John Constantine thinks pronunciation matters (rhymeswithfine) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-06-30 16:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, dream, john constantine |
Who: Dream + John Constantine
When: 6/19
Where: A pub
What: Drinking away the weirdness of talking animals
Rating/Warnings: Probably some cursing or something
Status: Complete
Because he possessed foresight (even in slight intoxication), Daniel had taken a cab to the address that John had given him. After all, he was planning on getting completely drunk off his ass and it just wouldn’t have been smart of him to bring his own car. He also wasn’t entirely sure where it was, so it made sense to let someone else care about worrying about that bit. It might have been the more expensive route, but at least he didn’t have to worry about insurance or hospital stays after.
Arriving, he paid the cabbie and then went straight for the bar, ordering himself a double scotch, neat. He settled in and waited for his drinking partner to arrive so that they could commiserate about their talking animal problem. Honestly, you think you understand a place and then it throws a curveball like this at you.
John had never even had a mind to think he understood the place yet -- he’d been slowly over turning rocks and just getting small peeks about in the small amount of time he’d been here. So far, he’d heard about crazy dreams, getting things from crazy dreams, and random super powers. None of these things had he actually seen for himself.
And then, this morning, Chas had woken him up by licking at his face and quite literally asking for breakfast.
Chas was a puppy.
Puppies should not have known English. The fact that it had a slight british accent was not normal, either.
Drinking was clearly the only option here. Chas had looked quite sad when he went to leave -- he gave puppy dog eyes. And then asked after when John would be back.
Horrifying.
He walked to the bar -- because he walked almost everywhere if he could. He couldn’t drive, after all. The flowers had only sung a little bit on the way over. A tree told him that smoking kills. John told the tree that so did fire, and so shove off.
“I need a double gin an’ tonic,” he said, once he’d escaped all the crazy and made it inside. “Actually. Just start me with two.”
Bast had been a bit annoyed at Daniel for leaving. After all, she quite enjoyed reading together and they did that most nights he was free. Ignoring the obvious lingering weirdness at the fact that his cat was speaking to him, he’d compromised by leaving a book open on the floor for her to look through. He didn’t respond to her at all, just left. She’d called after him that he was being a right prick.
If she weren’t a cat, he was sure they’d get along just fine. But she was a cat, and while they got along fine, that was when she wasn’t talking.
He glanced at the blond gentleman who had just walked in and ordered. There could only be so many Liverpudlians in the area, let alone ones coming into the bar he was currently in. “Good start,” he greeted, raising his own glass and taking a drink.
“Oi,” John said, in near warning -- but softened it all a bit with a half smile. Clearly this fellow who was nearly as tall as John and just about as lanky for it, was the one he was meeting up with. He only rose his own glass once he’d been given one - a late greeting, but a greeting all the same. “Must be the professor then, yeah?” Another ex-pat in California. It was hardly surprising these days.
Daniel gave a nod at the question, sizing John up in his own time. An amiable seeming man, but one you probably didn’t want to get on the bad side of. In all, a pretty decent acquaintance or friend to have. He gave John a small smile after finding him satisfactory, really just a quirk of one side of his mouth. “Must be,” he agreed easily enough. It wasn’t the worst identifier he’d been given.
John imagined that this man might actually be more often pointed out by his nose than anything else. Which wasn’t really unfair, given the size of it. Still, John wasn’t a particularly cruel man when he didn’t have to be, and so pointedly did not bring that up. “Must be,” he repeated. “John Constantine. Not a fan of talking creatures and or objects.” Introduction done with, he took a long drink of his g n’ t. He probably had a bit of catching up to do.
The introduction only amused him further. He raised an eyebrow as John took his drink, smirk growing slightly. “Daniel Murphy. Not so much a fan of the aforementioned talking things, but very much a fan of the liquor, provided it’s not talking to me either.” Taking a cue from his companion, he took another drink, finishing the glass and indicating to the tender to give him another. In fact, make it two. “So, what brings you to this little slice of paradise?” It was customary to make small talk, wasn’t it?
Small talk was a fucking bore. But you couldn’t really get down to the hot and heavy conversations with strangers without working through the mediocre first. Really, it was just the way of the modern, civilized world -- who was John to deny the tried and true?
