tampered | Log; Ongoing

Log; Ongoing

When; October 10th
Rating; PG-13
Characters;

silkcutremix John Constantine
Summary; Come see our new dog.
Log;

John, for the most part, had been lingering about the studio for the day, trying to adjust to his new body and the altered senses that came with it. The first thing he noticed was that while dogs were not colorblind, his color vision had been reduced drastically and he was nearsighted. The second was the obvious kick in the nose. All the missing color had come from there; he couldn't describe it but concisely stated, his world was different and new. Combine that with the hearing, and shit, the magus was glad he had stayed in and kept to himself, mostly on the couch.

He was horribly hungry; wished he asked Scarab for food over the network. John was a mute, an ensorcelled, usually from a shapeshift, individual who could not speak. The terminal was nearby, still on, so that he might be able to communicate with Scarab upon her arrival. The pencil was already wedged between his teeth and he gnawed on it absentmindedly. It was currently a half with a jagged bit with an eraser on the other end; he did not know his own bite strength.

He glanced towards the door. One thing to hear about it. Another to see it. Wondered how ol' Scarab would take to his different appearance when he was feet away from her.

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~~Scarab~~ Keico climbed the stairs to the studio apartement quickly.

Frowning, she juggled a large brown paper, a medium sized paper box, smaller plastic bag, and the smaller of her black duffels.
The paper bag contained a bottle of JD, a case of Guiness, and a 2-liter of coke. ( she planned to partake of the former, but was not about to drink it without a chaser.)
The white box contained her own dinner ( Ramen take-out) and the bag; a fresh-from-the-butcher bundled raw steak.
Maybe it was presumptuous, but she figured if niether Cori or John wanted it they could throw it in the freezer for a while.
( Of course stopping into a butcher shop on her way hadn't been planned...but the scent of blood was so....good just then...)

Near the landing she paused to look over her shoulder with concern...

So much noise!

Why was it so noisy? Every other time she had visited John and Cori the patrons in the nearby bar hadn't made this much of a racket.
Maybe it had something to do with the (what was it Cori had called it?) 'the breach'?

Ya...that must be it...
And maybe, if she kept telling herself that, she might just believe it.

Sighing for what felt like the thousandth time, she bit her lip and balanced the box along her laden left arm, then knocked quickly.
A bit of well-timed reflex allowed her to catch the box before it splattered across the floor.

"Damn!" Another huff. "John? It's me, Scarab. Can I come in?"

John perked up, recognizing Scarab's (he was afraid to call her Keico) voice quickly enough. Bloody clear in those big ears of his. Of course, what could he say to acknowledge her? Bark? Too prideful for that. Dogs barked.

Trotting up to the door, having adjusted himself to walking on his toes through the day, he, being a large animal, did not have to do much work to undo the locks on the door. As a matter of fact, after dropping the pencil end, he found his teeth precise, more than he had previously given them credit for. Still, he had to rear up and use his wrists to turn the knob ((whatever the door opens with)). Once it was cracked enough for Scarab to come inside, he backed away, recovering his writing tool and heading to the couch. There, he crossed his forelegs on the couch's back, with his shaggy head resting on them, the blue eyes watching her enter.

Pushing the door open wide enough to let her in while encumbered with her foot, she slipped in.

She had been mentally preparing herself for seeing John so drastically altered...but even after all the insanity of the past few days, it was still a bit of a shock.

She couldn't help watching him...indeed for a solid minute she could just stare with a mixture of sadness and the valiant effort to not show it in her expression.

Once he was settled, she mentally shook herself and crossed to take up the only unoccupied spot on the couch, while setting down the various bags and box.

" I-" she had to pause and clear her throat of the odd hoarseness before trying again to sound natural.

" I, uh, wasn't sure what kind you wanted so I covered all the bases."
Having explained thus, she pulled the bottle of Jack from the bag and showed it to him, then removed the case of beer, and pack of smokes in turn.
The two liter came last, but that she set aside for herself.

" I can't help you with any bricks, but I figure I can light them for you while I'm here?" She offerred a half-smile along with the courtesy.

