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winterI've been to a movie today. And I think I'll set out my reactions in the form of fic instead of ramblings.
Warning: this will make no sense unless you have some idea about Hellblazer and Lucifer (the comic books), and you've seen Constantine. Spoilers for the movie.
Fandom: Hellblazer/Constantine
Rating: PG-13 to R for language
TWICE DAMNED
by Beth (bwinter @extenuation.net)
"My name's John Constantine. I'm not the nicest bloke you've ever met. But I do me best."
- Hellblazer #139
There's only so long that you can stare at downtown Los Angeles.
Constantine made his way back from the roof. His apartment was a dark hole, which was a good description of his life, too. Chas was gone. Hennessy. Beeman. Angela... Angela had barely been there at all.
Damn, he missed his cigarettes.
The gum wasn't doing it for him. He still reached for the lighter first. He could just taste the smoke-
Wait.
The lighter flicking on was loud as a gunshot. The Other was sitting by the table, with Constantine's whisky and what looked like Constantine's cigarettes. Except he didn't know that brand.
"They're Silk Cuts, mate."
The voice, he could almost take for his own. Too many cigarettes, too much whisky. British, not Californian.
He flicked on the light.
The Other's hair was dirty blonde. The face looked almost familiar, but too wide, the lips twisted into a permanent smirk. The trenchcoat was off-brown and rumpled as if it had been dragged through all of hell and a large chunk of eternity.
It probably had been.
"Who are you?" But he already knew.
The Other blew the smoke directly into his face. "This is Constantine. John Constantine, asshole. But that's your line, innit?"
"I have-"
"I'll tell you what you have! You have a bloody tagline, a fucking signature weapon," the Other gestured at the cross-gun, still on the table, "and you're fighting for God's approval. All you need is membership in the JL of the fecking A!"
"Listen, you Brit-"
"Call me by my name, you little shit."
A deep breath with his newly cleaned lungs. "Constantine."
"And?"
"THE Constantine. Bastard."
"And don't you forget it, ya wanker." John Constantine, pride of Britain, leaned back in his chair and gestured with his pack of Silk Cuts. "You want a fag?"
Constantine, LA, considered telling his double - his original - that he'd quit. And the consequences. "Sure."
John lit it for him and poured them both more whisky. "Way I figure, 's an opportunity to shoot the shit and exchange crochet patterns. You're not doing that bad, for a Septic. 'cept for the trying-for-redemption bit, but you'll get a chance to fuck that up sooner or later. I always do."
"How'd you learn about me, anyway?"
"This guy I know, runs a club in town. He's never been me mate, but he calls me up out of the big blue, drops your name, hints there's stuff to watch for. Ditched me a while ago, said he had an old haunt to visit."
A dark eyebrow rose. "That club's Lux, isn't it?"
A blond eyebrow rose in turn. "Whaddya think?"
They bared two sets of crooked teeth.
* * *
Lucifer was just getting on with chewing out Mammon, starting to warm up his Godfather impression, when he noted that his wayward offspring seemed to be looking over his shoulder instead of straight at him.
He turned slowly.
The Other was tall and handsome in a mildly depraved way. His golden hair was combed back, but the waves showed that if left free, it would return to Miltonesque curls. His suit was white and impeccable.
The Lightbringer smiled. "Lu, we need to talk."
Mammon wondered if Mazikeen would share the popcorn.
~FINIS~
Next in the pipeline is Quintile (Five of Pentacles), the Van Helsing thingie. Written in longhand, need to type it up and make someone beta it.
Warning: this will make no sense unless you have some idea about Hellblazer and Lucifer (the comic books), and you've seen Constantine. Spoilers for the movie.
Fandom: Hellblazer/Constantine
Rating: PG-13 to R for language
TWICE DAMNED
by Beth (bwinter @extenuation.net)
"My name's John Constantine. I'm not the nicest bloke you've ever met. But I do me best."
- Hellblazer #139
There's only so long that you can stare at downtown Los Angeles.
Constantine made his way back from the roof. His apartment was a dark hole, which was a good description of his life, too. Chas was gone. Hennessy. Beeman. Angela... Angela had barely been there at all.
Damn, he missed his cigarettes.
The gum wasn't doing it for him. He still reached for the lighter first. He could just taste the smoke-
Wait.
The lighter flicking on was loud as a gunshot. The Other was sitting by the table, with Constantine's whisky and what looked like Constantine's cigarettes. Except he didn't know that brand.
"They're Silk Cuts, mate."
The voice, he could almost take for his own. Too many cigarettes, too much whisky. British, not Californian.
He flicked on the light.
The Other's hair was dirty blonde. The face looked almost familiar, but too wide, the lips twisted into a permanent smirk. The trenchcoat was off-brown and rumpled as if it had been dragged through all of hell and a large chunk of eternity.
It probably had been.
"Who are you?" But he already knew.
The Other blew the smoke directly into his face. "This is Constantine. John Constantine, asshole. But that's your line, innit?"
"I have-"
"I'll tell you what you have! You have a bloody tagline, a fucking signature weapon," the Other gestured at the cross-gun, still on the table, "and you're fighting for God's approval. All you need is membership in the JL of the fecking A!"
"Listen, you Brit-"
"Call me by my name, you little shit."
A deep breath with his newly cleaned lungs. "Constantine."
"And?"
"THE Constantine. Bastard."
"And don't you forget it, ya wanker." John Constantine, pride of Britain, leaned back in his chair and gestured with his pack of Silk Cuts. "You want a fag?"
Constantine, LA, considered telling his double - his original - that he'd quit. And the consequences. "Sure."
John lit it for him and poured them both more whisky. "Way I figure, 's an opportunity to shoot the shit and exchange crochet patterns. You're not doing that bad, for a Septic. 'cept for the trying-for-redemption bit, but you'll get a chance to fuck that up sooner or later. I always do."
"How'd you learn about me, anyway?"
"This guy I know, runs a club in town. He's never been me mate, but he calls me up out of the big blue, drops your name, hints there's stuff to watch for. Ditched me a while ago, said he had an old haunt to visit."
A dark eyebrow rose. "That club's Lux, isn't it?"
A blond eyebrow rose in turn. "Whaddya think?"
They bared two sets of crooked teeth.
* * *
Lucifer was just getting on with chewing out Mammon, starting to warm up his Godfather impression, when he noted that his wayward offspring seemed to be looking over his shoulder instead of straight at him.
He turned slowly.
The Other was tall and handsome in a mildly depraved way. His golden hair was combed back, but the waves showed that if left free, it would return to Miltonesque curls. His suit was white and impeccable.
The Lightbringer smiled. "Lu, we need to talk."
Mammon wondered if Mazikeen would share the popcorn.
~FINIS~
Next in the pipeline is Quintile (Five of Pentacles), the Van Helsing thingie. Written in longhand, need to type it up and make someone beta it.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-03-17 02:43 pm (UTC)But I can imagine this scene all too easily. *saves*
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2005-03-17 02:48 pm (UTC)This is jusgt... wow. Absolutely wonderul... I can't stop laughing :D
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2005-04-09 06:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-02 10:53 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:*stalked you*
Date: 2005-08-30 02:16 am (UTC)Re: *stalked you*
From:Re: *stalked you*
From: