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Jan. 2nd, 2006 03:24 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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neutral_omensSetting: Manor Garden Deck
Date: 26th Dec. 1999, 11 pm
Status: Private (John and Ellie)
Summary: An old acquaintance is renewed.
Considering what was scheduled for the next day, John should really have been sleeping. But an hour spent in the clutches of acute insomnia had convinced him it was a pointless effort, so instead he was standing on the deck behind the Manor, smoking a cigarette and contemplating recent events and the ordeal ahead.
The latter might not have been such a discouraging prospect if the former hadn't been littered with assorted miscalculations and blindsidings on his part--stupid shit both major and minor for which he had no excuse, except the most obvious and unsettling.
Face it, Constantine: you're losing your edge.
The John Constantine of ten years ago--before the lung cancer, or Kit, or Crowley--would never have overlooked the trade value of that stupid spell. He'd never have got caught in a simple act of vandalism, or given away something worth ten thousand quid without knowing what it was first. He wouldn't have let Belial catch him completely off-guard, either, nor casually acknowledged that he owed him a debt.
He glanced down at the watch that he was still wearing, as per Crowley's request. John-the-younger sure as hell wouldn't have trusted a gift given to him by a demon, especially one that came with undisclosed fine print.
He sighed, crossing his arms on the cold wrought-iron railing. No, his younger self wouldn't be so careless, or so trusting, or so...what was the word...honorable? And he never would have second-guessed himself like this. He'd have ploughed ahead like nothing could possibly go wrong, looked out for number one first and foremost, manipulated, blackmailed or bought everybody in sight to get what he needed or wanted, and piddling things like friendship or simple decency could go hang if they got in the way.
John wasn't especially sorry to see him go. He hadn't liked that fellow very much even at the time, and he liked him even less in retrospect. He'd been selfish and short-sighted and occasionally downright cruel. The world was better off without him. But...and this was his dilemma...he'd been damn good at the game of survival. And though simply continuing to breathe no longer seemed like quite enough, it was sort of a prerequisite for everything else.
He shivered. The chill of the late December night penetrated quicker and more deeply now than it had in the old days. It was making his ankle ache, too, though that had stopped hurting otherwise. He wondered if it would always be sensitive to the weather now. Little things, but they added up over time to a growing sense of obsolescence, of corners turned that couldn't be retraced.
He was only forty-six. That wasn't so old, was it, really? But he'd be dead and roasting six years since, if he were any kind of normal human being. Old mates and enemies were decades in their graves now, many of them sent there by or because of him. It astonished him mildly to think that the new millennium was just a few days away, and he might actually survive to see it. Didn't seem quite fair, somehow.
His thoughts kept turning back, as they had for the past week or so, to that mind-boggling encounter with Belial. It didn't bother him especially that he'd found himself responding to the kiss; Belial was the Lord of Seductions, for fuck's sake, he could inspire lust in a piece of solid granite if he tried hard enough. What bothered him was that it had left him aching, not for the Crown per se (who really wasn't his type even in the long-ago days when he'd briefly prowled that side of the fence; too skinny for one thing, and too enamored of his own drama for another,) but for somebody. Preferably someone completely unconnected to the Tadfield Manor crew, who didn't know or care about angels or demons or Apocalypse-level events, and who had no ulterior motives beyond having a good time and working off a little tension. In other words, someone who was...
"Hello, John."
John groaned under his breath and dropped his head down on his arms. ...not her. "Hullo, Ellie..."
Date: 26th Dec. 1999, 11 pm
Status: Private (John and Ellie)
Summary: An old acquaintance is renewed.
Considering what was scheduled for the next day, John should really have been sleeping. But an hour spent in the clutches of acute insomnia had convinced him it was a pointless effort, so instead he was standing on the deck behind the Manor, smoking a cigarette and contemplating recent events and the ordeal ahead.
The latter might not have been such a discouraging prospect if the former hadn't been littered with assorted miscalculations and blindsidings on his part--stupid shit both major and minor for which he had no excuse, except the most obvious and unsettling.
Face it, Constantine: you're losing your edge.
The John Constantine of ten years ago--before the lung cancer, or Kit, or Crowley--would never have overlooked the trade value of that stupid spell. He'd never have got caught in a simple act of vandalism, or given away something worth ten thousand quid without knowing what it was first. He wouldn't have let Belial catch him completely off-guard, either, nor casually acknowledged that he owed him a debt.
