Summary:Jane awaits Zatanna in the Green Room. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Constantine stares at herself in the dressing room mirror. She hasn't really slept in a day or two, but that usually doesn't slow her down too much. Her blonde hair is a bit tousseled, and it frames her pretty face. The most recently black eye has totally healed, but her lip still looks a bit battered, like a split that has mostly healed. She's wearing a pair of tight, torn jeans, skater shoes, and a sleeveless shirt with her own face on it. Her leather jacket is draped over the chair in front of the dressing room table.
She plucks her cigarette from her lips and glances towards the door. She's waiting. Waiting for Zatanna to finish her set and come on back here. She hops up onto the edge of the table, parking herself and idly watching the door. This is a welcome distraction from everything else going on in her life, at least. She takes another drag of her cigarette, ashing it into a spare top hat that is sitting nearby.
Zatanna's show finishes to the usual applause that makes the meticulous hours of planning worth it all, and she basks in the adulation (as best as she can hear through her earplugs, anyway). She tosses out some thornless roses into the crowd to more applause yet, and leaves the stage. Her handlers congratulate her, help her strip out of some of the more complicated rigs hidden under her custom-cut tuxedo jacket and golden waistcoat; the one for the stairway to heaven trick compresses her ribs something fierce. She accepts the praise of her coworkers…friends…employees… whatever they are; congratulates them all on a job well done, and promises them an after party in three hours. By this point, the crew knows without being told this is her decompression time. Whatever their relationships are, they at least have a solid routine down. That counts for something.
It's in this largely cheerful yet gnawed at the edges mood that Zatanna strolls into her green room with no greater plans than to get out of these damn boots and soak in a jacuzzi for an hour, hopefully one that doesn't reek of chlorine but you can't get your hopes up these days. She isn't fully aware of what her face does when she sees Jane sitting there, just that it's doing it for too long; so Zatanna opens her mouth and hears herself say with just the least bit of edge in her otherwise wry tone, "You're getting dirty ass on my table, Jane."
"Be real, luv. A dressing room table in a theater has had quite a few dirtier asses on it then mine."
She takes another drag from her cigarette as her bright blue eyes dip over the magician in a long, lingering sort of a way. Its a look that Jane has mastered, and that Zatanna likely hasn't felt or seen in awhile. "Sounds like it was a hell of a show. Judging from the audience, anyways." Her Liverpudlian accent laces through her voice well. She adjusts her silver septum piercing and climbs from the table. At 5'10", the lanky Hellblazer settles back to her feet easily.
"Not even a little happy to see me? It's been ages, luv."
"Don't fish for compliments, Jane. It doesn't suit you." Zatanna casually turns her back on Jane and tugs at the white bowtie around her neck. It's a perfectly natural thing to do, but as with most things Zatanna does, there's a sheen of glamor to it; she just can't seem to resist turning it into a little pose. "So? What are you here to not tell me you need my help with?"
She smirks a bit and tucks some of her hair behind one of her ears. She stamps the remainder of her cigarette out and tosses it into that top hat. "Don't need help with anything right now. Playing shows with me band at the moment. Have one next week, infact. Wanted to ogger you a ticket." Jane walks around the room, taking the green room in before casting a glances over at Zatanna. "Plus, you know, I thought it might be nice to catch up."
For a green room, Zatanna's is pretty sparse. It's surprising until you consider how little she actually needs in life. There's a rack of her costumes over there, some makeup and styling products and whatnot on the counter in front of the mirrors, her street clothes hanging from the coatrack (including her pants, a pair of black jeans unremarkable but for the fact that, to judge by the placement of the shoes near the rack, she apparently intends to wear high heels with them), and several bottles of water in a mini-fridge. Zatanna doesn't eat before shows, doesn't imbibe, doesn't bring in her purse, and doesn't invite groupies back to join her, so there's no need for airs in this sterile, spartan room.
Her bowtie untied and dangling loosely from her neck, Zatanna turns to Jane with a raised brow to give her an evaluating look. Her posture is perfect, almost painfully straight; she can't seem to avoid adopting an affected well-bred British stance around Jane. "Catch up," she echoes. "In my dressing room. Where I dress and undress."
Constantine shrugs at that and offers a practiced, lopsided smile. "Hey, I knew it'd be the only place I could catch you alone. You're surrounded by admirers everywhere else." She tucks a hand into a pocket of her tight, torn jeans, and leans against the wall beside the closet.
"How're things? I mean…other then me being here? How's life and all this shite been treating you?"
'Other than me being here' surprises a smile out of Zatanna that she turns into a smirk to try to hide it. It's like Jane knows how to be charming when she puts in effort, or something. "Toppa the world, ma," Zatanna answers airily, from her windowless concrete safe room. "What about you? How bad did you deserve that busted lip?"
