Tech Support

July 22 2014: Constantine shows up in the usual fashion to offer Jericho and Nancy some unusual help

Jericho's Midtown Safe house

The lair of Brother Wolf. Well… one of them.



  • K'nert the Demon-cat

Mood Music:
[* None]

It's been a few hours that Nancy and Jericho have stayed up, talking about magic and who they might be able to get answers from. There's still cobbler though it's been slowly disappearing. As has the quart of vanilla ice cream that goes with it. Finally, Jericho pours himself a vodka and stands to go over to the big sliding glass door that goes out to his balcony overlooking the water.

"I dunno Nan." He sighs. "I'm all onboard for this idea but it sounds like unless we can find ourselves a magical expert who is not a demon, not a jerk, and not in another dimension we're a bit stuck."

There's a weird, rustling noise- a sound unlike any other. Slowly, from nowhere, a door appears on the balcony. There's nothing behind it- nothing in front of it. But it opens, and out steps a blonde, sallow-faced man in a trenchcoat, smoking a cigarette and wearing a loose tie around his neck.

"Did someone call for an expert?" he asks brightly.


Nancy gets up, a bowl of cobbler and ice cream still in hand as she heads out to the balcony as well. "It's not like we can look in the want ads. Non-magical knuckleheads with the dumbest idea ever looking for the mage of our dreams to make it happen. Just don't think we would get a lot of response. Or… maybe too much response. Which worries me a bit more."

She is about to take another mouthful of the cobbler when a door suddenly opens on the balcony. "Well, color me blue and call me a smurf. Fuck me!"


It's rather fortunate that Jericho has been dropped in on by Illyana more than once because there's a gun in his hand faster than you'd think possible. "Who the- what the- How the hell d- wait… what'd you say?" At least Jericho isn't actively pointing the gun at anyone yet. The odd man's rather impressive entry leaves his brain shifting without a clutch for a second before he finally gets it into gear.

"Expert? In… what exactly?" Could it actually be?


"Magic! You called, didn't you?" Constantine brushes past Jericho diffidently, stopping to look the man up and over and around. He even sniffs him, then walks into the room like he owns the place, waving at Nancy. "No thanks, not my type, nice to meet you," Constantine says in a quick British babble. He takes the ice cream from Nancy's stunned hands, takes a bite, makes a face, and hands it back.

"Blech, that is dreadful Yank ice cream," he observes. He whips a little identification card from his wallet. It looks blank- except it has 'John Constantine, Ministry of Magic' written on it. At least, to the untrained eye it does.

"Call me Constantine. I'm on loan from London," he explains, wandering in a frittery sort of circle. "I understand that you are having some issues of a magical variety?"


Nancy is still standing there, the fork full of cobbler raised to her lips, forgotten. "Well, we know he's not a mutant. And I don't recall clapping my hands, so he's probably not a fairy. Well, at least not that kind. Not so sure about the other kind yet." She looks over to Jericho as her cobbler and ice cream are first absconded and then insulted.

"Did you have any clue this was gonna happen if we talked about magic for long enough?"


"I have close to no clues about anything magical other than what research I've been able to do and what Illyana's explained to me." Jericho murmurs as he looks the newcomer over and finally decides that he's not going to have to shoot him. Yet.

Shadows skitter a bit in the apartment and from one of them peeks a pair of eyes belonging to a little cat-demon-thing. It hisses at the newcomer and vanishes again down the hall. Jericho himself seems to have an aire of the demonic about him, though… he's clearly not a demon.

"I… well… yes. Hello John. We… kind of do have a magical… dillema." The hacker looks at the card and then looks back up as if to say 'really?'


"Thanks, my hair just… dries this way," Constantine tells Nancy with a coy smile. He fishes in his pocket for a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and puts them on, looking over Jericho more closely.

"Mm. Mmm hmm," he mutters. "Had some cowboys up in here, eh?" he asks himself. He prods and pokes at John like a doctor, even producing an old mercury thermometer for the man to jam under his tongue.

"How long ago did it happen?" he asks, looking over at Nancy. "This is blood magic. Old, dark magics," he tsks, clucking his tongue. He flicks the thermometer and looks at it.

"You're running quite a bit of darkness in your body, mate," he tells Jericho. "Care to tell me what happened?"


Nancy leans over to Jericho, her eyes never leaving Constantine. "How do we know this guy is not a jerk, a demon or from another dimension? Or all three?" She lets her gaze roam over John, taking in the details and not liking them.

"He's like a bad David Tennant rip off," she mutters to her friend, not actually being all that shy about the volume of her insults.

Taking the card out of Jericho's hands, she looks it over. She shakes it and then looks at it again. "If I ever get my mojo working on magic, I will be a happy camper." She looks back to Constantine. "So, why should a muggle and a mudblood trust you. And he's not the magic we were looking into…. though… actually… " She shrugs and leans on the open door.


Jericho blinks. "Um. Yes. Picked up… er… sort of by accident. And sort of on purpose. It's a long story. Mostly I just kind of absorb it." And where it all goes? Well… that he doesn't know. The answer would probably disturb him though.

