http://bitingnightmare.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
bitingnightmare.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tampered2007-04-10 09:32 pm
bitingnightmare.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-04-10 09:32 pm
Log; Complete
When; Apr. 8 (night)
Rating; R (language, violence)
Characters; John Constantine![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
silkcutremix, the Corinthian bitingnightmare, that guy 200dollarshirt
Summary; The Red King tracks down the man of hisnightmares visions only to confront the King of Cons.
Log;
For better or worse they managed to return the California Mountain Snake back to her lair upon her request, but the Corinthian didn't think it was a good idea to stick around while it was Luke's turn to inspect her wounds and interrogate her course of action. Lovers' quarrel or something like that, he assumed.
Climbing back down to sidewalk level Cori lit a cigarette from his pocket and took a drag. "You think he'll come back for her," he asked the magician while surveying the street for the shadow of a Sidewinder.
----
John squinted in concentration and sniffed the air. Kneeling over to hunch like an animal, he took a few good, careful whiffs along the sidewalk and towards the street. Here. There. Almost Everywhere. It would have been comical if one had not seen the magus' other sides.
"Hasn't been around here," John then replied, pulling himself up back to his feet. "I could scry him out if Elle has something of ‘is."
----
Comical indeed, though one could easily mistake him for a bloodhound, a film noir detective hot on the trail of a lead. For now, John just looked funny. The nightmare streamed his smoke out slowly. "Guy fights with a sword or uses whatever he's got around him, pretty tricky," he remarked.
Budd's scent might not have been lingering in the air, but someone else's was. It may have seemed familiar, familiar but different. The scent of Coffin Nails. But whomever it belonged to remained deep within the shadows, another mirrored trait.
----
John's careful squint returned. In the past he might have been easier to sneak up on, but he was a wolf. A wolf was an alert, cautious creature and John knew a scent that lingered so dangerously close to his own. Suspicious.
"Tricky," John muttered. "Time we pissed off back to the flat."
----
"Right," he nodded then blew smoke from his shaded eyes. "Seems like it might rain," said the nightmare, making 'casual conversation' while giving his companion a distinct look. Something off, the watchful gaze of a stranger.
No stranger if they played by the books, but wasn't it their mutual friend who said it wasn't like the books? The brunette dressed in black coat, pants, and tie paced the other two from a distance. Occasionally the shadows swept away his indifferent countenance, other times it didn't, allowing the embers of his cigarette to glow.
----
The smell of a cigarette that was not his. The pair headed home, between orgy of lights and warmth and the geometric jagged shapes of black that threaded the silhouettes of the buildings and shit together. They approached an intersection, Constantine leaning towards Cori's ear, his breath cool as the whispers that whistled through the corners and chain-link fences:
"See that junction up there? You go one way; I'll go the other. Trust me."
----
"Nnhn," he sounded in agreement, fully aware of what brought about this change of plans. The Corinthian wasn't quite sure what it was this time, maybe even one of Saul's little shits looking for revenge or that diseased bitch's next attempt at glory. Either way once they approached the junction the white blonde banked to the right with a casual upnod.
Shit, Constantine thought to himself, dark eyes narrowing. He knew they'd ventured out together, now they were separating. Someone caught wind of his observation (literally). The brunette stubbed his cigarette under his slick black shoe and turned to follow the one from his vision: the pale beast.
----
John had taken the other route opposite, the magus seemingly disappearing, leaving the Corinthian alone. He was just at home here. In his element. There was no magus seen now, but his presence could be felt.
----
In his element, no different from the shadow with a strip of white that followed the pale nightmare. Cori could hear his footsteps on the pavement, damp from cool night air, sometimes inaudible. He moved like a familiar man, but how good was he in close quarters? The Corinthian turned down an alley between two apartment complexes, dark and ominous, just like their encounter.
Constantine thought himself smarter. He traced a residue from his lighter along the mouth of the alley. Wards so that anyone could get in, but getting out was another matter. He continued to follow the nightmare. Whatever he was it couldn't be good. His eyes saw it, something that needed to be fucking deported.
----
Deported. That was something Constantine the British and very curious lupine would prevent. He let this stranger be occupied with the Corinthian. Constantine would occupy himself with tall, dark and handsome (he smelled interesting, expensive almost).
The wolf was a coursing predator, but it also ambushed when it was time.
