John Constantine thinks pronunciation matters (rhymeswithfine) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-06-23 01:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, john constantine, kirsty cotton |
Who: John Constantine + Kirsty Cotton
What: Being bar friends
When: 6/19
Where: Local bar
Rating: pg-13? They snark hard and swear harder.
Status: Complete
John had spent so much time at his flat lately - training his new tiny adorable puppy that he was pretty sure he'd forgotten what the outside looked like. Well, the outside beyond the block or two that he took Chas for walks around, anyway.
Tonight he was out -- because he was the sort who felt the need to be social. Because he'd been bloody having conversations with his puppy. Well. Half his? His? Something. Either way, little Chas was a spoiled thing -- he'd left his tv on for the puppy, and it was probably happily chewing up John's only other pair of shoes even as he slipped up to the bar in order to get a drink.
Kirsty was currently sitting at that bar, leather jacket on against the overly enthusiastic air conditioner’s gale. But she was still drinking a cool beer, tapping her short nails against the green glass as she read. When the door opened, she looked up and grinned. “Oi, John!”
“Oi!” John repeated, grinning wide at the sight of her -- truth be told, he’d been hoping she’d be there. That’s why he’d picked this locale again. “Kirsty. Wotcher.” He slipped into the seat next to hers and gave a nod. “Working again, I see.”
“Oh, when am I not is a better question. Murdering is popular, you know.” She clapped John on the back and whistled for the bartender to bring her friend a round.
“And yet I’ve never thought to do it. Funny how that works.” The blond nodded his thanks when a beer was brought round, and then gave Kirsty a lazy shoulder bump. “Howzit goin’? Beyond all that Hell?”
“Oh, fine. Boyfriend and the Best Friend keep fighting, hoping I won’t notice.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m about to bash Giles over the head, I swear.”
“Sounds like a laugh riot.” John had perfected the art of sarcasm some twenty years back, and it probably showed. “Surprised you haven’t struck fear into the both of them, yet.”
“I was hoping to let them be adults and figure things out on their own.” Kirsty laughed at her own naive thinking. “I think it’s more that Giles just doesn’t like him. It’s not even about me, per se.”
“Just a clash of personality?” That was definitely a thing that happened -- and men just seemed more prone to argue and fight it out. Nearly a shame. John would think less of it, if he wasn’t sure he’d done the same more than once over the years.
“That’s what I’m thinking. Will’s a bit more intellectual than Giles, and Giles is insulted by it.” Kirsty sighed to herself. “But that’s just who they are. It’s not ... it’s not anything that they could do differently, and it’s not anything that I could do differently.”
John let out a little snort of a laugh and leaned back into his seat, drink in hand. “Just got to let it happen then, s’pose. And hope they get bored of it eventually.”
“Or one of them punches the other and they end up in jail.” Kirsty sighed and ran her hands over her face. “What about your boyfriend, does he have any friends who hate you?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” John said, looking awkward and totally going for nonchalant. But they both knew what was being talked about here, and so he went on, so that Kirsty might not tease him mercilessly. He doubted it would be a saving grace, but one never knew. “I don’t know any of his friends, anyway.”
Kirsty just cocked his head to the side, giving him a Face. The Face said ‘yes, yes, deny away little man, but I know you have a boyfriend so we just won’t talk about it you weirdo’. “Well, when you do, I hope they don’t mind you.”
John returned the Face with an Expression. And that Expression said ‘right, well, think what you want, and I won’t deny you the pleasure so long as you don’t verbalize.’ He drank his beer, shrugged a little. “I’m likable, don’t think it’ll be an issue. Anyway, he’s not exceptionally sociable.”
“Homebody or sociopath?” They were different.
Much different, in fact. “Homebody. There’s no issue with actual socializing. Think he just prefers not to.”
Kirsty nodded. “I’d prefer to do that if I could, but alas.” She smiled lopsidedly. “Murders happen outside, unfortunately.” Sipping her beer, she leaned back and smiled at John. “So? What’s up with you? What’s happening?”
He got that; even John had days where he wanted to see fuck all of society, after all. But in general, he was an oddly social man. He liked talking and making friends of all sorts. “I got a puppy,” he said, seeming a bit surprised over it, himself.
