Roman

Roman's Scrapbin

| NAME: |
Rustin Wolfe

| ALIAS(ES): |
Rust; Detective Wolfe

| PLACE OF BIRTH: |
New Lillith, East City

| SPECIES: |
Homo-Sapien

| D.O.B.: |
September 12th, 1982

| AGE: |
32

| SEX: |
Male

| SEXUALITY: |
Heterosexual

| APPEARANCE: |
Often scruffy, Rust's staple clothes are cloth blazers, tight shirts, and skinny ties. He owns a coat for rough - or cold - weather, and it's been seeing a lot of use lately, but Rust dislikes the restriction of movement. His hair is wavy and unkempt, brushed up and out of his face with a grubby palm. Rust scowls a lot - an occupational hazard - and his skin is rough, collecting grime in its creases. Rust dresses pragmatic and light, with a revolver on his hip and a badge in his pocket.

---

| SKILLS: |
Despite Rustin's lack of 'superpowers', he does possess several notable talents that make him a valuable - if zealous - asset to the CCPD, as well as a dangerous individual. Most obvious is Rust's zeal: his sheer passion in the pursuit of justice, and the determination that allows him to succeed where many of his colleagues simply abandon a case to the cold locker. This persistence allows him to pour over what he knows and what he has in the hopes of finding something new, and more often than not, he does just that, using quick and wily intelligence to make previously unnoticed connections. In the field Rust is light on his feet and quick to analyse his surroundings, keeping himself on his toes and ready to react however is necessary - skills the city taught him through sheer necessity during his time as a beat cop.

Rust has also spent time at the HQ's range, honing his aim and learning how to remain calm and in control under pressure and in the middle of an intense situation. While he's not formally trained in any hand-to-hand combat, he is well-learned on how thugs prefer to fight, and he's thrown more than a few punches in his time on patrol.

| LIMITATIONS: |
As Rustin doesn't possess any powers, his limitations come only in the varieties that restrict him in his line of duty. While Rustin is usually unimpeded in the apprehension of the killers he pursues case-to-case, occasionally the corruption of the system he works in, or the sheer power wielded by the various gangs and crime families of Crescent City, prevents him from moving further with a particular case, or interferes with one of the many processes of criminal justice - usually preventing arrest, detainment, or sentencing.

However, there are times when the law itself gets in the way of Rustin's ability to administer due justice, and there are times when he feels his job as phantom shackles chained around his wrists - due diligence is necessary in enforcing judicial law, but more often than not, it only combines with the state of Crescent City as a corrupt institute to pervert the course of true, natural justice - and frustrates Rustin to all ends.

| WEAKNESSES: |
Rustin's notable weaknesses are best summed up as thus: he is Human, and fragile. With no supernatural endurance, no kind of precognition, no extraordinary combative talents, Rustin is as vulnerable to the common fist as any other Homo-Sapien, to say nothing of weapons, whether they be blunt, sharp, or projectile. His defenses do nothing against the criminal affairs that plague his city, and he survives in Crescent City by sheer luck and guile alone.

---

| WEAPONS: |
Rustin's only weapon is his force-issued firearm: an H&K USP .40 cal. While Rustin is not SWAT trained, due to his time on the HQ Range he is capable of effectively firing both a Remington Model 7615 Semi-Auto Rifle, and an M4 Carbine Automatic Rifle.

| TOOLS: |
As a plain-clothes detective, Rustin carries little in the way of police equipment or accessories - the most he keeps on his person are a pair of handcuffs attached to his belt in case of needing to make a quick and clean arrest and restraint. In terms of personal items, he only carries his wallet, which contains a few cards, his driving licence, and some cash bills, and his smartphone.

| ATTIRE: |
As a detective, Rust has plain-clothes privileges, provided he wear something appropriate. As a result, both on the job and off, Rust wears light cloth blazers with small shirts, dark ties, and pants to match, usually rumpled and unkempt. He occasionally dons a thick peacoat for warmth against the weather, but dislikes the weight of it. He has been known to wear a true suit - even a tux - for the odd rare special event, but these wild sightings are few and far between.

