1965-08-06 - The Dead Will...Rain?
Summary: Drinking morosely gets interrupted by corpses apologetically raining from the sky
Related: None
Theme Song: None
dead-girl constantine morbius adam halgrim 

One of broader tunnels opening onto the Metropolis' central hub sits close to the ceiling, and is often used as a perch by some of its denizens. It's a nice place to look out over the shanty town and get some perspective without leaving the safety provided by their home. A set of 'stairs' and handholds that have been carved into the wall provide access, but getting up there isn't for the faint of heart. (There's another, more easily reached tunnel on the opposite end of the hub, but it's not as high up as this one.)

Halgrim is the individual occupying this vantage point at the moment. He has a small knapsack with him, set to one side; his old, chipped tumbler, half full; and a half-empty bottle of rum. A plain bandage, dotted with blood, circles the knuckles of one hand. He sips from his tumbler and stares out across the town, brooding in a most extraordinary fashion even for him.

Adam can be seen below (he's hard to miss), checking Hal's lean-to. No Professor. He straightens up and looks around. Still no Professor. Alas for Halgrim, Adam knows how to look up. Monsters can often be found above the eyeline. He tips back his enormous head, scanning the known perches. When he spots Halgrim, he says, "Ah," although in his inside voice, he can't be heard from there.

There was darkness, and then there was unnecessarily kitchy entrances for emo sorcerers. A flash of orange flared up from zippo to cig to John's fingers letting his hand light the darkness for a moment before extinguishing the light in a fist. He walked up taking a drag and exhaling. "Oy that's fancy looking. Have to remember that one. Strange not the only one making entrances anymore." The linger of sulfur burned off as he took the drag before he said to no one in particular, "You loitering around all day and we playing let's pretend not to notice, or we talking turkey. mate?"

Halgrim flicks a glance down at Adam (whose form can't be missed even from up here), downs the rest of his drink, and pointedly returns to staring out over the town. His posture is 'recalcitrant drunk' and his expression is 'sulking monster', making him look not unlike a depressed gargoyle curled in on itself and nursing a glass of whatever it's managed to obtain. At least until John arrives; he flinches hard, jerking away from his voice and gritting his teeth. He takes a breath, lets it out, and refills the tumbler. "Notice what," he says with sarcastic levity, chases it with a hefty gulp of rum.

Adam climbs right up. Huge hands and feet find purchase everywhere, and he's got a gift for not leaning his great weight too hard on any one bit of masonry. It's more than a little creepy, watching his massive form float up the wall. "Constantine," he says, absurdly pleased to see the emo sorcerer, when he gets there. "Excellent." He eases himself around to crowd in next to Halgrim.

The mystically sensitive tended to feel Dead Girl before seeing her. A font of necromantic energy- the sign of a powerful necromancer, to be certain. However, this energy was wielded so naturally- so easily- that it was difficult to see it as wielded by any mortal. Dead Flesh just responds to Dead Girl- she can sense it. Communicate with it. Talk to the very stuff of death….

And how exactly she found the Metropolis? QUite by accident. She phases, and then falls, through the ceiling before landing with a heavy thud on the ground, the kind that is followed by the breaking of bones and cracking of skulls.

It's raining bodies down here, apparently.

Constantine was one of those people that noticed, but the necromancer was also disinclined to give many shits in the way of alarm. An eyebrow did arch through as the orange glow illuminated his face and he exhaled again. "Busy night." His eyes drift off and found Deadgirl's general location before her, but went back to Adam and nodded, "Adam. Came t'discuss findings but you look in a state, mate."

Halgrim gives Adam another of those bitter, angry looks, this one with a distinct undertone of 'don't you know it's rude to exhibit a positive attitude around someone who's trying to get drunk and sulk'. Still, a lifetime of having proper manners hammered into him wins out; he makes space for Adam, and indicates the bottle with a nod. "There's rum, if either of you is so—" His offer dies unfinished as Dead Girl falls down from the ceiling. He blinks, looks down into his glass, wondering if this rum has anything 'extra' in it that went unmentioned on the label. He leans over the edge of the tunnel, which sticks out from just below the ceiling, and squints down at the new arrival. "Do you think they need help?" Nevermind that he's halfway into a bottle of rum and so not much help with anything.

Adam leans over, too, he and Halgrim peering down like, well, like someone just fell off a cliff. He checks the ceiling for holes. Nope, no holes. A body just teleported in and splatted to the brickwork floor. "A moment." He pushes himself off the ledge. Lands with a mighty THUMP. No big deal, just three stories up—he doesn't even flinch. He picks up Dead Girl as if she really is just a corpse, an enormous hand around her torso.

Dead Girl lays on the ground for a long moment- limbs all twisted in the wrong directions as she stands up. Her head caved in on one side. Apart from the maiming, she doesn't seem particularly worse for wear. "Man. That last step is a bit wild…" she offers as she's lifted by the enormous hand. And, indeed, she is just a corpse- albeit one who seems to have quite a bit more life in her than one might expect of a corpse.

"Oh, hey guy!" Dead Girl says as she's lifted, giving a wave of her hand and a grin- a friendly thing, although those glowing red eyes are a little off-putting. Angry, and far away- from beyond the grave. Baleful. A font of death-energy. "Hey, you're really tall!" That, of all things, is the first thing she notices about Adam.

Constantine arched an eyebrow looking both amused and impressed, "Not much slowing this bird down." He looked back to Halgrim and tilted his head as if to say 'really? reeeeally?' "I tell ya you're really slacking at the making of misery. You can pass that over if you're not inclined to finish it." Says he of the glass. His eyes drifted back to Adam and DeadGirl with a casual drag of his cigarette, "You got a name, luv?"

