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John Constantine can teach you about magic. (_constantine_) wrote in dunwichgame,
@ 2024-05-02 12:24:00

Entry tags:

!log/thread/narrative, dc (comics): john constantine, ∙ plot: 016 it's dangerous, ◌ inactive: pamela dawes

May 2, 2024

John Constantine, Pam Dawes
"I almost dropped my croissant."

HarlivyDawes Residence | ⚠ swears, magic, tba

There was no place in Dunwich that was quite so evident about Spring being out in full force as the residence of Poison Ivy et al. Everything about it was lush and green, vines climbing high against the sides of the building, covering portions of the large glass windows -- the flowers even seemed brighter. Swampy would be impressed, even. But he, thankfully, did not reside in Dunwich. It wasn't Alec Holland, Poison Ivy or even Harley Quinn that John had come here for.

He side stepped the vines, who probably had some sort of sentience, or maybe ... reading of intent, since they didn't stop him entering the home with a little twist of a doorknob and no other verbal permission, even if they did creep closer to him before he got the door closed, making him quite nearly unbalance his stacked cups of coffee and bag of croissants.

Nearly, but not quite. "Oi!" He called once he was in -- never stupid enough to not. be wary of more plants or maybe the wild animals Quinn called pets. But he found neither in his way before he made it to the staircase that lead down to the basement. "Still cleaning?" He wanted no real part in helping with that.

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ilbastone
2024-05-02 05:39 pm UTC (link)

"Fuck off!" came the predictable reply from below. Followed by: "Goddamnit -- yeah, I'm still cleaning. Where's my food?"

Downstairs, Pam made quite the picture: on her knees on the basement floor, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and buckets all around her. The smell of sour milk, slightly past its best, grew thicker as one came closer. So too did the sound of Pam's muttered curses as she scooped out the contents of the crucible and upended them into the buckets.

She glanced over her shoulder at Constantine. "Remembered why I gave up magic. It fucking stinks."

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_constantine_
2024-05-02 11:31 pm UTC (link)

There weren't a lot of people John might play delivery service for -- more often than not, he was the one to demand people bring him things (with pretty good results, actually). But here he was with breakfast he'd suggested on his own, tromping down a flight of stairs into a danger zone of smells.

It probably did speak of magic smelling rancid most the time, that John was unbothered by it enough to take a drink of his coffee. "It isn't great," he said, eyeing the crucible, the buckets, the fact that there simply had to have been an easier way to clean all that shit. "Wotcher there, luv." Not a question, so much as a greeting.

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ilbastone
2024-05-03 05:07 am UTC (link)

"Story of my fucking life," Pam grumbled. But if she was being truly honest, a part of her relished the familiarity. Fifteen years ago, by her own timeline, she would've been doing this on the regular. Casting spells. Cleaning up after the bold and brave. Serving Lethe as their Oculus.

She dumped another load of goat's milk in the pail and sat back on her heels. "My fault. Should've cleaned this up as soon as it was done. But then my roommates had to prove useful for once and..." She pointed an elbow toward the washing machine. "I wrote down everything they remember about Other Me's exploits." It was a surprisingly detailed account, though neither Harley nor Ivy were witches or at all familiar with magic.

They were academics, though, under all the layers of villainy. That helped.

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_constantine_
2024-05-05 03:33 pm UTC (link)

Pam's special breed of disdain for things that she clearly gave some amount of a shit about was somewhere between amusing and silly, but it wasn't like John wasn't a regular bitcher about normal things, so it wasn't like he was going to be the one to call her out on it.

She probably knew he was onto her though. Considering that she knew a great deal about him and his particular quirks anyway.

"You're not the first one to wait a while to clean up," he said even as he stepped past the pails in order to go check out the notes on the washing machine. Down, he set the coffee and pastries on the drier and then hoisted himself up to sitting on top the washer even as he looked over the notes.

Meticulously written, well told. Of course, this was a house full of clever and capable women even if at least half of them tried pretending otherwise. "Even with all this, there was room for fuck ups," he noted. Which was obvious, but-- well. Just because Pam didn't seem like it didn't mean that she didn't get her hopes up sometimes.

