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tampered2007-03-28 01:03 am
silkcutremix.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-03-28 01:03 am
Log: Complete -- Part II
When; October 10th, 2006 --flashback backlog, continuation of this log, see asterisk (*)
Rating; It's R -- language. This is John Constantine and The Corinthian. They should be sailors.
Characters; John Constantine [![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
silkcutremix], The Corinthian [bitingnightmare]
Summary; "... Yeah, John, but you were a total asshole."
* Because of recent events, this is a flashback reflection. Did you know RPing a character how they were in the past is a bit challenging? D%
Log;
"I'm not trying to be," said the Corinthian in a serious though cool tone. His... change in shape was no laughing matter, in fact it was a dire matter considering the cause and the possible side effects. While John was still a wolf now they had no way of telling what he could become later, if he too would come to resemble the plague dog. "You should eat or drink something," suggested the nightmare, not just for John's health but also for his sanity. It was something normal.
Cori pushed off the counter and approached the table for his vice. He needed another cigarette to smoke the problem through his skin. It wouldn't solve anything, but it would soothe his nerves. He wedged one of those Sevens between his lips and sparked the end, filling the apartment with more carcinogens.
----
Constantine watched the nightmare as he let that large tongue hang over his teeth. Already his eyes were lit with a quiet envy. The Corinthian was higher than John, with his hands, his fingers, his humanity. Would the Corinthian allow Constantine the dignity to at least eat off a plate? Eat at the table? Sit on the couch? His body's inability to cool itself kept him from typing and it infuriated him while his inability to make a fist boiled his blood. He wanted to punch out the Corinthian out of sheer jealousy, break the terminal, destroy something that wasn't his own dignity and pride.
----
He had no doubt the magician was envious of his dexterous hands at the moment. While the nightmare didn't consider himself a true human being it was ironic that at this moment he really was more human than Constantine. They both had particular instincts now, but the Corinthian's were centuries old. John's were brand new and very much different from that of a Homo sapien. For once, Cori wasn't the 'monster'.
After a moment of watching the paper burn from his lighter he offered the Mild Seven to John. "Fancy a smoke," Cori asked, unsure if John could even inhale from a cigarette properly. If he wasn't going to take food or drink easily the least he could do was calm himself with that age old habit.
----
John shook his head, trying to shake that intense gaze that wanted, yearned for what he only wished he had again. He did not want to look down and study exactly how useless his own digits were, that'd both depress and anger him more, just what his antagonist would have wanted. His body temperature more tolerable, he took up the pencil again. Neglecting to pant filled his mouth with a hot cotton sensation.
“yes”
----
Hmm, perhaps what he needed was the Silk Cut. With his heightened senses Constantine might either recoil from the overwhelming smell or appreciate all the better. The Corinthian tucked a Silkie in his mouth next to his Seven and lit the tip, expelling both particular fumes from his eyes. It was an interesting taste, mixing the two. He held the cancer stick filter first to John.
----
The Silkie was a bit powerful from where John was, especially considering they were light but who was he to turn down a familiar comfort? Constantine took it slowly: It was a peculiar feeling, his whiskers tickling the filter's end, telling the magus just how far exactly his nose had extended past his face. He could only fathom just how ridiculous he looked, taking his first drag and pushing it out just a little farther through his long snout. His eyes were closed; it made forgetting that he was anything but the sure-tongued bastard magician just a little bit easier.
----
"That's what I thought," said the Corinthian, satisfied by the outcome of that little experiment. Who knew dogs could smoke, though being a chronic smoker in human life it wasn't much of a surprise that it should translate towards his four-legged form. "We'll figure something," he nodded to John and reached out to stroke the back of his white neck.
Ridiculous maybe, but this was no citywide curse or even a 24hr joke. Constantine was trapped in this form, and who knew how long it would take to get him out of it.
----
John was content at the moment, even if he flinched at the nightmare's touch, those fingers attached to those hands running through his inhumanly excessive body hair. His eyes were reopened when he felt the end of his smoke threaten to burn off his whiskers (he missed his stubble already), so he simply dropped it in a nearby ashtray next to the terminal. The jealousy continued to burn through him, even when he took up the pencil:
“wnt 2 eeat”
----
Now he knew the magician was more discontent than he appeared. He had to be to drop that fresh cigarette. Cori readjusted it so that the burn would be slow, at least filling the kitchen with that familiar scent to calm Constantine. When he requested food the nightmare felt relief.
"I can cook something up," he offered. Though John's patience might have been waning at this point he was not about to offer raw food to him. "Anything?"
----
The aforementioned “monster” considered the Corinthian for a moment; he felt like a goddamned child being looked after. Watching the nightmare adjust that cigarette butt only cemented the feeling. Envy would also be slow to burn, a steady scent within him as the silk cut's odor of chemicals, things John never even knew was in it, drifted from the end to the corners of the room. It was stronger than he original had thought it to be: his inability to experience the smell in whole with the calming nicotine spiked his agitation all over again.
