[Zhautas] Bangr

[conjobs]

My Bangr has moved

bangr

John Constantine | 36

Exorcist, demonologist, and Master of the Dark Arts. At your service.

✓	✕
YES <span style="font-family: times; font-size:40px; color:#33cc33;">✓</span>	NO <span style="font-family: times; font-size:40px; color:#CC0000;">✕</span>

Comments

[wont_be_me]

✓

Those skills don't seem applicable to the scenario. A useless advertisement?

[conjobs]

Should I change it to my cocksucking and pussy eating skills, you think?

[wont_be_me]

I do. It would be a much more intriguing resume.

[conjobs]

Well. I'd hate to boast about something I'm no good at. Maybe I can give you a demo and you can tell me what to put on my advertisement?

[wont_be_me]

I assumed the demonology line was really an excuse to put off the hookup.

[conjobs]

Too bookwormish?

[wont_be_me]

That, or intellectually stunted by a cult.

[ She's snooty about it. She was from the civilized, scientific world. Cults lived on the edges of the civilized universe, scavenging on forgotten planets in the hopes of expansions which usually lead to famine or massacre. Sometimes they huddled together in corridors of the space stations, trying to gather enough converts to have some say in the politics of the place. The bounty hunters found it more irritating than salutary. ]

[conjobs]

Intellectually, physically and emotionally, I'm afraid.

[wont_be_me]

That joke was too self-aware for me to buy it.

[fourthwalled]

✓

Master of the Dark Arts, huh? I mean, it's no Sorcerer Supreme, but color me impressed!

[conjobs]

Sorcerer Supreme? I'm not half that pretentious.

Is that spandex?

[fourthwalled]

You'd also need to grow a goatee. I think it might be requirement.

It's a full body tactical suit! It's made of some spandex, but also leather, Kevlar, and latex. Pretty spiffy, right?

[conjobs]

Women find it ticklish.

Did they pay you extra to bring your kinky costumes or do you only wear that out on days ending with 'y'?

[fourthwalled]

Maybe some women are into that.

Wait. Are you getting paid for this? [Oh someone is getting stabbed if he's been getting stiffed!] I'm a superhero, dude. The outfit is a requirement! Unless you're too edgy for that shit, I guess. [Fuckin' DCs, man.]

[conjobs]

Are you? [Don't mind John. He gets constipated if he doesn't shit casual insults out every hour.]

What are you supposed to be then? Slutty Batman?

[fourthwalled]

Depends what kind of goatee. If we're talking a Guy Fieri. I'd rather jump in a volcano. But Cumberbatch? Mmmm, do me now.

I wish. No, I'm Deadpool.

[conjobs]

I'd say you at least have standards, but not with a name like that. [It's almost as bad as "Swamp Thing".]

[hjack69]

[ He should probably text first. Maybe apologize for leaving John out in the dirt like roadkill the night of the bonfire. That's what a normal, decent person would probably do.

Jack is not a decent person. He sends a picture instead, half-grinning, pupils blown so wide the green-blue of his eyes is practically invisible; he's not sure what half the pills and powders on the little tray nearby actually are, but the coke is telling him that it doesn't matter. They'll all feel good.

But Randy John would feel even better. ]

You coming or what?

[ Here's a room number. Not his. How does a guy score drugs and a private little space to do them in without there being a catch? ]

[conjobs]

[John remembers that face but more importantly he knows that look. He was a punk rocker as a teenager and he's dropped, snorted and smoked his fair share of narcotics. The logical thing to do would be to say no, fuck off, where did you even get whatever it is you're high on? And John is Not A Logical Person even when he's painfully sober. He has an addictive personality and the promise of escape is more than enough to lure him into the lion's den.

There's no response. The warlock just shows up outside the room a short time later, casting a wary look over his shoulder before twisting the doorknob and trying to quietly slip inside.] You called, love.

[hjack69]

[ The door's unlocked - and the moment John steps inside, Jack is right there, obviously waiting and probably somewhere in the stratosphere, by the look of his eyes. He's more handsy than last time, too, fingers skimming over John's shirt like he needs to touch something. ]

Hey kitten.

