TDM - OCTOBER 2020

[robbies]

TEST DRIVE MEME - OCTOBER 2020

Everyone's entitled to one good scare.
CW: Violence, death, mouth trauma, vomiting, needles, razors

---

“Help me. Please, help me…”

A child’s voice, calling out for aid. There’s no rhyme or reason for when it comes to you. It’s so quiet, a whisper in the deepest, darkest corners of your mind. Were it not for the sharp, stabbing pain it pulls out of you, you could ignore it. You could even pretend it’s just your imagination.

It all happens so quickly and powerfully. Left in the dust, your brain struggles to process it all. Blacking out is the least it can do, but it’s also all it can do, and it does so before you even have a chance to fully register just how young the voice is, and how deeply, heartbreakingly lost it sounds.

When you finally awaken with your bare feet tangled in soft sheets, a layer of fuzzy fleece or slinky silk clinging to your body like another layer of skin, the sunlight pouring in from the window next to your bed momentarily blinding you, and the cries of happy children playing baseball outside of it carrying faintly, it all becomes very clear—

Something is horribly wrong.

---

OCTOBER 1st.

It becomes very clear very quickly that this isn’t a simple kidnapping. If you’re twenty years old or older, the bedroom you wake up in is very clearly a couple’s bedroom — with separate beds like a modest, modern couple of course! A similarly lost and confused stranger is in the other. They are your counterpart, for everything in this room has a matching counterpart — the nightstand and lamp each of you have beside your beds, the framed pictures on the wall, even your pajamas. If you’re under twenty years old, your room is smaller but more personalized, filled with comic books, model kits, stray baseball cards littered around the floor. Dolls, fashion magazines of people dressed from a bygone era, stacks of vinyl records neatly arranged next to a record player. And then there are the pictures. They’re everywhere in the house — in a frame on your nightstand, hung on the walls, stuck in the photo albums and scrapbooks lying on your desk or tucked away in drawers. Here you are on your wedding day, exchanging vows with your partner. Here’s you sitting in a fishing boat with one of the younger members of your house. Here’s a picture of you at ten years old getting ready for the first day of school. All of the photographs are aged, sepia, even yellowed and dusty in frames hung for a long, long time. By the time you make it down to the living room, you’ll notice that the television is on; someone must have forgotten to turn it off before they went to bed. On it, a cartoon pack of cigarettes and accompanying cigarette dancers prance around a black and white pumpkin patch, joined by dancing skeletons, ghosts and witches as a cheerful little earworm blares: ”Thirty days til Halloween, Halloween, Halloween, thirty days til Halloween—“

---

GETTING TO KNOW THE NEIGHBORS.

As you get acclimated, you gradually begin to learn more about this strange new world you’ve found yourself in. You’re in a neighborhood on the east side of a town called Santa Rosita located… somewhere in California (wherever or whatever that might be). The year is 1961. If it wasn’t clear enough, your neighbors are more than willing to humor you if you ask. Even if you accost them with questions and demands. Sure, you and your family are a little kooky, and you have a very overactive imagination, but the key to any good joke is playing along! And how could something like “I’m from the future, from another world” be anything but a joke? A. AUNT MYRNA'S PARTY CHEESE SALAD. Over the course of the week, your neighbors will come by unannounced, each with a new homecooked meal to welcome you to their cozy little side of town. Meatloaf, potato salad, lamb chops. Gelatin molds — lots of gelatin molds. Someone even comes by to drop off a gelatinous yellow lump of pineapple, green peppers, celery and yellow cheese swimming in a soupy mixture of sour and whipped cream. “It’s my aunt Myrna’s recipe!” they gush once they drop the casserole tin into your hands, proceeding to rattle off every ingredient. Well, at least you won’t be starving anytime soon. When you bring it back in to your kitchen - and its cheery wallpaper and its floral patterned Pyrex dishware, you and your new...family(?) all stare at the cheese salad, the gelatin, the curiously frosted meatloaf spread. A smorgasbord courtesy of the insistent generosity! Who will take the first bite?

B. DON'T BE A SQUARE!

You can only avoid the cheer and the neighbors for so long, even as you sit inside enjoying all the amenities of your new home. The television can only turn its volume up to five, after all! One bright and sunny Saturday, the weather crisp and clear, news broadcasts and reruns of The Ed Sullivan Show are drowned out by the music in the neighborhood. Eventually it’s too much to bear — you simply must put on your shoes and go discover the source of that infernal racket.

