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Constantine had gone out to get some ritual stuff, some blood for Cass so he didn't have to try to get it in the daylight, and various other things. While the cat was away, the mice decided to get drunk and contact Genesis. Well, Jesse was getting drunk to contact Genesis, and Cass was drinking for solidarity. By the time Constantine gets home, Cass is passed out on the couch, sprawled out on it with Jesse passed out on top of him, the nigh on empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table next to them. Nothing appeared to be broken in the house. No magical doodads had triggered any paranormal explosions. Everything seemed quiet, too quiet, until he happened upon the pair passed out and snoring on the couch.
|ROLL| Constantine +rolls 1d20 for: 15
Constantine waded up the stairs from workshop to apartment. Oh… this was a lovely find. He assessed teh situation up to see what was needed. Pants. Well damn. No one even had a good time while he was out? For shame. Shame lads! Still he waded to the kitchen and put the blood away first. Everyone was breaking. THat's the nice thing about necromancy: dead people don't snore up a storm. It faintly boggled him why Cass would but, lo, there it was. Coming back the tired exorcist (& part time cosmic midwife) leaned on the door jamb watching them contemplating. Heading back downstairs he found a few things and brought them back up. Checked? Yup still asleep. Gooood. All around the immediate area he put torn out pages with strange sigils on them scattered around and also laid out teh dead chicken he had with him in a pan and stuck a 16th century dagger into it. Scene set? Good! He went back to the door and left quietly making a louder entrance this time and stopped inside the door. "Bloody hell what did you do?!" Wether or not anyone was the wiser? He didn't know but this was a great way to find out!
Oh yes, there are pants, so at least John is saved from the vision of Jesse's bare naked ass on the couch while he threatens to start snoring, passed out drunk on top of Cassidy. Dog pile of drunken idiots. Passed out hard enough that he barely even moves while John scatters around torn pages and puts dinner out to thaw with a dagger in it. All along, Preacher remains dead asleep, occasionally rubbing his cheek on Cassidy's shoulder in a fruitless effort to soften his pillow.
John barks and Jesse jumps nearly out of his skin. Springing upward on the couch, nearly kneeing Cass right in the jewels, dark eyes blink separately and squint, still drunk and reeling with it, both of Jesse's hands go out to clutch at the couch. "Wasn't me!" His immediate response before he can even understand what John's yelling about.
All clothes are present and accounted for. Cassidy doesn't sirt at all when John comes and goes throughout the place. Whether he's aware or not is unclear, but he doesn't open his eyes and he doesn't move. Cassidy does actually breathe, however. In fact, his entire body acts just like any other human's save for the fact that he can heal an incredible amount of damage and withstand a lot of punishment. But he does still breathe. He is also a little bit on the thin side to make a great pillow. Oh, he's comfortable enough, but there's little padding on that shoulder.
And then there's hollering, and Jesse jumps, and that leg that was between his thighs damn near catches him hard in the nethers. But he jumps, himself, which probably helps prevent that. He wasn't nearly as drunk but he was asleep. So when Jesse goes flailing about he grabs onto his shirt and says "What are you both on about? Fer fuck's sake.." And he looks around and sees runes and chickens. Then he squints and looks at John. "Listen, it's not what it looks like."
Constantine stared at them expectantly in a way that would make one question in teh future if GOrdon Ramsey was his bastard offspring perhaps. "These didn't bloody well throw themselves here! You communing like that when there are multiple persons that've died under this roof?" He boggled looking at them with a sigh. It was a wonder he could do this with a straight face. "Whay's one upside down, Jess? What'd we learn?"
Jesse still hasn't focused on the mess around them, he jerks short with Cassidy's grip on his shirt. Scrubbing a splayed hand over his eyes, digging his palm into his eye socket in a vain attempt to rub away the fogginess. Preacher sways a little bit, bracing a hand on Cassidy's chest. "Huh?" Intelligent, Jess. "S'look like what?" Mumbling in a slur of speech, he squints, trying to focus on the pages splayed around them. Jesse twists around, then twists back, his motions exaggerated and a little loose in his joints. "Is that a chicken?"
Jesse blinks at Cassidy. "You were supposed t'watch me, Cass. What the hell did Ah do?" Automatically assuming that he did something. Gen did something. The Texan/Louisiana accent leans on his words stronger than usual, Jesse holds his palms up to Constantine. "Look. John. All I was doin' was havin' a talk with Gen but chu know she's sorta quiet sumtahms, so Ah figgured a drink or seventeen'd help. Ah…Ah didn't mean all this. Ah don't even remember, um…"
"I hearby swear that we weren't tryin' to summon anythin' in the middle of the livin'room. Scout's honor," Cassidy says holding up one hand and letting the other rest on Jesse's chest to steady him. He then squints and says, "None o' that were there when we fell asleep." Then he looks over at John, and then back at the chicken and says. "You right bastard." Then he starts to laugh.
Constantine was just GIVING Jess that look. "I'm going to nneed to tell Strange about this." And finalyl it dawned on Cassidy and and John grinned with tooooo too too much amusement, "Because he's going to laugh his arse off. Yes that's a chicken. THey don't have them pre-plucked so that's on us. Cass, I got you four quarts. It's not far we need more than that. FIgure anything beyond that might coagulate." He wasn't a vampire ut his head tilted a titch, "I can't imagine 'gummy' is a good texture for any food though."
"Oh. /Shut/./Up/." Jesse hisses at Constantine with emphasis, groaning his disgust. "Who the fuck are ya all the sudden? Ya sound like Mills when you say shit like that. Runnin' off t'the Sorcerer Supreme. You can't stand th—" Jesse stops in his petulant fit at Constantine when he realizes that Constantine of ALL PEOPLE wouldn't go running off to Strange over Jesse's angel-demon hybrid trying to put something together while Jesse was black out drunk.
