Log; Complete

[bitingnightmare.livejournal.com]

When; Wish Day (Sept. 10)
Rating; PG (course language)
Characters; John Constantine (silkcutremix), The Corinthian (bitingnightmare)
Summary; A little wish goes a wrong way. Enter: The Laughing Magician.
Log;

Coffee rain, leprechauns, rainbows, boys with cat ears, a storm a'brewing, what more could it take for The City to truly become a place of insanity far removed from The Dreaming? The nightmare had seen strange things in his time (both lives), but nothing quite like the random collage of Delirium this day was turning out to be. The plumbing in his flat had turned brown.... with caffeine, mind, and The Corinthian unknowingly blamed a back up in the upstairs, ugh. He wandered out to find a suitable fixture, at the very least for a shower.

“No, sorry, got a pipe problem here,” said one clerk.

“You need to be a guest at this hotel,” said another.

FUCK. He tucked his hands in his jacket pockets and kicked a can across the curb where it smashed into a poor green gold-seeking leprechaun.

“What the fuck does it take to piss around here, I wish there was one decent john in this god damned city.”



First thing was painfully obvious: That monkey was not lying.

Second thing: Wherever he was going, it was pretty damned far from London.

John had been falling, but with quick motions of his body, looking up, down and around, he couldn't find anything visible, namely somewhere to fall to. He was an unfortunate figure with a whistling, flapping coat sailing through retina-stinging black at the mercy of mysterious gravity.

Then it was white.

“Oh fuuuuuuuck!”

Like a ship emerging through the fog, a strange cityscape engulfed him. The rest happened too quickly (damn his age): He hit something. Somehow, with only a slight bruise, the force sent both him and possibly the unfortunate thing to the pavement.

At the very least, no more falling.



................

A gruff wailing sort of sound turned his attention upward, because if this was another one of those damned leprechauns, surely avenging their canned brethren, The Corinthian was going to open up a new can on them, a can of whoop--

“Aaahhh shiiiit!!”

The khaki trench coat covered him in darkness, but only briefly. When the nightmare opened his eyes again he was on the pavement, only a foot away from a certain con job. Con job... The laughing magician.... Constantine?? Certainly not *on top* of him if they had tumbled into the street in a most embarrassing manner. His glasses had gone askew as well, the lenses miraculously spared, but the right arm had bent to show a single mouthy eye. It rasped at the other blonde.

-You!?-



Chas' words briefly bubbled through John's memory. They were muddled, spitting about how he only had to step out, and the weirdoes fell from the sky.

There was something to be said about this role reversal, but the Englishman was transfixed on his landing pad. Couldn't be. The glasses, the eyeteeth, the voice...

“Just like me to use the bloody Corinthian as a soddin' pillow,” he grumbled, giving the nightmare a shove.

“Giddoff.”



'You know me,' the nightmare asked silently, but answered his own question in that same time. He knew Lord Shaper had met with a Constantine more than once, this one included. And something tickled his memory, a scent of gunpowder and trench filth... His predecessor had played with the bloodline before. Still, they were all a bunch of conniving wankers.

“You get off me,” countered the white-blonde as he shoved back, untangling them both due to mutual male aggression. The Corinthian got to his feet and proceeded to dust off his leathers. Just look at that, gravel scratches in his sleeve, tch.

“So is this your cock up, Constantine.”



“Cock up?” John snarled, picking himself up, trying to take in where he was. The Dreaming? Didn't feel like it. Needed a smoke...

“The nastiness came to me this time, mate.”

Flick, flick, light. Much better.

“Now, tell me, before you remind me what a right bastard I am or something, where the hell are we?”



Filed away, deep in the recesses of the nightmare, where mortals and maybe even immortals couldn't detect... The Corinthian was actually *glad* to see the laughing magician. He was the first person from his... world so to speak, to arrive here. His existing made The City make a little more sense, at the same time wherever there was a Constantine trouble lied ahead. And he was already smoking too. Tch.

“Fuck if I know, I've been here only a few days. Did my Lord send for you?”

By that admission they definitely were not in The Dreaming. By his question, it was clear the nightmare was concerned about what *was* happening in The Dreaming, if Lord Shaper knew he was gone, if Lord Shaper was in trouble himself, which would seem most rare were it not for the event twelve years ago.



John furrowed his brow, trying to think of other possible places he could have been thrown into. Couldn't have been a random act, he considered; had to have been brought here, wherever that was, for a reason, and whoever it was, there was a good chance he (or she) wasn't going to be direct about the whole situation.

If there was someone behind this mess at all.

“Then answer me this: Does your Lord send monkeys with knives to your bedside?”

He thought on that himself for a moment, then added: “Literally?”



