John Constantine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heckblazer) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2017-10-03 12:06 am
heckblazer) wrote in maskormenacelogs2017-10-03 12:06 am
Entry tags:
seven lies, multiplied by seven, multiplied by seven again
WHO: John Constantine and Tefe Holland feat. Persephone
WHERE: Tefe's barn hideout
WHEN: Early October
WHAT: John's shitty plant daughters cut him down to size
WARNINGS: John and his CR's usual warnings of substance abuse, profanity, violent trauma and mental illness apply
[ You're not fit to watch your own piss to make sure it comes out in a straight line, let alone watch out for the well-being of anyone else, John, and you damn well know it. Let alone kids, let alone kids with ethereal powers and permanent mental scarring. You had your fun masquerading as someone useful and racing after sad, meager attempts at balancing your karmic scales. Everyone can see you doing it, too, you sad git. That's why there's three people here who don't want to tear you apart, and they all have all sorts of more useful people around them besides. It's past time to find a hole for crawling into and dying.
Which is more or less how he's spent the past week and half. He'd realized by day four that the nanites and his own latent powers wouldn't let him overdose or catch complications from alcohol. So, he attempted an experiment to see whether he could drown them out eventually.
Unsuccessful. But he's stubborn.
He's not sure when or how he ended up in an abandoned strip of rural land. The light of daybreak, the chills in the air and the aromas of rotten wood and dewy grass stir him into a state of consciousness. He props himself up gingerly, every limb screaming in soreness and his throat and mouth so dry they hardly opened. His stomach heaves uselessly, too empty to retch up anything. He stopped bothering to feed himself on, he guesstimates, day six. He breathes through the frantic signals of pain and dehydration to his brain, squinting at his surroundings through hangover-induced bleariness. It's a barn of some sort, and he can feel a bit of wall that doesn't appear to be on the brink of collapse at his back. The part of him that was fueled by instinct must have found shelter rather than letting him sleep in a ditch.
After a moment, he aches slightly less and slides a few fingers into a pocket, a lone cigarette appearing where he needs it. The lighter is another set of bollocks entirely, something he has to spend more time padding himself down for, which he does terribly slowly, each pat on his chest like a wrecking ball.
He mutters to himself, tongue tasting tobacco and patches of crusted-up blood from too much throwing up and fights he can't remember. ]
Very thoughtful of you, past John. Now can we stop being self-pitying wankers and get home?
WHERE: Tefe's barn hideout
WHEN: Early October
WHAT: John's shitty plant daughters cut him down to size
WARNINGS: John and his CR's usual warnings of substance abuse, profanity, violent trauma and mental illness apply
[ You're not fit to watch your own piss to make sure it comes out in a straight line, let alone watch out for the well-being of anyone else, John, and you damn well know it. Let alone kids, let alone kids with ethereal powers and permanent mental scarring. You had your fun masquerading as someone useful and racing after sad, meager attempts at balancing your karmic scales. Everyone can see you doing it, too, you sad git. That's why there's three people here who don't want to tear you apart, and they all have all sorts of more useful people around them besides. It's past time to find a hole for crawling into and dying.
Which is more or less how he's spent the past week and half. He'd realized by day four that the nanites and his own latent powers wouldn't let him overdose or catch complications from alcohol. So, he attempted an experiment to see whether he could drown them out eventually.
Unsuccessful. But he's stubborn.
He's not sure when or how he ended up in an abandoned strip of rural land. The light of daybreak, the chills in the air and the aromas of rotten wood and dewy grass stir him into a state of consciousness. He props himself up gingerly, every limb screaming in soreness and his throat and mouth so dry they hardly opened. His stomach heaves uselessly, too empty to retch up anything. He stopped bothering to feed himself on, he guesstimates, day six. He breathes through the frantic signals of pain and dehydration to his brain, squinting at his surroundings through hangover-induced bleariness. It's a barn of some sort, and he can feel a bit of wall that doesn't appear to be on the brink of collapse at his back. The part of him that was fueled by instinct must have found shelter rather than letting him sleep in a ditch.
