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New York was getting bigger which meant the cmall city below known as Monster Metropolis was getting smaller. It was less because of mass influx to teh populace and more that the existing populace was slowing feeling more and more unsafe as tensions in human society increased.
Thus was the venture for the League of Monsters(tm) to seek out new viable territory for the shanty town residents. This also meant it could be inhabited by any number of strange beings, and was also indicative of the weirdness that occurred when Michael and John tried to spend any amount of time together.
In short: Shit was about to go sideways into a wall.
Constantine, preparing to embrace Halloween which meant a lot of work, was trying to talk to Michael though dimestore plastic pointy teeth. "My god, man how do you even talk like this? I haff' a whole new apreefiafion for your ability to ennunffiate."
This conversation has been going on for the past five minutes as they trudged further into teh abandoned tunnels.
Really, this was a job for Robert. He was the minotaur. He was the one with the natural uncanny sense for winding labyrinths and tunnels. But Robert also had a (growing) family and needed time off at some point. Besides, it gave John and Michael something to do that wasn't 'bickering', 'breaking the world', 'do-gooding through horrible means' or even 'having risky sex' as one is wont to do from time to time with their paramour.
That doesn't /stop/ Michael from rolling his eyes in the near dark at John and his lisping around the plastic abomination. "I suppose the correct answer would be that I'm simply more skilled than you are in oral faculties, John." That warranted a little bit of a smug smile from the vampire.
Morbius' eyes glowed brightly in the dimness, their voices echoing off the walls while they travel further away from the 'safe zone' of the Metro.
Constantine spat the plastic chompers out into his hand, gave them one shake, and dropped them into a pocket. He sniffed, ego slightly rebuffed, though he wouldn't be John Constantine if he didn't double down to steal opportunity. "Like the the worse of two barbers in town said, 'Lucky me'." John's eyes didn't glow, but his cigarette did as it burned an orange hole in the darkness. "When you said we should get out more you had me afraid you meant dinner and a movie." He squint trying to figure out what he just stepped in and tried not to think too hard on it.
As they walked things were relativly unexciting. They wouldn't last that way. There was, oddly, music, and … voices? Possibly.
"I'll be sure to remind you soon enough," Michael promises casually, satisfied that his barb seemed to have hit home and resulted in sullenly putting the teeth away. At least until later. "For now, let's scout out this tunnel for a mile or two and if it doesn't open up, we'll turn back and we can revisit that 'dinner and a movie' cliche." He considered it for a beat and those twin red orbs turned to look in the general direction of that red cherry on John's smoke. Secretly, he smiles to himself. "I could stand to be a little cliche. I'll even put on the cape and everything." Because that wouldn't make a scene! The thought amuses Michael.
"What should we do for Hallow—wait."
The levity in his voice drops and Michael halts dead in his tracks, a clawed hand taking John by the elbow, tilting his head to one side to listen. Those ears aren't just for looks. Michael whispers, "Do you hear that?"
Constantine took a drag off his cig and cosidered, "I imagine most of my evening will be spent telling the Infernal to leave well alone if you'd like to j-" His head swiveled , paused and with that said pulled what looked like a stone with a hole in it out of his pocket. Two fingers holding the cigarette bounced out in front of him. That way. The thrill of the unknown.
Halloween plans put on hold currently as all the hairs on each of the paranoid mans' arms stand on end. John pulls out a stone and Michael…well, Michael begins deftly unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and neatly rolls them up to the elbow. His attention darts out toward the bouncing red light. He nods in the dark and strides in that direction. "Shall I go ahead, or would you rather?" Speed was in his favor, but John was no man to be underestimated.
Constantine flashed a grin to Michael with a wry, wolfish air to him. "Always the consummate gentleman in these thing" Turning on heel he hopped through the break in the wall as casually as other wizards might stroll a library. Too clean. Little left to know in places like that. Under the earth where people try to hide? THAT had value! He took a drag off the cig without touching it and letting the smoke escape teh corner of his mouth. And to that he greeted the gaggle of persons gathered as if for a …what he didn't know. John didn't understand Mod any mroe than he understood hippies. Either way he greeted them as if he were the damn host, "Ah, gentlemen. Sorry to interrupt your… what is this?"" Now he was mildly confused but these weren't monsters from below the surface. Not in a classic sense. "We having a fancy dress party?"
"Well, if you can't be polite when investigating a strange noise in a dark, supposedly unoccupied stretch of sewer beneath the city that never sleeps," Michael begins with a deep inhale and a sigh. "Then you're hardly a man at all." His smirk absolutely audible.
Michael makes no effort to be silent, and the hard soles of his lightly buffed shoes strike quietly on the filthy stonework behind John as he slips bewteen the breaks in the wall, toward the music and as one might imagine, whoever was the cause of the racket. Content to linger in the background for the moment while John does his best to be every bit as dramatic and a showman as he knows how.
Sometimes being able to sit back and watch John monologue and do his 'shady gutter-mage swagger' routine was remarkably satisfying. The one and only John Constantine.
Michael's attention caught there rather than looking out over to the interlopers. At least not until John drew attention out toward them.
Constantine could carry on forever really. The scene wasn't so bad. Certainly it was one of many abandoned hollows but they have gone and trussed the vacant brick and earthen room like a porcupine in a prom dress. There was a circle with various things around it. There were candelabras for no great purpose other than to be obsequiously self-aggrandizing. And oh! they moved a couple sofas down here as well just shy of being an 'urban thrown' the music was there and- oh joy. Groupies too? Lovely.
The rabble turned and greeted them with, "The law doesn't have jurisdiction down here old man."R
At that opening gambit Constantine pivoted on heel looking tot Morbius and pointed forward with a finger, "You hear that, Michael? They said the coast is clear." Turning back he replied in a calm manner as they walked up slowly looking all manner of smug, "Well I appreciate the assurance. Though who was responsible for shaking the tail? The James Dean would be chap or the Must-Out-Victorian-the-Next Guy?" Oh his deadpan was spectacular. "Just want to know to whom to RSVP to."
No he wasn't about to take them seriously. He was taking inventory though. One of the young men of the six in the room laughed with teeth too sharp for human with blood still on his lip.
Dear. Lord.
The good doctor strode forward when his necromancer companion made note of him and drew his attention back out toward the rest of the area they'd wandered into. Equal parts confused and perplexed, red eyes flicked among—not so much the mod groupies here, but the furnishings. What the hell was all of this?
The throws, the candlelabras, the couches—dear god is that a fainting couch? Morbius' brows knit together, and not to insult the large group of people, he made no comment on the decore and instead focused on the individuals as he came abreast John.
Nope. That's not any better.
How many perms does a man need? THe clothing was just as ridiculous and ostentatious as it was entirely trying to hard to be both present and past bound in one. Michael's mouth opened, then closed, mutely. Ridiculously gouche jewelry and… the /abuse/ of eyeliner abound. "John—"
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end a second time as some instinct shivered down in the core of him. Michael's eyes bloomed back into a crimson glow. With a hint more urgency, his voice deepened. "Oh. Good. Lord." The weight of the moment dawning on him.
Vampires. They'd stumbled on a small cove of vampires. /Actual/ vampires.
Really…gaudy ones. "Is /this/ what you've been reduced to?"