|To the Temple of Death|
|What: John and Satana visit Dah'katar to get answers.|
Oblivion is not the only place that rests nestled in the darkest corners, beneath the noses of the mundane, like mystical infinity ready to be uncovered. To the casual observer, these places are little more than little holes in the wall, dives and dinners, or floral shops that never seem to see much in the way of 'flower' deliveries. People ignore it because it doesn't make sense.
Others, those who know what they're looking for, see something completely different. Constantine called Satana, told her to meet him outside of 'Auntie Anna's Heavenly Arrangements' at precisely ten thirty seven and fourty four seconds. He was very specific about the time, repeating it several times and instructing her to do so as well.
That's where he is now, leaning against the wall beside the little shop with a cigarette burning between his lips, smoke coiling like a vipor around his throat. The sleeve of his trench coat is pulled up with his index finger, checking the time... repeatedly.
10:37:44 ... The woman is punctual if nothing else. Satana understands that there are sometimes apexes when timing is of the utmost importance and while it could just be John being a pain in the ass with his issues, it could be more. So when she shows up, she times it out so she's right on time.
When she does come to a stop in front of him, it's with a smirk as she holds out a pack of his cigarettes. Only once he takes it does she pull her own pack out, draw one from it and light it with a lighter she had tucked away into the pack. "What's up, Johnny?" It's not simply a social call, she's sure of it.
John releases the sleeve of his coat when the pack of cigarettes is held out to him, only so that he can take them and slide them unceremoniously and unappreciatively into his coat pocket. "Timing." He doesn't wait for her to get oriented or fill her in on more of the details, instead he grabs her elbow, sharply turning her away from the sidewalk towards the door of the florist shop.
At, precisely, 10:37:44... The car parked at the stop light infront of them is back ended by a speeding vehicle who was ducked down looking for something on the floorboard. It's not at excessive speeds, but it is enough to cause quite a scene... The customers inside the shop run out, John catches the door with his fingers, and pushes Satana inside...
Through the window? Through the big bay window the shop was, exactly, as it seemed it should be... at Precisely 10:45:03, it something completely different. A long hallway that is not at all connected to any floral shop extends straight ahead of them, a huge metal door with a sliding panel along the front, and heavy base music loud enough to be heard through the sound proofed walls.
Behind them, the door has no glass, it is a solid metal door as well...
"I got a lead."
"Always." Timing is, after all, everything. When she's grabbed in such a manner a brow arches yet again. "What makes you think I like it rough?" No, she really couldn't resist. Sorry. She does, however, turn to face the shop without any trouble.
She watches the crash behind her in the glass, a smirk curving her lips. And then, the door is opened and she's being pushed inside which causes her to hiss. She isn't accustomed to being manhandled in such a manner and it makes her hackles rise just a bit to be so now. "Manner, John..."
The room changes and she nods her head. This is, actually, one place she hasn't been before. Her excursions to Earth have been few and far in between though. She does like the music!
"Alright. Let's see what you've got then." She's, honestly, a little shocked she was called in on this. "Why share?" Not that she isn't thankful for the chance to find out what the hell is going on.
John snorts, drops the filter of the cigarette he's smoking half of (the filter) and stomps it out, "You'll see, love." To her question of why he's sharing. He doesn't explain, he doesn't get into it, because it doesn't take long for the explanation to explain itself.
Constantine glances back behind him, at Satana, and then the door.. absently knocking three times. The grat slides open and a pair of eyes stare at the two individuals on the other side, "Fuck you Constantine." And slams shut.
Motioning with a 'told you so' expression. "Think you can get us in, beautiful?" Funny how he gets all complimentery when he needs something, isn't it?
A smirk goes to Constantine as it becomes very clear just why she was needed here. A shake of her head is given and she looks... amused. "Really, Johnny? You brought me here as your ticket in? I'm flattered."
Her cigarette is passed over to him. Hair is 'fluffed', teeth run along her bottom and upper lip a few times to cause the blood to rush and the flesh to plump up slightly before her tongue is run over them to moisten them. One can almost watch her draw on her nature and bring it to the forefront.
Stepping around him, she knock on the door three times and while she waits for it to be answered, her head tilts ever so slightly, revealing just a hint of flesh at her neck.
John rolls the cigarette as it's passed up between his lips, leaning back against the wall beside the door with one hand in his pocket, one holding the cigarette, and his attention directed back down the hallway they'd just walked down. "Yeah well, I'll owe you one, bonnie." Smirking sardonically when she 'preps' herself for knocking.
The grat slides open once more and the eyes are a bit more intense than they were the first time, "Constan- oh... What the hell do you want? Are you with that limey fucker?" Jutting his nose to the side where John is just barely in view.
The door doesn't immediately open, however... Even if it's clear they're fare more willing to listen to reason with a 'woman' on the other end, instead of the old warlock.
A look is given to Constantine. One that ensure him she'll collect at some point. Making a deal with the devil?
When the grat slides open, there's a teasing and seductive smirk on her lips. "Mm. Now now... Do I /look/ like the type of girl that would be with him?" This words are practically purred. "Especially when I'm sure you'd be so much more fun..." The tip of her tongue comes out and runs across blood red lips. "Besides, even if I were... You wouldn't deny a girl her plaything, would you?" She pouts, rather prettily, at the one behind the door. "Why don't you open up for me. Just a crack, at least? I can give you a taste of what's on the other side..."
It wouldn't be the first deal he'd made with the devil... her father, several of his minions, and even one or two of the big nasties that'd like to see it all come crumbling down. Generally, they don't look as attractive as Satana either.
So Constantine smirks, takes another drag off the cigarette and drops it down to the concrete beneath his foot to stamp out. "We'll see." Said amidst an exhale of smoke.
The man behind the door watches the Succubus, not at all confused about /what/ she is and what it means... but that doesn't seem to bother him at all. After a moment's thought, he slides the grat closed as if he's not interested...
Then the bolts start turning and the door creaks open, "If he does anything stupid, I'll throw you both out on your asses... He's your problem tonight."
John doesn't wait for the lady, he pushes off the wall and slides past both her and the bouncer, "You have her word, Justi, I'll be on her best behavior.."
Inside, it is indeed a club.. loud music, dancers, and everything everyone would expect to see in such a place as that. It is also a mystical location with various strange creatures speaking with clearly magically inclined individuals from every walk of the sphere... Orcs (as in the case of the bouncer) flirting with what passes for elves... and a succubi on stage in the latter stages of strip dancing on a brass pole..
It still amuses her somewhat and that much is clear by the almost constant smirk the woman wears when she's with Constantine. At least life around him is never dull!
If there's one thing Satana doesn't so, it's try to hide who and what she is. It gets her what she wants more often that not so why bother. Either because she's a succubus or because she's Satan's daughter... It works for her.
The bouncers words bring a dark chuckle from Satana. "I agree." And then an amused smirk is shot at Constantine and a brow arched followed by a shake of her head as she follows him inside.
A wink is given to the bouncer. "Thanks, doll." Her eyes take in the 'club' and she arches a brow yet again. She shakes her head at the dancing succubus and gives an almost sad sounding sigh. "So predictible."
John pays the bouncer no more mind, once they've passed the metal door, and is in that moment looking for something. Besides the orc at the entrance there are a few other individuals who seem to recognize the old warlock... some with even less pleasant expression than the huge brown creature who was intent on baring their enterance. "There."
Constantine says this with a point to a woman so pale that she's almost translucent, clearly amongst the undead in some manner, and very pointedly looking back at the pair of them... His fingers slip back into his blonde hair, then snakes around Satana's hips to hold her close to his side. His mouth moves down towards her neck... then up to her ear, "She isn't going to be very pleased to see me... Bad break up.."
He could almost be said to sound sort of proud of that, if it weren't for the seriousness. "We're here to talk to the Dah'katar. You do the talking, yeah? Easier that way."
The looks short their way aren't missed and yet, she doesn't seem the least bit intimidated by any of it. She still wears that amused smirk. Yes, she finds it funny. She just can't help it.
Her eyes follow to where he points and whne she's pulled to his side, she plays her part well. Turning into him, her fingers come up to weave into his hair as she listens to his whispered words, her smile turning seductive.
"Try sending her home after a bad night in bed?" Yeah, she's got a twisted sense of humor. "I got it, baby. Try to be good for Momma now, okay?"
Constantine smirks as she tries those seductive tricks on him and tilts his head towards the collection of small green goblins that have congregated around the pale woman in the white dress...
His hand swats along Satana's backside, turning with her to stalk towards the lady in white with his hands shoved down into the deep pockets of his trench. "Hallie... been awhi-.." She's up and moving, slapping the Brit across the face hard enough to turn his head. His hand comes out of his pocket and rubs his cheek slowly, blowing out a sigh through his nostrils... "Still upset, I see..."
"You've got a lot of nerve coming here, John... Who's this?" Motioning without looking, to Satana beside him.
Satana can't help but look slightly amused by the confrontation. It gives her the time needed to take in those nearest them and assess the situation as a whole. When she's asked after without being looked at, red eyes narrow.
She moves, stepping in front of Constantine and her eyes begin to glow until there's nothing but red left. Seventeen years in Hell spent learning how to be a leader, get what she wants and rule over others... Seventeen years she'll put to use now. "Satana Hellstrom." Her name is given as if that explains /exactly/ who she is. "You can abuse him later, perhaps, but for now... We're here to talk to the Dah'katar." Business before pleasure!
John, for once, stays quiet. But that's because he's looking around them and rubbing his cheek... The woman's undead, certainly so, so it is very likely that hurt a whole lot. Besides, with Satana infront of him, it's easier for him to be less subtle about his observations... Which is good, since he's only subtle sometimes.
And then only some of the sometimes.
Hallie... if that's her name.. turns to stare at Satana sharply when her name is given and actually looks afraid for exactly three heartbeats. Afterwards, she smiles. Rubbing her hands together slowly, clearly nervously, while the rest of her tries to look confident. "My apologies, Mistress Hellstrom, I was unaware you kept company with the Constant One.." Eyeing Constantine a moment, then the succubus directly, "OFCOURSE!" Too sharply... to willing to do what the woman desires..
To concerned that /her father/ might be somehow involved. He gets so angry when people cheat him out of a soul... such as in the case with the undead. "This way.." Motioning towards a door that was, most certainly, not there before.
Constantine grins, both insultingly, and sarcastically, at Hallie and wraps his arm around the front of Satana's waist. "I'll keep you around for a little while longer, I think, love.." Whispered.. following along behind their guide.
