001. [holo] he's starting to follow crows and climbing the ladder somewhere out

[antisaint.livejournal.com]

If you get right down to it, there are two ways John Constantine spends his day: either in immediate peril or out of it. (Although arguably there's also having just gotten out, and about to get into, but split that many hairs and we'll be here all day.) His appearance in the entrance chamber seems to indicate the former, both of which have their pros and cons. In immediate peril (he was) means now he's suddenly not, anymore, or at least not in the same way, but out of it - well, those moments are few and far enough in between that he likes to keep them for himself, thank you.

This moment: not shaping up to be one of those.

The prelude to this entrance is a rush of wings and a strange, inhuman clicking; the air ripples and warps and snaps back into place, leaving a tall, lanky man in his mid-thirties, dark-haired and dark-clothed, with the kind of pallor that actually takes some work to maintain in, for instance, southern California.

Maybe he's a vampire - just kidding. The dying implosion of air stirs a black coat open with the sleeves rolled up, the ornate tattoos on the backs of his forearms somehow alive like the oscillation of wind across water. "--to the light, I command th--what the fuck."

His arms drop; he staggers, collects himself as one hand goes to worry at his mouth. The rest of his face stays impassive, although his breathing hitches and the arm at his side trembles all the way down to the fingertips. More than the usual 'aaaaaaaa where am I' related shock is simple physical exhaustion, whatever it was he was doing husked him out, left him - well. Left him what, exactly?

"Goddamn," he murmurs, half to himself, half to - none of your damn business, that's who. "I really am getting old." A simple summoning, how do you fuck that up? Unless - he's not thinking about it, patting his pockets restlessly instead, and noticing the bracelet for the first time. "....Jesus."

The pocket search becomes more frantic. "Didn't just botch a summoning then, unless I hit the jewelry district on the way out." His expression flickers but doesn't crack as he finds not exactly what he was looking for in one pocket, but a woefully acceptable alternative. This turns out to be chewing gum, which he pops into his mouth like it's personally offended him.

The alternative he's not voicing is that he's dead, of course - summoning can kill a person, this wouldn't even be the first time. And there's no reason Hell shouldn't have an antechamber; it's been twenty years since he was ....admitted there, if you will. He shakes his shoulders out, fixes his shirt and coat sleeves, then moves to investigate the tablet, circling it like it might spring, but not picking it up yet. "At least the decor is nice. Very proto-scifi, I like it."

John Constantine: nerd. --just kidding. But nerd is still preferable to dead, frankly.

Comments

[visual]

[oneofthequick.livejournal.com]

"Welcome. You're in a land called Taxon, all the people here have been pressganged, and to leave the room you're in, you must take up the tablet. If you are from Earth, many things here will be familiar."

[visual]

[antisaint.livejournal.com]

John squints at his sudden introduction to like, the existence of other people, and bites down sideways on the gum he really wishes were a cigarette. He counts the minutes he's been quit; it's this elaborate method of telling himself in ten minutes he'll walk to the store, then another ten minutes, then five - it's relentlessly annoying in his own mind, but it works.

In any event, the face that appears on his tablet isn't a shrieking horror underneath, so that's ...some small comfort. "Pretend you're me for a second. You with me? Okay, now - how about a reason to leave the room, could I get that?"

[visual]

[oneofthequick.livejournal.com]

"Food. Water. A chance to meet the others who've been brought here. I don't know what motivates you," he says in that gentle, unfairly lovely voice. "No one knows why we have been taken, but we are well provided for by our unseen, unknown captors."

[visual]

[antisaint.livejournal.com]

Doul's voice reminds John of angels, actually, which would be more helpful if he were fond of them at all. And then there's his phrasing, which is something else again; the note in John's less mellifluous voice turns bitter. "Unseen, unknown captors. Yeah, it sounds like Earth, all right."

[ visual ]

[lambentstar.livejournal.com]

"A little bit more than proto-scifi," Cat says, soft and wry, brushing her back out of her face. She looks tired, but nowhere near as much as John does, and her half-thought in reacting to his arrival is that maybe she can make this as easy as possible for someone who already isn't taking it well.