Why, it’s the block party! Haven’t you seen the invitation — with instructions — sitting in your mailbox, silly? Wear a badge so everyone on the block can know you’re new and welcome you to their extended family!

Well! Each neighbor was supposed to set up a table with snacks and drinks and entertainment on their front lawn. Carter Mayhew, one of your Robbie neighbors, has a whole ring toss obstacle course set up for boys to play with, and his wife is cheerfully and blandly instructing a group of girls on jump rope rhymes. Colorful streamers hang from every lamppost and mailbox, balloons and party favors galore. Like you, there are even a few newcomers to Santa Rosita that are caught just as unaware of this event — though others are being welcomed in by husbands and wives and children, caught in conversations about building decks and the upcoming Halloween festivities.

Before you can decide if returning home or joining the party is your choice, a plate with chips and dips and yes, more gelatin is shoved into your hands and a party hat snapped on to your head.

“The guest of honor has arrived! Come and meet your neighbors, neighbor!”

---

THROUGHOUT OCTOBER.

Life falls into a peaceful haze for the next several days. Dull, unassuming, tranquil. As the month drags on, the spirit of Halloween begins to manifest in Santa Rosita, from the pumpkins people start putting out on their doorsteps to the smiling faces of paper skeletons pressed against their windows. And then, towards the end of the month, something terrible happens. You hear it first through word of mouth, rippling through Santa Rosita like a wave, dark murmurs accompanied by sad sighs and downturned eyes. Soon, you start to read about it. Grim business, they say. A tragedy. How could something like this happen. People stop talking about it by the end of the week. Best just to forget about it. Every day, that cigarette commercial comes on. It’s impossible to escape it. And every day, the number of days in the song changes, counting down. ”Thirteen days till Halloween—” “Eight more days til Halloween—” “Three more days til Halloween, Halloween, Halloween…”

---

HALLOWEEN.

CW: Violence, death, mouth trauma, vomiting, needles, razors

October 31st. It sneaks up on you whether you like it or not. When dawn breaks on Halloween day, things are as serene as they’ve ever been as men do yard work, raking leaves as their wives bake fresh pie and cookies in the house, the spicy scent of cinnamon, apple and pumpkin wafting through the neighborhood on chilly October wind. There’s a smile on every child’s face as they skip off the school bus in the afternoon, running into their houses to get their costumes ready. As it begins to get dark, the residents of Santa Rosita start lighting their jack-o-lanterns. One by one, little balls of light flicker to life on every porch and doorstep, jagged smiles grinning in the dark. For the entire night, nobody blows the candle inside their pumpkins out. It’s a tradition, a very old one, and traditions are just another way of saying rules. And Halloween in Santa Rosita, as it turns out, lives and dies by the rules.

A. ALWAYS CHECK YOUR CANDY.

Halloween isn’t just for the kids, although they certainly make up the bulk of who you’ll see out and about on the streets. Walking through Santa Rosita, your neighbors are as generous with handing out treats as they are with handing out gelatin molds and pot roasts, and they don’t discriminate. Adults are received just as warmly as children; the worst one can expect is a quirked eyebrow if they show up to a house without a costume.

Apples, packs of gum, homemade cookies. Chocolate bars, nickels, popcorn balls. Your neighbors hand out all sorts of treats, most of them homemade. The Robbies are no exception, and it’s their treats that seem a bit more high quality than most, some of the candy they hand out being obviously expensive, brand names. The good stuff. They drop each treat into your bag with those same pleasant, mild expressions and too-tight smiles you’ve grown used to in your short time here.

Eventually, as everyone winds up doing at some point in the night, you decide to start digging into your treat bag to sample some of your well-earned goods — maybe in the comfort of your home, maybe outside on the streets. And that’s when the fun begins.

Maybe you bite into metal, the razor sharp end of a blade embedded into the apple or candy bar you’ve picked out burying itself in your gums, or splitting your tongue. Maybe it’s a needle, impaling itself straight through the roof of your mouth or a cheek. Or maybe it’s nothing that obvious. Maybe the realization that something is wrong comes moments after you’ve devoured that chocolate bar or cookie, the bitter aftertaste of rat poison hitting the back of your throat along with bile and the rest of the contents of your stomach as they rise up and out of your mouth.

