morning will come again.

BRUCE WAYNE — I'd rather die than wait another hour. indie, semi-selective, post-crisis based.

[kowakute-blog]

perfectedingbadideas‌:

He had asked the Bat for a ride somewhere of course he never even bothered to agree with it. There was a reason he had other people drive him. He hated public transportation more than anything. Could deal with all manners of nasty things but for some reason he just hated having to take a subway. Now that he was out of it of course that was when the bastard decided to make his appearance startling him when he felt someone grab him and pull him into an alley. Hand already slipping into his pocket for the lighter he kept there. Could throw a very quick spell that could incinerate or warn someone off dealing with him. 

Seeing that it was Bats he thought for a second longer before dropping the lighter back into his pocket. “Coulda had tha’ conversation wit’ me wit’out makin me ride tha’ damn thing.” He answered knowing that Bats wasn’t going to let it go.

Taking his arm back when he was released John sighed. “You mean you haven’t noticed anythin’?” World’s greatest detective couldn’t even see when something was getting  a little creepy in his area. Then again when you run around dressed like that might take a lot to phase you. 

“I have it handled Batsy.” The trust me he nearly said along with that died in his throat. Didn’t think Bats would have really found much comfort in that thought. Probably wouldn’t even let him handle this on his own. Batman didn’t work well with magic. Seemed so suspicious of it. He’d rather not have him along.

Though the muscle in his cheek twitched slightly in irritation at the question-- Bruce wasn’t a magic user, didn’t care about it, didn’t know it or felt particularly inclined to know-- what really got him, in the end, was the assurance that Constantine had it under control.

“I don’t doubt your ability to handle the situation.” And he really didn’t; Bruce’s doubt in John Constantine was more about things like smoking in his car, or somehow crashing it, for that matter. His abilities, meanwhile, were unquestionable. “But tell me what the situation is.

“Hell” -- here, Bruce brought a hand up to lightly pinch the bridge of his nose -- “if you led with that, I would’ve taken you there.”

The unfortunate thing about living in a place like Gotham City was how easily things were dismissed as normal. Off the top of his head he could think of a few blips, but everyday life in general had blips, didn’t it?

Subtle magic was a weak point of his, he knew. Evidently whatever was here was too subtle for him to think of it as anything more than an occurrence from natural causes.

[kowakute-blog]

@perfectedingbadideas​

Whenever it was that Constantine found his way out of public transportation, the Batman was there waiting, stood silently in the shadows of an alleyway before he grabbed the man out from the sidewalk in broad daylight. Fortunately for him, in a city like this, something like that was normal.

“What came to Gotham to get you here?” His voice was stern, barely lilting enough to form the tone required for questioning. Constantine’s arm was released, and the Batman looked down at him with a scowl.

“What has it done?”

[kowakute-blog]

laughter-in-white‌:

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m a Gothamite through and though, and my friends happen to think I’m plenty charming. Maybe it’s just you, Bats.” Joker made a point to give Batman a big, beaming smile.

“Why do I have to prove anything at all? This is profiling against clowns!” His smile immediately shifted into a frown. “Just so you know, I live around here, and I actually have a life outside of you. I was just on my way to pick up some smokes. It’s not my fault I didn’t see you skulking in the shadows like a creep.”

Smokes, he said. The Batman gave him a swift sweep from head to toe, then said, “Fine.”

It wasn’t fine, of course-- in the end, he’d be running street surveillance to make sure he knew where the Joker was going-- but he was wasting time staying any longer. Without so much of a ‘goodbye’ or any form of acknowledgement, he turned to go.

[kowakute-blog]

laughter-in-white‌:

“Not much of a charmer, are you.” Joker pulled his lips into an exaggerated, downward arc, still reluctant to let go of his jacket. “How many medically malnourished men have you seen in your life anyways? Have you been peeking?” He squinted his eyes in suspicion.

“We live in Gotham.”