Halgrim snorts at Constantine and finishes the tumbler. "Most odd," he says of the interaction between Adam and Dead Girl. "Is she a draug?" He sounds like he's torn between fascination and the more bland reaction of 'there might as well be zombies'; the rum makes it difficult to pick just one. "I suppose now I must go find out." He sighs at the half-finished bottle, sets to wrapping it and the tumbler in the knapsack. "I've another glass in my lean-to," he says, as an apology for his orneriness. It seems that one of the necessary skills for an archaeologist is 'drunk wall climbing', because Halgrim makes his way down from the tunnel, slowly and steadily, like he's done this sort of thing a dozen times before.

Adam prods thoughtfully at the dent in Dead Girl's skull, as if he thinks he might be able to pop it back out like a ding in a car door. "So I am," he says. "My name is Adam." She seems compos mentis, but he doesn't set her back on her feet yet; her knees are still bending the wrong direction. "You are of the undead?" He goes to meet Halgrim and Constantine, just toting DG along with him, as if she was a cat.

Dead Girl's limbs begin to heal- all of it healing with a stunning kind of alacrity- her broken arms cracking back towards where they're supposed to be. Broken ribs just rearranging themselves how they should be. Her skull sort of POPs out to how it should be.

"I got a bunch of names." Dead Girl offers to Constantine, "But mostly, I just go by Dead Girl. It's apt, on account of the being a dead girl." she says with a cheeky grin.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that. I mean, dead. No heart beat. No blood. The whole seeing ghosts thing. You know, the whole nine-yards." she offers, off hand- not seeming to be overly bothered by the carrying thing. "You know, I can walk." she says to Adam. "Not that I mind being lazy or anything."

Constantine let the grin hang. She had a point though and he looked to Adam, "She's got a point. I'm calling next ride though." Oh it's been hours since he had good banter. Possibly even worth staying sober for, though the rum was offered and he wasn't one to say no. "John. Adam. That's… Doc. I'll call ya dead girl but if you got a name we're happy to use it. What brings you dropping into Monster Metropolis, luvvie?"

Knapsack of mint green, black, and white gingham slung over one shoulder, proper attire rumpled and disheveled, eyes bloodshot—Halgrim is the very picture of 'bender in progress'. He's remarkably steady despite that; the curse of a strong constitution and an overprotective liver. But to Dead Girl, there's a bit more to see: a fragment of another person's spirit, like someone lopped part of a ghost off and attached it to him, or to whatever is hanging on a chain around his neck, hidden under his shirt. The fragment is having no obvious, outward effect on him, unless trying to get drunk in a precarious location counts (though that could just be de rigeur around here).

"Halgrim," he says to Dead Girl, nodding his head in a greeting. He squints up above them at the ceiling. "But you fell in, didn't you? I don't see any holes…"

"And I will carry you, on the occasion you break your legs," Adam replies primly to John. He sets DG down, telling her, "Then you are welcome among our kind." He's pretty clearly undead of some variety himself, although he's infused with a certain awful vitality, more alive than most alive creatures. Then Adam just puts his enormous cool hand on Halgrim's head and peers at him. "Now, what troubles you, Professor, to drive you into the arms of the bottle?" he asks, not unkindly.

"Gravity, primarily." Dead Girl says, "I didn't expect there to be a void down here- I was just sort of… falling through the Earth, you know, just to see what was under the city. I was also thinking about playing a joke on someone. You know those vacuum tubes that go all around the city to the important banks and stuff? I was going to cut off a finger and put it in one. You know, so they got some dead girl's finger along with their stack of cash."

Dead Girl just grins, "Naw, Dead Girl is fine. Or DG. I go by both these days." she nods over to Halgrim, "Well, I don't really need to worry so much about solid things. I just can go through it if I want- sort of like a ghost, you know? I'm like one part zombie and one part ghost. That makes three parts awesome, by the way, on account of the whole being more than the sum of her parts. At least, in this case." she's still grinning. She's on her feet- light and graceful. "So, Monster Metropolis, huh?"

Halgrim is surprised into a laugh by Dead Girl's description of her planned joke. Zombie practical jokes—who knew? "That would have been something to see," he says. The lightening of his mood softens his reaction to Adam; he moves his head out from under Adam's hand and sighs. "I actually managed to injure someone this time." He waves a hand. "Or, it did. I'm not clear on the specifics. Some scenario involving a young mutant. A friend of one of Jeb's brothers. He was right there when we found out, and apparently knows about me." He grimaces. "I'm sure I've had more awkward moments, but none of them come to mind. It seemed like a solid reason to get drunk."

"Monster Metropolis. A home, to those of us who are driven out by mankind." Adam puts his hand on his chest and bows a polite, shallow bow to DG. Her practical joke seems to genuinely puzzle him, but the rest of what she's saying—very interesting. "You can become incorporeal. Useful." Still not sure what the finger thing is about. When Halgrim explains his woes, Adam frowns. "Which brother? He recognized you?"

"Yeah, and I can fly when I'm like that. Well, not really fly. See, I can see the astral plane all the time- and there is this weird geometry all over the place and I can use *that* to wander around and do things." she explains, "And when I'm in that mode I can also walk through walls on this side of things. It makes for fun."

Dead Girl moves with inhuman grace- whatever happened to her made her particularly graceful, it seems. Or maybe she was already that graceful.

