citynet | video; un: Constantine

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video; un: Constantine

[ The camera fumbles and pans across the foyer of one of the supermarkets before focusing on Johanna Constantine's face. She's headed into the store, it appears, looking over the shelves for something specific. ]

Have you noticed there's no religion here? [ Her tone's conversational, like she's just FaceTiming a friend as she shops. ] No churches or temples or shrines. What do you suppose that means? --Ah, there we are.

[ The camera swings to point at the ceiling as she reaches to grab something. It looks like she's in the spice aisle. ]

Anyway, before you all start arguing about whether God's abandoned us, real point is: anyone here have it in them to consecrate some water and oil? Give us a ring, we can barter or something.

---

[ ooc: Threadhopping is fine by me if characters do in fact start arguing religion. Just know Constantine is watching anything that's not marked private! ]

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[ Peter doesn't interact with this.... newsfeed, much. But holed up on a mattress in apartment, his days pass by slow and strange, and sometimes in his moments of true coherency, he needs something to break the monotony.

He looks through the messages, cautious, nervous. He can't be certain any of this is real; maybe some of it is all in his head. But maybe some of these are real people reaching out. The woman in the video certainly looks real.

No religion. It's a concept he hasn't thought about, and something to it sends a chill down his spine. The boy hesitates before he actually responds, though he keeps his own face concealed for now. His voice comes through soft but tired, a little hoarse, and trembling around the edges. He's nervous. ]

Maybe.... maybe this is Hell.

[ He never really believed. But these days, he wonders over and over again. ]

[ hoooooooo boy ]

Doubt it, bruv. [ She sounds patient, but the way a customer service representative who's had to answer this question five times already is patient. ] Hell's no fan of mine, and nobody's come after me with a pitchfork even once.

[ 'Hell's no fan of mine'

Could be a joke. Metaphorical Hells, and all that — Peter certainly knows how that goes. But in this place, and with what he's seen and known (and not known, not for certain), the words only serve to make that nervous energy worse. He's quiet for a few long moments, not replying. Eerily silent. Then, finally— ]

If it's not Hell, then... what is it? This place can't be real.

[ He doesn't sound sure of himself at all, can't convince himself of his own words. ]

[ Godddddammit. Okay. While part of her is sorely tempted to tell this guy to go call the guy who keeps talking about his brother and God and the Great Heat so they can have a nice mutual breakdown ... He sounds young, and scared.

She's never been able to walk past an innocent, as much as her better judgment tells her that no one is really innocent.

Putting down her bag, she messes with the settings and sends username P.Graham a private audio message. You know. A phone call. ]

Are you new, kid? When's the last time you ate?

[ The call surprises him when it comes, and it takes him a few moments to answer — long lapses inbetween everything he does. But he's there eventually, slow and unsure of himself, drawing in a nervous breath as he listens to the woman's words.

Then he's exhaling it out, leaving room to speak. It's easier to answer direct questions. ]

I've been here... [ An odd pause. Maybe it's not so easy after all, because time is a concept Peter can't keep track of. How long has it been....? ] ...maybe a week? I don't know.

Maybe this morning.

[ It's a lot of maybes. He ate... something, he thinks. Some toast? Or was the bread toasted at all? Maybe it was just limp and soft and he'd taken small bites until his stomach couldn't take it anymore and he had to throw it away. ]

Right. Do you know where you are? Specifically, I mean, not "fucking purgatory." One of the apartments? The park?

I'm in an apartment. Someone...someone put me here.

[ .... He kind of makes it sound like he was kidnapped, but someone just... helped find him a safe place to hole up. ]

I try not to leave too much. This place.... I don't want to get lost again. Keep getting lost.

[ A sigh. ]

You've got to leave and eat some food, kid. It's not dangerous, it's just spooky. If you don't try to get out of the city it won't loop you around.

And it'll seem less like Hell if you've gotten a proper meal. Promise.

There's a couple people who bring me stuff. Uh, to eat. The guy I live next door to, he's— he helps me.

[ He probably should be more self-sustaining in a place like this! But Peter can barely remember how to bathe himself most days. Half the time, he's not lucid enough to do much at all. ]

Loop you around? You mean... we really are stuck here?

Yeah. We are. Sorry if I'm the first one you're hearing it from.

Who's your friend?

It can't.... it doesn't make any sense. If it loops around.... this place has to be something not.... normal. Not... human.

[ Something 'supernatural' is probably the word that his mind is dancing around, but Peter can't voice it. (What about what happened back home? The fucking... séance his mom did? Things like that aren't real, but... it seemed like it was.

What the fuck is happening to him?) ]

....Why?

[ He sounds more nervous than anything remotely confrontational; he's just paranoid as to anyone asking for names... unsure if he should give them out. ]

[ Johanna suppresses a sigh. Why indeed. If the kid's getting fed by somebody, that's probably all that matters. Not like he's her responsibility. ]

Just wondering if we might know some of the same people. There's only about eighty of us around, as far as I can tell.

I'm Johanna. Constantine. And you're right, it's not normal and it's probably not human. We're all doing our best to figure out what the fuck it is. One of these days we might even get somewhere. In the meantime, we all have to look out for one another, right?

[ ....Oh. That makes sense, he thinks. Through his thick haze of paranoia, reason pokes its head through when the woman explains. There's another long pause before he does offer the information. ]

His name's Robby.

