tampered | Log; Ongoing

Log; Ongoing

When; wee hours of Sept. 11
Rating; PG? language? gore?
Characters; Scarab (

noh_dancer), The Corinthian (

bitingnightmare), John Constantine (

silkcutremix)
Summary; TBA
Log;
It wasn't so much the pain, rather The Corinthian wanted that wound healed as soon as possible. He felt vulnerable having to hide it, for it reminded him of what had happened, what still made little sense to him. For now he'd settled with just queling the headache in the shower, once spotless towel now completely tainted. The laughing magician was still dumpster diving for who knows what, a mop did he say? Maybe John would leave him alone after sniffing out some grub. The Nightmare felt... he didn't know how he felt, only what he needed. Because Scarab had mentioned stitching, he hoped she could employ her specialized skills on this visit.

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" Annd.....There, now. All done."
Scarab declared and rolled her slightly cramped shoulders as she sat back.
A neat line of eighteen stitches now marked a row across Alex's throat. He was still a mess of trying blood, but at least none of it was fresh anymore.

She peeled off her messy gloves, and pulled on a fresh one for her left hand, then started rummaging in the medkit.
Pulling out several lengths of gauze and a roll of cloth tape, she glanced between her patient & his impromtu nurse.

" This is probably uneccessary, but it would make me feel better to bandage you up", she said with a shrug. Generally pleading delicate female sensibilities helped her get her way, so she would make use of them from time to time.
" Afterwards, you--" she looked pointedly at Alex, --" are going to give me a drink, and you-" she turned that look on John--" are going to give me a cigarette, and I don't care who, but someone is going to tell me what the fuck happened."

Bandaging was the easiest part of the job, and after a few minutes, The Corinthian looked much better in her opinion. ( though anyone would look better without a gaping hole in thier throat.)
After a cursory clean-up, meaning disposing of the used gloves, and putting the needles away to be cleaned & sterlized, Scarab stepped out into the hall.
Stretching, and arching her back like a cat she huffed and turned back to Constantine expecting that cigarette.

Eighteen neat stitches... under other circumstances, like ones that didn't involve receiving the wound from a mad masked man, The Corinthian would have remarked on the aesthetics of the sutures. They'd make an interesting tattoo, if he could be tattooed by conventional needles and inks. But no this wasn't the case, and he knew Scarab wasn't the type to appreciate such a subject deviation. After she completed the bandaging he sat up, resisting the urge to roll his head in a circle. Not bad, he could breathe like a human male again, though speaking was still out of the question at the moment. He managed to get to his feet without assistance too and firstly washed his hands of the blood. He hadn't forgotten the woman's demands either.

*Just water and beer.*

The left eye rasped to her, offering their only poisons in the place. The Nightmare was dealing with her first condition. After he resembled something close to clean he left the bathroom, looking much like a suicide case with his pale bare torso and the wrappings around his neck. He approached the fridge to grab Scarab's chosen drink.

-I ran into the pyramid thing.- He finally admitted... only a trickle of detail. The white-blonde gestured for her to take a seat, either on the couch, at the table with the glowing laptop, on the kitchen counter, wherever she pleased.

His gloves removed and disposed of too, Constantine followed them, reaching (gladly) into his coat to comply with Scarab's demand. Lighting one for himself, out of courtesy, he daren't stick the other in his mouth and do the same ((OOC: Because of old man germs.)). Naw, it was held from the middle between two fingers and, once it too was smouldering, it was offered.

Now then, it wasn't everyday that one was staggering home with a gaping wound in their throat, yes? This "pyramid thing" had intrigued Constantine, maybe prompted him with a bit more of the odd caution for the future lest he end up the same way. And unlike the Corinthian, a slit throat wasn't something he could shrug off and carry on scotfree.

Then again, especially regarding his earlier encounter (bloody demon), he anticipated things with teeth and knives. Still feeling a heat pulse from the scratches, if his messenger of... universal displacement was a concise, knife-wielding monkey, the last thing he expected was cotton candy and butterflies.

She took a drink of the offered beer, and managed not to make a face.
Scarab didn't care much for beer period, and western brands less so, but John was also handing her a cigarette so technically her demands had been met.

She was taking another sip, grateful it was no longer bloody, when Alex said exactly what she had been dreading the most.

It was through sheer willpower that she didn't choke on that drink, but she did manage to keep her decorum somehow.
Instead she leaned agianst the kitchen counter, because it was the closest thing to her, and it seemed a bit better than falling in the floor.
She shut her eyes and had to set a slightly the bottle on the counter next to her to hide her shaking hand.

...Motherfucker...

She kept her eyes shut and swallowed the sick sensation churning her stomach...

" You...stupid.... son of a BITCH!"
The epithet ended in her unintentionally shouting at him, but raising her voice helped chase the numb feeling from her limbs, and in a flash she had reached out and slapped the back of his head.
A little comical looking really: a five-foot-three-inch woman smacking a much taller man upside his head.

