A slow exhale of smoke clouds the air between them, John's own eyes watching him. A slow curl of red traces the outside of the iris, rolling inwards to the pupil like a bank of embers flaring. Dramatic, but right now is about convincing his living self of a few things.

"Good thing we know that about each other," he says, red fading away to leave him (to the human eye) just the same as John. "I don't play games I can't win. Never have. Even Newcastle. Arrogant that, but pure us."

The pack of Silk Cuts is fished out of his pocket, the lid thumbed up and offered to the human John. He had taken one out a half-minute before, but twenty cigarettes face John snugly in the container.

"I've been in Hell for two years now, I think. Maybe a bit more or less. Time moves different down there. You know that. Don't try to measure cocks with me. Unless you're still wanting that shag."

He tips a wink in John's direction, leaning against the wall to look down on the living.

"We always have been our worst enemy, but you're in Hell. My territory more than yours."

Out-conning the other party is always what they do best, even when the most dangerous thing in any place for a demon is an exorcist. Thinking of which...

"No, I'm not possessed. You know the feel of your own magic."