"Um… I don't suppose you know much about souls, do you John? And… comes to that, how the hell did you know we needed a magical expert?"


It's a door and a frame. Quite contemporary, and it swings both directions. It also doesn't go anywhere. Wherever it came from, or wherever Constantine came from, is anyone's guess.

"I don't watch much telly," Constantine says absently. "And you might lay off the cobbler, dearie, you look a bit…" he eyes Nancy sidelong. "Full."

He moves all up and down in quick bobbing motions, examining Jericho thoroughly, then whips his glasses off and tucks them into a pocket.

"Magical phone," he says, snatching the card away with deft hands. "Tells me when someone's in need of some magical aid. You called, it popped up here, here we are," he tells Jericho. "But the real question is, mate," he says, voice growing a bit somber, "who's gone off and done what with your soul?" he asks, gently tapping Jericho right over his heart.


Nancy is about to say something, most likely snarky when… did the guy with the trenchcoat just call her fat? The look she gives John is one to likely be expected. He did not just go there. She walks over to Jericho and jerks her head in John's direction.

"Tell me I can shoot him. Nothing lethal. He doesn't need both kneecaps."


Jericho quirks an eyebrow first and John then at Nancy. "Uh… I'm not sure it would do any good. Given how he… arrived. Why don't you come on in John. Meat and gohan?" That last is said with a gesture toward the plate of breaded, cooked strips of skirt steak and rice.

"My soul is… uh… not quite what we meant to talk about…" Actually he's got no idea what if anything has happened to his soul. "We've got a friend, Nancy and I, who is missing most of hers. And we had this… we… ugh. We want to know how to donate some. It's causing her some issues, as you might expect."

"Yes, thank you, I believe I will," John says, helping himself. He flops into a seat and dishes himself a large bowlful and promptly starts shoveling food into his mouth. Nancy's threat gets ignored.

"Souls this and souls that. All right, tell me about your friend," John says, eating a bit messily. "How did she lose her soul? And what in Heaven's name convinced you a transplant was a good idea?"


Nancy glowers at John, watching him eat. She crosses her arms over her chest, tapping one foot. "Never said it was a good idea. In fact, I have been saying it is likely the dumbest idea I ever had. Still wanna know if I can do it though. Errr… we can do it. And don't go blathering on about Heaven. If I'm willing to give up a fraction of my soul, I've already committed to not going there."


Jericho gives Nancy a mild look. She's got some odd ideas of what does and does not damn people and honestly, if she's damned for killing some folks, he's going to wind up in whatever the damned call damnation for what he's done.

"We both are and we recognize that likely it's a bad idea but we're willing to do it. The friend in question lost most of her soul to a demon who bound it up somewhere that she can't get it back. The demon itself is out of play but now she's got to deal with an… inhuman side to her. We were both hoping I think that if she had more of it, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Three of us slightly screwed sounds better to us than one of us very screwed, as it were."

Constantine nods, steepling his fingers. "It's a terrible idea, but a noble one," John says. "I mean, transferring souls, it's awful, wickedly dark magic, but…"

"…it is doable," he finally hedges. "It takes some magic and some work, and time- definitely time, but I can help arrange it so that your friend gets some of her… well, soul, back," he tells the duo, rubbing the pads of his fingers together. "It's dangerous. Terribly dangerous, and there will be some preparatory work," he warns them. "Are you willing?"


Nan shrugs her shoulders to Jericho. The bible is pretty clear on the whole killing of people thing. Not to mention all the other stuff. But John has her full attention when he says it can be done. Sliding into a chair at the table, she leans in close. "Wait, you just said we could get *hers* back. You think we could do this *without* loosing ours in the process? How much do you want? When do you want it? And when can we start?"


"I suspect it won't work that way, Nan." Jericho sighs, knowing that Illyana likely wouldn't consent to having her amulet tampered with even if it could possibly return her soul. Which he's not convinced it can. "But a transfusion would at least help. If we can get her to agree to it." Ugh. They're gonna have to talk about that, possibly all three of them. But that can wait until it's a possibility. Another project for a friend. Well this is what he does, after all.

"I'm willing. What kind of prep work are we looking at? I'm kind of busy but I will make time for this."


"At least a week of solid work," Constantine advises them. "You'll need to be with her as much as possible. Depending on how well things go, perhaps a bit less than possible," he hedges.

He surges to his feet and walks towards the door. "Stay in touch with her as much as possible," he says over his shoulder. "Talk to her. Every day, until I get back. I'll come pick you two up, and then we'll go get your friend, and we'll start the preparatory work," he explains, fishing for a key. He unlocks the door and opens it, pausing.

"I don't need your money. My name's John Constantine," he reminds them. "And I'm here to help." And with that, he vanishes into the doorframe, which simply… fades away.

The door swings open and John sticks his head around the corner. "Oh! Her soul. Yes, we can get that back, too. But put a pin in that, all right?" the Brit quips at Nancy. "That's a project for another day." He gives them a dual thumbs-up, and disappears into the door again.

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