"Oh man, I wish I could still get drunk." Dead Girl says, looking over to Halgrim with a bit of envy. She pulls a pouch of tobacco out of her pocket and starts to roll a cigarette. "Why would Man kind drive you out? You seem like nice guys." she says, confused it seems by the statement- perhaps she hasn't had the same experiences. It probably helps that she's a good looking girl. For a corpse, that is.

"Still, you know, cool that you guys are getting together. I mean, a lot of people are a little freaked out by me- but it's really understandable, you know. I'm dead. I represent, in a very real way, their mortality. Only natural they'd be a little wonked out, you know?" She finishes rolling her cigarette. "Anyone got a light?"

Constantine rolled a hand to Adam. And there you have it. His expression, though quirked. "Funny. Yeah, its for the sum of those that have no place in a crazy waking world above that's as asleep as they are daft. Not safe, but at least it's a scant bit more honest." The Brit had opinions, ask him how!

"Well," Halgrim says to Adam. "He knows who, and *what*, I am. And when the, injured, young man described what had happened to him, and more particularly what had done it…" His voice dies, and he shakes his head. But anything else he had in mind to say is forgotten when Dead Girl calls them nice. He stares at her for a moment, then starts laughing. A truly, deep, belly-aching laugh; after two missed attempts he gets a hand on Adam's arm to steady himself, doubling over and cackling like he's lost his mind. "Nice," he wheezes out, and laughs some more.

Adam repeats, "Nice," in an equally mystified tone. Then Halgrim is losing his shit and he lets him hang on his arm, looking resigned. "Our good Professor is in his cups. No, I'm afraid we are regarded as dangerous, and indeed, we are."

"Eh, I can be dangerous, too. Nice and dangerous aren't mutually exclusive. I mean, I know this big ole' guard dog. He's dangerous, but he's also nice. You just have to meet him in different situations, you know?" Dead Girl says, "I mean, jeeze, I'm super strong now and fast and I can turn my hands into claws- but I still try to be nice. Those things just aren't mutually exclusive."

Dead Girl then goes to find a matchbook- reaching into her pockets first. Then into her shirt- hand stuffed down the front. "Aha! In my stash pocket!" she says with a grin, coming out with a book of cardboard matches. She lights up her cigarette.

"I was murdered, you know? My boyfriend, Chad. Jealous that I got a speaking part off broadway, and he hadn't gotten anything." She mimics stabbing herself. "Twelve times. Blood *everywhere*." she continues, "Anyways, I black out for a minute. And then, I'm like back in my body but not in my body- I can't move it or anything, I'm just kind of trapped. That sack of shit left me at the edge of the park."

Constantine pursed his lips and let Adam explain offering to Dead Girl, "Don't look at me. I cheat." Still the story came like a cannonball. He frowned, "Bad luck, luv. I feel ya. Mine killed me too. Didn't take. Someone already owned the deed. On the up shot," He took a drag and ashed his cig, "You cam make the rotter miserable. Or summon his sorry ass back up. Stuff him in a dinner bell."

By way of one of the narrow tunnels which travel away from the metropolis, Morbius makes his way into town. His strides long and swift enough to be called a pretty stern power walk but not quite a jog, he was pretty clearly caught in the middle of something judging by the lack of jacket and hat. He's still married to the older style of 'never leave your house without your hat and jacket' that JFK eradicated with his fashion forward bullshit, so walking at a swift clip around the wide pool in the center of town with suspenders in plain view is somewhat…unusual.

Oh, yes, and let's not forget the whole part where he looks like nosferatu in dress shirt, slacks and loafers.

On alert, the sullen red glow of his eyes casts a murderous light over the top half of his face, swallowing up his pupils entirely until they fall properly upon Adam, Halgrim and John. And…a woman? The glow ebbs marginally and austere brows twitch together as he slows and nears. "Miss. Gentlemen. And John. I was told it was raining corpses?" His accent delicate and educated, if somewhat nasal, though it could also be partially due to the fact that his lips try their best to move as little as possible when he speaks. Trying to not flash the overabundance of teeth crammed in his maw.

Halgrim forces himself to stop and wipes at his eyes. "Adam is being unfair to himself and everyone else here. Unlike the rest of them, I *belong* in a place like this, and am exceedingly dangerous." He straightens, takes a breath, lets it out. He listens to Dead Girl's commentary on nice and dangerous, and looks askance at Adam. "That applies to you and Mr. Constantine," he says, "just for the record." The story of her coming into being sobers him, figuratively at least. "I'm sorry, that's…awful." He can't think of anything better to add to that, and anyways Dr. Morbius is here now, so he needn't bother. His mouth twitches in a small smile when 'John' isn't included in 'gentleman'.

Adam smiles in honest pleasure when Morbius comes striding along, suspenders and all. On his craggy withered face, he smile is an awful sight. A thousand tiny wrinkles appear, a seam along his cheek gaps. Gross. "Doctor! It was a brief rain. One corpse only, and this is she." And…his smile turns worse when John suggests a few things they might do to DG's ex boyfriend. He is on Constantine's side here, from that devil's grin. He's so often so very calm, and now, just a flash of the creature he used to be shows through.

"Hey, we have matching eyes!" Dead Girl exclaims over to Morbius, "Red eyes are the best eyes!" she then announces with a wide, friendly grin. Despite the fact that she is very clearly a corpse- not a heart beat. No blood. Skin blue and cold- her entire body temperature is that of the surrounding environment. She's dead organic matter, from top to bottom.