“Was a bit tired of all the same back home,” he said, gesturing lazily as if Britain were just across the street, abouts. “Figured I’d find a new place to live an’ complain about.” Idly, he wondered what to call a man who had two first names.
The man with two first names was fine with being called by either one, really. Going to a private boarding school got him used to answering to his so-called last name primarily, but his first one got generally the same response.
Boring as small talk was, it did get the job done of breaking the ice. John got another amused smile. “I hear you, mate,” Daniel said, raising one of his new glasses in a salute. When you were liberally ordering top-shelf liquor, bartenders tended to make sure you were well taken care of in his experience. “You’ll find plenty to complain about here,” he went on, taking a sip.
No worries, John would just pick a name and go with it if he needed to. How often did you really need to refer to someone by their name though, anyway, in one on one conversation?
“Well, christ, you aren’t kidding about that one,” John agreed, lifting his glass again as well -- although a bit more sardonically. “Talking things aside, the weather here is absolutely bollocks.”
Rarely. Daniel certainly wasn’t expecting to need to call John by name, though if he were to do so he might go with Constantine. Just had a better ring to it. Suited the man a bit more than just John.
He gave a little snort. Everyone always did complain about the weather at first, though Daniel honestly didn’t find it all that horrible. But it had been years since he’d been stuck in a climate close to that of England, and it had taken him a little while to get used to the difference then. “I’ve lived in worse places. It does take some getting used to though,” he conceded. “Though I’m sure you’ve heard that line before.”
"I might have," John - who did, admittedly, have a very boring first name. Basic, anyway. "But it never gets old. Go on, tell me again." He grinned a little in order to soften the blow of the words, and finished off his first drink before moving on to the next. "It's not so bad," he amended. "It's hot, and they over use AC here to the point of obnoxious. But the nights are actually pretty nice. And the beaches are better."
Daniel or Murphy (though never Danny), just smiled back. Everyone and their mother seemed to like to point out that the weather wasn’t horrible, that you got used to it, when in all honesty most of them weren’t entirely okay with it themselves. He, on the other hand, had no real issue with it. At least it wasn’t humid. “The beaches are the best part,” he agreed, taking another drink. After all, he’d chosen to buy a house on one instead of letting the university house him for free.
Maybe just Dan? Or Murph? “You’d be a complete heathen not to like the beaches,” John agreed, and wished not for the first time that California did not have such strict smoking laws. He really, really didn’t want to go outside to light up. Something might talk at him, and that was ten hundred different kinds of unacceptable. At least.
Murph would be greatly preferred over Dan. If he was going to be referred to by his first name, he’d rather it be in full. Dan and Danny just had jockish or childish undertones, in his opinion. Last name was always better. Plus it went along with him calling John by his last name. “That or deathly allergic to the sun.”
“Even then,” Constantine pointed out, half lifting his drink, but not yet drinking. “There’s always night time. Which I can safely say without takin’ the piss, is the best time for beaches anyway.” Enough about names. He was just going to whatever worked best in the moment, anyway. That was kind of how John did everything. It went according to his not-plans.
“I’ll give you that,” he agreed, partially lifting his own drink in an acknowledgement of Constantine’s point. “There are endless possibilities for the beach at night. Less people, after all.” One might point out that it was ‘more romantic’. Murphy was not one of those people. Bonfires might be fun, though. For the younger crowd.
Right. Young crowd. Which John still liked to consider himself part of, even if it wasn’t completely true. He liked having fun though, so it was good enough. He also didn’t mind the romantics of the beach at night -- but if he had to be honest, the idea of sex on the beach was only really nice for that angle of vague exhibitionism. He was too old to want to deal with sand in all the worst places.
“Endless,” he agreed, with a crooked smile. “If you’re imaginative anyway.”
Having fun was all well and good, but the young crowd these days... Well, let’s just say it’s more of an insult than anything else. And the romantics were fine and all, but it had gotten played out to the point of cliche. Not to say that Daniel wouldn’t enjoy a nice moonlit walk on the beach with someone if the opportunity arose. The sex though? He’d gotten his fill of the weird sex kinks one might be interested to try. He preferred the bed now.
“Which so few are these days,” he responded with his own crooked smile before taking a drink. It was true at least in his classes, of most of his students. And he didn’t have high hopes for the writing class he’d picked up for next semester.
