When John minds his own business it's more of a bender in which he cannot for the life of him think beyond the basic needs of alcohol, pavement, and occasional self-love. The times of falling in to such disparities, he thought, had passed. Grown up some. Threw up a stone wall and matured a little, finally. Which was more or less true, but every once in awhile you just want to fuck it all up now don't you?
The only reason John has been minding his own business because let's face it, he's incapable of doing so otherwise. That's not the main point here. This was not a place he was previously and he wasn't that bloody knackered to not remember where the fuck he was, so where was he and more importantly: where can he find a pack, he's almost out of fags.
With a heavy sigh, John lights one up and shoves his hands into the deep pockets of that trusty coat. Having a tagalong from down south wasn't really out of order when it came to him, but it was a little strange that it kept itself so distant like. They're usually more than eager to jump on him. That being said, about a half mile more skulking about figuring the lay of the land so to speak, John gets irritated.
"Well c'mon then ye bloody bastard." John either doesn't know there's a few other people about (which is possible, he's a bit staggered and smells like he's not seen a wash in a good bit nor has he consumed much more than gin for over a month) or doesn't give a toss that they'll be watching him. "out to the light so I can see y'pretty, aye? Let's not play shy."
But he's always strangely aware, even at the edge of it all. A curse, maybe.
John Constantine || Hellblazer || 2.
The only reason John has been minding his own business because let's face it, he's incapable of doing so otherwise. That's not the main point here. This was not a place he was previously and he wasn't that bloody knackered to not remember where the fuck he was, so where was he and more importantly: where can he find a pack, he's almost out of fags.
With a heavy sigh, John lights one up and shoves his hands into the deep pockets of that trusty coat. Having a tagalong from down south wasn't really out of order when it came to him, but it was a little strange that it kept itself so distant like. They're usually more than eager to jump on him. That being said, about a half mile more skulking about figuring the lay of the land so to speak, John gets irritated.
"Well c'mon then ye bloody bastard." John either doesn't know there's a few other people about (which is possible, he's a bit staggered and smells like he's not seen a wash in a good bit nor has he consumed much more than gin for over a month) or doesn't give a toss that they'll be watching him. "out to the light so I can see y'pretty, aye? Let's not play shy."
But he's always strangely aware, even at the edge of it all. A curse, maybe.