[Somewhere] Do I Wanna Know?

"Well, well, well, look who finally woke up..."

The voice is familiar, some melodic but still abrasive because of the speaker British accent. The sour smell of someone who has been drinking whiskey mingles oddly pleasantly with stale cigarettes. Yes- the one- the only- 

"Was it as good for you as it was for me, luv?" Constantine asks the Sorcerer Supreme, voice dripping with innuendo. He looks as disheveled as ever, perhaps a little more than usual. It is hard to tell with him, really. 

Perhaps aside from the implications Constantine is throwing his way, there is something far more alarming going on around them... The world around them is rather hellish looking, charred and hot as far as the eye can see. Most notably, however, is the absolute lack of the smell of Brimstone, marking this place not as Hell itself, but perhaps something adjacent. Not that it matters if it is Hell or not, one is always in hell when they have a hangover like Stephen's.

"So, now that you are awake, mind getting us out of this jam?" Constantine asks, lifting a leg. Something pulls at Strange's ankle- ah. A manacle. They are quite literally bound together. Testing it proves two very troubling things:

1. It is rather tough. 
2. It inhibits a great deal of magic. 

"Really hoping you can pull some... ooky spooky Sorcerer Supreme shit right about now. We are kiiiiiiinda on the run..."

"Awe, don't be like that, luv, we had a boss go of it," Constantine says, wrapping an arm around Strange as if they were well and truly close now. "We bonded for life, mate. You and me, to the end of the world, which..." he says, looking about. "Might be soon, all things considered," he says, chuckling darkly. 

"Me? Something stupid? Perish the thought," Constantine says, hand on his chest in mock offense. "No, my dearest, darling, Sorcerer Supreme, you are the one that did something stupid. Many... many... stupid things, if I say so myself. No surprise you don't remember, you were well bevvied last night. You could hardly stand up straight. Don't worry, though, I made sure you keep you on the straight and narrow," he says, then peers about, shrugging. "Mostly." 

"Ah, 'livvie..." Constantine says, his own dumb abbreviation of the Oblivion. "'splains that. I was wonderin why you kept talkin about Ricky..."

Constantine takes the time to light a cigarette, the little fag already half burnt. He has been saving it, clearly. 

"Well..." Constantine starts, thinking of the night they had together, watching him try, and fail, to do magic. "You were in a right, sorry state, Strange. Cryin, talkin about memories, utterly fucked, and I offered to cheer you up," he says, looking away. No need to let the damn guy know he gives a little bit of a shit, that he wanted to do something... good. Fuck that. "Couldn't leave you like that. Might have hurt yourself," he says, shrugging. 

"So, I took you to some of my old haunts," Constantine says. "That was... a mistake." 

Constantine takes a long, hard drag of his cigarette. "Ran into a few people that wanted things from me," he says, shrugging. Normal night for Constantine, facing the sins of his past. They never go away. "That uhhh... that is about all that I remember..." he says, finishing off what was left of his cigarette. "All I know is... we aren't in Hell, I cannot do magic, and I have.... this," he says, holding up a banana. It is pristine and beautiful. "Dunno why..."

"No matter what I do, Stephen, my existence seems to piss off everyone," Constantine says with no small amount of bitterness. Yeah, he is a generally unlikable guy, and he's embraced that all his life. Last night, though, he was trying to do something nice. Can't even get that right, can he? Makes him wonder if all this do-gooder shit is in the cards for him. "Don't come cry'n to me, then?" he says, brushing off the man, and his own inadequacies, in one fell swoop.

"If it comes down to it, mate, I am a survivor. Gnaw off my own leg and all..." Constantine mutters, standing up along with Strange. "You are a lot more pleasant when you are drunk, you know that?" he continues, scowling on his own. "I barely have a grip on what happened, you have none, and you are just so fuck'n quick to blame, aren't you? You and everyone else," he mutters as she starts going through more of his pockets, pulling out more fruits. "What, did we raid a Holiday Inn? What the fuck?" he says, holding an apple. "Someth'n goes wrong, even a wiff of ol' John, must be him, right? The fuck up, the bastard, the Laughing Magician," he continues, shaking his head. 

"Like it or not, you are stuck with me, oh Kind and Glorious Leader of Darkwatch, and once this is all over, I'm happy to just bugger off," Constantine says, closing his eyes for a moment. Timothy doesn't need them- he needs him. All he has to do is clean up for the kid. Why stay where he isn't wanted?