That made Kirsty blink. “You don’t seem much like the dog type. Why a puppy?”
He wasn’t a pet type in general. The very idea of having to take care of another living creature was nearly a shock to the system. “There’s this kid on the Net? Seems like he’s got a shitty life. I dunno. He asked me to take it in. How do you say no to something like that?” For all his dickishness, John was ridiculously nice sometimes.
That made Kirsty smile. “Nice people don’t. You’re tipping your hand, Constantine.”
“Shove off,” he offered a two finger salute with his words, but his heart just wasn’t in it. She knew, and it was tragic. “S’just a dog.”
“What kind? I’ve got a German shepard at home. He retired from the force a few months ago.” Kirsty chuckled. She liked that her dog would be able to find her corpse if need be; it was morbidly comforting.
Yeah, that was a bit fucked, but hey, whatever worked. “Fuck if I know. The puppy kind. It’s little. And kinda -- not white colored.” Was it adorable? Yes. Did he care what kind of dog it was? Not really.
“Oh, that narrows it down.” Kirsty laughed. “What’s its name?”
“Calling it Chas. It doesn’t seem to object.” John grinned at that. “Just have to teach it to fetch and it’ll be just as good as me mate back home with the same name.” His friend might object, but that was the best part.
“That’s a cute na - you named it after your friend?” Kirsty burst out laughing. “Is he as smart as a dog or are you insulting the dog?”
John grinned brightly and finished off his beer. “Can’t it be a bit of both?”
“Jerk.” Kirsty grinned and waved over the bartender. She was hungry, and a burger sounded good right then.
“That’s more like it,” Constantine agreed -- because he had a reputation to maintain over here, and that puppy really was marring it. He waited for her to order, managed to get another drink in the meantime, and then leaned against the bar. “Didn’t get in trouble for all the smoke last time didja?” Basically an invite.
“Oh, no, not at all. Want to go have one on the patio while we wait for our burgers?” She’d gotten him one, and he was going to eat it, dammit.
He certainly wouldn’t object, anyway. Only complete heathens turned down proper bar food -- and John was maybe only three fourths heathen. Or something. “Absolutely,” he said, slipping off of his high stool and already digging through the pockets of his slacks for his trusty pack and lighter. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Half heathen on his mother’s side, probably. Kirsty followed him out to the patio, swinging her long legs up so her feet were on the railing. “Oh, you’ll like this,” she smirked. “In my dreams, I lead this little group of people who’ve all lived through literal Hell and try to help out people going through it.” Yeah, Kirsty ran a Lived Through Hell Support Group.
John rose his eyebrows at that, offering over a smoke he’d just lit for her. “What? Like - Thursday meetings over coffee?” Right next door to AA, probably.
“Nah, like recon missions. See, there’s these things - objets d’art, mostly - that open gateways into Hell. So we try to find them and destroy them.” They’d called themselves The Harrowers. It was the sort of tongue in cheek humor that even Dream Kirsty liked.
Lighting a fag of his own, John rose a brow, just looking amused and perplexed both over it. “You really have a hell of a time in those dreams, don’t you.” But at least, if nothing else, it seemed a very interesting conversation topic. “How do you live through Hell, anyway? Isn’t the point that you’re meant to be dead t’get there?” Oh, John. You know so little, currently.
“Ba dum tiss.” Kirsty inhaled her cigarette. “Sometimes. There’s loopholes.” Kirsty closed her eyes, trying not to think of the Lemarchand Box she had in a safe deposit box. Tried not to think about how sometimes it sang to her. “I followed my dream Aunt. She was dead. I just slipped through the door past her. It’s how I got out at all.”
Yeah, it had been a bad joke. No one had ever praised John for his brilliant stand-up humor before. Likely, they never would. He had some wit, but in order to get some real gems, you had to say a lot of bullshit too.
That there were literal doors to Hell out there -- even in half-real dreams -- was a bit of a terrifying thought. Even John was smart enough to be concerned about it, in a vague sense. “That’s seriously right fucked.” Kirsty had to realize it. Then again, he still liked hearing about it, so what did that really say about him?
