1964-11-29 - One Wizards Can Be Too Many Wizards
Summary: Dr. Michael Morbius makes a housecall to one John Constantine. Because Misery loves company.
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morbius constantine 


Constantine called the doctor over. The reason was unclear and it seemed an unhurried thing for certain. The place was warded off unless one knew precicely what they were looking for which made it lovely against enemies and solicitors, but very convenient for Ken Liu who usually delivered dinner from the place down teh street.

Well it's not very often that Morbius gets an actual call from someone. Well, someone who isn't Lindon. Of course he has a pilfered phone number he's roughly patched in to his underground abode with a limited number of people with access to it, so the ringing itself is interesting. Not like there's a phone book for where he lives.

None the less, Morbius shows up in a rather mundane manner at John's front door, knocking politely. There was that ethereal prickle that made his skin feel slightly uncomfortable when he approached. Like spider webs, or a cold breeze making the fine hairs on his arms raise. Fucking magic.

Fucking magic indeed, now complete with the Damned answering the door with every purchase! John Constantine soul sentenced and yet still here. "Ah good, I thought you'd be late. Something truly wonderous happened, mate. Absolutely no one has been kidnapped or murdered this evening. I thought for a change you'd like the good news first." Someone was in a mood.

Morbius shows up like a normal human being, but he looks like he's up to no good the way he's swaddled against the elements, lifting his head to peer from under the brim of his hat. John's glib commentary earns an arched brow. "Well, I'm relieved to see that you are in a wonderful mood for this auspicious occasion. Are we having a party? Tell me I'm not too late for the cake."

Constantine chortled with the faint trace of a good mood, though hospitality remained in tact. "I thin there's a coffee cake here that wasn't original with the flat. I figure your name has come up twice and I realized I knew honetly little of you other than you seem frighteningly reasonable. Tea, coffee, whiskey?" He closes the door and secured it what little he had to really. His mood, overall, was quiet.

Stepping inside after John once the demonologist clears the doorway, Morbius plucks the hat off the top of his head and smooths clawed fingers through his hair, combing it back and away from his face. "The first and last, if you'd be so kind." Tea and whiskey? Why not. "My name? Why would my name come up? I haven't been meddling in your realm as far as I'm aware." His attention swings wide around the stolen abode, taking in the nuances of the, um, interesting character of the place.

Constantine motioned for the doctor to follow him on up. An eyebrow arched at the cautious nature of the doctor and raised a hand, "It wasn't an infraction, nor am I generally any sort of police. We were discussing academics. I was interested in hearing how you got started on this. Simply putyou actually seem an intersting bloke worth chatting up and since it seems you ahve your own love of esoterica I thought I'd amuse myself as to why and why, mate. it's really that simple."

Less the cautiousness and more the hesitation on whether or not he should have some kind of vaccination before stepping inside. Says the man living in a sewer, though you wouldn't guess by smelling him. The cautionary attitude not commented on while Morbius follows John from the door to wherever he feels like leading. "You're not wrong, certainly. I believe that all true men of science have a love for the obscure, inscrutable or the generally complex. You have to, otherwise you end up as a trash man or, I don't know, selling vacuums door to door." Morbius murmurs lightly between footsteps. "You don't have many friends do you, Mister Constantine." It's an observation, not a question, though there is a kindness to the edges of his remark rather than ladling it heavy with sarcasm and spite.

Constantine remarked flatly, "I move quite a bit." More than a half truth and yet not particularly sufficient. For now it would do. There was a faint smirk given back to teh doctor as he ascended the stairs and hunted both the kettle and the whiskey. When one has a questionable line of work attachments too often get in the way really."

"Mm," Morbius grunts a reply with a pressed smile between pale lips, bulging slightly with an excess of teeth behind them. "True. All of those curiosities have a tendency to put innocent people in danger. Which is, honestly, the last thing that I've ever wanted, personally." Morbius's steps heard fallen close behind Constantine, leaving his hat perched on the rail and stripping off his jacket. "Ah, that makes sense though." Something seems to make sense to the vampyric looking man, smiling coolly in John's direction, he folds his hands together, fingers laced before him. "It's easier if the other person is also one of those curious people in a questionable line of work. At least if something happens to them, you can console yourself with the thought that it /might not/ have been you." A placid look painted across his pale features, Michael inclines his head toward Constantine. "Am I close?"


