Claire Temple / John Constantine
Claire was drinking. That's what you did in Vegas. You did drinking. So she was fucking giving it a go. It wasn't her first rodeo, she had been well acquainted with tequila when she'd been in nursing school and it was well overdue a visit from her. What better place to drink slightly melancholy tequila shots than Vegas? She'd had ten.
"Me? Oh I'm here on bible camp," Claire told the guy leaning over her shoulder well into her personal space. "I've been speaking in tongues," she added eagerly as he started to back away. "Please! Let me tell you all about my Lord and Savior!" Claire called after him as he retreated hastily from her and the hotel bar.
She had another shot to celebrate.
Lucky she could go home and set herself up with an IV instead of quietly dying in a field choking on her own vomit. Which didn't seem to impress the next of her would be suitors when she told him and sent him packing just as fast.