Or maybe you’ll bite into plain, sweet chocolate or fresh fruit. That’s also part of the surprise. You really don’t know what you’ll get until you start eating.

B. ALWAYS RESPECT THE DEAD.

At ten o’clock, all the television sets in the neighborhood turn on, blaring to life right in the middle of that omnipresent cigarette commercial. The volume begins to rise of its own accord as your television starts to pick up interference, bursts of static squealing amidst the rising, screaming chorus of ”HAPPY HAPPY HALLOWEEN, HALLOWEEN, HALLOWEEN!”

Breaking through the static, garbled and tinny, a child’s voice cries out.

“Can’t— I can’t hold them— back— Pumpkin— don’t blow the— out—”

And just as quickly as it cut in, the voice cuts back out. Commercial jingle notwithstanding, you’re alone once more. But not for long.

The doorbell rings. You can see them outside from your window: costumed children. Their masks and clothes are grimy and ragged from the muddy, slimy water they’ve been decomposing in for over a week. When they come to your door, squelching wetly as they shamble up the porch steps, they ring the bell or knock, as all polite children do. If you don’t let them in, they’ll find their own way, always by force. And once they find you, all they can gurgle in their reedy, waterlogged voices is, ”Trick or treat.”

From there, they attack.

With superhuman strength and speed, they tear and rip at anything they can get their hands on — clothing, skin, muscle, face, eyes. Being short and small, despite their strength, they're at a distinct disadvantage. They can even be thrown off, with some effort. But they don’t stay down for long, and attempting to hurt or mortally wound them only stalls them for a few moments, if that. How can you kill something that’s already dead?

Some in the neighborhood are willing to try and find out.

The only houses they seem to ignore completely are the ones with lit jack-o-lanterns still outside. They’ll loiter outside these houses, staring straight ahead at your door or window like they can see exactly where you are. But sooner or later, they’ll pass by and move onto the next house.

As long as the candles in carved pumpkins stay lit.

---

OOC INFO

Hello, and welcome to We're Still Here's first TDM! Here's a few things we'd like you to keep in mind:

The TDM is canon. You can treat this as the game's first real event and pick and choose what threads you would like your character to remember when they enter the game. For characters who app into the game, the events of the TDM will be treated like a dream. Upon awakening from it, characters will find that time has jumped ahead to December 1st. You may also feel free to use similar reality and/or time distortions to explain why the family members your characters have in the TDM aren't the same as the ones they may be assigned to in the game proper.

If you would like to have Halloween content in your relaxed housing prompts, please feel free! You are not beholden to follow our prompts exactly so long as the spirit is maintained.

There is no Network prompt listed, but feel free to wildcard one for your characters anyway.

Although the TDM is canon in the sense that characters are free to remember its events when they app into the game, it does not count as an official plot heavy event, meaning that characters will not receive regains from participating in it.

With regards to the dead trick-or-treaters: you may NPC them however you'd like, but keep the details we've listed in their prompt in mind. They are supernaturally fast and strong, will ignore houses as long as they have a lit pumpkin on the porch outside, and will try to enter each house the moment the candle in the pumpkin goes out. Additionally, they can't be killed, but they can be momentarily stalled by injuring them. By November 1st, 6AM, they will disappear the moment the sun comes out.

---

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Comments

john constantine | vertigo/dc comics

[scouserer]

i. this is not my beautiful house! this is not my beautiful wife!

[This isn't the first time that Constantine has woken up in an unfamiliar place, and it certainly won't be his last. His first thought is that this is a dream invoked by yet another one of his acquaintances in an attempt to communicate with him. After a few of the standard tests, however, he concludes that this must be reality--though, perhaps not as he used to know it, since his magic seems completely unusable here. His second thought is that this must be a demonic trick--warping his perception and senses to exact some sort of revenge upon him.

(That would explain the pictures, at least.)

If you're an adult, you wake up without anyone occupying the bed across from you. As you creep downstairs, searching for anyone else in the house, an arm suddenly grabs you from the hallway and pulls you in. The culprit? A scowling man wearing a trench coat brandishing a kitchen knife in his other hand. Adult or child, Constantine will give both the same...warm welcome.]

Right. You're gonna tell me everything you know and how you brought me here. And don't try any funny business--you so much as twitch the wrong way, I'll have you exorcised six ways to Sunday.

