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tampered2006-10-24 01:04 am
bitingnightmare.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-10-24 01:04 am
Log; Complete
When; Oct. 22 (night)
Rating; PG-13 (language)
Characters; John Constantine (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
silkcutremix), The Corinthian (bitingnightmare)
Summary; the magus and the nightmare return
Log;
However they managed to make their way back to the apartment, be it the city's magic or synchronicity highway, the Corinthian was glad to return to the place only doors down from the cheery thumbs up. It wasn't the wards that made him feel more comfortable, it was the familiarity of the apartment. He needed to dry off, maybe eat, put something on, but all he could bring himself to do was lie down, either on the couch or the bed, whichever he could reach before collapsing again.
----
Constantine allowed Cori to collapse on the couch, taking a moment for himself to step back and take a breath. His skin itched.
"You've been adding a few bricks to your diet, eh?" The nightmare was still soaking wet. Fighting the creeping weight of fatigue he had ignored along synchronicity, he grabbed the cold arm and wrapped it around his shoulders. Complaining or not, he was hoisted up and John was lugging him to the bedroom. "Come on, you're almost there. You need to warm up. Couch isn't warm enough."
Once dumping Cori off there instead, John helped, should the nightmare have allowed, strip him down, the damp, icy garments discarded with a toss to a dusty room corner. The blanket was pulled around in a tight wrap, letting Cori either sit there in a bundle or collapse again in his exhaustion. John had already busied himself with retrieving whatever blankets he could find in the tiny, tiny linen closet tucked away in the hall.
----
Had he the energy and right state of mind the nightmare would have liked to raise his middle finger to the magus for that remark, being mildly waterlogged. Only the tips of his fingers and the bottoms of his feet had pruned, not enough to be water damaged like others who'd been submerged for longer. But now where were they going? He looked to John with a closed teetheye, the blue one half-lidded.
Gah the Corinthian almost tripped over the edge of the bed, bare skin to the mattress now. He willed himself to sit up, at the very least face the Englishman.
".. Are you all right..." asked the white-blonde quietly while pulling the edges of the blanket tighter around his shoulders.
----
A blanket, thin, was thrown in the Corinthian's direction. Let him adjust that for himself. "Guess it's your turn to tell me to piss off then. Surprised you haven't noticed the lack of... shit. Cori, what's that?"
The Corinthian appeared to be lacking in teeth in that particular eye socket, and something else had replaced them. John's eyes, blue as well but far from glowing and quite organic, were wide.
----
Fortunately it didn't hit him in the face. The Corinthian hastily pulled it around himself, he'd rarely felt cold like this before, not since passing through the fog that shrouded the gates of nightmare. He didn't respond immediately to John's observation, already aware of what he was looking at, unless the good doctor had done even more reconstructive surgery he didn't know about...
"Something... he put it inside me," he said while averting his gaze. Far from organic, the electric blue sphere fit the socket precisely, pupiless and softly glowing on the Corinthian's own energy.
----
"Never seen it then? Go look in the bloody mirror, mate." John was taken aback, still trying to digest seeing the Eater of Eyes with an eye of his own. It wasn't going down smoothly. Did they have a hand mirror? He poked around a bit, although unable to take his sight off the new addition. "Fuck knows what else Castile has done to you!" Cori might be a tracking device now for all he knew. He did not want to think about what the good doctor was capable of outside of the disturbing behavior and hand stilettos. He had seen his fair share of madmen and mad scientists, especially when dealing with the Bog God, but getting tangled with them directly was something he was normally good at avoiding. They could be due for a little home surgery soon for all he knew.
----
The Corinthian hadn't invested in a hand mirror, though the idea wasn't a bad one considering all the trauma that often occurred in that poor abused bathroom.
"It doesn't matter... I can fix it," he coughed out his words, gaze averted, "but you're okay?"
He did not want to talk about the eye right now. The nightmare had caught glimpses of it against the glass, within John's own blue eyes. There wasn't a mystery as to what it was, a replacement eye, an insult to injury, and a cybernetic one at that, to further emphasize reality's power over a dream. Too bad the doctor had been left to Pestilence's rot.
