(no subject)
Who: John and Lucifer
When: Noon.
Where: A convenience store, the Circle K.
What: John's looking for cigarettes.
Rating: PG-13 for swearing.
That their ticket out of World's End had backfired was a given. He'd known it the moment he'd realized the climate he was in, the moment he'd seen the architecture. This sure as hell wasn't L. A., and there hadn't been anywhere else the exorcist meant to go. That no one else appeared to be here took the fucking cake, but it had earned nothing more than a snort and a mutter as he fished out the crumpled pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.
He found it empty.
Cursing his luck, John shoved his hands back into his pockets and started off down the road. He glanced in windows, but he'd no desire to disturb a town this quiet. Instead, he went looking for a grocer, or a... or a convenience.
When he spotted the Circle K after he rounded the corner, the exorcist actually broke into a jog, negligently manhandling the front door open and... walking straight into a completely, thoroughly empty store. Approaching the counter lethargically, he eyed the smokes a moment, then drifted toward the aisles, peering down each on in turn, before turning back to the counter.
In all, he'd only been there five minutes before he was hopping the counter and plucking the carton of Chang Jiang up immediately. The things were rare, and he might have marveled that they'd had them, but he couldn't be bothered. He needed a fucking smoke. Making quick work of the box, the wrapper, and the light up. John took the first deep breathe of smoke into his lungs in the same way connoisseur's sipped wine, and he let it out even more slowly.
Then, shoving the box under his arm, and snatching a second and a third, he hopped over the counter again. He paused only to slap a pair of twenties on the counter before heading straight for the doors.
Which didn't open for him. When he leaned his weight against them, they didn't budge.
When: Noon.
Where: A convenience store, the Circle K.
What: John's looking for cigarettes.
Rating: PG-13 for swearing.
That their ticket out of World's End had backfired was a given. He'd known it the moment he'd realized the climate he was in, the moment he'd seen the architecture. This sure as hell wasn't L. A., and there hadn't been anywhere else the exorcist meant to go. That no one else appeared to be here took the fucking cake, but it had earned nothing more than a snort and a mutter as he fished out the crumpled pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.
He found it empty.
Cursing his luck, John shoved his hands back into his pockets and started off down the road. He glanced in windows, but he'd no desire to disturb a town this quiet. Instead, he went looking for a grocer, or a... or a convenience.
When he spotted the Circle K after he rounded the corner, the exorcist actually broke into a jog, negligently manhandling the front door open and... walking straight into a completely, thoroughly empty store. Approaching the counter lethargically, he eyed the smokes a moment, then drifted toward the aisles, peering down each on in turn, before turning back to the counter.
In all, he'd only been there five minutes before he was hopping the counter and plucking the carton of Chang Jiang up immediately. The things were rare, and he might have marveled that they'd had them, but he couldn't be bothered. He needed a fucking smoke. Making quick work of the box, the wrapper, and the light up. John took the first deep breathe of smoke into his lungs in the same way connoisseur's sipped wine, and he let it out even more slowly.
Then, shoving the box under his arm, and snatching a second and a third, he hopped over the counter again. He paused only to slap a pair of twenties on the counter before heading straight for the doors.
Which didn't open for him. When he leaned his weight against them, they didn't budge.