"Are you going to be okay? I have this whole little welcoming speech I can launch right into, but--hell, I'm not good at it anyway, how about you just ask me questions and I'll tell you the important parts?"

[ visual ]

[antisaint.livejournal.com]

Picking up the tablet has done its customary door-appearance routine, but John is in no mood to wander out there just yet. He looks at Cat's face with more than just routine 'who the fuck are you,' there's something under it, a particular something he's warily checking for and not finding, which seems to make him feel better. "Can you get me a chair?"

The faintest glimmer at the corner of his mouth says this is probably not serious, but he wouldn't say no to one all the same.

[ visual ]

[lambentstar.livejournal.com]

"Do you really want to wait for me to get all the way over there just to drag a sofa in from the next room?" Cat is about as serious as John is, although by the same token she would come over there just to get him a chair; it's not as though she's doing anything else with her day.

"There are chairs just outside that room, though, and a whole bunch of little apartments, it's the processing area for our kidnappers, I figure. Until you find your own place. Real reassuring, huh?" Cat reaches for something off-screen, and produces a cigarette she holds in the corner of her mouth as she searches for a lighter.

[ visual ]

[antisaint.livejournal.com]

He starts with some dry witticism regarding seating arrangements, "Don't let me keep you from anything important--" but the cigarette produces an abruptly lidded look which suggests he would like to eat it, frankly. Maybe he'll just ask if he can suck the smoke right out of her lungs--no. With a shake so brief and controlled it might as well have been a blink he looks less ...intent on devouring anything in the immediate vicinity, and considers putting in another piece of gum.

Or six.

"Call me pedantic, but isn't the point of kidnapping usually profit?"

As he can't think, offhand, of anyone he knows who would be putting up that ransom. Midnite, maybe: he's got enough terrifyingly rare crap to merit it, but his response would probably be to laugh and wish John all the best getting himself out of whatever mess he's in at the moment. It says something about John himself that he considers this a compliment.

[ Visual ]

[gotcouplings.livejournal.com]

"'Fraid the rest of the city ain't as slick as that." Kaylee may or may not be giggling slightly, though the smile on her face says that she probably at least was giggling at some point. She might not have giggled at all, if he looked as panicked as some people did on their arrival. But no, this one seems pretty confident, even if he doesn't understand what exactly happened. Not that any of them really understand what happened, but some take it better than others at first.

Right, still smiling. "Welcome to Taxon."

[ Visual ]

[antisaint.livejournal.com]

If John looks confident then he can basically feel accomplished in not having embarrassed himself hideously, regardless of how his lower extremities are the approximate consistency of water at the moment. On which note he gives up standing and slides down the wall, taking the tablet with him to hold on his legs like a notebook. Due to the current composition of his conversational partners, the part of his brain devoted to quipping at all times is wondering if he hasn't somehow fucking managed to transport himself to the Deep South. What a wonder that would be.

He takes her giggling in relative stride, since she's not --look, he is going to check literally every person he meets to see if he or she (OR BOTH) is a demon. Welcome to his nine to five, it's great. In any event, his brows go up, mouth a wry lemon twist. "Thanks."

Conveying, in one syllable, that he is not at all sure he should be thanking anybody. "Should I take it personally there's no red carpet, or is it like this for everybody?"

John, you fool - these people are the red carpet.

[ Visual ]

[gotcouplings.livejournal.com]

Well, it took him longer to melt down the wall than most people, which has got to be something in his favor. Kaylee's small giggles fade back to just a smile, and she shakes her head. "It's been like this for every one of us so far, so you'll have to forgive it if people're a little on the strange side when it comes to welcomin' ya."

Herself included.

"No red carpets, though, 'M sorry to say. Some long hallways, though, once you're out of that room, staircases, a nice open room or twelve. Can't say if I remember red or not."

[ Visual ]

[antisaint.livejournal.com]

John has a scoreboard in his apartment - which is somewhere in this city, by the way, although he doesn't know that yet! - where he keeps points in his favor. (Is this literal? It could be.) "Forgiveness and I are a work in progress. I'm John, by the way."

