(no subject)
OMG stress. So much homework. The real problem is that I seem to have gotten the brilliant idea that the best way to get rid of my homework stress is to write fic, instead of you know, actually doing the homework ahead of time. I mean, what kind of crazy concept is that?
In that spirit, I'm going to leave you with my Alias/Hellblazer crossover. Written for alias500.
He's being followed, though the wankers are being careless. About as subtle as a rampaging hell-beast, they are. Two men, weaving in and out of the crowd behind him.
John's never been the sort for confrontation, but he knows that it'll come sooner or later. Eventually, they'll catch up, and where will John be then? If he forces the confrontation however, if he's ready, the poor sods don't have a chance.
Eh. John's never really been one for a fair fight.
He ducks into a back alley. Not ideal, but if things were ideal, he wouldn't have been trailed on his way home. It only takes him a moment to set up.
The first one to come around the corner is big and brawny, though John's never let that sort of thing bother him before. The other is smaller, but not by much. They seem surprised to see John waiting for them.
John grins. "Wonderful weather we're having, eh?"
They gain their composure rather quickly and glare. "We want the Rambaldi journal." John mentally shakes his head. Bloody Americans. Too direct for their own good.
He ignores the wankers and pulls out a Silk Cut. "Either of you got a light?" he asks.
They say nothing, but they're still glaring.
John continues, occasionally waving his unlit cigarette around for effect. "Since neither of you look particularly intelligent or foresighted, I'll hazard a guess that you're working for someone who's taken a shine to Rambaldi, someone who thinks they're a player." A pause. "But they're not. They're not even in the fucking league. So why don't you go back to your boss and tell them that John Constantine told them to fuck off."
He's digging into his pocket for his lighter as one of them steps forward to come face to face with him. "We will get that journal. By any means necessary."
John looks him in the eye, still smiling. "I've given the devil the finger, mate. All three of them. You're going to have to better than that."
Ah! There's his lighter. He thinks he sees them trying to grab him as he lights the fag, but he's closing his eyes, so it's a bit hard to tell.
The bright flash of light is visible through his eyelids. Their yells echo off the walls of the alley. Sodding idiots.
They're still blindly flailing when he opens his eyes. "What the fuck was that?" one of them yells. He's clutching at his open and unseeing eyes, as if that would solve anything.
"Simple enchantment. Haven't done it in a while, but you know what they say about going back to your roots." John lets some of the smoke out of his lungs and grins. "Cheers, mates. And you can tell Sloane if he's ever serious about getting the Rambaldi journal, he can speak to me himself."
John's still smiling as he walks away, and the entire incident puts him in a good mood for the rest of the night.
FIN.
Also, if I were capable of speaking like a pirate, then I would.
In that spirit, I'm going to leave you with my Alias/Hellblazer crossover. Written for alias500.
He's being followed, though the wankers are being careless. About as subtle as a rampaging hell-beast, they are. Two men, weaving in and out of the crowd behind him.
John's never been the sort for confrontation, but he knows that it'll come sooner or later. Eventually, they'll catch up, and where will John be then? If he forces the confrontation however, if he's ready, the poor sods don't have a chance.
Eh. John's never really been one for a fair fight.
He ducks into a back alley. Not ideal, but if things were ideal, he wouldn't have been trailed on his way home. It only takes him a moment to set up.
The first one to come around the corner is big and brawny, though John's never let that sort of thing bother him before. The other is smaller, but not by much. They seem surprised to see John waiting for them.
John grins. "Wonderful weather we're having, eh?"
They gain their composure rather quickly and glare. "We want the Rambaldi journal." John mentally shakes his head. Bloody Americans. Too direct for their own good.
He ignores the wankers and pulls out a Silk Cut. "Either of you got a light?" he asks.
They say nothing, but they're still glaring.
John continues, occasionally waving his unlit cigarette around for effect. "Since neither of you look particularly intelligent or foresighted, I'll hazard a guess that you're working for someone who's taken a shine to Rambaldi, someone who thinks they're a player." A pause. "But they're not. They're not even in the fucking league. So why don't you go back to your boss and tell them that John Constantine told them to fuck off."
He's digging into his pocket for his lighter as one of them steps forward to come face to face with him. "We will get that journal. By any means necessary."
John looks him in the eye, still smiling. "I've given the devil the finger, mate. All three of them. You're going to have to better than that."
Ah! There's his lighter. He thinks he sees them trying to grab him as he lights the fag, but he's closing his eyes, so it's a bit hard to tell.
The bright flash of light is visible through his eyelids. Their yells echo off the walls of the alley. Sodding idiots.
They're still blindly flailing when he opens his eyes. "What the fuck was that?" one of them yells. He's clutching at his open and unseeing eyes, as if that would solve anything.
"Simple enchantment. Haven't done it in a while, but you know what they say about going back to your roots." John lets some of the smoke out of his lungs and grins. "Cheers, mates. And you can tell Sloane if he's ever serious about getting the Rambaldi journal, he can speak to me himself."
John's still smiling as he walks away, and the entire incident puts him in a good mood for the rest of the night.
FIN.
Also, if I were capable of speaking like a pirate, then I would.