[ Hopefully John remembers to shut the door before Jack can reel him back further into the room. It's one of those basic, bland experimentation rooms - there's a couch, and a table, and a bed (of course), and not much else. Jack's looking to pull them back towards the couch, where he's got a small collection of who the fuck knows what on a tray. He's had enough time to shed three layers, leaving him in his Hyperion sweater and a pair of jeans that are riding lower on his hips than usual.

How long has he been in here with this stuff, exactly? ]

Was worried you wouldn't come.

[ He wasn't. Like, at all. ]

[conjobs]

[The door clicks closed quietly as John pushes it shut with his foot, though he doesn't check to see if it's properly closed since Jack is holding his attention. The bite mark on the side of his neck has faded somewhat, but he can't let his guard down around this one or R.O.S.I.E. will be ending up with a snuff film instead of a sex tape. His hands go to Jack's elbows as they progress unsteadily towards the couch. He catches a glimpse of the cornucopia of drugs but doesn't mention anything as they settle down close by.]

You looked drugged out of your mind. [And here John stumbles upon the crossroads. Should he try and show a modicum of concern or just go further down the rabbit hole?]

Where'd you even get all this?

[hjack69]

You think I'm just gonna tell you?

[ So, yeah, he's going to be difficult tonight. Jack drops back onto the vaguely stiff couch, eyes closing for a long moment. It might even look like he's fallen asleep, or passed out, until - he laughs, light and airy, cracking an eye open and gesturing to the tray. ]

Dig in. [ Wait. ] Just leave some of the coke, alright?

[conjobs]

Well there's obviously plenty of it somewhere. [But fine, don't share. John's not a heroin addict or anything, it's not like he needs it. He does seem like he knows what he's doing though as he sheds out of his trenchcoat and drapes it over a nearby hook before rolling his sleeves up and getting down to business.

He's not going to be precious about it and pretend like he doesn't know which one the coke is. He will start with that though, snorting it and breathing it in like fresh air.]

Jesus Christ. [Been a while, Johnny boy. Maybe take it easy after popping a couple of the oddly-coloured pills before thinking about licking the tray? His body slumps limply onto the floor as the hallucinogen starts to kick in and the room starts to transform into an old memory from Istanbul.] Holy shit.

[hjack69]

[ Johnny boy knows what he's doing. Jack watches him go through half-lidded eyes, laughing unevenly at that Jesus Christ, and laughing louder when he slumps to the floor. ]

Those pills are a friggin' trip, right? [ Literally. He was in a half-remembered bar on Eden-6 earlier, probably boring the absolute shit out of the watching scientists while he babbled to himself for an hour. Then the hallucinations took a decidedly darker turn. He hasn't tried them again. ] Keep 'em.

[ It's going to take a monumental effort to get him off the couch and onto John, so he doesn't try yet, considering the tray for another moment before glancing to his company. ]

You can handle your shit, right? [ Another laugh, this one fainter. ] I got this from the folks in charge, y'know. They'll give you whatever you want if you promise to let 'em watch.

[ Not that he thinks he can get away with this regularly - there's only so many times you can watch somebody get absolutely blasted and fuck before it gets dull. It's still exactly the kind of pick-me-up Jack needed. John too, from the look of it. ]

[conjobs]

[He groans and shakes his head, as if it'd pull him out of the reverie. It's so vivid, the sand shifting beneath his shoes, the exotic spices making his nose itch, locals glaring at him from every corner of the marketplace as sunlight pokes through his dirty blond hair. The only thing keeping him tethered to reality was the sound of Jack's voice, and giving that any amount of serious thought? That's a scary thing to have to hold on to.

Honestly John's not sure what the researchers were expecting. Two blokes dropping acid in a crammed flat back home is more or less like this, sitting there bewildered going off on their trippy adventures and being irrationally scared of the trashcan that's transformed into a black hole with a kaleidoscope in the centre.]

I fronted a punk rock band. What do you think? [Said the British boy to the camel. He gives Jack's crotch a wary look before he drags himself over the floor to stroke Jack's calf as if he's touching the camel's neck, its fur like bristles soft and hot beneath his hand. John spontaneously bursts out laughing and grabs his tie, tugging it away from Jack's leg before his other hand goes to clutch his hair. It's the first genuine laugh from the con artist since he arrived in Zhautas, though he doubted anyone would be able to tell the difference.]

Are we giving them a show, you and I?