All the best kinks could still be managed in the bed, anyway. Or on the couch, which was a decent substitute for the bed, thanks.
“You’d say that,” John laughed. “Being a professor an’ all. Suppose you set yourself up for disappointment on that one, yeah?”
Couches weren’t bad. They weren’t the bed, but at least they weren’t the beach. Or the rainforest. Or any other bizarre places people were having sex these days.
Daniel let out a short laugh. “Suppose I did, didn’t I. It was a change of scenery and work, I thought it might be alright. So far it’s been roughly... ninety-five percent crap and five percent rewarding. And that’s being generous,” he added with a slight salute of his glass.
John was sure that Murph saluted too often with his glass, and so this time deliberately chose not to return any such gesture. John was also a bit of an asshole, though. “Just so long as the rewarding part includes the paycheck,” he said, leaning on the bar top and gesturing for a new drink. He was going for broke in terms of drinking today -- his only issue would be wobbling home later. Which was fine, he supposed, since then he could ignore the talking and singing everything.
Murphy might at that, but then he was a bit of an asshole too. At least that’s probably what most people who got to know him intimately would say. He half shrugged one shoulder, taking another drink. “Might have to adjust the numbers then.” Not that he didn’t get paid well, he did in fact. But it wasn’t anything to write about. The only thing he could say was that at least he wasn’t a high school teacher.
True enough, at least college kids elected to be there. Sort of. Who the fuck knew, John hadn’t gone to uni, he’d been really busy being a super badass rock star, okay? Anyway, that portion of the conversation was very internal, so he didn’t need to say so.
“Could be worse,” John pointed out. “There are always worse jobs, innit? Fast food? Lawyer?” Yeah, he’d group those two together, why not?
Meanwhile, Daniel had gone to uni to study literature with the intent to research his whole life. Surely his father would have preferred him going into law or something else more lucrative than research and teaching.
“I’ll drink to that.” And take another drink he did, placing the now empty glass back down and motioning for more. Hell, what did he care. He had money enough and he wasn’t driving himself home. And he certainly didn’t want to deal with Bast’s lip when he got back.
Constantine wouldn’t envy him that, either. At least puppies were just excitable things, whereas cats were -- well. Assholes, sort of. Self important. John was too much of that himself to ever fully trust a feline.
“And drink we must.” Between drinking, John had an unlit cigarette in his mouth -- it was a poor reminder of the fact that he refused to be told about death by trees. “This city’s bloody mad. Do you know the worst fucking part? No one seems shocked. Why does no one seem shocked?”
Dogs were just too excitable for Murphy. And you couldn’t really let them alone for any length of time, because they wouldn’t go to the bathroom in one spot and they couldn’t regulate their own eating. Cats were just better for him to deal with. Besides, Bast had been a bit of an accidental gift.
“You already answered that question,” Daniel replied, suddenly wishing for a cigarette of his own to point with. “They’re all bloody mad. Heat’s probably addled their brains beyond logic and comprehension.” He really didn’t understand how more people weren’t shocked by all of the crazy shit that seemed to go on around them.
“That’s a bollocks excuse and we both know it.” John nodded his thanks to the bartend as soon as more g-n-ts were set in front of him. “It’s hot but it’s not brain-dead hot. How long have you lived here then? It’s probably something to do with all those dreams, innit? Crazy folks just expect crazy shite.”
Murph knew it was. He might not have seen people completely lose their heads before, but he’d seen enough to know that this was not the kind of crazy that heat caused. He gave the barkeep a nod of his own. “I suppose. I’ve lived here about a year and I’ve never had a dream like the ones I’ve read about. Still. There’s crazy dreams and then there’s this shit.”
“Have it on pretty good authority that the dreams lead to some pretty weird shit, too. But -- this. Fuck all if I know. A tree told me to stop smoking. A tree.” Now that he was actually putting it to words, he felt a little crazy too. A little out of touch. If he wasn’t aware it was the whole city, he’d go get his head scanned.
His eyebrows rose at that. Personally, he hadn’t heard the plants yet. Still, he shouldn’t be surprised. “A tree,” he repeated blankly. Letting out a breath, he ran a hand through his hair. “I hesitate to ask about what the dreams lead to.” He wasn’t going to let any of this phase him. In his travels, he’d seen some weird shit. Nothing like this, but he wouldn’t think too hard on it.
