"What were you expecting, a heart-to-heart? That I'd explode with emo sentiments and talk about my-" Constantine winced, "feelings? Death and demons don't make you do that, Midnite, you know! They make you shut your damn mouth and be grateful you kept your ass alive long enough to get drunk again and forget about it."

"Is that how you're coping, then? Liquor?" He raised an eyebrow doubtfully. "Doesn't sound like coping to my ears, John, and I have lived far longer than you." He fidgeted in nostalgia, fingering a bracelet on his wrist, comprised of tiny carved skulls from gator bone.

Constantine looked away. "Look, I don't have time for this bullsh-"

"Oh! But you do, John. You've spent weeks, wasted, doing nothing, since you rescued that girl-"

"Don't bring her into this! She wasn't important." His hands gathered into loose fists.

"Important enough to make the sacrifice she craved for her sister. I run a bar, John, I hear everything." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You did well. You know I cannot permit myself to act against my Oath of Neutrality, but watching you, John, is enough to give an old retiree like me hope that this world won't go to Hell once I'm gone."

Constantine snorted. He couldn't think of a reply. He didn't really do hope.

After a moment of companionable silence, Midnite started patiently. "Do you want to turn over the first card?"

"What's the catch? You bring me here to pitch?"

"I do have ideas of a project you might just-"

"No, just save your breathe, cut the crap, and that do-gooder speech I can see you're planning. What happened?" Constantine glared over at him.

"No need to be hostile, John. Let us begin." And he turned over card one.