maskormenacelogs | (no subject)

WHO: John Constantine & OPEN
WHERE: Maurtia Falls, mostly
WHEN: anytime in March
WHAT: Magic! Drinking! CR building in general.
WARNINGS: nudity, chicken blood, alcohol, eta nsfw in the thread with Bob

[Maurtia Falls #007]

Currently, Constantine is standing outside of his housing in Maurtia Falls on whatever passes for a front lawn and it's fairly dark—which is probably a good thing, considering he's not wearing any clothing and is covered in chicken blood. Hey, he's trying not to make a mess in the house, alright? He's such a considerate housemate, really. (Hopefully any passing cops will see it that way.) Plus, being outside beneath a full moon helps with the general ambiance. The 'general ambiance' of what one might ask (if you dare) and if anyone stops and watches, it might become apparent to some that he's casting a spell, standing in a protective circle of what might be flour (but probably isn't), chanting first in English-

"Hear me, most Unnameable of Devourers who guardeth the Eternal Gateway! I seek an audience with one in your embrace!" Which is followed by a few commanding-sounding phrases in Old Aramaic (rinse, repeat)—although... nothing appears to be actually happening.

[Maurtia Falls; some dive bar]

In more clothed circumstances, John can be found at his home-away-from-home, aka a neighborhood bar, where he's just about halfway through a bottle of whiskey, an ashtray full of cigarette butts on the bar in front of him, brooding ~~sexily~~.

Or alternately, catch him relating a story to the bartender and anyone else who might be sitting close by-

"You call that fun? Fun is when your ex-girlfriend who's currently a nun shoots you in the gut and leaves you at the mercy of an Invunche, and in order to survive, you're forced to invite a demon king to possess you, and after you go on a murder spree, you get locked up in a Mexican prison with time running out and very little 'ope of an exorcism. Now that was a fun weekend."

[Wildcard] Create your own starter and John will be there!

[Disclaimer: both of the above scenarios shamelessly inspired by NBC's Constantine. Prefer brackets? Go for it!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"What'd you do to merit said ticked-off-ness? Was it deserved?" Anathema's trying her best to finish the shitty wine as quickly as possible so she can order something better, so her swigs are getting deeper — and as a result, her mood looser, her questions more blunt.

She scrutinises the man over the edge of her drink. Possibly the answer's going to be something horrible, considering the general flavour and outrageousness of his stories sometimes. Worth asking anyway, though.

John shrugs nonchalantly. "Threatened to kill a baby Lamashtu had kidnapped. She prefers to eat her prey alive yeh see, glorified vampire that she is," he says matter-of-factly. "Anne Marie should've known I wouldn't 'ave actually done it," he adds, looking just a bit put out by the memory.

"I can see how that'd look pretty bad at first blush though, yeah." Okay, wine finally done. She waves her hand, gestures their bartender over, requests a glass and steals a pour from John's half-finished whiskey bottle. She moves carefully, almost dainty in her precision: which is really just a sign that Anathema's crossed into the realm of tipsy, where she's having to be more conscious of her movement.

"Okay. John, considering all your extremely colourful tales, I have a question. What do you do for a living here, in this universe? Are you still doing—" An expansive wave of a hand, indicating his whole everything. "That. All those things you do. Exorcisms and demonology and all that."

She's perfectly welcome to share the bottle, so there's no accusation of stealing forthcoming from him. There is the matter of 'wine then whiskey, always risky,' but presumably she knows her own limits and if she passes out, John will be happy to help her find her way home. And if she wants to show any gratitude for that, he won't object.

"No exorcisms to speak of. Quite frankly, all the demons I've encountered 'ere have been a bit lame." Crowley, he's looking at you. "Just doing me government-given job mostly, which is spokesman for 'Snuff It Out' Anti-Tobacco Campaign," he says as he lights another cigarette.

Anathema delivers an incredulous look in John's direction, her mind grinding to a halt as she tries to make those pieces fit together, which they don't. She hasn't ever seen him without a cigarette. The man seems practically surgically welded to them, a permanent part of his hands: whenever one's finished, he often chains it right onto lighting the next.

Baffled: "And they... keep paying you... for that?"

"So far." He shrugs. "Either they don't seem to be paying much attention, or they figure I'm a walking discouragement for ciggies, as in - 'keep smoking and this'll 'appen to you.'"

Either way, he doesn't mind. He figures they knew what they were getting when they assigned him to this.

Anathema snorts, bemused despite herself. "I don't know, as a scared-straight PSA, someone could probably do worse. You make it work for you, sort of? With a kind of scruffy charm, at least."

Kind of like a ratty threadbare tomcat that keeps coming round and you just want to make sure he's eating enough. Anathema doesn't really flirt, and isn't actually intending to, here: she just states compliments like they're flat facts.

"Until you drive ex-girlfriends to the nunnery, I suppose."

"Oh, I've got scruffy charm coming out the wazoo," he confirms, which naturally is accompanied by a wicked smile. He's probably got a lot of other, more questionable things coming out the wazoo as well, but he'll spare her any elaboration for the moment.

"Eh, it was her choice. Hell, I always figured that one of us would flee to Mexico, but I thought there'd be tequila and skinny-dipping involved, not a bloody convent."

The witch considers for a moment, then shoots him an impish grin from behind her drink, finally saying: "Who's to say the nuns don't drink tequila and go skinny-dipping? You're making an awful lot of assumptions, John."

"Well, most nuns 'ave this obligation to follow those pesky little things known as commandments, which strongly discourage that sort of thing," he counters with a wink. "Word of God and all that rubbish. Tends to be a bit of a prude, yeah?"

"Not All Nuns," Anathema quips back. "I'm sure there are some exceptions to the rule out there. This one's not quite what I mean, but for the sake of comparison: have you spent any time around the Jeopardy church? It's bizarre."

"Satanic nuns aside," he replies, with just a tiny bit of a line-face, because obviously.

"Not a lot, no. I tend to avoid churches that worship giant spiders as a rule. Not my kinda thing, yanno?"

"Really? But it kind of seems like it'd be way up your alley." A wrinkle of her nose, revealing that Anathema's fully joking. He's just really experienced with all sorts of batshit weirdness and cults and demons, okay?

"They'd probably be incredibly upset if you tried to exorcise their giant spiders, though. So maybe not."

"Nah, that sorta thing's more in Papa Midnight's purview; calling up African trickster gods who traditionally take the form of giant spiders and such. Not that I was there, mind yeh, I only 'eard about it."

He takes a drag of his cigarette, cocking an eyebrow at her. "I've got enough problems with demons, I don't need trickster gods on my case as well."

"Mm. And to the contrary, me, I'm trying to get a bingo card out of it. Meet a demon, meet an angel, meet an archangel, meet a wizard or two or three, meet an extradimensional void god..."

Anathema sounds a little like she's half-joking, but she's also entirely serious: she's been racking up as many eerie and out-of-the-way encounters in this world as she can, largely because it's a broadening of experience. Meeting all kinds of folks she likely wouldn't have back home.

She finishes the rest of her drink, lines up her empty glass at neat angles to all their others. "Alright, so. Come on, then. Hit me with another story, John."

She's been an avid listener all night, endlessly delighted by everything he has to share. She could stay here a while longer.

(no subject)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

poss a wrap or maybe yours to close? :>