---

| BACKSTORY: |
Rustin's father, Paul Wolfe, led an unremarkable childhood. Paul's own father was a long-serving and loyal military man, and his various stations kept his family mobile and never settled; Paul and his two brothers quickly grew used to the lifestyle, and the daily regimens of life on a military base or encampment - even to civilians - quickly became ingrained in them. When the three men came of age to enlist, they did so immediately; in part to follow their father and to gain his approval, and in part because military life was all they really knew.

Paul and his brothers were all enlisted and serving in time to be stationed in Vietnam during the US occupation of the country; Paul's service in those hot jungles lasted from 1967 to 1972, during which time he fought, killed, wept, and lost both of his brothers as well as several squadmates, friends he'd forged in the fire of war and violence. He came back a shell of a man, suffering PTSD and disillusioned with the military institution as a whole, unable to shake the horrors he'd both seen and committed. Regardless, Paul still felt the desire to serve and protect, but in a way he knew was for the good of the people, rather than a way that the state only told him was good. To this end, he volunteered for an ex-soldier rehabilitation program that landed him a job as a beat cop in the Crescent City Police Force. The work was hard, and jarring to Paul - but slowly and surely, he regained control over his life.

Paul's new independence couldn't have come at a better time. A squadmate who had survived the war alongside him suddenly sied due to complications from an old war wound, and Paul attended the funeral - a sad day indeed, but a day he would always remember as the beginning of his new life, and the day he met Andrea. Andrea was the widow, and the pair bonded in their loss and their grief and comforted each other in the coming weeks and months, eventually starting a new relationship. Two years in, they married, and sold their individual estates and pooled their funds to buy a new house in East City, using the property and their new home as a chance to start afresh, free from their old lives and attachments. They were happy.

In 1983, at 35, Paul and Andrea had Rustin, a wiry child who grew quickly and displayed a keen cleverness that his father quickly picked up on. Paul guided Rustin's mind, feeding it knowledge and allowing him to devour information from any and all subjects - but also focusing on Rustin's natural guile and sharp wit, ensuring he'd be smart in more ways that academically. He involved Rustin in his work with the CCPD, encouraging Rustin to be inquisitive and molding him to follow his father into the police force; this molding worked. Rustin grew up with a strong sense of justice and right and wrong, and after graduating high school with high grades quickly joined the force at the bottom of the ladder.

Rustin quickly proved himself a capable cop, fierce in the chase and unrelenting in the apprehension and charge. He became a problem for the gangs and crime families of Crescent City, his sharpness becoming an issue as he began patrolling known centres of gang activity. In an effort to deal with the problem in a new, intelligent, non-violent manner, strings were pulled and Rustin's smarts were recognized by the higher authorities of the police department: Rustin was promoted to a plain-clothes detective and tucked away in Homicide, investigating cases where the crime families had already gone through with their business, and were able to set up a patsy to keep Rustin at bay.

Rustin continues to work as a Homicide Detective to this day, solving murders efficiently and refusing to let a case go cold, even taking unsolved folders out of the records office to pour over at home. He is perfectly aware of the why of his position; but he refuses the corrupt forces of Crescent City to tuck him out of the way of their business - and the gangs and families are well aware of how Rustin continues to be a thorn in their side. Rustin plays a dangerous game; but he is recognized, and respected, as a dangerous man - by all sides.

Roman's Archive

H E X M O T H E R

---

^{'A A V A A R K H A M' ◼ F E B R U A R Y 1 9 9 0 ( '2 9' ) ◼ 'F E M A L E'}

▼ A P P E A R A N C E:

---

//STATS:

◼ HEIGHT | 5'6

◼ WEIGHT | 110lb

◼ BUILD | Lean

◼ HAIR COLOR | Black

◼ EYE COLOR | Black

//DESCRIPTION:

A short, yet slender, woman, Aava's otherwise traditionally attractive features - cheekbones, jawline, strong eyebrows, and piercing eyes - are marred by the cumulative result of several years of globetrotting and intense research and study into magic, and the mysterious, seemingly-alive force that seems to govern it. Her eyes are vicious and otherworldly, her gaze hinting at deep, forbidden knowledge; her brow and cheek sport large, jagged scars, received from those who could not bear witches; her head is sheared, and the hair that remains pulled tight and back, occasionally sporting streaks of colour.

