[closed]

[keepgodwaiting]

WHO: Johanna Constantine (keepgodwaiting) & a variety of appointments
WHAT: Autumnal and spooky hijinks
WHERE: Around!
WHEN: End of September, into October
WARNINGS: Probably demon shit in the Peter thread; probably social awkwardness in the Steven thread; more if they come up

I swear to God I saw her howlin' at the sky
She ain't out to get you but she's better on your side
And she don't wanna be anybody else
She's a woman in total control of herself
It's such a wonder to be under her spell
What a woman in total control of herself

Comments

For Steven (latersgators), around September 21/22

[keepgodwaiting]

In some ways, this feels like a uniquely shitty thing for Johanna to be doing. She's been meaning to apologize to Steven ever since that welcome party, when she accidentally approached Marc instead. After that, she just ... didn't.

But that's not unique. That's absolutely bog-standard bad behavior for her. No, what might be edging this one beyond the pale is that she's going to surprise him. That seems like it may be just a bit cruel.

However. It also seems like it will be funny. And then she can apologize properly!

Judging that Steven is the kind who will be bang on time, she shows up to the restaurant at 7:05 ready for a date: makeup on point, a nice high-necked sleeveless blouse and slacks under her trench coat, and an orange chrysanthemum plucked from one of the City's green spaces to mark her as his blind date.

[latersgators]

She got him in that sweet spot between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, so he's at least eating something tonight even if he will be quietly avoiding the usual meat and dairy products he doesn't normally touch.

He didn't dress up too nicely but he did bother with a nice and clean button up shirt, and neat pants. Of course she spots him shuffling closer tugging on his clothes and taking shaky breaths before he spots her, but when he does eventually spot her he has a little deer in headlights moment. Too late to stand her up - not that that thought had crossed her mind - and too late to act anything other than genuinely surprised for a smidgen too long.

At least he doesn't cringe or greet her with 'Oh, it's... you...' He manages a brave, tight-lipped smile and nods in her direction before coming up within conversational distance. Notice how he's not within slapping distance though.

"Hey, you." Not much better. Does he get points for trying at least? "Wasn't expecting a familiar face."

[keepgodwaiting]

Honestly, that's impressive! If he'd turned around and walked the other way it would have been right in line with her expectations. The fact that he comes towards her anyway means he's either brave or stupid.

She'll assume brave. She's trying to be nice this time.

"Especially not this one, I'll wager."

She gives him a crooked smile and holds out the flower, arm fully extended so he doesn't have to get too close.

"Ought to be an olive branch, but I couldn't find any."

[latersgators]

Why not both? Although he's probably more stupid than he is brave, even if he can be smart in other ways. Definitely not smart around anything to do with women. Or danger. Or evil magicians. Or not-so-evil magicians, even, apparently.

"Tha's alright mate. Ta." He takes the flower and almost squeezes the stem a little too hard before taking a small step closer towards her.

"...wait. Are you looking for--" Steven's voice drops to a mouse's whisper. "spies?" For her spy meeting? That's so strange!

[keepgodwaiting]

"Well, no, if I'm really honest, like I said, I was looking for casual sex."

She holds up her hands to (vainly, maybe) forestall any shock and awkwardness.

"Not if you're not interested, and let's be fair, bruv, who could blame you. Sounds like it's not really your thing, anyway."

[latersgators]

"You're wot mate?" Not that he had heard her wrongly the first time or that he's intentionally making her repeat herself but he's just shocked, he says. Absolutely gobsmacked.

"I'm-- I'm--! Umm!" His shoulders rise as the tension mounts in his tight chest. He doesn't know what to say, it's like. Yes but no.

"I can't imagine anyone not being interested!" He starts. "Youuuu. Look. Very lovely." He gestures up and down with his palm open and facing the sky, like he's showing off a vase at the antique roadshow rather than talking about a woman. "And I'm sure you... are most excellent... casually. Sexing. But Iiii'mmmmnnnot. Casual... Sexual... casually... looking for casual... um..."

[keepgodwaiting]

How is she not supposed to bully this man!! Look at the way he reacts when she's trying to be chill! It is simultaneously hysterically funny and sweet and ridiculous!

She cuts him off with wave of her hands. "Steven, you don't have to spare my feelings on this one or justify it or anything, trust me. I'm not here for a shag."

Okay, it's time to do the mature thing she intended to do. Buckle up, people.