" Um...I wasn't sure what you can eat like...that"
Smooth, Keico, very smooth...

"But, well...I brought you this, you know, just in case."
She removed the wrapped cut of beef between them on the couch for the moment, then looked down feeling a bit silly all of a sudden.
Seemed better than a box of dog bisquits at any rate..?

She glanced once at her furry companion and ran her maimed hand through her hair; a quasi-nervous tic.
It was rare she left her hair down, and even then it was a bit more to do with the subconscious desire to have something to hide behind than any sort of fashion statement.

" So..um..is Cori home too?"

Scarab, bless her. Maybe his luck was picking up again, as he eyed the steak a little longer than he would have liked. Would polish it later, despite a bubbling madness that yearned for it. Sustenance. Filling, full sustenance...

No, later. He, sitting now, glanced over and appraised the rest of Scarab's offerings. Good guess with the drink; that'd cover him for a day, if he could still drink like he could. Smokes were spot on, but... no bricks?

Goddammit, he wanted to light his own bloody cigarettes. He could help his own fucking self.

Snort. No.

He had startled to bristle, a rising feeling prickling at the back of his neck and spine, but caught himself. Might as well tell her his thanks, which took the form of a small wag or two of that tail of his, a ridiculous looking attempt as he appeared to be wagging his bum about in hopes that the limb attached would follow. Would lick her hand, but the pencil in his teeth reminded him of the terminal. He bounced off the couch and using the empty text box left there, he typed:

"left. went to fayes with your stuff."

She couldn't help the tiny smile at the attempted tail-wagging....it was awfully cute.

Without asking, she picked up the cigarettes and started to pack them against the heel of her palm, then opened them, and turned two filter-down, and replaced them. Probably an odd habit, but the way things were looking, everyone could do with a lucky cigarette or two.

After the tail-wagging she had stood, meaning to put the meat away lest it spoil...
..when a very distant word floated through her mind.

It caused her to drop the pack of cigarettes in surprise, but she managed to try and play it off as a simple slip.

No..couldn't have been. I'm not...not...
She bit the inside of her cheek and shied away from another piece of a growing catalogue of evidence suggesting she was...different.

To cover the uncomfortable thoughts, she swiftly reclaimed the pack, and moved away to put the wrapped cut into the icebox.

John, meanwhile, was tapping at the keyboard with that pencil, which was curious in itself.

Returning, she peeked over her furry friend and snorted a little at the message.

" Figures."
A shrug.

" Well at least I don't have to schlep as much stuff over to Faye's tonight."

Digging her perpetually battered pack of Djarums out of a zippered pocket, she lit a cigarette, and curled one leg under her to sit on the table; just to the right of the computer. ( Thus making conversation easier.)

Christ, John...what happened to you?

There she went again, staring...

Another hasty save was required. Time to capatalize on being helpful.

" What do you say to locating some cups -" And a bowl "- and cracking open a drink.?"

She had brought her dinner, plus gifts. Shouldn't that entitle her to a sharing of liquor?

Of course it did.

A hasty "yes" was tapped out, and he looked back at her, still slightly comical looking with that pencil jutting out from his mouth. If Scarab had not suggested that she would be drinking with him, he would have given a deep growl of protest should she have attempted helping him. He could open the bloody thing himself, unless he couldn't and, hesistantly, requested it.

Jesus. Why did he resent assistance? Did this personal hell include his fear of dependence, of being exposed and weak?

He squinted his eyes shut for a moment; should focus on Scarab instead. Help take his mind off things. His heart cried for the meat. His lungs cried for a smoke.

As an afterthought:

"bring food"

She offerred a smile, and stood to collect a glass and a bowl, but as she started to walk away she had to close her eyes and swallow thickly.

A swirl of resentment, a dash of gratitude, and just briefly a flash of fear.

....None of which were hers.

Dammnitt...

Once, a few months ago there had been a curse day.
A day on which everyone in the city could hear the thoughts of everyone else.

