Roman (touchofsilver) wrote in evaluation, @ 2020-01-27 15:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | !the compound: 1: day 2, dc: constantine: john constantine, original characters: roman ka'uhane |
Roman Ka'uhane & John Constantine
After this
Block 1, Bar
Rating/Warnings: Low | Swearing
Log | Complete |
Being cooped up did not and would never sit well with Roman. He was at his core a very free spirit who hated being confined and dictated to, but it would seem that’s exactly the predicament he found himself in. Still, better here, with Luke than anywhere else. Koa would be fine as he was Koa and he was nothing if not a resilient soul, but that didn’t mean Roman didn’t miss his adopted son. Well, adopted werewolf, but really when had that ever mattered? He had tried the smoothies and found them distinctly lacking in a lot of areas so when the chance to make a break for freedom while also being able to check in on Luke arose Roman took hold of it with both of his very large very decorated hands. Goodbye yellow and hello red. And as luck would have it Constantine was also free for a drink at around the same time and so Roman had made his way to the bar, cutting a tall striking figure with both stature and assortment of tattoos as well as other unique identifiers that made Roman stick out in a crowd. Of course that said the most unique identifier, his mark which signalled him out as a dragon, had long ago been hidden, but that seemed pretty pointless now given that he had all but basically outed himself and honestly? He would like to see anybody tried to murder him for his teeth, scales or any other precious things. He’d sooner eat them than they would succeed. “Beer, please,” he asked as he secured a spot at the bar. Wouldn’t be a bad thing to start off slow. Having been along for the whole of this particular ride- delightful rollercoaster of surprises that it was- John could allow that their current accommodations seemed harmless enough. Of course, he’d thought that about the resort, too, and clearly that had all hit the bloody fan in a big way a few days into enjoying sand and surf, so there was no more letting down his guard. Exhausting though it was to constantly be on the lookout for the next twist, it seemed wiser to indulge paranoia than assume the best. So he’d spent time yesterday prowling around the confines of Block One, feeling out the parameters of what appeared to be a very posh cage. At least it had a bar, which was the sort of amenity John could get behind with far more enthusiasm than he’d give a gym or an art studio. The televisions playing various sports held little appeal. Frankly, what John knew about sports on the whole could fit inside one of those tiny cups meant to hold the sort of espresso brewed blacker than his soul, and what he cared about sports could fit in a thimble. He gave the lot a bland once-over before snagging a seat next to Roman- hard figure to miss as he was, there was no chance at mistaking him. “Starting easy?” He eyed the beer with a curl of his lips, snagged a tumbler and a bottle of whiskey, and shrugged. “Suit yourself, mate. I still don’t trust that this whole thing won’t evaporate in the next five minutes, so we might as well take advantage.” “Figured I’d try,” he answered the blonde he could only assume was Constantine given that the accent and how that same accent came across on the network. “But I’m probably gonna get bored in the next five minutes.” And the beer to be quite honest didn’t even last that long, a couple long swallows without a break for air, and the glass itself was drained entirely of its contents. “Well, fuck,” Roman grumbled, distinctly unimpressed for his signalled for a bottle of the harder stuff tucked away in the back. “Here’s to actually being able to move around, hey?” That was a healthy dose of optimism tempered by something else entirely, and it made John’s mouth tic at the corners before he hid it behind the curve of his glass. The alcohol wasn’t bad, all things considered, and he was far from picky when it came to destroying his liver. So long as it kept him from thinking too hard about their situation, he was satisfied. “Cheers,” he agreed, lifting his glass in salute. “Constantine,” he added, tapping a fingertip against his chest. It glanced off of the medallion he’d swung around his neck the minute he’d realised their things were back and available, and thank Christ for that. He’d never been so happy to see something as mundane as his own bloody cigarette lighter before. Roman tipped his head as the dragon in him caught sight of something shiny and apparently had no qualms about reaching out to catch the medallion in his palm, thumb brushing over the metal and considering it closely. Thankfully for Constantine Roman was not a dragon who hoarded precious metals or shiny objects, his interest was more animal and people focused. “Roman,” he rumbled up close and very much in Constantine’s personal space. “Nice