For anyone else slapping The Corinthian might have meant a death wish, but Scarab wasn't afraid of him, and if he decided to retaliate she was equally alright with a fight just now.

" Now we match." she said coldy, pulling her shirt aside to show the star-shaped exit wound scar & the beggingins of the long ragged line that bisected her torso.
"Proud of yourself? "

WHAT. Before he could even continue the bloody tale the woman struck him upside the head. It was an almost(??) undignified attack, and in a flash of anger he bared three pairs of snarling teeth at her. How dare she, petty mortal woman with eyes even he wouldn't touch for taint of the fairer sex--what? Immediately his predecessor's expression, *his* expression, faded into one of... frustration, his pride wounded. There was no denying that he didn't deserve the gesture, she probably would have smacked him one regardless! When she bared her own scar tissue in the shape of a star, with its ragged comet tail, his eyes seemed to dull, eyebrows no longer furrowed.

*Keep it down.* One eye said to Scarab in a cool tone, though its voice still sounded demonic, then the other spoke. -No I'm not proud, and it didn't do this anyway.- The Corinthian gestured to the bandages around his neck.

*It was there, yeah, some woman reined it in.*

-A man with a mask did it, white mask, Guy Fawkes I think.-

The Nightmare had lived through that era, he didn't forget such interesting details of history so easily. Regardless, her action, his story, the entire ordeal just.... He shook his head.

Constantine bit his lip, a puzzled eyebrow raised, and decided to back away. Keep his distance. He was not a mediator nor did this concern him, so, fading into the background, he only watched.

" Oh, so you just went looking for old pointy head. Excuseme if that is somehow less than comforting." she shot back angrily.

She held onto the anger...Anger was good. Anger let her think, and kept that cold numbing sensation out of the pit of her stomach at the thought of the Pyramid Head skewering anyone else she knew
She even managed to take another drink without her hand shaking too badly.

The angry scowl turned to a quizzical one when he mentioned a man in a mask....and then turned to sheer surprise when she was able to place who he was talking about through the description.

" WHoa, whoa.! There is only one guy I know of in this mad house that wears a Guy Fawkes mask, and thats that V guy I told you about."
She took a thoughtful hit off her cigarette, and glanced over at the retreating Constantine before going on with her train of thought.

" ...How the hell did you manage to piss him off? He is , like, the most stable person here!"
Shaking her head in mild disbelief she brought one hand up to rub her temple.
"You must have fucked up something awful ..."
In which case you still deserved to be slapped she added mentally.

*Stable my ass.*

He needed a cigarette, badly, but puffing on one with that throat wound was not a good idea. Even if the burn couldn't physically hurt him it would likely slow the healing process. So he was lacking in nicotine, alcohol, his voice, and now Scarab's faith in him, which he shouldn't have expected much in the first place. They'd known each other only for days (and yet her handywork and closed his most vicious wound). The Corinthian looked to Constantine briefly, but why should he expect the Englishman to come to his aid too.

-I became what I always am, a mirror.-

The eye hissed at her. He didn't appreciate how his nature was to blame for this mistake, this fault.

-He ran to me, and when I saw him I reflected.-

The Nightmare wasn't trying to deny any blame. He could admit to losing control, to allowing himself to be consumed by their fears, their guilt, their ugliness, but he would not say that his very nature was the mistake. It sickened him to think so, knowing that the necessary function Dream understood could be so reviled in the waking world.

*He didn't like what he saw. I tried to to take the mask.*

-Then he killed me.-

'Killed.'

John saw the Corinthian briefly turn to him, but the Englishman only gave him a look, and it was a puzzled one. What could he do? Tell her not to slap poor, dear Cori? He had no idea what was bloody going on, outside of what he could piece together from the two arguing.

A brief mumble. "Can't help you, squire." In the spirit of Constantine's refusal to meddle in affairs that weren't his, the Corinthian was on his own.

Scarab dropped her gaze and took a long draw off the dwindling cigarette while she tried to get her temper under control.
Why was she even that upset? Alex was a big boy...hell, he wasn't even human, so he didn't have to worry about pesky little things like maiming and death.
Why should she care?

Because I'm alone in this place without the few friends I have. I hated being alone in the real world, and making the attempt here nearly got me killed.

The scene looked a bit like a boxing ring with the two combatants retreating to thier respective corners to have a breather and a drink until the bell rang agian and they both came back out swinging.
Scarab let the quiet stay for a bit...hoping that her voice wasn't so irritable sounding when she spoke agian.

" Ok, ok,- fine. I get that there are a lot of things in this world I am not meant to understand. I get that you're not human, and can't think like a human. I even get that you were 'made' for a purpose, and that purpose can be a very ugly one.
But what I don't get is how you seem remarkably good at not hearing yourself."
The last statement earned her a scowl that even with teeth-eyes was easy to recognize. She held up her hand to indicate she wasn't finished talking.

" You're a mirror. Ok, whatever....but let me ask you something: How many mirrors out there try and take away something from what they are reflecting?
You tried to remove something from this guy. I don't care what it was, that makes you more than a mirror. At that moment you were meddling, and it turned into self-defense on his part."

