hypnagothic | [The City] IC Contact

[ That, somehow, chills Constantine at least as much as the revelation of how long Burgess had him trapped. Partly it's the idea of an eternity reaping the consequences of an act like that; partly it's the phrase my sister, when she was already thinking about her own family complications compared to Dream's.

(Does Cheryl think she's missing, or dead, or something? Or has she even noticed Johanna's absence? Not like they've ever been the kind of family that rings each other up every Sunday.) ]

Endlessly.

Can I ask -- no, never mind, I should ask Hob, really.

You may ask. I may not answer.

[ A crooked smile. ]

If I expected answers every time I asked you a question, Your Lordshipness, I'd be pretty disappointed.

Don't know that it's a worthwhile question to ask you, is all. You're not human. If I ask you, "Do you ever get tired" ...

[ She trails off to a shrug. ] Is that even a meaningful question to you? The way a mortal like me means it?

[ his head tilts slightly as he looks at her, a small frown on his face. ]

I said to you earlier the manner of my capture, that I experienced a loss of strength. I suppose you might call that a tiredness.

[ She shakes her head. ] See, that's not really what I mean. I mean -- of going on. Immortality. Endlessness.

[ the frown deepens, just slightly, and the expression is similar to the one he made when Johanna realized that it was him that Burgess kept in his basement, the look he gives her just a little bit vulnerable and denying it before he turns away again. ]

... Perhaps the Prodigal did. It may have led to his leaving.

He didn't say?

[ Honestly, as sympathetic as she is to Morpheus' frustration with his errant sibling, she feels some sympathy for said sibling as well. Walking away without a word except "lose my number" is a very familiar move. ]

He did not. He would not explain before he left. Perhaps he may not have felt as you describe. As you also said, we are not human. It is not in us to change.

[ there's an odd hitch to his tone near the end, but it steadies out before he finishes. ]

[ Johanna frowns. ]

What? Bullshit. I mean, you're alive, you can die. You must change. If you're influenced by us mortals at all, you'd have to.

We are influenced in that we adapt to best serve our function.

"Adapt" is just a two-syllable word for "change," squire.

Our methods adapt. We do not.

[ Johanna gives him a silent and incredibly skeptical look. Three guesses what she thinks of that answer, and the first two don't count. ]

[ he glances at her briefly, before looking forward again and sighing out lightly. ]

You are not the first to show such skepticism.

Mm, whoever was the first sounds smart, then.

It has become a more frequent sentiment of late ...

Why do you think that might be?

[ It's kind of a rhetorical question, kind of a roast, kind of genuine. Is he changing? She's not in a position to say, exactly, she hasn't known him long enough. But, hey, if you keep meeting people saying it's possible for you to change ... ]

Your mockery is unnecessary, Constantine.

[ his tone is flat, but it's not necessarily angry or flinty. ]

Now you sound like my sister.

[ He super doesn't, because he's a soft-spoken eldritch being and not a Scouse office worker yelling at Jo to stop talking shit about her husband's weird evangelical rantings. ]

I'm not taking the piss. Are a bunch of people telling you you can change, or what?

[ he doesn't reply right away like he's debating about not replying at all, but he does a moment later. ]

That I have already done so. Since my escape.

Ah.

[ All right, she can be serious for this, then. ]

Hard to imagine that something like that wouldn't change you. This place will change us too, I expect.

You believe so?

[ She raises her eyebrows. ]

You don't?

Why should it?

[ She glances over at him, unsure for a moment if he's taking the piss, and then away. ]

Well, it's fucking traumatizing, for one.

[ She says this with less of her usual sarcasm than he might expect, still gazing ahead at the pavement. ]

It'll change us in little ways. We'll forget you have to look for cars when you cross the streets. We'll stop going into new buildings without someone with us. We'll be scared of locked doors, or unlocked ones.

We'll get angry and scared and selfish when the luxuries start getting scarce, and if the luxuries come back, we'll stay angry and scared and selfish 'cause we won't know when it'll change again. Some of us will fall in love and then fall out of love and won't be able to get away from each other. The worst shit we've done will get dragged out for someone else to see, and we'll find out some people around here have done some terrible shit, and we'll have to deal with it, one way or another.

And if we ever get home, we won't be the same.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject