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tampered2006-11-30 12:22 am
bitingnightmare.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-11-30 12:22 am
Log; Complete
When; Nov. 29 (early evening)
Rating; PG-13 (language)
Characters; John Constantine (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
silkcutremix), the Corinthian (bitingnightmare)
Summary; slugging it out wasn’t the end of it
Log;
The whole evening, whatever John had been up to, the Corinthian was left to his own devices, smoking out most of his Mild Sevens and treating himself to shots of the Stoli. Moderately sober of course. He was piecing together memories of the night before and the one before that. Horrible things, he was capable of such horrible things.
---
And here, John had arrived. He appeared a little tired with a slight hint of a mostly hidden satisfaction in his eye, stepping through the door to make a beeline towards Cori. Seeing him alive and conscious again had completely concealed whatever it was he had been previously doing, which he would never admit to with a straight face, but he did it.
"Evenin', Cori. Need a shotglassa' semen but I would like some help with it."
---
"Funny," said the nightmare, humorlessly.
Was that another litmus test? He wasn't in a particular mood for that activity, but his supernatural nose couldn't ignore the scent of it on the magician. Not that Cori should be surprised, and he told himself not to be. Perhaps he wasn't moderately sober after all.
---
"Yeah, you're there. I shouldn't even ask how you've been, eh?"
Despite the gentle scent of the forest that lingered in his coat, dirt and pine, he had a wry smile, appearing as if he had just been to his favorite pub and things had been working out right. Well, they might as well have had; for once he looked like good ol' enigmatic Constantine and not the miserable bloke dredged in old skeletons and haunts.
---
"....."
He considered those words for a moment. How he'd been. He'd been fucking terrible, that was obvious. Fuck. He didn't even want to be thinking, thinking of the wry smile that he would have carved off the magus' face were it not for the tag-team Wolf Man and One Eyed Snake. Cori pushed his very battered sunglasses up his nose and exhaled.
"You know what I did," motherfucking slugged but still a nightmare nonetheless. "One of these days, I'll do it again," his previous incarnation had done as much.
---
"Yeah, you were a bloody psycho." John lit himself a fresh Silk Cut, as if unaware of the Corinthian's mental turmoil. "And one of these days, you won't, because you have enough sense not to. Worm did it, not you. Now let's savva' drink and move on, yeah?"
Funny of him to say that.
---
Bloody psycho. That was the norm for the dark mirror apparently. It hurt to hear the Englishman say those words, hurt because the Corinthian cared. He shouldn't, but he did. Cori sucked down the last of that cigarette and ground it out in the ashtray before rising from his chair.
"I dreamed about it while you were out, and you know how it made me feel? Fucking great," and guilty thereafter. "I took a fucking sword at you," said the white-blonde, hand over his face a moment.
---
"That's your nature," replied John, unaffected. The Silk Cut's smoke framed the sharp features of his old face. "Look, mate, I have me nature," his failed struggle with his vices and addictions, "and you have yours. What good is denying it?"
---
"... You don't fucking get it. Congratulations you got me stabbed in the face," he gestured with a hand, becoming more frustrated with John's lack of argument, "it doesn't change the fact that I can't be trusted."
---
"What, you think we could have sat you down for some good ol' brain surgery? Hospital's buggered good and proper, you know." Puff. His still held his air of confidence. "Yeah, and I don't trust anyone. Not even you. Is that better?"
---
Slept through that ordeal, poor city. The Corinthian's eyebrows knit briefly, then he moved towards the door. It's what he wanted to hear wasn't it? He was dreaming to think it was anything more, but they were better off that way. Cori paused beside John, gaze averted.
"What's her name," said the nightmare, his tone low and cool.
---
John cocked an eyebrow in turn. "She?"
---
He raised his toothy gaze hidden by those sunglasses just slightly, giving John a look that said he wasn't stupid. Huff, but why care? For once he considered the little Red God's cretin was right. Functions were made to perform only what they were programmed to do. Anything else was unnatural.
"I'll see you around," said the man in white who was not a man.
---
That killed the grin. "Wait, Cori, what the hell is wrong? Are you letting a little fucking worm get to you?"