----
"I'm brilliant and on two legs," snorted the magus, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before sitting up. The pains of the journey from that slag's bed to home slithered along with the fatigue, his palm crackling and burned, the bone of his stabbed ankle throbbing but nothing he couldn't stand on. He sat next to Cori, looking at him, deciding he preferred the eyeteeth even if he could not look into them. "You look worse."
----
"... I only look it," he cleared his throat and shook his head, hair already beginning to dry. The Corinthian's brow furrowed slightly. He didn't recoil from John's proximity but neither did he lean closer. "I saw... you took care of her," by 'her' he was referring to the ill woman, though how she ended up at Castile's facility was a mystery to him. He recalled a confrontation, had heard it, but nothing more.
----
John cocked a brow. "Took care of her?"
----
"Pestilence," the Corinthian clarified, "I know she was... there." He paused briefly to cough, the retching and purging of cold water from his body had made his throat sore. "Thanks... for coming for me," said the nightmare, his thoughts returning all too quick now that he lived again.
----
About time, thought Constantine, better not said. He did not want to think anymore of Pestilence, for now. Let that bitch fuck around with Castile. Hopefully for a long and agonizing time, to keep her occupied. "Course I would come for you. Not like your pop could. Smoke?"
Still in the outfit Pestilence had provided, Constantine had retrieved a pack from the pockets, having snatched them while searching for blankets. Smoking with thumbs was something sorely missed and he was glad to indulge in his usual habits without hindrance. A cigarette was offered, although a Silk Cut.
----
"Sure," he held a hand out for the cigarette, better a Silk Cut than a Mild Seven for now, because it meant a healthy human and relatively uninjured John Constantine was offering it. As for his 'pop', the Corinthian wasn't surprised that Morpheus hadn't come for him. Eighty years to his three days, he would have figured something out eventually if not for the magus. The former Lord Shaper had done enough for him anyway, enough hand-holding, enough punishment.
"You're bleeding," he noted, if to shift the focus of the conversation.
----
John retracted his pack, pocketing it and considering dressing into something that actually belonged to him, rather than something that smelled like that bitch. A mental sneer. Christ. How could he have been so careless to walk out so callously like that? He should have been expecting something. He should have known that cunt had a hidden ace in her sleeve waiting to be drawn.
And he was bleeding? He was hurting, yes, but nothing that merited worry. A puzzled look was given to that blue cybernetic eye.
----
He used the cigarette to gesture to the small amount of blood that had trickled along the hard floor, from John's ankle. Yes the mortal's spilt blood was more important to him than the loss of one nightmarish eye. The Corinthian could cut it out if necessary, his lids would heal though one wondered if teeth could regenerate behind them. Besides, now he could look without sunglasses, fail to cast fear and guilt in others, if he kept the left eye closed anyway.
----
Oh. That. He was bleeding that badly? A cock-eyed look was cast towards the still-fresh wound. Apparently he was leaving a trail. Amazing how distant he was from it.
"It'll heal." Still, John got up to bandage it, if just to have less blood to clean.
----
Not badly per se, definitely not as bad as that one night Scarab had to sew his throat shut, but it was enough to warrant some attention on John, and away from the Corinthian. While the other man moved away to bandage his wound the white blonde just sucked down his cigarette, careful not to get ash on the blankets. He wasn't cold anymore, but he felt numb.
----
Eventually, the magus returned, having found wrapping somewhere in the studio (possibly from Scarab's med kit?) snuggly around his ankle. Resuming his seat, Constantine wouldn't doubt that the puncture was deep either, but he was more concerned about the persistent itch crawling around inside him. The spell seemed to be holding for now, but he was sure it would not last. Needn't bother Cori with that.
"Gotta' clean the blood. " A pause and a drag. "Shit, I forgot just how good it was to sit down."
