[As the devil's way of saying thank you for running a booth at the annual carnival or possibly apologizing for the clowns getting so outof hand, a gift basket has been left on the bed. It contains some treats like expensive chocolates, nuts, etc., a cute plush Satan bear, some self-care items like a plush robe, fragrances, etc. For those more sexually inclined, there will be a vibrator and some aphrodisiacs to do with what you will. For those not interested in that sort of thing, there will be a bottle of alcohol of some sort and a book or movie that the sinner would enjoy.
There's also one custom item included:
A bottle of fine whiskey that seems to replenish itself.]
( Kanda lucks out in his journey through the gift shop. He finds a Guqin and with some help after begrudgingly asking the staff for said help, he's able to find a cam-recorder and use it to video record himself playing John a song. He does this for a few reasons.
They hadn't seen or talked to one another since the incident that had taken his arm from him. One reason is to show John he's retrieved what was lost and it works harmoniously as it ever did before. The other reason is because they first met over videos hadn't they? Kanda still considers John, in what capacity is a little foreign to him but Kanda thinks of the blond and wishes to give him this song as a symbol of peace and good tithing for the season. John will receive the tape in a package with Christmas wrapping outside his door.)
[By no small miracle, John manages to sit still through the whole
thing. He's not musical in that sense - screeching angrily into a
microphone is not quite the same - and it's a nice thing to see, especially
since he's still thinking about that bloody stump and the colour leaving
Kanda's face.]
[Now if he can just improve his bedside manner. Maybe it's a new
year's resolution to work towards.]
[You might've seen him around here and there, dressed in a pretty conspicuous sort of way, but tonight, Homelander's going for a something a bit more low-key (and less sweaty). White tee, washed jeans, white sneakers. Nothing remarkable, but everything is well-fitted, and of above average quality. It's less the look of a guy who just threw on some clothes, and more like somebody going for casual by way of neat, precise minimalism.
So, not really all that casual. And the fact that his hair remains as neatly styled as hell will allow kinda undercuts that, too.
Homelander's still not used to wearing normal clothes for any considerable length of time, but he's starting to see the appeal. It gives you room to maneuver.]
I'll have a Coke, thanks.
[As the demon bartender attends to the order, Homelander turns to the guy next to him.
[Oh yes. If he's been strutting around with that absolutely ridiculous cape flapping about that round, sculpted arse, Constantine has definitely noticed him before. Snickered from afar, perhaps, with half a dozen wisecracks swirling around in his head, but in a place with few allies he's not one to point and laugh in the face.
Not unless he's teasing, anyway.]
Y'don't say, lad. [A coke? Really? John's warm smile tugs at the corners of his eyes as he sets his whiskey down and turns towards Homelander, a clear sign that he's piqued his interest and has his full attention. Constantine might have jokingly introduced himself as the Duke of Edinburgh if the charming, charismatic gentleman didn't already know his name.]
Lucky guess, or am I in trouble already? [Judging from the way the comparatively scruffy, rough around the edges warlock is eyeing him from that head of well-kempt hair down to his shoes, dull eyes glinting from the warm lights overhead, he most definitely is in trouble.]
It has been a full year since Hell has been redone and made even greater than ever before. And you, my prized guest, have made it twelve months in your journey towards redemption. I know that there have been bumps along the way and we haven't always seen eye to eye, but I do wish to show my gratitude. Together, we will all leave Hell one day.
I have handpicked gifts specifically for you to commemorate this anniversary. I do hope you enjoy them.
An offer to work closely with Lilith as a magical advisor for souls coming into Hell. This will come with a few perks, such as access to a library of books on magic not available to the general public and future housing options when they become available.
A photograph of Mary Anne. If held for a length of time, the photo will induce a vision of a life where she hadn't died and John has gotten everything he's ever wanted.
An offer to make this a reality if he will continue to cooperate. This will also come with the offer of bringing up to four others with him out of Hell and into this life. All he has to do is provide a list. There's no stated need to even ask their permission.
Again, I thank you for all of your help in making Hell what it is today.
She should have expected gloating before he inevitably shows up an hour before lunch, sloppily dressed in last night's clothes, having already had a drink and a couple of smokes, and likely refusing to do anything productive throughout his first day of not so much being on the job as testing the waters. He'd find a comfortable spot to put his feet up and a glass to use as an ashtray. And if he decides there are a dozen ways he can find to annoy her, he'll stick on just to do that. Whatever Lucy's empty promises are would just be the icing on the cake if any of it were to come true.
