002. [visual] in debt to the earth
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 ( Read more... )
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 ( Read more... )
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"The inner workings of Hell? Could you be more specific?"
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"It helps if you understand the hierarchy. Kind of like the army, if the army were more screwed up."
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"That...could be useful."
It occurs to him that one of these days he's going to have to come clean to Constantine about what he is. There are people he can hide it from and there are people he can't. John strikes him as one of the latter.
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"Yeah. A demon - any demon," his voice takes on the slightly more formal 'I am an Encyclopedia of The Balance' cast it does when he's imparting this sort of thing, "can be sent back by a lot of things. But if you're dealing with some pathetic foot soldier that's one thing, a general is another."
To wit: garden variety seplavite v. ...well, Balthazar. For instance.
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Did somebody say 'dead languages, magic, the inner workings of Hell'- why yes. The sudden appearance of a skinny thing in a slip dress with a glow-in-the-dark star stuck to the side of her face (not...aesthetically, it looks like she just kind of smacked it on there) is not the most professionally reassuring, but he'll probably survive it.
"Oh, you!" Enfys. "I'm Bruce Wayne's silent partner, I was stalking you earlier-" what, "-and I was going to track you down anyway but this is just a shitload more convenient because I happen to be a fucking genius at all those things except drinking blood."
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There's a moment where his face flashes slightly less impassive: Bruce Wayne, really. The guy with the--well. This shifts over into the subtle echo of what, if a person is so inclined to such an interpretation, might be a grin. "That's too bad, considering I'm looking for someone to bite me. It's a business proposition." ....so. He doesn't appear to think that's weird or anything, but then, well. What is weird, in this context--fucking hamsters, those were weird. "But if you can read Aramaic we can still set something up."
Assuming she's going to go there after the rest of that, John.
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"And here's me without a set of fangs to make it worth your while," without blinking, although she does put on a bit of a theatrical sigh, "which is really a shame, I don't do enough biting these days. What do you need read in Aramaic?"
The reading glasses that Enfys isn't in desperate need of but occasionally has to make use of are being dug out at this point, as she wanders a short distance from her tablet to procure them from the case on her vanity.
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A considering pause. "I think saying it wouldn't be worth my while might be jumping to conclusions. On my part."
Not that he ever does that.
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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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Hi, John. Penelope's back to... well, if not fighting-fit, then back to form, anyway. By which I mean she's Being Snotty Over The Tablets Again. Don't take it personally, that's just her way. In reality, she's completely checking out your tattoos. (She's also rather well dressed, for someone who's basically stuck on a couch. The gorilla is conspicuously absent.)
"I know some dead people, does that help?"
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"It doesn't hurt." Which is a start. "And not really, hobbies are something you do because you want to. Usually. If it's not the case you might want to find a new hobby. Are you talking about ghosts?"
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Penelope's gonna light up a cigarette here, because you know what, she's gone two entire weeks without one, and now that she can take an actual breath, she feels at least part of that breath ought to be nicotine.
"Okay, no--" she says, and plucks the cigarette from her lips, waving it around a little. "If I meant ghosts I'd say ghosts. No I mean like, Dead People. People that are walking around and talking and annoying me and are not fucking alive, that is what I mean."
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He also wonders if every woman he meets in Taxon is going to be a smoker, and how Penny would take it if he casually inquired about sucking the smoke out of her lungs. He refrained from asking this with Cat, but that was on his first day here, and he's been here like an entire week now, which means if he had any sense of restraint at all it's long gone.
....he settles for gum, the empty package of which he slaps down next to the tablet like he wants to hurt it. This presumes such an intent can be read in a gesture; his face mostly gives the usual 'caustically amused' impression. "In my experience ghosts have got all of that covered. But you're talking about something tangible."
Notably: he has known exactly one tangible ghost, and that's not something he's going to bring up here. Or ...ever.
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"That depends on who you ask." By which he means 'if your interpretation of humor includes handbuzzers,' roughly, as the sardonic lilt of his eyebrows suggests. "But no, there's less implied perforation."
At least for ...the vampire. "And it's all conditional, at least if blood comes out of those vending machines."
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"Some people have deficient senses of humor, it's sad. And there's blood, if you can call it that - are you looking for expert advice on treating anemia?" He sets his glass aside and folds his hands together. "I'm sure it'd fix you right up, assuming you have an IV stand and no strong feelings about needles. Or you could eat more vegetables."
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The irony. When called to do it he can not - schmooze, precisely, but employ the flavor of discourse that gets people to operate under the constructs of the barter system in the first place - that or just have something they want, the latter of which is a lot easier. "How's the medical degree working out, by the way? Or is the secondary line of sitcom writing enough to hold things together for you?"
It's like a mirror.
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