The succubus has a poker face that's for sure! "He's fun to ... play with." This is said with a smirk, as if it should explain everything to the undead woman. And if the words don't, the purr in her voice very well may.
The speed with which the woman rushes to comply with Satana's desires has the succubus grinning. She gives a sharp and approving nod. "Very good." And the they're moving. There doesn't seem to be any awkwardness to walking with his arm around her like that.
Instead, she looks up at him and smirks. "Oh really now? Careful. I may start demanding room and board for my services."
Constantine bounces his brows at Satana, rather than offering her more insentive to think he's flirting. Which probably has the oposite effect.. whatver. He releases his arm and retrieves the ever present crumpled pack of smokes from inside his coat, slipping one between his lips as they walk.
"No smoking." Hallie says without looking back, dispite the fact that both goblins with her are doing so. The hallway is lined with chains, inverted crosses, and other sacreligious artifacts... and once they've cleared it, the room opens up wide into a grand chamber with two stone pillars that certainly could not be said to fit inside a small florist shop.
On a high stair dias sits a figure in black robes with a cloth hood. No stitch of flesh visible. Hallie climbs the steps and slithers down to speak to him quietly.
Constantine rattles the box of matches near his ear... and frowns. Turning it over between his fingers. "We may have a problem.." Side long to Satana.. leaning in towards her to whisper the words.
"I'm out of matches." Holding it up between two fingers... then disappearing it back into his palm.
"Why are you here?" The voice hisses, neither male, nor female.
"W-.." "Not you... her." Raising a black gloved hand to point at Satana.. "Why are you here?"
Satana smirks up at John, snapping her teeth at him playfully before Hallie's words cause her brow to arch once more and her head to shake. "You really pissed her off," is whispered to John as they're led down the hallway and into the room.
Red eyes cut over to Constantine before they twitch at his whisper. She's concerned about that. She does, however, manage to hide it well. A lighter is pulled from her shirt and passed to him. "I got ya covered, baby..." And there's a world of meaning in that sentence.
For a moment, Satana is silent when John begins to answer the robed figures question but when it indicates her, her brow quirks once more. "I want answers." Direct and to the point.
John glances at the lighter and shakes his head, reaching up to remove the cigarette from his lips slowly. It slips back into the inside pocket of his coat, but his eyes are intent on the man seated in that high backed 'throne' at the top of the stairs. There's something rare in his eyes... seriousness.
It may be difficult to see, but the individual in the black hood is definately looking at Satana. It's a feeling.. "Of course you do... Why else would you come to Dah'katar?" Hallie slithers along behind the throne and kneels down beside it on the otherside, a hand slowly stroking her neck once the figure need not move overly much to do so. "Ask your questions, daughter of the one."
The lighter is twirled in her fingers as she rests her hands at her side. If she's unsettled by the thing's stare, she isn't showing it. John's seriousness seems to kick in Satana's and one can almost watch her wrap her status and title around herself.
A slow smirk forms on the succubus' lips but it fades slowly. If there's one thing Satana isn't, when it comes to getting answers, it's subtle. "Something's gathering on the horizon. Do you know what it is?"
Constantine doesn't look pleased with this. He knew who Dah'katar was, he was aware how this /might/ play out, but something has got his hackles up. And his eyes turning steadily to look around the open air 'throne room', turning in place until he sees the two wooden crosses positioned up behind them... Bound bundles at the end of ropes sitting upon platforms on each.
Dah'katar's hissing laughter echoes across the room, both at Satana's attempt to ues her position as armor and the question. "Don't ask me... ask them..." Pointing towards the two crosses... At the exact moment Constantine takes her on the elbow and motions as well...
The platform falls from beneath one of the black bundles and, whatever, is inside begins to struggle... hissing and gurgling as it's strangled. "Ask love..." John sighs, shaking his head in muted disgust. Also a rare moment. "The dead will know the answer... but you've got to be specific..."
Satana's does react in the slightest as the creature laughs. What does get a reaction is John's hand coming up to grab her elbow. Her eyes immediately snap to his and then to the crosses. A hiss comes from her as the platform is dropped from her. While she could cae less whether they lived or died, torture just isn't really her thing. In fact, she outright hates it.
That brief waver, that hint of a weakness in her, like visible only to the man at her side. Her eyes slip to his once more before looking back and she starts to step forward. Now, if she only knew the exact question. Wording is, after all, everything.
Constantine doesn't like any of this. He might be an insufferable prick, even at the best of times, but torturing people for the sake of information is even beneath /him/ and that is really saying something. His hands fall down into his pockets and try to calm his nerve. He could /probably/ do something to end their suffering and /possibly/ make the culprits pay for putting him in the position, but the sad truth is:
He knew this was going to have to happen... It wasn't something he'd suspected was going to happen. His dark eyes turn towards Satana, confident as ever, the turmoil nowhere near his face as the individual bundle dances at the end of that rope... But when nothing comes out from her, when the question isn't asked, he looks away... to the /other/ cross. If it isn't asked soon, two people will die for what they learn.. He has to decide whether it's worth it... or if there's any chance for them to get out of this, even if it's not.