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ilbastone
2024-05-05 04:09 pm UTC (link)

"Isn't there always?" she scoffed. Her knees were killing her, so under the guise of dumping out the spoiled milk, Pam climbed to her feet. Walked to the drain mysteriously placed in the middle of the basement, where the rust-red stains on the concrete were, and emptied pail after pail.

"Of course, unlike that other me, I have something she didn't: the benefit of your expertise." She batted her lashes at him. Ironically, of course. With the last bucket empty, she returned to her task.

There was less than an inch of liquid left in the bottom of the cauldron. Soaking it up with wash cloths was the only way to get it out -- something she remembered doing back at Lethe, too, repeatedly and without complaint. Then came the lovely experience of washing down the inside of the giant bowl. That type of work called for some kind of distraction: conversation, for instance. "It's not like I can do nothing. I'm still getting visions. They're still trying, back in 1997." And her John and her Sylvie weren't people who gave up easily.

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_constantine_
2024-05-05 06:00 pm UTC (link)

John and Sylvie weren't people who gave up easily in any dimension, most likely. They were both stubborn in their own right. Pam, too.

They'd probably been a powerhouse of a trio. And also terrible when they fought.

John, as ever, was not swayed by batted lashes. But then, he didn't need to be. He was already here, wasn't he? He took a drink from his coffee, tapped the back of his boots against the metal of the washing machine he was sitting on (it wasn't tweaking, ta). "Alright. So..." The spell work wasn't how he'd go in on it, but it was a start, and John was really, really good at manipulating spell work until it'd do something for him. "We give it a go. You're gonna need the same ingredients, again."

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ilbastone
2024-05-05 06:12 pm UTC (link)

Pam didn't openly breathe a sigh of relief, but she did go a little harder on the scrubbing now that she didn't have to persuade (or maybe beg) John to help her.

"Already ahead of you." She pointed to one of the wooden shelves that, in a normal household, probably would've held holiday decorations and old toys but in this one were mostly empty. Save for a plastic bin, that is, holding a small selection of very strange items.

A broken mirror. Licorice root in amber. A Tupperware containing jacinth powder. Plus a few others. The beginnings of a spell, allegedly.

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	_constantine_ 2024-05-06 02:41 pm UTC (link)
	"Lookit you," John said, glancing over to the shelves and the ingredients there. Pam was a busy bee, just getting everything done on her own terms, without asking. He'd miss her, if this worked. This version of her -- the other one was clearly tenacious in her own way too, but -- Not the same, exactly. He glanced down at the notes again. Considered. "When?" (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

ilbastone
2024-05-06 02:48 pm UTC (link)

"When did I get it all together?" Pam asked. "Last few days, mostly. Some of it's from when I got here. Just boxed up all the shit in my -- her -- room and dumped it in a closet. Figured I'd throw it away sometime and just never got around to it."

Almost like she hadn't entirely wanted to close this potential door.

Between the visions and the cauldron getting fixed, she couldn't come up with an excuse why she shouldn't try yanking on it a little more now. And John was clearly willing to help.

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_constantine_
2024-05-06 03:15 pm UTC (link)

"No," John corrected, fingers itching for a cigarette. An excuse to get up, to move around.

He'd help. Because she asked. Because for all that he was a bastard, he was a bit of a romantic, too. He didn't know if it'd be more selfish to accomplish this task or to fail at it.

"I mean, when do you want to do it? Now?" It wasn't like they didn't have what they needed.

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ilbastone
2024-05-07 04:46 am UTC (link)

"Oh." Pam sat up. In theory, she had most if not all the spell ingredients. She had a working crucible. She had help. But she'd always been better with theory, back when she still dabbled in the arcane.

To try it now, though? Right away? Her fingertips drummed against the side of the cauldron.

"Fuck it. No time like the present, right?" She grabbed the isopropyl alcohol spray. "I'm disinfecting this before we do anything. Boy cooties, you know how it is." Not at all like she was buying herself some time to work up the nerve to get in it. And hopefully, maybe, somewhere down the line -- to go home.

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