"I'm mainly here to say sorry. For how I acted when we met."

[latersgators]

"I wasn't," he protests quietly - he's not just saying these things to be nice or spare her feelings or anything, she's genuinely very nice-looking and all that - but he's rather thankful that she's saving him from that rather big hole he's digging for himself.

Anyway he's aware that he's unshaggable so it's probably for the better that she--... tries those moves on Marc or whatever. Good heavens, Steven doesn't want to know anything about that.

"How you acted?" He frowns and purses his lips as he tries to recall the most offensive thing that happened when they met. "Oh! You mean the-- right. Yeah. Don't worry about it love. I'd hit me too. Especially if I thought it'd fix anything." Not-- necessarily as hard as she hit him or as deeply as the way Marc harms himself or anything like that but... he can take a bit of a hit. Sometimes.

"Have you any new theories about what this all is?"

[keepgodwaiting]

Unshaggable would be a strong word, with that bone structure.

Johanna looks surprised by how quickly he waves it off. Part of her wonders what that says about his self-respect; the rest of her is grateful that she won't have to do any real groveling.

"Do you want to talk about it over dinner?"

For Peter (possessum), spooky season

[keepgodwaiting]

[ Two months or so ago, Johanna had an interesting conversation with an interesting young man, made an offer to him that she fully intended to follow through on, and then -- well. It's not all her fault that she never got did get back to him. He didn't text back, and then she had the fight with Wrench, and the mall happened to her and to everyone else, and she coped with her nightmares in a variety of questionable ways.

On balance that probably makes it half her fault. She can own that much.

All the stumbling blocks aside, when Peter did contact her to ask about warding his place, it came as a rather welcome surprise. Some of her supplies needed to be restocked -- candles and oil, mostly, as well as some fresh herbs. She's assuming the water Mr. Fell blessed won't lose its potency. But with all her materials packed up, and an address from Peter, she reckons she's as ready as she can be.

There are a few different possibilities running through her head as she lugs her bag to Peter's door and knocks. A Solomonic seal, a magick square if she can remember the proper words, maybe saining. Maybe just pouring some salt in the corners and mumbling "Nolite te bastardes carborundum" and telling him the house is clean. It depends on what he tells her about these people he's afraid of.

Weird fucking people doing rituals. Well, here's hoping he doesn't freak out over one more. ]

[possessum]

[ The past month or so has largely been a strange blur. The photograph he'd received from the bank vault, the subsequent.... compulsion to talk about his family... Once all of that had died down, Peter was left feeling the need to run the fuck away.

Of course, there's nowhere to run. Nowhere to go. So he'd done what he always has in order to cope — hidden himself away. With little contact to anyone else, only really seeing his next-door neighbours in the apartment complex, and it's only recently that he's come creeping out again.

(And other things have come creeping to him. A strange woman he'd spoken to once on the network, with crystal eyes and a rasping voice. She'd held his face and told him he wasn't alone, and he's become... attached? to her. He's found himself in her company more and more over these weeks, and sometimes he feels afraid when she's very close to him, but when she's far from him for too long..... he longs to see her again, filled with ache in her absence. She's taught him some things, shown him. She has some sort of connection to the supernatural — that word that'd been dancing just at the corner of Peter Graham's vision. He's begun to think that maybe things like that do exist.)

He's gotten worse. The... night terrors, the sleepwalking, they follow him into his waking hours more and more now. He loses memory, time, self. And it seems like someone's getting inside his apartment, as crazy as that sounds. He's the only one living there, but his items are moved, or go missing. He finds strange things, bits of scraps: cloth, coins, like someone's been leaving things, trying to make him lose his fucking mind.

And he remembers the offer that a woman on the network had made. He finds her name where he'd written it down, he reaches out to her, surprising even himself at the boldness of it. Not that he's any less nervous; no, as Peter opens his front door he's an anxious mess, eyes wide and skin already trembling a little. In person, he's even more gloomy of a presence than his voice suggested — six feet tall and lanky, tensed into himself like he's trying to make himself look smaller. Hair a mess of wild curls, and eyes rimmed in dark circles; he looks like he doesn't sleep much. ]

Hi. [ The teen breathes out, fingers curling into the sleeves of his hoodie. That's another thing. He's also so fucking cold. Peter pauses awkwardly and then steps back to open up the door a little wider. ]

Thanks for coming.

starting out strong with a cw for discussion of mental illness and institutionalization

[keepgodwaiting]

[ Johanna blinks up at him, taking in the sight of him in person. Her first vivid impression is: Ah, shit, he's off his meds.

