"I don't doubt it," he returns, before his gaze sharpens suddenly.
"Please, forgive the non sequitur - but, have you ever heard anyone
mention a tower? Something seen in a vision, and not necessarily in this
world. I don't ask you to break confidence, you understand," he notes,
earnestly. "But that is a part of the problem."

Kate shrugs her shoulders. "Well, in Bermuda Constantine did it. At least
we know him. Trust is kind of a nebulous realm."

Nebulous isn't the /word/ where Constantine is involved. Kitty's
expression goes very wry indeed. "No /wonder/ he ran away," she mutters,
and pays for and passes Kate her drink. Here. Alcohol. Medicinal purposes.
"I almost wonder if he /does/ know something about what's going on.
Woudln't tell us either way, of course."

There's a moment's hesitation. Lorne looks uncertain. "I can't...I really
can't divulge to you what I've read in anyone else, sweetheart, but - it's
ringing bells. Shall we say." Another slight pause, and he adds slowly,
"Roses. In a field. I think - " Those Satanic facial features take on an
utterly perplexed expression and the Host falls silent.

Kate takes a sharp swig of the amber beverage, and then draws in, and
releases a deep breath. "He claims he doesn't. Which pricks, Kitty. If
only he knew /something/, anything...even if he said he needed something
in order to tell. That, I could handle."

Someone once described the look on a junkie's face as an 'equation written
in the algebra of need'. And it's precisely the look the Englishman has,
for justt an instant, before he manages to fix the pokerface back in
place. "Yes," he agrees, in a near-hiss. "The tower, in the field of
roses. Whe-" He breaks off, abruptly, abashed. "I'm sorry."

"Kate," Kitty says gently, "this is /him/. Maybe he doesn't. Maybe he
doesn't /yet/. Maybe he's got other things he's working on. Maybe he's
genuinely clueless. And maybe we'll get lucky." She shrugs. "To put it
/really/ bluntly - any time you go in to deal with him, you bring a condom
and lube, because chances are you're gonna get screwed over and you might
as well be prepared." It's probably a good thing Jack's over there, not in
hearing range. "Doesn't stop you from looking for stuff on your own."

"That's all right." Lorne looks like he's straining to hear something just
out of earshot, head cocked like a puppy, looking at nothing at all. "Are
you looking for it, Jack?" he says, sounding more than a little detached.
There are hazards in being a broadband psychic receiver, sometimes.

Celliers takes a step back from the Host, suddenly uncertain. "Yes," he
admits, in a clipped monosyllable, grudging and suspicious. That need's on
his face again, raw and obvious, warring with embarassment.

Kate stares at the mirror behind the bar. "I probably ought to go see him
again. Maybe in the interim, he may have thought up some new ideas. Do you
think that Pete might have any?"

"Pete," Kitty replies, "is spending large amounts of time either doing I
have no /idea/ what or hiding in a small room upstairs at our place, /not/
watching television. Studying and research, mostly." Possibly losing his
mind, but she leaves that part not out loud. "It's not really his kind of
problem."

Apparently operating on an entirely different frequency to usual, Lorne
fixes Celliers with a sudden, intent stare. "You'll never find it so far
off the path," he tells the man, sounding almost angry, and forgetting to
keep his voice down. A couple of the spikey people look round, puzzled.
"You'll never find it if you keep looking so far from the path! The Beams
are breaking. What good can you do if they come down, Jack? What do you
expect to do when you find it?"

Celliers's voice has dropped to a hissing whisper, all the softer despite
the music, and now his gaze doesn't waver from the Host's face. "I know. I
don't know the way. I don't know what I have to do when I get there. I do
know that I have to find it. I have to. How do I find the way? Please.
Tell me what you know." His hands are up, as if he'd grab the shoulders of
that natty jacket.

Kate turns at the sound of familiar raised voices, looking towards where
Jack and Lorne stand. "Kitty...something's happening. Do you think...?"
She doesn't seem to really know what she's asking, but her eyes are glued
to the scene.

"... I've got no idea." Kitty pushes herself to her feet, eyes wide,
abandoning her Coke - Lockheed eyes her, eyes the pair of men, looks torn,
and then perches right by her glass. Where he can steal it. She only goes
partway toward the pair - it's supposed to be a private conversation! But
right now it's not real private and Jack looks just a little tempted
toward violence, and this is Caritas, darnit. There'll be none of that.

"What *I* know? What about what *you* know?" Celliers can grab if he wants
to, but Lorne will not be happy afterwards if there are creases. Right now
the demon seems to have no feelings about it one way or the other, eyes
burning, almost glowing red. "Do you think it's as simple as going east or
second star to the right or fucking ruby slippers, Jack?" Yes. A curse
word. The spikey people are heading for the door, and even the bartender
is now looking distinctly worried. "You can't find it. You never will.
Give up."