“I’ve got a key. I woke up and it was on my nightstand.” God, it felt good to tell someone that.
“A key to Hell?” John blinked, inhaled deeply on his smoke, just for a second to think on that one. “Please tell me you didn’t--you know.”
Kirsty nodded, taking another drag, one she laughed out at his question. “I’m not stupid. I stuck that fucker in a safe deposit box so nobody else could solve it either. FYI - if you see a random puzzle box? Never touch it.”
“Duly noted.” Not that he often saw puzzle boxes sitting around. And not that he was terribly interested in puzzles in the first place. “That’s bloody -- well. Why not just destroy it? Like you do with your support group in dream?”
“I don’t want to touch it. The rules might be different here or something. It’s like Hell to pull shit like that.” She snorted grumpily.
Well, that was fair. John had never heard of any version of Hell that had clear cut rules or terms, after all. “Smart move, s’pose. Bloody weird though. Didn’t know you could get things from -- all that.” He finished off his smoke with only last drag before flicking it away from them.
“Yeah, I looked around old posts on the net, and apparently I’m not the only one.” She looked up and saw the bartender with their burgers and thanked him with a twenty.
John seemed impressed with the food delivery, and gave a crooked smile. At some point, he’d figure out the American way of tipping, too. But that was too easy a conversation for right now. He leaned forward, poked at a pickle on his plate. “What kind of stuff do people get?”
“Whatever’s important in their dream world. Magic wands, pets, cars, you name it.” She munched a fry thoughtfully. “All I’ve gotten is the damn puzzle box. That’s basically all I dream of, I think.”
“Huh.” Not the best response, but it left John curious still. There weren’t enough how and why’s going on around, but he suspected if he asked even Kirsty might come up short for an answer. And anyway, he hadn’t dreamt anything strange at all. Maybe he never would.
“S’pose it’s too optimistic of me to suggest it might get better.”
“Yeah, at least you know that.” Kirsty winked at him. “Next thing you’re gonna tell me you believe in Santa.”
“Oh, now you’re out to ruin bloody Christmas, are you?” John hardly looked hurt as he nibbled at a chip.
“I am a civil servant.” Kirsty cut her burger in half before digging in, deadpanning her facial reaction.
“And just a terribly wicked woman.” John did no such thing as cut his burger in half. He was still making up for that puppy, and had to be manly in all ways.
“Mmm, well. We can’t all be sweet, wide eyed princesses who adopt puppies, now can we?” Kirsty grinned at him.
John lit a cigarette between bites of burger, because, really, that was the kind of smoker he was. “S’pose not,” he said dryly. “You can’t tell me I wouldn’t be a brilliant princess though.” All wit, ties and chain smoking with that perfect scouse accent. Oh yeah.
“I can see the appeal of locking you up in a tower,” Kirsty managed to say without laughing.
"Saves anyone from having to hide their wives or husbands, in any case."
“Mmm, a wee bit of a scamp, are we? Does your boyfriend know?” Teasing John about that would never get old.
"I don't have --" John rolled his eyes at her and didn't bother finishing that thought. "But if I did, I'm not the type to wander, ta."
She grinned to herself. “You’re a man of dubious honor, but it’s still honor, am I right?”
John grinned back and then gave a shrug before eating another chip. “I’m just not a complete tosser, s’all. But you seem to have made up your mind about it, anyway.”
“I don’t think you’re a complete tosser either, thanks. Okay, what’s a synonym? I sound like an asshole when I use your slang.”
John laughed at that, leaning back into his chair. "What? Synonym for tosser? Asshole? Prick? We can get creative about it, if you like." It was a point of British pride to swear often and well, after all.
“Oh, I’ll go with asshole. Sometimes the classics work best.” Kirsty took another bite of her burger. “You know, the dreams aren’t too bad. At least they’re not bleeding into my days, you know? Some people ... change.”
Apparently, John didn’t disagree with her assessment on the classics -- even if it was at his own dispense -- as he only shrugged and took another drag from his smoke. “Change? How, then?”
“Turn different colors, get stronger. Giles used to be just an average guy, but he’s ... really strong now. Like in his dreams.” Kirsty winced.
