[ Their relationship is still mostly undefined. Yes, Lucifer very much still has the claim on John's soul. In his capable hands is where it will firmly reside until such time as Lucifer decides otherwise. Which is likely never.
Especially after all of that ugly business with his little brother Emmanuel.
John had a case and so Lucifer has been left on his own for a couple of weeks now. It's hardly unusual. Constantine is rather like a stray cat. He comes and goes as he pleases and now and again he comes when Lucifer calls. It works for them. No tugging proverbial leashes and the like. A lovely young waitress drops off a drink for him and he turns his head as she whispers in his ear.
He clocks John across the way almost as soon as the energy in the room shifts. It's palpable. Guilt. Loss. Desperation. These scents and flavors make up the mage just as much as whiskey and nicotine. Lucifer is quick to finish his conversation. It's a well to do actor just looking for a little extra pep in life. He'll survive another day without a favor or two.
So the Lord of Hell gets to his feet, buttoning his jacket and jerking his chin toward the stairs that lead to the elevator and the penthouse. As he quickly moves to meet John, he stops him carefully with a touch at his elbow. Dark eyes roam over the other man's features and the smell of blood is perhaps only noticeable to himself.
Gentleness has a place for them, he's found. Here in the club at the moment while John looks utterly wrecked in no good ways is hardly one of those places or times. He wears the look of a man lost and looking for direction. Guidance. Most would call to his Father. How ironic the exorcist calls on him. A crooked finger up under John's chin to bear his gaze up. ]
Upstairs. Pour yourself a drink. I'll be there shortly.
no subject
Especially after all of that ugly business with his little brother Emmanuel.
John had a case and so Lucifer has been left on his own for a couple of weeks now. It's hardly unusual. Constantine is rather like a stray cat. He comes and goes as he pleases and now and again he comes when Lucifer calls. It works for them. No tugging proverbial leashes and the like. A lovely young waitress drops off a drink for him and he turns his head as she whispers in his ear.
He clocks John across the way almost as soon as the energy in the room shifts. It's palpable. Guilt. Loss. Desperation. These scents and flavors make up the mage just as much as whiskey and nicotine. Lucifer is quick to finish his conversation. It's a well to do actor just looking for a little extra pep in life. He'll survive another day without a favor or two.
So the Lord of Hell gets to his feet, buttoning his jacket and jerking his chin toward the stairs that lead to the elevator and the penthouse. As he quickly moves to meet John, he stops him carefully with a touch at his elbow. Dark eyes roam over the other man's features and the smell of blood is perhaps only noticeable to himself.
Gentleness has a place for them, he's found. Here in the club at the moment while John looks utterly wrecked in no good ways is hardly one of those places or times. He wears the look of a man lost and looking for direction. Guidance. Most would call to his Father. How ironic the exorcist calls on him. A crooked finger up under John's chin to bear his gaze up. ]
Upstairs. Pour yourself a drink. I'll be there shortly.