2021-09-04 02:28 am (UTC)But he's so glad for a little less competition for his best mate's heart.] Oh, Ronstadt. [It's such a sweet tone for him, quiet and comforting. And he settles, rubbing his arm gently for a moment.] You deserve better than to find out that way. But birds usually fly away. Especially from people like us. Probably for their own good too. We're in another world, friend.
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Date: 2021-09-04 02:59 am (UTC)Ugggh. Shit. I'm so - I'd hoped that wouldn't matter!
[Ronstadt slurred a little, putting his free hand over John's, holding it there, as if he'd lose his new friend forever, too, if he let him move it away]
It doesn't matter to Vez. He thinks it's awesome. What the hell is the matter with her?
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Date: 2021-09-04 05:01 am (UTC)I'm sorry, mate.
[He hates that nagging awful guilt that comes with the contact. He's so fucking selfish, and he does mean that he's sorry. He's sorry that Ronstadt is hurting, it kills him. He's also sorry that he's such a selfish prick, that he's thoroughly glad she's not in the picture right now.
John Constantine knows he's awful. And he knows he's a mess. But he damn well will be there. He'll do his best to help his friend get through this. And he'll do it without villainizing the poor woman. He's a bad person, sure, but he's not a homewrecker in any sense of the word. And he wouldn't make a move on someone who was happy with a sweetheart...
He owes her, honestly. But how she went about things wasn't right. And that's irritating him.]
It shouldn't matter. You're right there. But she's made her choice, even if it's a hell of a bad one. You're a good man. Anyone would be happy with your company. [He leans in more, closing some of the space between them.] But I'm here. I'm hardly some little pretty thing to take your mind off of her, but I am recently paid and I'll cover drinks. And get you home at closing time safe. So I guess that's good for something.
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Date: 2021-09-04 05:15 am (UTC)But he wasn't expecting John to lean in like that, somehow, and he pulls up out of his self-hatred spiral, chuckling softly at the comment about 'pretty things'. Ronstadt takes the umbrella out of his mai tai and tucks it into the lapel of John's trenchcoat.]
There. Now you're prettier.
[He raises his arm and his voice, trying to keep the slur out of it]
Monty! Bottle of your good whiskey for my buddy John?
no subject
Date: 2021-09-05 05:51 pm (UTC)It's probably the booze he had before even showing up, more than anything else. But it's still something that holds appeal.]
All it takes is a little umbrella and I'm a right beauty queen. Don't let the ladies in on that secret, or there'll be one hell of a tiny umbrella shortage.
[Oh, he's already so drunk. Or at least it's got it's hold strongly. Those silly looking little drinks are always deceptively strong. John wonders, idly, if he'll have to haul him out himself.]
Oh, so I'm getting the good stuff tonight? Let's celebrate then. She's made her choice, but mate, the world is your oyster. You're free, and there's going to be a queue forming to get to you before you even realize it.
no subject
Date: 2021-09-05 07:58 pm (UTC)[he leans his chin in his hand and makes an exaggeratedly thoughtful face, as Monty comes over with a bottle of Glenfidditch. While Ronstadt's preoccupied, she pours plain mix into his glass and winks at John. Monty's done this dance a few times, it seems. Maybe not over girls, but at least over Ronstadt's waves of misery, watching the tide. He only notices motion at his elbow, not detail, and grins]
You're the best, Monty. ... See? This is why I come here, she keeps 'em comin'.
"I'm just glad to see you stayin' alive, Ronstadt."
[she claps him on the shoulder and heads back to the bar]
You wanna talk about someone with girls linin' up waiting for them to be free ... there she goes, man. There. She. Goes.
no subject
Date: 2021-09-06 04:26 am (UTC)[Oh, Monty is a good one. A true keeper. John nods at her gratefully, she knows how to take care of her patrons. And has obviously done so for Ronstadt in the past.] She does, mate, she does. A good bird, that one.