The Corinthian was attempting to readjust his glasses when John asked him what sounded like an even dafter question than the cat boys and their gay pride rainbows. He arched a white brow at the other.

“No,” he said in a plain almost deadpan tone.

Whatever had brought Constantine here... it seemed ironic that the nightmare should wish for a john only to receive THE John in his lap. Still the connection via wordplay hadn't registered with him yet.

“It sounds like most of the people living here arrived under bullshit circumstances.”

This was John Constantine; the nightmare was at ease around the magician where language was concerned.



John had to return the nightmare's expression. Bullshit circumstances, he said? Going from those words, he decided he wasn't the first one to come tumbling out of the sky and probably wouldn't be the last addition either. Felt like ol' Morpheus was out. Hell, the rest of the Endless themselves. He wouldn't put a stunt like this past them, but it didn't feel like their handiwork, or anything else high and mighty he knew for that matter. And he knew a lot.

From the sound of it, staying here for a long time was likely. Making himself comfy in the meantime as he put things together wouldn't be such a bad idea.

Puff.

“Huh. Interesting.” Momentarily, he eyed one of the many catboys making their way along the street. Those ears were too real for his tastes. “Looks like Geri Halliwell's forecast was right after all.”

Not really caring if the nightmare followed, John took off down the street, wanting to explore.



The Corinthian studied the magus with his eyeless eyes then huffed in frustration before pulling at his jacket, straightening it out. His black leathers beat that trench coat any day, hello. As for the Endless, he didn't think it was their handiwork mostly because their affairs always concerned their own, not little nightmares or petty magicians. Uh... say what? The Corinthian arched a brow then gestured at John with an open hand.

“You're talking in some esoteric language, right.”

Huh? Leaving already? The corner of his right toothy eye twitched just slightly. He reached out to grab the blonde by the upper arm.

“You're not leaving.”

From the sound of it the nightmare had more to say, but he kept his words beyond that point to himself and just looked the Constantine straight in the eye.



“Mmph, noth- Fuck! Hey!”

John found his arm seized and soon was gazing into the dark mirror of humanity's face. Fear tightened his features, but it was only a flicker; the bloated confidence of his bloodline melted the Englishman back into his cool self.

“... Yes?”

Better not involve his eyeballs.



“No.”

Sounded like bickering blokes didn't they? Even if the man had shown just a brief flicker of fear The Corinthian didn't notice it, or show that he'd acknowledged it. Constantine was too important right now, and in this foreign land the nightmare didn't have enough confidence to just let the magician get away. His grip relaxed but remained.

“Listen, we're both stuck in this coffee shit hole. As much as I like to see you get yours, I think it's better you don't go off getting your head wedged up some other person's business. Alone.”



For a moment, John felt as if this bugger was the one behind his predicament. HMM. But the thought was put aside; his cluelessness regarding the situation sounded authentic enough.

“... Look, sunshine: I'm not a team player. Never have been. You're lonely, aren't you?”



The Corinthian's brow furrowed over the Constantine's assessment. Smart little rat wasn't he, someone who didn't need magic or supernatural talent to read people, and at the end of the day all things living, even the Endless, were human. He tilted his head and looked away so that he might remove his glasses and stare at John from the corners of his dangerous teeth eyes.

“Says the man who's not a team player. Do I have to ask how long it's been since you shared a bed.”

Not to mention the falling out with his best mate, the cab driver. The nightmare didn't know these particular specifics, but he could read their general feeling, the emotional taint just with a sliver of sight from his teeth.



That look, true to the nightmare's purpose, disturbed a very deep part of him. Strange that is, considering all the shit he had been treated to in his life.

John's confidence held firm.

“You're suggesting I share a bed with you. You.” He pointed. “I'm not that senile yet. Give it a few more years, alright?”



Sharp old man. The Corinthian looked younger, stuck in the same age bracket as the rest of the 30 year olds, but he was older than Orpheus. This incarnation however.... if John ever knew, he would rub his 12 measly years in his toothy face. Despite his provocative remark the nightmare's expression remained cool.

“Not that it hasn't crossed your mind, give me a break, laughing magician. If there's anything I know, you've beaten the devil at his own game, I have no doubt maybe you can beat this.”

He finally released John with a casual shrug. So the man wanted to throw his honesty to the curb, which was fine. Serve as a landing pad and this is what he got? Tch.



John had to grin at this: Forever, for as long as the fucking Devil, analogues and all, existed, the exploit would remain there in his side, a wedged thorn that would take centuries to simply budge. After all, while the Devil always came for his due, grudges were seldom forgotten.

Besides, John found the preferred form he chose when around him stupid. Over muscled right poof.