"Fuck I hate hangovers," he curses. "Iffin I had to guess, I would say this is the end of the world. Been here before. That means..." he says, squinting up at the sky. "Oh yeah. That's a heat death about to happen if I ever saw one," he mutters, looking not quite at the sun, but at the brightness and heat of everything. "Right. Classic. Likely, one of us hopped on over here, gettin away from whoever was chasing us, buying us a little time. Who the fuck in their right mind would go to the end of the world, am I right?" he says, chuckling. "I would say we used one of Ricky's Doors... but I am not seeing any walls... maybe we were at the bar? You know, at the end of the universe. Explains the jump through time..." Constantine says, rubbing his neck. He is doing whatever he can not to say who exactly he pissed off, here. Strange wouldn't understand. "Doesn't explain how I expected us to get the fuck outta here..." he says, peering about.

"Right. That means, all we have to do... is find something to get these damn manacles off. Or, a sharp rock. Your leg, or mine?" Constantine asks, looking over to the man with a bit of the sneer. "Nah, you ain't got the bullocks for it. Don't worry, Constantine to the rescue..."

Then... when he spies a particularly jagged one... he gets an idea. "Wait. Wait. End of the world? Oh, fuck me sideways, one of us was brilliant last night," he says, beaming. "I dunno if you know this, but at some point, some nice scientist figured out how to make humans immortal. Lovely, right? Wrong. Live long enough, you get really, really fucking bored. Bored enough to do whatever, I really mean whatever. Fucked up shit, nice shit, anything new to just feel alive," Constantine says, already starting to walk off towards a hill he spies. "Bored enough to camp out on a planet about to be destroyed by the heat death of its only star, in fact," he says, grinning. "Just to see something they haven't seen before... True, utter annihilation."

"Water under the bridge," Constantine says a bit sardonically. Growing pains, he supposes. Who is he to expect others to just... see that he is actually trying here? After years and years of throwing his friends up as little more than meat shields that he tossed aside once they were well worn and used up. He knows his reputation. He knows it was a gamble on Strange's part to let him into Darkwatch. How much of this is a manipulation, and how much is honesty? 

The man doesn't rightfully know anymore.

"Owe me when we get out of this alive, Strange," he adds, shaking his head. He doesn't like the way his mind moves, thinking of ways to use the Sorcerer Supreme and his debt. 

Constantine gives Strange a bark of a laugh, something derisive and condescending. Does he really not know? He is the one with the Eye, isn't he? "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, Strange," he says, waving his hand at the man. "We are billions of years in the future, and let me tell you, they figured out a great deal more than one man," he says, chuckling. "An entire civilization figured it out eons ago, and like most boring people, they figured out how much it all really... sucks."

He would never, Constantine thinks to himself. Death is not in the cards for him, and even if it was, it would at least be unique. Not some whimper in the dark, a flatline of a hospital bed. No, Constantine is not so pedestrian. 

"You're right, though. Peddle a bit of this fruit, something strange and exotic to these "humans" who have not had fresh fruit in their entire lives... play our cards right, we could get ourselves out of these damn chains..." he says, kicking his leg a little in annoyance. "Hell, they may even just want to help us out of the novelty of it all. Laying low is our first priority, however. Party will be in full swing, won't it?" he says, getting on his hands and knees to crawl up a particularly steep hill. 

"Behold," he says, cresting over the hill. Before them is a city, domed in perhaps glass or something more lasting, perfect in every way. It looks to be the size of Manhattan Island. 

"The last city on Earth."

Constantine smirks, getting a little cocky now, and surveys the glimmering dome below. “That’s the spirit, Strange. Nothing like a little light break'n and enter'n to shake off a hangover. Take it from me, mate.”

He taps his fingers against his coat pocket out of habit, his expression turning thoughtful. Fuck, he should have saved that last smoke. “In my vast and immeasurable experience... Immortals tend to get a bit complacent. Not like they’ve had a real threat in, oh, a few million years. Security systems probably think the only danger is from the inside,” he says. Constantine gives Strange a sideways glance, his smirk from before sharpening. It make shim look menacing, a reminder to the Sorcerer Supreme just who he is dealing with. “Lucky for us, yeah? All we’ve got to do is find their weakest link. Every utopia’s got one. Or, so the books tell me.”

Constantine shifts his weight and points at the dome, scanning its perimeter. “See that faint shimmer? That’s not just glass or whatever fancy material they’re using. It’s a containment field—smart tech. Probably keeping the heat out, the oxygen in, and... visitors like us from just waltzing in through the front door,” he says, not just explaining it for Strange, but getting his thoughts out as he plans. He taps the side of his head. “Good thing you’ve got me, mate. We’ll find a crack in their shiny little bubble. Worst case, we trade fruit for an invite. Imagine living for eons without taste'n an orange. That kind of deprivation could make even the most enlightened being lose their mind.”