While her frame has no heavy musculature to boast of, her skin tells stories of its own; several clean patches are burnt, or pulse dark grays and purples beneath the surface - other, larger portions, such as her right arm, left hand, or her scalp, have had flesh ritualistically scored and carved out into runic patterns and channels. To the uninitiated, Aava tells of her time with forgotten tribes, and the lengths she went to in the name of trust and respect; to the wiser, she need not tell any tales at all. All together, Aava seems older than her years, scarred and beaten, and unappealing.

Generally, she wears practical, robust clothing; tough jeans, long-lived boots, and a form-fitting top that won't restrict movement; on top of any ensemble, she wears her jacket, a brown aviator-style with a warm, fur-lined collar. She carries many beads and amulets upon her person, some around her neck, others attached to her belt or her satchel. Occasionally, she wears fingerless gloves, though these can often stifle her runes and inhibit her magic.

▼ B I O G R A P H Y:

---

Aava was born into a bloodline with a long history of involvement with magic, although her family had not practiced in many generations, and indeed this aspect of their line had been forgotten. However, this failed to deter Aava from breaking the pattern of ignorance later on in her adolescence.

Aava spent the first three years of her life with her mother and father, until her mother died and her father disappeared; beyond that, she grew in the care of her grandpa, who treated her strict but fair, and loved her all the same. It was not until Aava turned twelve that she was told of the ultimate fates of her parents, and it was a year later, as she grew steadily more curious about the circumstances of her father's disappearance, when her father died, and she felt this loss through some as-yet unknowable force; she began to research her family history, and finally learned of the latent power than pulsed through her veins, dating back in her bloodlines to centuries past. It was 14 when she began her research into magic, and her practice of magic, in earnest, and while she made slow progress, it was progress nonetheless - power her family had forgotten, awoken by one inquisitive mind.

For four years, Aava read, studied, and researched, going through the motions of education and home-life as she began to see the worries of those around her as mere petty nonsense, the routines of school and work as a mortal grind that was slowly growing more and more beneath her. She left the educational institution at eighteen, and left home, beginning her long journey around the globe in search of deeper knowledge and greater power.

In the decade of absence, Aava hardly missed her city, her home; instead, she crawled across ancient ruins seeking scrolls and runic tablets, delved into forgotten tombs in search of answers and further questions. She deepened her expanse of knowledge and understanding of Magic, and used this knowledge to enhance her power, practicing the manipulation and starting to learn how to cast spells in earnest, weaving power about her person to destroy, create, bolster...but her progress, while far more rapid than anyone could hope, due to the latent attunement in her bloodline, was still unsatisfactory for the dreams and desires Aava held within her. She sought shortcuts, cheats, ways to enhance her wielding while skipping the years of practice necessary to naturally weave magic about her person; it was an old, unknown pyramid-like structure deep within a thick, humid jungle that gave her the answers she sought. Ancient carvings of great leaders and powerful mages, all with skin intricately hewn and scored...runes and incantations etched into the own flesh of mages. A powerful ritual, one that Aava had uncovered. She studied the carvings for days, sketching their designs, their patterns. She scoured the ruins for a powerful relic she knew to be there - and when she found it, an old, vicious knife, carved from obsidian crystal and as sharp as the day it was forged, she made her own carvings.

Not long after that, Aava stumbled out of the jungle, leaving death and smoke and annihilation behind her. She had lost time after the ritual, and she smelt death on her. Now, she traveled across the world to learn of control, not freedom, to flee, not to learn.

In the tenth year of her leave, she felt that old force once more; this time, her grandpa.

It was time to return home.

▼ A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:

---

//ABILITIES:

◼ MAGE | Aava's bloodline has always been 'comfortable' with Magic, the mysterious mystical force that flows through all space. Because of this, she has been able to harness that power with more ease than most, and she is a natural mage.