"Oh, it wasn't so bad." Dead Girl offers to Halgrim, "The couple of months in my coffin was the worst part. Man. Being dead in the ground is *so* boring." She is a young woman of particularly strong will. "Anyways, now I get to torture Chad. I'm taking a break since he's gone to the asylum. I figure, since he murdered me, I get free reign in torturing him for a while."

She inhales on her cigarette, a lazy motion. "So, what I do right, is I ghost up through his bed and just sort of appear under his covers. I make sure to go like hang out in a freezer for five or six hours before this, so I'm *ice* cold. Then, I lean in, and I whisper in his ear as I press up against him like I used to do…" she grins wide. Wickedly so. "Anyways, yeah, he's off in an asylum upstate- gone completely bonkers. He even admitted to murdering me." she beams at that, "So, now he's got the whole justice thing coming up. He'll spend the rest of his life locked up, I'm sure."

"Anyways, that's my story about Chad. Now, I just sort of wander around and party all the time. Just luck I found here, I guess." Dead Girl shrugs, "It's all good, though! Life is great, even if I'm dead."

Constantine MIGHT be projecting a bit. Okay, a lot. He offered to Dead Girl with a squint of one eye, "Sounds maddening. Can't say I made it that far." His head tilted back to the half-dressed Doctor. "Michael." If Morbius was going to be plain he was apparently fit to match. "You look in a state. " His eyes though went back to Adam and the other doctor in and out of his manic state. There was that thoughtful look. There's a John. "So, the kids put two and two t'gether did they? Sounds a right mess. How are we holding up?"

Expectantly flicking his attention between Adam, Halgrim and Constantine for a proper run down of the situation—which quickly turns into just Adam and Constantine when he sees that Halgrim is having some sort of…issue, Morbius neatly folds the cuffs of his sleeves up his forearms in an idle motion while he listens. Though, boy, Adam's smile is rough, Morbius makes a good go of not withering under it immediately. Doesn't stop him from redirecting his attention quickly to the corpse lady when he's pointed there. Who is complimenting his eyes. Huh. "Yes. Though you still have your scelra in tact, which is really rather charming, actually." The light drains from Morbius' eyes fully at last as he assesses no danger on thsi front, leaving his pupils to appear in the sea of bloody red.

The vampire falls silent then, listening to DG's hyjinx on her ex boyfriend with a slow and continuous raise of his eyebrows upward. Accusation clearly written in his tone and expression, Michael turns to Constantine. "Is she a guest of yours? Perhaps a distant relation? This has you written all over it." He extends a clawed finger toward John loosely. "You or Cassidy." entirely bypassing the main subject for a moment until he apparently decides that John wouldn't tell him anyway if it were, and his hand swats through the air dismissively and Morbius turns back to DG. "You wouldn't say either way—/Hello/.

"You've made quite the entrance." Michael squints, speculatively. "You are…quite dead. But you're not decaying. Most of our dead members decay over time. How fantastically unique. and it's just you? There's no emergency, then?" He turns his attention back to the three men for confirmation, then back on John. "Nothing serious, I was working and Madeline came to get me. Told me that it was raining corpses." An uncertain glance to Halgrim, then back to Constantine with a pointed arch of an eyebrow, asking for what the story is there.

It's probably a good thing Dead Girl is explaining all of this when Halgrim is drunk, because his reaction is just to frown and try to consider the ramifications rather than say anything which might be untoward. He absorbs her story and Morbius' accusations to Constantine with quiet contemplation. John's question, though, that he can answer; he shakes his. "The one who knew…thankfully, he said nothing to his friends. Though I imagine there's a reckoning coming, on that front." He shrugs. "Or maybe not. I don't know him well. I'm not looking forward to it, either way, particularly if the whole lot of them find out. Hence the rum."

Adam makes a low rumble deep in his vast chest, like thunder muttering on the horizon. "Well done." That glimpse of wickedness sinks away. Once again he is more like a Victorian gent in a truly unfortunate body. "Do not fear, my friend," he says to Halgrim. "We will not let you hurt them." The mutant kids, hurt Halgrim? Oh, no. Rather the other way around.

"Oh, that was just me. It happens sometimes. I lose focus and them- fwump! I fell." Dead Girl offers, "Oh, yeah- I haven't decomposed at all since I died. Which, let's face it, is pretty great." She's in some kind of suspended animation, it seems. Just at the point of death- the minute after all her blood was drained and she departed the mortal coil.

"And I mean, oh right! I'm Dead Girl." she offers a hand to the living vampire with a bright and friendly smile. "Super spiffed to meet you. And I don't know that guy." she offers nodding towards Constantine. "If that helps any."

She inhales again on her cigarette. What do the dead have to worry about smoking- she just seems to like to do it. "You've got a great smile!" she chirps to Adam- beaming bright. She very much seems to be honest in her compliment. Of course, as a living corpse her opinions are a little different than most of the living.

"Oh! I know a lot of the mutant kids. That's the working theory with me- I'm a mutant. Is it someone I know? The mutants are usually pretty cool with weird looking people, you know? IF anyone would be cool with all of this." She indicates herself, "It's them."

Constantine ashed his cig and side nodded to Halgrim looking to Morbs as if to say that. "The thing with people is they can usually be reasoned with or at worse told what to do." He wandered over and stood uncomfortably near Morbius though in the light it might be easy to see his coat was navy and not tan. Yeah about that later. "Seems he was a bit in his cups if ya catch me. There was some damage. Lad's feeling a bit put off about it." There. That's the John Constantine summery between the gaps of Adam's assurance and support. He looked to Dead Girl and considered asking Michael, "As for Dead Girl, what you think she should be."