Of course...that day was the same day she had first come face to face with the Red Pyramid... when she had lost her fingers.

Breathe, Keico...Just breathe.
She looked toward John, then quickly away from under her lashes, and continued on into the kitchen area.

It will be alright...It's...It's just your imagination, thats all...just stress...

Collecting a small bowl, a clean plate, a shot glass, a regular glass, and the steak from the 'fridge, she returned to the coffee table.

It took a monute of fiddling, but she managed to get the bottle of Jack open without too much difficulty.

Keico glanced at John, then the table, then the floor thoughtfully....and eventually decided to scoot over in order to leave enough space for the plate ( which now held the unwrapped meat) and the bowl( containing a generous shot of J.D.) on the table.
Granted she was sitting on the table-top so it probably wasn't a question of manners, but she figured it best to keep trying to treat John as a human.
Only dogs ate out of the floor after all...

Pouring a generous shot for herself, she reclaimed her cigarette from the nearby ashtry and took a lungful of nicotine to try and calm herself.

It wouldn't take extra senses to see she was concerned about what was happening to her, about these changes that had been progressing since that very first stiffling nightmare.
She was also concerned for John. Was this a permanent change? Why had this happened, but most importantly:
Who did this to him?

She shook her head slightly, and raised her shot to down it in one go.

She made a face at the taste, and hastily grabbed the regular sized glass, now filled with coke, and chased the burning sensation from her mouth.
Her eyes remained shut for a moment...and in that instant of relative relaxation, had an idea.

An unsettling idea...but if it worked, it might just make things easier ofr John.
Instead of mentioning aloud what she planned to do, she very nonchalantly set her glas aside...but while looking away from the man-turned-dog, followed that little thread of not-sound that was registering as quintessentially 'John' in her mind, ....and pushed.

Can...hear me?...Hear me, John?

((OOC: Sorry for delay ;_;!))

Catching the brief gaze, John cocked a doggy eyebrow towards Scarab upon her momentary leave. Something was bothering her, more so than his condition was (no, he wasn't bothered too much -- lack of hands and speech so far were his main annoyances). She had been in a lot of shit since he last saw her, remembering her in his arms, looking down into her peaceful face as he ran home, gasping with his sickly stained lungs.

Almost impatiently, he waited, his stomach a bubbling acid pit, his mouth already moistening as the scent of the meat grew stronger. The canine part of his brain did not take any interest in the alcohol, or at least, not as much interest as it had with the bloody beef.

Silently he thanked her, for the food and the courtesy of recognizing that yes, he was still himself under there, and tore in, the massive jaws ravenously piecing the flesh apart and down his throat in large, red gulps, fat and all. He was so caught up in feeding, he did not notice that Scarab had talked to him... in his head?

Wait. He pulled himself from his near-finished meal, much of the white fur of his muzzle red, gazing up at Scarab.

What is it? he thought, reaching over, teeth open, to snatch the eraser to type a message.

Red-lensed eyes opened, and snapped back to look into eyes that, while lupine in appearence, held an awareness, a soul that most definately was not.

ahh, kamisama...I *am* 'hearing' you

Frowning she blinked at the calming ...scent?
Blood...

The smell of blood was almost comforting, which in of itself left her feeling disturbed and relaxed in equal measure.
Scarab was no stranger to blood, and hadn't been for some time, but usually it had been a vaguely unpleasant scent.
Something instinctual buried in the reptillian side of the human brain reminding one that such a smell was usually equated with injury and death.

That same equation now drew out something else inside her...something new, and recognized as other.

Looks...like...both...have lots to..say

It wasn't the best connection, but it was something.
Maybe it was a leftover from the first time John spoke to her in dreams, or maybe...just maybe...It was another of the 'gifts' Alessa had spoken of.

John gave up trying to snatch the pencil in his stained teeth and their eyes met. This sounded like an easier way to communicate other than looking over that long snout of his in hopes of pressing the right keys.

Scarab, wait, can you... understand this? he thought back to her.

Not trusting her voice just now, she only nodded, blinking once a bit owlishly.

