7740/A Whitechapel Knight

A Whitechapel Knight
Date of Scene:	07 September 2021
Location:	Whitechapel, London, England
Synopsis:	=John's visit to Whitechapel for a few moments of understanding and rest. Rated R for language and themes.
Cast of Characters:	John Constantine, Nettie Crowe

---

John Constantine has posed:
    It's been raining cats and dogs for hours now. It's England, is anyone surprised? John *did* announce his intended drop in on his old friend Paul Ramsey, the Angel that chose a soft fall so long ago to save John's life. The radio played *the* song, 'I'd Really Love to See you Tonight' by England Dan & John Ford Coley, but that was about an hour ago and he's still not knocked.

    ...until just now. It's a light thing, that knock, hesitant. He's always hesitant to bring Paulie into his bullshit and he's hating himself a little for doing so right now, but needs ... grounding and Paul Ramsey is one place that he always finds that, the one place where he can set it down and forget about it for a little while, the place where the advice comes free, never a damned string attached; just long time friendship peppered with more than that. Out of all of'm, Paulie is his truly, one hundred percent, safe place to land.

    So he knocks and he waits, leaning with one arm outstretched, palm on the door frame and a bottle of Absinthe in the other hand.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    He had been doing the dishes with the radio nearby when the song had come on, mid way between a different, newer sappy song. It was almost a releif, until he realized there was an interrupt, a cut in the middle of a different song. His lips pursed, his fingers curling a moment in the dish water, then finished up his dishes and dried his hands, pursing his lips and throws a plain white towel over his shoulder.

    And then he tidied up, took a quick shower, and his dark hair was still damp, wearing a white T-shirt over a pair of jeans.

    He hummed a moment, brushing his hands through his hair a moment before the knock happens.


    Paul Ramsey takes a breath, and unlatches the door, opening it up, and stares quietly into the faded denim eyes of John Constantine.

    "John." he greets the man, with a small smile, his eyes looking to the green bottle.

    His eyebrows rise up. and he looks behind John, and then tilts his head back a moment, holding the door open for John.

John Constantine has posed:
    He looks a little like a drowned rat, but John's never been one to care about dripping on floors. At least it's water and not blood? "Hey, mate," he greets along with a crooked, lopsided little grin; devilish thing that, always has been. "Been a wee bit, aye?" He's trying to sound casual and really? He does. But it's bullshit and Paul likely knows it.

    Truth of it is that he's turned upside down, inside out, backwards and twisted to the point that he can't even figure out where to begin to right it all. He holds up the bottle and waggles it invitingly. "In the neighborhood, figured I'd stop in for a drink." No mention of the call about the thinnings in Liverpool, he's alone... definitely not here on business.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Aye. Been a bit." Paul gives a small smile, and shake shis head "Geddout of the rain before you end up flooddin' the rest of the street, Johnny." he chastises gently, "Hang that coat at the door. I can at least get you something dry to wear." he states. "How's the weather in the states? Hopefully better than this shite, yeah?" he gives a small smile as he ducks into the kitchen to retrieve sugar cubes, spoons, and glasses, flexing his fingers a moment before he walks into his bedroom, pulling out a dry shirt and comfortable pyjamas. John's too damn skinny to fit into anything else he owns.

    Moment later he's back in the livingroom, one hand tossing dry clothes to John.

    "You remember the place well enough." he gives a small smile.

    He doesn't ask about Liverpool. He doesn't ask about what he felt. He doesn't ask about his in-graces sibling, no. He just tells John to go change into something dry.

John Constantine has posed:
    John settles the bottle down on the coffee table and snatches the dries out of the air and makes his way to the bathroom to snag a towel off the rack and then into Paul's bedroom to change with more room. Yeah, he remembers an seems he hasn't an issue with making himself right at home.

    He comes back out with that soaking wet coat in hand to hang it over the shower curtain rod in the bathroom. He looks a little ridiculous. The dry clothes may fit in length, perhaps a little long, but one could probably fit another John in there truth be told. He's even thinner than last time.

    "Hotter than a witch's tit," he finally replies in regards to the weather. Sorry Nettie. Typically it takes time, a few drinks, small talk. John hasn't the patience for it tonight. Just a little gesture toward the stereo under the TV and it comes to life; even if the power button would still indicate otherwise. Odd choice though, for the first song of the night. Enough beat to dance to, that's for sure, but it's a bit bittersweet all things considered.

