Questions
Who is John Constantine?
Even though he struggled to remember the walk from the bar, Jason began composing a list of information he had garnished from the tavern conversation. Constantine was certainly aware of the occult. He knew of Etrigan and frequented Hell. And there was something hellish about the man himself, aside from his butchering of the King's English.
Bracing himself against a chair, the room began to spin without him. What if this Constantine fellow was more than some plebian annoyance? Had he just broken bread with the enemy?
Jason felt sick and alone. He examined his home. Did he honestly spend all his time cooped up in this depressing flat? He had a family once. He had known happiness. What happened?
He wanted to talk to someone and he could only think of one person (and only remember one phone number).
As he punched the numbers in (almost by muscle memory) and he was surprised when a woman answered the phone.
"Hello?" a groggy and familiar voice answered.
"Um... is Harry there?" Jason slurred.
"Hello! Jason?" Harry quickly responded. Jason heard a *click* as the other party hung up. "Christ almighty, Jason! It's three 'o clock!"
"Uh, yes, but I had some questions-"
"You've been drinking again haven't you?" Harry accused. "Look pal, you're not doing yourself any favors by blacking out every night. I've got a HUGE meeting tomorrow and I can't spend another night walking you through that chaos you call 'life'. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Wait! One question! Please."
Harry sighed. "I'm waiting."
"Who is Glenda?"
*click*
Jason sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall to maintain what little balance he had left. He abruptly flung the phone against the wall, sending bits of plastic flying about the room. He looked at the damage inflicted on the wall when the chord was wretched away and muttered, "Who is Jason Blood?"
Even though he struggled to remember the walk from the bar, Jason began composing a list of information he had garnished from the tavern conversation. Constantine was certainly aware of the occult. He knew of Etrigan and frequented Hell. And there was something hellish about the man himself, aside from his butchering of the King's English.
Bracing himself against a chair, the room began to spin without him. What if this Constantine fellow was more than some plebian annoyance? Had he just broken bread with the enemy?
Jason felt sick and alone. He examined his home. Did he honestly spend all his time cooped up in this depressing flat? He had a family once. He had known happiness. What happened?
He wanted to talk to someone and he could only think of one person (and only remember one phone number).
As he punched the numbers in (almost by muscle memory) and he was surprised when a woman answered the phone.
"Hello?" a groggy and familiar voice answered.
"Um... is Harry there?" Jason slurred.
"Hello! Jason?" Harry quickly responded. Jason heard a *click* as the other party hung up. "Christ almighty, Jason! It's three 'o clock!"
"Uh, yes, but I had some questions-"
"You've been drinking again haven't you?" Harry accused. "Look pal, you're not doing yourself any favors by blacking out every night. I've got a HUGE meeting tomorrow and I can't spend another night walking you through that chaos you call 'life'. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Wait! One question! Please."
Harry sighed. "I'm waiting."
"Who is Glenda?"
*click*
Jason sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall to maintain what little balance he had left. He abruptly flung the phone against the wall, sending bits of plastic flying about the room. He looked at the damage inflicted on the wall when the chord was wretched away and muttered, "Who is Jason Blood?"