However, displeased with the slow speed of her progression, Aava took it upon herself to research and enact 'artificial' ways of enhancing her power and her magical abilities; to this end, she has carved - both physically and magically - runic patterns and channels into her very skin, allowing her own flesh to be used as a conduit for magic to flow through, making it easier to manipulate and allowing her to cast spells beyond her training.

Naturally, she is a mere apprentice of magicry, and her power is capable of simple elemental destruction, as well as some spells of protection and healing; however, her channels elevate her power to near-mastery, bolstering her destructive magic while offering greater wards, the magic to soothe wounds, and transfiguration, able to turn one material into another, or disguise her form.

Since the carving of her flesh, Aava has found that there are periods where magic seizes her without her beckoning, and seats itself deep within her skin; at times like these, she must exert immense focus and control, lest it take her mind and turn her into a true conduit, the magic manipulating her in order to flow free and raw. This has only happened once before; Aava became a naked, featureless doll, wreathed in black flame, her channels exuding a dark aura, her eyes two glowing pits. She massacred a village and became a portal for dark creatures. She has not lost control since.

//SKILLS:

◼ CUNNING AND FAST | While not strong, Aava is quick, and capable of turning an attack away from herself before creating space to run or unleash her own magical offense.

◼ RUIN RAIDER | Aava is a capable runner and climber, able to scale ruins and gain entry to ancient castles, and is also practiced in parkour.

◼ SCHOLAR MAGE | Aava's research has left her well-versed in occult history and mankind's knowledge of magic, and she has a great understanding of Man's hidden history with mages and other practitioners.

◼ THE STOIC | As a requirement of the proper harnessing of her magic, as well as controlling the magic when it seeks to harness her, Aava is able to exert great control over her emotions, remaining balanced, calm, and logical nearly all of the time.

◼ SURVIVAL INSTINCT | Aava's time in places best left uncovered has instilled a survival sense in her - she can keep herself fed, watered, and rested, and almost intuitively senses when something is not to be found, or if she needs to leave immediately.

//LIMITATIONS:

◼ TROUBLED MIND | Aava's channeling of magic requires focus and intense calm; a flare of emotion, in whatever form, alters her psyche and the magic she wishes to use, twisting its power in whatever way her emotions dictate. Therefore, to use her spells to their best effect, she must remain calm and grounded at all time, and avoid distractions and outside influences - something easier said than done. A troubled or panicked mind can simply fail to cast.

◼ DISPEL MAGIC ^{(3RD LEVEL SPELL)} | Anything that inhibits magic, or the casting of spells, also inhibits Aava's power, and forces her to either flee, or become more creative in engineering a solution.

//WEAKNESSES:

◼ OPEN CONDUIT | While Aava's prowess has been enhanced by her channels, she has also opened herself up to magic, and anything else that influences it; as such, if another, stronger mage - or someone in possession of a powerful relic - were inclined, and able, they could infuse her channels with their own power, and essentially enslave Aava; not in mind, but in body.

◼ HALF-MAGIC | Having turned herself into a conduit of sorts, Aava has also put herself at a greater disadvantage to that which dispels or attacks magic; such anti-magic offense not only cancels out her casting, but can also disorient, destabilize, or even damage Aava herself. Aava has no 'off' state, and is always 'communicating' with magic even on a base level. This communication is also 'two-way' - should she lose control of herself, or of the magic flowing through her, then she faces the risk of being overwhelmed by magic, becoming a puppet of raw magic, with goals, powers, and a mind-state alien to what she knows of Mankind.

◼ WALKING EMP | The magic that flows naturally through Aava's channels creates a near-constant low aura. While this has little effect on people and animals, unless they are magic-sensitive themselves, she has a lot of trouble with electronics and other such devices.

