Doom
Copper
Posts: 10
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Post by Doom on Oct 15, 2024 18:49:11 GMT
Magik's Stepping Disk deposited her on a large, rounded stone dais, situated atop a breezy cliffside overlooking the sea. She took the step through from Limbo, a bit exaggerated in its slowness, being somewhat bemused that her portal had not deposited her directly at the Abbey's front door. Clearly, whoever was responsible for warding this pocket realm had done an excellent job of controlling the ingress of dimensional energy. Any surprise attack would consequently be extremely difficult in such a setting, as the direction of attack had been preordained. Magik stuck out an appreciative bottom lip, while at once silently betting herself that she could find a way to break it.
Not that she intended to. Unless she got bored.
The Abbey itself was arguably more impressive than its idyllic wilderness setting. It squatted on its foundations like a great, gothic monolith that somehow managed to both mesh with the landscape while also maintaining its own identity. Magik liked old European churches, not because of any particular love of Christianity, but the aesthetic appealed to her sensibilities in much the same way as did this edifice. She imagined it must have all kinds of dark nooks and crannies to explore. The thought that she might spend more time here enticed her, and elicited a rare grin as she strode across the yard to a door, presumably the appropriate entrance, in the middle of the building's long, low-slung flank that extended from a taller section which looked to contain a bell-tower.
Magik crossed the threshold into a large and well-appointed room which prominently featured an extended high-top bar, fashioned appealingly of dark hardwood, with stools aplenty for its patrons, and to all appearances well-stocked. Other features of the room, however, eluded her perception as her vision tunneled in on the chamber's sole current occupant:
John fucking Constantine. Of course, of course!, he would be here to ruin this for her, too.
Magik's lip curled into a snarl as the Soulsword manifested in her hand through no intentional act of will.
"Oh, fuck no."
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Post by Countess on Oct 18, 2024 1:20:28 GMT
Constantine is not a good man, never has been. Sometimes, he deludes himself, sure, but what person doesn't? It really takes a reckoning for him to sink down into the depths of despair as most with the sins he has do. lady Macbeth had feared her hands stained red... Constantine couldn't look in the mirror without seeing himself bathed in it like Carrie. A good look, by some estimations, but not really to him... Not when it is the blood of his friends... his loves... all dead because of him...
It took a real brush with death, three demons he sold his soul to, and a long talk with Lucifer to straighten him out. Well, take some of the jagged edges away, at least. So he's... trying to be a good man. Too little too late, for some people... Like perhaps...
"Well, if it ain't the Queen herself. Supreme? Empress? I don't keep track," Constantine starts from his seat at the bar. In front of him is a glass half full, so he keeps convincing himself, and a bottle half empty. Best to hedge your bets, right? "Fuck yes, my dear, but I don't think you're here for that, are you?" he asks in his British accent, scouse for the cunning ear. "You look good, real good," he says, swinging around in his seat to look at Magik in all her glory. And glorious she is. "Can't say the same for me, but I did get myself a fresh new body. Come to ruin it for me, or with me, luvvie?" he asks, patting the seat next to him.
For all his charm, all his bravado, all his quirks... John knows a damn threat when he sees it. He has a plan, a damn good one if he thinks so -and he does. Anything to get through another night in this miserable fucking place. Why is he sticking around again...?
Right... right... the kid...
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Doom
Copper
Posts: 10
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Post by Doom on Oct 28, 2024 16:23:36 GMT
Constantine's voice frayed against Magik's nerves. Like a damn cheese grater on flesh. Her eyebrow twitched as she thought for a moment that he had the audacity (the fucking audacity!) to proposition her at a time like this. Made her think he didn't take her seriously, on top of the theft he'd perpetrated against her realm, which was bad enough. The compliment only served to further incense her. Although there was a vain part of her that preened like a pleased cat at the praise, there was another part, more powerful at the moment, that was astonished beyond frustration that he would bring up her appearance as - what? - a placating gesture? Was he actually trying to piss her off?!
If she had been thinking clearly, Magik might actually have thought a drink sounded like a good idea. Nothing like getting absolutely polluted to take the edge off things. Then again, her relationship with alcohol was complicated. Right then, it might only have made things worse.
Even worse, that is.
"New body, is it?" she managed to grit out past her constricted throat. "Oh, sure, I can help you ruin it."
She let the Soulsword, in its buster sword form, fall to the floor in front of her, the impact carving a significant divot into the stone. She was past caring about the damage.
"How about I shove this sword up your ass and then twist? Will that be ruined enough for you?!"
Magik cocked her arm back to swing and leapt.
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Post by Countess on Nov 7, 2024 3:05:40 GMT
Yeah... Constantine is very aware of the effect he has on others. He can feel her blood pressure rising from here. Some might think it is risky to piss off someone like Magik, but Constantine knows her well enough that she's more prone to fucking up when like this. Dirty tactics? Yes, of course, but it gets the damn job done.
"Awe, don't be like that," John says, almost as if he had come home late to the missus and is trying to avoid a row. "Water under the bridge, luv, right?" he adds. Let her get it out of her system, or die trying, right? Well- he probably shouldn't any time soon, considering those demons really don't want him dead right now... War is a bitch, innit?
Constantine does a little side step, taking his drink with him. Anyone else, it might look smooth, but he is half drunk and likes play up oafishness in these situations. He stumbles slightly, catching himself a little comically. "Sweetheart, don't tempt me with a damn fine time," he says, giving her a wink as her sword both crushes and hacks the bar. The room is very quickly filled with debris and a cacophony of noise.
"Something tells me you won't be even spittin to make it easier on poor, ol Constantine, though," he says, taking a swig of his drink.
Fuck, Strange and Prue are going to murder him if Magik doesn't...
"Come on, I am sure we can talk this out. I'm not going to fight you, I'm turning a new leaf or whatever."
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Doom
Copper
Posts: 10
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Post by Doom on Nov 17, 2024 17:30:30 GMT
The Soulsword crushed a significant section of the bar, a wave of sorcerous power projecting from the blade obliterating the heavy, thick-cut wood panels and blowing a large hole in the facing stone wall. Magik was splashed with the leavings from the bottles of several fine liquors, and splinters and shattered glass flew everywhere at bullet-like speed, though unaccompanied by a satisfying spray of blood and guts as Constantine slithered out of the path of destruction.
Smashing things was usually more cathartic.
He directed his grating voice at her again, making it clear as day (as if she didn't already know it) that he had little comprehension of the actual damage he had done. Oh, sure, the near-miss cosmic demon war he'd left her to deal with he understood well enough. But the personal cost to her....well, she wasn't sure she was prepared to admit that even to herself, even privately. Not yet.
Magik felt tired all of a sudden. Tired, but no less furious. That was a first.
The sudden shift left her feeling more prepared now to take things a little slower. No harm in playing with her food. She ignored him for a moment, having reconsidered the initial proposition of having a drink. She glanced around and spotted a miraculously intact and nearly full bottle of Macallan 25-year laying near at hand. Scotch was not her usual, but even she would have thought it a shame had it been destroyed. Sword in one hand, bottle in the other, the sorceress wrinkled her nose with a glance at the cork, and it obligingly popped from its housing.
Magik took a long pull from the bottle, allowing the smooth, peaty liquid to scorch its way down her throat. She wiped her mouth with the back of her fist and began to take a series of slow steps toward the man who had cost her one of the things she valued most, even if she would never say so out loud.
"Pfft," she scoffed, "new leaf, old leaf; makes no difference to me." She gestured at him with the hand holding the bottle, thrusting her index finger at his face. "'Cause you don't get it. You don't know what -"
Her throat closed for a second, cutting off the volcano of emotion that Magik was, without warning, all too aware of, pressing against the caldera of her conscious mind. She sucked in a quick breath through her nose and blew it out, a little too casually to be convincing.
"You don't get it. So unless you've got a really impressive rabbit to pull out of your hat, I'm gonna make you pay up, and I'm gonna enjoy it."
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