[ If Robby gave him a last name, Peter can't remember it anymore, another detail swallowed up by the crackling static of his mind. But he hangs onto the first name, at least. He's written it on the wall of the apartment, along with a couple others. Safe people. Don't forget.

The woman gives him a name too, and Peter finds himself picking up his pencil, scratching it out on the wall. Johanna Constantine. He might need to remember her sometime. ]

Do you... trust them? The people here. Maybe they're in on it.

Huh. Hadn't thought about a mole or anything, actually.

[ She says it with casual interest, and only realizes a minute later that maybe that level of confirming someone's paranoia is not a good idea. But it's not a bad point, you know? ]

But I don't really think so. Not most of 'em. And if someone is in on it, I don't see how it changes much.

If someone's in on it, then they're probably.... keeping up with us. Taking notes on what we do or some shit.

[ The idea is... horrifying, and the boy can't conceal the horror that creeps into his voice like spilled ink, slowly overtaking everything. His voice starts trembling again.

The people who were... watching him back home. Stalking him. This is too fucking familiar, it's too much. ]

They could be watching everything we do. They could be.... everywhere.

Hey, hey, take a breath.

[ What the fuck is his name? ]

P. Graham? Right? That's your username?

[ God, please let that be grounding, rather than convincing him she's spying on him. ]

Here's what I do know, all right? There's a lot of people here who give a fuck about each other. Like your friend Robby, yeah? So we're all going to keep each other safe.

If you're worried about people watching you I can think of a few things that could help, if you like.

[ 'take a breath'

The instruction helps, and Peter does — with an almost comical obedience; Johanna will probably hear the very audible breath he takes against the device. It's a little strained, but it's there. ]

Y-yeah. [ A beat. P. Graham. That's him, sometimes he forgets, but— ]

I'm Peter.

[ He says it softly as he listens to the woman's words. His friend Robby... Safe. Again, even the simple words help him a bit, pull him away from his kneejerk panic and make him think about other things. Robby's there, he can call Robby whenever he needs to, he's just next door. ]

Yeah— I'd like that. Please. Anything you know. [ ...Because there are absolutely people that could be watching him, after him, and the thought stays there, ice-cold. ]

Peter, there we go.

So, there's a fellow on the network who's got a bunch of information about encrypting your texts and all that. That might help you.

And if you'd like, I could drop by and set up some wards. Keep anything more intangible from peeking in.

Really...? Who is he?

[ Peter hasn't been keeping up much with the flow of network traffic and who's posted what, just tuning in every once in awhile inbetween his own strange states.

But that next part draws a noticeable pause from his end of things. Something lingers, a discomfort, a thought he doesn't like. ]

Wards. You don't mean like... magic, right?

Not entirely sure. Suppose it might not even be a he, really.

[ She's like 85% sure it is, but that's neither here nor there. ]

Whoever he or they are, they seem solid enough. Wrote up a guide, I think.

[ The pause is just long enough that Johanna starts to worry that Peter has blacked out or hung up or something; his tone when he does speak doesn't exactly relieve the tension. ]

Yeah, like magic. Is that a problem?

How do you know they're not just tricking people, either? Maybe they're fucking with us, too.

[ There's no vitriol in the words, no anger behind the curse — his tone stays nervous, quiet. But how can anyone know what's really meant as help, and what might be something else? How can anyone really trust anyone else, here? (Sorry Johanna, that paranoia's just going to keep fluctuating up and down and up again....)

He might've laughed a little in reaction, once. Laughter's not easily found in Peter these days, none of that comes now. But the initial feeling is the same — taken aback, bemused.

(But through those things, isn't there a quiet horror? A creeping dread? He'd seen what happened to his mother when she'd lit that candle and called for his sister's spirit. He can't explain all of it, but— he'd seen it.

Your mother was crazy, part of him insists. But something else remembers the way he felt that buzz to the air, something shifting, flexing. A chill against the back of his neck.)

It feels uncomfortably like he's trying to convince himself of something when he replies to the woman. ]

Magic's not.... real.

[ Ah, okay, it's a disbelief thing. She lightens her tone. ]

Isn't it? Damn, wish someone'd told me ten years ago. Well, then, worst I can do is wave some herbs around your place and make it smell better.

[ She's just assuming it's ripe based on the thing where he's a teenage boy. ]

As for anonymous, your guess is as good as mine. Eventually you've got to flip a coin on trusting people and move on, I suppose.

[ Peter hesitates, uneasy. Is she fucking with him...? There's confusion in his tone, uncertain. ]

Are you trying to say you've been doing..... magic for ten years....?

[ Sorry (again), Johanna. He's going to be moving at a snail's pace with this. He does add on after a moment— ]

Isn't that stuff just.. made up?

Closer to twenty, now. Christ.

[ She's a Millennial and she's crumbling into dust. Help. ]

Anyway, lots of things are made up. Money. Politics. Marriage.

But— magic's like..... I mean, how can it be real?

[ He continues to not sound confrontational in the least. It's with a more.... nervous energy, restless, eyes a little too wide. Like he's talking about something that scares him, because it fucking does. ]

If it was, everyone would go around using it all the time...

[ Poor sweet summer child. You are literally possessed by a goetic demon, my guy. ]

audio | un: P.Graham

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