A sense of determination fills the woman. Satana will not let these people die for nothing. When she's close enough to suit herself, she speaks and despite the disguest she feels, it cannot be heard in her voice. "What can you tell me about the gathering of power I feel on the horizon?" They do not have long to live and even if all she can get is a general idea of what is going on, she'll know where to go next. Long distance to Selina Kyle: Constantine grins. "I'm a stud, oy." Selina Kyle pages: Yes you are!
The struggling bundle begins to speak, a multi-toned voice that echoes in the emptiness of the high rised Crosses. "They are not... what you will believe at first glance... Beneath the surface... the puzzle grows less clear... search deeper... and find the face behind the many faces..." Once the last hissed word is spoken, the body goes progressively limp and then simply hangs.
Constantine listens, then glances back up at the dias where Dah'katar sits unspoken. "What kind of nicking bullshit is that, mate? You trying a ploy?" No venom, just disgust. Not necessarily at the death, he's seen plenty of it and is hardly affected overly much, but at the wasted life for little answer.
"They answered the question, Constantine... would you like to ask again?" Tapping his metalicly taloned fingertips against the wooden arm of the chair.
Satana stands there, even as the body dies and a rage builds in her. She kills, yes. She does it to survive. If the information had been enough she could say the ends justify the means. Deep within her, Basilisk rattles bars of the cage it's locked in, her anger fueling it.
Red eyes begin to glow brightly and are therefore shut as she takes a deep breath. For all of this, she looks as if she's simply trying to puzzle out what was said to her.
When she opens her eyes again, she's calm enough she's confident in returning to Constantine's side and cutting her eyes over to him as he speaks to Dah'katar.
Constantine looks to the side, at Satana, then back over his shoulder at the second individual positioned to fall should they decide to ask for more information. As horrible as it might seem, as down right heinous as it may make him out, he's considering it. His brow is knit with thought lines and his dark stare flickers constantly as he weighs what the know, against the potential for what they could find out...
His hand slides down into his coat and comes back out with a quarter, rolling it over his knuckles as if somehow that helps him make the decision... But ultimately, he turns back to face Dah'katar, "Not worth it..."
The quarter slides up into his palm so he can point at the individual sitting high on the dias, "But I got my eye on you know, you fuckin' wanker..." Another look to Satana, then he turns and starts towards the exit by which they entered this 'chamber'.
Satana never once lets her gaze waver from the figure on the 'throne' and with Constantine's decision as well as his proclamation that Dah'katar is begin watched, Satana simply grins. She would find great joy is destroying this one herself.
On a heel, the succubus turns and heads for the exit herself, taking great care to keep her eyes on just the door. Her mind is busy, mostly, trying to puzzle out what was said to them.
Ladies and gentlemen... Welcome to the serious side of Satana Hellstrom.
John pushes open the door that brought them to this very back of rooms and steps out... into the street. But he's not at all surprised by that. Everything has a purpose and every purpose has a time and place where it comes to pass.
His hand drags along his jaw, looking back into the hallway at Satana as she moves to join him and finally reaches into his pocket for the cigarette he never did light. The match book is also retaken and rattled up beside his ear.
Shaking his head he pushes it open and slides out the single match, strikes it, and cups his palm around the end of the cigarette as he takes a long, meaningful, drag. As he waves it out, his head tilts backwards and fingers scissor around the filter to flick ashes down into the street.
"More than enough." Finally said with a clipped nod.
When The succubus comes to a stop by his side, a deep and somewhat shaky breath is taken. Her jaw works at keeping her temper in check and she makes quick work of pulling out a cigarette of her own.
"It's not normal to take solice in the knowledge that you have a match in there again." Of course, nothing about this pair is normal. Her eyes slide to him and they are brighter than normal, showing the depth of turmoil within her.
"I will set those that work for me to task and have them report whatever they find. It may not be much, if anything, but it will help narrow things down at least." A long draw of the cigarette is taken. "It's bigger than I thought."
Smoke rolls out across Constantine's upper lip, coiling from the stuble and temporarily collecting in his nostrils before he blows it all out. Her statement draws his attention, "Never underestimate the importance of having a match." Pointing at her with two fingers clutching the cigarette he's just lit.
It returns to his mouth for another drag, then hangs down by his side. "Let's go get drunk, then." As if that's the exact solution to this problem. Certainly it'll make the guilt easier to deal with. Just one more corpse on his conscience. As if he doesn't have enough of those.
Satana tosses him a smirk and a roll of her eyes. "I'll remember that, Johnny." The nickname is used. The look is there. But the tone that normally accompanies it is gone. "Sounds like one hell of a plan, baby." She easily falls into step at his side. "I'd rather just get the drinks and go back to your place. Don't worry your pretty head, I won't insist on a sleep over." She's trying...
John glances at her again, cigarette between his lips with his hand hovering close by to recapture it the moment smoke boils from his nostrils. His eyes score over her a moment, "Alright." Flicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, brushing the remnent of that blue cloud into the atmosphere, "But you're paying for the booze." Smirk of his own and he takes a turn away from the street they've walked thusfar to cut them down an alleyway between two streets.
Now _that_ gets a laugh from her. "John, dear... I haven't paid for a damn thing since I've been up here." Her eyes cut over to him. "I stay in hotel rooms that others pay for. Meals, cigarettes... All paid for by others." A smirk is sent over and up to him. "It's on me tonight though, yeah."
She falls silent as the walk until the cigarette is finished. "Johnny... Thanks." And she leaves it at that. The only time a touch a softness enters her voice and it's gone when she speaks again. "Of course, if I don't stay and you unleash a drunk succubus with a demon trapped in her on the city..."