Roman's Archive

---

^{M A T T H E W M U R D O C K ◼ 0 7 A U G U S T 1 9 9 2 ( 2 5 ) ◼ M A L E}

^{"How do you know the Devil and the Angel inside me aren't the same thing?"}

▼ A P P E A R A N C E:

---

//STATS:

◼ HEIGHT | 5'11

◼ WEIGHT | 190lbs

◼ BUILD | Muscular; Boxing Middleweight

◼ HAIR COLOR | Dark Auburn

◼ EYE COLOR | Clouded

▼ B I O G R A P H Y:

---

^{"There are time when the law...isn't enough."}

Born to a nameless mother, Matthew grew up with his father, Jack Murdoch, a semi-pro underground boxer for Hell's Kitchen and its underbelly. Jack had a penchant for getting back up off the mat despite however many broken bones he'd picked up, and this trait seemed to pass to Matthew, who would treasure it in later years; for most of his childhood, however, Jack tried to keep his only family hidden from the violence that plagued the downtrodden Manhattan neighborhood and instead directed Matthew's attentions to his studies, making sure he kept up in school until Matthew started to excel by himself. Jack was proud that such a bright child could be called his, and he foresaw an escape from Hell's Kitchen for his son - an escape that would not find Matthew; at nine years old, Hell's Kitchen put in its claim to the child. A traffic accident and a courageous, reckless act, caused a truck hauling chemical waste and toxic run-off to crash and overturn, spilling its cargo across the road and onto several bystanders - including Matthew. Caught in the spill, the chemicals burnt his eyes irrevocably. Jack and Matthew's lives changed forever - Matthew bound to the abilities that would reveal themselves over the next few months and years, and Jack bound to dealing with a disabled son who displayed abnormal reflexes and sensory overload.

Matthew spent his formative years learning his new place in the world, refining the senses he had left and continuing his studies. Jack continued boxing, losing and winning when the local mob told him to, until eventually - as he realized Matthew's abilities and intelligence were beginning to pull him to greater things - he took a final stand, winning an against-all-odds boxing match in Round 9 against 'Crusher' Creel, despite being instructed to stay down in the fourth. Jack Murdock never made it home. Matthew fled Hell's Kitchen the same night, cursing the criminals that had shaped his life and ended his father's. He found refuge in an nun's orphanage for a time, until his abilities took the notice of a blind man who called himself 'Stick'; Matthew left with Stick to train his mind, senses, and body, and he never (figuratively) looked back.

Many years later, Matthew returned to Manhattan to pick up where he had left off in his education; securing a place at Columbia, where he met Foggy Nelson, and going on to secure a Summa Cum Laude Law Degree from Harvard Law, with Foggy attaining a Cum Laude Law Degree alongside him. Taking a cue from Harvey Dent, an admired peer Murdock had met at university, Murdock moved back to Hell's Kitchen with Foggy to become New York's newest ADA, a high profile judiciary position that gave Murdock quick access to the information he needed to start cleaning up his home. However, Matthew soon found that courtroom law was far from the 'justice' he sought for the people of Hell's Kitchen. At first, it was those in his immediate vicinity; a blindfold and dark clothes for the domestic abuser in the next building over, the cop taking bribes from the local dealer to keep him operating on student corners. Beyond that, Matthew moved his scope to the broader picture, donning padded athletic wear and a more stylized 'mask' to take on gambling rings and amateur human trafficking. Soon enough, Matthew saw too much in court to stand by without action any longer. It was time for the suit, to combat the massive crime organisation that underpinned the criminal everyday of Hell's Kitchen.

It was time for Kingpin. It was time for Daredevil.

▼ M O T I V A T I O N / O B J E C T I V E:

---

^{"I do not seek penance for what I have done. I seek forgiveness...for what I am doing to do."}

This is a Matthew Murdock who, instead of helping bleeding hearts and the unfortunate, still has dreams of being a big city lawyer. He's high profile and works high class cases, directly taking on the mob on both his civilian guise and during the night when he dons the horns to become Daredevil. It is more important than ever to keep his dual life secret, as he becomes a bright target to the underworld on both sides of the law. Far from 'Marvel's Batman', DareDevil is a complicated, conflicted individual, with important roles on both sides of his life, and an internal struggle to stay level within himself while doling out his retribution without giving in to his darker impulses.

My Murdock is entirely obssessed with deposing Wilson 'Kingpin' Fish from his throne at the peak of New York's criminal underworld, and unbeknownst to him, this singular fixation will impart deeper risks and tragedies upon both himself and those he loves, changing everybody's lives irrevocably.