What she gets instead is a quiet knock on her door. A freshly showered head of hair, sandalwood cologne blending with the scent of cheap, minty aftershave. John wringing his hands looking like he's about to say something and then deciding against it the moment she opens the door. In truth he- didn't remember signing up for a job. He doesn't remember working even before he got to this hotel. He gambled for money, 'borrowed' credit cards, morphed an enchanted playing card into any sort of ID required to get him places, charged for love spells and exorcisms. Then he plopped his arse down on the Waverider and didn't need any of those old tricks anymore.
There's excuses, for sure, but she already knows he's been strapped down, drugged, beaten, shocked, sleep deprived, isolated, nearly drowned. There's probably a checklist with many ticks down the side. Schizophrenic, delusional, paranoid, depressed, suicidal. Apparently he's all fixed now. Apart from the minor detail that he sits up all night on his bed trying to learn (relearn, remember, whatever) magic again.
He lifts his gaze to look behind her and his eyes dart around her office like he's never seen it before. Whether he blacked out or lost it in the asylum, it's clear he's not the Constantine who's been here before.
"...am I late?" This is another fake it until you make it scheme, isn't it. He doesn't even know what he signed up for.
[It's generally not a good idea to text John, it often ends up going into this black hole that either never gets there, or gets a one-worded response maybe three weeks later.
It's about fifteen minutes before the reply comes. Homelander is lucky John has been charging his device, although it's probably because John's been back to the booty calling routine.]
[ img attached: a book (a bible?) in an unknown language, open on one of the ubitiquous hotel-room tables. a very familiar calling card stands upright between the pages. ]
[Ohhhhh right... John's kind of had a change of heart making new friends with the Veiled Order after seeing the fortress but he forgot to go back to the church and take that.]
Yeah I was hoping for a booty call from a demon with four cocks and two mouths you can ignore that
If John didn't hate phones so much, Billy wouldn't be out in the halls knocking on his door later than is appropriate. But he does, so here he is, just knocking on his door loud enough for the other man to hear. Hopefully he's awake. Hopefully he's not already entertaining other company.
He just needs someone who-- gets it, for a little while, that's all. He just needs someone who isn't going to tell him to be better like it's so easy, or to try to be who he was before a year and some months' worth of Hell left its mark -- both literally and figuratively. He's just... tired. He's tired of everyone's disappointment and their anger and their judgement. He's tired of trying to make them happy when he knows he'll fail every single one of them.
At least none of that ever comes along with Constantine. There's never pressure like that. Maybe he won't sit and give that fucking annoying concerned stare every time Billy pours a drink, or try to stage weird interventions.
... Speaking of, at least he remembered to grab a bottle of something strong on his way out as a peace offering for the late night visit.
memes are confusing when they reference other memes okay :|
It must be a cold day around these parts when John is the one who 'gets it'. He's usually accused of the opposite. Usually he can't hear any knocking from the bedroom - maybe it's a little #firstworldproblems having an actual bedroom that is sequestered away from the front door - but he happens to be in the lounge with a spellbook and a glass of whiskey under a couple of warm lights, so he answers the door not long after Billy knocks.
"You look like you could use a drink," he greets gruffly, opening the door wider to let Billy in. They're both tired, but not sleeping. His dead phone sits in the little wooden tray on the dining table untouched and there's no cigarettes or ashtrays in sight. Looks like someone's already staged an intervention after John talked about how he dies. At least, this one shouldn't affect Billy too much.
[Tim told him to seek out Josh Foley, a metahuman who could fix his wrist. So John is on the third floor of the hotel, knocking on the door of the room reception pointed him to. There's no reaction, no noise coming from inside.
He walks over to the stairs to the fourth floor and sits down, holding his splinted arm against his chest. He's tired, drifting. This whole night has been... unreal.
There's a cigarette in his pocket. He takes it out, stares at it, puts it in his mouth. He doesn't have a lighter, so he's mostly just affecting Casual Teen-ness.]
[So there's a few things John didn't expect. Teenage hormones for one. And a lower alcohol tolerance from decades of damage undone. He feels great in a way he hasn't felt in a long time, a bottle of vodka in one hand as he staggers down the corridor with a laugh, puffing on his own cigarette feeling like he's on top of the world.
He would have walked straight past Teenlander if it wasn't for that splint.]
You alright mate? Wanked too hard? [John snickers at his own joke.]
[He got Wynonna home, caught a quick shower afterwards, nearly fell asleep on the fucking couch before forcing himself out the door again.