The pencil was crunched in two, the eraser end bouncing off the floor with a tiny clatter that was many times bigger in the magus' thickly furred ears. He could hear the splinters, the fibers, the flakes.
----
"John," he said the man's name, aware of the increasing frustration. He took his hand back, in case the Englishman should lash out with his teeth again. "What the hell do you want me to do," asked the Corinthian. Of course how Constantine would be able to reply with a splintered pencil now....
----
Not quite splintered. John narrowed his eyes venomously for a moment then shook his head in a slow, human manner, releasing the sharpened end from his jaws to the floor. His breath continued to come out heavy, dry. The eraser end was recovered and as slowly as he had nodded, he typed:
“get fod any food” Anything but dog food.
----
"Fine," he replied casually before expelling a drag of smoke. He then nipped the Mild Seven between his teeth and turned to the refrigerator. What did they have, some slices of meat, a slab of salmon. The nightmare had been meaning to attempt cooking for them, perhaps now was as good a time as any to try it. He pulled the fish out and tossed it on the counter, their makeshift cutting board.
After another thought Cori picked the mug out of the sink and filled it with water again, wordlessly setting it on the table for Constantine to drink.
----
John watched the nightmare for a moment, paying no mind to the mug for the time being. He was more interested in the nightmare's cooking skills. Constantine could cook some basic things, enough to possibly net him a job in the back of some low-end fast food joint ((LOL CAREY)) but not a lot after that. His gaze was fixed on those hands.
----
He doused the slab of fish with a Cajun seasoning, paying no mind to the fact that such a spice might wreak havoc on the man's new digestive track. After that he poured a vegetable oil into a pan then tossed the fish on it before turning up the heat to cook. Clearly the Corinthian had been prepared to show off his culinary skills, though at the moment he didn't appear particularly confident or prideful of his rather unlikely hobby.
"Give it ten minutes or so," said the nightmare through a puff of nicotine. He noticed John had not sipped his water out the corner of his teeth eye. "Don't be ashamed to try it, you'll have to drink eventually," Cori said, knowing full well he might spark heavier resentment in Constantine.
----
Constantine furrowed his doggie brow. He scrutinized the water itself for a moment, curiously trying to pucker his doggie lips to mimic sipping but that option looked less and less likely, the effect resembling a howling O. Dipping his muzzle and trying to suck the water in caused him to jerk back and hack, this mouth of his ill suited for precisely controlling how much water went in and did not go straight for his lungs. Fortunately the mug was still erect and not tilted over. For whatever dignity he had left, he gave the Corinthian a dirty look for watching him make an arse of himself while he grasped at straws to mimic his lost humanity but the conclusion was simple: He was a dog and he would be lapping.
Water flew everywhere the second time around, more for the table and keyboard than Constantine's maw. Nothing seemed to stay in; his tongue dipped and tried to cup the liquid, darting uselessly in and out. Frustrated, he tried scooping the water with his bottom jaw, all the while knocking his large lower fangs against the plastic, and tilting his head back like a bird. Christ, it made his situation feel all the more wretched; how could he ever hope to articulate that fucking tongue if he could not even keep himself hydrated? It was wide and thin, lacking the thick muscles that once made his golden lies and black magic.
Fuck that fucking cunt fuck fuck fuck bloody fuck.
----
The nightmare huffed a sigh as smoke streamed from his nose this time. He knew Constantine wouldn't appreciate it, but overall it was a far better choice than the mug. Cori filled a bowl this time and poured what remained in the mug into the fresh dish before setting it in front of John. He watched the magician carefully, to see how he would react to the change in dish.
----
No, Constantine did not appreciate this change at all, but like a goddamned child, he was not ready yet. He gave a brief off gaze in the direction of the fish, realizing he was more hungry than he had previously thought as he licked his chops but no, he turned to that fucking fucking water dish. When the water was still, he could see his animal reflection all the clearer.
(Better this than a rat, he reminded himself before his anger spiked and he did something irrational. It did not really help.)
His hackles were raised but he tried to drink again, taking it slower, practicing cupping his tongue. Eventually it came to him that the moment his tongue was in his mouth, he had to close it to keep the water in. Less drooled back into the dish. More went down.
----
He could knock the dish away and remain thirsty, especially after helping himself to some salmon, or he could be a man about it and attempt drinking. Ironic that he should have to be more of a man in his lupine body. Cori blew his smoke aside, satisfied that John had managed to lap the water into his mouth. Perhaps the cool liquid would even help manage his body temperature.
He took that time then to flip the fish before it could burn. Surreal barely began to describe it, he a dark mirror of humanity cooking for the infamous bad luck magician turned hound. Not but moments later he had the hot meat ready on a plate but contemplated cutting it for John before serving it to him.