    Must of Got Lost ~ The J. Geils Band.

    Through the years, there have been so many moments that John's regretted it, so many moments he's wished he could have given all the rest of it up for Paul. Just because he knows he couldn't have, doesn't mean he can't wish it were possible, right? He shoves the coffee table out of the way with one foot, just enough room that.

    "I missed you, Paulie." Simple and true - heartfelt.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    John never had an issue of making himself at home -- as long as it wasn't for too long.

    In the time it takes for John to change, Paul has grabbed his phone, and sends a quick message:

<I've got him at my place.> The International Society of the Old Guard of John is an Asshole, but We Love Him alerted, maybe a couple worried expressions on the other side of the pond, and Paul heaves out a breath, and lets his shoulders relax, giving a gentle toss of his phone to an overstuffed and slightly threadbare chair before John returns, and helps himself to the man's radio.

    Paul gives an amused expression, eyebrows rising up at the song that was chosen as John pushes the coffee table out of the way -- Paul has to lean over to make sure the bottle and glasses don't fall off as he gives a soft "Careful!" to John, and as he's stooped slightly, he's eye-to-eye with John.

    "An' I you, Johnny." he states gently, before he gives a slight grin. "Is this what we're going to do? A little dancing, a little drinking? Isn't it..." he motions with his fingers "Usually in the other order?" he asks, though he steps around the coffee table to join John.

John Constantine has posed:
    "No time for it," John replies, vague that. "Have to cover both at once?" But really? It's more the fact that he wants to be close to Paul than all that. He holds his hands out, palms out, in front of himself in such a way that invites the fallen angel to press his own against them.

    So much to say, not all of it to do with the shite storm he's dealing with either, but not a word spoken yet other than, "I bet you don't miss my socks on the floor." He tilts his head to one side and asks, "Shall we then?"

    It's a very very little know fact that John Constantine CAN dance. Unless a person's been to a few Membrane gigs. Even then, it'd come as a surprise to most that know him that he can really shake that thing to... 70s 'pop'? Really? First step in, he's pressing his forehead to Paul's, biting his lower lip a little and boogy-ing his way backward again, fingers snapping and even singing along.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Short night then?" Paul asks with a laugh as John's forehead presses to his, blue eyes peering into those tired, faded denim, but he steps in. He even leads. His hands are cooler against John's demon-blood warm, he smells of decent aftershave and fresh laundry, and he grasps John's hands gently in his, leading the smaller man about the livingroom.

    It's a pretty well-known fact that Paul Ramsey can dance. He's shown off a bit, joked with different departments that he caught a boogy when he was young. Or learned from his mother, which explains all of the seventies and eighties grooves. He sings along, a little bit of old man rasp in his voice as he does, a smile spreading over the roughness of his would have been a 5-o'clock about a week ago beard.

John Constantine has posed:
    Where as John smells of scotch, Liverpool rain and Silk Cuts. Some things never change do they? Paul taking the lead is exactly why he's here. Not just in the dance, no. Letting go, not having to try to be 'in control' of fifty million and two disasters waiting to happen... Letting someone else *lead*? It's a priceless thing to someone like John; a man that's the strangest combination of Type A personality and 'don't give a fuck'.

    Not time for a break yet when than ends, a little gesture at the stereo, that may or may not actually be *on* and the pace picks up, little cheerier, little more footwork to keep up.

    'Kodachrome' by Paul Simon.

    "You felt any of it?" he asks, almost casually, but he can't hide the tension in his voice from Paul, never could. "What's happenin' down under?"

    Still dancin' and still wearing a little lopsided grin, fingers snapping and feet tabling when they're not following Paul's lead.

    He's here because he needs to be grounded, untwisted, put straight again, that's for sure. But there's also one other Really Big Reason he's come, "I couldn't go into without seeing you again first." Because it's bad with a big B and maybe... he doesn't come out of this one.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Some things never change, and Paul would have John no other way. John Constantine was himself. The pace picks up, and Paul matches the pace with John, dancing close to him, leading when needed, watching John's feet.

    "Of course I have." he answers back in honesty, "I know it's --" he pauses a moment, hiding his own moment of needed thought with a turn, and then draws back to John.

