"Naw," the Englishman said, lighting himself another cigarette. "You've got the wrong John Constantine."
Bruce leaned forward. His eyes were dark and interested and hungry, and his smile was knowing and self-assured. "I'm not an idiot. I know who you are."
The Englishman grinned a bright jackal-grin. "And who might I be?"
"The best magician in Europe. Hell, maybe even the best in the world."
A stream of smoke. "Don't believe everything you hear, mate."
Bruce's grin matched his. "I don't."
The Englishman laughed. "Why are you looking for Constantine, anyway? Ponce is never up to any good."
Bruce's grin turned into a smirk. Under the dim hanging lights of the booth, he looked younger than his twenty-two years. "Neither am I."
"Want to learn the 'tricks of the trade', eh? Conning people in the normal sort of way not good enough for you?" The tip of his cigarette glowed orange in the darkness.
Bruce's face turned deadly serious. "I want to learn magic from the best, and you're the best."
The Englishman's face, however, did not. "Look, mate, I don't take on apprentices, especially not American wankers, so you can just piss off."
"I heard about that stunt you pulled on the the Three. Impressive."
A tilt of the head. "How the hell'd you hear about that?"
Bruce grinned. It wasn't quite the jackal-grin, but it was a fair imitation of it. "One of them told me about it."
"You're a bloody liar."
"So are you."
"Better learn to do it more convincingly. That isn't the sort they'd want to advertise." Another exhale of smoke.
"They told me about it. Told me about the whole business with Chantinelle, too. A succubus and an angel falling in love? Real Shakespearean."
The Englishman leaned back in his chair, almost retreating entirely into the shadows. The jackal grin glowed bright in the darkness, brighter than his eyes, even. "All right then, luv. I'll give you a chance. Show us what you've got."
That was surprisingly fun. Maybe I'll do an Alias one next. Rambaldi x Constantine = whee!