for ~exorkismos

[inconstantly]

Never let it be said that John Constantine wouldn't go to certain lengths for a laugh. A great deal of effort and it was out of the question, but if the effort was minimal while completing another task then sure, why not?

When he arrives at the address indicated, John stands at the door holding a single rose wrapped in plastic from his last trip to the supermarket. The flower is in mostly good shape save for a slight drying at the edge of the petals. What is the most glaring is a large yellow sticker against the plastic, declaring the item HALF OFF FOR QUICK SALE! The artist was getting his damn rose, but it was still very clearly on John's terms.

He gives the door a solid knock, not even waiting for Marcus to respond before calling loudly against it. "Yeah, it's John. You'd better not be in there doing a shit." Despite being relentlessly forward, there's a lightness in John's voice. He's here to listen to music and drink up Marcus' alcohol supply. Should be fun. In the hand opposite of the rose is a bottle of gin. He didn't exactly trust that supply to last.

Comments

[exorkismos]

The building Marcus has directed John to is a crappy hotel that offers hourly rates and smells of cleaning solution and artificial lavender, strong and acrid enough to burn the inside of the nostrils. From the other side of the door comes the blare of music turned up too loud.

Marcus barely hears what John's saying over the noise, which is absolutely intentional. He's sprawled on the distinctly uncomfortable bed with his sketchbook in his lap and his cassette player right next to him. He doesn't turn it down, just roars cheerfully back, "It's open, you crude fucker, when did you get manners?" without looking up from the pencil sketch he's working on.