Constantine arched an eyebrow listening with a lingering interest. So that's how he is perceived. Interesting. Good. All the better. "Has nothing to do with your line of work in that regard. I don't keep people close generally because my work is dangerous and I travel. Also it's bloody bad for their health." He wandeered over to get the tea and whiskey as was requsted. He wasn't a shite host, he jsut usually didn't bother being one. "I supposes that I'm bloody awful to be around isn't helping that, but I'd say you're a bit off the mark overall, mate. Or at least let us hope you aren't correct."

Building upon the conversation and the nuances that John has dropped between questionable lines of work, putting others in danger and the fact that he's called Morbius to him, not every hypothesis can strike its mark when posed, so Morbius casts it away without a second thought when Constantine seems to refute it. A small smile written coolly on the pale man's mouth, he shucks out of his jacket and folds it over his arm. "It was the last part that I generally meant, yes. Bad for their health. Bad for your conscience. But, it was only an observation. That's the beautiful thing about ideas, isn't it?" The Mediterranean man follows after John rather than taking an immediate seat. His posture relaxed but even then he seemed to look composed. You know, for a monster. "You can change them," Morbius finishes his thought. Sanguine eyes squint with curiosity. "Awful to be around? Huh. I haven't seen that part of you, yet. I sort of look forward to it."

Constantine didn't seem to take offense, just a mild amusement. he thought about it with a sort of squint that gave him the vague look of a pulp detective from 20 years previous as he considered that. "well, good ideas can at least. Takes more than common sense on the oart of others though. I generally don't hold my breath but it's always entertaining when tehy do it. So." He handed over the tea and whiskey arching both eyebrows in vague gesture. Cheers. "So how'd you get into this whole business of medicine and crazy alchemy?"

Taking his alcoholic tea in hand with care, long fingers curl artfully around the steaming cup itself, the points of retracted talons resting light against the surface. Morbius lifts the cup mildly. Cheers, indeed.

"Those are somewhat unrelated answers, I'm afraid." Morbius answers with a short pop of his brows. "Well," he thinks twice and considers with that crafty mind of his, maneuvering around. "Perhaps not so unrelated, actually. Alchemy is a new interest, though. This whole realm of the mystics was something that I'd brushed against time and time again during the war, but it was never a focus. The Germans had a love affair with that entire realmmystics, magic, alchemyforgotten languages and lores that they thought would somehow win them a leg up during the last great war. For as much as it actually helped them."

The Englishman dropped down into the other armchair. He was listening curiously to Morbius with an acute curiosity. "Were you in that one?" It was a casual enough question to ask, though to him Machaiel was not normal and Lindon seemed to attract the ageless. "I was on the ground for that one. Nasty, nasty business. Was on the ground for that one I was." He wasn't inclines to rehash every detail and wasn't enthuastic about this but relegates that it needed be done. "You're not wrong about them though. They made a right mess of everything. A lot of us worked under Division to keep teh wrong things out of hand."

Finding a secondary chair to settle into, Morbius first drops his jacket over the back of it and tips his cup against his mouth to take a drink. Nodding his satisfaction to it after the fact, he settles into the seat across from John with control and relaxed poise, controlling that tiny corner of the universe while he talks to the demonologist. "I was there. I was in the back I suppose you could call it, if you were on the ground. I'm sorry you got to see all of that ugliness. It was an unnecessary insanity. I knew of many men who were stationed in the occult divisions. They were always secreted away in odd rooms and sections of the buildings that I was told to visit, and heard only whispers of the madness that went on there. I can only imagine what it was that you had to deal with. I was one of the luckier ones, if you can call it that." Morbius explains with the driest of smiles that those who can find the humor in things that suck throughout time. "By the time Greece was invaded, I was a biochemist and scientific study was still a trade worth hoarding."