John had yet to see anyone around the city who was not the right color, but he'd take her word for it there. "Huh." He pulled out a new fag, and one for her too. "Is this why you're worried about him fighting your mate?"
“Little bit, yeah. Also, it’s just ... fucking disrespectful toward me.” Kirsty grit her teeth. “He’s pissing me off.”
“You’ve still got a gun,” John pointed out. Yeah, he kind of was a dick, wasn’t he.
“I’ve already threatened to tase him.” Kirsty chuckled. “That’s how stubborn he is.”
Not for the first time, John decided to never get into any kind of rough and tumble with Kirsty’s fiance. If she was any sort of normal lady, he might have advised against a man like that. Then again, she’d literally been to Hell and back, so what could he really say? “Christ.” That, apparently.
“Sometimes I wonder if I should just tell him to go fuck himself. If I can’t have friends, what kind of relationship are we going to have?” She ran her fingers over her face.
“Does he show signs of mellowing any?” Some guys did that. Chilled the fuck out after a while. Others didn’t. He’d known a good many who never had. They weren’t the marrying sort, he thought.
That made Kirsty shake her head. “Not until he dies, at least.” She took a long pull of her beer. She was worried for her future.
John frowned, exhaled slowly. “Got no advice for you. It all sounds fucked. Maybe dating and marriage in general is for chumps, yeah?” Because, you know. He wasn’t dating anyone.
“Mmm, maybe,” Kirsty muttered. She really just needed to stop worrying so damn much.
Probably that was the case. “Hope you have a long engagement planned, in any case.”
“Yeah, if we didn’t before, we do now.” Kirsty laughed, trying to think of something to say that wasn’t ‘fuck my life’ and something to do that wasn’t strangle someone.
Oh, John could help with that. Maybe. It was getting pretty awkward, after all. “So you said you had a dog. What’s it’s name?” Saved by the pets.
“Duke.” Kirsty smiled, stealing a cigarette out of John’s pack. “He’s a German Shepard, and no, I didn’t name him.”
John slid his lighter across the table for her. “Could be worse,” Dogs names could always be worse. Spot. Fluffy. Who the fuck knew what else.
“Eh, he was a corpse dog, so I think Fluffy’d be right out.” She chuckled. “He helped with rescues and finding cadavers from murders and stuff.”
“That’s -- a bloody awesome dog, then. Why retired? Just too old? Sense of smell goes, or something?” John knew fuck all about dogs. Except for to feed them when they whined. And that Chas very much enjoyed walks. Which seemed fine, since he could sully the fresh air by smoking.
“Too old. He’s nine, and they try to retire them around nine or ten years old. Just so they get to have a few years of civilian life to look forward to.” Kirsty smiled to herself.
Such a weird thing to consider -- a dog having a job, and all. John chewed the inside of his cheek and then gave a lopsided smile. “S’pose it rather suits you, a pet like that.”
“Oh? Are you saying I take in the charity cases?” Kirsty smirked.
“Maybe? But only the badass sort, apparently.” John wondered if he applied.
“Apparently.” Kirsty ruffled his hair; he totally applied. “So, have you had any weird dreams yet?”
He only just resisted the urge to bite her. Luckily, his hair was always a mess (he had been told recently that he had a sort of rolled out of bed look about him), and so he wasn’t terribly offended. “No. Dunno if I should be pleased or feel cheated. But I’m not from ‘round here, after all. Maybe I just won’t get them?”
“Doubt it.” Kirsty took a huge bite of burger. “You’re here now, like it or not.”
“That how it works then? Seems like something people might -- you know. Notice on a larger scale.” But he’d never heard of it before he moved here. So maybe not. He supposed all he could hope for were dreams that weren’t complete shit.
“You think the government is going to let it get out?” Kirsty chuckled. “Clearly, you have faith in an honest government, which is a bit naive, I feel.”
"Really the opposite. You'd think they'd have it more than covered, yeah? All those super powered dreamers locked up for experiments somewhere." Honest governments, indeed.
“Maybe they’re just watching us.” Kirsty waggled her fingers in dramatic fashion. “Ooga booga.”