The squint did nothing. The Batman stared right back, impassive, and for a moment wanted to believe his moral code meant that he could just grab the Joker and give him a pat-down without due reason.

Alas, he knew better.

“You’re ‘out for a jog’. You can prove there isn’t anything scandalous hidden in there easily.”

[kowakute-blog]

laughter-in-white‌:

Joker took in a loud, scandalized gasp, eyes round as saucers. He gripped the lapels of his jacket and pulled them tight across his torso. “Oh Bats, as much as I like you, and you know I like you a lot, we’re simply moving too fast!” He exclaimed, plastering himself against the wall. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that level of commitment.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” the Batman said dryly, only barely resisting the urge to let the muscle at the cusp of his eye and cheek twitch in irritation. He had better things to do, other places to patrol, but seeing the Joker moving about so plainly was just...

“I doubt there’s anything I haven’t already seen. Open your jacket.”

[cute-clown-extraordinaire]

@kowakute​

“Okay okay! I give up. Don’t hit me!” Joker pressed his back against the wall, and held up his hands to show he wasn’t holding a weapon. “I’m not up to anything. I promise! Can’t a clown have a midnight jog? I gotta do something to work off the pounds.” Nevermind he was skinny as a stick.

[kowakute-blog]

Voice a quiet growl, the Batman’s eyes narrowed even from behind his mask. “It’s never just a jog with you.” And, really, the fact he’d gone ahead and run right into his field of vision? It was never a good thing when the Joker wanted deliberate attention.

“Open your jacket.”

[kowakute-blog]

lantern-2814-1‌:

“It’s always on my mind, my friend. I simply trust you more than anyone else to be capable of finishing the job.”

If he asked another magician, they’d likely mess it up or twist things to suit them. And there were no capes that he felt he could look to for results. Maybe an angry mob, but there was no finesse or expertise there. Oh, and Etrigan would cull them all like animals.

“Indeed I have,” Jason agrees. By the time Bruce is on his third or so cookie, Blood is merely on the second. “Perhaps there is. You do keep a rather fine estate. The style is nostalgic— to me, at least.”

Suddenly, he perks up at the mention of a library. “I don’t believe you have. I’ve always been curious what kinds of old tomes you possess. After all, a man is what he has read.”

The way Blood’s whole countenance changes at the mention of a library is a curious thing, enough to make the corner of Bruce’s mouth pull up slightly (simple joy, after all, is simple joy). Still, in the end, he manages a short grunt. “I don’t own everything in there, Jason.” But maybe he’ll be able to tell which books Bruce had chosen for himself, which is a terrifying thought in its own right.

In any case, he reseals the package, putting his cup back down on the tray and gesturing for Blood to do the same. They’ve still got quite a bit of tea left; it would be a waste to let it go cold when they can take it with them. After that, he’s leading him out of the sitting room, holding the tray in both hands and making his way past the foyer, down a hall towards a wall with double doors, the crest of his family-- all the way in Kyoto-- visible to the doors’ right.

“My hands are tied,” he says plainly. “Go ahead, open it.”

[unffinityandbeyond]

[kowakute-blog]

lantern-2814-1‌:

One russet brow quirks upwards in a curious look. He isn’t sure he’s heard such a phrase before, but he nods with some delay. “Especially a losing battle.”

Jason almost laughs when he hears the terminology used. He is more than aware of the other wards Bruce has, but it certainly sounds like a thing Grayson would say. Composure is kept, however. “Calm down my mind? I suppose I have time to waste,” he says. “A lot of time.”

Goodness. A solution couldn’t come soon enough.

Dark eyes observe intently, processing what’s said silently. This… is helpful, as much as he hates to admit it. Bruce’s theory helps make sense, as cynical as he is about Jason’s self-deprecation. “That does sound logical.”

His head turns to the side to avoid looking the other man head-on. Evidently, his pride is getting in the way of human interaction. “I refuse to go down like this,” Jason insists. “What would you suggest I do?”

