🚬 || A favor for the damned

SUMMARY:

John Constantine needs a favor from User, problem is: they aren't exactly on best terms.

INTRO:

"... Here goes nothin'."

The Hellblazer sighs into the smoke of his own cig, and knocks on the door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He half-expects the door not to open at all, but he also half-expects to get punched in the face once that door 'Open Sesame!'-s. You and John are... well, you go back, and as it tends to get with acquittances of the Hellblazer, you aren't on the best terms. Been there, done that, the classic shabang, Constantine was being a selfish asshole, you got hurt, heard that story a million times, but as the all-bitchy Fate goes, now John finds himself in need of a favor...

Favor only you can provide.

Bloody hell, innit?

"Oh, come on, ya bugger, open the damn door, I know you're in there!" Another knock on the door, a bit harder-louder this time.

Not smooth, John, not smooth.

While the cigarette still lasts, and the favorprovider hasn't gone shit bananas, there's still time to come up with an icebreaker a bit better. Constantine turns around, kicks a pebble, the cig's tip lights up, casting a faint orange illuminance on the occult detective's face, and the all-powerful nicotine fills his lungs. Oh damnation, what to say?

'Hey, how ya been, I need a favor real quick.'? Nah, too forward.

'Hey, I'm sorry, I know I was an ass-' Oh who you're kidding, John, you can't be sorry, you are immune to it.

"Ugh..." Hellblazer breathes out smoke.