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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[ ....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. ]

Well, not everyone, not all the time. It's like, I don't know, algebra.

[ Like algebra... Okay, that does actually help him perceive this a certain way. Not everyone uses it, and only sometimes, that kind of does make some sense. Let's assume magic exists, okay sure, then the kind of people who would use it would be.... ]

....You mean like.... witches and stuff use it?

[ Constantine is unable to hold back her heavy sigh this time. ]

Sure.

[ How many times are people in this goddamn City going to ask if she's a witch? Is this that wizard franchise's fault? If she ever gets back to Britain she's going to go to Scotland and egg that lady's castle. ]

[ Once again, sincerest apologies to Johanna Constantine— ]

So you're saying...........

[ Here it comes ]

You're a witch?

Sure.

[ Some things really make you consider taking up smoking again. But hey, he got there! Small mercies. ]

I prefer occultist. Exorcist if you're paying me. Warlock if you're nasty.

[ As he's tiptoeing towards this, all of it — Peter abruptly flinches back a little. Those next words are... scary ones, elicit images of horror movies, things screaming; he's always had a weak stomach for it.

(The implication that those words are real, well... Peter's starting to look mildly nauseated through the lingering confusion. She's scary....! And while he's still struggling to accept this as reality, there is very much the thought that he does not want to offend this person!) ]

I— um. I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to um— I just didn't know stuff like that actually existed. Exorcists and... stuff. I always thought that was just in like... movies.

It's all right. Pet peeves, that's all, not your fault.

I can't throw fireballs or anything like that, from the movies. But I could set up some wards, like I said. Keep the bad vibes out.

[ He's still not sure how he... feels, about all of this. It's a lot to swallow, to process — and a large part of Peter insists that it simply can't be real.

....But what if it is? What if there's even a chance it is? That he could sleep a little more easily, not thinking that those people from back home will find him and do whatever the fuck it is they wanted to do to him? (He thinks of flickering candles and a photo of himself with his eyes burned out and his heart pounds and pounds and pounds) ]

Could the uh.... wards keep out like bad.... people? Stop them from being able to get in the door?

That's ... pretty advanced, but it's not out of the question.

[ She doesn't want to say "no, keeping physical people from physically affecting a door is really fucking hard." But, uh, that would be really fucking hard. Deadbolts are better than most spells. ]

Keeping people from finding you is a bit easier.

[ Peter absolutely has the mental image of someone setting up little glowy sticks or something and making a perimeter that can't be penetrated.... Bad people just bouncing off of it.... but that gives him another pause. ]

You mean like.... hiding me?

[ That sounds... great, actually. If she really can do something like this, then.... fuck. ]

Sure, yeah.

[ She's already thinking through what she might need for that. Salt, probably, some candles for the bounds of the ward. Probably some of the kid's hair or something. Which, actually--]

Is there someone here you don't want finding you?

[ Because that would be somewhat concerning. But also, specificity might make the wards a bit easier. ]

[ It's a hard question to answer, because it's one more thing he isn't sure of. He knows how he feels, which is yes, he feels that there are people here he doesn't want finding him, it's why he keeps himself tucked away in the dark. Why every stranger he comes across when he does venture out elicits a shudder down his spine, and the feeling that he needs to run, he needs to fucking run.

....But there's been no hard evidence that any of those people are here. There's no hard evidence that they existed at all. ]

....Maybe. [ Peter starts there, teeth worrying his bottom lip for a moment. ] Back where I'm from— before this. I think there were people after me. Weird... fucking people.

....Doing rituals or some shit.

video; un: Constantine

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