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WHO: John Constantine and You
WHAT: Arrival and settling in
WHEN: Drakonis
WHERE: Various
NOTES: A few prompts, open

ARRIVAL
(Just one thread for this one please. Multiple characters welcome but they'd have to be on the same rifter collection team.)

It's a dark and stormy night. Something poetic about that, maybe, but John doesn't have the space to think about it yet. He's just had a nasty wake-up - possibly the worst in his life, which is saying something. He doesn't even remember what he was dreaming about, but he does remember it was at least warm, and dry, and there weren't any demons.

Not this: soaked through to the skin, freezing, running through a goddamn forest, the densely packed tree trunks illuminated only by the sickly green light of the thing he'd fallen out of. Like a hole, or a crack in the air, but flickering and fluctuating like a flame. He hadn't had a chance to look at it further. Not with the claws and teeth that had started climbing out after him.

In normal circumstances he might have some way to deal with this situation. Something tucked in his pockets. But in the immediate of not knowing what the hell was going on, he'd taken the most obvious survival option: run.

Where the fuck he's running to, though, he has no idea.


GALLOWS
It's still raining. John doesn't think it's stopped, and has considered, several times, that God must be here too. No one else has a sense of humour as twisted as this.

For a man that isn't happy about the rain, he's closer to it than he should be. Stood in the doorway leading onward to the dining hall, golden light, the sound of a dozen conversations and the smell of food spilling welcomingly out. But he has his back turned to it, shoulder leant into the stone of the doorframe, eyes on the dark clouds overhead.

His fingers are twitching, a little. Trembling might be a better word for it. Jumpy and restless, more irritated than usual, more trouble sleeping than usual. It hasn't been a good time to be trapped indoors, even if the rain might have prevented him from seeing the wonders of Thedas anyway.

Finally, something about him seems to fold. His hand dips into a pocket of his coat, fishes out a packet, silver foil and green. One mint coloured pellet of gum is peeled out, the packet crumpling empty in his hand. He holds it up to the sky between finger and thumb, almost like he's giving a toast.

"Picked a great time," he says, then pops the gum in his mouth.


KIRKWALL & DOCKS
Only a day out of quarantine and he can already be found getting thrown out of a tavern, landing on his back in the mud. Face bloodied, he attempts to get upright again as fast as he can before realising no one appears to be following him out. Well, that's just fine by him. He can just lay in the rain for a moment.

"Must be something I said," he mutters to himself. It absolutely was, of course. Making friends and influencing people, John Constantine style, usually means pushing buttons until he knows what they all do. And Thedas, so far, seems to be full of buttons.

Eventually, he levers himself up, starts making his way down to the docks. Finds himself a place to stand, right out on the jetty, seemingly uncaring of the salt breeze only blowing the rain sharper. Hair pasted to his face, clothes soaked through, the bruises blossoming on his face are unmistakable against the increasing paleness of cold skin. He doesn't bother to seek shelter back near the buildings or amongst the waiting cargo of the docks. Just watches the slow approach of the ferry across the water.

"You should see the other guy," he says, when he notices he's being looked at. But even just that comment has him wincing, pressing a handkerchief that's as wet with blood as it is rain more firmly against the fresh flow of red from his nose.

Comments

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He'd slowed as he'd run into people in the trees. Might have stopped entirely, if they'd seemed to pay attention to him at all, if he'd found himself between whatever was climbing out of the hole and an armed crowd. Instead they'd gone straight past him, and while some small voice made the suggestion that he should warn them, or stop them, the rest was still too what the fuck is going on to allow for playing hero.

So it is that it's more of a confused stumble that has him arriving in the company of woman and lantern. And bucket, and knife. His attention flicks between all of these elements before being pulled away by the sound of fighting from the way he'd came, looking back just in time to get blinded by that flash of green light.

"Not feeling so sure about that myself," he gripes, lifting a hand to wipe some of the rain off his face while his eyes readjust. There's a brief hope, that as his vision clears, he might find himself back in bed, instead of wherever the hell (not) this is.

[heirring]

Poor luck. The young woman with her knife and her little shield in the pool of wet lantern light remains exactly as they are regardless of any blinking or eye rubbing and helpful sweeping away of pelting rain.

"Not to worry," she is in fact saying, cramming her plain field knife back into its leather sheath at her belt. "You're quite safe now from whatever back there meant to harm you. With sincerest apologies that we weren't here earlier. We all took the horses out thinking the road would be perfectly fit, and then the storm— well, it has slowed down our coming considerably. Ordinarily we would be more prepared to greet you."

Peel a Rifter outer of harm's way before a demon tries to gut them. Potayto, potahto.

Another pop of magic, further flashes of green. The scream of terrible things crackle through the darkness, and the young woman in her waxed rain cloak bends to fetch the lantern.

"We might consider retreating back to the horses for now until they've finished sealing the rift. We're not so far back as to be entirely outside the reach of its spirits."