Finally, he looks back once more. “You know if he gets loose now, you may have to just destroy us both.”

“I know,” Bruce says after swallowing his mouthful of tea. “I just didn’t want to be the one who brought it up.”

Destroy is easy in context of a demon, but not in context of Blood. Bruce is different from a typical person in many ways, but as far as wanting to make sure his friends are safe, he hates to admit that he’s just as concerned about it as anyone else is. It’s a compassion that’ll kill him one day, he imagines, but it’s the one weakness he can’t afford to let go.

“You’ve come all this way,” he mentions, finishing his second cookie and reaching for another one (he’s rather fond of these snacks, not that he’d ever admit such a thing openly), “there’s probably something in the manor that amuses you enough to get you to... chill.” The word still feels weird in his mouth no matter how much he tries.

“Have I ever showed you the library?” Somehow he doubts Blood would take to Wii Sports Bowling.

[kowakute-blog]

lantern-2814-1‌:

At times, Jason hates magic too. Rules are fine. Basic ones of morality or diction were easy to remember. But then one gets into the exceptions, loopholes, and paradoxes. That’s about the point that Jason loses his mind over it.

That, and he is a pretty weak magic user on his own. At least compared to his peers.

Blood keeps an eye on Bruce’s tells. The thoughtful look on his face intersected with his innocent hand movements. Jason takes a drink of his tea, finally.

“I suppose it’s possible. Perhaps by obtaining an artifact or coming into contact with another sorcerer. Mostly, I’ve done it consciously.”

Jason flips one of his hands over so he can see his own palm.

“It could also be my will is weaker than it used to be. I’ve fought his influence at every turn, but…”

“Well,” Bruce says, his own eyes flicking briefly to Blood’s hand before looking at his face again, “you know what they say about fighting too much.”

Not that Bruce has a proper saying beyond the insistence of his children for him to get some rest and put his head back together again, whenever it is that he turns out needing it. That being said, what comes out of his mouth ends up as bluntly honest as it would have if Dick had advised it-- “Sometimes you have to find something fun to ‘chill your brain out’.”

Air quotes and everything.

“I’m assuming combining more magic than the norm and your own supposedly ‘weakening will’” -- again, Bruce uses the air quotes -- “might take a toll on what keeps the demon sealed.” But it’s all theory, anyway; maybe he ought to read more about magic, one day, if he can even find the time.

“You never struck me as the type to be down for long,” he says, pouring himself more tea, “but I’ve recently learned that downtime has its uses, too.”

Present situation excluded.

[kowakute-blog]

lantern-2814-1‌:

Bruce has been an acquaintance of Blood’s long enough for him to know a few things. Mainly, when he’s being analyzed. Yet he’s so caught up in his own words, he fails to mention it. Or really acknowledge it in any way. He leans back into the chair, evidently having leaned forward without realizing it.

He looks away for a moment, processing the question. “It’s possible, but I would think I could sense it. Unless it was faint or… masked.” There’s a moment where he considers the latter option, but it passes.

“I don’t know specifically. But my former master was a powerful mage and half-brother to my demon,” he explained. “I’m not that talented myself. If I were to separate us, I would need to borrow power greater than my own.”

Even though it’s an interrogation, Jason hardly sweats. He has nothing to hide, his checkered past aside.

“Hnnh.” It’s as much a thoughtful sound as it is a dismissive one, though less towards Jason and more to his own swiftly rolling train of thought. It’s not the first time he’s loathed his limited knowledge of magic; he’s not entirely certain whether it’s right to assume that a particular brand of magic could affect the rules that keep Blood’s demon at bay even without conscious use.

But magic can be finicky, can’t it? It’s why Bruce hates it so much.

Why his lips press together and a slight furrow remains between his brow even as he picks up another sweet cookie.

“Have you ever borrowed magic on accident?” This is punctuated with a soft crunch.