He's cynical enough not to trust anything here, or really anyone, yet, but he's also only human, and he'll take the friendly faces he can get until they, for instance, turn into a swarm of bugs and try to eat him. Which Kaylee isn't doing, so points in her favor! ....that's totally literal, and it's sad. "And I'm sure you'll forgive me if I don't go looking just yet. Still getting my bearings."

Yes. Here, on the floor. "Hallways, staircases--there a church anywhere?" Because he is going to have words for Someone, if so.

[Visual]

[knightflying.livejournal.com]

"Just adding to the choir that the rest of this place isn't as scifi, and you won't be able to get back to that room once you leave. At least, that's what I've been told - I haven't been here long." Tim is doing an excellent job of scruffy teenager appearances today, which is actually more due to worrying at his hair over the past... well, days, but somehow it's ended up looking like an attempt at deliberate styling even though it's a little long to really stay in anything approaching spikes, so he's sticking with it. "I was just in time for the bombs, I'm told that was a one-off so you probably shouldn't worry about it."

[Visual]

[antisaint.livejournal.com]

John's wardrobe is by Extreme Austerity and Stress, so ...they're a pair. "I'm sure I was about to say something extremely relevant, but then you mentioned 'bombs' like they're something I shouldn't let prejudice me against the place."

Please explain. He's going to end up swallowing this damn gum, and that's disgusting.

[Visual]

[knightflying.livejournal.com]

A pair from the Everyone I Love Dies, It's Kind Of Stressful... Boutique - stopping this now. "I feel like I really have to mention them, there were a lot, but the place fixed itself, which... is great, if you're not inherently creeped out by that!" He scrubs a hand back through his hair, which... doesn't help at all.

"There was some doctor of something who decided the best way to get the aliens to let us all go was to threaten to blow everything up if they didn't. Like one of those King Solomon fables taken to extremes, I guess. Luckily, some people here stopped him - well, mostly. I think some people were still hurt, but massive explosive death was prevented."

[Visual]

[antisaint.livejournal.com]

John's bout of staring at Tim like he has a few extra heads and is perhaps carrying a striped parasol (what >__> it could be from the boutique) is briefly interrupted by a dry, rasping chuckle at the King Solomon reference. That's ....actually helpful, in terms of explaining what the hell happened just previous to his arrival; at least he gets the metaphor.

"Kid." A pause, perhaps for effect. "If you're trying to melt my brain, it's working. And no, who'd be creeped out by self-repairing architecture? That's just crazy."

[visual]

[mightyfallen.livejournal.com]

"It gets a bit trippy theme park pastiche once you get out the door, so enjoy that." Or don't, Jack is just here to troll. And help, ostensibly, for a given value of 'help,' but he doesn't imagine he's the first on the scene here, so to speak, and he's having one of those mornings. Afternoons. Whatever.

He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand, then adds, "So are you still in the 'oh god oh god I've been abducted by aliens' stage, or has some kind soul filled you in on a few of those horrific details?"

[visual]

[antisaint.livejournal.com]

"Staying in here is starting to look like a better idea all the time." He eyes the blank nothing that is the chamber, balefully. "Maybe I'll put up a kitten poster. For ambiance."

You know, one of those ones that suggests the reader hang in there, or claw themselves to death. One of those! "You can fill me on on where I can get a fucking drink, assuming my first plan falls through."

There is a woman smoking, he is going to latch onto whatever vices are left to him as soon as possible, thank you so much.

[visual]

[mightyfallen.livejournal.com]

"Good to see a man with his priorities straight," he says with a wry grin. "For that you have two options, the first of which is boring as fuck: if you go out the door you'll eventually come upon what looks a bit like a vending machine. It's called a hatch. You put your hand to the sensor and it intuits what you want, alcoholic or otherwise. Simple, mildly invasive of your mental privacy, boring." In case that wasn't clear the first time.