----
He'd assumed the magus had managed to break the spell that had cast the lupine skin on him, but there was that old saying about assumptions... He watched John return, this time making a little more room for the other. One advantage of the hard floor was its ability to be an ashtray, however uncouth it was.
"Is it permanent," the Corinthian asked, both eyes closed this time.
----
Well, fuck. So much for trying to keep that little bit aside. Constantine had smoked his own fag to the damn filter. Flick. He did not need to ask what he had meant by that. "Don't know. Don't think so." He leaned on his knees. "Like my thumbs though."
----
Come on now, it wasn't a wolf who'd busted through the lab to break him out of the chamber, the Corinthian would have remembered that. Considering the grief they went through when John was in his quadruped form it was only a matter of time before he'd ask the man if that was the end of it. He hadn't finished his cigarette just yet, but even with his eyes closed the nightmare could maneuver without burning a hole through the blankets or missing his mark.
He reached aside for John's hand. "Yeah, I like them too," he said.
----
Fortunately, John had not retrieved his pack for another cigarette just yet, feeling Cori's cold, numb fingers. He took them, his own warm and rough. Poor bugger. His grip became firm and almost comforting, with a slight squeeze of reassurance. Couldn't hurt.
"What else can I say? I missed'em." A smile, even if Cori happened to look like a mechanical cyber Popeye.
----
In due time, that eye was coming out. John enjoyed having thumbs, the Corinthian... well 'enjoyed' wasn't the word he would use, but the eye was a fake, not even the tempest blues he had during that one cursed day. The eye was a machine, just as he was, fear machine ((LOL Delano)), but he was not programmed, else he would not have will. He felt the Englishman's fingers, distinct from fingerprints to texture, the magic in his palms.
He pulled what was left of the nicotine and mirrored the gesture, flicking the end against the floor.
----
The moment held, the two of them in silence, if just at least for Constantine, enjoying his company and warming the numb hand. Despite the tiffs, the bumping of elbows, there was a certain comfort in familiarity. That was how you summoned old things anyway; you tempted them with it.
Aw, bugger that magic bollocks. He wouldn't trade the world for this minute. They had each other and that was all that mattered.
Rating; PG-13 (language)
Characters; John Constantine (
silkcutremix), The Corinthian (bitingnightmare)Summary; the magus and the nightmare return
Log;
However they managed to make their way back to the apartment, be it the city's magic or synchronicity highway, the Corinthian was glad to return to the place only doors down from the cheery thumbs up. It wasn't the wards that made him feel more comfortable, it was the familiarity of the apartment. He needed to dry off, maybe eat, put something on, but all he could bring himself to do was lie down, either on the couch or the bed, whichever he could reach before collapsing again.
----
Constantine allowed Cori to collapse on the couch, taking a moment for himself to step back and take a breath. His skin itched.
"You've been adding a few bricks to your diet, eh?" The nightmare was still soaking wet. Fighting the creeping weight of fatigue he had ignored along synchronicity, he grabbed the cold arm and wrapped it around his shoulders. Complaining or not, he was hoisted up and John was lugging him to the bedroom. "Come on, you're almost there. You need to warm up. Couch isn't warm enough."
Once dumping Cori off there instead, John helped, should the nightmare have allowed, strip him down, the damp, icy garments discarded with a toss to a dusty room corner. The blanket was pulled around in a tight wrap, letting Cori either sit there in a bundle or collapse again in his exhaustion. John had already busied himself with retrieving whatever blankets he could find in the tiny, tiny linen closet tucked away in the hall.
----
Had he the energy and right state of mind the nightmare would have liked to raise his middle finger to the magus for that remark, being mildly waterlogged. Only the tips of his fingers and the bottoms of his feet had pruned, not enough to be water damaged like others who'd been submerged for longer. But now where were they going? He looked to John with a closed teetheye, the blue one half-lidded.
Gah the Corinthian almost tripped over the edge of the bed, bare skin to the mattress now. He willed himself to sit up, at the very least face the Englishman.
".. Are you all right..." asked the white-blonde quietly while pulling the edges of the blanket tighter around his shoulders.
