TEST DRIVE MEME #1

[penancemods]

ARRIVAL

You remember a dream.

Or maybe nightmare is more accurate.

It was full of hellfire nipping at your skin and a sensation of being pulled down no matter how much you struggle or cry for help. There's a voice that feels like it's coming from all around you at once. Contrasting with the nightmare unfolding around you, it's smooth as silk. It makes you want to listen with every bit of attention you can muster in the moment.

"Judgement has come upon you, but not to worry. It can still be undone."

The voice promises you redemption for your sins. It promises you a better life and everything you could ever want, if only you just stop struggling so much.

And so you do.



Everyone wakes up in the same room initially. The room is done up in red with a cushy bed, a window, an old TV in the corner on a desk, and a few Hieronymus Bosch paintings lining the wall. There's a bathroom to clean up in and any belongings will be sat around the room to be gathered later. There's a duffel bag provided for your convenience.

After feeling a sensation of falling or dropping onto the bed, characters wake up feeling like they've just slept for a week. Their body will feel heavy and stiff, they'll have a massive headache at first.

They'll quickly notice the list of their sins written with their blood on a bedside table on an old piece of parchment. This will mean the list is tied to them and can't be changed or tampered with. They'll also receive their device to connect with others and the network. It won't be anything terribly fancy. As a matter of fact, it looks like a very old Blackberry type phone.



Once characters are ready to leave the room, they'll head down long, winding halls. They're dimly lit and ominous feeling. They may encounter fellow sinners or demonic staff that will direct the newcomer down to the lobby to get their actual room key to settle in. They may be pushy, they may border on courteous. It really just depends on the mood of the staff at the time and how they're treated in return. Eventually, everyone comes to stairs that lead downward.



Once down to the lobby, you'll notice the front desk manned by a demon who looks bored out of its mind. To the side of him is the door to the kitchen where guests may help themselves. To the right is a small duty free shop that seems to have a surprisingly normal, expected stock of items. Look around a bit further, there will be a tiny bar tucked in through a corner door. It seems pretty well-stocked and best of all, self-serve if you want to get away from your demonic hosts for a bit. Of course there's some seating, bar games, and a jukebox tucked in the corner if you'd rather stay and socialize a bit.

Please note that all the songs on the jukebox are appropriately hell-themed. Hopefully Sympathy for the Devil is universally loved.



STAND YOUR GROUND

Prompt I

The hotel is undergoing some improvements already! Thanks to the new arrival of sinners, hell has a burst of energy and growth available to it. One demand of the demonic staff was the addition of elevators. It gets tiresome having to take the stairs all the time. They'll eagerly implore you to help them test out this new system, even going so far as shoving you right in the nearest available elevator with whoever else is in the vicinity.

Unfortunately, things aren't quite up to par just yet. Press a button and you'll find your elevator gets jammed between floors with very little chance of escape. Oh, oops. This is entirely the hotel's fault and will be fixed as soon as possible. In the meantime, enjoy your company and try to relax a bit.

It's definitely a high priority repair for staff, promise.

Prompt II

Maybe you were looking for the hotel gym to work off some stress or maybe you just took a wrong left somewhere, but instead of what you were expecting, you stumble across what appears to be a very well stocked torture room. There are tables with straps to hold down victims, chains falling from the walls and ceilings to bind them upright, and absolutely every possible torture device you can think of. There's even an iron maiden proudly displayed in the corner. Besides that, there's the normal supply of whips, knives, and any other equipment someone could want to inflict the most delicious pain available.

You're free to check it out or give it a go. You're also free to back out of the room very slowly, but with the knowledge this space will probably come into play at some point.

Oh, and a tip: the gym is to the right of this room.

REACH UP HIGH

Prompt I
Warnings: cutting, blood, torture.

After settling in, it really is only a matter of time until your demonic hosts expect some participation. You can try and shirk the responsibility, of course. But eventually, you may find yourself trapped in a room just off the kitchen that's curiously full of knives. You can try the door, but even with super human strength or every lock picking skill in the book, you won't be able to open it.

It becomes apparently what you're supposed to do soon enough when someone else is eventually shoved in with you. Both of your lists of in will appear in the room on a nearby table with two handy knives. You can choose to guard these or not care at all that they're on display.

