Post by Alek on Jun 27, 2006 17:32:00 GMT -5
You left something undone
It's now your rerun
It's the one you can't erase
You should have made it right
So you wouldn't have to fight
A strong-willed soul...he was fighting against more than any person in this damned city could even imagine in their most frightening nightmare. He was strong... every man had his breaking points, it just so happened that he had survived both of his. Mind you, both times were utterly out of his control. He should have died... had wanted to! The second time he even resigned himself to Hell, but in an instant of sudden genius and pity for a twin who had lost her sister to the demons that she had lied about her entire life, earned his place in Heaven... only to be dragged back yet again by Lucifer himself.
The memory brought a dull pain to his chest and a foul taste to his mouth. Scowling, he downed more scotch from his glass, glaring down at the bottom of the cup, which glistened with remnants of his second scotch for the night. Yeah, he had promised to give all of that up -- no more smoking, having experienced lung cancer, and no more drinking, since the two went hand-in-hand. Neither had lasted, keeping a long story short, and now, in the late hours of the night, he was left with the bitter reminder that the fight he fought every day could have ended... it could have been done, had he done things right.
"Please tell me this isn’t about the girl."
"Definitely…mostly not about the girl."
Ah piss, he shouldn’t even go on that tirade…
He had surprised even himself with how smoothly they had slid right back out of each others’ lives. It had been orchestrated by his hand too, and though he had sensed that night on the roof that Angela would rather have not taken the Spear, and along with it came the catch that it had to be hidden from him too, he was glad that she had taken the wiser route for her life. The life of John Constantine was not admirable, but it was solitary, and even though she could share in his torture, he dare not let her. She deserved to still be able to live somewhat normally, and this was the best way he could think of to give her that.
Irritated now, thanks to these memories and thoughts, he grabbed the bottle of scotch, sloshing the amber liquid into the glass until it was half-full. Setting the bottle back down, he swirled the glass around a few times, then took a quick drink of the warm alcohol. He hadn’t smoked yet, but with the rate his mood was sinking, he’d be going back into his bedroom to dig them out of the end table next to his bed. John already knew that the pack in his pocket was empty, having smoked the last one just as a woman (who now lay sprawled in his bed) had sauntered up to him. It really hadn’t been hard to convince him, and in minutes they were back at his apartment.
He could still smell her perfume clinging to him, but he wasn’t sure if he had finished with her for the night just yet, so showering could be a waste of time. Instead, he took another drink of his scotch to keep himself occupied, dark eyes closing as he let his head roll forward, a quiet sigh passing his lips. John must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, fingers with too-long nails were on his shoulders, massaging them too softly. The perfume told him who it was, so he didn’t react other than raising his head a bit. She cooed something into his ear about him being too tense, and those hands began to work their way down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt. Her breath was warm against his neck, an almost comforting feeling-
And when he woke up the next morning, they were still tangled together under the sheets, her head rested on his arm, her own arms threaded around him. He waited for her to wake up, they shared a cigarette and another round in the sheets, then she showered, dressed, and left. Simple and clean as that, the way he liked life to be.
Finally, he stirred, stretched and sat up. Living alone his entire life made waking up alone nothing new, so he kicked the sheets aside and stood, the cool air of the apartment raising up goose bumps for a moment on his exposed flesh. Piling the blanket back up onto his bed, he walked out of the room, going into the bathroom and turning on the shower.
He took extra time this morning to be sure that the perfume no longer clung to him, and when he stepped from the shower, all traces of the previous night were gone. Toweling off, he went back into his bedroom and got dressed, kicking his outfit from yesterday into a pile to be taken to the dry cleaners at the end of the week. John made his bed, retrieving new sheets and throwing the used ones into a separate pile on the floor that would go to the Laundromat.
Pulling on socks and shoes, he left the apartment to go get some breakfast- he had never been able to cook, plus there were plenty of places to eat in Los Angeles. Why bother with learning to cook when he could just walk down the street?
Quite literally, he drowned his pancakes in syrup, sipping at his orange juice while he waited for it to soak in. A dark-eyed glance was flicked over to the stool next to him, a frown tugging at his thin lips. Solitude was fine, but having someone to talk to had been nice. Talking about his past had come easily around Angela… like he wanted her to know. He had. He’d wanted to open up and be known, know her too if she’d talk.
You fall away from your past
But it’s following you
He hardly tasted the pancakes, he ate them so quickly. All he wanted was to get away from here and hide away in his apartment until this unusual bout of reminiscing passed. Finishing in record time, he left money under his cup so it wouldn’t blow away, hurrying down the sidewalk.