“For devious, nefarious purposes, no doubt,” John rolled his eyes, but still had to wonder a bit. It wasn’t all very natural-like, after all.
“Of course. They’re breeding super soldiers.” Kirsty had meant it to be teasing, but when she said it out loud, it was sort of plausible.
Looking a bit uncomfortable over that (because he was not naive, by any means of the word, and it sort of made sense, didn’t it?), John chewed the inside of his lip before passing out more cigarettes.
“Yeah, I hope they’re not,” Kirsty laughed. “Because if they are, they’ll have lots of fucked up options.”
“That’s bloody terrifying,” John pointed out the obvious. “I’d rather be naive about it. No one knows what’s up. Clearly.”
“Clearly.” Kirsty tried not to think about what would happen if she and Giles had a kid - some sort of half-vampire.
“In any case, burgers in America are quite good, aren’t they?” Masterfully changed subject.
“Oh, we pretty much invented them, didn’t we? Places in Germany aside, of course.” Kirsty liked that John just bulldozed a new subject.
He was pretty good at it. Lots of practice. “S’pose you did. Dunno. Your chips aren’t as good, but you lot can’t just have it all. It’d be unfair.” Keepin’ it light over here. Not thinking about governments with superpowers.
“Or tiny demons. I think there’s a demon running around. Dunno.” Kirsty poured some more ketchup onto her fries.
"A what now?" Where the hell had he moved to? Christ.
“Demons. I know one guy dreams he’s one?” She didn’t know if people could turn into friggin’ demons, though.
“Oh, right. Of course. Guess that’s fair for him, if you get to run in and out of Hell.”
“Too true. Maybe I met him once, I should ask.” Kirsty drummed her nails thoughtfully on the counter.
“If he’s a demon? Or if he can look like one?” John put his cigarette out on his heel before sticking it in the ashtray. “Fucked either way.”
“I don’t get why anyone would just want to look like one and not actually be one,” she sighed. “That just seems stupid. Trust, demons are fuckin’ ugly fuckers.”
“Wouldn’t want a hell beast to be pretty, anyway. That’d just ruin the whole thing.” Logic, in the face of pure ridiculousness. And yet John rather enjoyed these conversations quite a lot.
“My dream-aunt was 80s pretty. It’s why she was able to vaginamance dudes into doing stupid things for her.” She shrugged and chuckled a little to herself. “Thank god for her she’s not trying to do it nowadays, though. Those shoulderpads aren’t doing her any favors.”
“Oh, god,” John did look aghast at this. “Fucking Christ. 80s and early 90s fashion was worse than hell. Shoulder pads -- why was everything designed with paint splatters?” To be fair, he’d been a bit young for it, but it hadn’t stopped him wearing a very keep leather coat in those days. He was sure he still had it somewhere.
“And my hair. No wonder there’s a hole in the ozone - I think I made it.” Kirsty giggled, wrinkling her nose and holding out a hand to indicate how high her hair had been.
“Aquanet. We all did it. Mohawks were very important.” Well, they had been to him. For about a week, until he realized that no amount of hairspray was doing much for it. “Did you do the bang thing?” Combed up and back was some sort of woman ritual when he was younger. He’d never quite gotten it. Women, even now, were a strange breed.
“You didn’t use the Elmer’s for your mohawk?” Kirsty winked at him, already amused. “God, let me guess, you were really into the Dead Kennedys. And no, I didn’t do the bangs, I did the wing thing.”
“It was bloody hard to wash out, wasn’t it?” Dedication to fashion: not really John’s strong point. “And oi, you!” He pointed - as if accusing, although he wasn’t sure why. “I still like the Dead Kennedys.” They were hardcore at the time, and John had really, really been into punk.
That made Kirsty laugh. “I still haven’t forgiven Jello for discovering Wesley Willis.” Kirsty was amused. Sometimes John felt like a weird English cousin she hadn’t been aware of having.
“Rock over London, rock on Chicago. Jesus, I hadn’t thought on that for a good, long while.” The 90s had certainly been an interesting time for music. He grinned, shook his head -- he’d clearly underestimated Kirsty’s musical knowledge.
