1965-05-02 - Subterranian Hospitality
Summary: Morbius conscripts John to go track down Halgrim, and also gives him the nickel tour of the Monster Metropolis lab
Related: None
Theme Song: None
constantine morbius 

Constantine followed Morbius through the crowd. There was one thing that Adam hit on the head: He was known. This could go either way really and John seemed to respec this by being more alert than usual. It did not stop him from finishing his cig as they navigated the under tunnels. Separating off from the 'rescue squad. "You know how to make shopping for odds and ends more interesting, Michael."

Well, it remains to be said that eventually, Fjorskar will need to sleep and Adam presumably has a home here, so after all that is said and done they are left with…two. Morbius exchanges looks with Constantine and then leads the way in some seemingly random direction through the metropolis, his hands paired behind his back, still holding the brim of his hat in one. "I don't know what I did to convince you that everything wasn't more interesting with me, John." suppressing a faint smile in the center of his lips, Morbius glances sidelong to his companion. "I'd like to show you something if you have the time."

Constantine was knackered but that didn't quite matter much. It was a usual state for him. It didn't keep him from his reliably pithy commentary, "We've seen it, Michael. It's impressive and all but you really think it required much a preamble?" Oh yeah, wizards were a riot. Still there was no irritation which spoke leagues for his company in light of the rest of his life turning into a glittery trash fire. It was enough to make him relent. "Alright, but no applause."

"Where's your sense of romanticism, John?" Michael responds with a dim, deadpan lilt to his words. "Have you not gotten a satisfactory amount of 'woe is me' puppy dog eyes lately? I could make the attempt if you miss it." Morbius is slightly exasperated after that last encounter with his new…resident of sorts, and instead of ire, turns to dry commentary to the mage. "Fine, no applause, but I will tell you that I have a new goal, now." Leading John away from the hustle and bustle of the small city, down one of the brick-lined tunnels. Safety lights occasionally glow a dim yellow and the population becomes more and more sparse. "So, it seems our new friend has something of a Doctor Jeckyl and Mister Hyde situation. Professor Halgrim Lindqvist, of Sweden, works at Columbia."

Constantine felt a little bad, in a way, in a very John way to give Michael such shit after he'd consigned himself to follow him quite… possibly back into hell. The heavy sigh was enough to translate 'fine, you win, you Greek bastard,' which culminated in the words, "Right then, out with it." He did listen though with the squinty eyes of a detective. At least this case was interesting. "Sounds a bit of a nasty lot to be handed. I take it we don't know what prompted this. Damage control? We have a motive? We have a way to keep them safe?" An altruist, even if the worst example.

"Have you ever heard of the case of one doctor Bruce Banner?" Michael asks of one of the more explosive heroes around town. Loosely hero. "A bit like that I'm afraid. Stressful situations, so on. Most curious bit is that they don't remember one another's movements, so while /we/ have met Fjorskar, Professor Lindqvist will wake up in an alley somewhere, naked, wondering what the hell happened." Michael grunts and shakes his head mildly before stopping at a heavy metal safety door inset into the bricking of the tunnel. Maybe a boiler room? He turns neatly on his feet to face John, leveling a look with him. "And considering that stress triggers his transformation, I'm thinking that Adam and myself may not be best suited to speaking to the man to see just how much aid he may need. Or what the world that amulet he wears is." He pauses, heavily, staring at John.

Constantine listened and wobbled a hand. He was only peripherally aware of Banner not being a colonial. The more he listened the more it all seemed to make more sense. "Aaaaaah an' you need my charming mug not to scare off the locals." The squint returned. Clever lad, you are, Morbius. "Well Doc, as you're so blythly sticking your neck out for me consider me inclined to see what I can do. Also would be nice to know if some manner of curse is keeping him in this loop or if the craftsmanship on the charm can be improved to allow some manner of pre-existing condition to improve.: He paused and, cig in fingers, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Jeasus I'm starting to sound like you."

"Well, you may as well use those dashing good looks for something other than scowling at mystics and vampires," Morbius points out with a dry smile, looking rather pleased. Complimenting for the sake of dry banter. He turns to rest his hand on the knob to the riveted door, pushing it open with a well-oiled shush of metal on metal. He looks back to John, hesitating on the threshold. "My God, you are. Maybe I passed a little something on to you as well during that little exchange." Pressing into the room before John can scowl at him.

Constantine was scowling! Fast, but not fast enough. Still there was normalize behind his general salty expression and ambled behind his compatriot. "Well… you're not wrong. I should, but I get so much practice these days," Pause for satire and emphasis, "I feel I've really turned scowling at you all into its own art form." He might be frighteningly right about that. "Still, I think you more than put your dues in." Okay even he had the capacity to feel bad about what he'd done to Michael. He could only give him so much guff.