----
Best the nightmare refrained and watched the magus ponder how to eat with his mouth only. His nostrils flared a few times as he took a few whiffs before blowing with blubbery jowls to cool it off. Giving his stiff forelimbs a once over, he considered the possibility of utensils. The meat still a bit hot for him, he typed:
“fork”
----
"I don't think that's a good idea," he said to John but forked over a fork anyway. He didn't want to see the magician become more frustrated over his inability to use a fork. If Matthew had a hard time manipulating a utensil Constantine would not have it any easier.
----
Constantine did not give a right shit. He took the fork in his jaws, taking care to figure out the limitations of his foreleg's limited range of motion as he wedged it tightly between where his pointer and index finger once were. The tines downward, he pressed it into the tender fish, the meat slopping back down to the plate into its juices when he pulled up again. His dexterity was completely fucked, his limb as steady as a toddler's, worsened by his bizarre lopsided center of gravity. He had forgotten that he could not balance himself properly upright anymore so instead John scooted the meat to the edge of the plate with the fork, proceeding to gnaw on the edge.
The magus figuring out the art of eating with a fixed hinge jaw and limited, floppy lips was another matter entirely: chunks of fish flaked the table as he chewed, his first bite falling out of his mouth completely due to his awkward headtilt. Food and juices got caught in his whiskers and stained his fur. He had to remind himself, having watched a dog eat before, that the damned little shits swallowed what they could whole. That worked out better. He missed savoring bites already but he could eat.
----
The Corinthian pulled another chair over to sit beside Constantine, watching flecks of fish scatter around the table, on his fur. It was a pitiful sight, really, morbidly fascinating at the same time but he wouldn't express that sentiment to John. A moment's consideration led him to ask the wolf another question, one he was sure to despise.
"Do you need help."
----
An irritated growl sounded from the magus' chest.
----
"Pride isn't going to save you this time, John Constantine."
----
John sat up and chewed his current mouthful, uncomfortable with the dog gulping concept entirely just yet, before eying the nightmare intently.
----
He filtered his smoke through his eyes, hot on his teeth from the shades. The Corinthian remained silent, waiting for John to speak his mind already, or perhaps giving him a moment to think before he acted.
----
Constantine's blue gaze spoke what was on his mind where words no longer could: I can help meself. He would be amazed with himself later on, his pride overriding the dog's powerful drive to eat.
----
That's when the nightmare dared to cut an easier sized chunk for the wolf.
----
Constantine lashed, more out of instinctual protectiveness over food than anything. His human side was amazed at the nightmare's nerve. Where the magus stopped, the beast began.
----
Cori dropped the fork then, letting it clatter against the plate. Stupid stubborn son of a bitch, he hissed to himself, irritated with Constantine. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite sure if he was frustrated over the situation in general or frustrated that John would not let him help. Understandably, he had undergone a dramatic spell, but he couldn't survive it alone.
"Don't be a jackass." Wrong, the magician was a wolf, heh.
---
John's teeth barely grazed the the pale skin. He paused, studying the nightmare, his expression. Then this time, of all the things he could have done, he slumped his shoulders apologetically: He himself was stunned by the Corinthian's persistent nerve, he would have let him, but his body was...
Shit.
He backed away from the plate and the nightmare. Everything was wrong with him. The Corinthian was in charge of that nightmare bollocks, right? For Christ's sake make it stop. The joke was fucking stale already.
----
"......." That was a change, maybe not for the better. He stubbed his cigarette out on the nearby ashtray and reached for the fork again anyway, to cut a smaller piece for John. That's when he noticed the magician back away. "What's wrong now," asked the Corinthian, adjusting his glasses skeptically.
----
John shook his head. Nothing. Keep doing what you were. He felt instinct boil up within him for another go, knowing that he was hungry and that food was his but the distance was enough to keep his lashing at bay. That required him to be closer. He found keeping himself low and submissive eased the toothy prickly sensations that fancied seeing the Corinthian's arms bitten open and away from his fucking food.
----
Low and submissive... very unlike Constantine the magician. Shit this was going to take its toll on him, more than the Corinthian could imagine. Still they would get nowhere with resolving the transfiguration spell, curse, whatever it was, on an empty stomach. After cutting that fish up he set the fork on the table and put the plate on the floor.
"Don't take it the wrong way, it's easier," to eat like a dog, he meant.
----
Indeed he had hated it, but the domineering Constantine was becoming something even he was afraid of. Was he really just a vicious shit of a dog? All the dogs he had met that weren't out to kill him were pretty stupid and friendly. Why wasn't he?
(The sight of the plate on the floor infuriated him. Not the inner-dog.)
The moment the nightmare was away from the food, he wobbled to it and gulped the chunks, eating with the frenzy of a ravenous beast. They were indeed easier to swallow and it made being wolfishly ravenous all the easier.
----
"Thanks," Cori said, whether John was really eating for him or submitting or even acting out on a gesture or not. He set the fork in the sink then the bowl of water near his plate. Indeed like a fucking stupid dog, but how else would he eat or drink? Was Constantine's pride stronger than his will to live and reverse the spell?