"Know that honesty is a good place to start on your road to redemption. Sure, it can be terrifying at first, but that's why you've been given a partner in this journey. Pick up your knives and carve one of your sins into the other's flesh. Help them in their journey to be candid with everyone they should meet here!"

The voice echoes all around you again, just like in the nightmare, and once again there's the pull to give in. This voice really does seem like it has your best interests at heart.

"If you need a bit of encouragement, we'll be giving it shortly."

It isn't a lie or idle threat either. The longer you wait to do what's been requested of you, the more shallow cuts that will appear on both of your bodies. Are you really prepared to endure this pain when giving in would be so much easier?

And more than that, are you willing to let another suffer along with you?

Eventually, the cuts will stop if you suffer them long enough, but you'll have failed this challenge and sustained more damage than if you'd just gone along with it. Satan will also be very disappointed in you.

Prompt II

Well, that last punishment was a bit heavy, wasn't it? Or maybe you somehow skipped out on it all together. Fortunately for you, there's a less horrible one to get potentially wrapped up in along the way. You'll hear that all too familiar voice ringing in your ears as you explore the halls of the hotel or poke your head outside.

"Do one genuinely kind deed for someone and we'll consider it a step in the right direction for you."

This can be helping one of your fellow sinners out with a task or helping them find something. It can be a shoulder or a listening ear towards someone who needs it. You can even offer to help the staff clean up a bit around the hotel, or help a poor hell beast pup out of the hellfire around Penance. Careful though, even they have pretty sharp teeth and an aggressive attitude. It doesn't matter what you do as long as it helps someone else out.

Oh, and one more thing! The longer you resist, the more aches you'll notice. It'll start with a mild headache and escalate from there. You can wait it out, of course, and pills may help you cope with the pain if you really can't be bothered to do one nice deed. Although Satan is still very disappointed in you.

FOLLOW ME DOWN

Prompt I
Warnings: Alcohol and drug abuse, potential non-con/dub-con.

With all the new sinners arriving, this feels like a call for celebration! The bar will be lit up with activity. Food and drinks will be readily available and provided by hotel staff (although they might not always know what humans eat. What do you mean you don't like fried kitten?), music will be blaring, and overall, there will be an energy to the atmosphere that's absolutely contagious. Even if you aren't typically inclined to linger at these sorts of events, there will be a certain pull.

One drink won't hurt, right? Nor will one more after that.

There will also be every sort of party drug available that might tickle your fancy. There's no harm in experimenting, is there? You're already in hell.

And you've presumably done your atonement for the day, yes? So cut back a bit.

Ask the staff demons very nicely and you may even get less scrupulous drugs. Things that will convince your fellow damned souls to tell the truth or perhaps even things that will make someone so enamored with you, they won't take their eyes off you. How dare they give you the cold shoulder earlier, right?

There are also tables set up for all sorts of gambling and various bar games to entertain yourself with.

Relax and enjoy your first night in hell. Coming here and facing your sins is the hard part, so surely you deserve to have a little fun, right?

Prompt II
Warnings: sex, aphrodisiacs, potential kinks.


Much like the hotel improvements inside, all these new sinners seem to have given hell the ability to open a new building just outside the hotel. It happens to be quite a happening sex club from the looks of it. Everything is bathed in obnoxious neon lights when you first enter the establishment. There's plenty of space for dancing, and poles for those so inclined. Mood music fills the air, along with something a little too sweet.

As tacky as it is, something may pull you to stay.

Whether experienced lover or total virgin, once pulled in, you may not want to leave for a while.

There are back rooms people can go for a bit of private fun, full of every type of toy and restraint that you could possibly desire to play with. There's also a rather large room with a massive bed that seems to be fit for any orgies you may want to try to arrange. Hell's not judging and may be encouraging a bit.

There are aphrodisiac laced food and drinks available around the club as well, but these will most likely be marked. If one slips through, ah well. Why else are you here if not for a bit of fun? The drugs will only help that out.

Of course outside, this club is clearly marked for what it is and anyone who would rather avoid it are free to do so.

MISC.

