John Constantine has inherited a bowling alley.
In a burst of bizarre irony - perhaps even the kind worthy of giant hamsters God's sense of humor - the man who owned the place had not a week ago died of bees (and Balthazar), so were he in other circumstances he might have approached this by like ...finding a new apartment. One not above a bowling
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[is....he kidding.]
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I wish I had more to offer, but I really prefer alcohol to blood these days, and the only dead language I know is the same old Classical Hebrew everyone and their brother flunks out of in prep school.
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Thanks for the bar, by the way. My apartment is set up near this ...club; if that was my only option I'd start preferring blood out of self-defense. [such distaste, John, don't you love being surrounded by teenagers?] And that's the old standard, I wouldn't turn you down. But I already owe you a favor.
[for the bar, you see.]
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And my Hebrew really isn't bad, by the way, if you've need of it. My father would've slaughtered me on an altar if I'd actually grown up unable to read scripture.
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God might have deigned to step in; it worked for Isaac. But far be it from me to assume he'd be paying that much attention. To any of us, he's a busy guy. My Hebrew is only passable, anyway, I don't have much head for languages. So if I need you I'll shout. Or try to figure out voicemail on this fucking thing.
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Mn, I'd bet He'd pay attention to that, but I'm not Isaac. [he huffs half a laugh, a little bitter.] So are you some sort of closet bibliophile? Do I need to worry about leaving you alone with old religious texts?
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What's the Latin root for 'really not fond of but familiar with by necessity'?
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