"Decomposition is a problem, yes. I knew a woman who was a mummy—charming, but very tragic how she left pieces of herself from place to place," Morbius agrees easily with DG and extends a hand to the smoking woman. "Doctor Michael Morbius. Welcome to Monster Metropolis. Mutant or not, you seem quite the, ah, asthetic we keep here. Be careful when you fall, however. Our neighbors down here don't particularly care for mutants. Or monsters. Or…anyone, really." The doctor's lips quirk gently. "They can be rather violent." Haahahahah says the vampire hanging around the rest of them.

For all his judgement of John, there doesn't seem to be any problem with the necromancer lingering close to him. Michael tips his head in Constantine's direction to get the vague brush strokes, lifting his chin and sucking in a breath for a silent 'ah' of enlightenment. "Professor, is this regarding Jebediah? The boy is headstrong, I understand your concern, but at some point you need to accept that you've done your due diligence regarding your condition, and respect their resulting decisions." He makes 'fuck 'em' sound so elloquent and sound, doesn't he?

Morbius looks toward John. Double-takes. "Is that…my jacket?"

Violent? Nobody here is violent. Not Halgrim with his bitey other face, not Adam punching in the skulls of his clones, not Constantine melting demons. "Jebediah's brother recognized the Professor," he tells Morbius. "And did not let on, it seems, although how long that can last is in question."

"Yeah. I don't rot. I mean, I can even sense death around me all creepy like." Dead Girl says, "And when I leave pieces of myself around, it's on purpose." she assures everyone, "Aaaanyways, I should come back around sometime. You guys are totally groovy!" she beams, as she looks up to the ceiling. "I should probably get back up there." she notes, as her body goes a little translucent and she begins to float up into the sky, "I'll see you guys later, okay!" she assures her fellow scary peoples.

And into the ceiling she goes, right through the solid rock and away into the night.

Constantine squint to Morbius. he was silent for a long time. Quietly he added, "…not presently…" The life evolution of Dead Girl and Halgrim's crisis of Conscience and Adam's efforts to assuage Grimm's concerns? Set aside by the Magus for a moment. This? This was the show. It's like he set up the whole day to punch just one button, or maybe wanted to see with catlike curiosity what the vested interest would be.

Halgrim lets Adam explain for him. "I was feeling rather pathetic, between injuring someone and being…recognized," he says, and sighs. "Which sounded like a good reason to be drunk and out of my mind." And probably punch a wall, since one of his hands has white bandaging wrapped around the knuckles, with a little blood showing. He watches Dead Girl fly into the ceiling and Adam leave on his errand, shakes his head. "There's plenty left, if rum's your drink, Doctor, though I already offerd some of it to Mr. Constantine. You'll have to share."

Morbius stares at John Constantine point blank for a heavy span of time. His lips part and remain so for a likewise extended period of time before her speaks. Prolonging the moment. "Presently. As in 'presently, it is in your possession but was formerly hanging on my side of the closet'?" Luckily, DG floats back up into wherever she came from, and steals Michael's attention away. "Fantastic. How interesting."

Returning his attention to Halgrim and Adam, there's a broad nod to Adam coupled with a grateful upturn of a smile while he explains. Then. Curious. Michael squints at Halgrim when Adam is called off. "Which brother? I suppose it doesn't matter. He didn't tell the rest, so that means he must be sympathetic. Unless he's holding the information as blackmail. Though…a relative of Jebediah's seems unlikely. I can understand the embarrassment of losing control. That /is/ good reason to drink, but drinking alone is hardly the way to do it—/Why/ did you take my coat?"

HERE is your satisfaction, John. The fact is itching at Michael. Like something buried under his skin, he needs to claw at, no matter how much he's trying to ignore it.

Constantine was EVER the unhelpful enabler adding glib support to Halgrim, "For what it's worth mate? I think it seems a solid plan. Drink. Forget the world. Fuck em. What's done is done, yeah?" But there was Michael going on about the ethereal machination of Dead Girl's physiology which he was nodding in agreement with for case purposes. So abrupt was the turn around John slooooowly pulled his head back. There was the pay off!! "C'mon, Michael. You testing me now to give you the answers a brilliant man, such as yourself, already have?" Oh he could be infuriatingly flattering.

"They don't seem the sorts," Halgrim agrees, somewhat absently; he's aware that black mailers never do, right until you're being black mailed by them. Just the same, there's nothing he can do for it right now, so why bother?.

"I think I had it in my mind that if I drank alone no one would interrupt me in my wallowing and then I could get it all done in a single go with none of you the wiser." Halgrim gives John a dry, sideways look, shrugs. "Oh, I would, but it's done—I've had my laugh and pitied myself for an hour, and now you're both here. Better to drink among friends at this stage." He eyes his lean-to in the distance. "Though we might need better seating and glasses than I can offer." He manages a smile, if a wry one, and says, "Obviously he wishes to flatter you by wearing your clothes, Doctor." What's he implying? Probably numerous things. He's still drunk, after all.

"Flattery only goes so far, especially when it's faceteous flattery. You also know precisely why I'm asking you obvious questions." Michael rebuts with lidded eyes. He wanted to /hear/ the admission. Alas. Constantine was the king of spin. And it was a familiar game.

Turning back to Halgrim and the real matter at hand, Michael hums. "Will you ever be finished wallowing, though?" the question an honest one, not accusatory or exasperated. "That's a real question. In my experience, if you let yourself wallow, you will always find more reasons to do it. And they say immitation is the highest form of flattery, however, they've never met John Constantine." Michael crooks a finger in the direction of his tunnel. "Come, come. Drinking needs to happen."

