InsaneJournal

Who: John Constantine + Gemma Masters
What: Family catching up!
When: 9/15
Where: John’s flat
Rating: Low, but all they do is swear all day.
Status: Complete




Gemma double-checked the address she’d been given before knocking on the door. She was still a little confused about the coincidence of her uncle being here, but she did appreciate having someone who knew her. They could sit, relax, have a right piss-up if need be. Hopefully he didn’t have a girl in there.

Yeah, he definitely didn't have a girl in there. There was Chas though -- and his little dog was barking madly upon the knock at his door.

"Ingrate!" he yelled at it, wondering how he'd ever actually managed to end up being a pet owner, and one who lived in Orange County, California no less. Despite his words, he half pet the dog before opening up the door to his flat, and grinned madly at his niece. "Fuckin' hell," he said in greeting and only opened the door wider, an invite inside. "Haven't you bloody just gotten taller?"

Gemma couldn’t help but smile at how chill he looked, despite his yelling. “And what’s the fluff ball done to you, then?” She caught a glimpse of the tiny dog at her feet before it ran off. “How are you, you old bastard?” He wasn’t old, obviously, but he was older than her, and she liked poking him.

He really wasn't terribly older than her. What? Ten, twelve years? It was a bit odd, he supposed, but it wasn't his fault his sister was both older than him and had started in a bit early. Not that he minded, Gemma was a fucking delight in comparison to most.

"He exists, that's not enough? C'mere then," He offered a ridiculous hug, a clap on the back and a lopsided smile. "I'm good, no complaints beyond sunshine. Stay for a drink?" Not that he assumed she'd just showed up to look at him and then leave. That was silly.

“Course. Rather nice to have you here, believe it or not.” Gemma let herself be hugged, though she was a little shocked at its vehemence. She hadn’t thought he thought of her very often. “So, did you just up and sod off to America one day, then?”

Of course he thought of her; it wasn't exactly like he had a huge family -- and one person who wasn't a complete wanker deserved at least a fond thought every now and again.

"More or less, yeah." John didn't look fussed over it, only rose his eyebrows a little and shrugged before backing up enough to head toward his little and clearly underused kitchen to grab them drinks. "Pissed everyone off back home, had to go all tabula rasa."

Gemma couldn’t help but laugh. “So nothing’s changed, eh?” Uncle John did have a habit of irritating people, at least the way her mother told it. She’d always been amused by it, if only because her mother had usually been the sort to stay at home and wring her hands. She followed him, leaning on the wall. “I don’t think I pissed anyone off, just got bloody bored in London.”

Truth of the matter was, the same thing had happened to John. Boredom. He'd gotten tired of watching all his old friends and bandmates start normal lives. Get married. Take out mortgages. Buy pets, have babies. It didn't suit him, it never had. But he had a way with twisting words, making things more interesting. And yes, he could piss a bloke off without trying so it wasn't really a lie.

Popping the caps of two beers, he handed one over to her, and then leaned against his fridge. No magnets, no pictures. "Strewth, no. Same old. It's a bloody shame, is what it is. It's a bit different here, innit? And I'm not talking on the sunshine and proper beaches."

“Don’t like sunshine,” Gemma play groused. “I developed a bit of a tolerance for it when I wound up spending port days in places like Dubai and Honolulu, but no, you know me, Uncle John.” She would infinitely prefer a basement, a pub, a dark room of some kind. Sun tended to signify cheeriness, and cheery people could go bloody hang.

"Yeah, I know." They were similar in that regard, really. You'd think she was his bloody kid. Except for that age thing. Yeah. That.

"Found a bar to tend in yet? Or have you been too distracted by all the nutters?" Because lord knew they existed. Everyone and their mother had some kind of superpower to talk about, and fifty odd dreams. Sick part was, John well believed it at this point, was good friends with a lot of people who showed it all to be true. But really, it was a thing to be eased in to.

“Interviewed at a few. Probably not going to get an answer til the madness dies down.” Gemma made a face. “Lord, there’s a fair amount of nutters here! People talkin’ about powers and getting sick and such. Met a man in a bar the other day who had bloody elf ears.”

John nodded over that one, sipping his beer before helping himself to a cigarette. He's the sort who's got half empty packs all over his flat, and it's a bad habit, really it is. Except it's a bad habit he's had since probably right around the time Gemma was born, and doesn't plan on stopping.

"Weird, right?" He paused, considering. "Except I think it's mostly true. I don't know so much about the sick, but the powers bit? Yeah."

Gemma leaned over and grabbed a smoke of her own, expecting an uncle-ly lecture and not caring. “Seen people carryin’ on about some sickness. Which is quite a bit bloody alarming, even though I’ve been vaccinated for everything known to man and some unknown before I left Paris.”

The lecture wasn't going to come; John was a lot of things, and he was definitely a hypocrite, but only when he cared enough to be. The cause had to be something worth it. He did offer her a lighter though -- his zippo shiny and barely scratched at all.

"S'all weird here though, y'know? Dreams and powers. Visiting hell on your days off -- shite like that. Fuck if they've got a vaccine for that kind of crazy." A pause. "So. Y'know. Watch yourself now and then, Gem."