"Perhaps you should see if you can get a small theater space so that you can really let your star shine, John," Michael suggests casually as he leads the way into his small…apartment? Room? Abode? "Small shows seem to be all the rage these days." Dropping his hat onto his nearest table, Michael shucks off his jacket smoothly to drop over the back of a chair in the very back of the room. "I am honored to be your muse."

Constantine chortled against his own stubbornness. Alright, that was pretty good. Following Michael in he gave what was the best of a John Constantine un-compliment of a compliment, "How the sweet fiery fuck is your sunken subterranean studio in nicer shape than mine?" Easy, asshole, he doesn't suffer possessions and do rituals that scorch half the room. Pfft. Small details. He looked around and squint honestly impressed, but had to add all teh same, "Should let me ward the place for you. In case. Safer an all."

"Because nobody has tried to burn mine down, fill it with blood, or summon hellspawn into it," Michael reads his mind and recites rather factually without a whiff of offense in his tone. Instead, he comes about on the opposite side of the small table, facing John and bracing his hands on the back of the chair, a satisfied looking smile curving his lips. "Yet, at least. Do try to keep it that way for a little while. But I am this far from the center of town because I am the most likely to have something like that happen. It seemed the most logical. I would like that very much, actually."

Constantine arched his eyebrow. The man had a point. "Well, aces to you. Can't argue that one, and in fact nodded. "Well, best attempt, luv. Most I can offer there." His eyes were taking in the books actually and the small details that comprised the Doctor's personal sanctuary. It occurred to John that no one's much seen his as he was constantly occupying the space of others like a renegade hermit crab, but in such that too was just as telling he supposed. He was about to justify the mindfulness of this but he'd agreed?! Huh. Instead he offered, "pretty much the act of wearing gloves and safety spectacles for arcane purposes. Or just locking your bloody door. I don't like overlooking the practical solution though. Still with everything going on they may make attempt to go after what they may perceive as 'weaker links' for accessibility and I doooooo love to see them sorely disappointed."

Renegade hermit crab, indeed. Even the space he's occupying now, though Michael knows that the house was not /his/, it should have some kind of signs of changing hands, shouldn't it? Something that seems to smack, at least a little bit, of John Constantine.

And yet…

Bemused as John goes on to explain himself and the need for the warding anyway, even with Michael's agreement, it's as if he honestly isn't used to people not fighting on something, so without needing to justify himself a dozen times over, John Constantine simply doesn't know how to, well, function. Michael waits until he's finished with the explanation, then leans forward on his braced arms and restates, slower, "John. I said yes."

Constantine tightened his jaw and accepted that someone was just on his side for a change. He moved to walk past Michael but stopped at the front of his shoulder. He sighed and slid a sidelong look to Michael, "You know usually you're smart enough to ask why, or John Constantine what in blazes you up to, lad? I'm uncertain where this…" His hand circled, "Trust is stemming from but it is most assuredly misplaced." Welcome to the Constantine iteration of: cheers, mate. Nothing without argument. Still he stood and looked around before looking back to Michael with much of the contention dropped. "It's a nice place. Still, I'm glad you stayed. You're looking world more on the up an' up. Tomorrow though, post ham and eggs, there's some details owed and some information you'll need for the trip and then… yes I'll go look on your Professor." he heel toed his shoes off. Just make yourself at home, John. He was knackered though. Too tired to head all the way back and couldn't be arsed to just whip up a portal like Strange and Billy did. His portals routed him through those 'bad neighbourhoods, and the company was far better here.

Turning his head, the good doctor straightened up again as john stopped shoulder to shoulder essentially. "Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that you saved my life, or some nonsense. Clearly, my common sense has not completely regenerated yet." Watching John argue with himself when he has nobody else to do so with. That in and of itself is almost more entertaining than doing the arguing himself. Like watching a one-man play!

And now he's watching the act where the second protagonist/antagonist invites himself into another crab's shell and makes himself at home. Reaching a hand out, the long-limbed hand rests on John's shoulder, squeezing securely for a firming moment. "Yes. Yes, of course. Would you like me to fresh squeeze you some orange juice as well? Perhaps fashion a griddle for a crepe or two?" Sarcastic and dry-tipped, Michael smiles vaguely at John. Bowing his head to push a kiss into the back of his own hand, resting on John's shoulder. "You look dead on your feet. The bed is there. I have some work to do, and be there after."

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