She knew a few people in the punk scene back in the day who didn't have a good grasp on reality; some of them dealt with it with drugs legal and illegal, some of them didn't deal with it at all, and lots of them would have crashed in a flat exactly as ominously set up as this one. And then there was Ravenscar, where she'd met more than a few fellow patients who had that sunken-eyed, anxious look. No doubt she'd worn it herself a lot in those years.

However, he seems like he's cleaning up at least some of the time, and he had the wherewithal to call her and ask her over. Belatedly, sure, but she's not always timely herself. Those are good signs. Probably. Signs of something.

Right. So.

She gives him a quick smile -- not false, exactly, but practiced -- and steps in when he invites her. ]

All right, Peter? My pleasure. You mind if I look around a bit while we talk?

[possessum]

[ The state of the apartment is, believe it or not, an improvement compared to those first weeks that Peter had been staying here, occupying the space more like a ghost than anything real. Thanks to a couple of neighbours who routinely check on him, he actually has clean dishes now, and unspoiled milk in the fridge. There's no longer piles of trash littering the floor anymore, either.... although Johanna might spot an empty chip bag or two here and there.

The living room is an odd state to be sure, though. A couch and whole mattress take up most of it, with the latter placed right in the middle of the floor, a few dirty clothes draped over it. Seems like this is where Peter sleeps, and changes... which is probably extremely normal.

....The hallway isn't much better, with all the chairs from the small dining space pressed against shut bedroom doors, like they're trying to keep something locked inside. (Also probably extremely normal.) The only door that isn't kept shut is the bathroom, but further inspection will show that there's a shirt draped over the mirror.

He's totally fine.

Peter slowly shuts the door behind the woman, turning to kind of nervously, awkwardly follow her inside. Look around...? He seems initially intimidated by the idea, eyes widening suddenly, but in a beat or two after he realises that yeah, okay, that's probably.... to be expected. When an exorcist is coming to look at and ward one's home. They would probably want to have a look around.... ]

Sure— yeah. I uh. Yeah.

[ He nods, hesitating so that she can lead the way and wander where she likes. But after a moment he voices a question that feels dumb even to his own ears, but.... look, he doesn't know what exorcists can do! Maybe they can Perceive things! ]

Can you uh.... like sense if there's something weird in here?

[keepgodwaiting]

Depends on what's around and how much it wants to be sensed.

[ She answers absently, pacing around the living room and looking at the windows, then the chairs propped against the doors. ]

I'm not terribly psychic, but some things are loud. Have you been sensing anything weird? [ She taps on one of the chairs and looks over at Peter with a frown. ] You keeping something out?

cw: mention of attempted child murder with fire, this thread is normal

[possessum]

[ Peter eyes the woman nervously as she looks around, continuing to trail after her with visible awkwardness. It would be an almost comical sight — Peter, an oversized duckling toddling along after an exorcist — if this wasn't all so incredibly cursed...

The questions give him pause, and he's looking visibly uncomforable as he stands there. He hadn't made any attempt to..... change the weird shit he's got going on in this apartment, and he knows that it's weird. That he probably seems insane, with chairs propped against doors and mirrors covered up. But if he's going to get real help for whatever the hell's going on....a certain level of honesty is required. ]

I'm not sure. About the uh, sensing weird shit. Sometimes I feel like I can...? Like. The air feels funny. Kind of buzzing. But maybe I'm just fucking nuts.

[ He tries to give a laugh to make it sound kind of lighter, but it just sounds hollow as he glances sheepishly to the door that Mrs. Constantine gestures to. ]

....I uh. I don't like open doors. And I don't like being in bedrooms.

[ He lingers there for a moment, unsure how much to say. A large part of it is because of what his mother had done one night in his bedroom — had tried to do, match in hand and the pungent smell of paint thinner burning his senses. But maybe he shouldn't talk about that.

Not that talking about the rest is any easier, and he can't look the woman in the eyes, one arm wrapped almost protectively around his own middle. ]

When those people were in my house... they cornerned me um, in the attic. So I don't want to um... to not have an escape again.

[keepgodwaiting]

--They were in your house?

[ Did he mention that on the phone, before? She can't remember. But if that's true it's a bit more than paranoia. Like the woman said: "There are plots against people, aren't there?"

