#* talentforlying .

[ofstage]

❛ i banish you, i banish you with garlic. ❜ / is he being facetious or sincere, who can say. also hello!!

john constantine must have watched one too many vampire movies if he believed such superstitions to have any effect on the likes of him. santiago remains seated, offering only the arch of his eyebrow in return for the dramatic gesture enacted by the so called hellblazer. "condiments. my only weakness." said the actor, each word dripping in sarcasm.

a lifetime ago it would have brought him great joy, finding a fellow countryman out in the wild, especially on the other side of the pond where culture and manners struggled under the weight of rabid survival. but this was a new century --- and constantine appeared to have adapted quite well to the yankee lifestyle, with his disheveled look and inept sense of humour.

santiago flashed a small mischievous smile before elegantly rising from his seat. his sharp nail pointed in the cloves' hanging from the other man's hand general direction. "you know what you should do? you should try sinking your teeth into that." one careful step towards the hellblazer caused the floor boards to creak --- a warning that the distance between them could very much vanish altogether very soon. "it'll do wonders for your blood flow."

[ofdemonic]

❛ you are late. the midnight hour has passed. ❜ / for mr. memphis?

" mmmm -- mea culpa, johnny boy. " mr. memphis was hunched over the counter as if he had been the one waiting for john constantine. the little black book which sat comfortably against his breast ( where a heart ought to be ) felt awfully light. it was missing john constantine's signature, neatly written in binding red ink. the creature sucked on his front teeth before turning to face his drinking companion for the evening. "had some business in need of a'tendin'." how long had he been chasing that little shit for an autograph? how many hearts had been crossed, blood pacts been offered, spits been spat?

john had dodged his own fucking funeral and tricked half of memphis' colleagues into letting him walk scot-free out of a deal which ought to be terminal. at this point, SORRY JUST WOULDN'T CUT IT. "left a nice juicy gift for the sisters down in jackson street." memphis rasped while a large grin spread across his wrinkled face. his century-standing vendetta against nuns had taken many shapes. that evening, he had set his sights on the statue depicting mater dolorosa which stood in the main hall. he had drilled a strap-on with a comically large bright red dildo pointing upwards. it'd be all over the news in the morning.

memphis chuckled at the thought and a whisp of smoke escaped from his lips. he had no cigarette in his hand. "they'll have to share but, hey, ain't that what sisterhood's all about? oh, speakin' of sisters," he punctuated the cruel topic change with a small pat on john's shoulder. "we miss you down there, kid-o."