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Zatanna's done it. The broad's done the terrible thing of inviting John to a picnic/barbecue/what the hell have you get together of the Justice something or other of today and the Justice Prunes of yesterday.
Terrible for John, it is. He was in the states, why not? Zatanna's line of thinking clearly went along. Bloody hated the idea, he's not into the whole capes and spandex and S&M behind the closed door that probably comes with this whole fetish-- but he can't say no to ol' Z. And she knew this, right, she knew everything of this. Right plucky girl, always good to see. Always good for John to see in those fishnets. Damn her and her way of convincing him left and right to do fuck all.
And as he's ambling his way through Central Park to the godforsaken area they've got roped off for themselves, he just feels it. Some thick wave of something. "What matter is this then?" Scrunching his nose, biting down into the bit of cigarette left. It's not bad but it's not... It is quite powerful, overwhelming to a point. Some awful foreign smell comes along with it, and heavy sort of wash. "Can't make heads to arses with it. S'not Nabu, that crusty sunnuvabitch." He's sure of that at least about this something. And he takes even longer, dragging his feet, he's trying to figure this out as he's getting closer, feeling something cause sweat to his brow. The heat of it all, that's what he's been feeling, waves of heat.
'Course he arrives before his solves this little mystery, only a weak divider between him and his awful fate this afternoon proves to be with the supershits. Lifts the tape with two fingers, sneaks under and looks to the cluster of dumb fucks in bright colors-- christ, some are in civilian clothing. What a mess. But what in all hell is this--
"John! I didn't think you'd come!" Z noticed him right away, swaying her big hips over, arms out to him. Couldn't help but smile at it, fingers running lightly over her skin when she hugs him and distracting him even for the moment from the musty something making his skin crawl. But only a moment.
"Z, what's this magic that's clouding the air. Innit one of your pals, right? Hate it to ruin the party." Actually he'd love it rather than go into that crowd. "Bloody stifling." She takes a shot, asks if he means Dr. Fate. That's what she always goes to ask, just because of that one time-- No, no, he can tell that scarab is crawled up his arse. Three miles he's felt it, not very comfortable. But what else?
"Oh-- oh!!" A strike of inspiration hits her heart shaped face, and he's tempted to charm her away from the party so the two could have fun-- so he could have actual fun, but inspiration comes too late. She waves over some well preserved prune with a receding hairline and a god awful polo shirt. "John, have you met Alan Scott?" The old sod clearly is uncomfortable just being near him, rich old duff, but he offers his hand nonetheless and. Yes. This is it. There is no denying this flame burning his skin and sickening his stomach.
"Now see here, wot manner of anything are YOU?"
"Um, Zatanna dear, what does he mean?"
"From space, Constantine."
"Strewth! Space? That's a little out of my limits, ya know, what I am to say."
"Um..."
"Careful, you might get burned."
"Care to light my fag? Could feel the heat three blocks down."
"Zatanna I think I hear Jay calling--"
This wasn't a bit of slightest to completely salvage the afternoon, but if he could needle this prick for the time being and soak in this strange, awful, drowning sort of heat just to make him uncomfortable, well, there's something to do in the least.