----
A blanket, thin, was thrown in the Corinthian's direction. Let him adjust that for himself. "Guess it's your turn to tell me to piss off then. Surprised you haven't noticed the lack of... shit. Cori, what's that?"
The Corinthian appeared to be lacking in teeth in that particular eye socket, and something else had replaced them. John's eyes, blue as well but far from glowing and quite organic, were wide.
----
Fortunately it didn't hit him in the face. The Corinthian hastily pulled it around himself, he'd rarely felt cold like this before, not since passing through the fog that shrouded the gates of nightmare. He didn't respond immediately to John's observation, already aware of what he was looking at, unless the good doctor had done even more reconstructive surgery he didn't know about...
"Something... he put it inside me," he said while averting his gaze. Far from organic, the electric blue sphere fit the socket precisely, pupiless and softly glowing on the Corinthian's own energy.
----
"Never seen it then? Go look in the bloody mirror, mate." John was taken aback, still trying to digest seeing the Eater of Eyes with an eye of his own. It wasn't going down smoothly. Did they have a hand mirror? He poked around a bit, although unable to take his sight off the new addition. "Fuck knows what else Castile has done to you!" Cori might be a tracking device now for all he knew. He did not want to think about what the good doctor was capable of outside of the disturbing behavior and hand stilettos. He had seen his fair share of madmen and mad scientists, especially when dealing with the Bog God, but getting tangled with them directly was something he was normally good at avoiding. They could be due for a little home surgery soon for all he knew.
----
The Corinthian hadn't invested in a hand mirror, though the idea wasn't a bad one considering all the trauma that often occurred in that poor abused bathroom.
"It doesn't matter... I can fix it," he coughed out his words, gaze averted, "but you're okay?"
He did not want to talk about the eye right now. The nightmare had caught glimpses of it against the glass, within John's own blue eyes. There wasn't a mystery as to what it was, a replacement eye, an insult to injury, and a cybernetic one at that, to further emphasize reality's power over a dream. Too bad the doctor had been left to Pestilence's rot.
----
"I'm brilliant and on two legs," snorted the magus, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before sitting up. The pains of the journey from that slag's bed to home slithered along with the fatigue, his palm crackling and burned, the bone of his stabbed ankle throbbing but nothing he couldn't stand on. He sat next to Cori, looking at him, deciding he preferred the eyeteeth even if he could not look into them. "You look worse."
----
"... I only look it," he cleared his throat and shook his head, hair already beginning to dry. The Corinthian's brow furrowed slightly. He didn't recoil from John's proximity but neither did he lean closer. "I saw... you took care of her," by 'her' he was referring to the ill woman, though how she ended up at Castile's facility was a mystery to him. He recalled a confrontation, had heard it, but nothing more.
----
John cocked a brow. "Took care of her?"
----
"Pestilence," the Corinthian clarified, "I know she was... there." He paused briefly to cough, the retching and purging of cold water from his body had made his throat sore. "Thanks... for coming for me," said the nightmare, his thoughts returning all too quick now that he lived again.
----
About time, thought Constantine, better not said. He did not want to think anymore of Pestilence, for now. Let that bitch fuck around with Castile. Hopefully for a long and agonizing time, to keep her occupied. "Course I would come for you. Not like your pop could. Smoke?"
Still in the outfit Pestilence had provided, Constantine had retrieved a pack from the pockets, having snatched them while searching for blankets. Smoking with thumbs was something sorely missed and he was glad to indulge in his usual habits without hindrance. A cigarette was offered, although a Silk Cut.
----
"Sure," he held a hand out for the cigarette, better a Silk Cut than a Mild Seven for now, because it meant a healthy human and relatively uninjured John Constantine was offering it. As for his 'pop', the Corinthian wasn't surprised that Morpheus hadn't come for him. Eighty years to his three days, he would have figured something out eventually if not for the magus. The former Lord Shaper had done enough for him anyway, enough hand-holding, enough punishment.