to finally put a face to the name.” And it was, Roman liked that personal touch that the network didn’t allow for that. Eventually the dragon released the medallion and as such left Constantine alone, tossing a thanks to the bartender as his bottle was placed down with a glass. So much for boundaries. John couldn’t say he was particularly upset about it, honestly. There hadn’t been much in the way of privacy throughout this little misadventure, and it wasn’t the worst that could happen, having a stranger examine Dez’s medallion. The fact that it didn’t react badly to the touch was enough for John to allow it with something like amusement dancing in dark, hooded eyes. “Thought you might be,” he remarked, once he’d been released. He slipped the bit of jewelry back under his shirt collar and cocked his head, giving Roman a look. “You’ve got a presence.” Not just the physical sort, obviously. Though that, in itself, was impressive. John was average height for a man, maybe a hair shorter than average, depending. Roman was large. He might be intimidating, too, if size was a thing that worried John. It wasn’t. “Find your kid, yet? He’s around here somewhere.” The hand not balancing John’s tumbler gestured, broad and not at all helpful. Roman arched a scarred eyebrow in response to the admission that he had a presence, it wasn’t the first time he’d heard that and probably wouldn’t be the last time. “That a good thing or a bad thing?” He asked, teeth flashing brightly, eyes glittering with amusement as it was clearly all in good humour. “Mmhm.” He nodded his head as he uncapped the bottle and given that he was in civilised company he decided not to neck directly from it and instead used the glass that was provided. “He’s thankfully in one piece and taking the time to decompress.” He sat himself down on his stool again and spun it with the soles of his boots so that he was facing John. “How’re you finding your block so far?” “Only an observation,” John dismissed with the hitch of a shoulder. Magical ability or not, he was pretty sure anyone with working eyeballs would be able to look at Roman and see other lurking around him. Some people just had that sort of aura that couldn’t be mistaken, even if people in general didn’t know how to articulate it. They’d look at him and think there was something and never be able to pin it down. Honestly, even John would’ve been hard-pressed to leap right to thinking dragon. He’d never met one. The closest he’d come was seeing an egg, and that didn’t really count in his book anyway. He tilted his drink, watching the amber liquid swirl back and forth. “Reminds me a bit of a themed B&B gone sideways,” he answered, eyes crinkling. “All pseudo-medieval decor and brocade. How’s living in the land of artificial sunshine?” Roman snorted quietly and knocked back the alcohol that had just filled his glass before he went about refilling it. “Blinding,” he shared with a bemused smile and a slow regard of John from beneath his lashes. “Got a ton of books that were all published before 1945 and a pretty cool gym that has a sauna and steam room, but still, really fucking bright.” Too bright. He raked his fingers through his hair and glanced over at the bartender. “Hey, you do any food here?” What? Roman was a dragon, he had a voracious appetite in every respect of the word. “Bar food, but yeah, we have food.” Roman grinned and looked over at John. “You want in on this or…?” Since his misadventures in the land of snow and too-fucking-much-sugar, John’s appetite had been on the dodgy side. He couldn’t quite pin down why that was. Maybe it was stress, maybe whatever bug he’d picked up refused to be shaken and continued to lurk, ready to prickle at him with intermittent bouts of nausea and the occasional lack of anything like interest in food. Not that it stopped him from drinking or smoking. Obviously. “All you, mate,” he encouraged with a low, rusty chuckle. “Go wild.” He’d content himself with slowly pickling his liver, and if the mood struck, maybe contribute to the scent of smoke and incense that sort of lingered in the whole block without any explanation as to why. He hadn’t seen a single burner or lit candle anywhere. One should never ever tell a dragon to go wild, especially if it was Roman who immediately ordered a round of food that would have made a football team proud. Back home he was normally the one doing the cooking and hopefully whoever was in the kitchen was good at their job or Roman would have no hesitation in calling it out. “How many of these rooms have you been through?” He asked, settling that intense gaze of his on John. Clearly he’d been through enough of them if his interactions on the network were any indication. He drained what remained in his glass. John didn’t blink at the amount of food Roman ordered. He’d been around enough magical creatures to know appetites varied, and so long as things didn’t take a turn for the literal man-eating, who was he