Yes..Mazaka, John. What's happening to us?

The cigarette, long forgotten, had now burned down to her fingers, and she was forced to break the trance-like gaze in order to hiss in pain and hastily drop it into the ashtray.

Constantine jolted at the sudden drop. Unaware of his ears, they pulled back. Having not established movement and position subconsciously they otherwise airplaned out into a mellow looking flop.

Fuck me sideways if I know. He sniffed towards the injured hand, a tiny twinge of cinder on sour skin riddled with other odors. 'Strewth, you alright, luv?

She sighed wearily, and ran her good hand through her hair....the mind-fuck continues.

It was much easier to pick up the 'thread' of consciousness now that she knew what she was looking for, and after a moment's concentration on those ice-blue eyes she could hear him better.

If she pushed, she could even make out a steady beat in the background..
A heartbeat...John's heartbeat.

Alright? I am pretty fucking far from 'alright', but my hand is fine if thats what you meant.

Turning just slightly she refilled her shotglass, and took another fortifying drink.

Fucking hell...John, I can hear so *much*..I thought it was just stress, just stress, and the last few days of mind-bending....but I can hear heartbeats, thoughts...I *feel* emotions all around me...

Apparently when using thought-conversation as a means of communicating, it became more difficult to filter out that which you would have prefferred the other participant not to 'hear', but at the same time it felt somehow better to tell someone...anyone..about the madness.

I can't stay awake...I'm always falling asleep. Sometimes it's only for a few minutes, but it doesn't take long...

Hm. Moment, luv.

Canine instinct won out; had to eat, which did not take long, the remains on the plate downed with a good gulp. He decided to wash it down with a few good laps of the beer from his bowl and turned his attention back to her, still licking his lips and whiskers, cleaning.

Now that he did not have to type with a bloody pencil, maybe he could have a long-awaited smoke...

No, had to quit thinking of himself (he had disregarded the fact that he ate a slab of raw meat without question or conflict). Scarab:

Was worried about your hand, sweetheart. (Need a fag...) Still worried too. Now tell me, where did these... abilities come from?

Never got the full story on Scarab, he did. Regretted it too; had to be bitten by the fucking City curse. If he had just gone back to the studio and stayed there instead of a victory drink, he wouldn't be on all fours unable to light his own fucking ciggies. Looks like she got herself in deeper trouble than he had been in.

And what concerned him most? Those powers. No one could gain a skilled... empathy like that overnight. Power had to be donated from something else, somehow. Did someone curse her? A pact? That helmeted thing must have had something to do with it. At least it gave him something to do other than touch his nose to his fuzzy bollocks while Cori was out.

(Perhaps those frustrated thoughts leaked.)

~~Scarab~~ Keico nodded and wrapped her arms around her knees to hug them closer.

While John finished his meal, she eyed her own ramen, but just didn't think she could eat right now.

It might be called morbid fascination, but she rested her cheek on one knee and looked on as the Lupine jaws became further splashed with blood...or probably better described as morbid comfort.
(The sight, scent, ~~and feel~~ of blood was becoming more so lately)

A craving, again not her own, for nicotine.

Choosing not to comment, she tapped a cigarette out of the pack of Silk Cuts, lit it, and held between the ring & pinky fingers of her maimed hand, she held it in such a way that if John so desired, he could smoke directly from her hand.

The burn is minor....and the Red Judge did this to my other hand a while ago.

Apparently J.D., plus sleep deprevation, and stress amounted to her becoming very lax on internal censoring.

As far as the ....Empathy? I guess thats what this is..Well, it started small. I've always had the occasional sense of deja vu', the occasional dream that came true. Little stuff though, like seeing a certain sign that I would see later while awake...I first saw Cori and that wierd Morpheus guy in a dream. A bird too...some kind of crow?

Anyway, I have always had them, but right after this -
She made a small gesture to encompass her maimed hand, and the scars that bisected her torso.
- happened I started having nightmares....After a while of those, whenever I woke up...well..the nightmares wouldn't stop. I would keep seeing them even when my eyes were open.

