Pining! A grad student and a sorcerer walk into a bar…
Note: the next few chapters are gonna be light on the jay/sab content and interactions so apologies in advance! (but maybe something nice will happen when they see each other again, eh?)
Chapter 28 of What's Up, Danger?: Dangerous Habits
7:05 AM, Wednesday—Gotham
Jason stubbed out the burning end of the cigarette in the ashtray set on the window ledge. He surveyed the city skyline as the first sign of dawn peaked through the skyscrapers in the distance, chasing away the night.
He had tried to lay in bed when he arrived back at his place. He crawled under the covers and shut his eyes, shielding himself under the duvet. He tried to ignore the siren song of the bad habit he kept stashed out of sight, tossing and turning until he couldn't stand the ache—more troublesome than anything—that throbbed between his ribs.
He caved in because what else could he do? Sometimes a chaotic mind called for old, familiar comforts.
Defeated, he slumped where he sat, one leg swung over the open window, and his back propped up against the frame. The crisp air glided over his face, neck, and ears, and the layers of clothes kept the rest of his body warm.
Restless, his leg that was perched on the floor indoors bounced as he finally exhaled the last drag. The plume of smoke curled in the air before dissipating, mixing with the city's ever-present haze of smog.
A clearing of his throat turned into a cough. He knew smoking wasn't a permanent solution to his problems, but the aftertaste and the burn…it was nostalgic.
It had been one of those nights where his brain turned against him and he was unable to shut it off. All of his thoughts were so damn loud, ricocheting off the walls in his head in an unending maelstrom.
And jammed between the riot in his head was the teensy flicker of longing, more dangerous and tempting than anything.
The phantom sensation of Sabine's arm slung over him, the soft pressure of her lips pressing against the fabric of his shirt and into his shoulder, her thigh under his hand…the collection of fresh memories upended him in the most unruly way.
There was both a gaping emptiness and a weight inside of him, it made his stomach clench.
The transition from strangers to friends to whatever-they-had now left him neck deep in the waters of catching feelings—the phrase echoed between his ears like he was some adolescent schoolboy with a crush.
He liked her against all his better judgment. He liked her against all his fucked up instincts to push away people who dared to get close to him…
…and he just let her go.
By herself.
What the fuck had he been thinking?
Jason raked a hand through his hair and sighed, knowing it would take more than one night to sort out how scooped and hollowed out he felt.
Roy would probably yell at him to go back to bed. Fuck, he should at least try to go back to bed. It was sunrise and his stupid inner voice still refused to shut the hell up.
Grimly, he withdrew inside. He closed the window and went back over to his desk. He dropped the lighter into the open bottom drawer then nudged it closed with his foot, and tossed the empty cigarette carton in the small trash bin beside it.
Turning around to pad off to bed, a shadow streaked across the window from the corner of his eye, stopping Jason dead in his tracks.
The suffocating weight of a nearby presence bristled against his senses. In his head, alarm bells blared.
Something was very…off.
An invasive stench of sulfur and ichor unfurled in the room.
Jason watched as the shadow moved like sludge over the window panes. Its inky blackness blotted out the pink and orange hues of the sunrise. The shadow sneaked through the frame, deftly ignoring all physical barriers as it moved across the floor. Closer and closer, snuffing out every inch of light as it prowled, unhindered, through his domain.
His muscles locked in place except for a hand, which slowly, slowly crept towards the gun on the table.
There was a sound—a muffled droning of indistinguishable hisses that licked at his eardrums with malicious intent. An awful, awful noise that chilled his blood, turning his veins into icy currents. Ripples of goosebumps peaked on his arms.
His fingertips grazed over the grip of his handgun just as two red orbs spied through the darkness from the other side of the glass.
They looked like…eyes. Slanted and burning crimson, devoid of pupils. Not human. Fiercely, they drilled into him and, for a heart-stopping moment, Jason saw nothing but gruesome shades of red.
Then, it retreated as suddenly as it came. The darkness peeled back like a curtain from across the floor and window. Golden streaks of sunrise filtered into the room and the ominous buzz was replaced by birds chirping to greet the new day.
His fingers remained curled around the grip, hawkish eyes trained on the glass with steely resolve.
Tension simmered throughout his body until he released a gusty exhale he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The adrenaline coursing through him shriveled up but didn't quite evaporate from his system.