----
Fortunately, John wasn't that stupid, although he had his daft moments. He did not want to start on the last hour or so. Finishing, he lapped, the whole bowlful soon gone once the magus had the technique reasonably mastered. He sat up, running his pink tongue along his muzzle, cleaning whatever stuck to his ... face. Now what? He wasn't satisfied, more scared, really. His bestial side was quieter.
He turned back towards the terminal, settling himself in front of it with the eraser end.
“whts wrng w/me”
----
"I don't know," he said to John with an honest shake of his head, "but we'll find out." Those teeth eyes hidden behind his shades looked intently at the other.
----
“i did nt bit u” Funny statement that, but Constantine had no other way of swearing on it.
----
"Don't worry about it," Cori huffed quietly, "you're the concern right now."
----
John shook his head. “no dog bit u.”
----
"I'm still me, it's nothing," said the nightmare. Now he was the stubborn one. "I ate its eyes," Cori admitted however.
----
John made an approximation of an incredulous look. He was not too sure what he looked like but he damn well hoped that expression projected what he wanted to.
----
"It was sick," the Corinthian continued, "like it was plagued." He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, concern crossing his expression. This was the source of his true worry.
----
John's brow rose. “plage wit what”
----
"I don't know, something sick, it's disease," Cori explained as calmly as possible. "It's pointless to ask if you feel out of the fucking ordinary, that's why you need to be well," he nodded to the wolf magus, "so we'll know."
----
“llycntopy” Constantine remembered that large animal. He would not want to end up like it, more or less end up as Colette's pet. The Corinthian had been around. Maybe he had seen something like his case? So far he appeared to be fucking clueless. Buggering fuck. “nt sicckl aymor”
----
"Llycan... lycanthropy," asked the nightmare, trying to make legible sense of that word. The attacking lupine was indeed large, larger than the average wolf. Its behavior was beyond the natural world, something supernatural, like the Corinthian himself. "I took its eyes out, then it withered and died, like dust," or sand, he explained with a shake of his head.
"You're not sick now John, but there's a lot we don't know," Cori muttered in frustration. He ran his fingers through his short white hair.
----
A lot John wanted to know. His eyes conveyed his concern, expression limited by the pencil end secure in his teeth. “se anythng”
----
See anything... He stared at Constantine a moment, then shook his head. What he had developed was the life of a dead creature. "It was dead before I got to it," he explained, "all I saw was us, you in particular. It wanted you."
----
Straws. All of it. John had little to go on and he was straining his eyes and neck. He set the pencil on the desk this time rather than throw it aside to skip along the floor, stumbling to the couch to climb up one leg at a time and lie on it. He'd have to think, have to make sure his body wouldn't rot away when it wasn't, shit, what did he want to do now? He caught an interesting collective smell - himself - and without second thought, found himself rolling and rubbing his back along on top of it, soaking that scent in.
Funny little symbolic thing, that.
---
The Corinthian, for all he was, dark mirror, loyal phantom, obedient monster, he did not want to see Constantine rot away like that plague wolf. The man was infamous, great in fucking bed, but most of all the bad luck magician was turning out to be good company. He remained silent as the magus soaked up his own scent from the couch, a mixture of oils, cigarettes, and whatever clung to that trench coat.
"If it's any comfort, you're still an asshole," said the nightmare as he followed John to the couch, taking a seat on the arm.
---
John eyed the Corinthian from his comfortable spot on his back, looking incredibly stupid but he had been worse off today anyway. Couldn't go any lower.
Yeah, and you're a cocksucker too. He gave a whining yawn he could not help although still as cocksure and nonchalant as ever, revealing the extent of those massive fangs, rolling to his side.
----
Nice. Whatever John was saying, thinking, he was sure it was unsavory, and all the better for it if it helped the magician to not focus on his shape. Those teeth were quite impressive too though they would never come close to the polished ivory of the Corinthian's eyes. That's what Cori thought anyway.
"We'll get to the bottom of it," with emphasis on the we. He was certain this time, the magician could not under any circumstances get by on his own.
----
Groan. Of course it was a we. John did not have faithful Chas anymore to bust in a head or six. Bitterly, who else would bloody coddle him when clearly he could adapt to his fuck awful situation himself? Looking down towards the junction where his hindlegs met told him his sex life was over. All the more incentive to reverse it.
---
Adapting to it was going to be hurdle one, and if Constantine truly thought he could do it without the Corinthian then he would certainly invite the man to work the water faucet himself. As for that other hurdle, well... casual sex was all it was, casual sex. The nightmare could handle it, ahh but the Englishman, for him that was definitely a tragedy, one even Cori thought he did not deserve.
---
Huff. Constantine was far from a stupid man. His past schemes and cons required some thought and invention. Trying to work around his four legs and lack of dexterity would be a challenge, but a challenge he could work out. Nothing he couldn't do, he was sure of it.