to judge? Anyway, it’d be entertaining to watch, if nothing else. “All of ‘em,” John answered, flashing a toothy grin. “Been on this ride since the start. So that’s… four places before this, ‘bout a month or so all total. Seems like we average around a week per stop.” He couldn’t decide if that was by intentional design or not. It would seem so, but maybe the Powers That Be got bored after a week and wanted to change the proverbial channel. Richie seemed to lean on it being tech responsible for all of this and John couldn’t discount that. If it was tech, it was better than any he’d seen. If it was magic, it was also bigger than any he’d seen. So either way, it felt like their options were limited to play along or get fucked… with some overlap in the middle. “I got dropped in during that fucked up Russian Christmas land experience,” Roman said as he filled his glass again.“That was… surreal.” One word for it and the worst thing was he’d landed a bit too late and by that time Luke was locked up although it had been the safest place for him when Krampus and his minions had attacked. Roman didn’t imagine there was ever a good time to be dropped into a room but that Christmas Land one might have been one of the worst times followed by the absolute nightmare of the next. “Wonder what nightmare is waiting for us in this place.” John grimaced into his drink. “One word for it,” he granted, though his tone of voice said that he’d pick more colourful words if given the chance. That hadn’t been his best outing by far. Then again, there wasn’t really a standard of measurement here. It was all about the long game. “What, aside from the knife fighting bit?” He asked, mouth ticking up at the corner. That was a nightmare of their own making, he supposed. The promise of power did funny things to people, even when the power was arbitrary at best. “That was fucking stupid,” Roman shared openly and honestly. “No way to decide anything.” And he was far from comfortable about the fact his kid was housed in the same Block as the knife fighting idiots. “I mean a couple hundred years ago sure settle that sort of thing with a who can beat who the best but last I checked we weren’t in the dark ages any longer.” He glanced away from John as plates of food began to arrive and Roman’s entire being seemed to light up at the prospect. “You sure you don’t want in on this?” He asked, helping himself to a couple fries along with a set of ribs which he demolished in no time. Oh, it was very stupid. It was also entirely on brand for some of the people John had either met, or kept an eye on during their shared misadventures. He was even considering tossing his proverbial hat in the ring- not because he wanted to lead anything, or was particularly keen on violence, but if he did come out on top, he knew he’d want to hand it all over to someone more capable. And someone who wouldn’t jump into the fray with a knife in hand. But, he’d make that decision later. Plenty of daylight still to go, no real rush on getting stabbed over a petty power struggle. “Nah, not much appetite since the whole Soviet candyland episode,” he admitted with a shrug. “Think it’s probably better to go easy a while yet.” He watched Roman eat, sipping idly at his drink, and huffed a low chuckle. “Appetite like yours, that must’ve been hard to endure- all the candy, no protein or anything like real food. Bad time to turn up.” He paused, tacking on a dry, “Not that I’ve seen a good time, yet. Seems like they keep finding new ways to apply stress, see what shakes out.” “Mmm, can’t blame you,” Roman hummed in sympathy. “That place was enough to make your teeth go rotten if you weren’t careful.” And John was not wrong, it had been a total nightmare for Roman, the dragon who devoured food the same way he had… well, angry people with pitchforks and lit torches back in the day. “I fucking hated it.” Not just because of the food crisis but also because he didn’t do well with restrictions and being told what he could or couldn’t do. He waggled a fry in John’s direction. “That last place, that was a total fucking lie, made it seem like we were all there to relax and have a good time after the last place and then they hit us with that weather. Seriously sadistic people in charge.” A frown marred Roman’s expression a moment later. “You wanna keep an eye on that appetite though. Food’s important and if we’re gonna survive what this place has to throw at us then we all need to be in tip top shape. I mean, if you’re ever interested, I can rustle up some grub and see if any of it takes your fancy.” Hate more or less encompassed John’s feelings toward the whole episode as well, and he hummed his agreement into his tumbler as he polished off the last swallow of what had been an excellent drink. The hotel had been largely fruit-based cocktails and rums- nothing to sneeze at, but not precisely his taste, either. But in this place, he supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers. “Did