Jason couldn't tell which nagging thought tore at his mind more post-abysmal encounter as his breathing steadied: the threatening aura that made his whole body shudder with dread or the harrowing notion that it was looking for someone else.
7:35 PM— Heathrow Airport, London
Somehow jet lag was worse than a hangover.
It was only a five-hour time difference, but Sabine felt like a zombie. The combination of an early morning flight and no sleep on the plane threw her off more than any bat-themed cocktail could. Barely awake, she slouched through customs, through the busy terminal, and towards the exit.
Discombobulated, she stood at the curb outside the airport in the cold, queuing for a cab.
She sent Jason a quick text: Safe. Followed by a pin drop of her location.
Knowing him, he was already worried past the point of no return. Guilt wormed its way into her gut with the knowledge that she was the cause of some of his distress.
Maybe she should have asked him to come with her?
That would have been safer…right?
Finally huddled away in the backseat corner of a taxi, Sabine shook her head at her lack of foresight. What was done was done. For better or worse, she was on her own now.
Head cotton-foggy from the time change, her complicated mental state pitter-pattered about, ruminating on Jason for a stark minute too long and those looks he gave her when he thought her attention was focused elsewhere, and how leaving him behind in Gotham carved out a tender slice of her heart—a piece that was his to possess if he wanted it.
She easily recalled the cadence of his heartbeat when her ear was squished up on his chest; a comforting sound that made her own heart lurch in a feral manner.
And the cherry on top was the even more tragic truth—their feelings were mutual, but the timing and circumstances couldn't have been worse.
It was a harrowing knot that twined their lives together in the first place, one consisting of threads of death, violence, and uncertainty. Fate, the universe, whatever higher power existed or didn't, was never on their side to begin with.
She couldn't even fathom what Jason saw in her anyway. She was a shambling disaster.
Sabine sagged into the backseat, wishing the taxi driver would turn up the pounding eurobeat mix that played through the car's speakers to drown out the mess in her head.
Jason Todd was going to make her lose her goddamn mind.
Buildings passed by in a blur outside the car window as she sat, transfixed and vacant, cheek propped onto her fist.
Less than half an hour later, she checked into her hotel and traveled up the elevator to her floor, card key in hand and wheeling her luggage behind her.
Once inside the room, she groped around for the light switch. The overhead light in the tiny entry corridor on, she glanced around the accommodations. It was modest, with a single bed, and the minimalist decor clashed with the bold prints hanging on the walls.
She washed her face in the bathroom and brushed her teeth before ambling over to the bed. She flopped down onto the too-soft mattress and stretched her limbs out like a sunbathing cat.
Sabine thought she wouldn't be able to sleep that night. She felt too cruddy from the flight to do much else but the impending need for shut-eye dragged at her eyelids. Turning onto her side, she hugged a pillow to her chest and dozed off.
Despite everything, Sabine has one of the most pleasant dreams she'd had in months.
She's engulfed in warmth, nestled securely against the familiar beat of his steady heart and scent. A forehead rests against hers and a large hand reaches up to cup the curve of her face. The air around them rings with quiet laughter and soft smiles and sweet words. He pulls her closer and she melts into him. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and his lips press into that sensitive spot just under her ear…
"Jason…" she woke up as soon as her voice rasped out his name.
Blinking awake, the edges of the dream faded away. She stared at the crevices on the ceiling, finding patterns and shapes. Anxious nerves shot back up her spine as she registered the familiarity of the hotel room and remembered she was far, far away from Gotham.
Jason's scent was gone, his touch, the deep syrupy rumble of his voice and chuckle…
Sabine pushed herself up into a sitting position and she spared a sideways glance at the other side of the bed. It was empty. Obviously. Still, reality hit like an asteroid colliding with the planet. Disastrous. She was alone and a tad…flustered.
She stumbled over to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face to calm down.
Checking the time on her phone, she saw that she'd been out for hours. It was already past mid-morning. Time to scoot.
She showered and changed. Then her stomach whined with hunger pangs. Ravenous and in urgent need of coffee, she nabbed her necessities for the day: a wallet, heavy jacket, and the fading polaroid photo of her mother and father from their youth.
Sabine inspected the photo with the familiar—younger—faces of her parents depicted on it, not truly knowing if it would be enough for the spell. Madame Xanadu specifically noted that a connection might suffice. If it didn't, well, she didn't know what the hell else she would do. She had one shot to try and make this feeble idea work.