[thedemonconstantine]

Double Trouble

[kowakute-blog]

thedemonconstantine‌:

“…TA’ FREDDIE!” John hollered to the air, then followed his unwilling host through the grand Hall and towards the sun room. 

“Aww, Brucey, yeh broodin’ already? But th’ nite’s barely started!”

John teased, though the moment Bruce sat down by the piano, the blonde did too by the leather chair, falling into silence for a few moments, as if he was unsure where to begin.

“Once upon a time, dere was a city. She ‘ad a name, ‘n a face, ‘n She was dark ‘n gritty but She was a beaut,” Said John as he nursed his smoke, blue eyes locking with his host’s.

“She was ‘ome ‘ta many folks o’ all shapes ‘n sizes, she was. She was gud ‘ta ‘em, ‘n so dey were gud ‘ta ‘er. Till un fine day, th’ folk fergot.”

Alfred finally appeared with a serving tray of sake. John took a sakazuki and drank it in one go.

“They choked ‘er waters wit’ sewage. They stained ‘er alleys wit’ blood. They ignore th’ unwanted ‘n leave ‘em ‘ta die. They stop other folk from comin’ in ‘ta see ‘er, ‘ta live in ‘er, just coz o’ their own twisted creed. They pour chemicals through ‘er Bhumisparsa, ‘er ‘eart, ‘n now She is sick ‘n dyin’.”

Though Bruce took a cup as Alfred offered it, he wasn’t quite as eager to drink. He held the warm cup in one hand, that frown still resting dutifully upon his lips, and barely paid attention as Alfred kindly offered John one more when the first went down so quickly.

As John’s story-- if it could even be called a story when it was more some convoluted, long description-- unfolded, Bruce took a sip or two, granted. But the drink didn’t matter nearly as much as the words.

“Hnnh.”

Alfred was kind enough to say he’d call them when dinner was served, but Bruce did little more than give a brief nod of acknowledgement, his eyes fixed where John sat.

And when no other words came from him, Bruce pushed, “...and?”

He wasn’t a shining example of conversational eloquence, not outside the persona he wore. But Bruce was less enthused about the flair of storytelling and more interested in John just spitting what he had to say out.

[thedemonconstantine]

Double Trouble

[kowakute-blog]

thedemonconstantine‌:

“Woh does I want? Well yeh know, Brucey, I wants a ‘ole lot o’ fings. A fancy car, a fancy bike, a fancy suit, a fancy mancave…oh I wants yeh butler too, Brucey, but yeh ain’t gunna git me any o’ these, rite?”

John grinned even as he was being held at arm’s length. He lit up a smoke and blew his first mouthful straight at Bruce’s face.

“Well, I be wakin’ up dis mornin’ on th’ wrong side o’ bed, n’ guess woh? I’ve been cravin’ me some sushi. ‘n guess hoo first came ‘ta mind? Aye? Aye?”

Jazz hands!

“Well I’m ‘ere now, ‘n is ‘bout dinna, innit? RIGHT FREDDIE? IS DINNA NOW? SET A PLACEMAT FER ME WILL YEH? ‘N KEEP TH’ BEVVIES FLOWIN’, ALRITE?”

John hollered to the surveillance devices that were strewn all around the lavishly furnished Wayne Manor.

“Yeh sit me down, ‘n I’ll tell yeh a story. Now ‘ow ‘bout tha’? Storytime, Brucey, ‘n yeh dun gots ‘ta sit on me lap fer dis! Heh!”

He slapped Bruce’s arm twice.

“Shall we entertain Mr. Constantine for the evening, Master Bruce?” came Alfred’s voice through the earpiece in Bruce’s ear. And though the look lasted for but a moment, that didn’t change the fact that Bruce’s eyes had flicked to the nearest camera over both his and John’s head to glare straight at it.

Alfred chuckled. “I’ll warm the sake, sir.”

It took no effort to catch John’s wrist in a tight grip before it hit him a second time, and though he squeezed for one long, pregnant pause, in the end Bruce dropped him and cocked his head in the direction of the sitting room.

