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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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.

Mm. Weird fuckin' people doing rituals or some shit are bad news, as a rule. Speaking as a professional weird fuckin' person. Do you know--?

[ Hang on. She cuts herself off before she can get too deep into a new line of interrogation. What kind of rituals does Peter think they were doing? It might sound like paranoia on the surface, but these things do happen. ] No, listen, point is. I can't make you invisible, but I can make you bloody hard to notice.

[ He still doesn't know if it even really happened, or what it really fucking meant. But the fear of those people persists all the same, and.... well. If what she's offering is real....? What does he have to lose.

Being hard to notice is exactly what he's hoping for.

So the teen's sucking against the inside of one cheek for a moment, nervous but thoughtful, and then, finally— ]

Okay. Okay, yeah. Maybe we could do that.

[ A plan begins its motion.... Unfortunately, Peter is soon going to drop off the face of the earth for a couple months! ]

[ Well, you know, Constantine will soon have her own Issues to wallow in, so! ]

How's this, then. I'll pick up some supplies. You text me where I can find you, and we'll work something out.

[ And if he forgets to text, or she forgets to follow up, uh ... there's always October? October's a good time for spell working. ]

Okay. [ Peter says, again, so helpfully. He's not trying to offer as much conversation as a bump on a log, just.... this is all so weird. He doesn't know what to say, how to say it. He's going through the motions towards something that feels wrong or maybe just scary (the last time he got involved in some weird occult shit, it went wild, whether it was real or not....)

...But it's something he wants. What she's offering. Something he needs.

(And then, a beat later—) ]

Thanks.

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