Just like that, the English affectations are gone, and some new character has come out; some kind of streetwise New York hood, maybe,
"Eh. Been buttin' heads with this skinhead band. The fact their also in service to a demon lord o' hate just makes 'em more annoying. Did almost a year in lock-up back in London for my last runin with them. Had to stop them from summonin' this big beastie during a show." She shrugs and makes her way to her leather jacket, fishing out her pack of Silk Cuts, and a scuffed bic.
"Thought I'd be done with 'em in the US, but they started doing shows a few weeks after we did. Not a coincidence, I'm sure."
Zatanna nods wryly. "And since you're not asking for my help, I won't offer," she reminds Jane rather pointedly. She makes no further effort to change out of her costume than she has: Jane doesn't get to see that show again. Not now. "Which demon lord?"
"Jubilex. He's a right wanker. Gets off on hate 'n all that." Constantine might be a right bastard and/or bitch, but she's always had issues with bigots. She takes a long drag on her cigarette and watches Zatanna before she grins a hint. "Comin' to my show, then? VIP ticket and everything…"
Zatanna gives Jane a patient, knowing smile. She doesn't fold her arms, but something about the set of her hips and shoulders makes you think of it anyway. "Depends on the VIP treatment, Jane."
"Oh, get yer mind out of the gutter, Z. Just a friendly little gig at a dirty little club. Yer not the only person I'm offerin' tickets too, so relax. If I was trying to seduce you, I've got better ways of doin' it. You should know that by now…" She winks and takes another long drag on her cigarette, watching her.
"I was thinking more you could—no. Never mind." Zatanna takes a deep breath. "I might be able to see your show. When is it?"
She rattles off the date of the show. "It's at Club Eat Me, in Brooklyn. It's on the edge of McCarren Park. Basement club. Killer venue." Jane takes another drag on her Silk Cut and brushes her fingers back through her hair. "Hope you'll be there," she says with that lopsided smile. She starts towards the door, but at a leisurely pace.
"Dnahdnoces ekoms nrut ot enimsaj ropav," Zatanna commands, stepping aside to let Jane pass. She's comfortable showing the world what she looks like in a bikini bottom and thigh-high heels, but that doesn't mean she doesn't feel exposed around Constantine. As the warmth of sudden aromatherapy scents enters your nose, she asks, "So what are you really here for, Jane? You could have just dropped off the tickets with a note."
Constantine hesitates near the door, her hand on the doorknob. "Just dropped them off with a note? And miss the chance to see you?" She glances over her shoulder at her, before she realises she forgot her jacket. She heads back over to scoop it up from the back of a chair, shrugging into it. "Maybe I missed that cold glare of yours, hmm?"
Zatanna strolls away from Jane, toward her makeup table; the one with the giant mirrors that let her see what Jane is doing in reflection. "Maybe I was hoping you'd offer something to warm my cold glare up," she banters.
She grins a bit at that and glances over, cocking her head to the side. "You know I'd love to warm you up, Z…" Constantine trails off and puts her cigarette out, tossing the butt into the same abandoned hat. She takes a step towards the beautiful performer.
Zatanna's hand pauses on the makeup removal pad she was reaching for, and she watches Jane in the mirror without comment or movement, just watching. Just curious.
Constantine crosses the room and leans up behind her, placing a hand on either side of the dressing table beside her. She is a few inches taller, and this allows her to lean in and -almost- rest her chin on Zatanna's shoulder. She looks at her in the mirror, offering that charming, dastardly grin of hers. That grin wins hearts and infuriates enemies. "What're you up to after this?," she asks curiously.
"I'm having a party with people who'd be disappointed in me if I invited you," Zatanna retorts wryly. She isn't telling Jane to back off, at least. "What are you doing?"
Maybe she means later tonight. Maybe she means right now. English is vague like that.
"Sound like boring people," she offers with a wink. She is so close to Zatanna now, her face hovering inches from hers as she leans over her from behind. Jane cocks her head to the side a bit, watching the younger girl in the mirror.
"Right now? Enjoying your company. Later? Bugger me if I know."
"They're my friends, Jane," Zatanna says softly, to make the acid in her tone less perceptible. "Don't talk about them like that."
She sighs. "I was making a quip in reply to the whole 'people who'd be dissapointed in me if I invited you. I'm allowed to defend myself." She wiggles her nose as she looks at herself in the mirror, and she adjusts her septum piercing. "Either way, I was just kiddin'.."
Zatanna's eyes close in irritation and she takes a breath to steady herself. "Jane, you're not under attack. They'd be disappointed in ME, I said." Her fist closes around the makeup sponge, like she's trying to strangle the tiny foam wedge. "See, this is why we're not together. You don't get that not everything is about you." There's a small storm brewing between her eyebrows. "Alright. VIP tickets for your show. Thanks, Jane. Anything else?"
Constantine sucks in a breath like she's about to reply with something scathing that she is absolutely going to regret. Instead, though, she gives a nod. "Right. That's why we're not together." She plucks out another cigarette and lights it. She takes a long drag and turns, starting towards the door. "My ego aside, I hope to see you there."