1965-10-07 - Punch Him Harder pt1
Summary: Jebediah, distressed by the latest happenings with Doug, turns to Morbius for help. It just happened to be on Morbius' date night with John. This is why they can't have nice things.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
constantine jebediah douglas morbius 


Sometimes the old gents like to get out so they can argue like an old married couple in new and exciting places. As it turns out in the months John's been state side he's actually not been to Saganaki and thus indulged Michael in hunting comfort food where, as an added bonus, carried on the entire meal in Greek so Michael could get a surround sound taste of home. Someimtes… seldom but sometimes John was decent enough to be indulgent in the little things. Sometimes that was smells, taste, and sounds of home. John spoke in Greek over his spinach pita something that translated to: I'd let you repay the favour, Michael, but I like you. My people are known for boiling the shit out of things until it's unidentifiable. Cooking? Not so much.

Saganaki isn't a secret, though it is a little bit of a hidden gem in New York. A small, authentic Greek place, smashed right up next to Mutant Town in the East Village. The secret here isn't the amazing food — though it is amazing and Michael swears by it. It's that the owner is a fellow monster and is down in the Metro enough that they may as well set up a second restaurant down there.

Michael is dressed nicely, though relaxed with his old man loafers and not even wearing a tie. Promising John a comfortable evening without demons, vampires (other than himself), hell mouths, or other general crisis. Sitting back in one of the winterized arbors where the grape vines are all bare but for the yellowing leaves, the smell of teas, cheese, meat and spices filling the area. Morbius isn't making any effort to hide himself back here and is insisting on the tea that he just ordered is made from angel's tears.

"Lord, please, don't. Show me your affections by expressly /never/ cooking me anything English," Morbius agrees, leaning back in his cushioned metal seat, smiling mildly as he pushes an olive around in oil and vinegar with his fingertips. "If you really feel the need to share alike, your people do know how to brew a decent cup of tea. You can leave out the shot of whiskey you doctor yours with, though."

Where does one small, shocky human find his adopted vampire dad when he needed him? Why, Saganaki of course! Jeb has been busting in on plenty of Morbius' would otherwise be lovely dinners since the day he met him. Jeb is pretty useless as far as this Doug thing goes. He can run the club and that's about it. He can keep the club afloat but he has no insight to any of the more complicated parts of all of it, he doesn't understand it, doesn't understand what's happening. The one person he thinks might be able to help him, is in fact, vampire dad.

So, Morbius might be trying to enjoy his night, unsuspecting with a man that Jeb has never met but it is likely promptly ruined when Jeb opens the door to Saganaki and makes a beeline straight for Morbius, disregarding the other man at the table as he takes Morbius' hand, squeezing it as he begins to talk a mile a minute, not even breathing between words and hardly any of it is intelligible. "MisterMorbiusAhreallyneedyourhelpDougsickhedidsomethintohisbrainjustcomepleasehelphelphelphelpAhneedyoutohelpbecauseyerrealsmartand-" and it goes on like that, an anxious run on sentence without a breath in between until Jeb starts to get dizzy from. "Please? Please, Morbius? Please?" Jeb begs, breathing for a second just for his voice to break.

Constantine looked at the tea and without missing a beat said, "Boiled angel tear leaf water for me too, mate. That's a luv." Looking back to Michael enjoying that there is a casual atmosphere here where hte gentry don't have their snug heads up their bloody arses. "Luv, come over. There's a score of things up in the spice rack including a lapsang suchong that will prevent demon possession. It won't stop one fr-" He paused as Jeb came rushing over running his mouth a mile a minute and asquint. "Fifty quit to stop holding the man hostage." eyebrow arched he looked to Morbius to see what he made of the mess.

Morbius has a small, easy smile curled on his lips that he rarely seems to be wearing most days. There's an ease about him that allows his shoulders to lower—even with all the madness and impending doom of the day to day, it's in the small moments one can actually steal away for themselves.

Right up until they're burst in on by an energetic southern boy that Morbius seems to know. Or at least one would hope he knows considering Jeb beelines right for him and takes grip of one of those taloned hands. Surprise is the first expression up on his face, sitting up a little straighter in his seat, Michael pops that last olive into his mouth and anxiously looks back and forth between Jebediah and Constantine. "Jebediah. J-Jebe-/Jebediah/!" Morbius attempts to insert himself into the long stream of unending words coming from Jeb's lips, tugging on the hands capturing his to get Jeb's attention. "I can't understand a word you're saying. Breathe, please."

Looking back over to John, he gestures back and forth between the gutter mage and the young man with an apologetic tilt to his expression. "John, this is Jebediah Guthrie. A young man that I" foster? Surrogate father for? Occasionally tutor in the ways of being a man? Are attacked by with emotions sometimes? "know well. He made the piece of art in my apartment. Jebediah, this is John Constantine. He's" pause. "anyway. What's the issue?"

