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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Scarab didn't have the faintest clue where 'The Coloseum' was, nor much of an idea where to even begin looking.
Instead she had pretty much shut her eyes and thought about finding Alex, then let the city's built in navigation do it's thing.

Strangely ( or maybe not so strange, considering everything else in this asylum) this method worked far better than any she had attempted so far, because in less than two blocks worth of walking Scarab found herself in a part of the city she had never seen before.

The sign above the pub entrance made her grin.
She made a mental note to bring Faye and Frederick here soon, under better circumstances, obviously.

After finding such a landmark, locating the afore mentioned apartement wasn't much trouble at all.
She did consider knocking first, but if Alex was in need of doctoring, she thought it best to save him the trouble of having to stand, walk and open the door when he knew she was on her way.

She let herself in, and immeadiately noticed the rather copious amounts of blood smeared along the floor, and cooling on the ratty couch.

Sweet merciful fuck!

She hastily dropped her bag, and rooted through it to pull out an EMT worker's Flambeau box.
After her first run-in with old pointy head, she had decided to nurture the paranoia of being under stocked in medical supplies, and after a good deal of combing the city for suitable supplies ( as well as stealing enough drugs, sterile bandages, hyposermics, and saline drips to supply a small third world country) she was prepared.

Well...prepared supply-wise.
No one can really be prepared to see a man with teeth for eyes and a gaping knife wound to the neck being upright, apparently alive, and leaking into a bathtub.

" Sweet Fucking BUDDHA!" she exclaimed, nearly dropping the medkit, " What the fuck happened? How are you still conscious, let alone alive?!"

... What? Did that rat bastard forget to close the door?? The Corinthian had already forgotten how The City could take you where you wanted to go, perhaps that's how he got into this mess in the first place. No matter, first priority would be to mouth off at Constantine for dumpster diving *without* leaving the door open ugh. Second priority would be to clean up the mess on the floor of course. It looked mighty terrible, he had to admit that... were he not trying to keep the wound bleeding over the drain. The Nightmare was still seated halfway over the rim of the tub, towel to the wound, water running. His teeth eyes remained exposed but staring into them right now would yield only a minor terror. The fear seemed to run out of him like his blood.

*SHIT!!*

Who know anyone could get the drop on The Corinthian. He almost fell face-first into the faucet when Scarab came tearing into the bathroom. Fortunately he managed to keep a hand on the wound.

-It's my specialty- he snapped back, panic reaction turned to brief anger, but immediately he calmed. There was blood everywhere. John had been gone for longer than expected. She was the only person he counted on for help right now. *Long story* his eyes rasped.

"Right....Well it'll have to wait" she replied, and set down the medkit.

Dropping to one knee next to him, and ignoring the mess that was starting to soak into her black jeans, she opened the kit, and snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

Right. Business first, and bitching him out later.

Gingerly she pushed back a corner of the blood-soaked towel and took a quick look at the wound.
The fact that he wasn't dead yet was still pretty mind-bending, but now wasn't the time to dwell.

" Holding pressure over this isn't going to help all that much" she remarked, now more thinking out loud than informing him of what he , no doubt, already knew.
" Do you have more towels? Maybe even some sheets we could put down to soak some of this up? Because there's really no good way to do this aside from laying you out & suturing as soon as possible."

Scarab frowned. Where to lay him out, besides the already coated floor?
In all honesty this was a fatal wound that would have a normal human dead in seconds....so treatement really wasn't going to be all that practical.

" And light. I'm going to need a fairly bright lamp, or something" she added almost as an afterthought.

Most mortals might be unsettled by seeing someone not only survive something like this, but be capable of coherent speech ( even if that speech originated from the eyes...Ah, the mind-fuck continues) as well as a touch of sarcasm, but Scarab had switched into what she referred to as 'work mode' the moment she saw such a large amount of blood coating everything from the floor to the couch, to Alex himself.

At present she felt nothing except a sense of urgency that stitching needed to be done and done now.

Later....well...later was going to be a whole different story.

Peeling the edge of the towel near his hand back a little bit more, she swore rather violently in japanese at noticing his windpipe, and trachea were damaged. The former was severed completely, but the latter seemed to have only been partially cut originally, then torn a little more afterwards. Possibly from sharp movement? Hard to say and a moot point.