    "I know it's big. And I know you're tangled up in it --" he states quietly, and he pauses, not out of breath, but needing one.

    "You know I don't interfere-- except if you ask me to." he finishes a moment, although the upbeat rythm of Kodachrome doesn't match what he's feeling now, reaching up to take John's shoulders.

    "You never say goodbye." he finishes quietly, his hands slipping up from John's shoulders, gently, to cradling his cheeks. The angel's clear, sky blue eyes search John's worn denim, noting the blood vessels, every bit of the depths of the iris and the deep black that leads to John's twisted soul.

    "I have been with you every step of the way, John."

John Constantine has posed:
    John reaches up to take one of Paul's hands in his own to drag it from his cheek to his lips so he can kiss the middle of the angel's palm. He does the same with the other. Soft, gentle affection he has trouble showing with anyone else. "No, not goodbye, never that..."

    But still, he had to come right? Lay eyes and... hands one last time 'just in case'.

    Another gesture, another song, something softer.

    'Everything I Own' by Bread.

    Nail on the head that one.

    Paul's hand still in his own, John heads for the old sofa to settle down on it. "I love you for that, Paulie. Givin' me the peace of mind of knowin' I don't have to worry about losin' you to it." Even with the sudden weight of the conversation, John looks... younger, the creases in his face smoothing out simply due to tension slipping away a bit. Before he pulls the bigger man down to sit next to him, he looks up and wrinkles his nose a little, tongue poking out from between his teeth. "You're a right bastard though, you know it? Make it hard to stay away." A wink, that lopsided grin again, it doesn't take away the truth of the words, but it makes them softer and a little easier to handle.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Paul's smile grows, but is still serene, gentle as John draws Paul's hands. Hands that have hoisted sinners and saints, held up the firmament and scratched and wailed in sorrow at the distant gardens of Eden, fingers pressing fondly to the stubble on John's cheeks. He takes a gentle breath in, drawing close to lean his forehead against John's, and then John's moved again, drawing down to the old Sofa. John and Chas probably helped move it in, followed by beers and chinese food and football on the telly -- the telly back then was one of those big console things. Took forever for Paul to be rid of it.

    At that grin as Paulie sits down on the sofa, he reaches up to run his fingers through John's hair.

    "Of course I do. If I made it easy, you'd never come to see me." he jokes, and he reaches out with a sock-clad foot and pulls the coffee table closer.

    "How close do you want your Green Fairy chasing you?" he asks, and then pauses, and looks down "... I'm not /wearing/ any green, mind you."

John Constantine has posed:
        "Pity that," John replies with a long sideways glance in Paul's direction. Up and down. "'course I'm not sure there needs to be any chasin'..." He leans back and drops his head against the back of the sofa to look up at the ceiling. Another little gesture, but this time it brings his ashtray from the drawer in the kitchen to settle down on the table. Feeling a little lazy and a lot unwilling to ask Paulie to get up and get it for him.

    That would mean distance between them that he's unwilling to allow in the moment. "Close enough to make it go away for a bit, but not so close as to not remember anything when it catches me." Because this isn't a night he wants to forget. This is something he might just carry into that final battle that'll see him through to the other side.

    He lights a Silk, of course he does, and tucks it between his lips before, "Had a siddown with one of yours last night," he confesses what's likely already known in a tone that strives for casual, and makes it... but the turmoil and confusion rolling off him doesn't much match that, does it?"

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "I know." Paul replies, and he gives an almost peevish look at John as John summons the ashtray from the kitchen as Paulie pours the absinthe. The green wormwood liquor swirls in the bottom of the glass, as he balances a pair of sugar cubes on knives. Wormwood fills his nostrils under the smell of John.

    "I'm pretty sure I could make this with turprentine, and you'd still remember what you want." the angel gives a smile, shifting so that his knee is brushing against John's leg. He frowns, and holds his hands out. It's rare that Paulie uses any sort of magic. He doesn't have a lot of tricks up his sleeve anymore, but with concentration, he summons a pitcher of ice water. This he slowly pours over the sugar cube.

    "What did she have to say?"

John Constantine has posed:
    "Enough to convince me that both sides suck bollocks and not in the fun way I plan to.." Stay on topic, John. "She made me swear to it, seven lives to be saved by my hand at her behest. First name she gave me was mine." That shouldn't be so hard, it shouldn't make him feel so lost and defeated, but it does. A little gesture toward the stereo again.

