InsaneJournal

Who: John Constantine + Kirsty Cotton
What: Meeting!
When: 6/8
Where: Random bar
Rating: pg-13 for swearing + talks of banging
Status: Complete




Being new to country, city and county was a little exciting. There was never a good reason to not go out and meet new people when he basically knew no one (minus a few people he'd met through the internet, which in concept had been laughable, but in working theory had been very fun indeed).

So John was making his rounds at some local bars. He'd started earlier in the night -- winning a decent amount of living funds via some people who were very bad at pool, and who had seemed taken with his accent. That had been fun and productive -- but John wasn't in the habit of shitting where he ate, and so had moved on to a new bar in order to really relax a bit and maybe have a real drink or two.

Kirsty Cotton was sitting at the bar, long legs crossed underneath her as she read a file about a particularly troubling domestic murder. Domestics were common, but this one had been particularly gory, and it was sticking in Kirsty’s craw.

She had a glass of Guinness sitting at the ready, about half full. Draining it, she waved the bartender down and held up a finger so he’d bring another. Kirsty was strikingly pretty, but dressed unremarkably except for an engagement ring on her left hand.

Engagement rings were useful tools for knowing who it was or was not okay to hit on. Maybe that was why they existed in the first place. In any case, John wasn’t always in bars trying to find people to flirt with anyway. Sometimes, it was just nice to be social, to chat at and with people who weren’t complete sodding idiots.

For instance, people who read at the bar? Probably interesting.

“All work and some play?” Instead of taking a seat at the bar, he leaned against it, motioning for a beer all in one go.

“I think better when the wheels are a bit greased,” Kirsty smiled. She looked up and cocked her head to the side. She’d heard that accent before. “Liverpool?”

“That obvious?” But, yes, it probably was. There weren’t a lot of other places that produced the kind of accent John had, and his is rather thick. “Right you are, my home away from home.”

Constantine wasn’t keen on calling himself nosey, but he was interested enough to half peek at her papers. “Police work?”

“Big Beatles fan,” Kirsty grinned. She took another sip of her drink, smiling at the guy who’d sidled up next to her. He didn’t seem to be ogling her, so she figured she’d play ball.

“Yeah, I work better in public. I don’t know, it’s just easier to think when silence isn’t distracting me.”

Oh, fucks’ sake, the Beatles. Of course. It was funny, because he’d only been complaining about this very situation about a week ago with someone else. John made an amused mental note to text his friend Q about it; they’d get a laugh out of it at the very least.

“Right, yeah. Those guys. McCartney’s a complete tosser.” But in all honesty, he liked the Beatles. Who didn’t a little bit? He fiddled with the bottle of beer he’d gotten and rose an eyebrow. “So’s it fun police work? Can’t imagine someone working after hours on parking indictments.”

“As long as he’s not tossing it at you, right?” Kirsty winked at the new arrival, nodding and gesturing at her file.

She chuckled at the parking ticket crack. “Yeah, beat wasn’t a blast, but I moved up a while ago. Nah, this is homicide, so after hours doesn’t really apply. I’m supposed to be sleeping right now.” She’d feel it eventually; she should’ve taken a nap when she could’ve taken it, but she just wasn’t sleepy.

John didn’t even want to imagine anything to do with McCartney, and so pointedly did not. Instead, he glanced again at her files. “Homicide? Christ, that’s a depressing lot.” But probably a lot more interesting than the beat, admittedly. John had never had it in him to even be interested in all of this stuff -- police work was for people with discipline -- but he was always keen on making friends with people in that line. Never knew when it could get him out of some trouble.

“No rest for the wicked righteous, is it?”

“It’s weirdly better than sex crimes was. At least in these, there’s fewer living vics.” She wrinkled her nose. She’d hated interviewing the very people she’d loved saving. It had been the ultimate in double edged swords.

“Nope. It sucks that I don’t get much sleep, but at least the boyfriend is okay with it.”

“As long as everyone’s happy,” John said, taking a pause to drink his beer. But then he thought better of his words. “Well. It’s murder and death. I expect no one’s actually all that happy.”

“Not really, no. But I get to bring some sort of closure to things. As much as anyone will ever get.” Kirsty took another swig of her drink. “What’re you having? I’ll buy you a round.”