----
Damn expensive, though admittedly his $200 shirt had been replaced by a $99 one, but that was the sales price. Constantine reached into his coat pocket for those cigarettes again. His lighter, a simple disposable for personal reasons, flicked gently as the only sound in the alley. That and his relatively new lungs.
"Your breathing betrays you," said the Corinthian. Fingers on his cigarette to tap ash aside.
Constantine said nothing, his presence revealed. Shit where was the other one? He glanced over his shoulder briefly.
----
Nothing. He could feel the warm breath of something, the flicker of eyes, the weighted presence of a predator, but there was nothing. Just a voice in his ear, old and gray as the streets of London:
"Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?"
----
Sinister, like the smog in downtown Los Angeles. It could tell stories even Constantine didn't want to here. He'd pulled himself into this tale however, and it was now his job to see to the end of it. For whatever reason he couldn't will himself to put down that fucking cat. The voice didn't help. He pulled his sleeves back.
"Into the light--"
Alchemy. John knew that better than anyone, but the Corinthian didn't want to take a chance. He pulled his glasses from his face and rushed towards the brunette. Ahh but the nightmares, they didn't come. For on a few but very long seconds, Cori stared into the eyes of the exorcist with no effect.
----
No effect? That did not stop the other white beast from coming out "into the light" and down on the black blazered man, all trench coat and fangs. It was not the massive 300 pound beast the nightmare was familiar with but the teeth and claws were all the same, an intense blue gaze underneath the thickly furred brow. Hands and arms that mingled in between dog and ape pinned the stranger down, firm and very inhumanly strong.
----
Fucking werewolves too!? Constantine growled as his back smacked into the concrete. The tattoos hadn't even begun bending light yet. But as for weaponry, the brunette sort of had none at his disposal... yet. He tried to pull his cigarette from his lips and use the burning end on the blonde's hand, to force him to release.
"Off, sonuvabitch!"
The Corinthian was dumbfounded, but his surprise cleared with a shake of his head. No time to dwell on it. He kicked forward to knock that burning cancer stick out of the brunette's hand.
----
The burnt end came down, the smell of burning fur drifting upwards from the end like the smoke that normally streamed.
"Fuck, auuh-" The bestial Constantine did not release but roared, a very uncanine noise even the Corinthian had seldom heard. It was deep and powerful, a monstrous jungle sound that echoed petrification in the basic human psyche, that was if the exorcist had already not been exposed to atrocities such as the one on top of him. The claws squeezed, pricking through the blazer and the shirt on sale.
----
He should never have given that damned amulet away to the twin. No silver on his person, wait, a rosary in his pocket. The chains had the moonlight metal, though not blessed, but he could pray for it fast enough. That is if his hand wasn't pinned under a boot.
Cori quickly captured one hand and fell to a knee to disarm this stranger. They could kill him here and now, John's roar indicated as much. He wondered if the volume alerted others to their presence... Regardless, first things first. The nightmare peeled that sleeve back and flicked his trusty knife in the other hand.
"Name, or I cut it off and he cuts your head," he pressed the tip to that strange tattoo. Did John recognize it.
Constantine struggled. His breathing had accelerated, his brow shined with a little sweat. There was fear in his scent, but only mildly so. He was insolent. "Try.... harder."
----
A moment's silence as the shaggy head craned down to make direct contact with its prey: "Listen to him, shitstain."
As an afterthought, the beast added: "It's Tine, by the way. Like the tine of a fork."
----
Just to emphasize John's demand he pulled on the American's arm, threatening to break it at the elbow. He eyed the magus again, shades down. John knew him?
"Jesus," Constantine strained from the pull on his arm. He flinched as well from the teeth merely inches from his face, jowls perhaps flicking spit on his cheek with its words. "Right, lassie," he coughed, "John Constantine, know it? You should." Even if they weren't in Los Angeles.
----
"Never was that fond of Cali," the beast snorted in the exorcist's face, that breath ever so moist. Maybe a little sweet. "I must be too partial to the ol' fog and London friggin' Bridge.
"You were following us. Certainly wasn't a flight of fancy, was it? Or maybe a little white to compliment that black getup of yours?"
----
"Who the fuck... are you," asked Constantine, more concerned with the wolfman now. Too much knowledge, something about some incident involving a couple lower demons from Hell and an Aztec. "Call it... curiosity. New in town, that's me."
