ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇss ᴏғ ᴘʀᴇsᴛɪᴅɪɢɪᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ (cigam) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-06-15 09:09:00 |
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The cards had foretold it, to some degree. Zatanna just did not expect to come across him like this - but when she had turned over the Empress, a woman in the forest she called home, a crown of stars worn on her head, it had been more than obvious. This particular card represented a deep connection, what was depicted there between the Empress herself and Mother Earth - but it could also be interpreted as an abundant connection between lovers, passionate, all of that lushness, warmth, and sensuality. Fitting, for the only person Zee had ever really connected with in a carnal sort of way - she’d had lovers in the past, and more after him, but Constantine was a whole other force of nature. He also was a lech, and smelled like an ashtray. Her dream self really knew how to pick them. She knew she wanted to see him (even if all those ‘trench coat, beware of trench coat and smoke-laden British charm’ alarms were blaring at about a thousand decibels in her head) but she couldn’t exactly bring up what she knew, in that other sense. Nor could she bring up what she’d experienced prior to his arrival - dusty books in her library, calling upon her memories, searching elsewhere because she needed him and he wasn’t around. Sealing, binding, and immobilizing a spirit, sigils on souls, protective salt circles, assist us now, excuse this spirit from this place, cleanse their soul of grime. As much as she wanted to tell him all this, she couldn’t. Not yet. There were fishnets worn beneath a red dress that clung to her like a second skin (some habits couldn’t be broken), and boots that were quite capable of being used as weapons should her magic fail her. It wouldn’t, it crackled and hummed beneath her skin and through her veins, as she made her way to the right lecture hall. Brushing up on some historical occultism wouldn’t hurt, no? She wondered if he’d notice her in the back. Now, she settled into what might become her ‘usual’ spot, to listen and watch for that hour and a half. There were more faces in the gathering of his classroom than Constantine was expecting, and as each day passed he expected to see less. Maybe it was him and his cynical nature--Jack would be rolling his eyes, tongue clicking right along with Cheryl, yet the students of California had more chutzpah than John was willing to give them credit for. It would be a cold day in hell before he'd admit that moving had been a half decent idea and the learning environment..not so bad, given he was getting away with his teaching methods. Organization was really his only problem with juggling the classes, so he focused on two separate subjects at a time, a fair amount of each repeated each week. He wasn't going to give the same sodding lecture five times a week. The nineteenth century occult sought more interest from his students. He could tell because there was an annoying amount of questions after class. Thankfully this was John’s favorite particular subject and he could stay to all hours of the night (mostly, he'd have to get home and feed that bloody dog eventually) nattering on about it. John let them sit in a comfortable silence while he looked over his notes on an otherwise untamed desk, his lectures had been fine but the board demanded some following of a curriculum and there'd be no getting around assigning them tests he didn't feel like grading. Constantine had a way around that. “Right,” he pushed from his chair with a deep breath, glancing up at the manifold gaggle of eyes upon him, offering a smile that was almost apologetic in nature. Only he was far from sorry. “Time for a little pop quiz. See who's been listening.” It would be a disgusting lie to say the looks of genuine confusion or protest didn't give him life. Pushing up the sleeves of his shirt John moved around to the front of his desk, hopping up to sit on top, pushing a pencil behind his ear to give a look at the rooster he'd neglected (and had recently gotten yammered at for) so he could start putting some points to names. “The term occultus comes from what and means what. First come first serve, answer a question and you pass. They'll only get harder.” She could practically feel the anxiety in the room, all these college students who were likely just trying to breeze through a few general education requirements in the summer sessions - their minds were elsewhere. At the beach, drifting away on white fluffy clouds, maybe at the bottom of a keg somewhere. To be that age again - though admittedly, Zee had never gotten the whole ‘college’ experience. Private tutors, as she and her sister were raised with the traveling circus, constituted her experience; it was partly why she enjoyed sitting in on this lecture so much now. At least it was something almost official, in terms of diving into academia. There was a lot of quiet in response, save for shuffling papers, shifting in seats, and a cough or two. And the question wasn’t even that difficult either - perhaps she should speak up? Otherwise they’d never be able to move on. “Occultus,” she said, one fishnet-covered knee tucked over the other, and now she’d garnered stares, heads turned her way. “Comes from occulō. Means secret, concealed. Hidden away.” You’re welcome, children. A shame that someone who didn’t even have a stake in test grades got that one, but oh well. Then a charming, red-on-ice