[Better talk fast--this guy doesn't seem to be joking. Though, there does seems to be a case of mistaken identity....]

ii. tupperware party (cw: alcoholism mention)

[Look, Constantine enjoys a good party as much as anyone else, but this is just ridiculous. At least he hasn't had to change his wardrobe very much to fit in. He's been trying to observe the neighbors as they go about their day, but the only thing he can really glean about them is that all of them are the perfect picture of a suburban American family.

Which means, more than anything, that something is very, very wrong. The only question is what the source is.

As the minutes stretch on, his patience is tested more and more. Eventually, surrounded by a group of housewives who insist on pushing more horrific aspic dishes in his face, he clasps a hand on one of their shoulders and speaks. A taut grin stretches across his face.]

Looks fantastic, M--Gertrude? Yeah, you're Gertrude. [The woman nods, looking absolutely unfazed by Constantine mixing up her name.] Listen, can one of you lovely ladies point me in the nearest direction of a bottle of whiskey? I'm going to go drink myself to death.

[There's a pause, and a raucous laugh erupts from the crowd surrounding Constantine. Apparently, they've taken his comment as a joke. Constantine's smile tightens as his eyes dart to find someone who will tell him where to get blackout drunk.]

Figured as much.

iii. season of the witch (cw: violence)

[Ah. Now this is a little more his speed, even if it's horrific and morbid. Constantine had almost immediately taken to the streets, armed with whatever he could find around the house. One of the kids had managed to catch him by surprise, their water-logged fingers grasping at his trench coat and trying to tear it from his body. He kicks at them, but to no avail.]

Bloody hell--

[He smashes one of them in the face with the baseball bat. The undead child lets go and staggers backwards, apparently undaunted despite having their facial features rearranged. Constantine grimaces. Even if they are occult beings intent on causing his demise, it doesn't feel particularly nice to bash a child in the face.

He staggers towards one of the nearby houses, where an unlit pumpkin sits on the porch railing. A gaggle of children encroach on someone trying desperately to light the damn thing. Really, this would be so much easier if he had a smidge of magic--just enough to light the rest of the pumpkins. But Constantine is nothing but resourceful, even in the worst of situations. Fumbling through his pockets, he pulls out a lighter and whistles to get the person's attention.

And people say that smoking is bad for you.]

You, there! Catch!

[He flings the lighter as hard has he can with the speed and precision of a baseball pitcher. Try not to lose it, alright?]

iv. wildcard

[yes i know constantine's icons are from dc animated, you try finding good icons for a 30 year comic run

Got another idea for a prompt? Hit me up @ wolfnoir.]

i

[bigredcheese]

[Magic's the obvious explanation. Whether he has the Wisdom of Solomon or not, he can tell that much. Maybe it's some sort of test from the wizard, or maybe it's like that vague memory he has of a world where his parents lived.

Billy proceeds cautiously, wanting to explore a little more, and then okay, great, he's being grabbed by some guy with a knife. Instinctively, he yells out,]

Shazam!

[... only to still be a fifteen year old boy being held at knifepoint. Definitely some weird magic test.]

I mean... I'm sorry, mister, but I think you've got the wrong idea?

[scouserer]

[Shazam? Seriously? What kind of invocation is that?

...Ah. It's not any sort of invocation, because, clearly, nothing has happened. There's no sense of magic that surges through the air, and the kid still...well, looks like a kid. Which means he probably just threatened a teenager. Great.

Slowly, Constantine lets go and lowers the knife, though he still holds it tightly at his side.]

Sorry, kid. Can't be too sure.

[Especially since demons have a tendency to hide themselves. He peers over his shoulder, as if expecting someone else to be there. His eyes catch one of the nearby picture frames, where Constantine and the kid appear to be on a fishing trip.

Ugh.]

Those pictures, then--you got any explanation for that? I certainly don't remember siring you, 'specially not in a place like this.

[He gestures with a slightly dismissive air towards the window and the suburbs that lay outside.]

[bigredcheese]

Magic? [he says with a shrug] I don't know. You're not my dad, and I'm not exactly looking to get adopted again either.

[He's still getting used to living with the Bromfields, thanks!]

Uh... I'm Billy. By the way. Assuming you don't know that already, Dad.

[scouserer]

My name is Constantine. John Constantine. And I'm not exactly looking to adopt anytime soon, so I think this works out just fine.