John gave the Corinthian another glance. Loyal phantom indeed.
Rating; It's R -- language. This is John Constantine and The Corinthian. They should be sailors.
Characters; John Constantine [
silkcutremix], The Corinthian [bitingnightmare]Summary; "... Yeah, John, but you were a total asshole."
* Because of recent events, this is a flashback reflection. Did you know RPing a character how they were in the past is a bit challenging? D%
Log;
"I'm not trying to be," said the Corinthian in a serious though cool tone. His... change in shape was no laughing matter, in fact it was a dire matter considering the cause and the possible side effects. While John was still a wolf now they had no way of telling what he could become later, if he too would come to resemble the plague dog. "You should eat or drink something," suggested the nightmare, not just for John's health but also for his sanity. It was something normal.
Cori pushed off the counter and approached the table for his vice. He needed another cigarette to smoke the problem through his skin. It wouldn't solve anything, but it would soothe his nerves. He wedged one of those Sevens between his lips and sparked the end, filling the apartment with more carcinogens.
----
Constantine watched the nightmare as he let that large tongue hang over his teeth. Already his eyes were lit with a quiet envy. The Corinthian was higher than John, with his hands, his fingers, his humanity. Would the Corinthian allow Constantine the dignity to at least eat off a plate? Eat at the table? Sit on the couch? His body's inability to cool itself kept him from typing and it infuriated him while his inability to make a fist boiled his blood. He wanted to punch out the Corinthian out of sheer jealousy, break the terminal, destroy something that wasn't his own dignity and pride.
----
He had no doubt the magician was envious of his dexterous hands at the moment. While the nightmare didn't consider himself a true human being it was ironic that at this moment he really was more human than Constantine. They both had particular instincts now, but the Corinthian's were centuries old. John's were brand new and very much different from that of a Homo sapien. For once, Cori wasn't the 'monster'.
After a moment of watching the paper burn from his lighter he offered the Mild Seven to John. "Fancy a smoke," Cori asked, unsure if John could even inhale from a cigarette properly. If he wasn't going to take food or drink easily the least he could do was calm himself with that age old habit.
----
John shook his head, trying to shake that intense gaze that wanted, yearned for what he only wished he had again. He did not want to look down and study exactly how useless his own digits were, that'd both depress and anger him more, just what his antagonist would have wanted. His body temperature more tolerable, he took up the pencil again. Neglecting to pant filled his mouth with a hot cotton sensation.
“yes”
----
Hmm, perhaps what he needed was the Silk Cut. With his heightened senses Constantine might either recoil from the overwhelming smell or appreciate all the better. The Corinthian tucked a Silkie in his mouth next to his Seven and lit the tip, expelling both particular fumes from his eyes. It was an interesting taste, mixing the two. He held the cancer stick filter first to John.
----
The Silkie was a bit powerful from where John was, especially considering they were light but who was he to turn down a familiar comfort? Constantine took it slowly: It was a peculiar feeling, his whiskers tickling the filter's end, telling the magus just how far exactly his nose had extended past his face. He could only fathom just how ridiculous he looked, taking his first drag and pushing it out just a little farther through his long snout. His eyes were closed; it made forgetting that he was anything but the sure-tongued bastard magician just a little bit easier.
----
"That's what I thought," said the Corinthian, satisfied by the outcome of that little experiment. Who knew dogs could smoke, though being a chronic smoker in human life it wasn't much of a surprise that it should translate towards his four-legged form. "We'll figure something," he nodded to John and reached out to stroke the back of his white neck.
Ridiculous maybe, but this was no citywide curse or even a 24hr joke. Constantine was trapped in this form, and who knew how long it would take to get him out of it.
----
John was content at the moment, even if he flinched at the nightmare's touch, those fingers attached to those hands running through his inhumanly excessive body hair. His eyes were reopened when he felt the end of his smoke threaten to burn off his whiskers (he missed his stubble already), so he simply dropped it in a nearby ashtray next to the terminal. The jealousy continued to burn through him, even when he took up the pencil:
“wnt 2 eeat”
----
Now he knew the magician was more discontent than he appeared. He had to be to drop that fresh cigarette. Cori readjusted it so that the burn would be slow, at least filling the kitchen with that familiar scent to calm Constantine. When he requested food the nightmare felt relief.
"I can cook something up," he offered. Though John's patience might have been waning at this point he was not about to offer raw food to him. "Anything?"
----
The aforementioned “monster” considered the Corinthian for a moment; he felt like a goddamned child being looked after. Watching the nightmare adjust that cigarette butt only cemented the feeling. Envy would also be slow to burn, a steady scent within him as the silk cut's odor of chemicals, things John never even knew was in it, drifted from the end to the corners of the room. It was stronger than he original had thought it to be: his inability to experience the smell in whole with the calming nicotine spiked his agitation all over again.