“If I have to hear Rock n’ Roll McDonalds one more time, I will tase you,” she said in cheerful warning. Really, it was like they were two halves of the same awesome, still apologizing for the 1980s coin.
“No worries, always preferred the superhero ones, meself.” He held up his hands in near defeat. But really, little got better than Birdman Kicked My Ass. Surely, she’d agree. And really. He was sorry for the 80s. Even if he had only been barely a teen in them. The 90’s he was sorry for too, but in a different, more drunken sort of way.
“Don’t sing them, those guys might be here.” Or at least people who dreamed of being them.
“I don’t even want to -- no.” Too weird to think about. Too much crazy. John? Not that crazy. Then again, neither seemed to be Kirsty. Ah well.
That made Kirsty just laugh. “Watch, you’ll dream you’re some sort of British superhero. Like.” She squinted, thinking. “Um. Robin... Hood?”
“That’ll be the fucking day. You know what’ll really happen?” He lit another smoke, and then leaned forward, gesturing with the cigarette as he spoke. “I’ll dream of some -- fantastic aim for excellence and then just be some terribly mediocre bloke. It’ll be complete rubbish.”
“Some people dream of being normal. I’m jealous of them.” Kirsty wrinkled her nose. “I’d love to just dream about ... typing.”
“That’s a bit a nightmare for me,” John admitted a little sheepishly, scratching the tip of his nose. Really, he wasn’t a fan of computers. “But I see your point. No upside to visiting Hell over typing. No fun superpowers either, huh.”
“To be fair, I don’t have any fun superpowers now,” Kirsty mentioned. “Unless you count being able to reload a .357 one handed.”
"S'more than I can do," John gave her a bemused look. Really, though, he wasn’t a fun person at all. Unless playing electric guitar or being good at pool was a superpower, he was pretty useless, too.
“I’m sure you’ve got hidden talent, Mr. Pool Shark.” Kirsty smirked and punched John lightly in the arm.
“Or latent.” One never knew. John might have been terribly good at a lot of things. He had, after all, never tried to juggle. Maybe he was a master at it, though.
“Don’t you go trying daredevil things because of it, though.” Kirsty folded her arms. “If I show up to a crime scene and see that you tried to ride a motorcycle over seven buses, I’ll laugh at you.”
“More like you’ll laugh at me corpse,” John said with a bark of a laugh. “Are you a mind reader? Not that I was thinking of becoming Evel Knievel or anything quite so ridiculous....”
“I’m not a mind reader, no, but I’ve done enough interrogations to know when someone’s thinking of something monumentally stupid.” Kirsty grinned at him. “You had dumbass eyebrows.”
Okay, he'd give her a point on that one. Practice makes perfect, and eyebrows gave away everything. "No worries," he reassured. "Can't drive, so don't plan on doing so any time soon."
“Do you want me to teach you?” Kirsty blinked. It was just such an American rite of passage, she couldn’t imagine not being able to drive.
John blinked too, a little surprised at the offer. Admittedly, he'd never really wanted to learn -- he'd always borrowed rides or walked wherever he needed to be back home. Here it was a bit harder -- everything was further apart than he'd expected. "I -- er. Maybe?" Might help, since that bloke he wasn't dating didn't drive, either.
“Get yourself a car, and I’ll teach you to drive it. It’s not difficult.” She smiled at him, squeezing his hand. It struck her as weird that Giles was jealous of Will Graham, but John Constantine seemed more likely to try to fuck her.
Point, there. But John really wouldn't try anything while he was currently interested in someone else. And, because he was really just an asshole sometimes, he'd probably wait until she was particularly unsure about her current fiancé. Luck, after all, worked best when you knew how to play the odds. But that really wasn't the point, currently.
"Automatic, innit? Not the kind with the gear shifts?"
“Those are easiest.” She left out the implied ‘if you’re a pussy’.
Still, he got the implication, and just gave a wry expression in return. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He left out the implied ‘you’re kind of a jerk, so you know’.
She smiled lopsidedly at him; his friendship was an easy, almost careless thing she’d come to really enjoy. It was nice to not have to worry too much about someone.