John Constantine (
talentforlying) wrote in
fandomhigh2021-10-02 12:28 pm
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Library, Saturday, October 2nd
John had finally -- finally -- realized he was out of minions. So here he was in the library, on a Saturday, digging around in his office for the hiring sign.
Look, usually he came in in the morning, unlocked the library door, and then went to his office to get research done. APPARENTLY the books had been reshelving themselves, so he hadn't noticed that no one had been coming in to work the desk.
The circulation desk had a bell on it, with a 'Ring Me for Help' sign, while John was in his office, trying to find all the paperwork and shit to get new minions.
At least this meant Shellstrop wasn't going to be stealing his booze anymore.
[OOC: Open library, OCD freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.]
Look, usually he came in in the morning, unlocked the library door, and then went to his office to get research done. APPARENTLY the books had been reshelving themselves, so he hadn't noticed that no one had been coming in to work the desk.
The circulation desk had a bell on it, with a 'Ring Me for Help' sign, while John was in his office, trying to find all the paperwork and shit to get new minions.
At least this meant Shellstrop wasn't going to be stealing his booze anymore.
[OOC: Open library, OCD freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.]

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Eliot was going to haunt the shit out of anyone who might ring any bells.
And in the meantime, he and his best friend for life and after it were going to relive the circumstances of their untimely, horrible deaths over and over and over again. Like good little ghosts should.
[hello yes, it's Eliot and Margo from timeline 23. Aka the one where Eliot fucked up a spell and got them both killed. There's, uh. Gonna be gore. Fair warning.]
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Margo flickered into existence between two shelves of books, holding a heavy tome. She wore a colorful jacket, and a hair band held back her caramel locks. She flicked a page. Read it. Flicked to another page.
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So.
“No, you’re holding your shit together. Barely,” she said, practically willing him to stand up straighter. “There’s a difference.” She leaned in. “Don’t let that pixie twat Bigby get in your head.”
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He lifted his flask, ever in his hand these days, with a scoff.
"And she said I couldn't handle that spell."
He took a long drink.
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“Why don’t you prove her wrong and help me, okay?” she said, flicking to the next page.
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He was perfectly happy to let Margo be in charge. She had drive. Ambition. Far less liver damage.
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Margo looked down at the page. “Well, before we can do the Rhinemann, we need a power-up,” she said. She turned the book around and held it up for Eliot to see. “Here is a co-operative spell. Now if we can cast this together—” She didn’t mean to sound like a school teacher lecturing a small child, but with Eliot in the state he was in, it was hard not to. “—It might just give us enough juice to kill the Beast.”
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"And if we cast it wrong . . . kaboom."
He was . . . mostly against going kaboom. Mostly.
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“So let’s not cast it wrong,” she said.
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Just like that, the cork came off Margo’s proverbial emotion bottle. She slapped Eliot across the face hard, the noise echoing through the library.
“You are not going to cock out on me.”
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It did effectively snap him out of his spiral of despair though.
"Cock out?"
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Margo put her hands on her hips. “I’d say ‘pussy’, but let’s be honest,” she said. “Which one’s tougher?”
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The lights flickered, and the two of them vanished into the darkness.
When Eliot appeared again, he was walking slowly, stiffly. the right sleeve of his shirt was coated in blood and gore.
"Ohhhhh my god," he mumbled. He stumbled into a shelf and slid to the floor with a sob. "I screwed it up I screwed it up I screwed it up. . . ." The mantra dissolved into whimpers as he noticed one of Margo's earrings stuck to his shoulder.
One of Margo's earrings. With part of Margo's ear still attached.
"Oh-ho-ho-hoooo my gooood I screwed it up I screwed it up I screwed it up I screwed it up. . . ."
This time, it faded into mumbles as he crumpled into himself.
The lights flickered again, fizzing and buzzing dramatically.
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“Cocks?”
She kept mumbling it through the remains of her mouth until the loop started again, wiping away the yawning chasm that was the left side of her face.
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Sometimes it very much. . . wasn’t.
If you were very unlucky, you might even catch her reliving the moment she lost half of that face.
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"Oi!" he yelled, sticking his head out of his office door. "Whatever's haunting us today, there's two rules! One! No possessions! Two! Stay the fuck out of Special Collections!"
Then he was absolutely going to go back to digging through his fucking piles of paperwork, trying to find student application forms. Look, as long as they weren't possessing the unwilling, trying to enter Special Collections, or covering the library in ectoplasm, he didn't care.
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“Cock,” she responded. Perplexed? Was Margo even capable of that any more?
It didn’t matter. She retreated into her memory-loop moments later.
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Maze always had colorful language.
"Just stay out of the living people, sunshine."
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The innocent tone was a fine contrast to all the blood covering him.
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"Haven't seen any animated deer around here, sunshine," he said dryly, eyeing the blood. "What slaughterhouse spat you out again?"
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"Where's my Bambi?"
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The last part was absolutely a lie.
He loosened his tie a bit more, and Eliot might be able to see some of the edges of John's tattoos peeking out. "Now, we play nicely in my library. You want to spook, go ahead. You want to pass on, just say so. But no getting rough with the living."
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"I screwed it up I screwed it up I screwed it up. . . ."
The lights flickered, and he vanished again, his babble lingering to echo through the stacks.
"I screwed it up I screwed it up. . . ."
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John made his way over to the circulation desk, digging around for a moment before finding the drawer with the arts and crafts supplies.
A few moments later, there was a sign on the door to the library;
Proceed at own risk.
What? Two confused ghosts weren't enough to close anything on this gods' forsaken island.
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So he stopped by, paused at the sign, looked around the library, didn't see anything at the moment, and reluctantly rang the bell, since he had no idea where in the Library of Congress or Dewey Decimal system "magic" fell.
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If it were dangerous, surely the library would be closed?
He cleared his throat, wondering if he should say something or pretend he wasn't even here and hope to be overlooked.
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Then Eliot staggered out of the dark, blood spattered down his right side. “Ohhh god,” he moaned. “Oh my god. . . .”
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He sank to the floor with a sob.
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Wait, there was someone who was. "Where's Margo?"
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"WHERE IS MY BAMBI?"
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And then Eliot vanished.
Jon might need to reassess a little.
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Jon stood up and looked around. "Eliot? Eliot!"
In Eliot's absence, he wondered was going on. And immediately and helpfully knew Eliot was a ghost, so thank you for that, Beholding. How he'd gotten that way, though, the Eye either didn't know or wasn't saying.
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He nodded and headed off.