"It killed the fucking cat," Cori said with all three mouths grinning.
----
"The little white truth behind a Hollywood lie," grinned the teeth. "So when did we come off as fucking tour guides?"
----
"You're no ex-patriate," Constantine smirked, his breathing stabilized. His dark gaze shifted to the white haired one. "I caught word on the street, Snow White here's into rough trade... turns out it meant he's running with a fucking werewolf." He laughed, genuinely laughed in the Englishman's face.
"Let's kill him," the Corinthian suggested.
----
The grip of the claws tightened even harder, perhaps tiny welts of blood beading from where the tips kissed the skin. "Not yet. Not everyday you meet your dimensional double." The werewolf turned back to this Constanteen, grinning as gruesomely as that muzzle would allow, a pink tongue flashing as it rolled along the whiskers and fangs. "You got that fucking bit right. He loves it."
----
"This guy's your double," the Corinthian asked with little amusement. The Constanteen of Californian infamy? Well, he could sort of see it, in their foul attitudes.
"Double," the brunette repeated, his dark brow quirked in suspicion. "You've got to be kidding me," he smirked in the face of those fangs. He'd faced good old Lou, how was this any different? "I'll cut you a deal, you let me go, you keep your lives."
----
"Heeeeh," the werewolf hissed, tickled, the whiskers grazing the exorcist's face. "So where's the silver?"
----
He turned his face aside, bearing his cheek to those whiskers. "Left pocket, rosary from the 1800s, sounds nice doesn't it," Constantine reached towards said pocket with his other hand.
The nightmare immediately pinned his palm down with the blade of his butterfly knife, something the exorcist counted on. With the metal in his flesh, against his blood, he uttered a chant, blessing the steel to the status of silver. Claws in his coat, drawing blood, fangs so damn close to his face and some bitey little bitch to boot, Constantine still thought he could get away. It'd take just one swing of his impaled hand at that muzzle.
----
"So which family has its heirloom missing again?" The magus' ears were pricked, listening. They heard. A claw released and plucked the knife from the exorcist's palm, the blade inches from his face instead of those teeth. "May I humor you with a little trick of me own? You reach for that pocket an' you won't have a nose. Me mate back there might like to suck your eyes a bit after."
----
"Fucking--" he hissed, knife removed from his possession. Maybe that was an opening in itself. Constantine brought his knee up while one of the wolfman's claws had released. Whoever this double was, both man and beast had a set of balls, and the bigger they were, the easier it was to give them a nasty kick.
----
"Hrrrkhaaah, fuck!"
That caught the bestial Constantine off guard, the knife falling from his grip as both forelimbs were used to support himself as he buckled inward. There was a low inhuman squeak as tried to suck down the pain as fast as he could: "Cunt."
----
Dirty pool, the Corinthian noted. The sound John made yanked on his compassion too, but that brunette could not be released. He wanted to know why he smelled of fear but could not project any himself. The nightmare released Constantine's hand to scramble for the knife, careful to avoid cutting the Englishman in the process.
This was enough time to let the American roll away before the wolfman's weight could pin him. Fuck these two were serious business, and this wasn't his home turf. Think fast, Johnny Boy. He produced his lighter. In one single flick he produced a flame, and lit the blood from his wound as that knife came slashing inches for his face.
"Hrrsschz," the Corinthian sounded, retreating at once when the man's hand became a fucking torch. Bright and blinding. He thought he felt his skin melt.
----
The light of the flame was enough to drag John the beast from that pain that resonated through his loins to his ears and tail tips. He jerked head up then lunged on all fours, throwing all of his weight into the exorcist wanker's legs. He could get burned, fur could get burned, that coat could get singed but fuck if he was going to let Cori get fucking blowtorched again.
----
He hit the pavement once more, the fire going out under their weight, perhaps singing both magician and exorcist briefly. Shit, close enough to a get away! The American rolled farther, pushed closer to the mouth of the alley under the Englishman's attack. He scrambled for it, to pass the wards he swiped on the brick walls. Maybe those two understood 'magic' as well and could easily break through but like hell did he want to stay and find out. John Constantine the exorcist had all he needed to know, for now.
"Go, I'm fine," the Corinthian had his knife arm over his eyes, under the effect of temporary blindness. He waved his other hand at John, his John, though he couldn't see him.
----
The thrill of the chase electrified the magus' blood, the base of him all the more eager to track and kill. Hunt the prey. He barreled after the exorcist on all fours, feeling a wave pummel him at the mouth of the alley, not quite sending him backwards but rendering his movement forward slow. Molasses slow. Holding him back. The exorcist was growing farther and farther away, his own movements growing tinier and tinier.
A fucking ward. That fucker used a ward against him. Claws scratched against the concrete, leaving tiny ditches where they scraped as he pulled. He roared out of his own blemished pride, not really caring who heard. No one gave a right fuck if he was a werewolf or not. If it made that fucker's blood run a little colder...
His movements were quick again. His muscles responded with reflexive snaps. A kick of his hind legs and he was launched forward again, his nostrils filled with the exorcist's scent: the odors of his clothes, his blood. The magus was a chainsmoker and his lungs could not take the stress for long but in a burst he was still faster than any man, any fucking Olympic sprinter.
----
Constantine would have gloated beyond fuck at the sight. This man, this beast who called him a double, whatever the hell that meant deserved to have his failure rubbed in his face (as if the blow to his balls weren't enough). The exorcist wasn't that much of an idiot though, he continued running whether the ward held the Englishman back or not. Where to, where would a wolf lose his scent?
As in Los Angeles, the underground transportation was guaranteed to be a cesspit of smells; asphalt, grime, oil, piss among other things. Constantine slipped away as fast as he could, almost tumbling down the stairs to the subway line.
----
The trail had led the wolfmagus to the subway, the creature rising to his hind legs to comically lope down the stairs (he never was good at stairs on all fours, especially when moving quickly). At halfway, he leapt from the steps and landed heavily on his padded hands and feet, hide rippling under his clothes.
Bloody funny this was. He felt a bit of role reversal here, a little delicate touch of deja vu there. This guy has to be his dimensional double: he was smart enough to pick out a fucking labyrinth of odors. Still he could pick out the fragments of exorcist among the particle packed air and he lumbered after him.
Almost was like a movie. "An American Werewolf In London," was it? Fucking right laugh.
----
Constantine stilled his breath, his back flat against the dirty walls. The Englishman, his.. whatever the fuck it was, he could hear it coming down the steps, heavier and huffing its breath like the big bad wolf. The subway wasn't a house of bricks, but it was the labyrinth he needed to evade capture. He didn't deal with werewolves, those fuckers knew better than to invade Los Angeles, or at least knew to keep themselves well hidden in their magic circles.
He crawled through the corridors, relatively empty at night save for the derelicts and homeless. They smelled just like what he needed. The dark haired magician slipped quietly into one of the bathrooms. The door unfortunately sounded a clank when it shut.
----
John's ears swiveled in the clank's direction, the big head following with it. It resonated through the mostly vacant tunnels. The homeless curled and moaned in fear against the walls in a fearful huddle as John passed, dull hopeless eyes shaking with the expectation of yet another one of their number to join that of the recycled. None of them would.
The Englishman was not a stupid werewolf either. Two could play that game, he slinking to that door to scratch in a little number of his own. Claws rasped against steel, paint chips fluttering to the floor. Let him scramble on the other side.
----
Nice, someone had already claimed the bathroom for himself, a wretched old man with foul smelling hair and equally foul smelling clothes. He could stomach the stench however, not to mention that of the urinals and bowls just to keep him... secure? Safe? Locked just like one.
"Son of a bitch motherfucker," Constantine hissed to himself, hearing those claws scratch. He placed a hand over the homeless man's mouth and uttered a prayer for apology, a hypnosis effect in case he needed to use the person as a distraction. There he waited for the wolfman to make his move.
----
Oh, John made his move alright. It was carved into the door, setting its lock. Until dawn if John had done it right. Maybe a little longer. Maybe not so much longer. Bugger won't be following them for the night at least.
For now, if just to hear any obscenities, the magus lingered a bit.
----
The sense that this werewolf was toying with him hadn't escaped Constantine's notice. He too waited, to hear if the other would try to break in, to see if his presence would leave. Great timing, no cabby, no monk, no Midnite, and he was trapped in a foreign world in a damned subway bathroom.
The only obscenity that he spat out was this, "stupid fucking cat."
----
Dog, the other Constantine mentally corrected, shaking himself off and lazily turning around to trek back to his nightmare. Certainly wouldn't be the last he'd see of this twat, he was sure of it, but round one was his.