Just as John suspected, the children were out, but their presence was nevertheless there. Just as there were photographs of Bruce and his parents in the sitting room, there were photos of Bruce and his wards, too-- they were much more noticeably rambunctious than Bruce was as a child, though.

“Sit,” Bruce commanded, gesturing to the comfortable chair in the room for John to take. He turned away, meanwhile, taking a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose before he sat himself on the piano bench there and faced him.

“Your story. I don’t have all day.”

[thedemonconstantine]

Double Trouble

[kowakute-blog]

thedemonconstantine‌:

“Hrk?” Said John when he got plucked off his trekking towards the koi pond, his scruff pulled and his entire frame dragged away.

“Oi, yeh killin’ th’ carpet grass! FREDDIE, BRUCEY’S KILLIN’ TH’ CARPET GRASS!”

John yelled at the top of his voice just because he could.

“FREDDIE! BRUCEY’S PULLIN’ MEEEE!”

John flailed about for a bit, half-hearted and playful. He did eventually zip up, wiping his hands down on Bruce’s shirt.

“Yeh know, s’awful nice ‘ta ‘ave ‘elp ‘round th’ ‘ouse. FREDDIE! I WANTS A PINT ‘N A FRY UP!”

He grinned, turning around to give Bruce a nice big hug.

“Alrite, put it up, ‘luv! So where’s th’ lads? E’eryone’s at schewl t’day? Brucey at ‘ome all on ‘is own lonesome self, doin’ th’ un fing ‘e’s best at doin’.”

John waggled a finger at the other with a knowing smile.

“Broodin’. Aye? Aye?”

The wiping, much like the noise (and much like everything about John’s general person), was unnecessary.

The hug, however, was detrimental.

“Constantine,” he started, and though one hand patted stiffly at the man’s shoulder, it was only so Bruce could curl his fingers in and find a proper grip to push John back about an arm’s length away. “What do you want?”

Because, surely, the act of him coming all the way to Gotham had to have something attached to it. If John said he was just here for visiting, or small talk, or, God forbid, because he ‘missed him’...

Frankly, Bruce didn’t trust it one bit.

The fates couldn’t allow him one day without stress, could they?

[thedemonconstantine]

Double Trouble

(For @kowakute​ )

It was an absolutely gorgeous evening in Gotham. Cold air, dank winds, grey clouds and the underlying scent of slimy activity that the city dwellers thrived in. John was one of them, skulking around in the dark with his smokes in tow, minding his way to the overly large and imposing gates of the Wayne Manor.

“Bruce! Oh BRUCEY!”

The man shouted from outside the gates.

“OI, YEH BLOODY WANKER! OPEN TH’ FOKKIN’ GATES! YEH MATE’S ‘ERE!”

No response. Perhaps the gardener was out. No guards too? Must be the recession.

“BROOOOCE! OI! OPEN UP, YEH MINX! I’M NAH GUNNA STAND ‘ERE ALL FOKKIN’ DAY, ALRITE?!”

Twenty seconds of silence droned on, followed by the sound of a crow cawing overhead.

John picked at the lock. He wasn’t known to be the patient sort, after all. He managed after a couple tries, leaving it ajar as he wandered through the japanese landscaping and lush gardens, a very distinctive difference from the rest of Gotham’s baroque architecture.

“BRUCEY!”

John called as he unzipped his pants, just to take a piss into a bush nearby.

“GUNNA GRILL YEH KOI!”

[kowakute-blog]

Bruce wanted to ignore him so badly.

He had things to do, footage to survey, maintenance to perform-- and yet here John was, anyway, stomping about the grounds and screaming his head off.

“He isn’t going away, sir,” said Alfred.

“Leave him be,” was Bruce’s stern reply.

But the more John moved around, the less Bruce could hear himself think-- a fact he only realised was made worse because Alfred was steadily raising the volume of their surveillance tech. He only figured it out when he looked up from his work, looking over his shoulder where Alfred had the remote; on the screen was a steady sign of VOLUME: 125%.