He glanced down at the watch that he was still wearing, as per Crowley's request. John-the-younger sure as hell wouldn't have trusted a gift given to him by a demon, especially one that came with undisclosed fine print.
He sighed, crossing his arms on the cold wrought-iron railing. No, his younger self wouldn't be so careless, or so trusting, or so...what was the word...honorable? And he never would have second-guessed himself like this. He'd have ploughed ahead like nothing could possibly go wrong, looked out for number one first and foremost, manipulated, blackmailed or bought everybody in sight to get what he needed or wanted, and piddling things like friendship or simple decency could go hang if they got in the way.
John wasn't especially sorry to see him go. He hadn't liked that fellow very much even at the time, and he liked him even less in retrospect. He'd been selfish and short-sighted and occasionally downright cruel. The world was better off without him. But...and this was his dilemma...he'd been damn good at the game of survival. And though simply continuing to breathe no longer seemed like quite enough, it was sort of a prerequisite for everything else.
He shivered. The chill of the late December night penetrated quicker and more deeply now than it had in the old days. It was making his ankle ache, too, though that had stopped hurting otherwise. He wondered if it would always be sensitive to the weather now. Little things, but they added up over time to a growing sense of obsolescence, of corners turned that couldn't be retraced.
He was only forty-six. That wasn't so old, was it, really? But he'd be dead and roasting six years since, if he were any kind of normal human being. Old mates and enemies were decades in their graves now, many of them sent there by or because of him. It astonished him mildly to think that the new millennium was just a few days away, and he might actually survive to see it. Didn't seem quite fair, somehow.
His thoughts kept turning back, as they had for the past week or so, to that mind-boggling encounter with Belial. It didn't bother him especially that he'd found himself responding to the kiss; Belial was the Lord of Seductions, for fuck's sake, he could inspire lust in a piece of solid granite if he tried hard enough. What bothered him was that it had left him aching, not for the Crown per se (who really wasn't his type even in the long-ago days when he'd briefly prowled that side of the fence; too skinny for one thing, and too enamored of his own drama for another,) but for somebody. Preferably someone completely unconnected to the Tadfield Manor crew, who didn't know or care about angels or demons or Apocalypse-level events, and who had no ulterior motives beyond having a good time and working off a little tension. In other words, someone who was...
"Hello, John."
John groaned under his breath and dropped his head down on his arms. ...not her. "Hullo, Ellie..."
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Date: 2006-01-02 08:28 am (UTC)Ellie stared at him. "It doesn't bother you at all that he's handing free will over to one of the three who--"
"--ripped me open and parceled my soul out like it was a bag of Chinese takeaway?" he growled. Thanks for reminding me, darlin'. "Can't say I'm overly happy about it. But that was my own doing, and now Belial will have some idea what that felt like, won't he? Anyway," he added, still trying to convince himself that overlooking that opportunity hadn't been the single biggest and stupidest mistake of his life, "if he's out of the damnation business, then it can only work to my advantage, right? What do the rules say about souls claimed by non-aligned entities?"
"I don't know," Ellie said thoughtfully. "It hasn't come up in an awfully long time, and as I recall there was some conflict with the lesser deities and their Underworld dimensions. But that sort of thing was never really my department."
John shrugged. "Well. Anyway, if nothing else it'll hit your old boss where it hurts. That's always a plus."
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Date: 2006-01-02 08:28 am (UTC)"Well, we can hope he has a fatal aneurysm," John said philosophically.
"You're a very strange person, John."
"Aww, thank you luv, I try my best." The human smiled lopsidedly, straightening up. "Fuck, it's cold out here. I think I'm gonna go try to get some sleep. Watch yourself around the Manor, Ellie. Some of the shitheads wandering the joint will turn you in or smite you as soon as look at you."
"So people keep telling me." Ellie rolled her eyes. "Hm, you're shivering. Sure you don't want some company? I'll turn the defrost all the way up..." She fluttered her eyelashes, half-facetiously. There wasn't an innocent bone in her body, but she honestly thought it would do the man good to let his guard down and simply enjoy himself for a little while. (Wouldn't do her any harm, either.)
For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of indecision in his tired blue eyes, but then he shook his head. "Some other time, maybe." He pushed himself away from the railing and ground his cigarette under his heel. "I'll see you around, Ellie."
She watched him amble back inside, hands in his pockets, and let her breath out in a puff of frustration when he was out of sight. Same old John, after all...if the fate of the world or his own fool neck's not at stake, he's not interested.