[He's fairly certain that, even if he was able to raise a child, they'd be the most extraordinarily cursed and haunted individual in the universe just by being associated with Constantine. He doesn't want to wish his own existence onto anyone else.]

So you and I have no idea as to how we ended up here. [Certainly bodes well. He slouches against the counter, putting the knife down and pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.] Tell me, what were you doing before you found yourself here, hm?

[bigredcheese]

Nice to meet you then, Mr. Constantine. Although we'd probably both prefer different circumstances...

[Billy sighs.]

I was asleep? [After a long day of superheroing, but no way this guy would believe that.] I mean, I remember going to bed. At home, in Fawcett. But this place looks more like Fairfield than Fawcett.

i

[thotsandprayers]

Everything I know? I believe that would take...a while.

[She's not really concerned with the knife. Probably should be since she's lost all her powers, but her eyes aren't widening or anything. It's not that she needs more to be intimidated, it's just that well, been there, done that. She's never been exorcised though, that could be fun, if most likely futile.]

I certainly didn't bring you here though, that's a bit outside my usual capabilities.

[Unless he's in the Throne, then maybe? But she kind of doubts that one. Doesn't really have the whole Heroic Spirit look...for whatever that counts for these days since designs are all over the place. Then again, neither does she, but her gut feeling is that he's not.]

And I believe I can guess from the rather...pointed introduction, you didn't summon me here either. We're both in the same situation, as far as I can tell.

[scouserer]

I didn't mean literally.

[Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today--and, honestly, who could blame him? Still, he scowls and lets go of her, keeping the knife ready at his side.

Her answer seems to confirm that she's some sort of non-human being as Constantine had suspected, though what kind of being remains up for the question. Demon seems most likely, at this point. Regardless, he's not going to trust her until she can prove she's not a threat.]

Alright, so if you aren't the bastard that brought me here, who are you?

[thotsandprayers]

[If you ask her, she's not non-human, so much as she's more human than everybody else. But nobody asked, so he's spared her weird opinions on herself and the rest of humanity.]

My name is Sessyoin Kiara. A name that no doubt means little to you, but that's quite all right. Just think of me as one of the many on the path to salvation.

[Yup, she's definitely not important. Not a cult leader in one timeline and a cataclysmic threat in several of them. Though she's kind of taking a break from all that right now.]

So I'm afraid I haven't much to fear from being threatened with exorcism. Though if your heart is set on it, I could play along.

[She laughs a little, which might not be as reassuring as intended given that he's still got a knife and she's joking a little? Or maybe it is, not like she has any idea what would be disarming and what would just escalate the situation with this guy.]

Though I can see how my choice of words may have given you the wrong idea. I do apologize if that was the case.

[scouserer]

[Constantine seems to relax slightly--at least, enough to place the knife on the counter. Kiara isn't at risk of being stabbed--at least, not at this moment.

That salvation comment is weird, though.]

John Constantine, but just Constantine is fine. Only dear enemies call me John.

[And Chas, but that's beside the point. Chas is basically the only man that he's trusted that hasn't faced an unfortunate demise within years of meeting Constantine, so that puts him above a mere friend in his book.]

What's your deal, then, Kiara? You happen to remember anything prior to waking up here?

[thotsandprayers]

I believe that would also take some time to explain. Even an abbreviated version would just result in more questions. Though if you must know, I am a therapist currently on loan to a United Nations operation.

[That's one way of explaining Chaldea and her situation, she supposes. Nothing in there's a lie, but like she said, it raises a few questions.]

As to what I remember waking up this morning, I believe I heard a call for help and then I lost consciousness. Which is rather odd, I haven't fainted in years.

i

[errantdetective]

[If Toby weren't so distracted touching the rounded edge of her ears, he might not be able to get the jump on her so easily. She reacts on instinct.]

Pass. I hate exercise.

[She reaches for the knife, closing her hand around the blade. It slices open her palm, nothing new, but the familiar smell of her magic rising doesn't rise to meet the scent of her blood.

Oak and ash, right. She's human. And so, so screwed.]

[scouserer]

That's exorcise, you daft--

[Aaaand then she just grabs the knife, which wouldn't have surprised Constantine if not for the fact that blood drips down the blade and onto the floorboards. The average adult human doesn't just...grab a knife by the blade with extreme confidence, not unless they have a death wish of some sort.