She had practiced the spell back home when CEO had darted out of her parent's house with success. This time, however, she would need to search a wider range.
Sabine folded the photo in half and creased it. Pinching it between her fingers, she tore it along the crease. She tucked the half with her mother inside her wallet for later use.
She coasted downstairs to the hotel lobby, body and brain on autopilot. Bracing for the chilly temperature outside, she buttoned up her coat and pulled a beanie over her head.
The gray and overripe clouds overhead threatened to burst with raindrops as she hurried out to the corner shop just down the street. She bought a map of the city and a lighter from the cashier.
Then she popped into a cafe, grabbing a hefty slice of coffee cake and a large cup of coffee.
Sabine ducked into an alleyway after dusting cinnamon crumbs off her fingers and lips from her gluttonous meal, acutely aware of how shady her activity might appear to any observant onlooker.
Crouching on the ground and out of sight, she unfolded the map. She placed it on the ground, smoothing out the folds.
"Okay," she whispered steadfastly, belly full and ready. She rubbed her hands together and prayed her powers would work. "You can do this."
Sabine focused on her hands and dug deep for that strange warmth buried inside her. It seeped out sluggishly at first, enveloping her skin like reluctant molasses until, eventually, a shimmering mirage of energy swathed her hands from her wrists to her fingertips. She wiggled her fingers and the power tingled across her skin.
Hands charged with energy, she rummaged around in her pockets to fish out the items she needed.
Lighter in one hand, photo in the other, she pressed and rolled a thumb over the spark wheel. It took her three tries before it caught, emitting a small spike of flame.
She said some words, or, at least, she assumed the enchantment Madame Xanadu wrote down for her meant something in a language that even the translation app on her phone couldn't decipher. She didn't know the meaning, just that it worked.
Cautiously, she brought the flame to the edge of the polaroid. The burning photo curled inwards as the blaze consumed it. She held the photo away from her in an outstretched hand. Once the heat of the moving flame began to lick her fingertips, she released it. The burning photograph gently floated downwards towards the map, twirling in the air as specks of ash drifted in the wind. The cinders settled on the map unimpressively.
And…nothing happened.
Crestfallen, she dipped her head down in disappointment and huffed. She knew it was a gamble.
She scoured her brain, analyzing her actions. Where had she gone wrong? Maybe her intent hadn't been strong enough? Maybe the connection of her mother wasn't enough to pinpoint Constantine's location?
…but then the tiny ashes began to glimmer and move across the map in a golden trail. Eagerly, her chin lifted, a renewed semblance of hope budding inside.
Sabine squinted as she studied the glowing specks as they inched across the surface in a trail of stardust. The glittering pieces of ash gathered together at a particular set of cross streets before settling on a spot, a grayed-out rectangle on the map where a large, unidentified building sat.
Retrieving her phone, she keenly typed the approximate cross streets into the map app on her phone. The location result confounded her. She scowled and scrunched her nose.
What the hell was Constantine doing at a defunct laundromat?
Jason didn't sleep well. The spell of anxiety that ensnared him remained intact and taunted him even in his dreams. He was stuck in an agonizing feedback loop of dozing off and jerking awake. It was jarring to be on the cusp of sleep so many times only to be ripped away from it.
Past noon, the shadows that once stretched across his room were gone and sunlight filtered in through the blinds in long, golden dashes.
He relented that any chance of uninterrupted slumber was a long-lost cause. He craved relief, but there was none. So, he remained twisted in his bedsheets and wallowed in a sorry state.
Lazing around after kicking the blankets off, Jason skimmed through his phone. The brightness of the screen stung his tired eyes.
Eyes half-lidded, he focused intently on the text from Sabine: Safe.
The message and the pin drop of her location failed to quell his rapidly mounting unease.
Jason sighed listlessly and typed out his response: Glad to hear it, stringbean.
He didn't want to report the events on his end or give her more bad news. She had enough on her plate to deal with.
Text sent, he checked the security camera feeds on an app linked to them on his phone. The footage was fuzzy. Nothing was visible in the frame except him. From another camera, the one outside the window, there was nothing. No evidence of the being that instilled terror in him and made his blood run cold. Nothing. Na-da. Just unsettling flickers of static running across the screen and him reaching for his gun like a fool.