The pencil was crunched in two, the eraser end bouncing off the floor with a tiny clatter that was many times bigger in the magus' thickly furred ears. He could hear the splinters, the fibers, the flakes.
----
"John," he said the man's name, aware of the increasing frustration. He took his hand back, in case the Englishman should lash out with his teeth again. "What the hell do you want me to do," asked the Corinthian. Of course how Constantine would be able to reply with a splintered pencil now....
----
Not quite splintered. John narrowed his eyes venomously for a moment then shook his head in a slow, human manner, releasing the sharpened end from his jaws to the floor. His breath continued to come out heavy, dry. The eraser end was recovered and as slowly as he had nodded, he typed:
“get fod any food” Anything but dog food.
----
"Fine," he replied casually before expelling a drag of smoke. He then nipped the Mild Seven between his teeth and turned to the refrigerator. What did they have, some slices of meat, a slab of salmon. The nightmare had been meaning to attempt cooking for them, perhaps now was as good a time as any to try it. He pulled the fish out and tossed it on the counter, their makeshift cutting board.
After another thought Cori picked the mug out of the sink and filled it with water again, wordlessly setting it on the table for Constantine to drink.
----
John watched the nightmare for a moment, paying no mind to the mug for the time being. He was more interested in the nightmare's cooking skills. Constantine could cook some basic things, enough to possibly net him a job in the back of some low-end fast food joint ((LOL CAREY)) but not a lot after that. His gaze was fixed on those hands.
----
He doused the slab of fish with a Cajun seasoning, paying no mind to the fact that such a spice might wreak havoc on the man's new digestive track. After that he poured a vegetable oil into a pan then tossed the fish on it before turning up the heat to cook. Clearly the Corinthian had been prepared to show off his culinary skills, though at the moment he didn't appear particularly confident or prideful of his rather unlikely hobby.
"Give it ten minutes or so," said the nightmare through a puff of nicotine. He noticed John had not sipped his water out the corner of his teeth eye. "Don't be ashamed to try it, you'll have to drink eventually," Cori said, knowing full well he might spark heavier resentment in Constantine.
----
Constantine furrowed his doggie brow. He scrutinized the water itself for a moment, curiously trying to pucker his doggie lips to mimic sipping but that option looked less and less likely, the effect resembling a howling O. Dipping his muzzle and trying to suck the water in caused him to jerk back and hack, this mouth of his ill suited for precisely controlling how much water went in and did not go straight for his lungs. Fortunately the mug was still erect and not tilted over. For whatever dignity he had left, he gave the Corinthian a dirty look for watching him make an arse of himself while he grasped at straws to mimic his lost humanity but the conclusion was simple: He was a dog and he would be lapping.
Water flew everywhere the second time around, more for the table and keyboard than Constantine's maw. Nothing seemed to stay in; his tongue dipped and tried to cup the liquid, darting uselessly in and out. Frustrated, he tried scooping the water with his bottom jaw, all the while knocking his large lower fangs against the plastic, and tilting his head back like a bird. Christ, it made his situation feel all the more wretched; how could he ever hope to articulate that fucking tongue if he could not even keep himself hydrated? It was wide and thin, lacking the thick muscles that once made his golden lies and black magic.
Fuck that fucking cunt fuck fuck fuck bloody fuck.
----
The nightmare huffed a sigh as smoke streamed from his nose this time. He knew Constantine wouldn't appreciate it, but overall it was a far better choice than the mug. Cori filled a bowl this time and poured what remained in the mug into the fresh dish before setting it in front of John. He watched the magician carefully, to see how he would react to the change in dish.
----
No, Constantine did not appreciate this change at all, but like a goddamned child, he was not ready yet. He gave a brief off gaze in the direction of the fish, realizing he was more hungry than he had previously thought as he licked his chops but no, he turned to that fucking fucking water dish. When the water was still, he could see his animal reflection all the clearer.
(Better this than a rat, he reminded himself before his anger spiked and he did something irrational. It did not really help.)
His hackles were raised but he tried to drink again, taking it slower, practicing cupping his tongue. Eventually it came to him that the moment his tongue was in his mouth, he had to close it to keep the water in. Less drooled back into the dish. More went down.
----
He could knock the dish away and remain thirsty, especially after helping himself to some salmon, or he could be a man about it and attempt drinking. Ironic that he should have to be more of a man in his lupine body. Cori blew his smoke aside, satisfied that John had managed to lap the water into his mouth. Perhaps the cool liquid would even help manage his body temperature.
He took that time then to flip the fish before it could burn. Surreal barely began to describe it, he a dark mirror of humanity cooking for the infamous bad luck magician turned hound. Not but moments later he had the hot meat ready on a plate but contemplated cutting it for John before serving it to him.
----
Best the nightmare refrained and watched the magus ponder how to eat with his mouth only. His nostrils flared a few times as he took a few whiffs before blowing with blubbery jowls to cool it off. Giving his stiff forelimbs a once over, he considered the possibility of utensils. The meat still a bit hot for him, he typed:
“fork”
----
"I don't think that's a good idea," he said to John but forked over a fork anyway. He didn't want to see the magician become more frustrated over his inability to use a fork. If Matthew had a hard time manipulating a utensil Constantine would not have it any easier.
----
Constantine did not give a right shit. He took the fork in his jaws, taking care to figure out the limitations of his foreleg's limited range of motion as he wedged it tightly between where his pointer and index finger once were. The tines downward, he pressed it into the tender fish, the meat slopping back down to the plate into its juices when he pulled up again. His dexterity was completely fucked, his limb as steady as a toddler's, worsened by his bizarre lopsided center of gravity. He had forgotten that he could not balance himself properly upright anymore so instead John scooted the meat to the edge of the plate with the fork, proceeding to gnaw on the edge.
The magus figuring out the art of eating with a fixed hinge jaw and limited, floppy lips was another matter entirely: chunks of fish flaked the table as he chewed, his first bite falling out of his mouth completely due to his awkward headtilt. Food and juices got caught in his whiskers and stained his fur. He had to remind himself, having watched a dog eat before, that the damned little shits swallowed what they could whole. That worked out better. He missed savoring bites already but he could eat.
----
The Corinthian pulled another chair over to sit beside Constantine, watching flecks of fish scatter around the table, on his fur. It was a pitiful sight, really, morbidly fascinating at the same time but he wouldn't express that sentiment to John. A moment's consideration led him to ask the wolf another question, one he was sure to despise.
"Do you need help."
----
An irritated growl sounded from the magus' chest.
----
"Pride isn't going to save you this time, John Constantine."
----
John sat up and chewed his current mouthful, uncomfortable with the dog gulping concept entirely just yet, before eying the nightmare intently.
----
He filtered his smoke through his eyes, hot on his teeth from the shades. The Corinthian remained silent, waiting for John to speak his mind already, or perhaps giving him a moment to think before he acted.
----
Constantine's blue gaze spoke what was on his mind where words no longer could: I can help meself. He would be amazed with himself later on, his pride overriding the dog's powerful drive to eat.
----
That's when the nightmare dared to cut an easier sized chunk for the wolf.
----
Constantine lashed, more out of instinctual protectiveness over food than anything. His human side was amazed at the nightmare's nerve. Where the magus stopped, the beast began.
----
Cori dropped the fork then, letting it clatter against the plate. Stupid stubborn son of a bitch, he hissed to himself, irritated with Constantine. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite sure if he was frustrated over the situation in general or frustrated that John would not let him help. Understandably, he had undergone a dramatic spell, but he couldn't survive it alone.
"Don't be a jackass." Wrong, the magician was a wolf, heh.
---
John's teeth barely grazed the the pale skin. He paused, studying the nightmare, his expression. Then this time, of all the things he could have done, he slumped his shoulders apologetically: He himself was stunned by the Corinthian's persistent nerve, he would have let him, but his body was...
Shit.
He backed away from the plate and the nightmare. Everything was wrong with him. The Corinthian was in charge of that nightmare bollocks, right? For Christ's sake make it stop. The joke was fucking stale already.
----
"......." That was a change, maybe not for the better. He stubbed his cigarette out on the nearby ashtray and reached for the fork again anyway, to cut a smaller piece for John. That's when he noticed the magician back away. "What's wrong now," asked the Corinthian, adjusting his glasses skeptically.
----
John shook his head. Nothing. Keep doing what you were. He felt instinct boil up within him for another go, knowing that he was hungry and that food was his but the distance was enough to keep his lashing at bay. That required him to be closer. He found keeping himself low and submissive eased the toothy prickly sensations that fancied seeing the Corinthian's arms bitten open and away from his fucking food.
----
Low and submissive... very unlike Constantine the magician. Shit this was going to take its toll on him, more than the Corinthian could imagine. Still they would get nowhere with resolving the transfiguration spell, curse, whatever it was, on an empty stomach. After cutting that fish up he set the fork on the table and put the plate on the floor.
"Don't take it the wrong way, it's easier," to eat like a dog, he meant.
----
Indeed he had hated it, but the domineering Constantine was becoming something even he was afraid of. Was he really just a vicious shit of a dog? All the dogs he had met that weren't out to kill him were pretty stupid and friendly. Why wasn't he?
(The sight of the plate on the floor infuriated him. Not the inner-dog.)
The moment the nightmare was away from the food, he wobbled to it and gulped the chunks, eating with the frenzy of a ravenous beast. They were indeed easier to swallow and it made being wolfishly ravenous all the easier.
----
"Thanks," Cori said, whether John was really eating for him or submitting or even acting out on a gesture or not. He set the fork in the sink then the bowl of water near his plate. Indeed like a fucking stupid dog, but how else would he eat or drink? Was Constantine's pride stronger than his will to live and reverse the spell?