Good night. Teeth grinned.
Rating; R (language, violence)
Characters; John Constantine
silkcutremix, the Corinthian bitingnightmare, that guy 200dollarshirtSummary; The Red King tracks down the man of his
Log;
For better or worse they managed to return the California Mountain Snake back to her lair upon her request, but the Corinthian didn't think it was a good idea to stick around while it was Luke's turn to inspect her wounds and interrogate her course of action. Lovers' quarrel or something like that, he assumed.
Climbing back down to sidewalk level Cori lit a cigarette from his pocket and took a drag. "You think he'll come back for her," he asked the magician while surveying the street for the shadow of a Sidewinder.
----
John squinted in concentration and sniffed the air. Kneeling over to hunch like an animal, he took a few good, careful whiffs along the sidewalk and towards the street. Here. There. Almost Everywhere. It would have been comical if one had not seen the magus' other sides.
"Hasn't been around here," John then replied, pulling himself up back to his feet. "I could scry him out if Elle has something of ‘is."
----
Comical indeed, though one could easily mistake him for a bloodhound, a film noir detective hot on the trail of a lead. For now, John just looked funny. The nightmare streamed his smoke out slowly. "Guy fights with a sword or uses whatever he's got around him, pretty tricky," he remarked.
Budd's scent might not have been lingering in the air, but someone else's was. It may have seemed familiar, familiar but different. The scent of Coffin Nails. But whomever it belonged to remained deep within the shadows, another mirrored trait.
----
John's careful squint returned. In the past he might have been easier to sneak up on, but he was a wolf. A wolf was an alert, cautious creature and John knew a scent that lingered so dangerously close to his own. Suspicious.
"Tricky," John muttered. "Time we pissed off back to the flat."
----
"Right," he nodded then blew smoke from his shaded eyes. "Seems like it might rain," said the nightmare, making 'casual conversation' while giving his companion a distinct look. Something off, the watchful gaze of a stranger.
No stranger if they played by the books, but wasn't it their mutual friend who said it wasn't like the books? The brunette dressed in black coat, pants, and tie paced the other two from a distance. Occasionally the shadows swept away his indifferent countenance, other times it didn't, allowing the embers of his cigarette to glow.
----
The smell of a cigarette that was not his. The pair headed home, between orgy of lights and warmth and the geometric jagged shapes of black that threaded the silhouettes of the buildings and shit together. They approached an intersection, Constantine leaning towards Cori's ear, his breath cool as the whispers that whistled through the corners and chain-link fences:
"See that junction up there? You go one way; I'll go the other. Trust me."
----
"Nnhn," he sounded in agreement, fully aware of what brought about this change of plans. The Corinthian wasn't quite sure what it was this time, maybe even one of Saul's little shits looking for revenge or that diseased bitch's next attempt at glory. Either way once they approached the junction the white blonde banked to the right with a casual upnod.
Shit, Constantine thought to himself, dark eyes narrowing. He knew they'd ventured out together, now they were separating. Someone caught wind of his observation (literally). The brunette stubbed his cigarette under his slick black shoe and turned to follow the one from his vision: the pale beast.
----
John had taken the other route opposite, the magus seemingly disappearing, leaving the Corinthian alone. He was just at home here. In his element. There was no magus seen now, but his presence could be felt.
----
In his element, no different from the shadow with a strip of white that followed the pale nightmare. Cori could hear his footsteps on the pavement, damp from cool night air, sometimes inaudible. He moved like a familiar man, but how good was he in close quarters? The Corinthian turned down an alley between two apartment complexes, dark and ominous, just like their encounter.
Constantine thought himself smarter. He traced a residue from his lighter along the mouth of the alley. Wards so that anyone could get in, but getting out was another matter. He continued to follow the nightmare. Whatever he was it couldn't be good. His eyes saw it, something that needed to be fucking deported.
----
Deported. That was something Constantine the British and very curious lupine would prevent. He let this stranger be occupied with the Corinthian. Constantine would occupy himself with tall, dark and handsome (he smelled interesting, expensive almost).
The wolf was a coursing predator, but it also ambushed when it was time.