He’d gotten whatever had been on special - but overall it was mostly unimpressive. “You’re having Guinness? I’d take one, if you don’t mind, ta.” John was always a bit pleased when people bought him beer -- not that it was really a rare thing, but still.

“Of course not. It’s really the only beer to have when you’re out, you know?” Kirsty snapped at the bartender, smiling to herself. She took another swig of her beer.

“You’re a wild one,” John observed, only too amused at the snapping. He wondered, vaguely, how this woman’s boyfriend fared. “John, by the way.” Eh, introductions. Who really needed them in a timely manner? It was best to introduce after a round, anyway.

“Kirsty Cotton,” she smiled. The bartender set down another pint for John before wandering off.

John grinned in return. He was pretty gracious like that. “Well met, then. And cheers.”

She tipped her glass against his in a toast, leaning back. “So, why the fuck would you come to this shithole from England?” She wasn’t one for beating around the bush.

He gave a snort over that one, and decided he very much liked this woman. Bluntness was to be admired, after all. “What?” He rose his eyebrows, feigning innocence. “A man can’t get bored and hope for sunnier skies?” Not that he actually liked all this sunshine, but still.

“No. This much sun is just unnatural. Some is nice, but constant anything’s bad for you.” Kirsty shook her head. “Either you’re nuts or you came here for a reason.”

“Must be nuts then.” John didn’t seem bothered by that -- no one had ever suggested he was a mellow or even kiltered sort of man, anyway. “Just got bored of all the same. Needed a change of pace. It is a bit fucking hot here though, innit?” He regretted that bit.

“Eh, nuts is interesting. And yeah, it’s ridiculously hot.” Kirsty cocked her head. “You know, it is hot, but it’s nice because the AC gets blasted.” She drummed her fingers carefully. “So, how’d you make me as a cop?”

The AC usage here was ridiculous. And not even in a nice way, not that John considered it. It was more like freezing, and then hot again, and then freezing. Walking into a shopping mall and then out again the other day had made his skin crawl.

“You carry yourself different than a white collar worker -- real estate, lawyer. But you’re still working. How many people still actually use manilla folders?” John shrugged. He was no detective, but he could make an inference or two.

“Points for you. You should do this too.” Kirsty chuckled to herself. “I meant what I said, I really do think better when I’m around people. Always have.”

“Never been one for respectable work, honest.” John’s smile was playfully crooked, but he wasn’t really lying, either. “But I believe you -- sometimes the hustle and bustle is just the thing, yeah? Helps you focus because you’ve got something to ignore.”

“Exactly. Silence is just too much. Then I start actively looking for distractions. Helps to have distractions to tell to fuck off anyway.” Kirsty smiled, pleased for the company. She probably should’ve taken some sort of break.

“Telling anyone or anything to fuck off is a sentiment I can get behind.” He said it so honestly, it was almost like he wasn’t sure if it was a joke or not. Really, he just did like telling people to fuck off. “Don’t suppose this place has a patio? Bloody smoking laws.”

“They’re not supposed to, but they do.” And she’d quit smoking a while ago, but she was easily enabled. She stood up and nodded at the bartender so he’d know that she was just going to have a smoke and not ditching on the tab.

John gave a sigh that spoke volumes of relief over that one and followed her out, already fishing his fags from his pocket along with a shiny little zippo that was fresh on a refill. “Poison?” He asked, always pleased to share when there was enough to be had.

Kirsty nodded. “Haven’t had one in a while, but I’ll take one.” She held out her hand, smiling to herself. “I’m pretty easy to enable.”

“Most are.” John handed over the one he’d just lit, because why bother trading around lighters and items when this worked just as well? Lighting another for himself, he moved to lean against the wall of the building, resting his head against red brick. “Got a weird question for you,” he said, a bit pointedly. She seemed a blunt person, and he was curious about some of the shit he’d uncovered on the internet.

“Shoot.” She inhaled greedily, stretching her legs out in front of her by putting her legs up on a railing.

"Those dreams everyone seems on about-- is everyone on the Internet just a crackpot?" Admittedly, he wouldn't know. He really was just rubbish with computers and rarely bothered with the things or the people on them at all.

