capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

WHO: John Constantine |

afriendtosell and Zatanna Zatara |

sdrawkcabcigam
WHERE: Zatanna's place.
WHEN: January 2nd or thereabouts, obviously at night.
WARNINGS: none thus far?
SUMMARY: Zee needs to talk to Constantine about something.
FORMAT: Para.

Talks had never sat well with him, even when he had been young. There was always shouting involved, or truth telling; someone always got hurt, and it'd be up to him, or God, or some other fuck-off force in the universe to set things right again. "Let's just have a chat," never ended in the intent that the words expressed -- there were usually too many feelings involved, or too many machinations going on at once for any talking to actually go on.

Mostly, Constantine sat and listened whenever there was a talk to be had. It was the quickest way to get the bloody things over with without breaking too many bones. Zatanna would find him sitting in the library when she arrived, his feet propped up on the desk before him as he leaned back and casually scanned a book about binding circles.

"Wotcher, gorgeous," he said, eying her over the rim of the book. "How was the vacation?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

If her clothing (t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of boots) were any indication, it was warmer. She was going to take a quick shower before ringing him, but the moment she'd entered the house she knew he was there. Might as well deal with it, he'd seen her looking worse than just a little tired a and careless about her appearance. "Not bad, considering it's the first vacation I've had since during the time I couldn't use magic." Which was more of a punishment than a vacation, anyway. There hadn't been a day that passed that wasn't miserable and a reminder of how useless she was without magic. She had even gone to a few superhero support groups. Needless to say, that was hitting a low point in her world-saving career.

"Think you can handle a bit of story time? It starts on a dark and stormy night, if that'll pique your interest." Almost every story in their field of work started off that way.

She moves further into the room, nosiness dictating that she takes a quick look at the title of the book he was reading (she was pretty sure that the bullshit that she'd called earlier wasn't without reason). "Or are you going to stick with your current reading material?" Not that he had a choice in the matter.

He finished the final paragraph he'd been reading about scaling the circles in regards to how much power they were supposed to contain, and then set the book back down on the desk. Zatanna looked a bit disheveled, a bit annoyed, and certainly more tired than he had expected someone coming off a vacation to be -- he pointedly ignored the voice that told him it was obvious why -- but, if she wanted to get it over with as quickly as he did, who was he to argue?

"And here I am, without any milk and cookies..." he replied, sitting back up, his feet dropping to the floor. "You sure you don't want to grab a quick shower and a bite before we get to the nitty-gritty?" He looked her up and down, then smiled. "You can consider me interest piqued even though the presentation's so shoddy. I know you magic-types need time to prepare."

She bites her bottom lip, trying not to let her annoyance become too obvious. Certainly, he already could tell, but there was no use in displaying it when it would do no good. "My presentation is never shoddy." A little snippier than she'd meant for it to come, but she'd been stressing over this for a good, long while. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be." Which was just barely.

Zatanna paces back and forth, nervous despite the fact she's as comfortable as she's been in weeks and in the company of one of the few people she considered herself particularly close to. Eventually, she stops and takes a seat across from him, slowly, she begins to slump in the chair, though not at all relaxed. If anything, she almost appears more stiff and rigid. "Back home," she starts, "about six, seven months ago, there was a war in Hell. Purgatory was looking to expand."

She leans forward further, elbows on the table as a hand comes up to her forehead, masking any expression she might be wearing at the moment, whether genuine or otherwise. Her tone is flat, carefully guarded. "The Stranger approached me as he so often does and -- and then Danny, Blue Devil. You know him, right?" She doesn't give him a moment to respond. "Right. He wanted to exchange his service to Lord Satanus and the Lady Blaze for humanity. I agreed to help, after a lengthy conversation." And the fact that she knew no one else would help him. "Hell is one of my limits. I can't go there. David Sargent, the new Sargon could. He'd only been in possession of the Ruby of Life for a month, two tops -- but he agreed. We went together, all three of us..." This was a story about Hell, though. Those stories never ended happily.

It sounded like a monumentally stupid idea the moment John heard it. He knew that even at the best of times, when some greater power was directing its cruelties toward some cliched evil purpose, Hell and its denizens were best left alone; Earth barely got by otherwise. The Morningstar had directed all of his power toward abdicating the throne, and the First of the Fallen had set his sights on making a rutting mess of his life; to even think of venturing in to the realm when it was in flux, let alone readying to go to war, with all of its Archdukes and duchesses vying for power, bordered on the insane. The ludicrous. The Constantine.

He fought back the proud smile threatening to quirk up at the edge of his lips, and shook his head once Zatanna began to trail off. Her body language told him everything about how the mission had gone.

"--And you ended up stirring a pot of shit that you'd need the entire sodding Trenchcoat Brigade to deal with in the first place," he answered, feeling both momentarily angry that she hadn't come to him for help, and disappointed in himself for not being there in the first place. What was his future self up to, to avoid being at the center of such an event? And what about the First of the Fallen, newly restored and seated comfortably on his throne? What had happened to remove him from the picture?