Who are you, Peter Graham? ]

What else can you tell me about them? Do you remember anything about the rituals? [ Her tone is professional, diagnostic, like a mechanic asking you what noise your car is making. ]

[possessum]

[ Peter pauses again, looking uncomfortable. ]

I uh, I think so. It's hard to remember what was real and what... wasn't.

[ It felt real. He could hear and smell and see everything as clear as day. But he'd tried to wake himself up, slapping his own face — You just gotta wake up. Wake up. ]

....In my attic, I think there was like... an outline. Like when a person dies, or something, you know how they draw it? Only it was in dust. [ ....He has no idea it was because a dead body was up there for so long. ]

And in that was um... a photo. Of me? [ His voice catches against a particular snag. ] Only the eyes were burned out. And there were candles everywhere. Um. It smelled funny.

[ What came just after that isn't something he can talk about. The sawing sounds, his mother's eyes wide and fixed right on him, her legs dangling—

Peter gives an odd little sound, eyelids fluttering for a moment as his heart flutters rapidly with a swell of anxiety, and his eyes are suddenly glossy and burn. ]

There were people up there. I didn't notice them at first. They were just....standing there, in the shadows. Smiling at me. ...They didn't have any clothes on. Um. I'd seen one before. In— in my house. I think they'd been following me for a long time.

....But I didn't know what was real. Everything— everything felt like a bad dream.

action; late September, evening, fairground hours

[unrequite]

... So angels do have wings, but not the feathered sort, nor anything similar to this aerodynamic fellow here.

[ Midnight tugs on the wings of the little flighted bat creature. It's missing eyes, but they don't need them anyway, do they? (Also, he has refused to adopt the little thing as his own, but he does look very pleased to cradle him around in the name of making sure Johanna can enjoy the fair unburdened. Maybe he can be convinced, eventually.) ]

Sankta — angels — don't fly, either. Vestigial features, I think, just like the feathers on a Liberi. Their wings look like hovering crystals, no lift to them whatsoever. Now, their halos do glow, so there's your similarity, but there's really no need for them to fly when they can walk.

[keepgodwaiting]

[ Unburdened by bats but not by misanthropy. Johanna started this whole excursion with the general air of a teenager who has been dragged to a party by their friend. Time, and the opportunity to engage in some pointlessly petty theft by climbing into a booth and stealing Midnight a toy, have helped somewhat.

Further discussion of his world is obviously helping more. She may refuse to have fun with the fun fair, but getting engaged in a conversation and incidentally being at a fair where she might eat something fried? Fine, she can do that. ]

No need to fly? Is need really the point? If I had the option I'd certainly take it.

[unrequite]

Well put, but if the Sankta had the gall to fly on top of the empathy and the guns, I think my ancestors would be rather more put out by the idea of keeping up the old blood feud with them.

[ Midnight laughs, shakes his head. She looks like she's having a good time. The petty thievery was definitely worth the effort. ]

Or is this your way of telling me your feet are getting tired? I can pick you up, you know.

[keepgodwaiting]

Angels with guns, my god. Puts a new spin on the old "Be not afraid" greeting.

[ She scoffs, not unamused. ]

What, you going to carry me on your back like a kid? You may be three times my age, mate, but you're not my dad.

[unrequite]

[ Midnight gives Miss Constantine a bit of an odd, delighted look. Do... do angels not have guns in the religious iconography of Earth? It must be so, but the idea is somewhat wild to Midnight. ]

I was thinking something a bit more bridal... But I'll have you know that one's late thirties is still young for my kind. I'd have to be at least a century old to be anyone's dad... Well, if I cared about being respectable amongst the old guard, anyhow.

[keepgodwaiting]

Ah, respectability politics. I see we've got something else in common there.

What's that look for?

[unrequite]

Oh, nothing. Just imagining you as an angel from my world. One of the statues with the golden halos, praying, with a shotgun in hand.

[ Midnight tucks the plushie under his elbow and makes a square with his fingers, framing Miss Constantine inside. ]

Wouldn't be out of place, if I'm being honest.

[keepgodwaiting]

Ha! Flirt. I don't know which would make me look sillier, the gun or the halo.

[ Grinning in spite of herself, she strikes a Charlie's Angels-esque pose for his imaginary viewfinder. ]

I'll take the crystal wings, though.