Cassidy catches on a second sooner and starts laughing.
Jesse glares at him and immediately searches for something to throw at John. "You remember the dumplings you son of a bitch?" Did he ask for dumplings? He asked for something. He's certain of it. But right now he's still drunk and isn't certain.
Cassidy can't stop laughing and he actually hands Jesse one of those little rolled up couch pillows that had ended up on the floor at some point earlier, arming the Preacher with a pillow projectile. His shoulders shake and he unclenches his fingers from jesse's shirt, gently patting his chest. He shakes his head at John and then says, "Aye, thanks. Was startin' t'get quite a bit peckish." He very carefully extricates himself from under Jesse, but not without a squeeze to his shoulder as he dodges *around* John to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. He's hungry, and the little taste he'd taken from Jesse's lip was not nearly enough to sate even a bit of his hunger. Toward the kitchen he goes. "Rubbery is not a good quality in blood, no." And so he goes to top up the tank while it's still not congealed.
Constantine pulled a hand up to cover his mouth ducking the pillow that caught him in the ribs anways. Better that than the knife in teh chicken. John was snickering too much for that. He grabbed the chicken to put in teh fridge and yanked the blade from it, "We got your dumplings ya great git. Really though, we gt anything good while you were out, lads?" Ooooh teh shit he does to entertain himself. Passing Cass in the kitchen he gave teh Irishman a pat on the back. There ya go Cass, see? Recompence. DInner and a show.
The pillow is ultimately launched at Constantine from the couch. Jesse's got good aim, even drunk as he is. Thank you Cassidy. Satisfied when it finds its mark. Jesse grins.
"Well at least yer not a complete waste of skin, then," Jesse teases, scrubbing a hand through his hair, ruffling it in every which way. Not that it wasn't already sticking in every known direction. "From Gen? Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah actually." Getting up to his feet, there's a moment where he pauses, swaying on his feet. Fuck. Get it together, Custer. Following to the kitchen. "A lot of it was kinda confirmin' what you said, John. A compass. The needle is gonna be just south of Chicago in a little over a week."
Cassidy chuckles at John at the pat to the shoulder and shakes his head. He has out one of the containers of blood and stands against the counter, leaning back against it with one hand curled around the edge, and the other just pouring that thick red viscous liquid down his maw. There is nothing delicate about the guzzling of the blood by the vampire who has been down a bit for a while now. He drains the entire container without so much as taking a breath before setting it down on the counter and licking his lips.
Constantine may have done jsut as weird things that he couldn't fault Cass anything though he joked, "Bloody hell I should've just gotten you the whole heart and stuffed celery in one artery and a pink paper parasol in the other side." There was a pause and he murmured, "I'm soooo doin that to Morbius. He may throw it at me but worth it." A an aside to Cass he knew, knew the diatribe about what happened in New Orleans and promised, "Not a wanker…Not much more than the lot of us anyways. Should meet him. I'd be interested in your perspective, Cass." Sure NOW he asks favours after the man ate. Smart. TUrning back to Jess John seemed satisfied, "Right, mate, so not just a where but a when. My suggestion? We get there early to watch the event play on out."
Jesse follows and uses the wall to prop himself upright while trying to seem as casual as possible. "Pour a little vodka in one of the, uh, the tubey parts." Jesse forgets the word for it while he attempts to focus. "Make it a proper bloody mary, full of grace." The preacher jokingly crosses himself, smiling crookedly. "Or would that make it start to get gummy? Huh." Banter aside, he glances to John more directly. "Well, that's the thing. Ah didn't see exactly where. Ah just saw them on the road, traveling. The date on the paper, the box that the needle's in, an' the exit they got off on. The driver…sort of?" Sort of is a very very loose sort of.
Cassidy smirks over at John and says, "You wanna bring me parts t'suck the juice outta, then I'll do it, but you don't need to be puttin' no fancy umbrellas and accessories in there. I like me drinks straight up without frills and bits o' fruit and shrubberies in." He then considers and says, "No, don' think that the alcohol would make it congeal.. probably the opposite.. maybe.. fuck if I know, do I look like a doctor?" He grins though. It's just said jokingly. He seems even a little less pallid now that he's gotten some more blood in him.
Constantine completed the path of logic as the eerily sober party in the room. "Would thin it out. Does its fair bit as an anti-coagulant really. So, Jess, catch yourself a shower. I'll get breakfast rolling and get the note cards." He looked at Cassidy and blinked. "Recoup your losses." In short, yeaaaaaah you're healing from teh last thing I asked you to do. Let's shoot for one at a time. "We'll write down what we know and add it tot the wall."
"Shower, right." Jesse snaps his fingers and points at Constantine. "The board. Sure. Let me get a lookat it an' see what Ah can remember that we don't got up there. This compass thing ain't a joke, though. Gen's bent on it pretty hard. It can find anything. Aw, shit. Anything. Pizza! Cass promised we're gettin' pizza in Chicago." He pushes away from the wall he was using to prop himself up and turns toward the bathroom. Vanishing in that direction, Jesse smiles to himself and takes a deep breath.
It's not subtle.
Those black-mirror eyes flash red through his iris as he shouts backward, his voice overwhelmed by the screams of the fallen, the ringing of bells, the feeling of claws scratching against the very remnants of John's soul. "John, do the monkey."
Like a fucking delinquent, irresponsibly using his powers for funsies. "That's for the chicken." The bathroom door shuts.