tampered | Log; Ongoing

When; October 12th ((I probably messed something else up! D:))
Rating; PG-13
Characters; (

silkcutremix) John Constantine
Summary; A "date."
Log;

Constantine had been pecking away at the terminal's keyboard with the pencil in his teeth, the makeshift instrument steady from the deep grooves from his constant grip. His neck was getting tired; usually people left him alone, and that was enough for him. Never was one for the spotlight anyway.

He took a moment to sprawl out on the floor, allowing himself a moment's rest. He could not open the beers Scarab had left him and having mastered the art of couch-lighter-fu, his supply of cigarettes were waning. The hassle of lighting had slowed the fag depletion somewhat, but his speed was picking up again.

Should have ask the Dizzy bird that was coming over to pick up a pack. He shut his eyes, relaxing his jaws for a moment to free the pencil, indulging in a short nap. Could live with being an animal really, Mange the rabbit coming to mind. Just needed to unmute himself somehow and he would be set.

A mental frown: Missed Cori, he did. Guess a nightmare had his duties, or something.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Constantine had mostly utilized his teeth. It was far from an adequate substitute for hands with working opposible thumbs, but as he had found, they were precise and strong. Hardly dexterous but he could manipulate objects as needed. Better than his forelegs by a long shot.

Evenin', luv, John offered a headtilt, briefly shuffling a paw in response to the attempted handshake, enjoying the all-too-short petting session instead. No wonder dogs were always stupid happy; definitely could get used to this.

However, he was a mute and required the terminal to "speak," (he had attempted vocalizing, a series of whining syllabled yowls) which he got up and, snatching his pencil, teeth settling into the grooves, typed into an empty text box:

"lovely meeting you.

got plates. plates work. in right cabinet. don't cook, better raw.

A peal of laughter escaped from between Dizzy's lips as she watched John pick up a pencil, the tip of which protruded from his long snout like a serpentine tongue. She followed him leisurely as he made his way to the computer, her scarlet occulars growing wide with amazement as she watched him effortlessly type something into an empty dialogue box, snickering to herself at how awkward the situation really was.

"Hm, nice to meet you too," she said, dropping her hand on his head for a prolonged scratch, the extent of which laster until she finished reading the rest of what was written, the fact that it was a human she was touching, oddly, completely escaping her mind.

"Ah, okay...I'll get a plate then," she said, abandoning her temporary hold on the creature's soft fur as she rummaged through the designated cabinet, hands soon producing a plate. She walked back over to the table, depositing the copious amounts of meat on the dinnerware before setting it on the floor for John to eat, her nose slightly wrinkled at the prospect of ever tasting something else's flesh.

"Here you go. I didn't know how much you wanted, so I brought everything I had," she said, pulling out a nearby chair before comfortably settling herself on it, chin resting in the palms of her nimble hands as she rested her elbows on the table.

John was a prideful man. Normally elsewhere, as a human, he would have played his typical enigmatic hand, with the charismatic grin, the spark in his eyes, forbidden secrets, conjobs and all. He was not the sort to be tamed, to be slathered with affection, but Christ, he could not stop himself from enjoying this (uttering a brief whine of delight). While consciously he could not wag his tail, his body seemed to know how on its own, and it thumped on the floor, he having sat down to tap the message out.

He gave her a brief, cold nose to her palm, the soft tongue warm against her fingers, before digging with a wild intensity that could only be attributed to a very hungry animal. Bless Dizzy... Constantine had not eaten in awhile, and as the fridge was short on leftovers, acquiring food without a means to communicate had been a slight difficulty. Many had mistaken him for a stray and treated him as such.

Wolves were hearty hairy things, and he ate the large helping quickly.

Dizzy smiled amusedly as she felt John's tongue trail through her fingers, the memories of the animals she had befriended while exiled in that forest as a child drifting somewhere behind her blood-colored eyes. She had to blink the thoughts away, her head shaking slightly as she drew herself from the pain-laced feelings returning unwantedly to the forefront of her mind.

She watched patiently, steadily as the four legged animal consumed the sizeable portion of raw flesh, her own stomach turning at the thoughts of what creatures had been sacrificed to provide such a meal...but all beings had to eat, right? That's what she kept telling herself; at least, that's something Testament would have told her to say.

Testament.

How long had it been now since she'd seen him? Her eyes gazed at the ceiling as she swam through her recollections, counting the weeks they'd been apart on the tips of her fingers, a frown forming on her face when she couldn't draw a definative answer. Too long.

But at least he wasn't in the city. After all, in a way Testament had been her savior, the closest thing she had had to a brother, her only companion when the rest of the world had labeled her a dangerous outcast, put a bounty on her head, and then proceeded to order her execution. If he were here, that'd mean he would be in danger, and that'd the last place Dizzy wanted him to be.

Content with her reasoning, Dizzy returned her attention to John, mouth parting in a grin as she snickered at how quickly the wolf had consumed his meal, "Was it enough?" she asked, stretching her arms lazily over her head, her wings rustling gently, "And was it good?"

A forced wag (a pathetic shaking of his rear) and what could have been a nod; he, his ears tickled by the sound of her wings, was satisfied. Food was food and, oh, what was that Russian proverb again? A wolf was fed by his feet? Didn't apply to him. Licking whatever blood that might have been in the meat from his muzzle and jaws, he seized the pencil that he had previously set down once again:

"cant speak." (Well, that was obvious.) "any way you can listn w/o computr"

Constantine sat there, looking up at Dizzy upon finishing. His white belly was round, weighed with the meal. It was making him a little sluggish, but the anticipation of a walk, especially with a lovely girl, had offered him a little joy but he thrived off communication. Didn't just want to be a fat, spoiled animal on a leash. Scarab, who had visited previously, could speak to him through an unstable mental telepathy. Dizzy was something different (now, he had noticed the tail, the wings -- were those sorts of things so normal to him that he ignored them?), perhaps she might have an alternative to carrying the terminal with them?

Log; Ongoing

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