She glanced away from the wound and very briefly up to his face before rising to her feet.
" Come on. I know you don't want to make any more of a mess, but thats not just going to clot if you hold enough pressure on it."

Ahh, something he and Scarab could agree on! He preferred that the long story should wait until *after* she'd sutured the wound, in case his story should upset her to the point she wanted to agitate it ehehe. The Nightmare didn't know the woman well enough to gauge her actions during a fit of bad temper, not that it wasn't a well-deserved fit. He raised his hand from the wound as it was nudged, giving her a plain look with his eyes, hard to tell with him sometimes.

*I know that.*

-No.-

Those eyeteeth made their own little grimace as they spoke, modest evidence that he did feel pain and just had an uncommonly high threshold for it. As for where they could lay what should be a funeral shroud... The bathroom was small and cramped but offered the advantage of bright light and three drains, the living room floor was the first to get messy but he hadn't dripped over every single corner of it, the table was speckled yet not large enough for him to lay out, decisions decisions. Decisions he left up to Field Surgeon Scarab. At least he'd gotten rid of his stained shirt and jacket, though his jeans were still damp from rain and blood.

Keeping one hand to the mediocre clotting device, The Corinthian gestured to the studio living room.

*Two lamps there.*

-Best I got.-

Unless Constantine brought a few standing halogens on his way back.

Absently she peeled off the first set of gloves and tucked them clean-side-out into each other.
...The bathroom would have to do.
It was a bit small, but she figured she could make that work for her by forcing him to stay still.

That, and the drains is afforded, made it seem the logical choice.

Standing, she disapeared out the door and after a quick bit of searching, returned with the smaller desk light, and her bag.
Thankfully she had thought ahead enough to bring three towels just in case she needed to make bandages, boiled ahead of time of course.
She lay them out to make a small-ish sterile workspace, then gestured for him to lay down before she moved the lamp closer.

" ...I'm going to assume you do feel some kind of pain over this, and therefore offer morphine" she announced as she rummaged in her box of tricks and came up with a packaged hypodermic, and a bottle of concentrate.
" I plan on spraying the wound with this -" she showed him a can of topical spray that acted as temporary novacaine.- "before I start in on sewing."
Frowning she shook her head.
" You have no idea how lucky you are that I know how to do this...I have a bad feeling that is going to require more than just a couple stitches."

Scarab filled the needle with enough to make him a little woozy, but not enough to send him out, based on a guestimation of his weight, and tapped the needle to release any bubbles, while he settled back.
A bit of an awkward shifting dance ensued as there wasn't a lot of space, and he was awfully tall, but they managed without someone losing an important piece of anatomy.

Thankfully, this was old hat for Scarab, and the memories of removing more than a few bullets from her only friend within the Circle of the Noh: Tigerlily, served as a very effective crash course in field-surgery.
That, combined with the fear of being caught unprepared agian should something serious happen to herself, or Faye, or Frederick, made for a very lucky circumstance should any of them need some form of doctoring.

Once he was settled, and still holding the towel to his throat, she layed out a disposable towel, and used the toilet seat ( lid down) as an impromtu table, complete with the desk light shining over her shoulder.
"This would be a lot easier if I had another set of hands" she commented, as she used one of the towel-rods to sort of hang the saline solution from.
IV inserted, and morphine administered, Scarab set about readying a few hemostats to be able to switch from one thread to the next without having stop mid-way through sewing.
" Ok, when I say, your going to lift that towel, and I'll work as fast as I can so we don't have to worry about you bleeding out any more than you already have."
She got the spray positioned with her bad hand. " Now."
He moved it, and predictably a pretty good amount of blood welled up, which she cleaned off tot the best of her ability & numbed the wound.

" Just keep still." she instructed, and after swiping more at the fresh bloodflow, and letting the spray take effect, she was starting to guide the needle through the thick cartiledge of his windpipe.

((OOC: long post! @_@ ))

She could make a living doing housecalls, that's for sure. The Corinthian followed her orders, lying down where necessary even if that meant scrubbing the blood out of the grout with some bleach and a toothbrush. On the suggestion of morphine, he gave Scarab a reluctant look, waving his free hand to refuse the drug. Something about sticking needles into his veins just to ease some silly agony... but coming from a man who'd just had his jugular cut that had to be a minor annoyance. Regardless of what Scarab chose to do he didn't put up a fight.

