Gemma Masters (scousewitch) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-11-06 21:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, gemma masters, john constantine |
Who: Gemma Masters & John Constantine
What: Comparing notes
When: 11/1 or thereabouts
Where: Gemma's flat
Rating: PG
Status: Complete
Gemma only had to run around a little and clean before her uncle showed up. He’d seemed genuinely rattled, and she’d had a few nasty dreams of her own that she wanted to compare notes on. Besides, if she had to be honest with herself, she felt safer knowing Uncle John was near. Even from non-supernatural things. He’d never let anything happen to her as long as he was breathing.
That was true: John Constantine wasn't necessarily the best of men. He had vices that went on for miles and came off as a bit rude and uncaring to most, admittedly, but for anyone that he considered close to him or family -- well. He was possessive, protective and more than a little caring. It only came natural to love fiercely.
So of course, when he'd started having those weird dreams, he had been worried for Gemma. They were related and they were in the dreams too. While he could hope that she wouldn't have to see similar horror, John doubted very much that she'd be able to steer clear of it.
Biting his lip, he fished a smoke out of the pockets of his trench and then knocked at her door.
Gemma heard the knock, and headed over to get it, though she double-checked the peephole first. She knew she probably looked small and scared when she opened the door. “Hey. C’mon in.” She closed and locked the door behind her. “You doing all right?” Best to ask about him first.
Of course he wasn't doing all right. He'd come face to face with ghosts, demons and voodoo priests, all of which would have preferred seeing him dead. And then he'd done one better and killed off one of his friends. Another one, anyway.
All in dream format of course, but still.
But John Constantine was nothing if not a man of bravado. He grinned, settled his smoke between his lips and held off lighting it just to hug his poor looking niece. "Course, Love. Never better. Look at you, though. Clearly you need some cheer. No worries, now."
“You’re full of shite,” Gemma told him, but she took the hug. She bloody well needed it. “Just glad you’re in one piece. No thanks to the bloody dreams.” He’d always been there for her in the dreams. Saved her from the Man. Saved her from Granddad’s ghost.
He hadn't gotten to that yet, wouldn't know about it. But he also wouldn't be surprised to hear it -- if nothing else, John tried to do right by the family who deserved it.
"Maybe," he agreed, pressing a kiss to her forehead before backing up just enough to light his smoke. "We're fine here. Gotta remember that. You look torn up about it, need t'talk?"
“I should probably leave and come back so’s I can get a real visa,” Gemma admitted. “Otherwise, m’fine.” A bit lonely and sexually frustrated, but you didn’t discuss those sorts of things with your uncle. “Just, I’ve never been one for dreaming much, like, at all. So when I dreamed at all, it was weird. On top of how vivid it was.”
"You can't just get a work one?" John hadn't considered that very much, if he had to be honest. Maybe he should talk to Q about it, just to know whether or not he was going to be kicked out of the country the next time he was arrested for something undoubtedly stupid.
It wasn't a huge concern currently though, so he only shrugged. "They are weird," he admitted of the dreams, considering. "But that's what everyone says, right?" He wouldn't admit he'd been drinking coffee like a motherfucker to avoid more of the same.
“I was only allowed to stay six months without a visa. And couldn’t work.” Gemma eyedarted. “But I didn’t fucking want to go home! I couldn’t stand it! Mum wittering at me, and having to tend bar in Mile End again, getting felt up by Wodgy and Treat, and never having any prayer -” Of going anywhere, of having any life beyond Mum’s. It was all she could do to keep her cool.
She took a breath that was perilously close to teary. “And then the dreams come, and you had to save me from baddies and ghosts.”
Yeah, John knew all the trouble with Gemma's mum, not like he hadn't spent a fair amount of time with her himself. Sort of. He'd been a little less obligated to come home throughout the day, and then eventually throughout the week. And then at all, really. He only nodded, understanding and gave her an awkward pat on the head. Maybe this was one of those times where hugs should happen?
"Was it bad?"
Gemma got her composure back. “The dreams? Weren’t pretty.” She shook her head. “I dreamt I was ... small. Maybe eight. Mum and Dad had joined up with this barmy cult thing. I was bored, and went off looking around the neighbourhood. Don’t remember all of it.” Which was a lie - she remembered every foul, magical, danger-kissed second of it. The girls. Being led down to meet The Man. And the sensation of Uncle John saving her.
John, of course, knew she was lying. Because those dreams? He knew how they worked now. Knew that absolute crystal clarity that they were. There was no forgetting, and it was a shame, that, because John knew he'd very well like to forget what he'd seen as well.
"…Did it end okay?" He asked, instead of calling her out on it.
“I remember you saving me.” Gemma smiled, almost shy. She looked down, sighing. “I literally don’t remember a part of it - but I think Gemma in the dreams blacked out or something. I just remembered this bloke, and then I remember you carrying me home.”
"Huh." Well. Good on him for saving the day. Dreams were weird, he decided. Even though he was more than drunk often than his, he saw everything with a clarity he knew he wouldn't really under such an influence. "Well, all's well?" He tried, raising an eyebrow and taking a pull from his smoke.
“I s’pose.” Gemma looked down. She didn’t like the feeling of not entirely being sure. She sighed. “Can I ask. Do you ever talk to Granddad?”
John considered that a moment, giving Gemma a blank, mostly useless expression. "Is he still alive?" Well, that more or less answered that one.
“No idea. Haven’t seen him since my tenth birthday, when he gave me a fiver and told me to run down the pub and get him a pint.” Gemma said it without bitterness - what was the point? “But in my dreams, he died, and his spirit haunted me. Sat at the end of me bed and just stared at me all night.”
"Fuckin' creep," John was significantly better at sounding bitter about things than Gemma was, apparently. Couldn't be helped, he'd just had more practice with it. It was also no large secret that he didn't really get on with his family any -- except for Gemma. But that was different.
"Take it I dealt with that?" He knew enough about his dream self to know that was something he was good at. He saw a lot of dead folks, himself.
“Yeah, but you tried to keep it from me that he’d been murdered. And you’d had sommat to do with it.” She needed a fucking cigarette. She went over to her purse, going to rummage for one and light it. “Not his murder, but his haunting.”
Always a chain smoker, John lit a new cigarette with his old one before stubbing it out. "Well," he said, leaning back against a wall and scuffing the heel of one shoe over the top of his other. "he probably deserved it."
If anyone questioned whether or not John Constantine was an asshole, they really only needed to stick around long enough to actually know him.
“It had to do with a curse, and I don’t know. But dream me was ... upset.” Gemma inhaled a long drag. “She idolized you.”
"Upset with me?" John didn't like the thought. He was good at pissing off a lot of people, but some few he did try to avoid. Gemma was on the list. The very short list. Q, too, but that was a different sort of infatuation. Completely different.
“She didn’t want you to have anything to do with it.” Gemma was quiet. “Even though, I don’t know, the stupid little git knew you would.” She sighed. “You an’ Zed, some lady of yours - you saved me from the Man, and little Gemma thought you were God’s gift, and then Granddad fucking haunts me and it turns out it was at least partly your fault.”
He hadn't met any Zed yet, either, but he knew Gem was still more than an ickle thing in his own dreams. Matter of time, really. He frowned, scratched at the back of his neck with his free hand. "Sorry, Gem. I really am. I don't mean for it. Fuck, it's not even really me." He was still sorry though.
“I know it. S’one of the reasons I didn’t wanna discuss it.” Gemma shook her head, rolling her eyes at her own frailty. Masterses weren’t allowed to be frail. Nor, for that matter, were Constantines. “Naffed off about it, honestly. Don’t want to be some weeping willow.”
"You never could be," John said, wry and vaguely amused at the thought. Occasionally emotional didn't exactly mean constantly weepy. Not that he'd know. Because truly, he was a paradigm of manliness.
“Good of you to say so.” Gemma smiled faintly. She was a wimp at times, even she’d admit it. “Just, I don’t know, I needed to see you and reassure m’self you’re still you. Same old grumpy bastard.”
“Don’t think that’ll ever change,” John said, with a sideways sort of smile that hinted at normal shit-eating grins and complete mischief. “We should hit the town. Ruin someone’s day t’make our own better.”
“Definitely.” Gemma felt stupid doing it, but she hugged him once more. It was okay, she figured, to be vulnerable around him. In private. Every so often. Cause he wouldn’t tell.