Constantine’s eyes gleam with mischief. “Well... then we charm the pants off these immortals. Figuratively, of course. Unless... you think literal might help?” he says, laughing. It fades as he then grows serious. “Nah, we keep it simple. Find their tech, break these manacles, and get back to whatever timeline we belong in. Fuck, this better be our universe. Shit is line'n up so far...”

He stands, brushing off his coat, the lack of cigarettes making his hands itch. He keeps searching, keeps failing to find more... “But first, let’s find that crack. You ready for a bit of immortality tourism, Doctor?”

As Strange and Constantine descend toward the dome, the desolate landscape beneath their feet transitions from charred rock to smoother, glassy plains—scorched earth transformed by unimaginable heat. Each step crunches faintly, sending echoes across the barren wasteland, but the dome looms larger with every pace, its surface reflecting the dull red glow of the dying star overhead. Up close, the dome is breathtaking. It’s not just a simple barrier but a masterpiece of engineering. The material shimmers faintly, like liquid crystal caught in a perpetual ripple. Hexagonal panels form a seamless tessellation, their edges glowing faintly with energy. They can both feel the hum of power vibrating through the air, though it’s not magic—it’s something older, more primal, and yet vastly more advanced.

The surface appears almost transparent, allowing a glimpse of the city within. Towers of sleek, obsidian-like structures rise high, their surfaces reflecting strange lights that swirl and pulse like living veins. The architecture is organic, flowing upward as though grown rather than built, and connected by delicate bridges of light that arc across the skyline. The entire city seems alive, humming with an energy that thrums in time with the faint hum of the dome itself. The inhabitants are visible, though distant. Tall, slender figures glide through the streets, their movements smooth and deliberate. They wear flowing garments that shimmer in soft, ever-changing colors, blending seamlessly with the ethereal glow of their surroundings. Even from here, their faces seem ageless, untouched by the passage of eons.

Between the towers, Constantine spots lush greenery—gardens suspended in midair, with strange plants bearing luminous fruit and flowers that open and close rhythmically, as if breathing. Streams of liquid light flow through the city like rivers, their gentle glow casting soft halos on everything they touch. Constantine whistles low, his voice barely above a murmur. “Would you look at that. It’s like a bloody utopia. Probably smells of sanctimony and expensive soap.”

Constantine raps his knuckles against the dome, the sound resonating like chimes. “Yeah, well, let’s see how welcoming their little bubble is to two drifters with a sack of fruit and a lot of bad ideas.”

Constantine snorts, his tone laced with dry amusement. “Oh, don’t tempt me, mate. I’ve been told I’ve got a bit of an appetite for the macabre. Though I think I’d rather let us both rot than get a taste of whatever magic-addled disease runs through your veins,” he jokes, a bit of gallows humor to get them on.

The dome looms before them now, shimmering like a giant bubble of glass and light. Constantine squints as the hexagonal patterns ripple and shift in his peripheral vision, creating the illusion of movement. It isn’t just light bouncing off a surface—it’s energy. Layer upon layer of energy. He can feel it from here, buzzing faintly along the edges of his nerves.

"Bloody marvelous," he mutters under his breath, more out of habit than anything else.

He slows his pace, dragging his feet just enough for Strange to feel the pull of the chain. “Hold up a second,” the other mage mutters. Constantine crouches low, letting his free hand trail through the red dust, rubbing the residue between his fingers. He isn’t really interested in the dirt—just buying himself a moment to think. His eyes flick up, scanning the structure.

“No such thing as perfect,” he murmurs to himself. “Something this big, this shiny—gotta have a few cracks, even if they're not obvious.”

Standing again, he dusts off his hands and glances over at Strange. “Tell me, Doc, you got any grand ideas? Or are we just rely'n on my natural luck to get us through?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, striding closer to the dome. The hum grows louder with each step, tickling the back of his teeth and making the hairs on his arms stand on end. Whatever this thing is, it isn’t just tech—there’s magic in the weave. A lot of it.

Constantine reaches out, stopping just shy of touching the surface. “Look at that,” he says, watching as the energy reacts to his presence, rippling outward in faint concentric waves. His lips curl into a wry smile. “Sensitive, are we? That’s good. Makes you easier to piss off.”

He starts pacing along the edge of the dome, the chain rattling as he drags his leg. His eyes dart to every curve and seam, looking for anything out of place. “What do you reckon?” he calls back to Strange. “Some kind of fail-safe, maybe? Most people with a setup like this don’t put all their eggs in one basket. Bet you there’s a way in they don’t think anyone’s smart enough to find. Or.... or....” Constantine starts, then gets a rather coy look in his eyes, something cunning crossing his mind. 

"If you lived forever, Strange, what do you suppose would get bor'n first?" he says, grinning. "What bores you now, mate, what do you neglect? What do you use magic for, automate, and simply forget about? Set it and forget it, thankful it is gone?"