There were far too many questions, and not enough answers.

"Christ Zatanna," and he tried to rein in his emotions here, immediately scratching at an eyebrow to hide his eyes from her. "You're smarter than that -- what in the bloody hell possessed you to pull a stunt like that in the middle of a war?"

Edited 2011-01-03 07:31 (UTC)

It was on a much different level than what she had been used to. Here, she could say it backwards and all ways peachy keen. There, she was too busy throwing up and trying to summon up the ability to stand. Her magic didn't function properly. It wasn't meant to be exposed to the Deep and the Dark.

"We met up with Doctor Occult." He'd gone down separately, along with the Shadowpact. "Rose Psychic was in Hell -- Purgatory. I'm the Stranger's right hand these days, you know? Since Nabu died and left just the Helmet of Fate. After the Spectre went crazy again, the number of mystics has been reduced to less than half. It's basically just... just a few of us. Even Blackbriar Thorn switched sides to fight him." She'd have to tell him about the new Doctor Fate one of these days. He was... interesting. That was neither here nor there, though.

She leans forward a little, finally covering her face with her hands, accompanied by a heavy sigh and a very distinct hitch in her breath. "David and I lost Danny. He, uh, he eventually made it out -- with Jason Blood's help. That's not important, though." No, it was clear that there was a point to all of this other than the whole 'war in Hell,' thing. Something that hit home. Something other than a friend that needed her help or the Phantom Stranger sending her on some sort of quest. Something that would tip the scale and make her not think twice about how idiotic she was being. "My father was leading the resistance, John." Never in a million years had she thought Giovanni Zatara would have been sent there. His whole life had been dedicated to doing good and helping others -- if he was sent there, what chance did anyone else have?

"Anyway, he..." She removes her hands, finally, and gestures a little, waving them about in order to make that they were shaking just slightly less obvious. "Lobo was there. We were putting up a shield and he... I was forced to consign my father's soul to the Abyss." Then, rushed: "We met up with Doctor Occult. Lobo came back. Sargon -- David," He deserved to be spoken of by name after what he'd done for her, "David chose to stay so I could leave..." Trailing off, she tilts her head downward in shame, allowing her hair to curtain around her face. She had allowed him to do it when she should have fought tooth and nail for his safe return.

Edited 2011-01-03 08:01 (UTC)

He takes the stream of events in as they came, making sure to keep his face blank, to keep his hands situated flat on the desk to stop them from shaking in rage. Here were good people, with families and friends and lives devoted to the righting of every wrong in the world, and they had gone through the literal fires of Hell without John Constantine leading the charge. Again, he asks himself what he could have possibly been doing that was more important than that, that was somehow more conceivably just than braving Hell with his allies when something obviously bigger than the lot of them happened to be afoot.

"Zee, I...I'm sorry." he shakes his head, shutting his eyes in shame. "I should've been there, luv', I should've..." it's all he can do to comfort her, even though his mind is screaming that he hold her, that he take her in his arms and try to find solace there, in the warm comfort of their closeness. He opts to instead brush her hair from her face, and caress the side of her cheek, his thumb running over its gentle curve. "Don't go putting all of that mess on your shoulders." he says, trying to tilt her head back up, to force her to look at him. "The poor bastard knew what he was getting himself in to, and I know he wouldn't want to see you like this -- not when he gave up his life for yours."

They're hollow words given up to combat a guilt he knows all but too well. Because Zatanna survived the ordeal, she now felt like she was responsible for David's death, that his sacrifice came about only due to her perceived weaknesses. No matter what Constantine did, no matter what anyone said, she'd go on blaming herself over and over and over again for failing him, until she either came to terms with it or was destroyed by her guilt. John had felt the same way when he'd condemned Astra to Hell, and then again, and again, and again as the years passed and more and more of his closest friends found themselves on the wrong side of his most dangerous of habits.

'There aren't any good guys, and there aren't any bad guys. There's just us. People. Doing our best to get by.'

The words nearly slam into him, echoing in his head like fireworks. It had been something he'd told Tim, once, when they had first met, but he'd never gone on to say that it was people who suffered the most, and never those who aligned themselves with the Light and the Dark.

"I'm sorry, luv'..." he repeats, leaning in and pressing his forehead against Zatanna's, speaking barely above a whisper, afraid to say the wrong thing, to worsen things somehow merely by being there. "I should have been there."

Edited 2011-01-03 09:08 (UTC)

She didn't ask why. She can only assume that the Stranger had his ways about him, that there was a reason. There was always a reason for events as they unfolded, for who was involved and who wasn't. As much as she trusted that man's judgment, there was that little part of her that wanted to question him. Normally, he would have joined them. He'd done so in the fights against the Spectre and Asmodel, he'd been the one who had set Tim's journey into the world of magic in motion -- when she'd requested he bring Hal his Lantern where she and the rest of the League could not go, he had gone and told her that he had done it because she'd asked it of him.

They had breakfast together a few times, even.