Briefly rubbing his arm, it was John's turn to give the nightmare a careful look. He did not seem like wanting to fall back into his favorite murdering tendencies on him. Might as well take advantage of that fact. Some use for him there might be.

He did not consider the... innuendo.

“Maybe? I will beat this, mate, I'll give you that.”

A sly expression played along his rough, weathered face.



Wasn't he lucky the devil himself was here? Well, it wasn't the over muscled Greek poof, it wasn't even the sleek haired one at the auction, or even the fair-haired Morningstar, this one seemed to govern a land called Sheol. Whatever that meant. The Corinthian hadn't the pleasure of meeting this Lucifer just yet, though he knew the wo/man who pined for his affection. The look he gave John dared him to even bring up *that* nightmare, the first one. Tch, he studied his bent shades.

“Broke my sunglasses, bastard.”

It had occurred to him that the laughing magician might try to use him, but The Corinthian felt if John should overstep his bounds.... Well they'd see to that if or when it happened. Meanwhile he gestured to the carousel at the center of the square. A few leprechauns were spanking the horses silly.

“The locals say there's a clock under that thing. When it reaches twelve this whole place collapses, bullshit huh?”

He tucked his hands in his pockets again.



John, predictably, did not give much of a toss about the Corinthian's shades (his loss, even if he had a part in its breaking), glancing over at the leprechauns on the carousel. Ignoring the little men, he studied it, trying to imagine the supposed doomsday clock within it.

Hm.

“Yeah,” he agreed almost distantly, “bollocks.”



He knew that man wouldn't give a rat's ass about his shades, but damned if the nightmare was going to keep quiet about it. The best way to deal with a Constantine was to not put up with his crap; of course that's how the cab driver departed his side isn't it. Chas just wasn't sharp enough to know how to deal with him, not that The Corinthian believed he knew how to handle John Constantine himself, but the dark mirror was capable of fighting fire with fire, and his instincts told him that's what kept Constantine on edge.

“.....”

Well silence for silence. The nightmare did his best to unbend the arm, it now had a permanent crick in the middle, but they still sat on his face easily. After a thought he removed his pack of cigarettes to draw a stick.

“You crushed my smokes,” he said a bit plainly, unsurprised by how things just weren't going right for him.



John gave the Corinthian a look, despite the fact that contact with him tended to bring those whom dared godawful luck. And he wouldn't deny that fact either; poor bugger's fault for insisting on his black company.

“For a bleedin' nightmare, you complain a lot.” But somehow, he brought himself to reach in and produce his Silkcut pack, needing to replace the one he had anyway.

“Do I give you one, or three?” He grinned, offering.



Wasn't that the nature of a nightmare anyway, godawful thing, good monster, loyal phantom. But his Lord and Master was nowhere to be found, so in the meantime The Corinthian was just that, godawful monster and phantom, occasional rake, charming teeth-for-eyes. Constantine had the smell of bad luck around him, and The Corinthian was all the badness one couldn't stand in themselves. That is, if you looked him straight in the gaping eye.

“I have a lot to complain about. One's fine.”

The nightmare said in a matter of fact manner before plucking the Silk Cut and wedging it between his lips. Fortunately the *flying* magician hadn't broken his lighter.



Satisfying his chain smoking habit, exhaling and letting the smoke frame his coarse features, Constantine watched: the streets, the inhabitants, the inhabitants that would not fit in the mundane world back in London, the little men still having too much fun smacking the carved horses' arses...

“Doomsday clocks aside,” he breathed in a smoky voice, “anything else about this place I should know about?”



But they were drunk and Irish, he should be so lucky that *some* of his mates had made it into The City, hah. Ahem... The Corinthian took a pull off the cigarette then puffed aside.

“You know these are ladies smokes.”

Yeah that's right, rib the laughing magician while you can. Uh... not that the nightmare was taking the piss out of John's masculinity. He looked around the square then shook his head. There were many things in this place that didn't fit in the mundy world *or* the dreaming, and that was the strangest part of all.

“Curses. Every now and then this place fucks around with you, takes away your senses, makes it rain coffee. There's a library with a hell of a lot of books, they have records from.... well you know, where we're from.”

He gestured to John and himself with that cigarette.



John gave an almost thoughtful glance out into the cityscape. Turns out he had a lot to learn about this place, but the big question was where to start? Until he heard that remark.

Well, he had that coming.

“That's all I have. Smoke up, old son. Now how about a cuppa' and something to eat? I haven't had breakfast, what with all the dropping out of thin air stunts and that.”

Then, as an afterthought, he added: “Would prefer the coffee in a cup from a machine, personally.”

With that, he set off, expecting the nightmare to follow. Things were going to be interesting, no doubt about that. Never a dull moment.