Thank you for checking out penancerp's first TDM! Please note that all prompts are opt-out and players are more than welcome to come up with their own ideas while exploring the hotel and hell outside.

All that we ask is that you remember to put clear warnings on any potentially triggering content! Warn for sex, including underage or incest, violence, abuse, non-con, etc. Please put these warning in a visible place, either by the prompt itself or in the subject line. This isn't just a suggestion but a requirement to participate in the game.

Now that all that's out of the way, we hope you have fun! Feel free to ask questions under the appropriate comment before or on the FAQ page. Since this is the game's first TDM, we are also very interested in hearing any suggestions you have or ways to improve the game experience.

Since this is a big event, Lucifer himself will be taking a few questions via his device for anyone so inclined down below.

As a final note, don't forget that reserves are open now until May 1st as well!


Navigation | Premise | Arrival | FAQ
Rules | Taken | Reserve | App
Network | Logs | OOC | Memes

code bases by tricklet

Comments

Elevator

[conjobs]

The cocky bastard who's still not feeling 100% after landing on the bed and clambering out of it barely bothered to raise his head when he heard voices of protest. He doesn't frequent hell but he expects there's a lot of protesting going on if people are arriving the way he is, so he doesn't pay it much mind, keeping his head down and his eyes closed to keep the too-bright lights out. It's not until he hears that distinct voice in that distinct accent, slightly higher than what he's used to when his voice isn't echoing inside his own skull, that he lifts his head and cracks one eye open and then the other, acknowledging the bloke that's been shoved inside the elevator with him.

"Whoa, mate." Constantine eyes Constantine up and down. He had a dream like this once, but they weren't in an elevator. And it involved significantly less clothing.

"You're looking bloody 'andsome from the outside."

[hellboundheart]

As much as he'd like to say it, running into himself doesn't even make the top ten of weirdness that John Constantine has encountered. Death had a way of doing that to a person.

"Of course we are. Only way we'd look better if one of us had a bottle of something and a new pack of Silk Cuts."

Death hadn't exactly improved this one's sense of humour, unfortunately. The smile he wore felt thin although with all his usual bravado. It really was an unpleasant thing to see one's self back when there had been a hope of heaven, a chance at redemption. Even with all that the voice had promised, John didn't quite believe. Not yet. He'd bought a ticket to that train before. This though? This was like a bad joke. An exorcist and a demon get stuck on an elevator...

"If you're thinking of that dream we had that one time in that place, this isn't it."

What? It's what demon John was thinking about. No shame there.

"I'd ask what brings you to what looks like Hell, but I already know."

[conjobs]

Yes. That's definitely Constantine. Or... himself. Or whatever. Mention of the dream kind of seals the deal. The other John looks a little worse for wear - a lot worse, actually - but hey, he's still standing and he's still a cocky bastard. That's got to count for something.

When they ask how John ended up here, they're probably expecting a dozen other reasons. It was the Silk Cuts. The drugs. The alcohol. The demons. The angels. God fucking him up the arse one too many times with one too many big cocks ripping his soul to shreds. A triple-crossed deal built on top of a Ponzi scheme gone horribly wrong. Waltzing into a stupid situation where even angels feared to tread.

Instead, all he gets is a shrug and a sniffle.

"I got pissed drunk last night, had a strange dream and woke up here. How else do you get here?" He certainly didn't walk in through the front door.

[hellboundheart]

John wished he had died in something as fabulous as the triple-cross deal on the Ponzi scheme. Would have saved him a bit of teasing about a sweet little old lady on her way to church running him over.

"Still alive then."

That isn't what he had expected. At all. It's a little bitter that he's been gone and dead for two or so years while another version of himself didn't share the same fate. Makes how things could lay between them better or worse. John was his worst enemy at times, and this living self might know him better than anyone, even with all his demonic tricks.

And of course the con began immediately.

"Something like that, except I'd ended up going home from the pub with a lovely lady with a thing for ties. Her and her boyfriend come to think of it."

He shrugs with a sliver of a smile, nothing wide and mocking yet. There were little signs of himself like his teeth and fingernails that he had to keep hidden. Even the hand with the cigarette in it curls inwards.

"Always thought we'd burnt most of our chances at redemption. Seems I was wrong. Or you think that's another fool's game?"