"Wouldn't be the first time." Constantine says as soon as she trails off, shaking his head. The cigarette again hovers between his lips and his cheeks pull in for another long drag. "Besides you're a fucking succubus, nobodies going to be overly surprised you've a demon inside you, love."
If she was expecting him to be sentimental... She just had to wait a little longer. "You're welcome." Easy, right? When is anything ever easy with John.
"Just don't blame me when you hate me in the morning, oy?"
Satana blinks for a moment and looks over at him. "John..." Her brows draw together and she has to wonder if he understands what she's saying. "The demon Basilisk is caged within me... You know that, right?" Maybe not. It's not something she makes common knowledge.
And then she smirks and rolls her eyes. "Please, baby. I somehow doubt a night with you would make me hate you. Not unless I wake up tied to a cross. Then I might be a tad irritable with you."
As they near a liquor store, she jerks her head towards it. "Whiskey, love?"
John looks her over, with a brow perked curiously, "In there, eh?" Tapping a finger against the center of her chest. A dismissive sort of shrug of one shoulder, "I had heard rumors, oy, but it wasn't something I put much thought to." The cigarette goes between his lips, rolling with his tongue until it's settles square in the center for easier position when taking a drag.
"There's another kind of booze?" He asks, swatting her on the ass towards the front door of the liqour store. "Remy martin should do. Can't be too picky when it comes to these manner of things.." Well, he can.. and he generally is, but tonight he's got a pretty good bit on his mind. The least of which is the notion he might end up in bed with another succubus tonight...
No, not a succubus, the daughter of the devil. Satana Hellstrom.
Rubbing at his brow, fingers brushing along the creases on his forehead, how does he get himself into this again?
"Fuck me, John... you sure do flirt with danger, mate." Quietly, to himself, once she's started towards the store.
"Yep." Satana pops the 'p' at the end, smirking as he taps her chest. "A little lower and off to the side there, love, and we could have some real fun." The swat to her ass only causes her to look over her shoulder and toss him a wink, hips swaying as she sashays into the store.
She isn't your typical succubus by any means, no. Sure, she has the same allure. She needs to feed as they do. Yes, she knows how to work that side of herself and yeah, more often than not, it's all people see. It's certainly not all that's there though.
It takes her several minutes within the store and when she comes out, she's carrying a plastic bag in which is a paper bag. She's also coming out backwards. "You know how to reach me. And thank you again." And once more she's practically purring.
Constantine sees more than the succubus, obviously. He doesn't make friends easily and if one were to ask him, he still hasn't made one with Satana, but the fact remains that this is going to piss her father off. No matter what happens, John Constantine anywhere near the Devil's Daughter, is definately going to be a big black mark in his permanent record.
On the plus side, it might well get lost in all the /other/ black marks. So there's silver lining.
When Satana reemerges, John pushes off the wall with his foot and starts towards her, "Just up here." He can almost certainly figure out what that conversation was about... and it's probably something that would change his mind about how good an idea this is.
But she did help him. When she had no reason to. It's not enough for trust, but plenty enough for drinking.
She's well aware that she isn't making his life any easier by being a now seemingly constant. And yet, he doesn't seem to give a fuck so why should she? Besides, pissing off Daddy seems to be how she gets her kicks these days.
It's not nearly as dirty as it sounds! She has some taste and fat old men are not it. When he comes up to her, she grins and swings the bag a little. "Four bottles." And then her nose wrinkles distastefully. "And I was able to make it out with giving him a phone number and saying I might call him back." Not that it was her real number!
Satana wouldn't know trust if it bit her in the ass so the lack of it on his part isn't anything unusual. Her father never trusted her and she certain;y never trusted him or anyone else in Hell. And friends? You just don't make friends with the ones that remain down there.
Constantine catches the bag when it's flung his way, craddling it as would a man holding the cup of christ. "Careful..." Warned as he barely manages to hold the strap of the bag and keep it from falling to the steps and shattering.
Four bottles? That'll be enough to keep him drunk for the next... few hours? No, not quite that bad. He leads the way up the stairs to his apartment and pushes open the door after rattling the key several times and eventually just shoving his shoulder into it until it pops open.
Whatever magical wonders someone was expecting, they need to get use to disappointment. It's a mess. Containers of old take away sit on the table, some of the contents black with mold or fresh with maggots in the hot summer weather.
Books, notes, notebooks, and parchments are piled up everywhere. And there's no fewer than twenty ashtrays all piled high with butts.
Single room apartment that it is, there's no bed obvious. Just a couch with dirty sheets all pushed off to one corner and a television.... an old analog dial television.
"It isn't the ritz." He says as he steps inside, setting the bags down on the table and shifting out one of the bottles to bounce back and forth between his hands. "But it's home."
Before moving to the kitchen, his trench coat is removed and laid across the back of the chair once the cigarettes are taken out of the inner pocket. Only then can he go into the small little area that serves a kitchen and grab a pair of the least dirty glasses to fill and return, one in each hand with the bottle craddled under his right arm.
She smirks as he catches the bottles. There's no way she would have actually let them fall. Still, she silently follows him up to the apartment. When the door opens and she steps through, there's a smile.