▼ A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:

---

^{"Darkness only responds to darkness."}

//ABILITIES:

// SUPERHUMAN SENSORY SYSTEM After the accident that caused Matthew's blindness, his other senses began to compensate far past what was expected of them, and with Stick's later training, Matthew has honed these remaining senses into the superhuman, unlocking extraordinary abilities.

◼ SUPERHUMAN TOUCH | Matthew's sense of touch is so acute that his finger can feel the faint impressions of ink on a printed page, allowing him to read by touch. The rest of his skin is equally sensitive, enabling him to feel minute temperature and pressure changes in the atmosphere around him. Even with his senses of smell and hearing blocked, he can feel the presence of a person standing five feet away from him simply by his or her body heat and disturbance of air, which he can use to predict the movement of people nearby.

◼ SUPERHUMAN HEARING | Murdock's sense of hearing enables him to detect an acoustic pressure change of one decibel at a pressure level of seven decibels. He can hear a person's heartbeat at a distance of over twenty feet, or people whispering on the other side of a standard soundproofed wall. He is also able to focus on a particular sound, however quiet, and block all others out. Matthew's hearing also allows him to use incoming acoustic information to map out his environment in 360 degrees.

◼ SUPERHUMAN SMELL | Matthew's sense of smell is so acute that he can distinguish between identical twins at twenty feet by minute differences in smell. He can detect odors from even the smallest concentrations in the atmosphere. Furthermore, his ability to remember smells enables him to identify nearly any person by their natural odor alone, and he can use this to track a mark across a large distance, even through a crowd.

◼ SUPERHUMAN TASTE | Matthew's ability to identify and remember tastes in incredibly tiny quantities enables him to determine every ingredient of a food or drink he tastes, and even taste particular vapors in the air.

//SKILLS:

◼ PEAK PHYSICAL CONDITION | Having undergone several kinds of rigorous training across his lifetime, Matthew has achieved a human body at peak physical performance, with his strength, speed, stamina, endurance, agility, and reflexes all at the absolute upper limits of human capability.

◼ PEAK MENTAL ACUITY | Matthew is incredibly gifted, having studied hard and achieved great academic success in his civilian life, and honed that intellect into some more practical talents for his vigilantism. Skilled in detection and problem-solving, Matthew also has a fantastic working knowledge of criminology and psychology. Furthermore, Matthew is able to detach himself from emotional response when necessary, able to turn to logic and rationality and focus entirely on his goals, suppressing emotion completely.

▼ N O T E S:

---

//SUPPORTING CAST:
▼ FRIENDS

◼ FRANKLIN 'FOGGY' NELSON | Matthew's partner in law as Assistant District Attorney and lifetime best friend, the two met at Columbia Law and have been inseparable ever since. Foggy is Matthew's walking conscience and moral compass, always there to guide Murdock back towards the light when the Devil strays too far into the dark.

◼ KAREN PAGE | A beautiful blonde hired by Foggy to be his and Matthew's assistant, Karen is tenacious, intelligent, and a little too morally upstanding to be safe in Hell's Kitchen. She enjoys a fiery chemistry with Murdock, although he refuses to let anything come of it.

◼ ELEKTRA NATCHIOS | Matthew's girlfriend, a New York socialite with deep coffers of family money and an alluring enigmatic nature that Matt finds irresistible. The two challenge and electrify each other daily and though their relationship is difficult, they both find it fulfilling.

◼ STICK | A martial arts master with supersensory abilities even more advanced than Murdock's, he recognized Matthew's condition at the orphanage and took him away for training. He is mysterious, stoic, and guarded, but nonetheless a strong ally of Matthew.

◼ JACK 'BATTLIN' MURDOCK | Matthew's father, a semi-pro boxer in Hell's Kitchen who raised Matthew as a single father. He did well, teaching Matthew to be a kinder and better person than Jack was, and after Matthew's accident, still encouraged him to pursue his studies. Tragically, he eventually crossed the mob of Hell's Kitchen while Matthew was still young, and Matthew has been trying to do his father proud ever since.