"Your second option is an actual bar. There's one a little north of the Sanctuary--which is the building you're in, by the way--called Fox & Fiddle that isn't terrible." Look, you ask Jack about bars and you get a full review for your trouble, regardless of what kind of day he's having. "It at least has atmosphere and saves you from looking completely pathetic drinking alone, though the Extras are by no means ideal company--I do hope someone's mentioned them."

[Visual]

[eaturbreakfast.livejournal.com]

"So you've pretty much gotten the run down on this place."

Sam is sitting at a table, guns spread out in front of him. He's cleaning his weapons and he looks a little worse for the wear. Those bombs that were discussed earlier? Sam sort of got semi exploded by one. Just bruises, cuts and scrapes. Really he was lucky.

"It's not that bad. I thought the room was worse but then I'm not a big fan of being locked up anywhere."

[Visual]

[antisaint.livejournal.com]

John's gaze at the tablet - and therefore Sam - is at first typical to the way he's reacted thus far, a blithely abrasive kind of straight-backed confidence. In contrast to his conversant's worse-for-wear he's pretty put together, in an aggressively nondescript kind of way and sans the obvious exhaustion. It could be said this is an overstatement, but it is pretty difficult to emphasize too much how tired John Constantine is as a matter of course.

The guns certainly get some additional attention, though, until his eyeline shifts like a trick of light; he could be looking at Sam or something just beyond him. Ultimately it's both, flickering night-unto invisible shadows drifting almost gently around the young man ironically (or appropriately) like halos. His voice doesn't become openly hostile, at least ...it's not any more sardonic than usual, but there's a note of wariness masking puzzlement.

"Yeah. I got that."

The proverbial run down, that is. Referring to the guns: "Are you expecting some kind of invasion, or do you just consider yourself an ...enthusiast?"

Never has an ellipsis indicated so much dry hilarity. Ever.

Re: [Visual]

[eaturbreakfast.livejournal.com]

The way he looks at him a bit off center is a little unnerving and Sam looks over his shoulder to see if there's something behind him. He looks back to the tablet when John asks his question.

"Neither really," Sam starts. "I'm a hunter. I like to keep my guns clean."

He'll leave it ambiguous as to what he hunts. But then one doesn't usually hunt dear with a chrome plated 9mm.

visual;

[knightflown.livejournal.com]

"It's nicer on the outside, honestly." Where the fuck are all these wholesome-looking kids coming from? Twenty-five is, in fact, a little too old to be counted a kid, but Dick tends to exude a certain youthfulness that lends itself to being termed such by cynical, disillusioned thirty-somethings. Appropriately, he's currently smiling slightly out of the tablet, and is very much not a demon, thank you.

visual;

[antisaint.livejournal.com]

"So I've heard." For someone whose canon contains as much water as John's he is certainly accomplished at this 'arid' business, but not unfriendly. Dick being very much not a demon helps there, as one might surmise. Having spoken to a number of folks in varying degrees of what amounts to 'helpful conversation' at this point and discovered no horrific visages beneath such earnestness, he really has to revise his estimation that if he goes out that door it's going to lead to a shrieking maelstrom of nuclear fire.

Although he hasn't worked out exactly what the hell Sam is, yet. Thaaat bears further investigation, for which he needs the stuff in his apartment, and that's - apparently somewhere, thanks Kaylee. "I'm working on it, give me a minute."

During which minute he removes himself from the floor, tablet view skewing crazily and then rightening itself; he's carrying it like a person would a handheld camera. This provides the stunning vista of John Constantine actually outside the damn entrance room and in the Sanctuary proper, which he views with a palpable sense of relief. "This is something of an anticlimax."

Or ...that.

visual;

[knightflown.livejournal.com]

Well, Dick looks interested in this dazzling panorama of the Sanctuary and John, if perhaps politely so. He also laughs a little, a puzzled note in his voice.

"You were expecting...?" Not waiting for an answer, he guesses, "Nuclear meltdown?" The entrance room might resemble some kind of insane sci-fi bunker, to the imaginative or paranoid. Something about John strikes Dick as the latter, though he's clearly a calm paranoid, not unlike what you could say about him and his family.