[conjobs]

"Of course? Aren't you? Aren't we?" He's starting to confuse himself since he's still seeing the other him as, well, himself. He's not sure how two of him could exist at the same time but, you know. He's also on a time travelling spaceship doing oddly heroic things, and he's had far more bizarre hallucinations after a night out on the town. Suffice to say, stranger things have happened. The fact that he's alive and in hell and didn't open a portal and waltz in himself is a strange thing in and of itself.

After all, taking a couple home and proverbially/physically inserting himself in there somehow sounds exactly like him. He even managed to get out unscathed, it looks like.

"Do you honestly think, after everything we've done, that we've still got a chance of not ending up here? You're dreaming mate. When was the last time you could sleep without hitting the whiskey and didn't hear her screaming inside your head? What was the last good thing you've done that you think could buy your way to an audience upstairs? We're fucked. We got fucked the day we got into magic. We've been fucked since Thomas fucking Constantine d-"

John grits his teeth and slams the bottom of his fist against the elevator panel, frustrated at getting physically trapped inside an elevator made from shoddy workmanship and at himself and at being here and all the rest of it. He doesn't want to talk about it. Not even to himself.

[hellboundheart]

"We are. I am, at least. I wasn't sure about you. There was a bloke up in the corridor that said he'd been dead earlier."

How John would have liked to see the Waverider, meet Gideon or any of the Legends. Maybe be a bit jealous about the laundry room in 1969. That or been impressed.

There's something strange about watching one's self experience emotions of rage and hurt that John isn't sure he can to that degree anymore although having his soul restored may change that in time. To have that sort of passion again. Again came that small twinge of bitterness, harsh as the smoke from his cigarette.

"Let's not beat up the lift. Last time I was in one of these, it sprayed blood from the ceiling that turned into biting maggots. Not a good time. He's dead. You know that. As for As- for her, we haven't given up. Least I haven't. Especially not down here where we might be able to find her, free her."

Calmness lays around John like his ratty trench compared to his other self's upset.

"Fuck them upstairs. Fuck Da' and his 'killer' bit. We're here. She might be here. If not this Hell than another. Isn't like we're going anywhere just yet. Although I'm willing to bet they didn't count on there being two of us."

It's the savage nails that keep John from touching his other self, to feel that warm solidness with a natural living heat instead of hellfire inside him. Oh how he wants to, just to feel that again. Especially with himself.

"Even Furcifer could barely handle one of us."

His grin turns a little naughty, eyes glinting with good cheer for some sort of chaos.

[conjobs]

"Wasn't exactly the welcome I'd envisioned, at the end of it all." It could be worse - it could always be worse. He's still standing around in an elevator waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or the whole thing to drop. Or something torturous and cruel and- well. Maybe forcing himself not to pace in a small, enclosed space, playing a waiting game is its own form of torture.

The mention of blood and maggots and her has John furrowing his brows and clenching his teeth. There's no use complaining that he thought he might have had more time, or any of that. They just have to make the most of it. And John - the other John. The external manifestation of himself. Or whatever - he's right. There's two of them, in some warped version of hell. Maybe they'll find Astra. Maybe they'll find their mother. Maybe they'll even be lucky enough to get their hands on their father. He's got years of pent up daddy issues he'd be happy to work out with cruel twists of words and dark spells that'll be worth damning himself even more just to hear him scream.

Let it not be said that John hasn't grown old and bitter and ever so slightly petty. Mellowing out and letting go is all well and good, but. Some things, he still holds onto. There are some things he might be able to face with laughter now, hindsight and maturity and experience under his belt, but he will never be able to shake.

"Yeah." John nods a few times. "Yeah we're going to find the tosser who brought us here, make a right mess of it all. Open the bloody door back upstairs. And then we'll close it, for good." If there's one thing John knows about himself - he's damned good at making things horrendously messy.

[hellboundheart]

"It's all temporary. Nothing holds us down for long. A couple of centuries, we'd be leading the forces of Hell."

It's a gentle gambit, trying to feel out how his living self feels about the idea of being one with Hell's forces. There's difficulty in remembering what his beliefs were back there, but John doesn't doubt that better war than being absorbed.