-Done this before?- he joked despite this being a bad time to do so ehehe. *Room mate stepped out for a second.*

Well he wasn't a roomie but damn would it get on Constantine's nerves to hear that hah! That is, if he wasn't answering the call of his hobo roots. Then the Nightmare noted the IV and shook his head slightly.

*Don't need it, Scarab*

However were she able to stick it into his wrist and tape it down anyway he wouldn't bother trying to pull it out like an insolent patient. As she requested he kept still save for the hand on the towel. On her cue he lifted it up, exposing the entire wound. It was a clean intentional cut, the weapon lacking a serrated edge, thank the Endless. Had his attacker cut any deeper though he may as well have gone the while way by severing The Corinthian's head. Now *that* would have been the most dead embarrassing situation of them all. After a moment of silence, stilling his physical breath so she could work more efficiently, the Nightmare spoke again with his eyes.

-Thanks, Scarab.-

" Ya, I've had some practice" she replied absently.
Eight stitches into the job, and she wasn't even half done...
" I have a pretty extensive collection of scars, and I used to put my friend, Tigerlilly, back together sometimes after misions.", Scarab shrugged very slightly so as not to disturb the angle of the needle.
" Never anything this -ah- "extensive', though " she admitted with a wry smile & mentally substituted "extensive" with "fatal".

"Now, granted, I don't really know anything about 'Nightmare' physiology" She commented with a frown, and very carefully tied off a suture, joining up the severed portions of his windpipe.
"..But I really don't understand how you can be losing this much blood without some kind of effect."
As if on cue a fresh flow welled from the wound, and obscured her view of what she was doing.
With a noise of irritation, she quickly opened a new pack of sterilized sponges and started mopping up the mess.

" So who's this 'roomate'? I'm pretty curious to see if this guy is like you...an eyeball where his mouth would be, or something?"
Scarab grinned, and glanced to his eyes very briefly.

*It needs to heal faster.* The Corinthian explained regarding suturing the wound, it would lessen the mess too. -Glad you've got the experience.-

He offered a faint smirk but remained still lest she drill the needle through his chin by accident. Nightmare physiology was a strange thing, only his creator had any say on what could and couldn't be done to him. Obviously death was not his for the taking, suicide seemed like an impossible option as well. Only Dream could unmake him, for there was no such thing as killing The Corinthian, only dismantling him. It made for interesting encounters like this one, and the implications of control and submission were subtle but extremely true. As for his blood, it wasn't even necessary that he bleed. The wound could pour out sands of the dreaming, like the glittering stars deep in His Master's eyes, but he was a shadow and opposite, and therefore reflected the reality of pain and suffering however gruesome.

Ugh, she might have noticed the wince at the corner of his eyes when blood began to flow again. He could feel it running down his skin, warm to the Nightmare's soul and yet an unwanted reminder of times passed. Without thinking much of Scarab's question either he answered in those jagged tones.

-John's mortal.-

*But don't let him fool you.*

Scarab grinned and raised her eyebrows, though never took her eyes from her work.
"John, huh?" She even had to pause for a few moments when a thought occurred to her, and in the process probably earned a very quizzical look from Alex.

" I knew my gaydar was going off when you were telling me about your Dream King" she explained and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
Probably not a terribly delicate way to get her meaning across, but that devilish little voice in the back of her head fairly pounced on the oppurtunity to tease him a bit.

Still smiling, she straightened a little from her hunched over position and rolled her shoulders while switching out her hemostats for a fresh pair, needle and thread.
His windpipe and trachea were now repaired with the more expensive type of thread that would eventually break down and dissolve as he healed.

" Right", she said with a sigh, and used her wrist to wipe at her forehead ( and left a little smear of blood behind)
" Tricky part is done...now for the easy part.....I can't promise this isn't going to leave a scar thats going to look nasty as fuck for a while, but I'll do my best to keep them small."

She smiled, and glanced at his 'eyes', hoping to take a little of the sting out of her previous teasing.
Another spray of the novacaine, and she started in on the largest wound.
" So where did you and 'John' meet?"

......... What?