"I'm sorry, I'm rambling. I don't converse very much any more." Murmuring his apologies, Morbius starts over with a breath, his crimson-consumed eyes peering around the room around John while he talks. "I started my quest for mystical and alchemical understanding decades ago because of this." The hand not occupied with his cup gestures mildly en total to himself, insinuating, well, anything, but probably the fact that he's a motherfucking vampire, if John can get there on his own.

Constantine nodded slowly seeming to have the patience of Job today. It was the small details he'd made time for in any case. Cuuuuurious. As was evident that they could speak plain and his vocation, from John's end, very open he included, "Eh, not my first war seeing a bunch of wankers try to overstep their bounds." There was a slouch in the chair in rather unceremonious fashion. John Constantine was not one to put on pretenses. His expression squirreled to a squint of distaste before adding a nod of agreement. "Yeaaaaah. Saw Italy try to give the boot to Crete. Cypress and Greece had a nasty end of the business. There was a team that went in, the Division. Lot of us aimed at protecting things which need not get broken because they get dangerous or they're useful. Either way, bloody mess. Poor bloody people I'll say that much. Good food though."

"Good food, though," Morbius seems to agree with an inkling of humor in his tone. If it doesn't read as appreciation over John's more crass manner of speaking, the next best thing is probably humor. The good thing is, either way you slice it, Morbius doesn't seem to mind in the least, even as he carefully forms his English. "The Division, yes. You mentioned that. Is that how you got involved with all of this? Or was it just what you fell into /because/ of it?"

Constantine actually cracked a faint smile. Dusty old men in a duty forgotten room. Somehow it really seemed fitting to him. He hadn't thought of the Division in a while. "It has other affectionate names but no. Family business. You know some people come from a line of lawyers or doctors? Eeeh mine's a list of archanists that date back to the birth of obligating your youth to follow in your footsteps I suppose. Should ahve learned earlier. Didn't. Got a late start at ten as ann angry little cuss. Can't say I much improved since. When teh first war came around I convinced the army to take me in. The Division had to take me in or have a 14 year old necro-demonologist running havoc over a battlefield." He smirked. he was a little pleased with himself. Yes. He conned his way onto that team and what the hell was a fourteen year old doing on a battlefield? He sipped his 'leaded' tea.

"The first one," Morbius repeats with a note of incredulousness to it as he looks John over. "I didn't figure you for a man with that much staying power. You read mortal to me." But hey, he's met stranger things than John Constantine, even if he was far older than what Morbius expected. "Familial burden, then. So you were born into it and were absorbed into the Division so nobody had to deal with you running amok. Sometimes a little chaos is just what a situation needs." Morbius smiles to himself.

Constantine tilted his head and all but gave a shrug to that assessment, "I have staying power like a rock star mate. As for what I am? Eh, mortal just means can die. We'll all die someday, mate." He went to drink his tea and paused adding, "Except for Cain. He's pretty well proper fucked he is." NOW he drank his tea. "Either way in both cases a lifetime of bad decisions'll to that to a bloke. As for how I get things done? Eh either I mind my own or make something rattle loud enough to force the hand of others that it needs fixing. Gets the job done. Can't jut leave broken things lying about. Don't learn anything that way. Leave it to teh wrong sort to learn instead?" He smirked with a glint of mischeif hitting his eye, "Well… jut ain't our way now is it, mate?"

"Sure," Morbius' eyes narrow slightly, a corner of his mouth twitching upward crookedly. "'Mortal' just means someone /can/ die, but the colloquialism of the word has come to mean someone who dies within the general life expectancy of the average human. I mean, Asgardians are technically mortal, though their natural lifespan is easily at least fifty times the average human's." Morbius points out just for the sake of bantering back with John.

"So you are the squeaky wheel," Morbius sums up all of John Constantine Methods To Getting Shit Done. "I have to respect that. A lot of people have incredible powers of denial where you just about need to convince them that the sky is indeed blue." An angle of a smile expanding slowly until there's a glimpse of fanginess to it. "No. No, leaving sleeping dogs isn't really how I've done things in the past."