He leans closer, an unconscious mimic of the living Constantine as he were a black mirror throwing back only a darkened reflection. At the edges a little crueler, a little more quietly vicious. Here he can feel what he thinks is the radiant ghost of John's warmth.

"All of that and more. It'll be all right. At least you don't have to pretend everyone you love is dead anymore. If they're not here, then they're not dead. We'd know for sure, wouldn't we?"

He doesn't smile, doesn't scowl. Doesn't have much of an expression as he watches his other self. As fascinating as the display of temper was, this is much less so because even he can feel an echo of that pain. That hurt of the past. There isn't much comfort there. All of that he doesn't think on purposely, hasn't for years while dead.

"It's weird. For the first time, I'm not alone."

The demon is but who's to know other than himself?

"Come on, John Constantine. Let's go fuck something up."

As wide of a grin as he dared promised chaos but just shy of full as he offered a hand to his living twin. For once, he was the dead twin instead of the living one.

"Preferably something that makes a demon or a devil furious."

[conjobs]

"You're an insufferable prick," John snorts. "Just in case no one's reminded you of that since last week."

He knows himself to be full of bravado and hot air. But this reflection of himself seems more confident than cocky, more sure than arrogant. And he's not immune to his own contagious aplomb. It's easy to believe himself, to believe in himself. He should find the other John a little more... menacing? But he finds that edge a little more reassuring, if anything.

"I'm not planning on staying here that long. Not to start a boy band and not to find out whether everyone we've killed is here." He barely wants to stay here a couple of days, let alone think about centuries. When was the last time he planned so far ahead anyway? He's been living like he could die tomorrow and it's been working out for him so far.

He wants to tell the other John not to kid himself. He's always been alone. Right now he isn't though. Right now they can take some solace in having each other. And later... he'll worry about later when later comes.

Refusing to get sentimental on the other John, he breathes out a sigh and smiles.

"Right." He grabs the cold, claw-nailed hand by the palm and gives it a light squeeze. If he notices anything odd he doesn't seem to have any reaction about it.

[hellboundheart]

"Zed might have mentioned something like that."

Him? He was a joy to be around.

Mimicking his living self is a little harder than he would have thought. Old habits he'd picked up in Hell were going to have to be kicked aside before they got him caught. Even if John didn't care, he knew himself well enough to guess whatever other humans his human self picked up would care a lot.

That thin smile resurfaces at how soon John thinks himself to be free of this place. Two years of attempting to escape the other Hell had taught the demon how to wait if necessary. Perhaps that was the difference between the living and the dead - short time and too much time.

That brief warmth is something greedily stored away in his memory. While he isn't cold per se, hellfire never heats a body like life does. He's quick to draw back though. Never good to linger on dangerous addictions when he doesn't need to. Not yet and there were probably safer ones.

"So are we going up or down to get out of this box? Doubt Hell would appreciate us hitting it with some sort of spell."

Or having a spell rebound back at them.

[conjobs]

The funny thing is, anyone could take a look at the other John and know within a few seconds that something might have been a little off with him. But the conman who hates even a foggy rendition of his own reflection sees himself in an elevator and the first thing he does is breathe a sigh of relief and let his guard down. Because if he can't do that with himself, who can he do that with?

"Down," John says firmly. He goes back to assessing the panel and mashing the buttons to try and get it working again. Of course he has a spell for everything, and many of them he can even remember and cast without exotic ingredients or holding a ridiculously heavy tome written in a ridiculously convoluted language in one hand, but even if this place took his spells kindly, magic is rarely ever his first resort.

He pounds against the door a few times, hoping there's someone on the other side who might be able to hear them, however muffled it might be.

"We need a technician, not a spell," he comments offhandedly. Anything he did know would likely fry the thing and send them dropping in some kind of unpleasant freefall.

"Or, y'know. A crowbar. Suppose we're not fussy right now, eh?"

[hellboundheart]

And that is what his demon self is counting on, hoping for. So many go through life wishing that someone grasping the least thing about them or that could empathise with them. With their complicated lives, the demon counts on his living self to be all right with someone taking his hand and helping in that way. That they would be there. That maybe, for once, John would have someone to to be his shield and let him not be crushed under the weight. What greater words meant were there than 'I understand'?