He raised a brow himself, noting the grin on her face, and he didn't think she was grinning at his wound. Did Scarab know the man? Or maybe she didn't believe him, but what would ever give her a reason *not* to believe him. Very strange indeed. THEN it became clear as gay--uh... day. The Corinthian's expression flattened over her assessment. Now she was hardly wrong about that, he liked men (he liked them a lot) and had rarely ever been with a woman, the last he recalled was Pestilence with her flighty ways, but to determine that by how he regarded Dream of the Endless, that was... it was uncomfortable. She'd also said *gaydar* ugh.

"Rrngh," The Corinthian sounded. No, his voice wasn't back just yet.

*It's not like that, My Lord and I.* He explained to her quickly.

It wasn't like that AT ALL. How awkward it would be if it was, not that the Nightmare had ever considered it. The very thought of it made him shiver instead of cringe, the thought of looking into those deep black oblivions intimately.

-I don't scar, it's fine.-

The Corinthian said this absently, his mind still reeling from the subject she brought up. It wasn't one of those things you discussed while sewing up someone's trachea, then again sewing up tracheas outside of a hospital for a very much alive patient was rare in itself. His brows knit once more, a bit nosey about this wasn't she. The thought of him and Constantine....

*Don't say it.*

-We're from the same place.-

He clarified for her benefit, even if it should pop her... fruity fantasy bubble. Now if the white-blonde would only *answer* her question. The man fell from the sky, dropped right into his lap so to speak. That story needed to be edited before he could give it to Scarab.

*Near the carousel.*

Constantine was staggering home with a reasonably nice TV he had found "unfortunately" discarded near one of the dumpsters. Had to have been put there recently too; too nice to last there overnight. Broken or not, he wasn't arguing either. He could do quite a bit of coaxing with his foot should it have been required.

John came back to a closed door, which he had forgotten if it had been originally closed or not. This trip had been intended as a short scour of the filth and freebies, and as the burning in his arm had told him, red, long scratches hidden under his sleeve, it had lasted a little longer than he would have liked.

Hopefully, ol' Cori had some blood in him left. The thought of the nightmare bathing in his own blood somewhat tickled him. Might as well if he bled it all out into there. Poor, silly bugger.

Would be a waste if he let it drain. He allowed himself a smile.

Anyway, he did not like that closed door. Meant he had to bend over, put the TV down, open door, get TV, swagger in. Fucking back. He was getting old and all the little reminders were making sure of that.

"Oy! Cori! I'm back!"

Scarab smiled oh-so-innocently while Alex made a valiant attempt at denying her asessement of his sexuality and possible living situation.

She was just about to reign in the teasing, deciding that having a gaping hole in his throat was probably making him testy, when a new voice joined the conversation.

That smile widened to near-chesire cat qualities, and with a glance at Alex that hinted at the fact she didn't believe his "It's not that way!" act for an instant, and called back to the newcomer.

" We're in here. Wash your hands, and get in here, pal. I need a second set of hands."
True, she had been doing well enough with only her own up to this point, but the outer wound was much larger across than the smaller internal ones. It would take a long time to get it stitched if she had to stop every thirty seonds, switch out her 'good' and 'bad' hand in order to clean off blood, then switch back to continue sewing.

So there was a perfectly legitimate reason to invite John in, even if she really just wanted to get a good look at him.

((OOC: sorry for the delay @_@! Also, sorry for typos. Fixed now ^^;;; ))

Hey he wasn't denying her assessment! The Corinthian had no qualms about admitting he was gay, he just didn't advertise it like some of the other denizens of The City. What he did deny was his involvement in any sort of relationship, with his boss and current room mate. Seriously now, her own love life couldn't possibly be lacking so much that she had to invest her attention in his, right? Aw christ, did he have to make his entrance at that specific moment.... Then again, maybe after *seeing* John Scarab would believe him.

Argh, he gave the woman a specific look when she invited him in. A Noh operative she might be, but she couldn't hide that secret plot from him.

*Is that really necessary,* his eye muttered.

The Nightmare didn't discriminate against age, being over centuries old himself (sort of), but even he could admit John Constantine was not the epitome of masculine beauty, or even charm. Magic had weathered the man's body since the day he was born, although if he possessed a Mancolian physique instead of a Bermejoesque one then certainly anyone could beg to differ. Really the white-blonde just counted on Scarab to conclude that John was 'not his type.'

The female voice, a commanding one at that, startled him, almost sending the heavy and ever growing heavier telly to the floor. Brushing any buds of involuntary indignance and masculine pride aside, who could that be? Given that this was the bleedin' Corinthian, dark mirror of humanity, he wouldn't have many friends, would he? Calling up help seemed out of the question.

Several scenarios of what could be going on ran through his mind, although he was hardly concerned for the nightmare's safety knowing him, as he stumbled to the wall facing the couch. His fingers sore and numb to the bone, he set the damn thing down with a weary huff. He'd mess with it later, heading to the bathroom.

From the sound and feel of things, there would no need for extreme caution, but he knew better than to swagger around callously either. The unimpressive Englishman was soon in the doorway, trenchcoat, tie and all. Normally he would be cool, but the sight of this newcomer had him enchanted. No less than beautiful, she was, but...

"Hullo, luv." Constantine turned to the Corinthian, who now had been sporting a half-done set of stitches. Anything for her, his never failing hormones decided, "You know her?"

Scarab smiled up at the man Alex had only refferred to as John, and waited patiently to be introduced.

...Which could seem a little silly, since she was covered to the wrist in Alex's blood, but she had no way of knowing how this man would react to her presense.
Best to at least seem somewhat normal?

Turning back to stitching she made a few mental notes on who The Corinthian had living with him.
The accent placed him as a roughly lower-to-middle class londoner. Hard to say if he was born there, though.
Clothing marked him out as being semi-modern, so that was a plus ( she was getting a little exasperated with the generational differences between herself and Frederick.)

A feint hint of cigarette smoke told her he smoked menthols too.
The most telling thing about this man's character came from his complete lack of reaction to Alex's gaping neck wound.
Either this man was well-aquainted with death, or very well aquainted with Alex.

Scarab was betting on both.

She tied off her most recent work, and quickly took a pair of latex gloves from her medkit, and hended them over to Constantine, in the process displaying her three-fingered right hand.
Perhaps, if this man had any tact, she could avoid the Q&A until after Alex was patched up?

Strike being very well acquainted, they'd met in person only days ago. They did know of each other, possibly from day one. The Corinthian knew the Constantine bloodline personally, and John was occasionally plagued by nightmares. And besides, wasn't his reaction to his own fatal wound unorthodox anyway, he wouldn't bother keeping someone around who fainted at the sight of blood, hell anyone who wretched at the thought would be swallowed by The City whole. The Corinthian looked between the two then tilted his head back just slightly.

*Scarab, this is John Constantine.*

-Constantine, this is Scarab.-

Yes he knew her, would he allow a random stranger to get wrist deep in his neck?? The Nightmare didn't seem interested in elaborating anymore details. Perhaps the two could hit it off and chat amongst themselves while she sutured his throat. If anything he was avoiding incriminating himself.

He knew she had been studying him. Let her decide what she will. A second glance of his own informed him that she was Asian and young, perhaps too much so despite the moment of lust.

God-fucking-dammit, Constantine, what were you thinking? She still was quite beautiful. Exotic.

"Pleasure to meet you, Scarab," was the reply in his usual smokey voice despite the inner turmoil tumbling about his head. He had done a good job of keeping it out of things. Been doing that for years. He was experienced.

John took the gloves, indeed noticing that hand as he was observant (it kept him alive after all these years), but fortunately for Scarab, it had been the least of his concerns, other than that he had to momentarily ponder on how she lost the fingers in the first place. Before he slid them on, he remembered to wash, more out of what little he knew of medical procedure than for the nightmare's benefit.

There was more to this Scarab, yes. That was very obvious.

"So," he eyed the work being done on the Corinthian's throat, "you said you needed another pair of hands, right?"

"Yup. Here -" she handed John the half-empty package of sponges, and the 'stats that held the one currently in use.

"- take this, and when I start up agian, keep the area clean."

Thankfully she was about halfway finished stitching the outer wound, and the addition of someone who could keep the blood under control would make things go much faster.

"I really don't know how you are still bleeding, Alex", she commented with a note of asperity, as the next press of the needle brought forth enough blood to obscure the wound and make it difficult to see where to cut.
Smiling her thanks to John who was quick with the sponge, she kept her eyes on what she was doing.
" So, John, I don't suppose you remember how you got to the city?"
Best to keep the questions neutral and totally innocent to start with.

