"Magic. Demon. Favors. Money," John makes a gesture that clearly says 'take your pick', and then throws back half his drink in one go. It's practically anesthetic. Like in the dreams.
"People die. Strewth, it's not pretty. Being followed around by pissed off silent ghosts of friends that died because of something I did." He's glad though that Q dreams of being something rather thrilling and inherently good.