I only speak the truth [OPEN]

[satangotmylungs]

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

Comments

[clairedanvers]

Claire was just finishing up her work at the delivery company and walking back home when she spotted the man in a heap in the alleyway between two buildings. Her first thought is panic because, what if he's dead? But as she nears him, slowly but surely walking further into the alley, she notices the drool on his hands and sees the slight twitch of movement that tells her he's alive.

Claire kneels beside the man and places a hand gently on his shoulder to give it the slightest bit of pressure that might wake him up. "Hey... uhm... are you okay?"

[satangotmylungs]

No, no, John wasn't dead. If he was, he wasn't sure his body would actually remain wherever it may have been dropped off. No, John had too many enemies in too many places for his body to buried delicately, crowded with flowers and well-wishers and pathetic cards of sympathy.

The bit of pressure didn't wake him up, but he was clearly not dead. Beneath his body she would find him snoozing in what looked to be discomfort on top of a large, mostly empty bottle of vodka. The remains of what had been trapped in it, unfortunately, had mostly sloshed out and dried against his stomach, which was uncovered due to his white shirt having been popped open. Getting it off wouldn't be very pleasant for John, to say the least.

There was a groan, one of pure distaste at having been bothered, and far-too red lips for such a morbidly pale-skinned man moved in a snarl. The man wasn't dead, but he was as dead to the world as could possibly be.

She would have to try harder.

[clairedanvers]

Claire was used to pale skin, that didn't bother her so much. The state of the man was what bothered her. Anyone who had been so drunk as to pass out like this obviously had drank too much to be even remotely healthy. In essence, Claire was pretty sure he needed to go to the hospital for alcohol poisoning. Sooner rather than later would be better.

That squeeze on his shoulder tightens and she adds a slight shake. "Hey, I think you need to see a doctor or... Hello?" She tries to roll him over onto his back with a push at that shoulder. "You have to wake up. Mister?"

[satangotmylungs]

John rolled over easily, the bottle sticking to his bare stomach as he does so. The voice was feminine, not hissing, probably human. A groan and dark, fathomless eyes opened to see that yes, she was human. A moment later and he was sitting up as best he could, unsticking the bottle with little more than a grunt.

"Don't need no fuckin' doctor, kid, I'll be fine," he assured her, pushing himself up to sit on the palm of one hand, the other going to rub at his eyes. He looked like the undead for all intents and purposes, sweat sticking to his upper lip. "This ain't that unheard of for me, don't worry. And it's Mister Constantine. John Constantine."

[zerosuitjill]

Jill had seen her share of the wasted. She'd hauled a few off the streets back in her S.T.A.R.S. days.

Hell, she'd been there, although she hadn't made a habit of it and certainly had never lacked enough self-respect to take it into public.

All the same, rather than the usual bit of hard-nosed condescension she'd felt in her younger days, there was a spot of pity in her chest when she came across this particular case. Considering where they were, a person could hardly be blamed for getting drunk enough to fall over in the street. It was better than some alternatives, a darker part of her noted.

Even so, Jill was cautious from both knowledge and habit, and remained well out of easy reach as she stopped and circled around to the stranger's front (or what would have been his front if he stood). She didn't bother keeping a hand on one of her guns as per the usual cop routine.

"Hey," she tried, voice firm but not unfriendly. "Still conscious?"

[satangotmylungs]

Oh no.

If she cared to take a closer look, John's ass was sticking in the air solely because he had fallen asleep on the very vodka bottle he'd nearly drained. As uncomfortable as that was, John had snoozed for several hours now, and it seemed he was pretty much up for doing that until he either woke up with the urge to take a leak or possibly from inhaling a spider, being chewed on by a rat...

Firm voice or no, there was no moving from the wino on the ground, not even a twitch that he'd heard her.

[zerosuitjill]

Sighing silently, Jill took one step forward. She set the toe of her boot on the guy's hip and nudged -- not rough, but enough to knock him over if he didn't resist.

[satangotmylungs]

The only reason John reacted as he did was that there was no voice accompanying the action-had she spoken at the same time, had he heard her womanly voice, registered a female, it wouldn't have happened.

And even when it did, he was horrified. Few things horrified John-abusing a woman in any form was one of them.

And even then, Jill being Jill, it would be more than easy to stop him. As soon as he realized he was being rolled over, that's as soon as he realized he really needed to fucking wake up and do something.

The idea being, of course, that his pocket was about to be picked. And there were far, far more valuable things in John's pockets than cash, coin, or jewelry.

A hand went out far too quickly for a drunkard, grabbing the ankle and fully intent on pulling the leg attached out from under the shithead who'd decided to ruin his slumber. Nothing was said, however, just a bizarrely quick reaction from the seemingly unconscious man on the road.

[nurse1701]

Christine was still relatively new to the underworld and as such as normally very cautious. In fact, she had only stepped out to pick up a few things at the market when she noticed a shape on the ground. The instant recognition of the figure being a person of some sort had Christine rushing over.

Used to lending help to anyone in distress Christine was already scanning for some sort of injury as she got closer. She noted that other then being on the ground, there didn't seem to be anything wrong. However, she figured there mus be a reason he was just lying there.

Christine stopped when she was close enough to smell the alcohol. This she was also very familiar with. She sighed and stepped to stand at the man's side.

"You alright down there? I'm afraid I don't have anything for alcohol poisoning, so I do hope you weren't too stupid."

[satangotmylungs]

Familiar with having passed out from alcohol, no one could have been familiar with the way John could do it.

However, instead of not moving, not twitching or his usual lack of reaction, an arm jerked out as though to swat something away. His face fell to the ground, knocking his nose in just the right way that it hurt, damn it.