She crossed her arms and dropped her eyes back to the floor.
Yes, she was chewing him out without really knowing him all that well ( assuming time spent in one another's company dictated how well they knew each other), but it was a hell of a lot better than admitting to being worried about one of the very few 'friends' she had in this place.
Somehow she doubted he would return the sentiment.

Yeah okay, he understood the casual brush off better than anyone. He didn't counter Constantine's decision to not get involved.

-Self defense for revealing a base Truth.-

Hahahaha, says the supposedly reformed child-molesting serial killer. If only Scarab knew him well enough to reply how The Corinthian would have done the same had the man gone for his glasses. Well... he wouldn't have slit someone's throat, but a *very* unwelcome touch to the eyes would have left someone without their fingertips anymore. And there was that period of time, a tiny stretch compared to the rest of his life pre-rebirth the former phantom would say, of 75 years with the relentless bloodletting, the relentless violation, no remorse for the lives he took, flawed monster, petty nightmare. She was right to point out how his physical interference was not justified, and he knew it, but not why he did it.

*I know this guy is one of your friends.*

He clarified for her, in case the woman believed he thought lesser of the masked man simply because he was human. The Nightmare... wasn't like that anymore, looking down on mortals as a field of eyes waiting to be harvested. He took a lean at the counter and rubbed his hand over his face briefly, huffing a deep breath. Had it been possible to keep things under control, to satiate in the shadows? Satiate *what*...

-I lost control of the situation.-

He admitted to Scarab, hoping to reassure her and himself that the entire ordeal and its bloody outcome, reflecting horrors to horrors, was not what he wanted, not what he desired. If he had desired it all, forcing humans to commit crimes, He would be most disappointed. The Nightmare should not be so easily manipulated by His brother/sister.

*Sorry.*

The situation diffused quickly, at least for him. What more could he say without getting into that past with the red and sticky fingerprints all over it.

" He's not my 'friend'" Which is why I'm not at his apartement sewing him up

"I just know who he is."

She felt distinctly uncomfortable with the direction this was heading now...far too emotional.

She shrugged off the apology, and to sort of make up for the slap, poked him playfully in the arm.

" It's ok. Sorry for getting all pissy on you"

Scarab sighed and pushed herself the rest of the way up onto the counter, then glanced over at John who had wisely stayed clear of the whole mess.

" So where were we? Kinfe-wielding monkeys kidnapping John?"

She chose to let the matter of 'truths' and the nature of The Corinthian rest for the moment...that sounded like a subject best left discussed over hard liquor & maybe some opium.

*Yeah okay...*

Scarab seemed to know him enough to judge that ol' Cori must have done something awful to set the masked man off. She could also smack him again for not knowing how to accept an apology in a more appropriate manner! However her reception of his was no better or enthusiastic so the feeling was mutual. Maybe it was just the line of work they shared. Since she turned her attention back to John, the Nightmare sort of gave himself a period to cool off. The woman had sewn his neck shut, he had no justifiable way to presume she didn't care, and he knew she did.

The sudden turn of things had caught Constantine off guard, he previously lingering about in the room like the smoke that twisted dreamily about him, pondering whether he should go out on his own and... Oh, wait. What was it again? Monkeys?

"What about the monkeys, luv?" The magus could sense less tension in the room, less heat between the two. Good. "There are monkeys here...?"

She smirked a little at Constantine.
There was something positively cute about beffudled englishmen.

...that or she had a fetish she wouldn't admit to.

" Ya, monkeys. Specifically the one that held you at knife-point.
What did it say, exactly?
I mean, did it tell you why you were being sent here?"

Who knows? Maybe John's key to getting out could lay in what this critter had said?
Seemed no less insane than anything else here, after all.

((OOC: sorry for delay! ;.; ))

Since they were discussing blade-wielding monkeys again The Corinthian just kept to himself, though he wished he had a cigarette or some beer as a distraction. A pity he didn't, and his expression seemed both frustrated and perturbed but he managed to mask the extent of those feelings with his unreadable teetheyes. They could just as easily conclude he was taking the time to cool his temper down.

John squinted his own eyes shut for a moment in thought, reviewing what the freakish little primate said to him that night.

"A victim of inevitability," he muttered distantly. Strange too, considering most of his misfortunes were his own doing. He couldn't recall what he had done after the Tate Club incident, although that might as well have been it; he had been guest speaker to the magi of London, at the least, and he gave them all a fancy, frilly slap in the face.

Not a smart move, considering. He was streetwise and knew the rules and tricks, but a good many of them could do more that pull a rabbit out of a damn hat. Much more. They would know to catch him off guard, while he was down, when he was most tender. A mental grin: And to think, he picked this time to quit the magic?

Thinking about how he got here drew his eye momentarily to the Corinthian. But what could he have done? Sure the nightmare and his bloodline had met before but...

(He'd look back on this speculation and laugh about it once it all had been figured out.)

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Log; Ongoing

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