A British folk song drifted from the counter of a dimly lit bar. Accompanied by the soft crackle of the tape, the music suddenly stopped. One Hand pressed down on the radio, and the long-haired bartender patted the somewhat faulty machine before shaking his head helplessly.
A customer's bell at the bar summoned him over. The moment he turned around, he saw a blond man passed out at the table. The bartender sighed helplessly, walked over, and nudged the man's shoulder. "Mr. Constantine, are you all right?"
"The radio... why did it stop?" Constantine mumbled. The bartender took a glass down from the shelf and wiped it as he said, "That old radio was left behind by the boss's father. It's too old, so it breaks down all the time."
Constantine did not look up. He merely slowly raised one hand. Under the light, his fingers were clearly jointed, long, and elegant, entirely at odds with his overall dissolute air.
He snapped his fingers lightly. With a crack, the radio spat out a burst of sparks, and then the music started playing again.
The bartender jumped and took two small steps back, though not because of the magical sight. Constantine was a regular here, and everyone knew that this decadent man possessed certain special powers.
The bartender set the polished glass on the counter and asked, "The usual?"
"Yes, and an extra glass of ginger juice."
"Ginger juice?" The bartender looked troubled when he heard that. "You mean the medicine used for colds? But all we have here is alcohol..."
"Give me a glass."
Constantine finally straightened up from the bar. He held his head as the dizziness from the drug-induced euphoria had yet to fade. His vision was still hazy when he saw a glass reflecting the glittering lights