Or so the demon John Constantine hopes.

Because, in truth, there is not greater threat to himself than his living self. He will neutralise that threat no matter what and honestly, he likes the idea of a human version about to watch. To learn from.

And watch he does as the other John moves about, hammers on the doors. There is no objection made, only a safe place when nothing works. This is all a repeat for him. The elevator trap caught him two to three times before.

"We could go up to go down. Just don't kick me in the head, and you can stand on my shoulders to try the ceiling. Might be a panel up there you can shove aside and get on top of the elevator. Just watch for things on the cables."

Meaning - the demon John had once encountered a thing with lots of teeth and claws that had tried to rip his face off for interrupting it chewing on the elevator.

[conjobs]

The elevator trap usually involves a sexy bloke (other than himself, obviously) walking in, making small talk for about two minutes before shirt buttons start flying and a naked back starts getting humped into the elevator wall. He saw it on Brazzers once so it must be true. This in comparison, is pretty shitty.

John turns at that suggestion and his eyebrows rise. He might be wary by nature - paranoid, even - but the thought of himself risking himself by going up there first never really crops up in his mind. He just nods and waits until the other John can hoist him up there, and then he's working quickly to bang a loose panel out. He doesn't think he's that heavy, but, you know, that means the bloke he's standing on top of is equally of a beanpole build.

Even after he finds something he can push up and aside, John's not the most graceful at climbing up. He gets his arms above the roof of the elevator and his legs kick around a bit, squirming and scrambling like a corgi to try and push himself fully up onto the top.

Actually, considering the genetic problems, the high maintenance, the stubbornness and the constant attention-seeking behaviours, he's not very different from a corgi.

[hellboundheart]

It's been so long since the demon John played the elevator game that he's forgotten who gets tied up. Brazzers would never lie to them. PornHub always broadcast the truth, right?

"Head. My head, not yours! I said no kicking. Would it hurt for you to have passed on the Twinkies or whatever else you've been eating? You finally meet someone who could stand us and cook?"

The shove or two John's flailing legs get stays just shy of a grope and more push while dodging a cheap black shoe.

Corgis had cute fuzzy bottoms that were a thrill to watch. Hundreds of dog videos couldn't be wrong. Watching himself was more a reminder that it's a damn good thing they have magic and personality because that isn't what most are looking for. Maybe more of a Siamese cat.

"We just have no backside. See anything up there? Anything tries to bite your face off, drop back down. I'll move."

[conjobs]

"Are you for real mate? You're going to pick now of all times to talk about Des?" John calls out from above once he's got one leg up, heaving a sigh as he finally gets the other leg up through the hole and onto the top of the lift, rolling over and looking up along the long chains to the top. Seriously, they're stuck in an elevator and not only has Desmond come up but the other John's checking out his arse?

"Nothing. Just pulleys and chains and. Usual. Elevator shite." Brakes, sensors, gears, belts, shit he knows nothing about because people think of magic the way he thinks of wifi.

Getting to his feet, John looks around. He thinks they're stuck between floors which is probably the cause of the problem and he could probably try and force open the external door and crawl out. If, you know, it didn't start moving while he was doing that and cut his Siamese cat torso in half.

A blond head of hair pops back in through the hole as he perches on the edge of the opening and talks to- himself.

"There's a half a door with a wee gap down the middle I could probably get open. Want a lift?" Heh heh. Heh. This is why he's still single.

[hellboundheart]

There's another tiny prick of that bitterness since he has no idea who 'Des' is or what happened to him. His human self had met someone, had found some measure of happiness. While John looks around at what's above, the demon's eyes flicker with shades of red before fading out as he fixes a half-smile on his face by the time his human self looks back down at him.

It's a subject he moves away from and on to their more immediate problem. Being dead, the elevator going into freefall or slamming upwards wouldn't be too disastrous. The living being above? Not so much.

"We may be as annoying as Chas claims we are," he mutters, rolling his eyes hard enough to see his thoughts. "We're not even drunk, and you said that. Back up, pet. I can get myself up unlike you and your too much real cooking arse."