Red-lensed eyes glanced away, remembering the time Cori had looked into her nightmares...had looked into her memories and seen every bit of bad shit her life story had to offer.

Cori said that someone was messing with me...and not long after that, you and Cori found me in that alley.

There was more to this story of course.
The dreams of Kage, her shadow friend, the dreams of the Red Pyramid, speaking to Alessa, Faye's anger, and the pseudo-argument with Frederick...

John took the cigarette from her fingers, having been unaware of Scarab's new urges, desires and fascinations. The wolf quietly puffed on the cigarette, despite the cramped feeling that seized him as his body grew hot under the thick fur without a means to cool off. He thought.

That eased his fears of a pact or something, he couldn't judge accurately yet. Needed more. Naturally one could hone their innate psychic abilities should they recognize them and choose to cultivate them. A dim memory of Mercury surfaced, she being an adept that had lived with a band of hippies, of sorts; how was she doing? He could only wonder.

So who is this "Red Judge?"

She stayed in that curled position, peeking over the tops of her arms to keep eye contact.

It seemed to help the connection.

I'm not sure what he...it...*he* is.

She sighed and shut her eyes.

I read in the library that he was once an executioner during the american civil war...or that he was just made out of all the bad feelings in the world he came from.

A small half-shrug.

I know he is a slave to the crazy girl. Alessa...I don't know if you've met her.
They both crucified me on rebar not too long after I got here.
She kept ranting about 'my sins', and how I was to be cleansed of them.
...I died a second time...

The scars would speak for themselves in this instance...it had been painful, very painful, humiliating and terrifying all at once.

Keico couldn't help feeling that cold, sick feeling climb up her throat...but she swallowed it back, and resumed peeking out at the lupine face beside her.

In my dreams...in that alley...I got a glimpse of what he..it..he wants.

...

He's lonely John. He wants something he can teach, something he can make like him.

....I can't help being afraid...I'm not anything other than a regular human, and here especially, thats rare. I don't know why he wants *me*...

He wants a poor sod to fuck up in his own image. John brought out a foreleg and pawed the ashtray towards him, which he, with some care and steadiness, then set his cigarette into one of the notches. A thin ribbon of smoke gently whisped from the end. Constantine could smell both cigarettes, residue, remains and all, as well as their differences.

He'd explore a little more into that later. More pressing matters now.

The Englishwolf took a moment to pant (blessed relief) and then, hopping up beside her, nails clicking on the table top, he reassuringly licked her fingers before establishing the clean connection again. The long snout, moist nose and blue eyes were only inches away.

S'alright, luv, you're okay with me, alright? Ol' Johnny will make sure nothing hurts you. This Red Judge wanker can go piss off and find someone else, can he?

Then, his mental voice went dark. Quiet.

Unless you want this.

She couldn't help smiling at the tickling sensation along her fingers, but she let him without moving.

Usually she was very paranoid about touch.
For most of her life as Scarab, the in-ground instinct that someone touching your hand, or foot, meant they wanted to gain an adavantage by denying you the use of a limb.

For so long she had missed human contact that wasn't colored by a cover story, the lies, or emnity.
...She thought she'd had it in Frederick...But she had been wrong.

It was a sweet sentiment, that vaguely neanderthal man's "I'll protect you" mentality...and usually Scarab would bristle at such a response.

But she was tired, afraid, and feeling very much out of her depth.

A wet black nose snuffled at a lock of her hair, and looking into those ice blue eyes, she felt her own eyes prickle with hot tears of frustration.

No!...I don't understand half of what is going on, but I *know* I don't want to be anything like that...that..monster!

Looking down, she swiped angrily at her eyes.
She felt like such a wussy little kid...she was a black ops assasin, something powerful men in her world spoke of in hushed whispers...

...But here, now, she was realizing that though she may still have the tattoo, the implants, even the name...she was just Keico underneath it all.
Just a child lost in the woods.

....I don't want this...

Slumping a little under the weight of fatigue, stress, and the pressing noise of thoughts, heartbeats, and a city full of swirling guilt-ridden emotion.

