[The Chapel, The Abbey] Curtains Up (Invite Only)

Anwir tries to blink past the nearly blinding pain and his hands come away from his face bloody. He sniffs once, trying to stop the small bleed, and resists the urge to kick out at the annoyingly British man.

"Why would I kiss Jesus?" He pushes himself up on an elbow, wiping one hand on his jeans so he can run those fingers through his hair. Angry brown eyes look over Constantine, taking in his- well, it isn't a bad appearance. Sloppy, but not terrible. The man's next line causes Anwir to snort in amusement that quickly shifts into a wince.

"Sorry, did you want me to sweet talk you? I'm sure I could do far better than that," Anwir says with an almost sly smile. Briefly, he wonders if all Americans found the British accent something worthy of listening to. He licks his lips, failing to fight off a grin. "How about 'I liked it better when I was above you' or 'Suppose you could say I fell for you?"

Now Anwir is chuckling to himself, feeling his anger slip away like a leaf in a river.

Anwir seems content for the moment to simply engage with Constantine from the floor, leaning back on both his elbows. He tips his head in the same direction as Constantine with that same silly grin on his face.

"Yeah, well, you know what they say about 'Daddy Issues', mate. Too damn many of them in the States." Anwir says this as he takes a second look at Constantine, wondering if he always went around mumbling about being a cunning magician when all he looks like is a fun to mess with drunk. "What am I doing here?"

He turns to look around as if he's just noticing it for the first time, pursing his lips a bit.

"I reckon this is a chapel and people usually come to chapels to make right with God, don't they? Not that that is what I'm doing nor what you were doing," he says like the cheeky little bastard he is. Anwir pushes himself into a sitting position, craning his head to look up at the older man.

"Private property? What do you mean? Shoot, am I not supposed to be here? You're not gonna turn me in, are ya Mister?" Anwir turns those worried little brown eyes on the mage, looking damn right pitiful at his feet.

Anwir raises his brows as the man spits on the ground. He's not a fan of the church, it would seem. "Racist? How can one be racist to a melting pot? Besides, ain't no one can talk shit about their country like a person from that country."

He blinks at the cigarette that was absolutely not there before. Had it been invisible or had the man conjured it into existence? James had used his magic to put out a fire with frost breath like a dragon and teleport. This man uses his magic to summon vices?

His grin returns in full force when Constantine addresses him again. While he quite enjoys the accent, some of the words require the full use of his reading comprehension to puzzle out. A Bizzie must be a word for cop or snitch. Either would apply.

"Is a man not allowed to lounge around on flooring refined enough for another mage to sleep on," Anwir asks with a chuckle, shifting his legs under him and standing in a fluid movement without the use of his hands. It is 100% meant to be annoying considering the older man can't seem to take a step without regret.

"I teleported here from New York, hoping to get some studying done. I missed the library and ended up here. Figured I could explore and took all of one step before you swept me off my feet." Anwir says this all with great amusement. James had been kind enough to take Anwir in, but he could be a bit stuffy. This guy, however, looks like he could be fun.

"Why did you sleep here? I was told all mages were given their own room," he asks a bit innocently, taking a cautious step closer to Constantine and examining him. "Did you summon that cigarette or was it invisible before? Do you fight the devil often?"

A breath and then, "Who are you?"

Anwir frowns a bit, looking down at himself as the kinda hot older man mentions a smell. Confusion twists his expression and he looks up at Constantine.

'Not like me,' he mouths silently and it would become very clear that he has no idea what the other man is going on about. He doesn't press. Not yet.

A proud smirk replaces the confusion with Constantine's next words and Anwir replies quickly, "I mean, the whole disheveled and hung-over look is working for you. For me? Doesn't matter." He waves away the thought as he moves to walk in step with him. That stops immediately when Constantine turns to him and the alarm bells in his head ring as if from miles away.

"Me," he tries, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the goosebumps there. "I did that backward. I'm Anwir. It's a pleasure to meet you."

The lad hesitates before pushing on because this may be his only chance to find out. "What did you mean by a mage like me? What makes me different?"

"I, in fact, do not hit on every bastard that trips me up. Guess it's just you. Must be your charm."

Another cheeky little grin quiet downs into a thoughtful twist of his lips as Constantine explains what a Homo Magi is. Or, at least, how it makes him different from the elder mage.

"Then, that means you're well-learned. You already proved you know a lot more than I do." Anwir easily keeps up as they weave through the Abbey, however, he never thinks to ask the destination, too keen on the topic at hand. "Do you reckon you might have an idea why my magic seems to backfire? I try to be very careful with it all, but I've caused multiple fires and even an explosion."

He hesitates, like he's trying to find the words, and sucks in his bottom lip. His brows furrow and he tries, "The more I have to focus on it, the harder it is. Runes seem to help, but even they fail." Hopeful brown eyes look up at Constantine. "I'll buy you a pint."

Constantine's chuckle at his antics only servers to encourage the young mage and it's clear in the self satisfied smirk he sports. The elder mage's comments seem to roll right off Anwir's shoulders like dirty oil on water. All except the last one. Those brown eyes light up with mischief.

"Not that kind of Master implies you are a Master," he starts as if he's commenting on the weather. "Now I'm curious as to what type of Master you are."

The smile that begins to curl his lips distracts Anwir enough that he has to force himself to pay attention to the words coming out of Constantine's mouth.

"Oblivion. Right."

Anwir nods to himself, tucking his hands into his pockets as he glances around. It feels like a safe enough area and the elder mage likely wouldn't just let him burn down the Abbey. His eyes close as the sound of waves echo in his ears and the feeling of hot sand under his feet pushes away his awareness of his surroundings. His teeth worry his bottom lip until it aches. Constantine had said to just tap into the magic and think of a place known as the Oblivion. He swallows hard and tries to focus beyond the feeling of icy waters lapping at his ankles. Not too far. Not too much. Just enough to want for a door.

He gasps as if there is not enough air, eyes snapping open as he comes back to the waking world. Anwir's face is a bit pale as he looks around for a door that had not been there before. He had felt it, like something on the edges of his consciousness. The young mage twists to look over his shoulder where a new door rests. It is tall, far taller than either man and a set of double doors rather than a singular door. Metal dots the door itself and it is surrounded in an intricately carved doorway. 


"Is...that-" Anwir seems to be out of questions, more impressed with the door than anything else.