After a moment, he aches slightly less and slides a few fingers into a pocket, a lone cigarette appearing where he needs it. The lighter is another set of bollocks entirely, something he has to spend more time padding himself down for, which he does terribly slowly, each pat on his chest like a wrecking ball.
He mutters to himself, tongue tasting tobacco and patches of crusted-up blood from too much throwing up and fights he can't remember. ]
Very thoughtful of you, past John. Now can we stop being self-pitying wankers and get home?
no subject
Tefe's response to Persephone is easier to hear out in the main area, closer to the front of the barn... which is conveniently the only way in or out, unless you like kicking a few holes in the half-rotted walls.]
I don't think you understand. Even though there's something different about this place, hundreds of miles might not be... did you hear something?
no subject
Smell, definitely. The fuck even is that?
no subject
It works until he hears the chatter coming from near the entrance, and that just about feels like an ice pick through the skull. For more than one reason.
They almost sound hopeful, gossiping there before the poisonous realization of his presence. He contemplates playing dead but they'd find him regardless, maybe use all the greenery around for an impromptu torture session. But then, what in the nine fucks would he even say to them? ]
Shite. 'Scuse me ladies, didn't realize that this joint was double-booked.
[ What she likely smells, for the record, is paint thinner. Yeah. Rough past few days. ]
no subject
Oh, fuck right off. Sorry, Persephone. I thought this place was abandoned, but it looks like it has an infestation of at least one big dirty rat.
no subject
[ Her accent snaps from light general London straight to Shitty South London Garbage Child as soon as the Garbage Father is present. And yet? she's still coming over to take a look at him???? ]
no subject
Yer' too kind. Suppose you wouldn't believe my dropping in was a happy accident?
[ It's a hard deflection, of course. He's starting to see what direction things might head the longer these two spend in each other's company. They'll only spring to devour his innards faster if they smell fear. You already ruined the life of one unstable plant girl so that she wouldn't destroy the world, John, says that voice he's been desperately trying to drown into silence. So why have you stalled so much with another? Distracted by her morbid, enigmatic aesthetic? ]
no subject
I'd give you the benefit of the doubt, but you'd probably find a way to take advantage of that too.
[Oh gross, Persephone, don't go over there. Not that she's gonna physically stop her but she deserves at least a warning.]
Don't bother with him. He deserves whatever he's gotten into this time.
no subject
[ But somehow Persephone looks. Vaguely. worried. about him anyway. ]
no subject
Well, 'least no one died. [ He nods towards her with the unit cigarette still between his teeth. ] Wouldja kindly?
no subject
[Disgusting. Tefe shoots Persephone a glare. She knows you smoke too, but are you even gonna think about it here?]
How do you know this asshole, anyway?
no subject
And no she has asthma or something! Jeez!
no subject
[ He starts very cautiously padding himself down to find his lighter, scowling. Ex-manager he was, but somehow still the errand boy, and now he had to light his own bloody cigarette like some plebe. He's not worried about pissing off Tefe, considering he reached critical mass for her fury eons ago. ]
no subject
She's past critical fury, maybe, but still a long way from good terms. Just like the rest of the family. Be glad there's some familial weird magic shit preventing her from just choking you on your own cigarette, John.]
Overly attached? Maybe you didn't notice, but this world's just as fucked as the one back home. You're just one more part of the problem.
At least cancer has a chance at catching up with you eventually. Little girls don't have a chance.
no subject
Uuuuuuuuuh.
no subject
Me beating lung cancer I must've mentioned once or twice while loaded. The rest is a bit of a bloody tale, love. I might've transmogrified our friend here into a weaker body at one point. It's original owner wasn't going to use it for much longer, see. At the request of her old man, mind you. You've seen the power she has over plantlife. [ He adds after a beat, if only to stall them from flaying him alive just yet: ] Though, 'pparently, you found out just how powerful firsthand.
no subject