    "Slip Slidn' Away ~ More Simon. He does love that dude, just don't tell anyway.

    "Th'fuck, I mean bloody hell, Paulie... why would... I don't..." He drapes one arm over his face, that Silk between his lips and lets out a sound that's three parts frustration and one part sardonic laugh. "Never mind that she completely fucked the deal I made with ... *him*." It's certain Paul knows full well what *him* spoken in that voice means. Fool's been dealing with Nergal again.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "Mm. Glad to know *your* plans for the evening." Paulie states with amusement. He takes the rest of it in stride. "Well... it makes sense. You carry more crosses than have crossed the Vatacan plaza." Paulie reasions, watching as the absinthe turns from green to milky white with the sugar, and then hands one glass to John, he takes the other glass up, and as he leans back, one arm goes over John's shoulders, a comforting weight as his lips purse. He sips the absinthe.

    "So, that's what you were doing." he remarks quietly. Paulie will not tell anyone that John's using his stereo to listen to 70's music. It's probably his fault John likes it.

John Constantine has posed:
    John leans, hard... like he might just would rather disappear into Paul than anything else. "It's not fair to ask it," he murmurs before he lowers his hand to rest it on the angel's thigh. His angel... his guardian angel truth of it, even if that may not have been an 'official thing'. He still breathes today because of the man sitting next to him. He's never forgotten that.

    "My life isn't worth more than anyone else's that'll be going up against this in the end. Why the *fuck* does God give two shites about me coming out the other side of it above ground *now*? So much that I'm supposed to be the one death that can't be allowed to happen when it goes down? I don't *get it*, Paulie."

    When he takes the glass, he has to remind himself just what it is he's drinking, he has to fight the urge not to slam all it in one fail swoop. Sips are hard.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Not nearly as hard as getting absinthe out of the couch.

    Again.

    Paul curls his arm around John. He gives a slight smile, leans over, and presses a soft kiss to John's crown.

    "Maybe it isn't so much 'when it goes down'. Yours is a life worth saving, but I'm extremely biased." the angel replies quietly as he looks over the room around them. For a brief moment he considers what it would have been to have this every night, but keeping John away from The Work?

    That would be like telling the Sun to go cold. Only in about a couple billion years would it ever work.

    "I wish I could tell you more, but... my connection to The Father is further than I ever realized it might be." Not his Father. The Father. Paul's fingers stroke down John's shoulder, and pulls him closer.

    "Maybe someone's been petitioning on your behalf. Or, perhaps there is A Plan. What I do know, for sure..." he trails off a moment, and kisses at John's forehead again, his lips brushing over demon-blood heated skin.

    "You have been worth every sacrifice I have made for you."

John Constantine has posed:

"I don't feel worth it," John admits quietly. Every touch is an odd combination of comfort and something akin to an electrical charge. The latter sure to indicate where the night might lead... later.

    The Work - it's something John would likely vehemently denies even exists if pressed on it. It's not as if he didn't try for Paulie. But when push came to shove, saying no to standing between the clueless mundanes and the nastiness out there in the dark just wasn't an option.

    "Part of my deal with *him* was that I couldn't tip the balance in the direction of light. He wanted me to tip it the other way, I told him I'd put it back the way it was." The explanation just comes pouring out of nowhere, confession really. Not a thing anyone else knows about. Bearing witness to John's pain, keeping all his dirty secrets like... that fondness for 70s pop music, poor Paul. "I demanded he spare six lives, never to be touched by him and to be under his protection from his own ilk. "Chas, Nettie, Meggan, Phoebe, Geraldine and Renee. Suriel asked me for seven... one in her favor."

    The last of it is barely even a whisper, the pain caused by making the decision, agreeing to Suriel's terms... Gods but it pours off him like a damned tidal wave.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    "... we rarely do." is Paul's quiet commentary as he holds John tighter. He listens with the patience of someone who had seen the stars turn on, one by one, his arm coming around John, holding the blond man to his side and chest as he listens. Solid and there and asking nothing more than trust. He listens to the confession, holding him in place as if it would make the world reconsider the weight it's thrust upon John Constantine. But fate is rarely so kind.

    "And she named you the first." he comments with consideration, raising his hand with his glass in it to scratch at his nose with his knuckle a moment.