Constantine holds the blade still. It'd only cause more harm to try and pull it back. His eyes narrow, glancing between the woman's sliced palm and her appearance, as if trying to connect dots that no longer exist--at least, not physically for her.]

So, it seems as though we're stuck in the same boat. What are you, then? Infernal? Fae? Occult?

[He really hopes it isn't fae.]

[errantdetective]

Currently? In need of a bandage, apparently.

[Is this one of those things where you're not supposed to remove the thing that hurt you because you'll bleed more pulling it out? It's never been an issue for her. She has to get yank out arrows or anything else that's injured her immediately or risk them healing inside her and that's a lot worse than a little more bleeding. Or even a lot more bleeding.

Well, she doesn't want to keep holding onto the knife because it hurts. So she lets go, letting out a hiss of pain, and grabs a dishtowel.]

You attacked me with--what is that, a bread knife? [She does not actually know the difference between different kinds of kitchen knives.] Anyway, it means you go first. Who, and what are you?

[scouserer]

First off, I didn't attack you. [And he wasn't gonna actually slice her--at least, without a good reason.] You were the one mad enough to put your hand on the goddamn blade. Secondly, it's a chef's knife. A bread knife's got a serrated edge.

[Because, clearly, it's more important to get these things straightened out before anything else. He watches the dishtowel get soaked in red, his eyebrows furrowing together. As much as he wants to help, experience keeps him at arm's length--at least, while she still poses a potential threat. It'll be a completely different story when he figures out what's actually going on.]

Name's John Constantine. I'm human, last time I checked. The occult has a nasty habit of trying to upend my life, so forgive me for being cautious. And I don't know about you, but I've got better things to do than be stuck in some stuffy suburban house.

[His eyes wander towards a nearby picture frame that displays the stranger and Constantine posing at a Christmas party. Constantine's expression twitches into that of annoyance.]

Your turn.

[errantdetective]

Usually when people pull knives on me, it's not to give me a lesson on different cooking appliances.

[She sighs, wrapping the dishtowel tightly around her palm and keeping pressure on it. How long do normal people take to heal things like this? She used to be one of them.]

October Daye. Human on my father's side, fae on my mother's. Currently entirely human, it seems, and believe me that is concerning.

[Is she going to be stuck mortal now? Can she stand living like that? Knowing she'll eventually leave her family? She swallows and focuses on her hand. One thing at a time.]

i / i'm so sorry in advance

[shadowduke]

[Crowley scowls at this mysterious man with his blade in hand... Who would dare to threaten such a dangerous being as he, a being of pure dark energy?

Tch... This guy is probably after his super real mega awesome supernatural powers that can totally end the world if unleashed...

Better play it cool for now. Crowley shoves the man off of him, straightening his suit jacket and crossing his arms.]

Hmph! Your threats are worthless, foolish mortal. I am The Great Dark Lord of Darkness who rules over all of the Underworld! To exorcise me would be utterly impossible with your subpar abilities. As for what you seek... I cannot give it to you. It is top secret information that even my fellow Gods keep from me!!

hiiiiiiii

[scouserer]

Okay, Great Dark Lord of Darkness. You wanna see if your powers hold up against sharpened steel?

[For God's sake. This man's outfit looks as though he was just pulled from some sort of horrible discotheque. It made sense, though--the way the man was talking seemed to show that he thought a great deal about himself. Constantine rolls his eyes, gripping the knife ready at his side.

He's dealt with these types before. It takes a con man to know a con man, and Constantine is nothing but a conniving bastard.]

So what you're telling me is that you don't know anything?

hiiii 💯

[shadowduke]

Oh, dear human, sharpened steel cannot harm me! I am immortal!

[He's totally smug when he says that! Even if it's absolute bullshit!]

Alas, you are correct....

[A super dramatic sigh.]

But surely I will be contacted soon enough! I just-- I need to channel my energy... Yes, that's it! If I do that, then I can communicate with them. Will you give me your strength, mortal? Your life force... Just a little bit will suffice.

[scouserer]

If you want some of my life force, you'll have to get in line. I've already got half of the princes of Hell fighting over my soul, and I reckon they'll be at it for the next century or so.

[He says this in a nonchalant manner. With a huff, he puts away the knife on the counter--although he's careful to keep it within arm's reach.]

Great. So you can't tell me anything, and you also have no magic. Fat load of help you are. You need me, I'll be off trying to find the source of this. Ta-ta!