Constantine slowly widened a toothy grin. God he could give up alcohol and just drink in the frustration and possibly stay sated of all his many vices. Alas, "I'm not being facetious. I put a lot of time into that bloody compliment. You have a doctrine. It's a matter of fact really." His cheeks pulled in and he considered this. "Let the man wallow. It'd be entirely hypocritical if you or I didn't let him and in fact encourage his right to feel miserable about the myriad things out of his control. What better reason is there?" Says the man from experience. Though, truthfully, he didn't answer about the coat yet, and Morbius already knew his answer. "Besides it's not the world's bloody business why I do things. They should be glad, in fact, that they're done."

Halgrim huffs a laugh at Constantine and follows Morbius. "Really, Mr. ConstantineI can't decide if you're serious or not." He sighs heavily. "I don't care to wallow, but when you're faced with the fact that youor, some part of you—came close to maiming a friend of yours," his brows furrow, "or, the close friend of a friend, I suppose…at any rate, it's hard to see any other appropriate response. Just the same, I'd rather find some manner of solution. Or a means to attenuate it." He looks at John. "You know, a man named Dr. Strange tracked me using one of its feathers."

Michael absorbs the defensiveness and smirks some tiny amount before seamlessly shifting back to Halgrim's issue. Letting the matter dangle between himself and the necromancer. "Lessons in wallowing from John Constantine? Professor Lindqvist, we are getting a specialty lesson. Are you sober enough to remember? I certainly am—I need to remedy this quickly." Morbius continues to walk toward his tunnel, waving at the other two to follow. "/The Magician/? Lord."

Constantine sauntered, and shamelessly admired the view. He wasn't even being cagey about it finishing the drag off his cig. Fine. enjoy the defensive shields. Sometimes they protect the exhibit from the people. Other times they protect the tourists from the exhibit. 50/50 on which is which. Maybe nether or both. All of the above was likewise somehow possible.

"Don't even let the man tell you magic makes you wiser than others. It takes a brilliant sort of daft to think it makes things easier. Just more complicated really. And pretentious. " His head wobbled idly listing off his litany of sins he was as culpable of as any, "Get to use Latin. Not many other practical uses for it really. That's something. Even Greek still has a function. Latin? Latin just lets the Pontiff sound smarter than regular people for no bloody decent reason and otherwise just invites trouble. Never trust a wizard."

"Yes—ah, Sorcerer Supreme, I believe Adam named him." Halgrim manages to not say 'Sorcerer Supreme' the same way he might pronounce a carnival fortune-tellers name. Mostly. "Suggested I stop leaving bits of myself all over. As if I have a say in that…" He raises an eyebrow at Constantine. "Are *you* not a wizard, Mr. Constantine? Or are you saying I can't trust him. He offered to, ah, have a look at me, if you will."

"Greek will /always/ have a function," Michael defends his homeland, in his native tongue, with all of the zealous insanity of a Greek man. Falling silent with a smile while John goes on his rant regarding Strange and magic in general. He agrees with Halgrim next. "You are a wizard, John." a beat passes. "So, naturally, that is sound advice."

"What is the point of study and knowledge without practical application? My frustrated chafing between he and Cranston—" Michael begins to get worked up. The clicking of his tongue against his teeth is sharper and more pronounced. The occasional trill here and there and his gestures become plentiful, muttering to himself in Greek. He leads the way down the dim, emergency-lit, bricked tunnel which leads to the steel door belonging to a boiler room or some other possibly dangerous space with pistons large enough to crack a man's skull or something. Or. You know. The doctor's abode.

Constantine sucked in his cheeks and dipped his head in a nod to Halgrim's question. "I am. Born, raised, and damned as such." He shook his head completely cavalier about this, "I'm John Constantine. I do bullshite in spades." Smug, always to a point it made it night impossible to criticize the man and have it stick. He paused and squint at Morbius and just used that to weight his argument, "See? He even agrees and he has a doctorate. Then again…" His tone drifted off into the thoughtful, "As does Strange… huh." Cuuuuurious. Huh. He fell quiet for a while and the same matter of fact tone he hinted at the corner of that distant thought, "Either way i'm wizard enough to know how to summon a geneticist, which seems to be what YOU need, friend, to not drink alone. Worry not, we are here to accommodate you and assuage your guilt with a bottle of Fekkitov."

"'Cranston'?" Halgrim says, echoing the name with a note of concern in his voice. He glances around them as they walk, not familiar with the path to Morbius' lair. "Am I to understand we have several wizards, then? Perhaps that's why Strange wanted me to be less, ah, easy to locate. Though what use I'd be to a wizard I can only imagine." He pats his napsack. "*You* can haveI assume that's a vodka?but I'll be having the Blue Mountain's offerings."

"Strange's protege," Michael informs. "He's equal parts preposterous and useless." Shoving open the heavy door, the doctor leads the way inside, so at least if he's going to murder them, he's going in first. "There are quite a few in the city, yes. And far more who are mystically 'atuned' or whathaveyou. Constantine may have a point. I have actually spoken to someone about some assistance with your counterpart. As much as it pains me, Stephen may as well." Red eyes turn in John's direction. "Being hunted is not something any of us need to entertain. Drinks. Libations. Come, come."