A whisper of magic and a bit of his own demonic strength, sinking his sharp nails into ceiling with the height boost of magic, and John is pulling himself up through to join the other. Magic comes easier (in his opinion) when there's an unlimited minutes/hours/days to burn for it. Should anyone look later, the demon hopes the claw holes will be overlooked as damage from the stall.

"As flat as that is, you're lucky anyone looks at your arse. Where is that cracked open door? If we move, dive into the box."

After two years, there's a part of him that still views humans as breakable, delicate in a way. His head tilts back, trying to see what John did.

"A wee gap? Can you even get your fingers through that?"

[conjobs]

John squints at himself before his head vanishes from the hole and he gets back to his feet. He's not sure how he can make the jump without some crazy parkour or magic shit but as he turns back to look at the external door in the elevator shaft, he decides that's not really the immediate problem and focuses on the door.

"We've fingered tighter cunts," John comments casually as he pulls his pants up a little higher and shrugs. He's used to his own crudeness, surely.

"You worry too much mate," he quips as he runs his fingers over the barely visible sliver of light. And also complains about his arse far too much as well. For all the smoking and drinking he does, it's in incredible shape. That's probably thanks to all the running that's inevitable in his poor career choice, but still.

Pressing his palm flat against the elevator, John closes his eyes and mutters a quiet incantation, forcing the door to creak open a little more. Just enough to slide his skinny arm through up to the wrist.

"If I lose me hand you can say I told you so." But preferably they can leave the gloating until later. Right now he's got his hands in the gap, trying to push the doors open with all the strength he doesn't have.

[hellboundheart]

The chances of demon John doing some crazy parkour shit is about the same chance of him giving up the trench and alcohol. His thin self isn't going swinging from a damn thing despite the changes that have happened.

He watches John from the back, feeling the thrill of magic through the air to temper his own crankiness at his human self. It's like the touch of an old friend with that surge of life versus his.

"If you lose a hand, don't let it be the one we wank with."

So much for secrets. Sighing, John reaches out to grasp the doors of the elevator and push as well. Strength he has, but maybe not in the measure needed. The spidery words of magic he speaks? Oh now that is a trade-off he made for more. The magic that flares out is cold and calculating. Tainted. An unhappy squeal of machinery accompanies, a protest as if they had cheated whatever power had been controlling it all.

"You'd best get through or hit this with something stronger."

[conjobs]

John can't help but laugh at himself before quipping, "Well there's two of us now. You can give me a wank when I need one, right?" Although he's hopeful that there's going to be enough crazy pussy and damned arseholes in this god-forsaken place that he won't need to be wanking that much.

"Say," he starts, pausing with the door-shoving that isn't getting him anywhere fast. "You ever thought about it? Us two, having a shag." Surely any and all John Constantines with all his fuckups and charm would be a decent shag.

The elevator creaks and he instantly jolts and pulls his hands back before he realises the other John is getting somewhere with it. He redoubles his effort and puts his back and shoulder into it, pushing as hard as he can until it screeches open a few inches wider. Where'd he learn that? He doesn't remember that spell. To be fair, he can't remember much of last week either since that's lost to the string of successive alcohol-fueled nights.

"Right. I'd say we'd fit through there mate." But if the other John isn't going to try and wriggle through that gap, he's going for it first.

[hellboundheart]

John can't help but snort out laughter, amusement that short-circuits what he fully expected to be a spell to his face. Perhaps even an attempt at an exorcism. The spell is almost lost to him as he tries to stifle that noise. It has been far too long since he found something really and truly funny, and damn if that isn't it.

"Get us a drink, a smoke and we can fuck like bunnies all night. Least we know what we like. Decide in the morning which of us fries the eggs."

Cold and heat roil around as far as the demon sees, winding and lacing around each other in a death spiral of sorts. His eyes opened and closed before he could get tangled up with what his deals with the devil had earned him. Caught by the magic instead of always controlling it.

Another whuff of laughter, and he lifts his head enough to smirk knowingly in his usual guise as his twin shoots the gap. He's quick to follow, throwing himself forward as if rushing to get an order in at last call. His other self had best move or end up caught in the tumble.

[conjobs]

"Ohhh fuck not my bollocks not my bollocks. Get off." John clumsily tries to shove the other bloke off of him, winded by being the cushion to break the other John's fall and lying sprawled out on the floor regretting his slow reflexes.