"You're bleeding," he noted, if to shift the focus of the conversation.
----
John retracted his pack, pocketing it and considering dressing into something that actually belonged to him, rather than something that smelled like that bitch. A mental sneer. Christ. How could he have been so careless to walk out so callously like that? He should have been expecting something. He should have known that cunt had a hidden ace in her sleeve waiting to be drawn.
And he was bleeding? He was hurting, yes, but nothing that merited worry. A puzzled look was given to that blue cybernetic eye.
----
He used the cigarette to gesture to the small amount of blood that had trickled along the hard floor, from John's ankle. Yes the mortal's spilt blood was more important to him than the loss of one nightmarish eye. The Corinthian could cut it out if necessary, his lids would heal though one wondered if teeth could regenerate behind them. Besides, now he could look without sunglasses, fail to cast fear and guilt in others, if he kept the left eye closed anyway.
----
Oh. That. He was bleeding that badly? A cock-eyed look was cast towards the still-fresh wound. Apparently he was leaving a trail. Amazing how distant he was from it.
"It'll heal." Still, John got up to bandage it, if just to have less blood to clean.
----
Not badly per se, definitely not as bad as that one night Scarab had to sew his throat shut, but it was enough to warrant some attention on John, and away from the Corinthian. While the other man moved away to bandage his wound the white blonde just sucked down his cigarette, careful not to get ash on the blankets. He wasn't cold anymore, but he felt numb.
----
Eventually, the magus returned, having found wrapping somewhere in the studio (possibly from Scarab's med kit?) snuggly around his ankle. Resuming his seat, Constantine wouldn't doubt that the puncture was deep either, but he was more concerned about the persistent itch crawling around inside him. The spell seemed to be holding for now, but he was sure it would not last. Needn't bother Cori with that.
"Gotta' clean the blood. " A pause and a drag. "Shit, I forgot just how good it was to sit down."
----
He'd assumed the magus had managed to break the spell that had cast the lupine skin on him, but there was that old saying about assumptions... He watched John return, this time making a little more room for the other. One advantage of the hard floor was its ability to be an ashtray, however uncouth it was.
"Is it permanent," the Corinthian asked, both eyes closed this time.
----
Well, fuck. So much for trying to keep that little bit aside. Constantine had smoked his own fag to the damn filter. Flick. He did not need to ask what he had meant by that. "Don't know. Don't think so." He leaned on his knees. "Like my thumbs though."
----
Come on now, it wasn't a wolf who'd busted through the lab to break him out of the chamber, the Corinthian would have remembered that. Considering the grief they went through when John was in his quadruped form it was only a matter of time before he'd ask the man if that was the end of it. He hadn't finished his cigarette just yet, but even with his eyes closed the nightmare could maneuver without burning a hole through the blankets or missing his mark.
He reached aside for John's hand. "Yeah, I like them too," he said.
----
Fortunately, John had not retrieved his pack for another cigarette just yet, feeling Cori's cold, numb fingers. He took them, his own warm and rough. Poor bugger. His grip became firm and almost comforting, with a slight squeeze of reassurance. Couldn't hurt.
"What else can I say? I missed'em." A smile, even if Cori happened to look like a mechanical cyber Popeye.
----
In due time, that eye was coming out. John enjoyed having thumbs, the Corinthian... well 'enjoyed' wasn't the word he would use, but the eye was a fake, not even the tempest blues he had during that one cursed day. The eye was a machine, just as he was, fear machine ((LOL Delano)), but he was not programmed, else he would not have will. He felt the Englishman's fingers, distinct from fingerprints to texture, the magic in his palms.
He pulled what was left of the nicotine and mirrored the gesture, flicking the end against the floor.
----
The moment held, the two of them in silence, if just at least for Constantine, enjoying his company and warming the numb hand. Despite the tiffs, the bumping of elbows, there was a certain comfort in familiarity. That was how you summoned old things anyway; you tempted them with it.
Aw, bugger that magic bollocks. He wouldn't trade the world for this minute. They had each other and that was all that mattered.