So much for the comfort of technology.
If the entity could slip in and out of his home undetected, what good would he be against it? What could guns, swords, explosives, or anything else in his arsenal be?
Following that trail of thought, an even more devastating question sprung up in his mind: How could he possibly protect Sabine?
He lost count of the minutes that slipped by as that question tormented him. It unleashed an unpleasant brew of feelings as well; helplessness, desperation, and uselessness. All things Jason hated.
Restless, he finally rubbed the crust out of his eyes and walked over to the kitchen. In the mood for something simple, he stuck two pieces of bread in the toaster because he didn't know if he could stomach anything else. For now, he would just glide through the motions to get through the day.
Maybe it was time to bring some of the others in on this…
One piping hot mug of coffee and two pieces of toast smeared with butter later, he plopped down at his computer desk. He cleared away the handguns and Kevlar he'd been tinkering with to make room.
Jason nudged the mouse by the keyboard and the computer screen blinked to life. Unable to shake loose the memory of the entity, an unsettling theory, sudden and intrusive in nature, surfaced.
What if it was tethered to Gotham in some way? Sabine disclosed that the city was magic, or had magic. Did that mean it was confined to Gotham? Was she…safer outside of city limits?
This was pure speculation, of course. Still, he had to wonder…
Leaning back in his chair, he steepled his fingers together thoughtfully and stared into the abyss of his coffee mug and its curls of steam. He was beginning to understand why Bruce hated magic so damn much.
12:30 PM, London
Sabine's eyes flicked down at her phone screen and back up at the building in front of her. Skepticism marred her features and her brows furrowed.
The address and image on her phone indicated that the establishment in front of her was a laundromat, one that appeared to have been abandoned for years, on a street that had seen better days. Old, weather-beaten, and covered in graffiti and flyers. Not exactly inviting.
Her mouth twisted to the side. Why would the spell take her here?
Still…she felt an invisible sensation skirt over her once she got close, tugging her toward the entrance.
Weird.
She looked at the door and her hand drifted up to the metal pull handle covered in rust. There was a faint click as her hand gripped the corroded surface, and a buzz rushed through her—a spark of magic that burrowed deep into her sinew and bones.
A hunch sprouted in the corner of her mind that the seemingly derelict laundromat hid a secret. Its outward facade was a deception to thwart others from attempting to enter.
Sabine jerked the handle and the door easily opened, allowing her entry.
It wasn't until she passed under the door frame that her new surroundings came into focus in the dim lighting; a seedy bar with pendant lamps dangling from the ceiling, each casting down muted pools of yellow fluorescence. Time-ravaged booths lined one of the walls. Pool tables were scattered in the back. Painted on some of the surfaces were cryptic symbols, circles and stars intermingled with peculiar linework.
The door shut behind her with a smack, the noise loud enough to make her jump a little.
The few patrons that took up space in the near-empty pub barely registered her arrival. A few lolled heads and suspicious side-eyes were the only welcomes she received as she stood silently by the doorway, awe-struck.
The energy inside pulsed around her in waves. There was something otherworldly about this place despite its deviant atmosphere. It played with her senses how she felt here and somehow not here at the same time.
Sabine's eyes swung around the establishment. She didn't know how to compose herself in this new environment brimming with unseen energy. Or, even more nerve-wracking, where to start. She was an intruder in this space.
Her stomach flipped with self-doubt as she stepped out of the pathway of the bar's entrance and shuffled over to the counter. She needed to begin somewhere and who might be a better informant than the bartender?
Sabine wrangled with the urge to have her eyes bug out when she spotted the bartender; hulking in size, blue-skinned, horns protruding out of his head, clad in a black shirt that hugged large muscles, and…were those fangs?
She greeted him with a speedy pulse, caught between curiosity and the urge to flee. "Uh, good afternoon."
"Oh?" A brow raised with interest and he almost smiled, the whites of his pointed teeth flashed at her between blue lips (yup, those were fangs). "American?"
Sabine nodded with trepidation. Her hands twitched over the countertop and she gulped down her nervousness. She wanted to inquire about Constantine's whereabouts, but a different question came out.
Hesitantly, she asked, "What…is this place?"
He set a glass down behind the counter with a clink. "The Oblivion Bar," he said, blasé, wiping his hands with a rag.