Unaware that anyone was around for the moment, he put his hand to his face and rubbed his eye before pushing it back on the ground and trying to move, groaning in pain at the vodka bottle having been stuck beneath him just so.

[nurse1701]

The sudden movement startled Christine and she backed up a step. She tilted her head slightly as she watched him with a kind of morbid curiosity. At least she was sure he was still alive now. And apparently well enough to move.

"Well you're in great shape." Christine muttered quietly She stepped back towards the man and peered down at him. It's not that she thought he might need medical help at this point, she just knew it wasn't a good idea to lounge about like this alone in the underworld.

"All right, time to get up." She announce louder. She let her foot nudge the man from where she stood and waited to see if he would move again.

[satangotmylungs]

If her voice hadn't been distinctly female, she would have been on her ass in .02 seconds from having nudged him with her foot as she had. John wasn't above much of anything, but he sure as hell wasn't going to hurt a woman if he didn't have to. A human woman, that is, and as she didn't seem to be hissing his name or have a tail that he could make out in his less-than-pleasant "gift" of sight, it was just that John shifted off the bottle and pulled it off with a grunt.

"Yeah, sure," he muttered, moving to pull himself up shakily with the nearest solid, immovable object. "Time to get the fuck up, whoo."

[hellsbellsharry]

It was a normal day actually, walking back from the library. A nice stack of notes in hand, a flask half full of cold coffee he forgot to drink.

It was a good day for Harry.
And then he saw the slumped figure by the side of the road. Harry stopped and sighed.
"Aw crap." Moving towards the figure, he stretched out his senses and felt... well nothing overtly magical, there was the tell tale tingle of a practitioner. And then he smelled the alcohol.

Making a face, Harry leaned down to check the guy's pulse. It was there.
So he was alive... at least. trying not to gag Harry glanced at his face... and rolled his eyes. Of freaking course.

Standing up he poked at the passed out exorcist with his staff. "Hey. Asshole. Wake up."

[satangotmylungs]

John was vaguely aware that someone was checking his pulse, but only in his on-again-off-again sense of consciousness. He felt something odd probing at his entire body, like he was being checked out by something other than a pair of eyes, and that was enough to help him roll his eyes beneath their lids and try to move over, to get up.

And then there was that voice, and the poking with what John's eyes quickly took in to be a staff. That could be worth money, he thought fleetingly, swatting a lazy hand out to keep it away from him

[hellsbellsharry]

Harry backed away from the coughing fit, making a face at the sound. That was a really nasty cough, like dying with cancer cough. Yeesh.
He gave John a good look over and shook his head, leaning his weight on his staff.

"Well I could make a pun about being the police and all but really? Not my schtick. Just making sure you're alive there, gutter-buddy."

[satangotmylungs]

"'Course I'm alive," he responded, leaning back against the wall of the shop he'd passed out next to, slightly toned stomach bare against the wind. He seemed to be totally unashamed about it, too. Or he just hadn't fully realized he might have needed to fix himself up a bit.

He squinted as he peered up at the wizard, eyes having already taken in the staff. A glint crossed the dark depths of them, and he wiped his red, red lips on his jacket sleeve. "Anything else, Barn?"

[loves_vera]

Jayne wasn't the sort of person to really care who was passed out in the middle of the street. If they were dumb enough to do it, then let the pickpockets or monsters have at the gorram moron. But this unfortunate was passed out right in the middle of his way to the Roadhouse. He liked the bar, liked the lady who ran it, and so did Mal.

Which is why he found himself ambling in the direction of the form, prodding it with his boot enough to flip him onto his back.

Oh. Him.

He grabbed Constantine by the foot and dragged him unceremoniously into the alley, with the intention of leaving the moron there.

you...you Magnificent BASTARD I LOVE YOU ;3;

[satangotmylungs]

Again, John may have been balls to the walls out of it at the start, as he clearly was, but John had more things in his pockets than cash, coin, and perhaps some gold, which was the only reason he could sober up when grabbed.

It was all good and well that he'd grabbed his foot, really. As soon as he felt the strong hand (definitely not female, definitely able to be abused without guilt), the man sprang to life, looking for all intents and purposes like the undead.

He sat up quicker than could be expected, eyes seemingly pitch black, one hand quickly ripping the bottle of vodka that was slightly stuck to his bare stomach off, and aiming to bring it down on the wrist attached to the hand having a hold on him. And it wasn't a sloppy aim, it wasn't a pussy level of strength beneath it-one would think he was fighting for his life at the moment, despite being as sickly unhealthy-looking as he was, dark bags beneath those darker eyes, lips far too red for such a pale face.

[loves_vera]

Jayne was no amateur when it came to back alley brawls. Hell, he'd been involved in fights like that since he was twelve. He dropped his elbow, catching the force of the bottle across his shoulder and back. It also left him at the perfect angle to bring his other arm swinging around for a devestating left cross.

Gorram drunks.

[satangotmylungs]

It made a halfway-hit, halfway because John moved quick enough to only catch part of it, though it wasn't any easier to take. Here he'd been brought back from the dead, suffered his entire abdominal skeletal system being broken as easy as falling trees, blood loss, alcohol...and now this.

He didn't say anything, only grunted. And, for a moment, it seemed he was trying to drag himself away from the fight that he'd started. It seemed he'd thrown the towel in, that he realized he was in over his head.

But John dealt with worse shit on a daily basis than a brawl fight with a human. Which was why it was no surprise to him that he still had his holy brass knuckles in his jacket-more surprise for Jayne when he aimed a hellish set of the weapon on his closed fist, crosses engraved into each one of them.

The Big Man wouldn't be pleased, but he never was. Fuck Him. All that mattered was John didn't know what the fuck was going on and he sure as hell wasn't going to back the fuck down.