Going to his apartment, however, was obviously not the way to go, for now John found himself standing at one of the huge windows, the wall of woodwork and glass that usually kept the wind out pulled aside. There were only two boards for a walk way outside, but he stood on them anyway, the simple iron railing providing support for him to lean on. The wind tousled his black hair, throwing the thick locks around and tugging at the sleeves of his white shirt a bit. It was a bit cool… definitely promised rain, but John didn’t care. Let it rain. It’d be a change from the every day weather around here.
For a moment, he considered going back inside, but then another one of those oh-so-great memories came flashing back before he could fight it off. He’d been out, exactly like this, watching cars go by. When he’d stepped back inside and shut the huge window, she’d been there… had been standing there, probably waiting for him. That was the first time he had felt significant attachment to her… when he had helped her switch over and see again, and she had told him that she had abandoned her sister. Oh, had he tried to dissuade her. He had told her that it wasn’t a good life, that he wouldn’t let her follow him around -- but she had convinced him, and she had proven her worth to both him and the entire twisted plot.
How long had it been since their parting had taken place up on that roof? John certainly couldn’t remember. All he knew was that he missed her. Yes, he missed her. Maybe not her specifically, he would argue, he just missed having someone, but in the end, it always came down to Angela being the only someone he had to miss anymore.
It was this overwhelming depression that made him spin around and stalk back inside, grabbing the phone from the wall. He stared at it then, a bitter chuckle coming from him when he realized that he didn’t know her phone number. Probably for the better… right?
Wrong.
Ten minutes later found a soaked (thanks to the rain that had started falling the instant he stepped outside) John Constantine standing outside Angela’s apartment, the black suit jacket heavy with rainwater that was quickly soaking into the white shirt beneath it. His hair was wet as well, clinging to his neck, but he made no move to take off the coat or push his hair from his face. It really wasn’t worth it.
Raising a hand, he knocked a few times on the wooden door, folding his arms afterward to wait for her to answer. She should be home… well, maybe not. She could be out. And maybe she’d see it was him and not answer? He wouldn’t blame her, really. They had severed ties with each other ages ago, and here he was just showing up on her doorstep, soaked, with out a clue as to what to say other than that he had simply missed her.
Something I’ve done
that I can’t outrun
Maybe you should wait
Maybe you should run
But there’s something you’ve
said that can’t be undone
And you fall away from your past
But it’s following you.
---
OoC-
I don't really know where this roleplay is going. We can come up with a plot eventually, for now it was just a bit of angstehfull writing.
Oh, and the song is Fall Away by The Fray. They're amazing. Go buy their CD lyk now.
It's now your rerun
It's the one you can't erase
You should have made it right
So you wouldn't have to fight
A strong-willed soul...he was fighting against more than any person in this damned city could even imagine in their most frightening nightmare. He was strong... every man had his breaking points, it just so happened that he had survived both of his. Mind you, both times were utterly out of his control. He should have died... had wanted to! The second time he even resigned himself to Hell, but in an instant of sudden genius and pity for a twin who had lost her sister to the demons that she had lied about her entire life, earned his place in Heaven... only to be dragged back yet again by Lucifer himself.
The memory brought a dull pain to his chest and a foul taste to his mouth. Scowling, he downed more scotch from his glass, glaring down at the bottom of the cup, which glistened with remnants of his second scotch for the night. Yeah, he had promised to give all of that up -- no more smoking, having experienced lung cancer, and no more drinking, since the two went hand-in-hand. Neither had lasted, keeping a long story short, and now, in the late hours of the night, he was left with the bitter reminder that the fight he fought every day could have ended... it could have been done, had he done things right.
"Please tell me this isn’t about the girl."
"Definitely…mostly not about the girl."
Ah piss, he shouldn’t even go on that tirade…
He had surprised even himself with how smoothly they had slid right back out of each others’ lives. It had been orchestrated by his hand too, and though he had sensed that night on the roof that Angela would rather have not taken the Spear, and along with it came the catch that it had to be hidden from him too, he was glad that she had taken the wiser route for her life. The life of John Constantine was not admirable, but it was solitary, and even though she could share in his torture, he dare not let her. She deserved to still be able to live somewhat normally, and this was the best way he could think of to give her that.
Irritated now, thanks to these memories and thoughts, he grabbed the bottle of scotch, sloshing the amber liquid into the glass until it was half-full. Setting the bottle back down, he swirled the glass around a few times, then took a quick drink of the warm alcohol. He hadn’t smoked yet, but with the rate his mood was sinking, he’d be going back into his bedroom to dig them out of the end table next to his bed. John already knew that the pack in his pocket was empty, having smoked the last one just as a woman (who now lay sprawled in his bed) had sauntered up to him. It really hadn’t been hard to convince him, and in minutes they were back at his apartment.