“Nope. For one, there’s way too many people having dreams. For two, they’re wildly different. Three, age groups are scattered. Four, there’s people who can ... do shit.” She thought of her fiancé and how he was a bit stronger than most.

"Do shit?" That needed more explanation. He took as low drag from his smoke and rose an eyebrow. "And it's just here? What kind of bloody well kept secret is this?" It still seemed too far fetched.

“Well, the rest of the world would think we’re crazy,” she sighed. “And yup. Magic, super strong, you name it.”

John squinted at her over exhaled smoke, blue eyes thoughtful. "Serious? Or are you taking the piss?" Somehow he didn't think she was. She didn't seem the type.

“Serious. I’m not the sort of person to joke about things like that,” Kirsty said quietly. She stretched her arms over her head.

John ashed his smoke, tilted his head to the side. He believed her. He knew he might. “What do you dream about?”

“Hell.” Kirsty shrugged, figuring there was no reason to lie. “Literal Hell, and how to get there.”

John blinked. Took a drag of his smoke. Exhaled. And then he nodded, as if oddly impressed. “And how is the weather down there, really?”

“Eh, pretty nice, actually. Better than you’d think for Hell.” She shrugged, taking his question seriously and answering as such. Because the situation was so crazy, it seemed funny.

It was kind of funny. But also, possibly, one of the stranger conversations that John had ever had without the help of some hallucinogenic drugs. “That’s a bit fucked,” he said, finally. Because what else could you possibly say when a homicide detective told you that she knew a way to get to Hell, anyway?

“I figure the weather’s the last thing they’re going to torture you with, you know? Nobody being flayed is worrying about ‘oh, it looks like it’s going to be another hot one’.” Kirsty grinned at him. It was one of the sillier conversations she’d had lately, but true.

“Well, fuck, when you put it that way.” John took another drag from his smoke, shaking his head and exhaling slowly. It was kind of funny. And wrong. And sometimes there was just no real way to argue with Hell-Based logic.

She smirked, amused at the turn the conversation had taken. “So, am I the most cheerful person you’ve randomly talked to at a bar, or am I just hallucinating?”

To be fair, he had asked. And was maybe not happy with the strange reality of the responses, but pleased he finally had some answers he could trust. “Maybe not the most cheerful.” He dropped his smoke, smashing the flame out with his heel. “But bully for least amount of bullshit.” He grinned at that.

She lifted her drink up again, toasting him once more. “I don’t deal well with bullshit. I mean, I have to do interrogations. I don’t tolerate that shit in my personal life,” she winked.

John gave a half of a laugh, raising his glass in return. “And I do my best not to take it -- only give it.” His grin was cheeky at this. “But I’ll behave as best I can around you, friend.” Because clearly they were friends now. That was just how John worked. Have a good chat? Buy a round? Fast friends.

“Good, because my boyfriend is huge and a little uh.” Kirsty chuckled. “Easily jealous. I had to break it to him, I have way more male friends than female. I blame work.”

John held his free hand up, fingers spread wide in a sign of acknowledged defeat. “No worries there, I’m no homewrecker.” Not that he knew of anyway.

“Good.” Because Giles was way more likely to wreck a homewrecker than let his home be wrecked.

He laughed at that, and then finished his beer. “Glad we cleared that up.” Because it’d been such a concern for both of them, really.

That just made Kirsty chuckle. “So, do you have a bird here you’re feathering a nest with?”

"Nah," John settled his empty glass by his feet and lit another smoke before offering her another, too. "Just got here really -- two weeks or so ago. Not quite enough time to fall in love." Although it was just enough time to become fairly keen on someone, apparently.

“But are you tiptoeing toward falling?” Interrogator here! She could read someone’s body language, thanks so much.

Oh, yeah. He should have realized she'd be quicker on the uptake than most. He gave a half of a smile and scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. "Dunno, maybe. Met a nice sort of bloke the other day."

“And he’s cuuuute?” Kirsty couldn’t help but singsong her voice a bit.

“Strewth! You’re a terrible woman, you realize?” John didn’t seem to mind in the least, even as he took another slow drag from his smoke. “He is. Kinda young, maybe.”