smile was sent the professor’s way, tip of her pen tapping those crimson lips. Only when he thought his eyes were set to roll into the back of his skull did the bird in the back of the room give an answer. “Finally, yes. Easiest sodding question there ever was..” John grumbled as he tried to find the woman’s name on his rooster. He found that he had...trouble figuring out a name, which could have been his own damned fault for lack of actually giving a shit. Though he knew those who regularly raised their hands and showed actual bloody interest instead of just wasting his time. He would have known her name and it was not on this list. John looked up from the list somewhat pointedly to study her, but he could deal with her later. He was actually getting paid for this. “Please tell me I haven’t been having a wee natter with myself for the past week.” Setting the list back down he glared at them expectantly. The doe eyed looks were painful and if most of them still weren’t so close to adolescence he might have told them to piss off and quit wasting his time. However, John knew better, so instead he threw a fit in his head and shuffled back up to the whiteboard to wipe away and destroy the notes from another class that he hoped had actually been paying attention because now they were long gone! “Let’s try this again. It started in the 1600s as esoteric practices revolving around which two philosophies..” He’d even given them choices on the board this time. Because they were only dabbling in history instead of learning but it was going to move things along this time. At the very least, three raised their hand to try. And thankfully two actually received points. He continued along this way with his soft-minded students who would now know better. As he tallied the passing points on his rooster, John noticed again the anomaly in the room. Curious, he set the sheet back down and let his hands fall to his pockets, glancing up towards the students in the back end of the room. “One last question.” They hadn’t been counting the quiz questions versus the students. John was, and his eyes fell once again to the woman who wasn’t on his rooster. “Extra credit if you can name the best known member of the Ordi Templi Orientis, and also creator of a very lovely premier deck of tarot cards.” It had been a fun lecture, wasn’t it? Besides that Zee would know his voice anywhere, gravelly and smoke-choked, like the ever-present pack of Silk Cuts had been inhaled down to the very last cigarette filter, she just thought it was interesting that John was a professor now. What on earth got him into that profession? He wasn’t patient, at all, and his charm wasn’t best fit for a classroom near impressionable young minds. Nevermind that she had been one of those impressionable young minds, when she dreamed of first meeting him - they’d both been young and rebellious, with their tattoos and their rituals and all the arcane. Oh, but if this meant extra credit? Her blue velveteen eyes glittered in amusement. “Aleister Crowley,” she responded, before anyone else could - though she doubted they knew his tarot creation as intimately as she did. “A deck very wrought in symbolism, too.” Her own came from France and was much older, vintage, dating back to the days of secret mystic societies and palm readers - never would she part with such a relic. The only bloody person who knew what the hell they were talking about wasn’t even in his class. Why had John let Jack talk him into this? With a defeated sigh, Constantine pinched the bridge of his nose and waved his other hand dismissively, “Go on. Next time be prepared, ya lazy sods.” While they scooted away and out of their seats to file out he sat back down against his desk with his hands on either side, trying to remember why he was here. For some reason his brother thought this would be good for him. Actually good at memorizing things, languages, and text, John could learn quickly and didn’t hate it. Jack had a point, nothing John wanted to do had ever been worth anyone’s damned time. He could learn a little patience. Maybe. Snapping out of his personal pep talk John looked up to catch eyes with the woman who was intrigued with history enough to get some classes for free. “Mind staying a moment, love? Just have a few questions for you.” Hopefully she wouldn’t mind. John was tired of asking questions for the day and was well ready to go fall into an abyss of sleep with Layla curled up on his back. Or his head, whichever the little sausage felt like at the moment. But he had to know what she was doing here and waited until the room cleared before he did. “As much as I appreciate someone who actually wants to be here, I don’t seem to have you listed. Don’t mistake me for scolding--I don’t care.” He didn’t. It wasn’t his job to kick people out of a classroom. He was there to teach, not play hall monitor. “But why?” Zatanna stepped closer, boots clicking gently on the floor in the now-empty classroom when all the youngin’s were dismissed and John asked her to stay. She clasped her hands behind her, studying him with those eyes that teetered on the edge of violet, stained with sapphire. “I am an Occultist,” she explained, and that was true - it was her job, one of them, and she enjoyed what she did with the Agency, investing all the weird magic mumbo-jumbo that popped up in their little strange corner of the world. “I’ve heard about you, John. My name is Zatanna. Zatanna Zatara.” With that greeting, she extended her hand for a shake. He may have heard of her in turn, maybe not - she’d grown up in a