Slowly, she begins to make a circuit of the apartment. Her eyes lift when he speaks and she rolls her shoulders in a shrug. "Hey, whatever works, ya know." She's not as picky as one might think. "There's somewhere to drink. Somewhere to lay. I'm good."
Sure, she prefers the higher end stuff but really... It just doesn't matter all that much. If it did, she could have gotten them a room.
When he comes back, she heads towards him, pulling her cigarettes out and and tosses the pack on the table after taking one. "Now... Where'd my..." She frowns slightly. "How the hell did I lose my lighter? I have no damn pockets!"
Constantine watches her make that circuit of the small little one room squat of an apartment, setting one of the glasses down nearer to her than himself and the bottle somewhere between the two. That first fill is drained without ceremony and, truth be told, he fills it another two times before she's completed that first trip... and it's a pretty short trip.
"I've had worse, if you can believe that.." Leaning forward with his palms flat against the table, one working a cigarette out of the pack to put up in his mouth. After a pat of his pockets he dips back into the coat, coming out with... a lighter.
It's not her's. His head tilts and the flame is struck, puffing a few times until smoke rolls out steadily from the corners of his mouth and the crease of his nostrils. Extending his hand further once he's lit to offer the fire to Satana.
"Dont you ladies put thing in your bras?" Motioning, scissor fingers extended out with his cigarette sort of acting like a point of light. Could be a cheesy pick up line... probably not though.
As for his apartments accomodations? He shrugs and scratches with his thumb nail at the corner of his hairline. Smoke steam rolling from his nostrils. "Yeah well, the neighbors fuck like horses and I'm pretty sure the blok down the hall is trying to get me to strangle him... I never understood why people liked rap music... And these walls? They aren't thick."
"I can." He's paid her 'home' a visit after all. Not exactly comfortable accomedations! She leans forward, lighting her cigarette before pulling back. She moves then to position herself behind him and run her hands along his back in a cross between a caress and a massage.
"What bra?" This is asked with a smirk and an arched brow as she reaches around him for her glass. "You have a problem with fucking like horses, John?"
Her nose does, however, wrinkle at the mention of rap music. "I'll need to feed tomorrow..." It a half-teasing offer.
Constantine's shoulders rattle absently in a manner that probably would have developed into a chuckle given a bit more time beneath the sun. Instead it stalls their, perverted in that soundless expression of muted humor. Of which he is not. "Nothing particular, no." One hand flat comes up to pour mor into his glass, draining it and leaving both glass and bottle near at hand, the cap removed just incase.
One never knows when booze will be immediately required.
He doesn't even taste it anymore. That biting warmth of the alcohol, it's not a sensation he's felt in long enough that he remembers what it was like. His hand straightens, turning his fingers out to watch the cherry burn, then reversing the cigarette to rest between his lips.
"Be my guest." Fag bobbing between his lips when he speaks, pausing long enough to suck down a drag, and speaking again with the company of blue smoke alternating between his mouth and nostrils, "Fucking tosser keeps stealing my paper."
That's probably a lie.
She really does admire the man. Not many could have her pressed against them like this and not react. Her glass is sat down on the table and refilled which is immediately downed and the glass sat back down. Her other hand, holding her cigarette, continues to tease along his back. "Glad to hear it, love." There's no purr anymore. Not really. Typical seduction doesn't work on the man. She's learned that much.
"Ya sure about that, Johnny?" A brow arches as she leans forward and around to look at his face, studying it carefully. Another glass is poured and brought to her lips, this one only half drained.
"I'm going to steal one of your shirts to change into. Just wanted to let you know." And with this, Satana smirks. Her? Ask? Never.
It might be fair to say he doesn't even realize she's trying to seduce him. Actually, that'd be completely rediculous. Constantine, definately, knows she's trying or.. at least that she was. Now he's just certain she's playing with him once she realized he wasn't going to bend on the matter.
At least, not with the old trusty tricks. He's been down that road a time or two.
Never ends well.
"Help yourself." Motioning to the only door besides the exit. It leads into a very small closet, with a very large collection of t-shirts, pants, and button ups. All are wrinkled.
John hangs his head a bit, scratching fingers back into his blonde waves to push them back, only to immediately have them fall right into that curtain like position again. It's a game, but he's not really in the mood to play it. The cigarette straightens, smoke rolling up either side of his jaw.
"Sure? About that wanker? You'd probably be doing the world a service, love..." Head rolls from side to side, "But then I'd have to hunt you down.." Cant shit where you sleep.. Or so the saying goes. "And it'd be a shame to waste a talented girl like you over a fuckin' waste of molecules like that, yeah?" Smirking, distantly. More whiskey is poured, bottle clinking against glass as he watches the brown liquid roll in gurgles. He stares like he sees something completely different.. besides just liqour in a glass.
In a way, she prefers that the old tricks don't work. He's a challenge. Something no else ever really puts up for her. It's, as she told him, refreshing.
"You owe me... Do me a favor. Take off your shirt and lace face down on the couch, Johnny. I'm going to go change."
No other explaination is offered, she simply finished her drink, snuffs out her cigarette and disappears into the closet. A red button up is grabbed and she finds somewhere to change. As she does this, she speaks. "I'd much rather us not be in that position. I rather like where I am and, you know, living." As it were.
When she comes out, she has his shirt on which just barely covers her enough to be even semi-decent, stopping midthigh. She immediately heads over to pour herself another glass of whiskey then grab the bottle and take it towards the couch.
