Re: In-person: Zee/John
[He was not older. There were fewer lines upon his face than had lived in the visage of the Constantine she had known. But she had trouble remembering John in his previous iteration, and perhaps those remembered lines were new things that blazed in her most recent memories. Previous, because current was after the war, after they had been killed over and over, hands behind their backs and clinging to each other's fingers through the bonds. That was the man she recalled. The one who had left their entire team to die, simply because he feared his own feelings. The one who had stood beneath trees with her, and who she had let go because she believed he should love the world as much as he loved her. Once in her lifetime, she had turned another man away for the very opposite thing. She wasn't his passion, and he'd loved his demons more than he'd loved her. But this man, this man had been willing to burn the world for her, and that was a magic that was too strong, too selfish.
And while he was not that man, this familiar face in a familiar trenchcoat, he was still him.
She had heard much since she'd arrived about versions. I am not your version, and you are not mine, and they were all wrong. The aura she saw, what shone from this man was the same as it was in the man she had known since she was a teenager. He was different, and she felt that too, but his fabric was the same. And so she recognized him, and so he was Constantine.]
You know it isn't much work. [Bringing him here wasn't much work at all, and she knew how much he hated it, and so she did it on purpose. It was a misuse of her powers, but she felt sure the universe would forgive her the childishness this once.
She turned to face him, bare feet on the couch and her knees against her chest. The sarong was a soft fall of fabric over her thighs, and she was impressed that he didn't leer.] It's strange, meeting new versions of people I know as well as my own hands. Am I as you remembered?
[She knew there was a reluctance here to share tales, but she didn't share that reluctance. That his path had been different was obvious, but she wanted to know those differences. It was wondrous, the intersection of selves, and she never shied from wonderment.]