Her face remained deadpan. Was that answer supposed to be an explanation? Maybe he wasn't the chatty type. All right, fair enough.
She leaned over the bar, deciding to get to the point of her visit instead of gawking like a lost tourist. "I'm looking for someone named John Constantine. Is he, uh…here?"
With a jab of his thumb and an almost imperceptible right tilt of his head, he gestured further down the bar.
Sabine's eyes trailed after the direction he indicated, down the long wooden countertop until they settled on the lone figure of a man sitting crouched over and by himself at the end of the bar.
"Um, thank you," she said. When did her voice get all squeaky?
The blue devil's head bobbed before he turned away.
She swallowed the rock in her throat as her eyes roamed over the man's slightly disheveled appearance from a distance, messy blond hair and a crinkled white button-up with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. Thrown over the unoccupied barstool next to him was a tan trench coat.
Sabine cagily approached him, afraid that he might poof and vanish if she came on too swiftly.
"Constantine?" she asked, throat tight. She could see bits of gray in his blond hair and stubble upon closer inspection.
The man's head perked up, his entire sloppy demeanor affected by the sound of his name. His chin slanted in her direction and she was instantly hit by a wall of alcohol breath. "Yesss?"
Eyebrows poised high, Sabine repeated her query for confirmation. "Are you…John Constantine?"
"The one and only," he hiccuped, half covering his mouth with his hand. "Exorcist. Demonologist. Detective…of sorts," he answered in a British accent and an exaggerated hand gesture that almost knocked over his drink. He straightened his red tie then pulled at it again, loosening it. "And master of the dark arts. Sorry, ran out of business cards a while ago."
"Okay," she said carefully. She slid onto a stool and joined him at the counter. Her eyes dropped down to his red tie. It seemed an odd choice for a purported warlock. Maybe he was going for business casual?
Constantine rolled his eyes, electing to ignore how unconvinced she sounded.
"Not impressed?—well, suit yourself," he said. He wiggled his fingers and brandished an item in his hand. "Now let's see who the cat dragged in here…"
Sabine's skittish eyes snapped back to him when she recognized the black, faux leather item he held in his wily clutches: her wallet.
He rifled through it with a bored expression, searching through the disordered mess of cards and old receipts before finding her New Jersey state driver's license.
"Sabine Aberdeen-Song," he read with a lilt of amusement, fiendish brows shooting up to his hairline, "date of birth, April twenty—"
"How did you…give that back," she snapped, voice amplified by frustration.
She lunged to snatch her belongings out of his hands. However, the moment her fingers brushed against his knuckles she was sucked into a monstrous vision of death-induced mania:
A dark and dingy room. Viscera splattered on the floors and walls. Lifeless and mutilated bodies in heaps. In the center, a burning summoning circle around a young girl—screaming, crying, and begging Constantine for help.
Face pale, Sabine's eyes widened into terrified saucers. "What-what was that?"
"None of your business is what it is," Constantine said dismissively. His blue eyes examined her with the precision of a fine-toothed comb. Even buzzed, he saw her aura leaking magic like a dripping kitchen faucet. Agitated, his fingers tapped against his pint glass and he noted, "Awfully annoying power you have there."
She fumbled for words. "Y-you saw it too?"
"Saw it, lived it," he answered crossly, "didn't need to be reminded of it."
Sabine averted her gaze. She didn't want to know how that awful nightmare ended, but she could hazard a guess.
She was unsure of what to do or say next and was painfully aware of what a poor first impression she was making. But she also hadn't expected him to start with mystically nicking her wallet and then accidentally peeking into his sordid past.
And this was the man Madame Xanadu wanted her to seek out?
"I'm gonna guess it was you who pinged me with that locator spell," Constantine dully rattled on, rotating and inspecting his drink with pretend interest. "Not bad, pocket dimensions can be tricky to pin down. This one's for magic users only so that's prolly how you got inside, too."
P-pocket dimension? Sabine's head swiveled around the unimpressive bar in wonder before her eyes honed back in on him. The bartender hadn't mentioned that.
There was a lull as he took a long gulp of beer. "So are you going to tell me what you want or are you just here to stare at my pretty mug all day? Not that I'm not flattered by the attention, but…you're a little young for me."
Sabine made a face, slightly affronted by the joke in poor taste, before straightening her posture. "My mom's Olivia Aberdeen."
