hypnagothic | [The City] IC Contact

[ or like a cat who did something embarrassing and is thoroughly ignoring said act. ]

It would seem so. I arrived somewhere unexpected and decided to not attempt it again.

Ah, don't worry, it happens to lots of entities. Thinking about it too hard only makes it worse.

[ he gives a small nod of acknowledgement, then turns slightly to start walking with her. ]

[ Constantine genuinely can't decide if his lack of reaction is annoying as hell or hilariously delightful. Some people, man!

They fall into step, and she falls silent for a minute or two, thinking back over what they were talking about.

Eventually, quietly: ]

I do get why you wouldn't mention it.

[ he's just as quiet as she is while they walk, though his silence seems to stretch a little longer after her statement. ]

... As I had written, it has no bearing on him.

And if it did, you'd be an open book about it, right?

I imagine as much as you would be.

I tell people things sometimes, believe it or not. [ She sighs and admits: ] Not that it's fun, generally.

Anyway. How did it happen?

[ he's still reluctant about it so it takes several more moments of silence and walking before he finally speaks again. ]

Circumstance and happenstance, generally speaking. Burgess came into possession of a spellbook, one that would not have affected me ordinarily. However, he used it at a time when I had been depleted in strength, unable to fight or defend against such magicks.

And once you were called, he was able to bind you.

Was he powerful? Or was he just lucky?

Burgess was never powerful. The tools he abused and used improperly were.

Fuckin' Western esotericists. [ She nods grimly. ] Some of them were smart, don't get me wrong, good fundamentals, but Christ were they cocks about it.

Those that were truly powerful knew to hold respect and caution for it.

Mm. And the rest wanted to be lords of all creation.

[ How properly British. Makes you want to scream. ]

So how did you get out?

To be truthful, I am uncertain if it was a moment of neglect or of pity. The lover of Burgess's son had negated a portion of the spell used to bind me which then allowed me to enter the dream of one of the guards.

His son? God. He was maintaining the spell for -- how long? Sixty years? Seventy?

One hundred and seven years.

[ his voice is soft there, only just louder than a whisper. ]

[ She knew it was a long time. And she might have thought, well, to an immortal, what's a long time?

And the answer is, when you don't know when you'll get out. If you'll get out. If this is your whole life, now, forever. This place where nothing is yours, not your time, not your dignity, nothing.

And to an immortal, what's forever?

It's a long time. ]

I'm so fucking sorry.

[ Her voice is hardly any louder. Two years in Ravenscar seems like a pittance, by comparison. ]

[ he glances sideways at her as they walk, meeting her eyes if she'll meet his before turning forward again, walking a few more paces in silence to let her condolence hang in the air between them a while longer. ]

I had only escape a few days prior to meeting you in London.

[ She does meet his eyes, unsure what she'll see there. ]

Yeah.

And how long -- how long did you have before you got dragged here?

[ in the dim late night and shadows, she'll see his pale eyes as they focus on her while they pass under a lamp, his expression closed off, understandably so. it's only when he faces back around and his eyes turn away that she'll catch a flash of a quiet rage, as distant and cold as starfire. his voice remains as even as it ever is though. ]

Several months. I had completed rebuilding mt realm.

Christ.

[ She rubs a hand over her face. ]

I'm -- Christ. I don't know.

[ She wants to express sympathy, or something, but what is there even to say? ]

May we both hope for a more expeditious escape from this place.

I'm sick of hoping.

[ A touch of her own rage comes through there, though it's tired. ]

But I'm pretty close to bloody useless here. I've got no books, no supplies -- I'm making everything up from memory and scrounging shit from the grocery store, and the whole thing might not even be magic. And if it is, it's way beyond me.

[ She hasn't said this out loud to anyone. Maybe it's the late hour, maybe it's because he's already opened the door to saying the things you don't say to anyone else. Maybe it's because he's the only person who's seen her flat in most of the last year. ]

[ maybe it's because she knows he's good at keeping secrets without judgement, too. well, too much judgement, and that he wouldn't use such vulnerable moments against her. he glances sidelong at her again, quiet while she spouts off until she's finished. ]

Hope can be a powerful tool as well. You should not discard it so easily.

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