----
Fortunately, John wasn't that stupid, although he had his daft moments. He did not want to start on the last hour or so. Finishing, he lapped, the whole bowlful soon gone once the magus had the technique reasonably mastered. He sat up, running his pink tongue along his muzzle, cleaning whatever stuck to his ... face. Now what? He wasn't satisfied, more scared, really. His bestial side was quieter.
He turned back towards the terminal, settling himself in front of it with the eraser end.
“whts wrng w/me”
----
"I don't know," he said to John with an honest shake of his head, "but we'll find out." Those teeth eyes hidden behind his shades looked intently at the other.
----
“i did nt bit u” Funny statement that, but Constantine had no other way of swearing on it.
----
"Don't worry about it," Cori huffed quietly, "you're the concern right now."
----
John shook his head. “no dog bit u.”
----
"I'm still me, it's nothing," said the nightmare. Now he was the stubborn one. "I ate its eyes," Cori admitted however.
----
John made an approximation of an incredulous look. He was not too sure what he looked like but he damn well hoped that expression projected what he wanted to.
----
"It was sick," the Corinthian continued, "like it was plagued." He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, concern crossing his expression. This was the source of his true worry.
----
John's brow rose. “plage wit what”
----
"I don't know, something sick, it's disease," Cori explained as calmly as possible. "It's pointless to ask if you feel out of the fucking ordinary, that's why you need to be well," he nodded to the wolf magus, "so we'll know."
----
“llycntopy” Constantine remembered that large animal. He would not want to end up like it, more or less end up as Colette's pet. The Corinthian had been around. Maybe he had seen something like his case? So far he appeared to be fucking clueless. Buggering fuck. “nt sicckl aymor”
----
"Llycan... lycanthropy," asked the nightmare, trying to make legible sense of that word. The attacking lupine was indeed large, larger than the average wolf. Its behavior was beyond the natural world, something supernatural, like the Corinthian himself. "I took its eyes out, then it withered and died, like dust," or sand, he explained with a shake of his head.
"You're not sick now John, but there's a lot we don't know," Cori muttered in frustration. He ran his fingers through his short white hair.
----
A lot John wanted to know. His eyes conveyed his concern, expression limited by the pencil end secure in his teeth. “se anythng”
----
See anything... He stared at Constantine a moment, then shook his head. What he had developed was the life of a dead creature. "It was dead before I got to it," he explained, "all I saw was us, you in particular. It wanted you."
----
Straws. All of it. John had little to go on and he was straining his eyes and neck. He set the pencil on the desk this time rather than throw it aside to skip along the floor, stumbling to the couch to climb up one leg at a time and lie on it. He'd have to think, have to make sure his body wouldn't rot away when it wasn't, shit, what did he want to do now? He caught an interesting collective smell - himself - and without second thought, found himself rolling and rubbing his back along on top of it, soaking that scent in.
Funny little symbolic thing, that.
---
The Corinthian, for all he was, dark mirror, loyal phantom, obedient monster, he did not want to see Constantine rot away like that plague wolf. The man was infamous, great in fucking bed, but most of all the bad luck magician was turning out to be good company. He remained silent as the magus soaked up his own scent from the couch, a mixture of oils, cigarettes, and whatever clung to that trench coat.
"If it's any comfort, you're still an asshole," said the nightmare as he followed John to the couch, taking a seat on the arm.
---
John eyed the Corinthian from his comfortable spot on his back, looking incredibly stupid but he had been worse off today anyway. Couldn't go any lower.
Yeah, and you're a cocksucker too. He gave a whining yawn he could not help although still as cocksure and nonchalant as ever, revealing the extent of those massive fangs, rolling to his side.
----
Nice. Whatever John was saying, thinking, he was sure it was unsavory, and all the better for it if it helped the magician to not focus on his shape. Those teeth were quite impressive too though they would never come close to the polished ivory of the Corinthian's eyes. That's what Cori thought anyway.
"We'll get to the bottom of it," with emphasis on the we. He was certain this time, the magician could not under any circumstances get by on his own.
----
Groan. Of course it was a we. John did not have faithful Chas anymore to bust in a head or six. Bitterly, who else would bloody coddle him when clearly he could adapt to his fuck awful situation himself? Looking down towards the junction where his hindlegs met told him his sex life was over. All the more incentive to reverse it.
---
Adapting to it was going to be hurdle one, and if Constantine truly thought he could do it without the Corinthian then he would certainly invite the man to work the water faucet himself. As for that other hurdle, well... casual sex was all it was, casual sex. The nightmare could handle it, ahh but the Englishman, for him that was definitely a tragedy, one even Cori thought he did not deserve.
---
Huff. Constantine was far from a stupid man. His past schemes and cons required some thought and invention. Trying to work around his four legs and lack of dexterity would be a challenge, but a challenge he could work out. Nothing he couldn't do, he was sure of it.
John gave the Corinthian another glance. Loyal phantom indeed.