When he gets to John's suite, the master of the dark arts is already passed out, sleeping off the glory of yesterday's battles and the hangover from the acid cult party. Homelander pays a visit to the laundry room to give their rabbits their breakfast, before returning to the bedroom.
He crawls into bed, careful not to touch anything sore or bruised of John's, only reaching out to stroke his hair a few times. It's been an exhausting few junkie-sitting days, and he's out after about five seconds.]
[Honestly he wasn't sure what he was expecting, going to church. That was one of the weirder trips he's been on, which is probably saying a lot. He should probably just consider himself lucky that he hasn't died yet.
He's still sleeping off the last tendrils of his injuries weighing him down, so he doesn't stir when someone crawls into bed with him. It's only when he wakes up in the middle of the night that he realises there's someone warm and breathing lying next to him. It's too dark for him to see and he's pretty sure he'd crawled into bed sober and alone.
Normal people scream. Constantine stiffens up and immediately shoves his hand in Homelander's face.]
[The knock comes, awkward and quieter than usual, about a week after their talk at the bar. That should've given John enough time to cool off, right?
Homelander waits patiently. He's holding John's coat, and the confiscated cartons of cigarettes. After that whole blowup, he has a feeling he's definitely not allowed to breach the door or come in through the window.]
[Yeah John wouldn't necessarily consider it a talk. He barely hears it - wouldn't have heard it at all if he'd still been in the shower or in his room - but he happened to be near the kitchen where the breakfast nook used to be and his head turns at the sound.
Two dark bands under the door doesn't tell him who's outside. John makes his way over, towel draped over his shoulders and when he opens the front door he seems surprised to see Homelander.
Even more surprising is a trenchcoat that he was fairly certain was a casualty of the failed uprising. Are those- his cigarettes?]
...who are you and what've you done with Homelander?
You got room for some bottles? I don't care if you drink them, but Teddy's on about how he gets half in the divorce and I want him to stay out of my room. I know he won't go in yours.
Some people would consider the messy fallout between John and Tim a delicate situation that requires delicate handling. Homelander, meanwhile, finds John on his way to the club and catapult-lands right behind him, clasping a strong hand on his shoulder.
Well John doesn't do delicate but it's definitely an evolving situation. Homelander's entrance still makes him jump a bit every time. He is completely unfazed by portals and phasing and even angels appearing before him and the like, but nobody comes after him like this.
"You made me piss a wee bit," he says dryly before moving to brush that hand off. "About what? He hasn't been around." And John is clearly busy trying to lure his next unsuspecting victim into bed.
The majestic cunt (who, for the record, is beautiful and perfect by all cat standards) is looking a bit worse for wear, his front leg limp, paw swollen, fur singed and sticky with blood.
In his miserably zoned out state, he stays slack in John's arms throughout the great escape, only giving the occasional groggy whine when he's jolted too hard.
A stubborn arsehole cat is much more manageable than a stubborn arsehole-... arsehole. John hurries back to his room, nearly bowling the Ramones over as he lays the cat down onto a soft, plush, clean-ish hotel towel.
"Right. If I fix you like this you should be fixed when I turn you back. I think." John goes to the fridge to retrieve his ingredients, throwing some restorative herbs and sacrificing one of his demonic testicles - this is why he needed ten of them - into a bowl to crush together into a sludgy sort of paste he can smear onto Homelander's paw and leg.
"Don't lick this off now," he warns, holding up the little paw with two fingers before holding his other hand over it and casting a five thousand year old healing spell. Should still work, despite all this time. John's just going to leave the paste on a little while longer before wiping it off and checking.
"Maybe I should leave you like this, eh? When I'm sick of 'earing you nagging."
Hmm... [Oddly enough, her message doesn't go to voicemail, and there's not a lot of background noise like usual. John pretends to give it some thought.] If I said I wasn't were you gonna come over and try and convince me?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Post-Dated the 24th
[As the devil's way of saying thank you for running a booth at the annual carnival
or possibly apologizing for the clowns getting so outof hand, a gift basket has been left on the bed. It contains some treats like expensive chocolates, nuts, etc., a cute plush Satan bear, some self-care items like a plush robe, fragrances, etc. For those more sexually inclined, there will be a vibrator and some aphrodisiacs to do with what you will. For those not interested in that sort of thing, there will be a bottle of alcohol of some sort and a book or movie that the sinner would enjoy.There's also one custom item included:
A bottle of fine whiskey that seems to replenish itself.]
action ;
They hadn't seen or talked to one another since the incident that had taken his arm from him. One reason is to show John he's retrieved what was lost and it works harmoniously as it ever did before. The other reason is because they first met over videos hadn't they? Kanda still considers John, in what capacity is a little foreign to him but Kanda thinks of the blond and wishes to give him this song as a symbol of peace and good tithing for the season. John will receive the tape in a package with Christmas wrapping outside his door.)