----
Damn expensive, though admittedly his $200 shirt had been replaced by a $99 one, but that was the sales price. Constantine reached into his coat pocket for those cigarettes again. His lighter, a simple disposable for personal reasons, flicked gently as the only sound in the alley. That and his relatively new lungs.
"Your breathing betrays you," said the Corinthian. Fingers on his cigarette to tap ash aside.
Constantine said nothing, his presence revealed. Shit where was the other one? He glanced over his shoulder briefly.
----
Nothing. He could feel the warm breath of something, the flicker of eyes, the weighted presence of a predator, but there was nothing. Just a voice in his ear, old and gray as the streets of London:
"Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?"
----
Sinister, like the smog in downtown Los Angeles. It could tell stories even Constantine didn't want to here. He'd pulled himself into this tale however, and it was now his job to see to the end of it. For whatever reason he couldn't will himself to put down that fucking cat. The voice didn't help. He pulled his sleeves back.
"Into the light--"
Alchemy. John knew that better than anyone, but the Corinthian didn't want to take a chance. He pulled his glasses from his face and rushed towards the brunette. Ahh but the nightmares, they didn't come. For on a few but very long seconds, Cori stared into the eyes of the exorcist with no effect.
----
No effect? That did not stop the other white beast from coming out "into the light" and down on the black blazered man, all trench coat and fangs. It was not the massive 300 pound beast the nightmare was familiar with but the teeth and claws were all the same, an intense blue gaze underneath the thickly furred brow. Hands and arms that mingled in between dog and ape pinned the stranger down, firm and very inhumanly strong.
----
Fucking werewolves too!? Constantine growled as his back smacked into the concrete. The tattoos hadn't even begun bending light yet. But as for weaponry, the brunette sort of had none at his disposal... yet. He tried to pull his cigarette from his lips and use the burning end on the blonde's hand, to force him to release.
"Off, sonuvabitch!"
The Corinthian was dumbfounded, but his surprise cleared with a shake of his head. No time to dwell on it. He kicked forward to knock that burning cancer stick out of the brunette's hand.
----
The burnt end came down, the smell of burning fur drifting upwards from the end like the smoke that normally streamed.
"Fuck, auuh-" The bestial Constantine did not release but roared, a very uncanine noise even the Corinthian had seldom heard. It was deep and powerful, a monstrous jungle sound that echoed petrification in the basic human psyche, that was if the exorcist had already not been exposed to atrocities such as the one on top of him. The claws squeezed, pricking through the blazer and the shirt on sale.
----
He should never have given that damned amulet away to the twin. No silver on his person, wait, a rosary in his pocket. The chains had the moonlight metal, though not blessed, but he could pray for it fast enough. That is if his hand wasn't pinned under a boot.
Cori quickly captured one hand and fell to a knee to disarm this stranger. They could kill him here and now, John's roar indicated as much. He wondered if the volume alerted others to their presence... Regardless, first things first. The nightmare peeled that sleeve back and flicked his trusty knife in the other hand.
"Name, or I cut it off and he cuts your head," he pressed the tip to that strange tattoo. Did John recognize it.
Constantine struggled. His breathing had accelerated, his brow shined with a little sweat. There was fear in his scent, but only mildly so. He was insolent. "Try.... harder."
----
A moment's silence as the shaggy head craned down to make direct contact with its prey: "Listen to him, shitstain."
As an afterthought, the beast added: "It's Tine, by the way. Like the tine of a fork."
----
Just to emphasize John's demand he pulled on the American's arm, threatening to break it at the elbow. He eyed the magus again, shades down. John knew him?
"Jesus," Constantine strained from the pull on his arm. He flinched as well from the teeth merely inches from his face, jowls perhaps flicking spit on his cheek with its words. "Right, lassie," he coughed, "John Constantine, know it? You should." Even if they weren't in Los Angeles.
----
"Never was that fond of Cali," the beast snorted in the exorcist's face, that breath ever so moist. Maybe a little sweet. "I must be too partial to the ol' fog and London friggin' Bridge.
"You were following us. Certainly wasn't a flight of fancy, was it? Or maybe a little white to compliment that black getup of yours?"
----
"Who the fuck... are you," asked Constantine, more concerned with the wolfman now. Too much knowledge, something about some incident involving a couple lower demons from Hell and an Aztec. "Call it... curiosity. New in town, that's me."
"It killed the fucking cat," Cori said with all three mouths grinning.
----
"The little white truth behind a Hollywood lie," grinned the teeth. "So when did we come off as fucking tour guides?"
----
"You're no ex-patriate," Constantine smirked, his breathing stabilized. His dark gaze shifted to the white haired one. "I caught word on the street, Snow White here's into rough trade... turns out it meant he's running with a fucking werewolf." He laughed, genuinely laughed in the Englishman's face.
"Let's kill him," the Corinthian suggested.
----
The grip of the claws tightened even harder, perhaps tiny welts of blood beading from where the tips kissed the skin. "Not yet. Not everyday you meet your dimensional double." The werewolf turned back to this Constanteen, grinning as gruesomely as that muzzle would allow, a pink tongue flashing as it rolled along the whiskers and fangs. "You got that fucking bit right. He loves it."
----
"This guy's your double," the Corinthian asked with little amusement. The Constanteen of Californian infamy? Well, he could sort of see it, in their foul attitudes.
"Double," the brunette repeated, his dark brow quirked in suspicion. "You've got to be kidding me," he smirked in the face of those fangs. He'd faced good old Lou, how was this any different? "I'll cut you a deal, you let me go, you keep your lives."
----
"Heeeeh," the werewolf hissed, tickled, the whiskers grazing the exorcist's face. "So where's the silver?"
----
He turned his face aside, bearing his cheek to those whiskers. "Left pocket, rosary from the 1800s, sounds nice doesn't it," Constantine reached towards said pocket with his other hand.
The nightmare immediately pinned his palm down with the blade of his butterfly knife, something the exorcist counted on. With the metal in his flesh, against his blood, he uttered a chant, blessing the steel to the status of silver. Claws in his coat, drawing blood, fangs so damn close to his face and some bitey little bitch to boot, Constantine still thought he could get away. It'd take just one swing of his impaled hand at that muzzle.
----
"So which family has its heirloom missing again?" The magus' ears were pricked, listening. They heard. A claw released and plucked the knife from the exorcist's palm, the blade inches from his face instead of those teeth. "May I humor you with a little trick of me own? You reach for that pocket an' you won't have a nose. Me mate back there might like to suck your eyes a bit after."
----
"Fucking--" he hissed, knife removed from his possession. Maybe that was an opening in itself. Constantine brought his knee up while one of the wolfman's claws had released. Whoever this double was, both man and beast had a set of balls, and the bigger they were, the easier it was to give them a nasty kick.
----
"Hrrrkhaaah, fuck!"
That caught the bestial Constantine off guard, the knife falling from his grip as both forelimbs were used to support himself as he buckled inward. There was a low inhuman squeak as tried to suck down the pain as fast as he could: "Cunt."
----
Dirty pool, the Corinthian noted. The sound John made yanked on his compassion too, but that brunette could not be released. He wanted to know why he smelled of fear but could not project any himself. The nightmare released Constantine's hand to scramble for the knife, careful to avoid cutting the Englishman in the process.
This was enough time to let the American roll away before the wolfman's weight could pin him. Fuck these two were serious business, and this wasn't his home turf. Think fast, Johnny Boy. He produced his lighter. In one single flick he produced a flame, and lit the blood from his wound as that knife came slashing inches for his face.
"Hrrsschz," the Corinthian sounded, retreating at once when the man's hand became a fucking torch. Bright and blinding. He thought he felt his skin melt.
----
The light of the flame was enough to drag John the beast from that pain that resonated through his loins to his ears and tail tips. He jerked head up then lunged on all fours, throwing all of his weight into the exorcist wanker's legs. He could get burned, fur could get burned, that coat could get singed but fuck if he was going to let Cori get fucking blowtorched again.
----
He hit the pavement once more, the fire going out under their weight, perhaps singing both magician and exorcist briefly. Shit, close enough to a get away! The American rolled farther, pushed closer to the mouth of the alley under the Englishman's attack. He scrambled for it, to pass the wards he swiped on the brick walls. Maybe those two understood 'magic' as well and could easily break through but like hell did he want to stay and find out. John Constantine the exorcist had all he needed to know, for now.
"Go, I'm fine," the Corinthian had his knife arm over his eyes, under the effect of temporary blindness. He waved his other hand at John, his John, though he couldn't see him.