Kirsty waggled her eyebrows. “I’m most assuredly that. Why’s he young? I mean, young’s good. Means they’re all innocent and bright eyed and adorable.” What wasn’t to like in that?

Eyebrow waggling. She really had seen hell and survived to tell the tale. John rolled his eyes good naturedly. “He’s no innocent.” But he was bright eyed and adorable. Kirsty didn’t need more fodder though, so he didn’t say it. “But, christ, I dunno. It’s all computers and a decade of difference. Not that I’m especially respectable, suppose.”

“So why are you here instead of bumming him?” For someone who had started the situation with a silly Beatles reference, Kirsty knew quite a bit of Brit slang. Probably came from the guy in the bullpen who was a BBC America addict.

John seemed bemused over that one, but only shook his head. “Don’t need to be around someone every passing minute just because you might fancy them, yeah?” And he wasn’t sure anyway, not really.

“I didn’t mean go over and write him sonnets. I meant go over and ...” She made one hand into a circle, the index finger from the other peeping through. “Sexin’.”

“I’ve told you you’re awful already, haven’t I?” He seemed mirthful over it all, though. Really, he liked this woman. “The night’s still young. Could just might, yeah?”

“Text him! ‘Oi, son, fancy a shag.’ Say no more, say no more?” She winked at him, rather pleased to be awful.

He laughed again, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Ought I?” He asked, teasing. “Is that how you Americans do it? How you got your bloke?” John, of course, was no novice in the game of knowing how to get a quick shag. But this was funny.

“Actually, yeah. I picked him up at a bar, left him my number, and we just sort of ... kept going. Though, to be fair, he’s the only guy out of every bar pickup I’ve ever done to do that.” Kirsty was experienced in the art of drunken sex.

So was John, honestly. But it was more from a hopeful rockstar angle. ...And a bar angle. Maybe all the angles. “Well that’s the normal way about it,” he said, as if he just rightly approved. “Feel a bit weird. Talked to him on the internet first. Is that weird? Never in my life, with such computer rubbish.” Fucking kids needed to get off his lawn, while he was at old people complaints.

“Of course not. The forum’s pretty awesome. I met some of my friends that way.” Kirsty sighed when her cigarette was only filter, and made grabby hands for another.

John loved smoking socially more than he loved normal smoking -- which was basically saying he loved nothing more. He easily handed over another fag and his lighter upon her grabby handed request. “I’m no good with all that. Never bothered to learn it, you know?”

“Oh, me either, which is why the internet’s a fucking godsend.” She lit her smoke, sighing to herself. “God, I hope Giles isn’t all anti me smoking.”

He’d meant the internet was confusing more than making friends was (that wasn’t a problem for him), but since he was just the friendliest bastard around, he didn’t bother correcting. “Breath mints to save face, luv. Otherwise, just blame it all on me. And don’t tell him where to find me, if he’s so big a bloke.”

“Maybe he’s not. You’re all huge to me.” Said the girl with the gun.

She was a bit on the petite side, wasn’t she? John was tall, but hardly big. But he could see her point. “Eh. You carry yourself big enough.” Nearly a compliment.

“Guns help with that. No matter who has the biggest dick in the room, it’s hard to compare that to the girl with the gun.” She smirked broadly. She’d always been able to handle herself in a fight anyway.

John didn’t doubt that. But for as many bar fights as he’d been in when he was younger, he’d never been much of a scrapper unless he was cheating terribly. Which sometimes he was. But still. “Well, blimey,” he rose his eyebrows. “Won’t piss you off now, when you put it that way.”

She held up her cigarette in a toast, winking at John. “And that’s discounting my other goodies. God, I love pepper spray.” Especially since she added peppermint oil to hers to make it harder to wash out. Kirsty was mean.

Mean enough where John was sure he should be taking notes, actually. He shook his head and exhaled. “You’re fierce, lady. But a bloody delight, too.”

That made her chuckle. “So, what about your young man, then? What do you look for in a guy? If things fall through with him, I can direct you to others.”

“What about him?” John went for a third smoke, because no one had ever accused him of not chain smoking. “He’s a genius, he says. Suppose he seems clever. Funny.” He shrugged. “I don’t have a specific trait I look for in a bloke or otherwise. You like what you like, innit? Limiting the options never helps.”