Re: action ;
[By no small miracle, John manages to sit still through the whole thing. He's not musical in that sense - screeching angrily into a microphone is not quite the same - and it's a nice thing to see, especially since he's still thinking about that bloody stump and the colour leaving Kanda's face.]
[Now if he can just improve his bedside manner. Maybe it's a new year's resolution to work towards.]
Wanked with it yet?
text ;
Re: text ;
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So, not really all that casual. And the fact that his hair remains as neatly styled as hell will allow kinda undercuts that, too.
Homelander's still not used to wearing normal clothes for any considerable length of time, but he's starting to see the appeal. It gives you room to maneuver.]
I'll have a Coke, thanks.
[As the demon bartender attends to the order, Homelander turns to the guy next to him.
John Constantine. Hell of a name.]
John, right?
[He holds out his hand, smiling.]
I'm Homelander.
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Not unless he's teasing, anyway.]
Y'don't say, lad. [A coke? Really? John's warm smile tugs at the corners of his eyes as he sets his whiskey down and turns towards Homelander, a clear sign that he's piqued his interest and has his full attention. Constantine might have jokingly introduced himself as the Duke of Edinburgh if the charming, charismatic gentleman didn't already know his name.]
Lucky guess, or am I in trouble already? [Judging from the way the comparatively scruffy, rough around the edges warlock is eyeing him from that head of well-kempt hair down to his shoes, dull eyes glinting from the warm lights overhead, he most definitely is in trouble.]
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It has been a full year since Hell has been redone and made even greater than ever before. And you, my prized guest, have made it twelve months in your journey towards redemption. I know that there have been bumps along the way and we haven't always seen eye to eye, but I do wish to show my gratitude. Together, we will all leave Hell one day.
I have handpicked gifts specifically for you to commemorate this anniversary. I do hope you enjoy them.
Again, I thank you for all of your help in making Hell what it is today.
Yours,
Lucifer
voice; @lilith
If you actually want this job, show up for it. Or don't, but tell Lucifer yourself.
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What she gets instead is a quiet knock on her door. A freshly showered head of hair, sandalwood cologne blending with the scent of cheap, minty aftershave. John wringing his hands looking like he's about to say something and then deciding against it the moment she opens the door. In truth he- didn't remember signing up for a job. He doesn't remember working even before he got to this hotel. He gambled for money, 'borrowed' credit cards, morphed an enchanted playing card into any sort of ID required to get him places, charged for love spells and exorcisms. Then he plopped his arse down on the Waverider and didn't need any of those old tricks anymore.
There's excuses, for sure, but she already knows he's been strapped down, drugged, beaten, shocked, sleep deprived, isolated, nearly drowned. There's probably a checklist with many ticks down the side. Schizophrenic, delusional, paranoid, depressed, suicidal. Apparently he's all fixed now. Apart from the minor detail that he sits up all night on his bed trying to learn (relearn, remember, whatever) magic again.
He lifts his gaze to look behind her and his eyes dart around her office like he's never seen it before. Whether he blacked out or lost it in the asylum, it's clear he's not the Constantine who's been here before.
"...am I late?" This is another fake it until you make it scheme, isn't it. He doesn't even know what he signed up for.
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text;; @fuckyoudickgrayson
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Whatever you think I did, it wasn't me
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audio // @dodger
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text; un: homelander
You awake?
[After a 30 second pause:]
Doing a dark ritual?
Fucking someone?
[See, he's being courteous by asking.]
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It's about fifteen minutes before the reply comes. Homelander is lucky John has been charging his device, although it's probably because John's been back to the booty calling routine.]
No just drinking why?
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private text // un: kip_nyc // 7.12
found something of yours in the chapel
UN: constantine
Yeah I was hoping for a booty call from a demon with four cocks and two mouths you can ignore that
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If only John enjoyed his texts of magic memes more...
He just needs someone who-- gets it, for a little while, that's all. He just needs someone who isn't going to tell him to be better like it's so easy, or to try to be who he was before a year and some months' worth of Hell left its mark -- both literally and figuratively. He's just... tired. He's tired of everyone's disappointment and their anger and their judgement. He's tired of trying to make them happy when he knows he'll fail every single one of them.