...But I don't want *anyone* to get caught up in this mess, either.

Out of the corner of her eye, she regarded John with another weak attempt at a smile.

I'm sorry...I am so sorry...

Deciding that in dog form, it would be safe, she leaned over and put her arms around John.
His fur tickled her cheek, but he was warm, and alive...

...And at least for a few minutes, she didn't feel alone.

Ah, yes, the Neanderthal mentality; John was John and he tended to be protective of the few he cared about, even sometimes if it weren't as obvious. Scarab, Keico, however, looked haunted enough; no need for the man... dog of mystery and enigma, with a golden wit and many secrets. He was just an ordinary bloke now (who happened to be wearing a furry coat).

So she hugged, and he let her. It was the most he could do, or allow her to do for comfort. She sounded as if she needed it. Been awhile since a girl hugged him like this, for safety, for relief.

It reminded him of Astra. He squinted his eyes shut. No, better stay away from that.

Even if their eyes didn't meet, a soft, garble of thought from the Englishwolf streamed:

I don't... what to do... I'll help... way I can...

She snifled softly, trying to hide the fact she did it at all, and leaned away.

Another soft smile, and Keico started looking about for her cigarettes...it would give her something to fiddle with at least.

Thanks..I do appreciate the thoughts..
Ok, so the little pun was probably not that funny, but she felt they could both use a tension breaker just now.

Lighting a Djarum, inhale...exhale away from John's now hyper-sensitive nose.

Finding his eyes again, she propped her chin back onto her knee, and regarded him solemnly.

Well...I think it's only fair for you to let me see if I can help *you* out somehow.

A quick once over with ruby eyes and a pair of raised eyebrows were enough reference to this particular Englishman's...er..wolf's condition.

Did Hans bite you, or something?

The last name she forgot to mentally ammend to 'Captain Gunshe, the nazi werewolf', but perhaps the impression of a man in such a uniform with a wolf's head and her sword in his guts might make the question clearer.

((OOC: No more comment smush ^^ ))

Hans? Constantine initially thought before the projected mental image bubbled into his skull. The man did not look familiar, and he was not even the culprit. Tilting his head for a moment and experimenting on his own, he tried to reply to this with a memory: a replaying of the incident from a few nights ago.

A big black dog bit me. Uh, I don't think it was him. If it was, he would not still be around. But...

A sickly woman stepped from the mental muck, a sly look in her eyes as she approached Constantine, a human Constantine, and made her advances on him. She was beautiful, with coal black hair and a lovely sense of fashion, but then there was the air of plague, the cold breath of death. She was an unusual thing, and a familiar thing to the "man," but Constantine could not quite pinpoint it.

She sent the dog after me. This Hans bugger might have a connection with her... Christ, I don't know.

((OOC: Yay!))

She frowned slightly at the odd sensation.

This business of watching someone else's memories would definately take some getting used to...but it had it's perks.

Keico did pick up on the sensations associated with the memory, to an extent, and so shared that niggling feeling the woman was known to Constantine before this meeting.

Maybe...I can ask, but he has made it clear he is the last of his 'kind' in his homeworld.

Another half-shrug.

If nothing else, I know what she looks, and sounds like, so I could see what I can do about finding her.
It's not like she can leave the city once here, after all.

There was also the possibility of capitalizing on her new ( if unsettling) connection to more supernatural creatures.
She owed both John and Cori a big debt, and if John could make the promise of helping her to the best of his ability, then it was only fair that he allowed her to do what she could.

Eh, sod it then. I don't know. I'll ask him myself even. Somehow. He was a wolf and this Hans fellow was supposidly sort of a wolf. It'd work.

Constantine gave the girl a firm glance this time after retrieving his smouldering cigarette, trying to look as serious as he could, even if the little cancer stick furthered his comical, doggy appearance.

Good luck with that then, but, he continued, a large paw placed on her leg, you sound like you're in a bigger load of shit than I am. Take care of yourself first, alright?

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Log; Ongoing

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