He didn't even have to look at the magus to know what was going on in his mind. The want was in his voice, the touch of Desire, and The Corinthian knew its ways well. But what was it that Scarab had mentioned before.... a significant other, who also happened to be a Londoner? This business wasn't for his interference anyway, he was just a patient, watching the nurse try his hand at wooing the doctor who so deftly sewed his wound shut.

*It's complicated.*

-Not even real blood, I'll bet.-

Both eyes offered an unhelpful explanation. At least maybe he thwarted John's plans about *bathing* in the stuff.

"Hnnn."

Well, thank goodness, that helped him take his mind off current things for a moment. Aside from the general strangeness that would usually creep in and out of his life, he could all-too-clearly remember his puzzlement regarding the whole night and morning following his arrival. Get talking:

"This is going to sound a little odd, but bloody 'ell, it's in no short supply here." He allowed himself a weak smile. "This, ehhh, monkey came to me, in me bed with a knife (shit, that didn't sound right), told me I was doomed to be holed up in m'bedroom lest I get swept away here. Thought he was full of it, but as you can see, he wasn't. Landed on our toothy-eyed friend here on the other side and that's that.

"Life's a funny thing, innit?"

He had forgotten about the "misworded" wish of the Corinthian, although whether the nightmare had figured it out was something he did not know.

Scarab paused halfway through tying off a suture, and had to blink at John.

"A monkey... with a knife?"

OOOO-K

His story earned him a pair of raised eyebrows and a slightly bewlidered look, but after a moment of consideration she decided it was no stranger than some of the other methods of entry she had heard of.

Shaking herself mentally, she turned back to what she was doing.

" Well, I can honestly say that is the strangest way I've heard of for getting here so far.
Most people have absolutely no memory of coming here, or they just remember dying, then waking up somewhere in the city."

Maybe hunt down this monkey and hold it at gun point for a return trip?

Ya...sounds insane even to me.

She chose, for the moment, to not think too hard on the look Constantine had given her when he had first entered the little bathroom, there would be time to evaluate it's meaning later.
She wasn't completly dense, and had spent a good majority of her life and career around men ( and a few women) who found her attractive.
Most of the time it was easier to ignore the impressions they emitted on first meetings, because with westerners especially, it was her seemingly exotic asian features.
If they found out what she did for a living, or simply that she was a bit of a tomboy, they lost interest quickly.

Thats not to say that she didn't take a second glance at John herself ( she always did have a thing for Brits.) but there were more pressing issues just now...like the neck wound on her friend, and his imminent ass-chewing.
Scarab was letting Alex have a respite while she patched him up, but once he was properly doctored she planned to find out just what he did, who he pissed off and why he seemed to have done exactly what she was worried he was going to do on thier first meeting: go looking for a fight.

Yeah that's right, show Scarab what a bit of a daft bugger he was, and furthermore present how much he was in the woman's Kool Aid hah. He wasn't one to overlook her beauty either, he knew she was and likely could have any man eating out the palm of her hand, well... almost any. Still he remained silent while they exchanged words, interesting glances. just don't lose a knot in his neck or anything like that. As for chewing him out regarding how he received the wound, The Corinthian didn't believe he'd gone actively looking for a fight. He... followed a calling, the voice of another like his own, his job, his life's work. It was hard to explain and he knew that in any case it was his fault. Scarab's teeth might be sharp, but his hide was tough, he could take a verbal lashing as long as his neck was properly taken care of first.

So despite the leprechauns and catboys, Constantine was still the odd one out. That should have been no surprise.

"Then trust me on this one, luv: I'm alive. Was alive when I left London. Still alive now, unless we're all dead here." Another weak smile, avoiding Scarab's gaze. Admittingly, he was embarrassed. Was he that desperate?

((OOC: Yeah, desperate for some eye-toothy goodness- auuh!))

Who'd want a withered old tosser like you? he reminded himself ((OOC: Being the emo he is.)) Despite his "rebirth" from the Three, despite the immortal infernal blood, despite his bloodline's penchant for a long life, his age still was creeping up on him. What was he again? 52? 53? 54?

" 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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