[John snorts a little at the comment about her going.] Alright, so a lesson from someone who's been around the block a time or two and knows a bit about ladies. Don't date the people who serve you beer, who cut your hair, or who write your legal papers. Bad news all around, those relationships. [He takes a drink from his glass, and blinks at the quality. Not bad at all.]
no subject
Date: 2021-09-06 04:32 am (UTC)[he snickers a little, glad that for once his company at the Hula Shaker will appreciate a dick joke.]
I wouldn't date Monty, her girlfriend would kill me. And I don't have any legal papers. Maybe I should. Not even sure how that would go, to be honest. Nobody to leave anything to.
[that's a grim thought, and he takes another long drink of Mai Tai, draining half of what Monty filled in.]
no subject
Date: 2021-09-07 06:19 am (UTC)[He honestly should lay off on it, but it's amusing to him anyway. And it's the truth, he's never had a problem with anything going down...
He still doesn't like oysters though. Not unless they're served deep fried.]
That's a good reason. Never get between a girl and her girlfriend, it never ends well for you. I'm not one for legal papers either. You're in the will though, I hope you know. [Since they've gone down the death route already, he's going to play with it.] When I kick the bucket finally and old scratch comes to drag me down to my reserved suite? You'll be the proud owner of one book of obscene and potentially illegal magics, two hundred packs of my brand of cigarettes, and the lucky boxers I stole from Batman himself.
no subject
Date: 2021-09-07 08:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-09-07 05:23 pm (UTC)[he nearly chokes on his next sip as John keeps talking, a coughing fit almost obscuring the litany of his eventual inheritance]
Wait - I'm in your will? Seriously? We - I mean - I've known you for what, a couple months? And I'm in your freakin' will?
[his phone screen glows up at him, and he's offended by Faye's even tangential presence at this conversation, picking it up and stuffing it in his pocket. Fuck Faye. He's damn sure he's not in her will. He's pretty sure she doesn't even have one yet. Of course, neither does he, and he doesn't have much worth passing on, but ... John's comment thinks maybe he should get going on it. This magic shit is dangerous, and Kenner Lash and Zemora showed him that first-hand. Maybe leave his tapes to Hattie, his vinyl to John, his best kicks and his wardrobe to Vez. Yeah. But still -]
I don't know what to say, other than, uh, obviously, don't die, that's bad, I don't care what I'm getting, I'd rather have a friend than his stuff. ... Also: I'm sorry, but did you say "Batman"? As in, East Coast urban legend? I should know better than to ask if you're kidding, but are you kidding?
IT WAS MEANT TO BE EVER INSTEAD OF NEVER BUT-
Date: 2021-09-07 07:56 pm (UTC)He personally doesn't like to think about it either. He's already well aware of how many hands are reaching for him, he doesn't have a happy afterlife to look forward to. But there's something that's pleasing somehow about the fact that he has someone in his life right now that doesn't actually and actively want him dead.
Ronstadt's a keeper, he thinks. A better person than John deserves to have in his life. John's been so selfish, desperate to Faye out of the picture without being shitty about it, thrilling when he gets what he wants despite his friend's suffering, and here the man is being better than John on every possible level.]
I don't plan to. [John takes a drink, and nods.] Yeah, he's real. A real tosser. There's this nonsense they do, it's basically a super heroes club for the cowl and tights types. Not into that, personally. But I was roped into something called the Justice league dark. Equally stupid. But at least it was full of more interesting people. And he was part of it.
Eh, he'll find THAT out eventually
Date: 2021-09-07 09:27 pm (UTC)Tosser, huh? Where does that fall on the insult scale? Is it more 'dickhead' or closer to 'motherfucker'? You did promise me a crash course in British.
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From:super minor finale spoiler
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From:this fake Ronstadt memory guest narrated by Peter Falk
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From:/shamelessly steals local used vinyl store
From:As you should!
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