@hellblcze
Rain pelted whatever it came across, beading down windows and metallic structures as they traveled along the highway. There was truly no rest for the wicked; himself included. The grey sky seemed to herald an ominous foreboding, tremors escalated into an earthquake upon materialization of his bar. Though this went unnoticed by many, the shift in atmospheric pressure to those who could feel him out, would sense something dark, yet not sinister; a honeyed light licking off his frame in wisps, symbolizing the divine traits he bore from his human parent. A step forth onto the streets of Liverpool, would he adjust his gaze to his surroundings, taking them all in.
❝Oh Johnny, it's time we meet in person.❞
A calling card spoken telepathically through that mental pulse rippling from his feet to sniff out the Laughing Magician; he, himself desired no quarrel but his family heritage and John went far back. On a throne of granite he sat, waterspout jettisoning the water up like a geyser. Hand raises to cup his chin then motions to and fro, index middle and forefinger scratching along his jawline. He was thinking, lost in thought as to how he thought this conversation would go down and all were either moderate, or high; tension wise. This w a s truly troublesome, and all he could do was wait. Wait and see what fate had in store for him.
“348 Elm grove, Johnny boy. Meet me there.”