Be quiet! [CLOSED]
Who; Jill Valentine and John Constantine
What; John's moving in!
Where; Jill's place, sans Misaki and large black dogs
When; Jan 9, 1 PM, after Jill's patrol and far before Misaki's post makes John feel like a miserable horrible sulking little boy
Rating; Uh...R for John's mouth, I guess.
Status; Closed; ongoing
True to his word, John had given Jill an hour after her shift was up to whatever the hell she wanted. If she chose to shower, then she had showered. If she chose to clean the place, the place was clean. If she chose to put on a Viking helmet and prance around to Wagner in her head, then she'd worn a Viking helmet and pranced around to Wagner playing in her head.
Either way, she did what she did, and if she told him what she did, then good on her. He wasn't going to press, and he certainly wasn't going to ask who her favorite operatic composer was. Nope. He was just going to hike up his duffel bag to his elbow and keep the six garment bags slung over his shoulder, well, slung over his shoulder. Up to his elbow, the duffel bag boxy in certain areas, he knocked on the door he'd eyed after his last visit, when he'd taken a damaged young woman's hand and led her back to the rock that Jill liked to portray herself as. He'd told her to tell Jill salutations for him, watched her go up the stairs, and taken off into the cave-night, lighting a cigarette and wondering, as per usual, what the fuck just happened.
But he simply knocked, leaning back to pop his shoulders into a respectable place as he waited.
What; John's moving in!
Where; Jill's place, sans Misaki and large black dogs
When; Jan 9, 1 PM, after Jill's patrol and far before Misaki's post makes John feel like a miserable horrible sulking little boy
Rating; Uh...R for John's mouth, I guess.
Status; Closed; ongoing
True to his word, John had given Jill an hour after her shift was up to whatever the hell she wanted. If she chose to shower, then she had showered. If she chose to clean the place, the place was clean. If she chose to put on a Viking helmet and prance around to Wagner in her head, then she'd worn a Viking helmet and pranced around to Wagner playing in her head.
Either way, she did what she did, and if she told him what she did, then good on her. He wasn't going to press, and he certainly wasn't going to ask who her favorite operatic composer was. Nope. He was just going to hike up his duffel bag to his elbow and keep the six garment bags slung over his shoulder, well, slung over his shoulder. Up to his elbow, the duffel bag boxy in certain areas, he knocked on the door he'd eyed after his last visit, when he'd taken a damaged young woman's hand and led her back to the rock that Jill liked to portray herself as. He'd told her to tell Jill salutations for him, watched her go up the stairs, and taken off into the cave-night, lighting a cigarette and wondering, as per usual, what the fuck just happened.
But he simply knocked, leaning back to pop his shoulders into a respectable place as he waited.