The chances of demon John doing some crazy parkour shit is about the same chance of him giving up the trench and alcohol. His thin self isn't going swinging from a damn thing despite the changes that have happened.

He watches John from the back, feeling the thrill of magic through the air to temper his own crankiness at his human self. It's like the touch of an old friend with that surge of life versus his.

"If you lose a hand, don't let it be the one we wank with."

So much for secrets. Sighing, John reaches out to grasp the doors of the elevator and push as well. Strength he has, but maybe not in the measure needed. The spidery words of magic he speaks? Oh now that is a trade-off he made for more. The magic that flares out is cold and calculating. Tainted. An unhappy squeal of machinery accompanies, a protest as if they had cheated whatever power had been controlling it all.

"You'd best get through or hit this with something stronger."