Constantine chuckled and admitted, "The Asgardians make little sense to be, I'll be honest. Not our area of expertise but they can't be much different than any other wanker rolling through Earth. Maybe not much different than us. I know I'm cursed but what in the wrinkled tits of Hekete happened to you, mate?" One boot found hte edge of the table to hold his leg up. yup, no standing on ceremony here. "I'm going to bet 3 to 17 that you weren't born like this though I've been wrong before. You a'ight?" It wasn't a question of science, but one of resources.

Constantine's charmingly excessive use of his favorite English slang and cuss words draws a small smile up from Morbius' mouth. The good doctor leans into the arm of his chair, curling long fingers across his lips as he props his chin up into his palm. Speaking between his fingers. "No. No. I wasn't born like this," Morbius affirms with amusement, speaking between his fingers at first. "I mentioned it a moment ago, but all of this is what prompted my attempt at delving into the occult and alchemy."

Constantine arched an eyebrow and chortled, "Well when you said you were a man of science I didn't take that as man of science. Makes as much sense as anyhting else." The grin was there faintle and finally a side tilt of his head, "None of us come out of life unscathed as they say. We are all, I think maybe, men of our work. It shapes up as much as we shake it. It's a really cocked up symbiosis is what it is."

The leap that Constantine makes has Morbius' eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity, a light angle of a crooked smile on his lips. "What makes you say that?" Morbius, being rather vague on his own origins keeps that faint smile dancing on his lips. "No, none of us come out of any of this unscathed. That would be a rather dull existence, wouldn't it? To come out unscathed?"

Constantine shrugged haing no specifice but offering now, "Well you just told me." The con man could do a good cold read it seems, not that he had any particular details. "Honestly the odds were good whatever we bite into bites back. Not many ways one ends up in your shoes and I won't say I know how all this came about. The pursuit of science seemed a fair ballpark, mate. Really though?" An eyebrow arched and he settled into his chair more not minding one eay ot the other the owlish Greek's habits. "Wouldn't even know how to fathom it."

Morbius remains leaned in his seat, smiling curiously at the cosmic midwife. "That's not accurate to what I said, actually. And that phrase only works to back someone into something when they ask 'how did you know?' in response." One finger uncurling in a faint gesture in John's direction as he peels the rest of his fingers away to drink from his cup. John can cold read and con with the best of them, and Morbius can be pretty sharp on his own, playfully bantering with the damned. Constantine explains further of his assumption and Morbius listens. "Not many ways someone ends up a vampire, you mean. No, I suppose not, but the natural assumption would be that I was made this way in the usual fashion for whatever reason. Working next door to a nazi occult division seems as likely a place as any, typically. Which brings to mind all sorts of interesting theatrical scenes of outbreaks or escaped specimens. Vampire nazis, can you imagine? Maybe even a forced testing scenario on other scientists and workers." Morbius plays with the idea and crosses his ankle on his opposite knee while he gives Constantine a little more nightmare fuel to think about for later.

Constantine waxed a half-grin and shrugged, "Moreso Lindon mentioned. As for high powered prats? Fought enough of those when. I'll be happy not to hear of any more cropping up if it's all the same to them.Still…" His head tilted to the side. There wasn't anything to like about the idea of unkillable facists. "That sounds terrible, mate. When did you come over then?" Not accusatory. Hell he wasn't even a US citizen so why would he care. This was pure curiosity.

A prim smile touches the slight pout of Morbius' lips, not allowing the expansive fangs behind them to peek through when John shows his hand. "Ah, yes," his eyes drop a moment, amused with a tilt of his head smoothly. "We are only as secretive as our most trusting associate, aren't we? And unfortunately, I happen to be sleeping with a very oddly trusting one. You wouldn't think he would be, considering." Inhaling a deep breath, the poised vampire lifts his attention back to Constantine once again. Continuing the conversation without an inkling of defensiveness in his bones, though he sees the tilt of John's head and his eyes narrow at the corners in humor.

"I'm not aware of any vampire nazis, to put your mind at ease—or at least, I never met any face to face. I was still very human during the war and throughout. I didn't become like this until Greece decided to declare war on Herself." Tapping a wicked fingernail on the edge of his cup. "And yes, I found a way to do it to myself, though /this/ wasn't what I wanted. The obsessive mind is a dangerous place to be in." JOHN. "I came over in the fifties, actually. You? Or is this a temporary visit for you?"