“Well, yes, but everyone’s got some things they like more than others. I suck at dating pretty men, for example. I sleep with them because I’m not stupid, but keeping them? They’re like fish, so hard to maintain.” She had a bit of a black thumb when it came to dating the pretty ones.

John, on the other hand, liked pretty. If that was a type, it was probably his. “Like a bit of whimsy,” he said with a lopsided grin. “And proper communication. Can’t be bothered with a sod who can’t say what they want or don’t. Drives me up a fucking wall.”

Kirsty chuckled. “You don’t like those girls who don’t call for two weeks because they’re not supposed to?” She fluttered her eyelashes, teasing. “I guess guys could do that too.”

“They both do it.” John grinned. At least she wasn’t weird about the either or. Then again, this was California. “And yeah, that’s bollocks. If you’re interested say it or quit being a bother. More than fine with a one night affair, in any case.”

“Right? I mean, what’s the big deal about being interested? If the other party isn’t, you just move on with your day.” Kirsty rolled her eyes. “I’ve had loads of one night stands, and the ones that didn’t call back the next day didn’t make me cry or some crap.”

“Exactly that.” If there was some irony to him standing around and bitching about relationships with a homicide detective, John didn’t notice. Gossip: sometimes you just had to do it. “Just saying, yeah, if you’re not interested, don’t ask for my mobile number. I wouldn’t be offended.”

“People just put too much self-esteem and self worth into their fuckability. I don’t give a shit if someone wants to fuck me, I care more about work, or my boyfriend going nuts and trying to hit my best friend at my wedding.” Yeah, that one had been on her mind a lot lately.

“That a thing? That’s going to happen?” John looked a bit concerned for her over that one. Fighting at weddings never went over well. Apparently people really didn’t like bleeding on expensive clothing.

“Probably.” Kirsty sighed. “Giles seems to think I’m going to leave him.”

“For your best friend? Sounds like a shitty movie plot.” John didn’t understand insecurities of these sorts.

“Exactly. And honestly, Graham’s not even interested in me.” Kirsty didn’t know what Will’s type was, but she was pretty sure she wasn’t it.

John shrugged and spread his fingers wide. “Some folks will never be truly convinced, yeah? It’s just up to you to decide if it’s worth your time. But it sounds like you have. And, blimey, listen t’me talk! I should start up a column!” He laughed over that one.

“I was gonna say, are you a dating therapist? What do you do, anyway, John?” Kirsty liked listening to the man talk.

He did have quite the accent, he supposed. Compared to some around here. “Nothing reputable,” John admitted with a lopsided smile, not in the least worried about saying so. “But I’m very good at billiards.”

Kirsty snorted. “Oh, god, if you say you’re a gigolo, I’m going to laugh at you. Rent boy pool shark - that’s not something I see every day. Every month, sure.”

“I’m nothing of the sort!” John barked out a laugh at the mere suggestion of it. “Just the pool part, swears. Not in the habit of selling off bits of myself or others. Gotta have some pride, christ.”

“Hey, it’s a profession! I hated locking up working girls and boys when I did my tour on vice.” She shook her head. “It seems stupid that I could blow you right now for free, but oh, you decide to pay me for it and woah, that’s immoral.” She rolled her eyes. “But hey, wanna play a game of pool? I’ll put a buck down.”

“Not knocking those who do it,” John appeased, flicking his smoke away in order to head back inside. “It’s just not for me. Wouldn’t know what to charge anyway. And yeah -- s’your money, but I’ll play.” How could he possibly turn down such a nice offer, anyway?

Kirsty laughed. “I don’t mind losing one buck over you, buddy.” She clapped him on the back, taking off her leather jacket in the process. Kirsty was the sort of woman who wore her boyfriend’s undershirts as a top, and even with a black bra, pulled it off.

Coatless, John only loosened his tie a little further and grinned as he went off to settle a quarter on a pool table in old-school claim before looking around for a proper stick. “Set and break?” He was nearly a proper fucking gentleman, over here.

Finding her own stick, Kirsty tested the weight. “You can break, I don’t mind.” She liked to see what someone could do by letting them break. Testing the waters, as it were.

