Constantine: Saddle up, what can we do you for, pard’ner?
Constantine (smaller): Heh, I love this gig.
Dala: Where am I? I’m running out of time?
3. Constantine smiles as he lights a cigarette, because in this pub the smoking laws need not apply.
Constantine: Well, lady, we don’t exactly deal in time here, and I have no idea where you want to be, love?
4. Dala is unsure.
Dala: I have to leave. I have to find my friend.
5. Constantine yells at Dala as she is already leaving the pub, probably have this close on JC and have Dala leaving in a mirror somewhere behind the bar.
Constantine: Beware the moors, Dala!
6. We are outside the pub now, we can see an old shingle for the place naming it The Slaughtered Lamb, and there’s some paddock work out the back. The moon is full in the sky and Dala is running away, beating her feet to beat the devil.
Caption: Shit, it’s beware the moon, isn’t it? Keep clear of the moors and beware the moon. Why do I always fuck that bit up?
Caption (different colour): You really want one of us to answer that?
Caption: Ah, fuck it. This is the last time, if she fails the test again I say I shoot her.
Caption: (different colour): A magician shooting a girl. You always were a pleb.
Caption: You know the drill; ours is but to reason why…theirs is but to do or die.
Caption: Let’s go you mouldy motherfuckers.