“A tree,” John repeated it for good measure. He didn’t want to be misunderstood here. He leaned back in the high bar chair, unlit cigarette still between his lips even as he adjusted his tie. “Never had any dreams, myself. But apparently they’re just a mad romp into the wilderness of crazy.” Yeah, he had just said that. That was a thing, and he’d spoken those words.
John was read loud and clear. The trees had spoken. “Sounds like a fun time. Where do I sign up?” It was always best to try and make light of things like this. After all, the dreams sounded like a walk in the park compared to his waking world being fucked with.
Really? He could say it a few more times, if needed. About the trees. Speaking.
“Fuck all if I know. Nearly curious myself.” Then again, he wasn’t sure if the dream world really did stay separate from the waking one -- not with half the shit he’d heard. But who knew? Maybe Murph would have amazing dreams about being... you know. A large nosed man who just read all day, or something.
“Only nearly though.” As curious as he was, knowing the way things tended to go, they would probably be just as bad. He’d probably be some tragic character who thought standing around in the rain was appropriate behavior for the recently dumped. John, though. Well he could very well have dreams about drinking and smoking. And possibly adopting every stray thing (creature or human) that crossed his path.
“Complete curiosity usually leads to disaster.” That was just real life though, apparently -- just so long as some gambling was thrown in. He had bills to pay, after all. But, yeah, Constantine just seemed to be a regular charity case, lately. Maybe it was just his good karma for the decade.
“True, I’ll give you that. Curiosity has to be carefully measured, or some such rubbish.” Better John than Daniel, if you asked him. He could adopt things, but it was usually against his will.
Hey man, begrudging adoption was still adoption. Roses by other names, etc etc. Whatever. “S’true. Or else people might start knowing entirely too much, and we can’t have that.” John tittered a little before drinking some more.
Begrudging, forced adoption. Would probably just be better to send them off somewhere else. ...though he would still take care of them. But he’d grumble about it. “Or we’d end up with fewer unintelligent people.” Curiosity killed the cat, after all.
“Quality control.” John might have been a decently friendly person, but he certainly didn’t seem bothered with the idea of the deaths of some stupid people. “Might make it a nicer world. Just think: never having to see tabloids in grocery stores again.” God, but he hated those rag magazines.
“I’ll drink to that.” Daniel was not a decently friendly person, and completely agreed with John’s opinions on those rags and didn’t mind at all the thought of the world having less stupid people in it. And so he took a drink, as he said he would. “Quality of life would vastly improve.”
“Maybe,” John said, finishing off another drink and gesturing for one more. He was well on his way to being knackered by the time he left this place. That fact alone was tremendous encouragement to continue. “But then -- let’s think this out, right? There’d be so few folk left to do the shitty jobs that the smart people are too qualified and educated for. Suddenly the lower class dissolves, right? Because no one’s willing t’scoop fries or bag groceries.”
Murphy hummed thoughtfully as he finished his drink. He held the glass for a moment, still thinking, then used it to motion for more. “You’d think with all of the clever and intelligent people left, they’d figure something out. Perhaps the world would turn into one of those futuristic utopias with robots being built to do the menial jobs left over from all the idiots.” He paused a moment, considering. “Mind, then we might have a different set of problems with the inevitable robot uprising.” He’d been drinking since before he got there. He was definitely already more than a little intoxicated.
“I don’t want to live in a world filled with K. Dick and Asimov references,” John said, sounding a little glum over it. He was, in fact, fairly well read although he knew he didn’t come off that way. His proper intelligence was hidden behind a lazy scouse accent and and too many bottles of beer. In all honesty, Constantine was pleased for that. It was always nice to surprise people with hidden depths, after all.
Daniel shuddered. If he had any inclination toward religion, he’d be crossing himself right now. He still couldn’t really believe he’d made the reference himself. Blame it on the residual effect of teaching a bunch of mostly dull-witted college students who got most of their information from poorly done movies. “Who in their right mind does?” If he were a lesser man, he might be pouting now. “I suppose we need to keep a few of the slow ones around, just for the menial labor.”
John rose his glass in yet another cheers. “Sounds like the best of plans,” he said with a laugh. He was sure Murph and him would get on well. Easy, fast friends.