I only speak the truth [OPEN]
Who; John Constantine and OPEN
What; See John drunk. See John passed out, in a rather bothersome spot. Poke with a stick, kick to the groin, splash with a bucket of water...wake up, John, wake up!
Where; Anywhere your character happens to be walking, an alley, whatever, the gutter, outside a shop...there is a head of dark hair, or a shiny black shoe, or a black tie blowing oddly in the wind...and, connected to that, is a passed out stone drunk exorcist. :'D
When; Thursday noon-ish
Rating; R for mouth
Status; Open and Ongoing
John was angry.
Well, he was always angry. He just happened to be angrier.
And he also happened to be passed out wherever he'd collapsed, piss-drunk, breathing in the dirt and disgust of whatever he happened to land on.
Fucking Lucifer. It had to be a trick of his. Some bullshit he'd come up with, another dimension. Of course, if God was still dicking around, he'd had to ask Him or some shit. But then again, the past week of his "life" had proved that hell wasn't following any rules anymore. It was all good and well that Gabriel'd been blasted out of anyone's good graces by his buddy's dad, but that only lasted for so long.
In the past twenty-four hours before his arrival to this "cake walk" as he had called it, he'd nearly been drowned, watched his only real buddy get smashed to death by Gabriel, been blown into a glass door, slit his wrists, had one last smoke, and been so close to heaven...
There were plenty of reasons for him to find the nearest liquor store and partake in the beverage at a most unholy, ungodly rate. It hadn't been til early in the morning that he'd stopped. "Stopped," of course, meaning he'd fallen over where he stood and ended up where he was now.
And he seemingly didn't mind. It didn't seem the most comfortable of positions, legs at an awkward angle, butt slightly pushed up in the air, hands beneath his face, hands that were slightly drooled on.
And totally open for anyone to stop on by and wake him up.
Or try, that is.
What; See John drunk. See John passed out, in a rather bothersome spot. Poke with a stick, kick to the groin, splash with a bucket of water...wake up, John, wake up!
Where; Anywhere your character happens to be walking, an alley, whatever, the gutter, outside a shop...there is a head of dark hair, or a shiny black shoe, or a black tie blowing oddly in the wind...and, connected to that, is a passed out stone drunk exorcist. :'D
When; Thursday noon-ish
Rating; R for mouth
Status; Open and Ongoing
John was angry.
Well, he was always angry. He just happened to be angrier.
And he also happened to be passed out wherever he'd collapsed, piss-drunk, breathing in the dirt and disgust of whatever he happened to land on.
Fucking Lucifer. It had to be a trick of his. Some bullshit he'd come up with, another dimension. Of course, if God was still dicking around, he'd had to ask Him or some shit. But then again, the past week of his "life" had proved that hell wasn't following any rules anymore. It was all good and well that Gabriel'd been blasted out of anyone's good graces by his buddy's dad, but that only lasted for so long.
In the past twenty-four hours before his arrival to this "cake walk" as he had called it, he'd nearly been drowned, watched his only real buddy get smashed to death by Gabriel, been blown into a glass door, slit his wrists, had one last smoke, and been so close to heaven...
There were plenty of reasons for him to find the nearest liquor store and partake in the beverage at a most unholy, ungodly rate. It hadn't been til early in the morning that he'd stopped. "Stopped," of course, meaning he'd fallen over where he stood and ended up where he was now.
And he seemingly didn't mind. It didn't seem the most comfortable of positions, legs at an awkward angle, butt slightly pushed up in the air, hands beneath his face, hands that were slightly drooled on.
And totally open for anyone to stop on by and wake him up.
Or try, that is.