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Library, Sunday

Curious about what he'd heard on the radio this morning, Face taken one look around the library and had said with a small wave of his hand "I wish you'd keep yourself tidy" and with a great display of acrobatic skill the books had started shelving themselves.

Now, given the previous behaviour of the books, it was entirely possible that this might have happened even on an ordinary weekend, but in any case, Face was sitting back and enjoying his ~~completely unearned~~ well earned break.

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"All the fun things," he agreed with a crooked grin. "'Specially since it's no fun unless the books can bite back. Luckily, it tolerates me an' the minions enough that we can usually get in-and-out with a minimum of being screwed with. But, 'm guessing that's why the school hired a magus instead of an actual librarian in the first place."

John dug around in his trench to pull out his Silk Cuts. "Mind you, I'm a man of all disciplines, master o' none, so they tend to be rather informal and shit as magic goes, but it does the job."

"Constantine, by-the-by. John Constantine. Don't think I've had the pleasure."

"My own magic tends to be a bit more structured, but I've a friend who would insist that getting the job done is the important part. He's not wrong." And because he could, he held out a hand to shake. "Bob."

Constantine'd take that offered hand, although there was now something sharp in his smile. "Bob, eh? You aren't the newest Defense Against the Dark Arts sap, are you?" he asked. "Here I'd heard you were a bit more... incorporeal."

"'Defence against the dark arts'?" Bob snorted. "That's one way of putting it, anyway. I am, usually, but if the island's going to grant wishes for a bit, I'm going to take advantage." He shrugged. "Even if it backfires, I can't end up worse than dead and eternally cursed."

"Hey, had to read Barry Plodder so I could tell kids what it got wrong," he said, shrugging. "...but now you've done it, mate. You've challenged the whims of the Island by saying that, and next thing you'll know you'll have the Three Lords of Hell knocking on your door, or an Endless wanting a favor, and you'll be even more screwed."

John squinted at him. "Can't make out the curse while you're solid," he said as he tapped out a cigarette. "--assuming that means anything. Want a smoke, while you got lungs?"

Bob thought about it. "Why not? It's not as if it'll kill me. What's an Endless? And here." He pushed up one sleeve to show the manacle on it. "Part of the spell, if that helps."

John handed over the Silk Cut he'd already gotten out, and got a second one from his pack. "Here's to the hellraisers - smoking won't kill us any sooner than our chosen professions," he smirked, flicking on his lighter and offering it to Bob. "And an Endless is a bloody pompous anthropomorphic personificiation of the universe, and tend to be bad-luck pennies. Where I'm from, if one of the Seven take an interest in you, you're usually screwed. Thank fuck most of 'em leave the mortal world alone for the most part."

Once Bob was properly lit, Constantine turned his attention to his own stick of sin, inhaling deeply before taking a gander at the manacle. "Now that's a nasty bit of work," he said, letting out a low whistle. "Who the fuck you'd piss off, squire?"

Bob sucked in a bit of smoke, coughed a little, and tried to get the hang of it. It was...interesting.

"Where I'm from," he answered dryly, "the High Council don't take kindly to sorcerers who dabble in the black. Kill a few people, raise somebody up, and death is the least of your problems." He held out a hand and conjured the image of his skull back home. It was a complex illusion, but if there was one thing he knew very well, that was it. "That's the other component to the binding."

"Remind me not to get a time-share in your corner of the universe, then," John said, shaking his head. "Unless you were killin' people to get your rocks off, this is a bit excessive, innit?"

"I certainly think so." Bob shrugged. "I won't say I didn't enjoy killing one or two, but that wasn't the reason I did it. Still, I'd have been long dead otherwise, and I've got to see a lot of wonderful things over the years. Even if seeing is generally all I can do," he added dryly.

"Rules in your world aren't the same, I take it?" he asked.

Edited 2015-02-08 22:00 (UTC)

"Rules? Rules are for suckers. Oh, I'll have to pay my bill eventually, but I've already cheated Hell once. I plan to keep putting off my tab as long as possible," John replied cheerfully. "Someone's got to do the work that needs doing."

"Oh, dear." Bob rolled his eyes. "Remind me never to introduce my friend Harry to you." They would make horrible, horrible enablers. Or drinking buddies. Or they'd punch each other a lot. One or more of these.

All of the above!

"Why, he an ass-kisser?" John asked. "I mean, I'm all for kissing a choice bit of ass, so long it's between consensual adults having a bit of fun, but a man's got to have his dignity."

"He's currently on a sort of parole for his complete inability to follow rules," Bob answered. "And he just loves to throw himself headfirst into stupidity if it'll help someone."

"Sounds like my type of bloke, then, 'cept for the fact he has to dance to the tune of what sounds like the magical moral brigade." Don't let John around the High Council, Bob. It would only end in tears. "If he -- and you -- end up needing a new residence if parole goes south, let me know. It's not the safest corner of the multiverse, but there's plenty of magic."

Bob would pay good money to see Constantine versus Ancient Mai. "Thank you; I'll let him know, though I hope it never comes to that. Harry's a good sort, and the council, well...they're a bit inflexible is all."

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Library, Sunday

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