At least none of that ever comes along with Constantine. There's never pressure like that. Maybe he won't sit and give that fucking annoying concerned stare every time Billy pours a drink, or try to stage weird interventions.
... Speaking of, at least he remembered to grab a bottle of something strong on his way out as a peace offering for the late night visit.
memes are confusing when they reference other memes okay :|
"You look like you could use a drink," he greets gruffly, opening the door wider to let Billy in. They're both tired, but not sleeping. His dead phone sits in the little wooden tray on the dining table untouched and there's no cigarettes or ashtrays in sight. Looks like someone's already staged an intervention after John talked about how he dies. At least, this one shouldn't affect Billy too much.
"Can't sleep or won't sleep?"
maybe if he'd just pay attention and not act like a grandpa, he could keep up!!
he's not acting like a grandpa on purpose! 😤
just through stubbornness and refusing technology!! 🤨
There's no point to it 😤
Okay there,granpda (nottalking)
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babelander is here
He walks over to the stairs to the fourth floor and sits down, holding his splinted arm against his chest. He's tired, drifting. This whole night has been... unreal.
There's a cigarette in his pocket. He takes it out, stares at it, puts it in his mouth. He doesn't have a lighter, so he's mostly just affecting Casual Teen-ness.]
okay you get constanteen, sorry I'm late :<
He would have walked straight past Teenlander if it wasn't for that splint.]
You alright mate? Wanked too hard? [John snickers at his own joke.]
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cult party aftermath
When he gets to John's suite, the master of the dark arts is already passed out, sleeping off the glory of yesterday's battles and the hangover from the acid cult party. Homelander pays a visit to the laundry room to give their rabbits their breakfast, before returning to the bedroom.
He crawls into bed, careful not to touch anything sore or bruised of John's, only reaching out to stroke his hair a few times. It's been an exhausting few junkie-sitting days, and he's out after about five seconds.]
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He's still sleeping off the last tendrils of his injuries weighing him down, so he doesn't stir when someone crawls into bed with him. It's only when he wakes up in the middle of the night that he realises there's someone warm and breathing lying next to him. It's too dark for him to see and he's pretty sure he'd crawled into bed sober and alone.
Normal people scream. Constantine stiffens up and immediately shoves his hand in Homelander's face.]
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text | un: dollywood
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action; post-pig
Homelander waits patiently. He's holding John's coat, and the confiscated cartons of cigarettes. After that whole blowup, he has a feeling he's definitely not allowed to breach the door or come in through the window.]
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Two dark bands under the door doesn't tell him who's outside. John makes his way over, towel draped over his shoulders and when he opens the front door he seems surprised to see Homelander.
Even more surprising is a trenchcoat that he was fairly certain was a casualty of the failed uprising. Are those- his cigarettes?]
...who are you and what've you done with Homelander?
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text; un: billy666
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text | @jonathan scott
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[He doesn't know who 'Jonathan Scott' is but what's the worst that could happen?]
what can I do you for?
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action; timgate 2021
"You need to talk to Tim."
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"You made me piss a wee bit," he says dryly before moving to brush that hand off. "About what? He hasn't been around." And John is clearly busy trying to lure his next unsuspecting victim into bed.
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un: tarnation
UN: constantine
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order cat get cunt
The majestic cunt (who, for the record, is beautiful and perfect by all cat standards) is looking a bit worse for wear, his front leg limp, paw swollen, fur singed and sticky with blood.
In his miserably zoned out state, he stays slack in John's arms throughout the great escape, only giving the occasional groggy whine when he's jolted too hard.
I demand a refund!
"Right. If I fix you like this you should be fixed when I turn you back. I think." John goes to the fridge to retrieve his ingredients, throwing some restorative herbs and sacrificing one of his demonic testicles - this is why he needed ten of them - into a bowl to crush together into a sludgy sort of paste he can smear onto Homelander's paw and leg.
"Don't lick this off now," he warns, holding up the little paw with two fingers before holding his other hand over it and casting a five thousand year old healing spell. Should still work, despite all this time. John's just going to leave the paste on a little while longer before wiping it off and checking.
"Maybe I should leave you like this, eh? When I'm sick of 'earing you nagging."
request declined
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voice; un: barbas
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You'll have to be more specific mate, I've got issues by the dozens.
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I'm Leonard Snart. People are saying we should talk.
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voice; un: captaincanary
Not my thing, but it's his. Probably about time we did something more collected.
You in? [Not even sure why she's asking. She gives John sort of a choice, but the expectation is there.]
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