"You're calling in a favor to see me shirtless?" Constantine snorts, smoke boiling out of his nostrils when he does so. The cigarette is hotboxed several times, exhaling almost as quickly as he brings the smoke in and then stabs the cigarette into the pile of cigarettes that is definately a fire hazzard. "It's your favor.."
Before he's willing to take his shirt off, however, he pours himself another two glasses of whiskey and drains both... Then reaches up to grab the shoulders of his t-shirt and pull it straight up over his head, bowing his chest forward to remove it across the arms, and tosses it over at one of the walls. Hopefully, he pays someone to do his laundry.
At the couch he brushes off some of the trash, cans, and ashes then lays face first on the cushions. However, it gives her a view of his back and arms. A circular symbolic tattoo is etched onto his back. A sort of warding ritual permanently inraved upon his flesh in a manner that looks newer towards the center, as if it is only a few hours or days applied, while the outer circle is definately decades old.
Down the backs of his arms is latin script that is most definately a spell of some sort, though it is far to small to be precisely sure what. Circles around his elbows in zig zagging symbols that become an Anch and a Cross on his left and right forearms respectively.
"Yes it is." Satana smirks. Once she's laid down, she downs her glass, sits it aside and moves to straddle his hips. Her back and arms are looked at closely, the patterns studied carefully for a few moments. "Smart. Very smart."
Assuming he lets her settle, he'll soon feel her hands on his back. No lovers caress. No teasing touch. Instead, she begins a massage on his lower back and works at each piece of muscle to get the knots out.
She glances around the apartment again, feminine enough in nature to have the slightly nagging urge to clean it. An urge that is easily ignored. For now, at least.
Finally she looks back down at him and smirks. "Why do you do it, Johnny?
John is almost certainly aware that the Daughter of the Devil is sitting on his hips, holding him down on his own couch, while digging her fingers into muscles that are that tight due, in large part, to her father. It's a situation.
But not a terribly bad one, really. Just a very pointed situation.
His face is practically eaten by the cushion when she really starts to getting into those muscles. Some of them are decades tight and dispite his age, not as loose as most would be when they're nearing sixty. "Mmm?
John is almost certainly aware that the Daughter of the Devil is sitting on his hips, holding him down on his own couch, while digging her fingers into muscles that are that tight due, in large part, to her father. It's a situation.
But not a terribly bad one, really. Just a very pointed situation.
His face is practically eaten by the cushion when she really starts to getting into those muscles. Some of them are decades tight and dispite his age, not as loose as most would be when they're nearing sixty. "Mmm?"
Glancing up and back with a groggy sort of expression, one eye squinting ever so slightly at the red clad woman...
Red. Good choice.
Sitting on his back. "Because, as it turns out, it requires someone who doesn't give a flying fuck." Murmured, half muffled by the cushion, "And I don't give a fuck, enough."
Her fingers continue to move and rub, massaging and making sure to to the deep tissues. Slowly, her hands work their way up his back, paying extra attention to his shoulder blades. "So hard." She leans forward a little, putting a little more of her weight into it.
"Bullshit. You give a fuck or you'd let my father have this realm." A smirk gives her lips. "I suppose it doesn't matter why. You're the best there is." And yes, she allows a little of that admiration and respect to touch her voice.
She leans down, placing a kiss to the back of his neck before leaning over to grab a smoke, light it and hold it down to him with one hand still rubbing him.
"That's what they keep telling me." John says in a voice that's somewhere inbetween the realm of awake and sleep, that middle road. The place where insight is found, where visions are almost dreams, and dreams haven't yet become overly imaginative reproductions of history. The cockiness, because it is far more than confidence, still finds a way to bleed into his voice.
It's light, though. Soothed somehow. Not gone, certianly not gone, but quieted. By the state of his back, it's clear he never brings his guard down. By the nature of everything about him, he's always watching for the other guys (or girls) angle. No matter who they are.
Even the Heavenly Host despise the old warlock.
Her fingers touch his lips and the cigarette butt is taken between them. The nature of it almost makes him laugh. The daughter of Satan, the individual who would do anything to see John's soul torn assunder, passing him a cigarette, which will surely kill him eventually.
Whatever. "Bullshit nothing. If I care, it's only because somebody else might fuck it up... And while I couldn't be bothered to care about the rest of these twats, I actually do fancy living." Looking back at her, awkward positioned though it might be.
"What're you wearing under that shirt, anyways?"
The cigarette is taken from him and a draw taken before she gives it back. Satana's hands move to his shoulders and neck as she listens to him talk. "I can agree with you there. I've become rather fond of it myself."
She could care less what anyone else thinks about the man under her. She happens to, oddly enough, enjoy his company. Despite, or perhaps because of the fact, that he's a prick. Hard to tell. She's a bit of an odd one.
His question bring a smirk to her lips and she leans down to touch her lips to his jaw line. "Nothing." Yep. Just that simple of an answer. And no, no modesty what so ever.
"Ooooh fuck.." John says to this answer, drawing out both words with near exasperation. The cigarette. He reaches up after another long drag and stabs it down into an ashtray which always rests on the floor by the couch, where apparently he sleeps.
It's odd really. People either hate John or love him, there really isn't middle road to it. There's no denying he's got a personality and tones of chrisma (Which itself can sway back and forth), and no denying a way with words. Some of them better than others.
