Send 🚬 to share a cigarette with my muse || Accepting !
@lofirp sent: 🚬 A shared cig between Jerry Pascal and John Constantine over some weird paranormal bullshit they just dealt with because that's the first that came into my mind for that meme tbh xD
Throughout his life, one that's been longer than anyone would assume looking at him, John has witnessed plenty of weirdness and dealt with copious amounts of bullshit. Experience has taught him that the worst comes from human-made places, because no monster or creature can compare to the horrors mankind can create when it puts enough effort into it.
He's currently far from his usual stomping ground, even if the mist that sometimes envelop the nearby town would make London proud. It wasn't even case that has led him there, but mere personal interest, sparked from a conversation he has had with an acquaintance of his while they were sharing a drink.
He should have known better. After all, it isn't the first time the saying "curiosity killed the cat" has fitted him like a glove.
But no surprises there. Constantine is a man who rarely learns his lessons. The fact that he's still smoking after almost dying because of it, surviving only because the gamble of selling his soul to three different high-ranked demons has paid off, is only one of the biggest evidences of it.
"...Bullocks," he mutters as he breathes out a mouthful of smoke, plucking the cigarette back between his lips as soon as he's done.
Despite having been spoken quietly, the word echoes in the eerie silence of the night, barely interrupted by the hissing song of the forest around the Gas Station.
Blue eyes dart towards the man who's leaning into the wall next to him, looking much more unbothered by the crap they have just gone through than he is. And damn, that's a first. After all, he's supposed to be the expert in the field.
"Woh yeh gots out 'ere 's its own breed o' gobshite," the magician ends up commenting after a few moments of silence. "I gots bloody stains on me coat as proof."
He gestures down at the hem of his trench coat, which is sporting an oddly coloured blotch. Depending on how it catches the light, it can be green or purple or red. And it glows in the dark. He's not sure of what it is and, frankly, he doesn't want to know.
"Dis almost beats tha' one time I gots chased by an undead Santa on Christmas' Eve. 'Cause a bloke can't meet 'is mates for a bevvy wit'out first 'avin' to run to save 'is soz arse."
Or well, at least that's how it goes when said bloke is the infamous Laughing Magician.