Constantine nodded slowly drinking his doctored tea. "Indeed it is. It's why we don't teach what we know to just anyone lest them blow themselves, or the rest of us, very much up." Point in fact. He slouched in teh chair. He didn't give a damn about formalities. He considered the question though and pulled in his cheeks contemplating the answer. "This place used to belong to my ex. Came over ten-ish years ago on and off. Left when the bastard tried to kill me." His head wobbled and his nose wrinkled. "Eeeeh being sacrificed really isn't my thing. Got a funny call when he rang me up couple years ago about being stalked and hunted. Good I say. Still there was a warning in it. Three days later he's dead. So I've been trying to puzzle out waht happened to him. I mean I loved living more than I really gave a damn about him ascending into greater power. Call me a selfish bloke or whathave you. Wan't all that bad really. Just overly ambitious. I told you, mate," He took a drink, "Wizards are bloody arseholes. Still that's what ran me into Lindon and a strange gaggle of characters, and an old face I didn't reckon I'd run into again. It's been…interesting."

"Attempted murder is a good reason to leave a lover," Morbius agrees, then pauses and reconsiders with a heavy cant of his head to one side and a coy smile on his lips. "Unless making up is really worth it and the attempt is half hearted." The revelation of a male ex really not making the man bat an eyelash at John. Why would it? John's seen the mess he's involved in. Looking around the house to consider it after the fact while he listens to Constantine explain.

The plot thickens and attention turns back on to Constantine. "Huh. That's a hell of a turn about, isn't it? And that's what had you coming back around to Lamontexcuse me, Kentand Lindon and all of that. Well, you'd be hard pressed to find a stranger collection of characters than the ones who have seemed to come together in New York City." You can just say 'New York', Morbius. "I can't say I disagree with 'wizards being assholes' from the ones I've met. Some are more tolerable than others, at least. It seems like a lot of work for an ex-lover, though…"

Constantine shook his head in the negatory. His hand bounced idly off the arm of the chair, fingers occasopnally tapping the endge. "I didn't have any idea who Lindon was. Didn't know Kent was here to be frank. Hadn't seen him in decades prior to catching back up." Apparently it was a solo venture, or it was intended to be and was now not. Both eyebrows went up as Michael observed the conundrum that was seeking resolution for the man that tried to sell his soul. IT was a little beyond the pale for a break up. "Yeah. Funny that." Apparently he had a reason, or convinced himself of one, or the curiosity was simply too great and he needed to know who to thank.

One of those dark, pointed eyebrows arch in silent expectation as to whatever could have possessed Constantine to look into something like this. Waiting him out for several seconds which would generally be considered an uncomfortable length of silence. The small curve of his lips remains in place, downing the rest of his alcoholic tea. Getting to his feet, there's a gesture out to John's cup. "Another?"

It was a long moment before John answered his guest. He didn't want to lose sleep on Aloys, but he did. Everything about that man haunted every step they all took to leave him behind. "Maybe sometimes the only way to solve a labyrinth is to head further in rather than try to run out. But yes. Another'd be lovely. Cheers, mate." He shook his head and gave Michael an ironic grin, "You're likable for knowing too many damned wizards. The truth was Aloys was onto something much larger than just being a punch in the cock." Bless the English for being the truly blunt with panache. "Turns out he's not the only one that was found belly up. Spared me of that he did. Would like to spare others if we can… could use a man of science to aid in some of the forensic work if you're interested. Not that I rang you up to talk shop, but as we're in council on it…"

"Too many?" Michael walks across the room to take John's cup. "Is three too many? Well," The black pupils roll around in the sea of red which consumes his whole eye; rolling them as he turns to go refresh the two spiked teas. "I suppose depending on /which/ three that that could be too many. One could be too many." He comments without an inkling of touching the compliment in general. Taking them both back for more liquor than tea this round, Morbius considers the offer a moment before turning to glance over his shoulder, a flash of a fangy smile in the Brit's direction, sharp and dangerous. "John. I would love to help."

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