take a hell of a left turn, didn’t it?” John mused, eyeing the fry being waved his way. He set his glass aside, eyed the bottle he’d already commandeered, and weighed exactly how much edge he wanted to take off. He’d rather not be drunk if another hurricane rolled through, but what were the odds? Attention flickered up, dark eyes measuring Roman and the offer even as John added another finger of amber liquid to his glass. “Might take you up on it,” he decided, after a beat. He didn’t usually care to ask for or receive help if it could be avoided, but this whole thing was a team exercise cranked up to eleven. Better to have allies than not, and he was trying to sort the ones he could trust from the ones he’d rather leave to their own devices. “Maybe the problem is that we keep bouncin’ around. No food, too much food, not even really food… makes it hard to keep up.” “You should,” Roman replied confidently and with a grin that was full of promises. “But you’re right, how is your body supposed to keep up when it doesn’t know if it’s coming or going?” He tucked into the fry and easily devoured a burger in a mouthful, basically. “I mean put me in any situation and I’ll find something to eat, kind of part and parcel of the whole being a dragon thing, but fuck talk about making lives difficult.” He finished off what remained in his bottle and eyed it fruitlessly before just passing it back over to the bartender as he passed on by, indicating for another beer, which was thankfully provided. “But I mean it, just lemme know when and if you’re interested.” Idly, John wondered if Roman could even get drunk- definitely not on beer, he supposed, since that didn’t even do much for him and he was only human. Well. Human plus, at least a little. Magic didn’t do a hell of a lot for much, but it did set him outside of plain ol’ vanilla. “Appreciate it,” he allowed, lifting his glass in salute before swallowing back the last mouthful he’d poured. That was enough for now, and he nudged glass and bottle back over so he wouldn’t be tempted to keep on drinking for the sake of something to do with his hands. Instead, he rummaged out cigarettes and lighter. What? The place already smelled of smoke. He wasn’t going to make it worse. A slow inhale, and he tipped his head in Roman’s direction. “Anything you can sense about this place, then? Offhand, I mean. Doesn’t read any particular way to me, but neither did the last one.” “Don’t like that we’re all in separate blocks, particularly don’t like the whole one block versus another, and not to mention the bullshit around having to ask for permission to access block privileges.” And those were just part of the highlight reel for Roman. “And then there’s the dumb clothes like what, colour coding people so everybody knows what block you belong to? Feels off to me, but maybe I’m being overly suspicious.” And had John asked, Roman couldn’t in fact get drunk, at least not on any alcohol known to man. He blew out a breath and idly scratched at a tattoo which stretched the full length and breadth of his collarbone. “But then again I don’t think that’s a bad thing.” “Paranoia in a place like this is healthy,” John agreed, slowly exhaling a plume of smoke. “Keep us alive a little longer, maybe.” As long as they walked the fine line between playing along and continuing to be a little surly over the whole thing. He suspected that when they got too compliant, whoever was in charge might get bored and either raise the stakes, or find new toys to play with. Neither option thrilled him. He stretched out a hand, snagging the tumbler he’d been using. It would work as well as the next thing for a makeshift ashtray. “You sound like you love authority ‘bout as much as I do.” His grin curled, hinting at mischief. John loathed rules. Always had. Roman answered John’s grin by echoing it with one of his own. “You got me there.” He had never been one for following rules, listening to authority or acting in accordance with what society thought was appropriate because society didn’t tend to be the best judge of anything. He’d instilled those same values in Koa and to some extent Luke but Luke was less overt than Koa in how he chose to apply the principles. “I do what I think or feel is right and if that means breaking rules to do it then more the fucking merrier.” Roman devoured his fries and washed them away with an ample generous gulp of beer. John chuckled, low and rusty. “Cheers, mate,” he toasted, though this time with the cigarette smoldering between his fingers rather than a drink. He lifted it, smoke trailing, then withdrew to place it back between his lips. “Think you and I will get on just fine.” Probably to the detriment of those around them, but. Oh, well. Some friendships were meant to be about a little chaos. Perfectly healthy, no reason to panic. Really, the worst they could do at this point was cause minor trouble compared to what the Powers That Be likely had in store. |