Who: John Constantine, Carol Danvers What: Everyone loves to fight! Where: The courtyard When: Directly after werewolf shenanigans Rating: A for angry
Well, that could have gone better. Not that it’d been a terrible failure, exactly but — John didn’t feel great about any of it. Not how it’d gone down — the way everyone had floundered and got in each other’s way (Carol especially, not that he wanted to call out names), or how he’d had to hold back his own magic in order to not hit anyone when he’d been building up the best spells for the job needed for the better part of an hour beforehand.
Whatever. The problem was solved, he supposed. Not in a way anyone felt good about, it seemed, considering all the people who were still milling about and giving the box that now held Moony guilty looks.
That was fair. Werewolves were generally just a sad business unless the person behind the teeth was an absolute lunatic. This one wasn’t.
“Fuck’s sake,” he murmured to himself, rubbing his palm against his nose and still coming away with more blood than he’d have liked. Fucking plague. Everyone else got sick the whole time and John — well. He just had to suffer some major bloody consequences every time he went and did a little magic.