Re: In-person: Zee/John
[She lifted a brow when he looked, but she didn't say anything or rise to anger. She'd known him since they were both teenagers with too many hormones and too much magic between them, and she knew he was a letch. He'd always been a letch, charming smile and an accent that swept the magical girl from Gotham right off her feet, and no levitation required. She didn't know if that was the story he knew, and her brief interaction with Bruce made her aware that it might be entirely different. But, with John, it was different; John still knew her. Whatever paths the universe had set before them, they were meant to meet on at least two of those roads.
Fate walked beside her, and it was there whenever she read the cards, and she didn't fight it. Some believed in a higher power, and fate was hers. Deities existed, yes, and she had them traced upon her skin in black ink, indelible signs of respect at her hips and arms and back. But she worshipped the power in the universe, and fate belonged to that power.
But she was young, and she slid a bare foot across the couch and poked him in the hip with her toes.] You're such a lecherous bastard, John Constantine. [She sounded fond, her Gotham accent upper-crust and refined, and she watched him light the cigarette without protest. The man would die for that little box that lived in the breast pocket of his trench, and she knew better than to fight him. Especially when her reasons for inviting him were largely selfish. She was feeling the ache of this place, an aloneness that she never felt in her own home. He was familiarity, even like this, and she had called him because she needed comforting.
She wasn't a woman who feared intimacy or sentiment. She wasn't scared of saying what she needed. She smiled when he said she liked making him squirm, and it was a soft and secretive smile, the kind of thing shared between lovers. She looked at his hand, and she considered. But it was a surface consideration, a falsity. She knew she would reach for him, because he spoke her language. He was not as she was, homo magi and descended from Atlantis, but he lived in her world and he wielded magic. She had spent an evening blind, and she wanted to see.
With a stretch of elegance, she reached out her hands.]