----
The thrill of the chase electrified the magus' blood, the base of him all the more eager to track and kill. Hunt the prey. He barreled after the exorcist on all fours, feeling a wave pummel him at the mouth of the alley, not quite sending him backwards but rendering his movement forward slow. Molasses slow. Holding him back. The exorcist was growing farther and farther away, his own movements growing tinier and tinier.
A fucking ward. That fucker used a ward against him. Claws scratched against the concrete, leaving tiny ditches where they scraped as he pulled. He roared out of his own blemished pride, not really caring who heard. No one gave a right fuck if he was a werewolf or not. If it made that fucker's blood run a little colder...
His movements were quick again. His muscles responded with reflexive snaps. A kick of his hind legs and he was launched forward again, his nostrils filled with the exorcist's scent: the odors of his clothes, his blood. The magus was a chainsmoker and his lungs could not take the stress for long but in a burst he was still faster than any man, any fucking Olympic sprinter.
----
Constantine would have gloated beyond fuck at the sight. This man, this beast who called him a double, whatever the hell that meant deserved to have his failure rubbed in his face (as if the blow to his balls weren't enough). The exorcist wasn't that much of an idiot though, he continued running whether the ward held the Englishman back or not. Where to, where would a wolf lose his scent?
As in Los Angeles, the underground transportation was guaranteed to be a cesspit of smells; asphalt, grime, oil, piss among other things. Constantine slipped away as fast as he could, almost tumbling down the stairs to the subway line.
----
The trail had led the wolfmagus to the subway, the creature rising to his hind legs to comically lope down the stairs (he never was good at stairs on all fours, especially when moving quickly). At halfway, he leapt from the steps and landed heavily on his padded hands and feet, hide rippling under his clothes.
Bloody funny this was. He felt a bit of role reversal here, a little delicate touch of deja vu there. This guy has to be his dimensional double: he was smart enough to pick out a fucking labyrinth of odors. Still he could pick out the fragments of exorcist among the particle packed air and he lumbered after him.
Almost was like a movie. "An American Werewolf In London," was it? Fucking right laugh.
----
Constantine stilled his breath, his back flat against the dirty walls. The Englishman, his.. whatever the fuck it was, he could hear it coming down the steps, heavier and huffing its breath like the big bad wolf. The subway wasn't a house of bricks, but it was the labyrinth he needed to evade capture. He didn't deal with werewolves, those fuckers knew better than to invade Los Angeles, or at least knew to keep themselves well hidden in their magic circles.
He crawled through the corridors, relatively empty at night save for the derelicts and homeless. They smelled just like what he needed. The dark haired magician slipped quietly into one of the bathrooms. The door unfortunately sounded a clank when it shut.
----
John's ears swiveled in the clank's direction, the big head following with it. It resonated through the mostly vacant tunnels. The homeless curled and moaned in fear against the walls in a fearful huddle as John passed, dull hopeless eyes shaking with the expectation of yet another one of their number to join that of the recycled. None of them would.
The Englishman was not a stupid werewolf either. Two could play that game, he slinking to that door to scratch in a little number of his own. Claws rasped against steel, paint chips fluttering to the floor. Let him scramble on the other side.
----
Nice, someone had already claimed the bathroom for himself, a wretched old man with foul smelling hair and equally foul smelling clothes. He could stomach the stench however, not to mention that of the urinals and bowls just to keep him... secure? Safe? Locked just like one.
"Son of a bitch motherfucker," Constantine hissed to himself, hearing those claws scratch. He placed a hand over the homeless man's mouth and uttered a prayer for apology, a hypnosis effect in case he needed to use the person as a distraction. There he waited for the wolfman to make his move.
----
Oh, John made his move alright. It was carved into the door, setting its lock. Until dawn if John had done it right. Maybe a little longer. Maybe not so much longer. Bugger won't be following them for the night at least.
For now, if just to hear any obscenities, the magus lingered a bit.
----
The sense that this werewolf was toying with him hadn't escaped Constantine's notice. He too waited, to hear if the other would try to break in, to see if his presence would leave. Great timing, no cabby, no monk, no Midnite, and he was trapped in a foreign world in a damned subway bathroom.
The only obscenity that he spat out was this, "stupid fucking cat."
----
Dog, the other Constantine mentally corrected, shaking himself off and lazily turning around to trek back to his nightmare. Certainly wouldn't be the last he'd see of this twat, he was sure of it, but round one was his.
Good night. Teeth grinned.