---
"Yes I'm letting a fucking worm get to me! And I'm not supposed to, I'm not supposed to give a damn! FUCK." He burst out, teeth gritting. "I'd blame you GOD I want to blame you," the Corinthian pointed at the magician angrily.
---
"Happens to all me mates at some point. I thought you knew."
---
"......"
He swung a solid fist out at the Englishman's youthful but weathered face.
---
The blow connected and Constantine was wheeling back. There was blood in his saliva, staining his teeth. "Alright. You got me there: I expected that from Chas but not you."
---
"You shouldn't be surprised." After all John Constantine didn't trust anyone, words from his very mouth. There was a brief moment of immediate remorse, immediate regret, but he was quick to erase that expression. Cori continued to the door, steeling his nerves, nerves that should never have relaxed for even a moment else he would never have tried to kill the man in the first place.
---
"Cori..." John said in a low voice, his jaw throbbing.
---
He paused with his hand on the doorknob and reached into his pocket. His fingers closed around something that meant more than it ever should have to a nightmare. A small object, a symbol. He tossed his copy of the apartment key to John then shut the door behind him.
---
John's eyes widened as he caught it. His jaw dropped. "Aw, Christ, no. You're..."
---
His fingers were shaking when they slipped from the metal, a rare feeling for the Corinthian, for Cori. He tucked his hands into his pockets and continued down the hall, forcing himself to not look back, to not glance over his shoulder to that apartment door. There was power in that place, magic he shouldn't want.
---
Going. Going. Gone.
This should have been a familiar scene, as history was always doomed to repeat itself, Constantine reminded himself, but still that did not stop the bubble inside of him. His knees weak, he stumbled to the couch, smelling the both of them in it and burning his eyes with a sad regret.
What did I do?
Slugs and beasts and earthquakes and he couldn't have given a right shit about anything. All he had to show for it was a little jar he threw a few slugs in and the dead one that had been in Cori's head, decimated and remains gathered into a plastic bag. A keepsake. The Museum of Constantine was a one-time deal and now it had been reduced to cinders, like his cigarettes, like his relationship with Cori. That arsehole should have meant nothing. He was just... a mate. That's all. A mate.
The spent butt was flicked away. He didn't care about fires or burns. His eyes only burned.
No one heard him sob.
Rating; PG-13 (language)
Characters; John Constantine (
silkcutremix), the Corinthian (bitingnightmare)Summary; slugging it out wasn’t the end of it
Log;
The whole evening, whatever John had been up to, the Corinthian was left to his own devices, smoking out most of his Mild Sevens and treating himself to shots of the Stoli. Moderately sober of course. He was piecing together memories of the night before and the one before that. Horrible things, he was capable of such horrible things.
---
And here, John had arrived. He appeared a little tired with a slight hint of a mostly hidden satisfaction in his eye, stepping through the door to make a beeline towards Cori. Seeing him alive and conscious again had completely concealed whatever it was he had been previously doing, which he would never admit to with a straight face, but he did it.
"Evenin', Cori. Need a shotglassa' semen but I would like some help with it."
---
"Funny," said the nightmare, humorlessly.
Was that another litmus test? He wasn't in a particular mood for that activity, but his supernatural nose couldn't ignore the scent of it on the magician. Not that Cori should be surprised, and he told himself not to be. Perhaps he wasn't moderately sober after all.
---
"Yeah, you're there. I shouldn't even ask how you've been, eh?"
Despite the gentle scent of the forest that lingered in his coat, dirt and pine, he had a wry smile, appearing as if he had just been to his favorite pub and things had been working out right. Well, they might as well have had; for once he looked like good ol' enigmatic Constantine and not the miserable bloke dredged in old skeletons and haunts.
---
"....."
He considered those words for a moment. How he'd been. He'd been fucking terrible, that was obvious. Fuck. He didn't even want to be thinking, thinking of the wry smile that he would have carved off the magus' face were it not for the tag-team Wolf Man and One Eyed Snake. Cori pushed his very battered sunglasses up his nose and exhaled.
"You know what I did," motherfucking slugged but still a nightmare nonetheless. "One of these days, I'll do it again," his previous incarnation had done as much.
---
"Yeah, you were a bloody psycho." John lit himself a fresh Silk Cut, as if unaware of the Corinthian's mental turmoil. "And one of these days, you won't, because you have enough sense not to. Worm did it, not you. Now let's savva' drink and move on, yeah?"