Zatanna trusted him and what he stood for, despite the fact that he still remained a mystery... however much she wanted to scream at him sometimes and ask him why he did nothing. Zatanna knew punishment when she saw it.

A little shocked by his gesture when he'd seen so adamant to avoid any sort of genuine affection earlier, she allows herself a moment before leaning into the touch. Blinking back tears that had begun to form, she forces a little smile. Eventually it slides to something she wears with ease, lacking in any falseness. "It..." Clearing her throat, grasps in the dark, trying to gather her thoughts properly. She hadn't even told it the way she'd planned to. Ideally, it would have been summarized in one short breath and over and done with -- like a punch to the stomach, leaving only that twisted feeling in her gut to remind her that she'd said it. "My father, he... this guy. Some low-level idiot mage that was sacrificing children to gain power -- I didn't know it at the time, but he'd saved my father's soul. Planned to use him against me."

She inches forward slightly, scooting to the edge of the chair as she closes her eyes. "Last time I was home, for those few months, I was able to free him. Like everyone else, he has a chance to return. He's sort of -- he's sort of just around now. Like Deadman." There was a time when just the thought of that happening would have led her to burst into tears. Now, it was a welcome idea. How many people in her world came back, time and time again? All the other members of the JSA and All-Star Squadron had fought Hitler, de-aged or died and died and died. He never had. There was a chance.

Moving a little, Zatanna tilts her head, offering him a nuzzle. "I think I might be okay for the first time in ages." She'd moved on even before she found out his soul had been saved. Facing that Black Lantern of her father had been an eye-opener. Where they had left most other people crippled, it had been cathartic. "No one else talks about what happened. Not only that, but... you understand. I'm telling you because you understand." All these months, she hadn't breathed a word of any of this.

He momentarily freezes at the closeness, at the intimacy of their touching and what it instills in him. She's still so -- almost fragile to him, and seeing her need him like this makes it harder to separate himself from assuming the role of her confidant and wanting to be there for her as something more. He withdraws from the nuzzling after a moment or so, still hanging close despite ending their physical contact.

"It's a right bloody mess," he says, understanding how one might want to forget what could have amounted to the end of the fucking world for any other group of so-called "heroes". "And it sounds like it might not even be the end of the damned thing, if the First had anything to say about it."

Which begged the question -- where was the bastard, in all of this? What poncey tyrant let their realm go to waste over petty infighting? Especially when they quite literally did not suffer fools gladly?

Wheels within wheels. He understood Zatanna's place in everything, but the more the let on, the more he had to question the whys and whos of it all.

He's silent for a moment before continuing. "So what now?"

She is silent when he shifts away, taking her time as she slides back across the table and into her seat. Zatanna never expected much from him because it was easier to accept whatever he offered (or in some cases, was coaxed into). It didn't bother her nearly as much as it should, but she could be practical at times. Her father had made certain that a good head was on her shoulders and though he perhaps would not have agreed with her choice to continue to associate with John, she also was sure that if it was anyone else he would have been proud of her for being able to move on and forgive the past.

It wasn't really about her father, though. For some time it had created a rift between them, but as much as she loved her father, she loved her friends. And John transcended friend and family.

She crosses her legs, clasping her hands over a knee as she gently rocks forward and backward for a moment. "I stop waiting and try to start living, even if I'm on my own." In San Francisco or on the road. "It can be lonely, but if I click my heels three times and say a few choice words, I might get lucky and have some company." Zatanna smiles, small and warm. "What about you?"

"You know how it goes, luv'." he gestures airily, "Go where me magic takes me, or stumble into something larger than the lot of us put together and try to settle it to rights -- the usual."

He cherishes the smile -- and is reminded of all the times he's seen it, of the first time he saw it during the middle of a dirty limerick -- for a breathless moment, then returns it. It was easy to be casual with her, to explain the mess of his life without feeling like the whole of it was about to crush him; she was his most ever-present lifeline.

"Once I help get the lot of us out of this shithole, it's back to how things were." for better or worse, he doesn't say.

"Stubborn." More in regard to the fact that he didn't have to go it alone if he didn't want to than anything else, but she'd been repeating herself for years. No matter how plain Zatanna were to make it, it was doubtful he would take it to heart. Pity this whole conversation would be forgotten once they returned.

"You should smile more often." That line of conversation ends before it even begins as she fidgets in her seat. "This place isn't so bad. You've already experienced leaving... and forgetting. It's like blinking an eye." This was a delicate subject. Saying the wrong thing now might lead backwards rather than forwards. "I'm happy here. I'm not saying that I want to stay, but I've though about this for a long time and I'm not sure what I'd want to do, given the option. There are people here who I can't see back home or I won't remember knowing back home." Her tone was more firm, but still uncertain. She wasn't sure where she was heading with this, but when she opens her mouth Zatanna almost regrets what she chooses to say. "This conversation we're having now will have never happened."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

(no subject)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

lj has eaten this post four times tonight.

it was doing it last night for me. it's why i usually copy my text before posting!

/sigh. the one time I forget.

It's inevitable that it happens every time you do that.