traveling circus, and now had her own magic act which she took to various venues. The stage was a home for the likes of her - she felt comfortable beneath the bright lights. Not everyone did, though. He let her hand float only a moment as he took a second to be confused before reaching out to give her a sturdy handshake. Something was strangely off about the whole thing. Not just the fact that he’d only been in America for the first time in years for a little over a week, but, what did an occultist want with him? It wasn’t as if he would be teaching something she didn’t already know, as per her demonstrating knowledge. Not to mention, he wasn’t exactly anything special outside of a man who grew up less than modestly in Liverpool until half of his family died. And not in a way that would be broadcast across the ocean. John was just a professor of a fairly neglected part of history. “What can I do for you, Zatanna?” He felt like he knew her. Not in the sense that she was some bird from a bar in a night of drunken antics. Those weren’t exactly all fond memories. Then again, he was used to odd things happening to him out of misconvenience. She had an agenda. “I haven’t angered any masters of the occult with my petty teachings, I hope.” That was absolutely the last thing he needed right about now. “Of course not,” she smiled enigmatically, one of her staples - shrouded in mystery as she was, she wore it well. “Your lecture was very good. The students are just on summer brain, they’ll come around.” After all, it wasn’t easy to sit in a classroom or teach in one while your peers were out enjoying the sunshine or whatever it was they did in their spare time. As for what John could do for her, well. That was a lot to go into - Zee, admittedly, had just wanted to see him (stupid of her, stupid) and she also didn’t think scaring him off with talk of other lives and dreams as a window to those other lives was the best opener. Not with the skeptical, cynical likes of him. “I’ve read your dissertation. It’s always nice to find someone else with an interest in the occult and all the lore that comes with it.” She’d looked it up, yes, when she found out he was teaching at UCI - dissertations were publically available, after all. That didn’t really count as prying, did it? “I do a lot of tarot readings and tasseomancy myself.” There wasn't any doubt in his mind where these students would rather be. Constantine was a shit student himself, the only reason he came out to be where he was came from prodding on his family’s behalf. He just wasn't about to let the tossers think they'd be getting out of this easy. “Well..thank you. Not much more of those with the obscure interests walking around, is there?,” he wasn't much for putting his head down into anything with a real effort but books and texts, John was actually not so bad. One of the only things he could say came easy. Zatanna was still being quite vague. Sneaking into a campus and it's classroom just to listen to the utter basics of her interest merely because he had them too. His brows rose at the mention of her practicing craft. Sure, John believed in it to a sort, but he never actually fiddled with the stuff. He knew there was a truth to it (some part of it) with all he’d studied. “I can imagine that's an attractive line of work for the area. If I had half a mind to grade them I'd have the tossers go out and report on it.” But hell if he'd sit and sift through that rubbish. It really wasn’t a bad line of work, no - especially when her divination tended to be the real deal; she had a knack for seeing the future, glimpses of it, a potential path with a turn of the cards or observed in the remains of a teacup, even by way of scrying with oil. Easily, Zatanna could probably set up shop from her home if she ever felt so inclined, but her job with the Agency was cushy enough and there was no need for the extras. “Well, I also perform here and there - stage magic, private magic lessons, I have my own show,” she added, leaning against the edge of the desk and hopping up on it slightly to cross her legs. “So I’m well-versed with being in front of an audience. I could always bring my tarot set in and give a demonstration? Or something with coffee grounds, perhaps. That seems to be a little more in-tune with college students.” The Mistress of Magic’s grin turned a bit cheeky, and coy. Constantine watched her with a keen interest as she made herself cozy on the desk beside him. Charming, if coy. “That sounds all well and lovely, but I'm not entirely sure the school would approve of showing it’s impressionable minds a bit of magic.” Again, John didn't rightfully care personally, but he had worked hard to get here despite all of the shite dumping on top of him. If he'd do anything for his brother, he'd see out his promise. Even if he was very intrigued to see the if the occultist could actually perform this herself. “Why the class, love? You could do this professionally. With actual pay. I'm still not seeing the draw to gracing us with your presence.” It could bring more work to her full time job but this was an awful lot of trouble. “Would you rather I just do it for you, then?” she wanted to know - and it was so strange, to see him saddled with responsibility when it came to those young baby birds who had just flown free from the nest and were finding their way. But Zatanna was glad, in a sense - John had always gotten dealt the shit end of the stick, and she knew, they both knew, that magic came with a price. Whether you paid it now or later, those debts would come knocking at your door - his price was constantly losing the people he loved, because of those other responsibilities he took upon himself. Doing the right thing (bass-ackwards as his methods tended to be) sometimes felt like more trouble than it was worth even if it was the right thing. There was good in him too, she believed that - it was nice to see that good turned outward in a classroom now. Her head tilted a bit pensively, and there was a bat of those feather-duster lashes. “Maybe I just think you’re cute, Professor. And was trying to think of a way to meet you.” Ugh. Well, it was an ‘in.’ And perhaps not entirely untrue - but he ought to get the ‘welcome to the OC’ warnings and explanations from her anyway. As completely unorthodox as the whole matter was John couldn’t help his curiosity. He had otherwise nothing else to bother with, and while this was probably not something he should be dabbling with. He had a knack for messing in what he shouldn't. Right now he had nothing to preserve or protect other than what was left of his sanity. Should this truly result in an issue, well he could try and sate the girl’s curiosity (and his own) now while it wouldn't interfere with his class. “Let’s not take the piss here,” he rolled his eyes at her compliment, moving off of the desk. There was only one person in the room who didn't need a face arrangement and he knew it wasn't him. “Fine then, I'll see your tricks. No trouble for me...please. I've had enough of that without inviting it into my work place.” A word he used rarely but in this case still healing from the trouble he was running from. John didn't have those he'd lost to lean on anymore and felt rather empty. Zee would mark this moment down in history. John Constantine, not asking for trouble. She almost had a heart attack from sheer shock. “I’m the best kind of trouble,” she winked, sliding off the desk and brushing off her dress. “But otherwise, I guarantee there won’t be any. Well - “ Actually, she couldn’t really promise that. Living in Orange County was a magnet for ideas and concepts such as ‘trouble.’ That was a whole other discussion, though. “You’ve just picked an interesting place to come and teach. I’ll say that much.” Now that he was here, who knew when the next wave of demons would pop up. Zatanna would bet relatively soon. “Check your pockets though,” she added, with a husky chuckle. “You have my card, should you need it.” How did it get there? Magic or something else? She was pretty good with the prestidigitation. If only he knew what his ‘bad luck’ truly meant, or what his presence tended to bring about. For now his move had proven the first positive thing he'd had since his families death. Now? He was only left to enjoy the odd moments when an occultist stalked him down to show him her readings and out her business card in his pants. John plucked it slowly from the pocket, flipping it over in his fingers. “Aren't you something else.” He tried to debunk the reasoning in his mind, she'd gotten close but not enough to have her hands on his pockets. Color him interested. Especially where she gave pause about his when and where. “You saying this place has poor luck, or I do?” Maybe that's what the tarot reading was for. “Perhaps it’s a bit of both, and Lady Luck is a strong woman - but she can also be persuaded, so I wouldn’t say poor overall. There is always another hand of the cards to play, there are always choices.” Ah, words of wisdom from the Mistress of Magic herself - she really did enjoy reading the cards, even if she knew that Fate wasn’t as serious and sharp as a blade. Like she’d once told someone else, it was the cracks branching off when a rock hit ice - all different directions, and possibilities. How intriguing that Fate had led her down this path now, when she had only just been discussing Gotham and how she felt like she didn’t really connect with anyone from her own dreams here. Raven dreamed of the same world, but different - and her niece was a difficult one to connect with regardless. Zatanna had probably spooked John enough for one day. “The card has my number but also my email - and you can send me a private message via the forum, the name’s on there too. You should consider joining,” she suggested. “It’s always a useful networking tool. Anyway, whenever you’re free - I know a place. Good gin and tonics. I’ll bring my tarot cards.” She didn’t know if he preferred the gin and tonic now, but she’d certainly seen him order plenty in another life. Ambiguous of course. John hadn't expected anything else. If anything it was the most well thought cast and line he'd yet to see, and he'd seen plenty. No version of him would set aside a good place for a drink or a smoke. Given he hadn't much else to do and couldn't waste away in his house with the bloody dog. Sure. Go meet the strange bird, albeit easy on the eyes, and get his fortune read. “Alright love, I'll humor you.” The network and forum sounded like a bunch of rubbish. Why the bloody hell would he want to hear what a bunch of random strangers had to say--much more ask? Eh. She was being kind. “I'll consider it, you watch your back in the halls for those actually worried about who's paying, yeah?” How sweet of him. “I’ve got eyes in the back of my head, don’t worry,” Zatanna assured, taking a few steps backward toward the door. “Thanks for humoring me.” Then she turned to go, to click-clack on her way out - though she couldn’t promise she wouldn’t return to sit in on another class. All in the name of expanding horizons, right? Not only just for the scouser eye candy. But that helped too. |