[And he begins to walk the other direction, towards the door. These kinds of people are desperate for attention, and Constantine's not going to give it to him. At least, not without a little groveling.]

[shadowduke]

Princes of hell?!

[A GASP! A DRAMATIC SHOCKED POSE!! WOAH!!]

I would have never expected such a thing from someone like you...!!

[He quickly gets lost in a little daydream before quickly realizing that this mystery man is leaving him behind! Not on his watch!! Crowley follows after him, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket.]

Oh, please don't leave me... I, uh- um- I can be of use! I swear it! You'll need someone to shield you from the forces of evil, won't you? I have a powerful protection spell with me! [Hint: No he does not!]

ii.

[keritate]

[Keri Tate Laurie Strode has had a miserable fucking week. Getting reset to the beginning of October immediately after finally- finally- putting Michael down for good is just the tip of the iceberg. Her boyfriend's dead, her son isn't here, she's in a whole other world with a random husband and kids assigned to her, and she hasn't had a drop of alcohol since waking up in this place. It's hard to be a functioning alcoholic when you have no alcohol to function with. Particularly when you're already not coping well and want nothing more than to drown your sorrows.

She overhears Constantine asking about alcohol and perks up a little, glad to not be the only one desperate for a drink.]

Good luck. I've already asked around. None of them're willing to cough up the goods.

[She's gotten quite a few odd looks and laughs for asking, too. She can't really bring herself to care.]

You mind sharing if you find that whiskey?

[scouserer]

[Oh, thank God. Someone who's actually normal. Constantine's posture visibly relaxes as an expression of exhausted relief appears on his face.]

Not at all. At least, when I find it. Then I won't have to deal with Marge's incessant nagging.

[He shoots a look towards a nearby housewife, presumably Marge. She holds a tupperware container filled with some sort of sausage and aspic monstrosity and doesn't blink at the verbal jab. He gingerly pushes his way out of the group ("'Scuse me, ladies--") towards Laurie and pulls a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. In a lowered tone of voice, he says--]

Stuck in the same boat, then?

[He places a cigarette in his mouth and lights it with a plastic lighter filched from one of the neighbors pockets. He peers out towards the neighbors tables, as if hoping to spot a wayward bottle to snatch up.]

[keritate]

[Laurie accepts his company without complaint, similarly glad to have some semblance of normality around. She grimaces at the aspic meals- lucky her, her mother never made those when she was a child. Pamela Strode had some semblance of taste. Maybe her birth mother, though. Who knows- maybe Michael Myers was driven to kill after being forced to eat too much savory gelatin. She'd probably go the same route.]

The "I woke up in a place I've never been in with a family I don't remember having" boat? Oh, yeah. I'm drifting off to sea in it.

[She sits down at one of the few unoccupied tables, and gestures for Constantine to join her. There's more food piled high on the table- more aspic, more casseroles, more salads and "salads". Grimly, Laurie pokes at one of the green jell-o molds with a fork, watching it jiggle in place.]

... Is there egg in this?

[There are, indeed, hardboiled eggs in this.]

[scouserer]

[Constantine grimaces towards the hard-boiled eggs suspended in green Jell-o and gingerly looks the other direction.]

Certainly looks like it. You want my advice, stay away from the 'normal' food, as well. Last time I sampled a brownie platter, there were shards of glass in it.

[The only thing he's been able to trust has been food made by himself and himself alone. Which means that Constantine has been eating pretty poorly, lately. The only thing he can make without horrendously burning everything is pasta, toast, and maybe eggs--and you can forget about having fresh vegetables in that diet. It's only a matter of time before the man gets scurvy.

Hidden behind all the tupperware platters and glass bowls are a few bottles of beer. Constantine's expression brightens.]

Ah--a drop of fresh water in a sea of horrible dishes!

[He reaches forward and snatches one up, rapping the lip against the table edge in an effort to knock the cap off. Eventually, it pops open, and Constantine slips the cap into his pocket.]

My first theory was demons, but I've hardly seen any trace of 'em here. Second theory is maybe a god's been twitchy lately and decided to go batshit, but I've got no evidence to back it up.

[He takes his cigarette out of his mouth and takes a long swig, practically gulping it down like a glass of soda.]

Name's Constantine. Obviously, I'm not from around here.

[If she couldn't tell from the accent and demeanor already.]