Constantine shook his head, "Cranston…" OH that familiar tone. He looked to Michael and shook his head, and smiled to himself, "And yet me made for me someone else to share my frustrations with. So good." John could turn bitching into a smile like bob Ross turned a lump of green into a happy tree. "Cranston was one of my tutors back in the day. Divination. It's a folly of a time trying to hide from him-" He paused and a hand reached out to catch Michael's sleeve. Oh good god the Saint of Lost Chances was having an Epiphany. "OOoooooh Grimmy Grim Grim Grim…Let me do some work. It's REALLY going to chafe his bishop." His eyes, for the first time in many weeks were positively alive and naturally up to no good, but it was a sign of life in the old boy. "We could mess with him so hard." Sure, John knew generally how he'd be looked after. Shielding or misdirecting could happen. "I could see if we can run him in circles like a basset hound. Oh but it'd be good practice." He came clean and admitted casually, "Not my forte. Still, We know a thing or two. Might as well make him work for it."

"That's kind of you, Doctor, and I appreciate anything, even if we're not successful. It feels less like I'm swimming upstream." Halgrim pulls the Blue Mountain Jamaica Rum bottle from his bag and offers it. It's half empty, of course, but that's still half a bottle of fine rum. "My humble offering. Smoothest rum I've have the pleasure of pitying myself with yet." He raises his eyebrows at Constantine. "Do some work?" He glances between the two of them, puzzled. "I'm not sure I follow…?"

It's remarkably underwhelming that there is no skull-crushing equipment in Micheal's abode. Just a brick cove with a bunch of inset arches fitted with things like a bed, desk, wardrobe and another cabinet. All very unremarkable and clean. A small table sits in the back with chairs.

Michael pauses when fingers grab his sleeve. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. He knows that look and that tone. "Lord, what are you plotting?" but he still can't help the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Make yourself useful and fetch glasses while you unveil your evil plot to irritate mages."

"Professor, I wouldn't put you through any unnecessary trials, you've suffered enough," Michael hums thoughtfully. "But the man I've contacted seems to have a good head on him and a unique mind. I've worked with him several times before. My hope is that he may be able to gain us some insight. Please, have a seat."

Constantine pointed one finger, nose level, to Lindqvist, "Hide you from being tracked, mate." Those eyes had a spark of fire dance in them so faint, but the corona of his eyes might have warmed orange. Oh yes, oh yes, yes, yes. He was absolutely going to use the opportunity to both help Halgrim and try leading Lamont on a wild wolf chase. He turned and dropped a word quietly at Michael's ear. He patted the Vampire's shoulder, gave it a squeeze of assurance. What could go wrong! And with that said, "Fine, I'll get glasses."

|ROLL| Constantine +rolls 1d20 for: 11

As the master of the house has invited them to, Halgrim takes a seat, placing his bottle on the table and hanging the gingham knapsack on the back of the chair. He sits and winces, checks his knockles to reseat the bandage. "No trial will be unnecessary, Doctor. I…" His voice fails him for a moment. He takes a breath, lets it out. "I came close to seriously injuring someone, and *did* manage to do so to another, which is two close calls too many. Unless you're going to ask me to repeatedly toss this," he pulls the amulet out from under his shirt to let it thump against his chest, "off a building so it can come back to me, nothing should be very difficult." He narrows his eyes at Constantine. "Do you think this 'Cranston' would try to find me?" He tilts his head. "Though, of course, it wouldn't be a bad idea to prevent someone from tracking me anyways…I imagine the beast itself could be useful to a wizard, even as just an oddity."

Michael turns his head slightly when John lingers near enough to whisper into his elongated ear. A wickedly impish smile curves his lips and as he turns to look at the necromancer, it's a lengthy, lingering glance which speaks volumes of amusement among other things. Shaking his head, a low, clucking sound of amusement coming from him. He sobers up soon after, taking his own seat and waiting for John to fetch glasses. Michael reaches over toward the bottle Halgrim's brought, turning it to look at the label if he may. His eyes jump up when the necklace is presented. "It comes back to you? You don't say…" Focus! "Honestly, if Strange brought it up and showed interest, that answers that question for you."

Constantine turned and seemed right pleased with himself and found the glasses. He didn't even wait for permission as he fetched Michael's salt (no not the pile of salt he used to throw shade with, the table salt. The other would require a shovel and profound admiration; only one of which John had. "Let's not harm Cranston. He's a burr in my bum, but he's my burr all the same. Not one to witch hunts." He set the classes out and assured, I'll be back." Step one would be adding to the wards he'd already laid down to shield the place. And there he left the room murmuring, "It's clearly haunted." And out the door he went still wearing the stolen coast whistling a merry tune.

Mischief managed.

Halgrim watches John go, looking entirely amused. He gives Morbius what can only be described as a knowing look, and taps the bottle. The Blue Mountain - Jamaica Rum label, bottled by Edward Young and Co., isn't a common sight in the States. "I've been tutoring a young man whose father works for the university as a groundskeeper," he explains. "They're keen for him to be able to pass school entrance exams. I don't mind trades of this sort—it's hard to come by some things, after all, on my salary, such as it is, and they often need the money more than I do anwyays." He leans back and fingers the necklace. "Yes, it has limit on how far I can separate myself. I've ever determined the precise parameters. Sometimes being in the same building is sufficient. Others, a few feet is too much."

Michael eyes the label on the bottle again, though he is no longer reading the label and is watching John as he leaves the space, practically bouncing out the door. Once the coast is 'clear', he straightens and smiles to himself, staring at the closed door for a long moment.

Turning his attention back to Halgrim properly, the good doctor inhales a deep breath and leans back in his seat. "Ah, that makes sense. Excellent connection. Things like that certainly don't hurt anyone. If anyone needs a good drink, it's a professor." Michael smiles, fondly even, looking miles away for a moment, reminiscing a moment before he comes back to the moment and looks at the necklace. Clearly haunted. Shut up, John. "Truly? The perameters change? Like…it has a preference. a personality?"

"Mmmm, yes the first time I tried to abandon it, that was in the woods not far from the university." Halgrim leans back in his chair. "Lund, I mean. As soon as I began walking it started to hurt. And within maybe a dozen steps I could hardly bring myself to take another. But I kept trying, thinking perhaps this was it—that I just needed to break some kind of link." He smiles sadly for past folly, even from just over a year ago. "And when I took that final step, it felt like this," he draws a line across his shirt, indicating the scar beneath it, "had been made brand new. And I woke up the folliwng morning in someone's barnyard, surrounded by their dead livestock." He looks thoughtful. "I think I only made it, mmmmm, perhaps twenty meters. Maybe a little more."

Jey black eyebrows raise upward in astonishment while Halgrim explains, squinting in a practiced, focused manner of analysis. searching for some nuance or detail which may have been overlooked to give them a clue to a solution. "It seems a rational hypothesis. I applaud your attempt, even if it didn't work out." An elongated finger reaches out, tapping a hooked nail on the glass. "Go on, I was promised intoxicated wallowing. You're still forming full sentences and complex thoughts. That won't do." sighing mildly, the pale man tilts his head thoughtfully. "So it took you over when you attempted to abandon it. Even at a distance. Which leads me to believe that the connection is visceral, even if the token is physical. The manifestation is something beyond the trinket. Haunted, as John said. It carries a consciousness."

Halgrim mmms, nodding, and pours a glass for each of them. It's a lovely dark amber, aged but not a 'dark' rum per se, and butter smooth with a light oak flavor. He sips, sighs, and takes a proper drink. "A few more glasses and I'll be slurring and mixing German and Swedish in with the English, I promise." He considers the rum in his glass. "I've come to think so. Since the beast and I don't seem to share memories, it would explain why; if it has its own spirit and mind, then perhaos those are in," he taps the amulet, "this. Haunted—as you and John say."

Curling his hand around the glass, Michael allows it to dangle from his hand for a moment, watching Halgrim taste and enjoy it before he joins in with a tasting sip as well, peering at the colorful liquid afterward while he lets it melt over his tongue. "Luckily, I will be able to understand precisely half of what you say once that happens." Amused, the doctor follows with a proper drink and relaxes a bit further into his seat with a deep breath inhaled and exhaled again. "We can babble at one another until we understand exactly nothing, and astound John or Adam when they come calling."

"It seems a sound theory," Michael uncurls a wicked finger to point at the amulet. "John may be an irreverent, remarkably unlucky, smart-mouthed devil, but he is remarkably astute. He knows his way around cursed, haunted, possessed unfortunate things, so of all the people you have run into, he may honestly be you best hopes at understanding what that is. I would only caution you that his ways /out/ of things tend to only dig in deeper." Michael glances at his waving hand, with the glass, and smiles ruefully. "Not that I can speak."

"Ha! An excellent plan." Halgrim gently clinks his glass against Morbius'. "Then they can wonder, and we can plot against them to cross purposes." Around another drink, he observes, "Short of being stuck *as* the creature, I'm not sure what could qualify as digging in deeper, so I'd rather the expertise of someone such as him or yourself." Sip. "Not the least because before this happened I'd not the faintest idea any of this was possible." He laughs, bitterly but not without humor. "And now, of course, it's my daily life. Never a dull day."

Glasses clink and Michael groans, though in good nature as he gestures to Halgrim. "And now that you have said it…" teasing, he means it only in jest and shakes his head with an apologetic smile. "I shouldn't joke, I apologize. Yes. Yes. Life comes up with all sorts of fantastic new obstacles, doesn't it? Adam is a good man, but there is a certain disconnect with those who don't understand the molten fear that bubbles in the core of a man who cannot fully /trust/ himself." Morbius expresses that in a low, hard tone, impassioned. "If one cannot control himself, then what can he possibly hope to control? It was a hit to my ego, personally, as deep as it was a hit to my morality and conscience."

Halgrim laughs at first. "Ah, well, I've probably damned myself in a hundred other ways by now, eh? In for a penny, as it's said." As Morbius continues, though, he falls quiet, and for a time simply looks at the Doctor. All of that has struck a chord, and deeply so. Eventually he contemplates his rum. "That's the worst part of it, I think. It's not safe to explain to most what my problem is, and so to many I must seem…inconsistent. Cowardly, even. I can't afford arguments beyond the most mundane and academic. Even something as minor as a disagreement in a bar could turn violent beyond anyone's worst nightmares if it goes even the smallest bit too far." He sighs, looks back up at Morbius. "I think in such a circumstance ee become half a person: the half of ourselves we can afford to be. The other half sits, withering." He shakes his head.

Morbius can only nod as he sits in agreement to Halgrim speaks. Agreement loud and clear for all the misery that comes with those truths, there is also appreciation. "Well said. Well said. And here is to your human halflife, Sir." Morbius can only offer his glass out in another toast and quick drink. "Arguments bear a new weight to them, and I'm not sure if you carry the same burden, but I hardly dare to even /mention/ other passions to spare my ego. /But/…I can say this much—if it does not destroy you, humanity has a remarkable persistant streak, and as will you. Trust me in this." the made monster's version of 'it gets better', hah!

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