“Aw.” Gemma was actually kind of touched by how serious he looked. “Don’t worry, Uncle John. Don’t think I’m interesting enough t’get picked for a visit to Hell.”

Yeah, but that was probably the same thing that Dean or Kirsty would have said. John only grinned, laughed it off and took a lazy drag of his smoke. "No worries, Gem. I'm not worried about you." a pause. "So. You came here alone then?"

“Yeah. No significant other you can harass.” Gemma chuckled. Her uncle knew she didn’t particularly have a sexual preference, and hadn’t ever said anything about it before, which was a refreshing contrast to her parents.

He'd just always liked having more options; it seemed to have suited when he was younger and a new person every night was the way to go.

"Shame," he said, teasing. "But probably for the best. I wasn't quite aged enough to appreciate your embarrassing baby photos when they were being taken." If they were being taken. Cheryl never had been the best at much.

“Bloody hell, if there are any, I might have to go back to Mum’s just to burn them.” Gemma closed her eyes, mock shivering.

"That's a long drive," John said a little dryly, before taking another swallow of beer and chasing it with a drag from his smoke.

"But really. You're alright? You need money or anything?" This was the Uncle bits of him; memories of stopping back home whenever he had a chance, feeding Gemma large quantities of greasy fish and chips, offering her twenty quid when he left just so she could do it again if she wanted.

And she remembered, and she’d loved him for it, and secretly cried when he’d left, because he made life a lot more interesting than Mum’s quiet and Dad’s Bible and footy matches. “Nah, I’m fine. A recommendation on what to smoke, maybe? Can’t get Sobranies over here unless I pay an arm and a bloody leg.”

John looked a little stricken over that, like possibly his manhood was being questioned. "Sobranies? Really? Gem." And he'd thought his Silk Cuts back home had made him difficult.

He shook his head, took another show drag and then made a smoke ring from it. It was a cool trick, thanks.

"I don't bloody know a good equivalent for that one. Cloves? If you're going fake about it already."

“Oh, piss off, y’tosser. They were the first smoke I ever had and I got used to it.” Gemma had known he was going to tease her, and just laughed. “Just need something that isn’t a bloody ultra-light.”

"It's a terrible habit," John said, just this short of sweet -- right before lighting a new smoke with the end of his last one. A terrible, perfect habit.

"Lots aren't light. Marlboro's a good bet if you don't want to gag." Really, off name brands were complete shit.

“I suppose that’ll do. Just don’t want some sodding Virginia Slims, I’m not a WAG or something.” Gemma grinned in spite of herself. “Don’t even like footy much!”

John only rolled his eyes at that. "I'd wonder where your bloke got off to if you were. In any case, good. You're much too young for all that." Shut up. He was… Uncle-ly.

“Why, Uncle John, do you think I’ve never shagged anyone?” Said with sweet, innocent eyes, mostly because she could.

"Shut up, Gem. Leave an old bastard to his delusions. You're what -- twelve? Stop." He winced.

“Oh, stop, I don’t have a bloke, or a girl for that matter. I just like screwing with you.” Gemma smirked. “What’ll you do if I do take up with someone? Come over all aflutter like an old maid?”

"Probably kill them." John said it with a straight face, an intense expression. Probably it nearly would have worked, if he hadn't laughed a second later. "Or ask to borrow a fiver. Whichever comes first."

“Fiver, if I’m lucky.” Gemma laughed. “Take up with someone who’s loaded.” But she smiled at him with something approaching fondness. “You doing all right, then? I do actually worry about you.”

He shrugged, lazy and complacent enough. "Can't complain. Don't have any weird dreams, my dog's never eaten any of my shoes, and Americans seriously think a British accent is the best thing since ever. Wins me at pool every bloody time." Which was good, since it was how he paid rent.

“Well, good.” Gemma folded her arms, not wanting to look too sappy. It wasn’t the Constantine-Masters way. “No lady friends or gentleman callers of your own?”

"Gentlemen call-- who are you?" John didn't look exactly awkward at the question, only scratched the back of his neck and gave a little face about it. "You know -- no. Not exactly." Yes.

“Ooh. Well, if it does become an exactly, I expect to see them.” Gemma was mostly teasing, though she was kind of curious given that he’d reacted to the ‘gentleman caller’ part and not the ‘lady friend’ part. She knew her uncle had boyfriends before, but not many.

Lady friend made sense. Gentleman caller just sounded funny, that was the only reason he pointed it out. Really. John cleared his throat, looked a little awkward for a moment and then just shrugged. "I'll -- uh. Tell him you said so."

Because not exactly was sort of just exactly. Sort of. In that We Haven't Spoken On It, But I Think If He Sleeps With Someone Else, Murder Might Happen sort of way.

Gemma wasn’t, in fact, a monster, so she didn’t give him too much grief. But she did, however, smirk.

A lot.

“That’s all I ask, Uncle John. But I should probably stop takin’ up your time.” She finished off her drink, getting up while still finishing off her smoke.

"Get the fuck out of here," John said, but not unfondly. It wasn't like he couldn't take a little teasing. He got enough of it from Kirsty and his gentleman caller, both.

"Don't be a stranger though, yeah? Us Constantine-Masters, if we don't stick together, who the fuck will?"

“Can’t imagine.” Gemma grinned.