Alfred’s expression was deadpan. “I work hard to maintain those fish, Master Bruce.”

And Bruce, in turn, felt his gaze sharpen just a bit in suspicion.

John wasn’t going to be approached as one would approach a guest. Rather, as was befitting a trespasser, Bruce ended up grabbing him from behind, as if coming from nowhere, fingers curled into the back of John’s shirt as if he were restraining a bad kitten.

“You peed in my garden,” he said dully, unimpressed, and as he began to walk he dragged John along with him, the man’s heels scuffing up as they brushed against dirt and grass.

“...zip up your pants, Constantine. You’re not entering my home like that.”

[kowakute-blog]

lantern-2814-1‌:

The tension is thick in the room. Dense enough that it can be felt, even by the least sociable individual.

“I don’t know. The only times he’s come out against my will have been compulsions wrought upon me. Or rare occasions like this, where his will is greater than mine own.”

He’s glad that Bruce isn’t panicking. Constantine would likely be amused by the situation, whereas Zatanna would be worried sick. Bruce’s calm practicality helps him stay just as serene. Even as he feels that tempting push.

It’s a choice to let go or fight, but he manages to keep himself together.

“Admittedly, I’ve been circling around ruins in England. Old castles, that sort of thing. I… was hoping to find something Merlin had hidden, capable of banishing Etrigan back to Hell forever.”

Jason smooths his hair back habitually. “I have to believe he wouldn’t just let Morgaine get away with this.”

Bruce finishes his cookie, moving on to the tea to wash it down. He takes a big gulp (in the back of his mind, he imagines Alfred looking disappointed by him), but by now he doesn’t taste much of what he’s putting into his mouth. He watches Jason’s body language, listens to the cadence of his voice, makes sure he processes the words that come from his mouth.

And then asks, “Do you think any magic was left in the rubble?” It isn’t his expertise, this, but Bruce has been a side-character in enough nonsense to be able to draw his own hypotheses. Magic leaves traces, if you know where to look for them-- Bruce never could, but Blood lives in it the same way he imagines Etrigan must.

What a drag.

“What were you trying to find, Jason?”

Bruce doesn’t even think to apologise for the impromptu interrogation (as it is, old habits die hard).

[kowakute-blog]

lantern-2814-1‌:

If there was anything Jason hated, it was that look people gave him. The one that makes him feel more like a dangerous animal than a man. The fear, the reproach, the disgust… it slides off of him for anyone else. But for Bruce? He feels guilty. The man has enough on his plate. Why add a demon to it?

At the same time, he has to be pragmatic. It’s only natural that the Batman would worry so much. Even over something as under control as his worse half.

His eyes scan the package being opened. A chocolate-covered cookie tin? Blood’s stomach decides to make itself known, for once. Usually, he can fast for a long time. Apparently not now.

“Tell me about it,” Blood says as he rolls his eyes. He still hasn’t forgotten about the last adventure. After a moment of consideration, he takes a cookie and attempts to neatly eat it. Blood hates messes.

When Bruce asks, he pauses. There’s shame all over his face, just like when he was a young man fresh in exile. “I… don’t know how or why it happened. Some ill magic must have weakened the seal,” he begins. “After keeping him trapped for so long, Etrigan deigned to send me a message. With blood— innocent blood.”

The crunch of the cookie in his mouth doesn’t quite match the weight of what he’s being told.

“How.” For all the sugar and chocolate in his mouth, Bruce’s tone stays the same-- calm, serious, considering. A weakened seal in context of Blood’s literal demon isn’t the greatest thing to hear about, but Bruce isn’t going to be a rookie about it and panic. Blood made it this far without being captured by the authorities; whatever might have affected Etrigan’s bindings, it must be manageable for now, no matter how temporary.

He swallows the mouthful of cookie he has, gaze unwavering.

“Where have you been lately, Jason?”