"If there's drinks and smokes lying around I'll be keeping my mouth busy on them instead, mate." Everything that John's been through has seen to the fact that he will always love his vices more than he could ever bring himself to love another person. Even if that person happens to be himself.

Or not himself, as the case might very well be. For there were cues that he almost convinced himself weren't there, but the display, the magic - he can't ignore that. Propping himself up on his elbows, he watches the other John with a playful glint in his eyes that mask the uncertainty and wariness surging around in his chest.

"Who are you?"

[hellboundheart]

"Least they're yours and not mine."

That comes out a lot more smugly than it should as the demon rolls onto his side with his whole and tender bits intact. And unbruised. Dragging in a breath, he props himself up on his elbows as well to stare at the now slammed shut doors. From below, he can hear the lift's motor begin to purr sedately as it rose. Those doors opened again and the lift waited for them to re-board if they wished.

As fucking if. He is not getting back on that thing.

The thrill is short-lived, all good humour disappearing at his living self's question. A smile he has is pained but not deeply so. He should have expected it, especially from himself.

"I underestimated myself. Waited until we were out to ask me that, hmm? Didn't want to risk you."

A cold whuff of laughter and the demon starts the search through his trench for his cigarettes as he gets to his feet. They're found soon enough, a new one drawn out to replace the one he smashed getting out of the lift.

"Wasted a good ciggy doing that," he mutters to himself as he slips another between his lips and brings the lighter's flame to the tip. An exhale and he watches John through the smoke. "You know who I am. You just slower on what I am."

[conjobs]

Wouldn't have been a good idea to bicker like an old couple while they were still trapped. And he was confident enough that they both wanted to get out of there more than they might have wanted to hurt each other. Apart from maybe losing his left nut just then.

"I'm not slow you plonker," John snaps, curt and brusque though the fire under his arse is just keeping him warm for now. He's convinced this is a game. Some kind of ploy by some demon to get him to reveal something he ought to be holding closer to his chest. But what? And whom?

"I'll warn you now mate. You don't want to play games with me. I always win." A bit of maturity over the years, sure. And a lot of drinking and reflecting on how many pegs he ought to take himself down to, whether it'd make any difference when it comes to getting the people he cares about killed. But, for better or worse, he's still a cocky little shit, and he likes courting danger.

[hellboundheart]

A slow exhale of smoke clouds the air between them, John's own eyes watching him. A slow curl of red traces the outside of the iris, rolling inwards to the pupil like a bank of embers flaring. Dramatic, but right now is about convincing his living self of a few things.

"Good thing we know that about each other," he says, red fading away to leave him (to the human eye) just the same as John. "I don't play games I can't win. Never have. Even Newcastle. Arrogant that, but pure us."

The pack of Silk Cuts is fished out of his pocket, the lid thumbed up and offered to the human John. He had taken one out a half-minute before, but twenty cigarettes face John snugly in the container.

"I've been in Hell for two years now, I think. Maybe a bit more or less. Time moves different down there. You know that. Don't try to measure cocks with me. Unless you're still wanting that shag."

He tips a wink in John's direction, leaning against the wall to look down on the living.

"We always have been our worst enemy, but you're in Hell. My territory more than yours."

Out-conning the other party is always what they do best, even when the most dangerous thing in any place for a demon is an exorcist. Thinking of which...

"No, I'm not possessed. You know the feel of your own magic."

[conjobs]

Okay, yeah, maybe he should rethink how he's going to tackle this situation. This is not what he expected or wanted to deal with while he was down here. Eyeing the proffered cigarettes warily, John's gaze flickers between those eyes and the row of orange butts before he plucks one out.

"We lost at Newcastle," John retorts, sitting up properly to light and enjoy his smoke. As best as a man can enjoy his smoke Newcastle was just one of a long line of mistakes that he could never hope to fix. Two years in hell though. That could really change a man. Even one like John Constantine.

"Why? Scared of little old me, are we?" He gets to his feet and dusts off his coat with a few pats. There's not a big gap between them, but it feels pretty unbridgeable.

"You're not me anymore. What's playing nice going to do?"