Turning, slowly, onto his back, after bucking his hips lightly so that she'll lift up enough for him to do so, his hands slide along her thighs. Staring up at her with a long sort of consideration. "This is a bad idea."
Without any air of finality. Maybe he's open for negociations. His eyes are drooping a little, but they're staring straight into those lightly glowing red eyes.
His response causes her to smirk a little and quirk a brow at him. She watches as he snuffs out the cigarette with a tilt of her head. She can't remember him ever snuffing one out before it was done before.
When his hips buck, she blinks but lifts up onto her knees until he's turned over. She settles back onto him and her eyes drop to his. His words cause her to grin and runs her hands along his chest. "You certain of that, baby?"
Her eyes never leave his as she leans down, resting on his chest for a moment. "You judge too harshly." And then she leans in to kiss him. She does so hate being compared to other succubi. She's not like anyone else. Almost guaranteed.
It is a terrible shame to waste a cigarette like that, but under the circumstances, Constantine can forgive himself. This once. His expression doesn't really scream assurance on the matter. More of a toss up situation. On the one hand, it is a horribly bad idea. That is a /fact/, not an opinion. On the other... well he wants to do it anyways.
That's the side that usually wins out in these delemas.. That's why he is almost always neck deep in trouble. And why he's got a reputation for getting himself out of it.
She lowers and John slides a hand off her leg to grab the back of her neck, pulling her into the kiss. Opening his mouth against her's and playing the same twisted game between them as the night before in Oblivion. Tasting the whiskey on her breath, the flavor of his cigarettes on her tongue, and the warmth of her body against his.
Slowly he settles back on the arm of the couch and stares at her. "Alright, you're definately making it not to like you, love..." Nodding slowly. Brushing fingers from the back of her neck, along her jaw, to lightly grip her throat just beneath her chin. Thumb moving across candy apple red lips.
"But I can't do this tonight." flicking his eyes across hers.
Apparently, they both like getting in to trouble. Some times more than they can handle. At least they seem to be able to keep control of it this time. They just choose trouble.
His hand slips behind her neck and hers slide up to cup both his cheeks.
She taste him. The whiskey. The cigarettes. The combination is a enough to draw a soft moan from her. When he settles back and speaks, she smirks. "I certainly hope so," is the murmured response.
His thumb going across her lips gets a light nip before she nods her head. She leans in and presses a quick kiss to him once more. "So be it." Nope. No argument. No seduction. She has no need nor desire to force him. "Point me to where you want me to sleep."
Constantine wraps his arm around the back of her shoulders when she leans down for the secondary quick kiss and chuckles, "Not a whole lot of options..." Rolling his head over to the side to look out at the apartment. "Take the couch."
It's gentlemanly to offer, but actually forcing himself to move? It takes a little bit longer. He does though. Pulling himself up and out from beneath her... hooking his finger in the collar of the shirt to look down at her breast... "Fuck.." Shaking his head and stepping back.
That hand slaps across his face, then combs back into her hair... Then he bends down and grabs the bottle of whiskey, his cigarettes, and a chair. The chair is set down near the foot of the couch so he can lift his legs up to cross over the arm, ashtray in his lap, cigarette between his lips...
His hand slips into the coat on the chair he's occupying to pull out the pack of matches.. absently rattling them beside his ear.
With a chuckle and his head shaking, he pushes it open, grabs the last match and strikes it, "Goodnight, beautiful." Waving the flame out after lighting his cigarette with a long drag.
Sitting with his arms crossed, head canted over to the side, rubbing at the stubble on his jaw.
A brow arches at the offer. She wasn't expecting it really and it get a genuine smile from her which goes a long way to softening those bright red eyes. Of course, the peek down her shirt and his reaction causes her to laugh and shake her head slightly.
She moves enough to allow him to move, frowning slightly. "If you could support my weight the whole night..." She doesn't like the idea of him sleeping in the chair. Which causes her some confusion. Whatever.
When he settles in and withdraws the box, she waits for the sound as he shakes it. The light rattle causes her to laugh softly and her eyes to lift to his. "Goodnight, handsome." She blows him a kiss and then turns to curl on her side, red hair splayed out under her and down her back as she closes her eyes.
Constatine is a complicated man on the best of days, this really hasn't been one of them. Between all that happened with Dah'katar, and all that they both clearly want to happen in this apartment afterwards... On the chair is probably the safest place for him right now.
His dark eyes watch her settle in on the couch, coiled up in his shirt, red hair hanging back behind her like a firey mane.. The rise and fall of his bare chest periodically hinted with deep drags off his cigarette and the smoke cloud that follows. After a few minutes he looks towards the window, tossing the matches and cigarettes onto the table nearby. Whiskey bottle cradled in the curve of his legs, eyes on the flickering 'open' sign that points down to the stripe club in the alley below his window...
John has always called himself a weird magnet. The strangest things always seem to happen to him and, usually, he knows more or less what's going on... Satana is a variable he's not completely sure about yet.
What was the word she'd used?
Ahhh right. It's refreshing. He liked her.
It only lasts about thirty minutes. Right about the time she's probably good and asleep, and he's sliding into that little place behind her on the couch, and sliding his arm around her waist.
'This is going to end badly, John.'
'Shut the fuck up, I don't give a shite.'