"Yeah, figured. I can put two and two together," Constantine replied, grimacing at the shift in conversation.
"So you know she's gone?" Sabine continued, eyes glued to him and waiting for his response.
Constantine looked down and the corners of his lips spasmed into a frown. "Oh great," he ground out sarcastically, "you just here to rub my failures in my face today? Liv was a friend."
It'd been years since she heard someone fondly refer to her mother as 'Liv'. The sentiment managed to thaw out some of her misgivings towards the sorcerer.
Sabine shifted, remorseful for her choice of words. She folded her arms over the counter. "Sorry, not trying to be difficult. Just…" The sentence You're just not what I expected fizzled up and died on her tongue. "There's so much about her I don't know and now there's this demon-thing and it's after me and I know it has to do with her but I don't get what it wants with me—"
After chugging the remaining contents of his drink, Constantine wiped his mouth with his forearm and interrupted with, "—Okay, okay, take a breath."
Sabine fell silent and focused on recollecting herself, counting down from five.
The hint of a headache throbbed behind Constantine's eyes. Of all days for someone to seek his help, it just had to be on one when he wanted to throw a little pity party for himself and lose himself in a few drinks. Typical.
He wobbled a bit as he faced her, unsteady on the stool. "Start over, love. From the beginning."
She took a deep breath. "Madame Xanadu told me to look for you—"
"—'course she did, can't be arsed to help herself, " Constantine muttered under his breath.
She ran her teeth over her bottom lip, irked that he was cutting her off yet again, she continued, "—people in Gotham are dying, people I know, people who are connected to me…I know this has to do with my mom. But what we haven't been able to figure out is what it wants with me."
An uncomfortable pause weighed between them and Sabine was momentarily lost in thought.
Finally, Constantine scoffed, "Oh, that old thing." There was much less enthusiasm in his tone than she anticipated and he said it like it was some kind of ratty, bygone family heirloom. His words started to slur together when he mused churlishly, "Kicking up trouble again, is it?"
Bewilderment flashed across her features. "You…you know about it?"
He laughed, but it was void of any trace of humor, dry and joyless. Almost scary. "I know about it 'cause I'm the one who bound the bloody thing to Gotham," Constantine quipped, not leery of his proclamation in the slightest.
His brazen confession made her freeze in horror, rooting her to the spot. Quietly and alarmingly, she processed his words.
He knows? He did this? What the—
She'd wanted answers, went searching for them, and now this…
A scandalized accusation bubbled up her throat, coated with incredulity and hostility. "You—you did this?" Sabine's hands slammed down on the countertop and her magic vibrated outwards in a violent wave, beating to life with her outrage. "What the fuck?"
There were several thunderous pops as some of the stoppers on the liquor bottles behind the bar shot off. Alcohol sprayed over the shelving in frothing cascades.
From across the bar, the blue devil pointed at her and growled, "Oi, settle down."
Immediately ashamed of the eruptive display of her abilities, Sabine shamefully sank back into the stool and sulked.
"Sorry," she said meekly. Then she shot a dark look at Constantine and repeated harshly, "but—excuse me—what the fuck?"
"Don't tell me you moved to Gotham?" Constantine asked, disbelief apparent on his shrewd face. He lifted his empty glass and looked into the bottom with one eye closed as if it were a kaleidoscope. Would Blue Devil be mad at him if he magicked a gin and tonic into it? Hmm, on second thought, better not risk it.
Sabine nodded, confused and not at all put at ease by Constantine's unaffected persona. "I moved there for school…I've lived there for years now," she replied.
He snorted and planted the glass back down on the counter. "Then I'd invest in several tons of salt and holy water, and brush up on your wards if you plan on staying 'cause Gotham's the one place you're not supposed to be."
A/N: There's obviously more to Constantine's story, lol. Lots of ground to cover in the next chapter!
Just some WUD fun facts (?) for this chapter:
-Sabine's mom, Olivia Aberdeen, is loosely based off of Liv Aberdine from the Constantine tv pilot.
-I was going to make up my own pocket dimension bar only visible to magic users but then I stumbled across the Oblivion Bar when I was poking around online then decided "why the hell not use this pre-established one instead?", gave it a London entrance, and made up a bunch of bs about it because this is fanfiction and I do what I want. B)
Been struggling a lot with writing lately, thanks for reading and sticking around! :)