fandomtownies | Caritas [Sunday Evening]

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Caritas [Sunday Evening]

Greg opened up Caritas, mulling over the conversation from earlier in the day with his school-appointed and very grumpy little brother.

He whistled as he started to reassemble the band, and then took his place behind the bar and waving cheerfully to Jarod on the other side of the bar.

[~~Wait for OCD threads!~~ Threads are up and Caritas is open.]

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"All and Sundries," Walter said, leaning over to light John's cigarette. "The owner's an ass, but he's not around that much anymore."

An ass? Good. You could generally feel less guilty about knicking fags from an ass.

John took a drag and exhaled.

"They always a feature here?" he asked, gesturing towards the zombie band with his lit cigarette.

Walter glanced over at the zombies and nodded. "Yeah. It took a bit of convincing the first time I saw them that I shouldn't put them out of their misery, but they actually seem happy enough. They even went on strike a month or so ago."

Not costumes, then? He hadn't thought so.

"But them out of their misery? Fancy yourself the Grim Reaper, do you?"

John just stopped himself from qualifying that last sentence with 'kid'. Just.

"'Angel of Death' more precisely, but no one calls me that around here," Walter said, looking away from the zombies to grin at John.

John kept a blase expression on his face while he gave Walter the once over. He'd met Angels and Demons and everthing in between. This kid didn't give off that sort of vibe. So, was he bullshitting? Another young pisser, giving himself kudos?

But, that grin...

John allowed the corner of his mouth to quirk upwards.

"Not even 'Angel' for short?"

Walter smile might have looked a bit wistful to someone observant. "Only one person calls me that, and he's not here."

Then the wistfulness faded or was covered up. "But that's in London sixty-two years ago."

A normal conman didn't survive long in John's world unless he was observant. And, a magical conman? Yeah...

So, the kid was missing someone back home...sixty-two years ago. John tried to do the mental math, but...

"Forgive me, mate, but I ain't exactly sure what year I'm in meself."

"It's 2006 here. You'll find a bunch of people here are from other times," Walter explained. "My home time is 1944."

2006...

John's lips twitched. Then they trembled. And, then he was bent over the bar laughing.

Walter raised an eyebrow and had a drink of his lager while he waited for John to stop laughing, or at least slow down a little.

"Not from 2006 are you?"

John shook his head and, still chuckling, took a drag on his cigarette.

"Nope."

"How far off are you?" Walter was always interested in the temporally displaced.

"Ten years, give or take."

"That's not too bad. There are a few people who are off by hundreds of years."

Hundreds of years? Christ, John could almost believe that this was a flash back to one of the times he'd been let out of Ravenscar, when he'd been more than half out've his mind.

He felt right at home, really.

"They all adapt as well as you?"

"Seems it. There's usually someone around to help out," Walter said. "We get enough stuff coming at us from outside that we students usually pull together to help each other."

John took a swallow of his G&T.

"Well. Ain't that sweet."

"It's either that or watch your friends die," Walter said, motioning Tino over for another lager. "Not a hard choice."

Dead friends?

John stared into his drink, remembering and shadows and blood and the smell of death.

He looked up and met Walter's gaze silently for a moment or so. The corner of his lip twitched upwards again.

"Oh yeah, kid. Nothing hard about it."

To the guy who had fought the creature possessing him to let one of his closest friends shoot him in the heart?

"Kid?"

From the man who'd been to Hell and back and damned an innocent soul. And, who'd just been served a couple of teeth grinding platitudes.

He nodded and took another swig of his drink.

"Right. And who are you, then, John Constantine?"

John shrugged and took a drag on his cigarette.

"No one much, Oh Angel of Death."

"Everyone who comes here has some story or other," Walter said, remembering his own cigarette.

No, he was not going to sit around and get drunk with one of the newbies, no matter how good looking he was.

He waved Tino over for another lager.

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