Funny of him to say that.
---
Bloody psycho. That was the norm for the dark mirror apparently. It hurt to hear the Englishman say those words, hurt because the Corinthian cared. He shouldn't, but he did. Cori sucked down the last of that cigarette and ground it out in the ashtray before rising from his chair.
"I dreamed about it while you were out, and you know how it made me feel? Fucking great," and guilty thereafter. "I took a fucking sword at you," said the white-blonde, hand over his face a moment.
---
"That's your nature," replied John, unaffected. The Silk Cut's smoke framed the sharp features of his old face. "Look, mate, I have me nature," his failed struggle with his vices and addictions, "and you have yours. What good is denying it?"
---
"... You don't fucking get it. Congratulations you got me stabbed in the face," he gestured with a hand, becoming more frustrated with John's lack of argument, "it doesn't change the fact that I can't be trusted."
---
"What, you think we could have sat you down for some good ol' brain surgery? Hospital's buggered good and proper, you know." Puff. His still held his air of confidence. "Yeah, and I don't trust anyone. Not even you. Is that better?"
---
Slept through that ordeal, poor city. The Corinthian's eyebrows knit briefly, then he moved towards the door. It's what he wanted to hear wasn't it? He was dreaming to think it was anything more, but they were better off that way. Cori paused beside John, gaze averted.
"What's her name," said the nightmare, his tone low and cool.
---
John cocked an eyebrow in turn. "She?"
---
He raised his toothy gaze hidden by those sunglasses just slightly, giving John a look that said he wasn't stupid. Huff, but why care? For once he considered the little Red God's cretin was right. Functions were made to perform only what they were programmed to do. Anything else was unnatural.
"I'll see you around," said the man in white who was not a man.
---
That killed the grin. "Wait, Cori, what the hell is wrong? Are you letting a little fucking worm get to you?"
---
"Yes I'm letting a fucking worm get to me! And I'm not supposed to, I'm not supposed to give a damn! FUCK." He burst out, teeth gritting. "I'd blame you GOD I want to blame you," the Corinthian pointed at the magician angrily.
---
"Happens to all me mates at some point. I thought you knew."
---
"......"
He swung a solid fist out at the Englishman's youthful but weathered face.
---
The blow connected and Constantine was wheeling back. There was blood in his saliva, staining his teeth. "Alright. You got me there: I expected that from Chas but not you."
---
"You shouldn't be surprised." After all John Constantine didn't trust anyone, words from his very mouth. There was a brief moment of immediate remorse, immediate regret, but he was quick to erase that expression. Cori continued to the door, steeling his nerves, nerves that should never have relaxed for even a moment else he would never have tried to kill the man in the first place.
---
"Cori..." John said in a low voice, his jaw throbbing.
---
He paused with his hand on the doorknob and reached into his pocket. His fingers closed around something that meant more than it ever should have to a nightmare. A small object, a symbol. He tossed his copy of the apartment key to John then shut the door behind him.
---
John's eyes widened as he caught it. His jaw dropped. "Aw, Christ, no. You're..."
---
His fingers were shaking when they slipped from the metal, a rare feeling for the Corinthian, for Cori. He tucked his hands into his pockets and continued down the hall, forcing himself to not look back, to not glance over his shoulder to that apartment door. There was power in that place, magic he shouldn't want.
---
Going. Going. Gone.
This should have been a familiar scene, as history was always doomed to repeat itself, Constantine reminded himself, but still that did not stop the bubble inside of him. His knees weak, he stumbled to the couch, smelling the both of them in it and burning his eyes with a sad regret.
What did I do?
Slugs and beasts and earthquakes and he couldn't have given a right shit about anything. All he had to show for it was a little jar he threw a few slugs in and the dead one that had been in Cori's head, decimated and remains gathered into a plastic bag. A keepsake. The Museum of Constantine was a one-time deal and now it had been reduced to cinders, like his cigarettes, like his relationship with Cori. That arsehole should have meant nothing. He was just... a mate. That's all. A mate.
The spent butt was flicked away. He didn't care about fires or burns. His eyes only burned.
No one heard him sob.