He could still smell her perfume clinging to him, but he wasn’t sure if he had finished with her for the night just yet, so showering could be a waste of time. Instead, he took another drink of his scotch to keep himself occupied, dark eyes closing as he let his head roll forward, a quiet sigh passing his lips. John must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, fingers with too-long nails were on his shoulders, massaging them too softly. The perfume told him who it was, so he didn’t react other than raising his head a bit. She cooed something into his ear about him being too tense, and those hands began to work their way down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt. Her breath was warm against his neck, an almost comforting feeling-
And when he woke up the next morning, they were still tangled together under the sheets, her head rested on his arm, her own arms threaded around him. He waited for her to wake up, they shared a cigarette and another round in the sheets, then she showered, dressed, and left. Simple and clean as that, the way he liked life to be.
Finally, he stirred, stretched and sat up. Living alone his entire life made waking up alone nothing new, so he kicked the sheets aside and stood, the cool air of the apartment raising up goose bumps for a moment on his exposed flesh. Piling the blanket back up onto his bed, he walked out of the room, going into the bathroom and turning on the shower.
He took extra time this morning to be sure that the perfume no longer clung to him, and when he stepped from the shower, all traces of the previous night were gone. Toweling off, he went back into his bedroom and got dressed, kicking his outfit from yesterday into a pile to be taken to the dry cleaners at the end of the week. John made his bed, retrieving new sheets and throwing the used ones into a separate pile on the floor that would go to the Laundromat.
Pulling on socks and shoes, he left the apartment to go get some breakfast- he had never been able to cook, plus there were plenty of places to eat in Los Angeles. Why bother with learning to cook when he could just walk down the street?
Quite literally, he drowned his pancakes in syrup, sipping at his orange juice while he waited for it to soak in. A dark-eyed glance was flicked over to the stool next to him, a frown tugging at his thin lips. Solitude was fine, but having someone to talk to had been nice. Talking about his past had come easily around Angela… like he wanted her to know. He had. He’d wanted to open up and be known, know her too if she’d talk.
You fall away from your past
But it’s following you
He hardly tasted the pancakes, he ate them so quickly. All he wanted was to get away from here and hide away in his apartment until this unusual bout of reminiscing passed. Finishing in record time, he left money under his cup so it wouldn’t blow away, hurrying down the sidewalk.
Going to his apartment, however, was obviously not the way to go, for now John found himself standing at one of the huge windows, the wall of woodwork and glass that usually kept the wind out pulled aside. There were only two boards for a walk way outside, but he stood on them anyway, the simple iron railing providing support for him to lean on. The wind tousled his black hair, throwing the thick locks around and tugging at the sleeves of his white shirt a bit. It was a bit cool… definitely promised rain, but John didn’t care. Let it rain. It’d be a change from the every day weather around here.
For a moment, he considered going back inside, but then another one of those oh-so-great memories came flashing back before he could fight it off. He’d been out, exactly like this, watching cars go by. When he’d stepped back inside and shut the huge window, she’d been there… had been standing there, probably waiting for him. That was the first time he had felt significant attachment to her… when he had helped her switch over and see again, and she had told him that she had abandoned her sister. Oh, had he tried to dissuade her. He had told her that it wasn’t a good life, that he wouldn’t let her follow him around -- but she had convinced him, and she had proven her worth to both him and the entire twisted plot.
How long had it been since their parting had taken place up on that roof? John certainly couldn’t remember. All he knew was that he missed her. Yes, he missed her. Maybe not her specifically, he would argue, he just missed having someone, but in the end, it always came down to Angela being the only someone he had to miss anymore.
It was this overwhelming depression that made him spin around and stalk back inside, grabbing the phone from the wall. He stared at it then, a bitter chuckle coming from him when he realized that he didn’t know her phone number. Probably for the better… right?
Wrong.
Ten minutes later found a soaked (thanks to the rain that had started falling the instant he stepped outside) John Constantine standing outside Angela’s apartment, the black suit jacket heavy with rainwater that was quickly soaking into the white shirt beneath it. His hair was wet as well, clinging to his neck, but he made no move to take off the coat or push his hair from his face. It really wasn’t worth it.
Raising a hand, he knocked a few times on the wooden door, folding his arms afterward to wait for her to answer. She should be home… well, maybe not. She could be out. And maybe she’d see it was him and not answer? He wouldn’t blame her, really. They had severed ties with each other ages ago, and here he was just showing up on her doorstep, soaked, with out a clue as to what to say other than that he had simply missed her.
Something I’ve done
that I can’t outrun
Maybe you should wait
Maybe you should run
But there’s something you’ve
said that can’t be undone
And you fall away from your past
But it’s following you.
---
OoC-
I don't really know where this roleplay is going. We can come up with a plot eventually, for now it was just a bit of angstehfull writing.
Oh, and the song is Fall Away by The Fray. They're amazing. Go buy their CD lyk now.