He does catch himself in time, slowly lowering those spidery hands and
wrapping his arms around himself, as if against the cold. His voice is
suddenly rusty, and he drops his gaze to the floor. Don't look at me like
that. " I don't imagine that it is. Most likely I won't. Won't find it, I
mean. Not in this life. I don't expect to. But I have to try. I can't give
up. That's about all I know." Color appears in his face again, though it's
not one of those full blushes, but feverish spotting.

Kate stares in shock. "Kitty!" she hisses. "What's he /doing/?! Is this an
act? Should we stop them?"

"No way it's an act," Kitty says aside to Kate, as low-toned as she can
manage and still reach the other woman. "I don't know /what's/ going on."

Leaning closer to address the man, Lorne snarls, "That's because you're
weak. You dream of the roses but you can't reach out and take them. You
won't even try. And they all fall, one by one, and there's nobody left by
the time the Tower comes down, and *then*. Then you'll see." His tone is
more amused than hating.

"I am *trying*," he insists, teeth gritted, pale eyes narrowed, for once
heedless of the others' stares. The 'you bastard' remains implied. "But I
have to find something here, in this world, so I'll be back on the path
again, in the next. I've seen it. I know. I'll see it again. I do. Every
night."

Kate reaches out and grips Kitty's shoulder, there being nothing else she
can do besides stand and stare. It looks like she's leaning forward,
waiting for a gunshot to start running a race almost -- instinctively
wanting to approach and yet realizing that she shouldn't, she can't.

Kitty's eased forward, poised, almost coiled. She's staying out. But if
either one of the men moves - this is Caritas; nobody's getting hurt, if
she has to make sure of it herself.

"'I've seen it. I know'." Lorne mimicks Jack's voice, and rather well, it
should be said, shifting towards mockery. "You know *nothing*. None of
you. You're all going to be too late. You'll never find it. Forget the
Tower. It's beyond you. Curl up and wait for the end because that's all
you can do. All...all you can..." The fire abruptly goes out. Lorne
blinks, twice, takes a step back, stumbles, and goes down hard, taking two
chairs with him.

Jack doesn't waver. Instead, he takes a few paces forward, leans down a
little, and states, quietly, "This is what I know. You wanted to help.
Here you are," Though it's still gravelly, his voice is tuneful enough as
he sings, barely audible. The lyrics are almost nonsense, from some old
eighties song. "And it's passing strange - And I'm waiting for the train ,
caught up on this line again..." Take a good look, Host, I'll try and show
you, if you'll see.

Kate whispers, "He's singing. It's amazing, I didn't think he would..."

For this moment, it's not Jack Kitty's worried about. Her eyes are on
Lorne - the moment he stumbled, she shrugged off Kate's hand and came
forward, not /quite/ between the two men, not touching either of them,
ready to offer a hand up if the Host needs one or to go down on one knee
beside him if he doesn't move. Or to back the hell off, if she gets any
sign from him at all. She /thinks/ it's him, this time, anyway.

Stirring only a little, Lorne barely focuses on Jack at all. When the man
starts singing he squeezes his eyes shut and makes an ineffectual attempt
to curl up, hiding, trying to cover his ears. The stupid chairs are in the
way of movement. What...why am I on the floor?

"And it's passing slowly, killing time, but it's better than living in
what will come...." He lets the song trail off, and almost stumbles back
from Lorne. There's enough of that, before I show you the really ugly
things I've done. What the hell am I doing here? HE finally lets his hands
fall to his sides, and looks around helplessly.

And that look breaks Kate's spell, and she dashes over to his side,
touching his arm and looking to see if he needs support.

Kitty pushes one of those chairs aside from Lorne, giving him a little
space to curl in, and drops to one knee. "Kate, h--" Oh. She is. Well
then. Now she's going to stay quiet, try to keep from abrading Lorne's
head any further than it's been already, and see if there's anything she
can do for him.

It's not easy to curl into a defensive foetal ball when you're six foot
three, but Lorne manages it, hunched on the floor, shaking. He'll probably
get around to telling everyone to go away in a minute.

Celliers just looks down at her, lost. "Oh dear," he says, simply,
flicking an unhappy look at Lorne. "What'd I do?"

Kate's arm curls around Jack's waist, and she looks between him and Lorne
there, all forlorn on the floor. "I don't know. It was like...you
triggered something in him, a vision, or some knowledge...and it's ended
now. I don't know!"

"And whatever it was," Kitty says softly, "I think it hurt him a /lot/.
Meet you two outside." Because she's going to try to calm down the
bartender, and probably get Lorne a drink, and possibly leave Lockheed the
/lovely/ psychic blank spot to keep an eye on the poor demon. She pushes
to her feet, edging away and waving Jack and Kate back toward the door.

Really, really not going anywhere. Lorne indulges in a bit of sheer
misery. It's good for the soul.

Celliers rests his hand lightly on Kate's shoulder, but lets Kitty shoo
them out. "I'm sorry?" he offers, in a very small voice. "And I think we'd
better go," he murmurs, to Kate.