Jeb looks at John for a moment as he tries to pull in a deep breath, the hands caught on Morbius' start to tremble as he's forced to take a moment to acknowledge the other man. "Hello, Mister John Constanter.. Constan… Constance." He turns back to Morbius, his being polite meter met for the day as he turns back to Morbius. "Mister Morbius, please, Ah need your help. Yer the only person Ah know that might be able to help me and Ah can't do anythin' else. Ah'm useless, Mister Morbius!" His speech has barely slowed at all but he's almost intelligble now. Almost. "Please, can you help me? It's Doug, he did something to his brain, he says he rewrote it. Can I tell you everything and can you make him better? Can you please fix him, Mister Morbius? Please? Please?" And Jeb's voice cracks again, wavering, watery. "Ah'm scared."

Constantine looked to Morbius with that placid look reading If it's mine I won't put you out on teh stoop to wait for a taxi cab. Looking back the kid was clearly worked up about something though the rambling introduction won agreement, "Well yeah, that's true unless you actually spill it out, lad." On the topic of uselessness. Still it was interesting. It wasn't the quite night out for the two of them but what ever was and so far nothing was on fire or flash frozen mid-August so really one could say their diligence was paying off! Okay Michael had a fan base. he offered to the kid, "John's fine."

"We've talked about this, Jebediah," Morbius sighs mildly and makes a gesture at a a nearby chair for Jeb to pull over to them. "You're not useless. That's a gross misconception of your abilities and talents. But, you're distressed." Another casual glance slid in John's direction as he reaches around to grab for the pot of tea and a cup, pouring another cup for Jebediah. "Sit down. Eat something, because if I've learned anything, it's that if a young man's mouth is too busy talking, that he likely hasn't eaten enough." Red eyes flick up at John, warning him not to say a word about that comment.

An upswept eyebrow perks at the guttermage across the table, not quite catching the full context of that look, but he knows that it's something in the smartassery family. Shifting back to Jebediah, Morbius sets the cup down on the end of the table where he presumes Jeb will be sitting down. "Doug. Your employer? The one sharing your brother with the whelp, yes?" His tone takes a flat twist by the end; the bare mention of Elmo Rosencrantz making his grapes sour up. "His brain was re-written? That doesn't make sense. Sit, sit. Start at the beginning."

|ROLL| Constantine +rolls 1d20 for: 12

Jeb's eyes are red rimmed and there are dark circles beneath them. Jeb sits down only because Morbius tells him to. He pulls on the ends of his sleeves of a faded brown sweater, already fraying at the ends. He pulls the chair as close as he can get to Morbius without actually sitting on top of the other man and he, surprisingly, takes a sip of the tea. He… no, he drains the entire cup and then shovels about five dolmas in his mouth in almost the same motion. How long has it been since the boy has eaten? Or slept? Christ, the littlest Guthrie was a mess.

His hand moves right back to Morbius' own after he inhales dolmas, no respect for the other man's personal bubble which might lead to the impression that this anxiety child belongs to Morbius in some fashion. "Y-Yes yes, Doug, he's my brother's boyfriend, so he.. he, He says he like… he is his future self? His future self rewrote, rewired his… his brain so he is like.. possessed by his future self, Ah think? Ah'm not too bright but he was reading all kinds of books and he left a note about… sage.. pearish.. somethin' but he tried to /kill/ Elmo. He told me and we can't get him to go back. Ah don't know what to do. Can you fix him? Ah already tried punchin' him in the face, it didn't work."

Constantine rested leaning back in his chair and no sooner did Michael sling that warning look up at him. John Constanie's mouth already open and aboutto make a noise. Caught in teh act and being the consummate conman it morphed naturally into aghast shick. I would never! One Morbius got to 'whelp' both hands went up in the air. Aww hell this again. He couldn't decide to get popcorn or a pint. "Waiter can I get another tea bag? Hmm no need for the water. I'll just fill this one with his tears of fury and indignation." Back to the weird little love drama. He took another bite of his pita and mused, "Well you can punch harder. Solar plexis is a good target. Knocks the wind right outta em. Sometimes the sense back in." He glanced to Michael's weighted look and drily John added, "Don't act like it doesn't work. So he read a book and saw a vision. Friad we'll need to narrow that down a bit. When was this? WHat was he doing at the time?" Sure get the snarky detective a puzzle.

Aghast shock. Morbius smiles and covers the expression with one long-fingered hand wrapping around his lower jaw, leaning casually to one side as he exchanges amused looks with Constantine. Okay, this was a terrible time to be amused, but with Jebediah engulfing food and before he resumed his death grip on Morbius' hand, there was a moment. Small black pupils roll when Constantine's hands go up like he were in a roller coaster, and Morbius lifts a hand. "Settle down. It doesn't sound as if it involves him at all—"

And then Jebediah says that Doug tried to kill Elmo and Morbius sighs. Spoke too soon. Well damn.

Turning his attention to Jeb, Morbius hums loudly and nods. "Yes. Punching would be the—" His gaze tracks back toward Constantine as he suggests hitting him harder and words slow, then stop for a moment, cutting off. "I am not contesting the efficasy of hitting someone. But we've confirmed it /didn't/ work." A light wave of his hand toward Jebediah as an example. "And it sounds like his ID is running wild if he attacked his boyfriend's lover. Lord knows I find Mister Rosencrantz's face /very/ punchable. Could this be a possession matter?"

Filling Jebediah in a little more, the two men stop talking between each other and Morbius neatly moves Jeb's deathgrip from his hand to his elbow so Morbius can finally use his hand. "John is a…well he's a mage. Of sorts."

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