    "Well. It would be terribly hard for any balance to tip in either favor if you died." he considers, and sips his glass in thought.

    "You must have felt as if you were dying inside to accept it, knowing what it would risk."

John Constantine has posed:
    "Paul," John begins quietly. He pulls away just long enough to actually settle his glass on the *table* and stub out his spent Silk Cut in the ashtray. "Why did you do it? You had to know when you saved me what you were risking. I know it wasn't for the years of amazing sex that followed, so why?"

    He pulls back just far enough to study Paul's face through the answer. It's something that he's always been grateful for, something he's often felt so much guilt over, but it's also always been something he's never understood. He's never asked the question either, until right now. ...until, perhaps, days before he's to walk into a situation he may not be able to walk out of, no matter how hard he tries.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Paul straightens a moment. He tilts his head back, and in his Immaculate memory he could recall the exact moment. The feeling of The Fall. Of living. Pain and sadness and all the urges that came with humanity and having a physical body -- but he gives a soft sound of thought, trying to formulate an answer.

    "I have never enjoyed seeing suffering." he states quietly. Those sky-blue eyes, literally pieces of brilliant firmament set in his gaze, turn to look to John.

    "The... extraordinary amount of suffering humans are able to withstand before they break is... monumental." he measures his words. "You could have chosen to become cruel. To embrace that which is darkest to ease your own suffering and pass it to others. Easily. They would have written books and done studies and horror movies on the suffering you could have wrecked on others for no reason... but you do not. And you have not been cruel without altruism behind it." he swallows a moment.

    "Your labours, John, have not been without fruit -- both bitter and sweet. You are able to count on more fingers than you have on one hand, by name, souls you would gladly go to Hell for, without hesitation, and do not permit them to do the same. You are at times paradoxical, on purpose, and sometimes, yes, even an asshole. You stride in comfort both in darkness and in light."

    He leans forward, setting his own glass on the table, and then brings his hands -- chilled by ice-cold water, and brings them to either side of John's face, cradling his cheeks against his palms again as he holds the man in place. Blue eyes to blue eyes.

    "You love with such a passion, protect without a second thought, how could I not also love you, who has suffered so greatly, and want for just a few moments ease your burden and grant you rest?"

    He leans forward, and right above John's eyes, he presses a gentle, loving kiss.

    "I fell because if I did not save you, in that moment when you needed aid the most, I would not want to exist through more aeons with the knowledge that I had failed the most beautiful and broken heart I have ever held."

John Constantine has posed:
    John blinks a time or to after all of that's out in the open between them. It's just something in his eye, truly. "Look at you, gone all sappy on me," he murmurs, voice cracking just a little bit. But the words touch him in a way that they might not coming from someone else. The sacrifice that Paul made... it was just too big for it not to have meant something, for there not to have been a *reason*.

    ...and even if that reason turns out to be that Paulie was just stupid blind about the lot of it, just the fact that *Paulie* believes it so, it's enough for now. It's enough to lighten the load a little, twist him back into somewhat of a John Shaped thing, to turn the right end up again - even if it wobbles a little. Enough to maybe, just maybe... help him find the strength inside *himself* to get through what's to come.

    It's always been there, that strength, it's just been hiding in the shadows and in the bottom of too many bottles, even for him, of late.

    But there's light enough in an Angel's ultimate sacrifice to chase the darkness away some.

    John turns the tables and captures lips for a kiss. When it breaks, he murmurs, "Like woulda been easier to just claim it *was* the amazing sex." He winks and adds, "Or maybe you've forgotten how amazing it was?"

    ... do fallen Angels need sleep? Because it's unlikely either of them will get much of that tonight.

Nettie Crowe has posed:
    Paulie gives a smile at the minor dismissal, but he did believe it. Paul Ramsey does not lie. It's literally not in his nature, and as his thumbs stroke against John's cheeks, pressing his forehead to John's before the latter kisses him. It's long lasting, earnest, a hand drawing down from John's cheek to his shoulder before they draw apart.

    And Paul just laughs.

    "John Constantine, I am *entirely* not intoxicated enough for that sort of behavior." he jokes, reaching for his own glass of Absinthe.

    And the answer to that question? Shall remaine a Divine Mystery, that only John may ever know the answer to.