Seemed fair enough, and after he’d set everything up, John moved to break. He’d always been lucky with games like these -- good aim, a good height, who really knew. Either way, he broke cleanly, balls scattering across the table and sinking a stripe before moving to take another shot.

He wasn’t bad, as he’d said. But Kirsty was pretty sure he was more than just ‘not bad’ and was holding back for her benefit. She folded her arms as she leaned against the wall.

Well, it wasn’t like he had to try his hardest over a dollar. Everything was different when you played for fun instead of sport and money. But that didn’t mean he didn’t get another go or two before feeling a bit poor sported about it and missing to give her a go.

“Are you letting me have a turn?” Kirsty raised a brow before sinking four solids in rapid succession. “I’m a cop, John. You think I’ve never played pool before?” She grinned when she scratched, motioning for John to take the table again.

“It’s not a game if you don’t get a turn,” John pointed out with a cheeky sort of smile that was all sass and teeth. But she was clearly good at this too, and the competition was nice. He settled the ball into the kitchen and eyed a shot for a second before sinking two stripes in one go. This version of pool was best -- he really hated making calls. So tedious.

Kirsty continued her streak with another two solids, smiling at him. “You’re good at this.” She really liked that he wasn’t holding back any longer.

“If I weren’t, I’d have to find a real job.” John grinned at that, measuring up his next shot with a lazy tilt of his head. “But so are you.”

“Eh, you’re not the only hustler here. I’m good at pretending I’m a girl who doesn’t know anything.” She managed a silly sounding giggle and watched him play.

“And no one thinks you’re taking the piss?” He wouldn’t believe it for a second. Not in that undershirt black bra combo and distinct lack of having any additional fucks to give for anyone she didn’t want to bother with aura that she seemed to have. Then again, maybe she just cleaned up differently.

He sunk his last striped ball, just because he could really.

“Nah.” She clapped when he sunk his last ball, fully expecting him to sink the eight ball with the same ease. “Most men aren’t as smart as you, kiddo.”

“Kiddo?” John seemed bemused by that, shaking his head. They couldn’t have been all that far apart in age, honestly. “Men in bars, no. Not usually.” Which was how he made a living in the first place. “Corner pocket, there.” You called that one, of course. The last ball. Before winning.

“I’m older than I look.” She rifled through her wallet and handed over her dollar cheerfully.

John was full of cheeky smiles as he took her dollar, and stuffed it into his pocket with little cares. “You can’t be a day over twenty-eight.” Flattery. He knew of it. But really, he wagered mid to late thirties.

Kirsty rolled her eyes. “Forty-three, but thank you, I’ll take it.”

John only smiled at that. "I was close."

“Ish. Closeish. You’re what, then?” Kirsty rolled her eyes.

Yes, he got that reaction a lot, really. He took it in stride. “Thirty-five.”

“See? Kiddo. Deal.” Kirsty winked at him before grabbing her file again.

It was John’s turn to roll his eyes. “I just can’t. Sleep will be lost on this tonight, for sure.”

“Well, maybe you’ll look a little older and do the rest of us a favor.”

“That would make it harder to tempt young things into my bed,” John said with a pout. “You’ve already got someone t’go home to. Let a poor boy live a little.”

“Oh, please. You’ll have no problems anyway. Go call your young thing and have phone sex. Yeesh.” Kirsty chuckled at her new friend before handing him one of her cards. “Here, we’ll have to have a rematch sometime.”

John took the card, stuffing it into his pocket to join the dollar. “I’d like that. Billiards and tales of all the phone sex you think I should be having.”

Kirsty winked. “I’m just saying, especially if he’s in public? It’s like cheating at life, it’s so fun.” She might have been a cop, but she did enjoy being terrible.

And she did it so well. “Strewth, you’re awful,” he informed her again. But grinned anyway. “I’ll give it a go and get back to you.”

“Let me know the results, soldier.” She gave him a mock salute and went to the bar to cover their tab. New friend, he got a free beer out of the gig. It was only fair.

Fair was only fair. John returned the mock salute with a two fingered one and a cheeky grin. “Right. You’ll be the first to know about my torrid love affairs.” And, really, he didn’t have any other friends here so that was probably the truth.

“Excellent. Now if you’ll excuse me, I should probably go do work.” She winked at John, beaming as she left. It made her happy to make friends at all.