▼ ENEMIES

◼ THE KINGPIN | The unquestioned head of nearly all organised crime in New York, with an iron grip on Murdock's neighborhood of Hell's Kitchen, and an intellect to match his physicality. Ruthless, violent, intelligent - there is no criminal in New York who would cross the Kingpin. But there is a Devil waiting to face him.

Roman's Archive

VOLUME ONE: ORIGINAL SIN

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ John Thomas Constantine _________________________________________________________ 19 | Single _________________________________________________________ Independent | English A L L I E S & A N T A G O N I S T S A L L I E S & A N T A G O N I S T S _________________________________________________________ [+] - A L L I E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ FRANCIS 'CHAS' CHANDLER - Best Friend ◼ CHERYL CONSTANTINE - Sister ◼ GARY LESTER - Friend (Deceased) A N T A G O N I S T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ THOMAS CONSTANTINE - Father ◼ THE LAUGHING MAGICIANS - Ancestral Constantines ◼ JACOB CONSTANTINE - Stillborn Brother ◼ NERGLE - Demon ◼ BEVERLY 'BEAVER' HUGHES - Drug Dealer - - P O S T C A T A L O G U E P O S T C A T A L O G U E _________________________________________________________ 1.01 - Malice Aforethought 1.02 - According to Some 1.03 - Radical Notions 1.04 - Youth Today 1.05 - Lifelong Friends 1.06 - If Anyone Asks 1.07 - Valuable Lesson 1.08 - Eager to Die 1.09 - Salt the Earth 1.10 - .

T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... __________________________________________________________________________________ John was born May 10th 2006 to Mary-Anne Constantine and Thomas Constantine, alongside his stillborn twin brother, Jacob. Mary-Anne died during the birth, and Thomas, now a widower with a dead son, never forgave John. John wouldn't understand his father's hatred - but Cheryl, his older sister, would, and did her utmost to shield him from what she could all her life. For seventeen years, the bond between Cheryl and John would form an impenetrable barrier against Thomas' hate, a bubble of compassion and love to retreat into no matter what baseless punishment their father meted out; a bubble made only stronger by the addition of Gary Lester and Francis Kramer to their alternative family. The four formed a powerful union of friendship, each individual guided and guarded by the other three, pursuing interests both independently and collectively, treading the new and old that surrounded them. The darker aspects of art, Punk and Emo, Horror and the Occult, let them explore the darkness of their own lives in measured, controlled environments, binding them with a common pursuit. In each other they found safe harbour. Until Cheryl disappeared. The absence of one splintered those remaning. Gary turned to vice, pushing his mind to oblivion rather than suffer the hole; Francis fled to London, abandoning memories now turning sour; John found his psyche fracturing completely, growing obssessive and fevered, now subject to Thomas without shelter. When the investigation stalled, and then closed, John threw himself from the Ethelfleda Bridge, and after being fished from the Mersey River, was sectioned to Ravenscar Psychiatric Hospital. Two years later and nineteen years old, John has been remanded from Ravenscar to temporary residency. Cheryl is still gone, and John is still haunted by her absence. Thomas is to the wind, absconded from the family he had grown to hate so much. His old and only friends are scattered, burying their pain in the intervening years. But fresh spectres are beginning to re-open old wounds; will John lose what little fragile mind he has left entirely? Or will he strive to finally put old ghosts to rest? P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ___________________________________________________________________________________ My drive behind bringing John back into the mix is to rekindle my drive for writing in general. After a long period of struggle and burnout at work I now find myself facing into a lot of free time, and to that end I want to re-discover my passions and hobbies, and begin a slow-but-steady road back to some manner of happiness. Please understand my character submission is predicated on a real possibility that I will not be able to immediately overcome these barriers. This story for Constantine is, I think, one of my best; mapped out from start to finish with (I feel) a strong narrative and a core thread of emotion, it brings a humanist side to John that I think in recent years has been lost behind the Liverpool con-man bravado and the occultist flash-magic. John Constantine is a man with sadness and heartbreak at his core, and I think the idea of him as a wretched, pitiable figure who'd rather just have a normal life but is inexorably forced - one way or another - to face into tragedy after tragedy is one left by the wayside in many incarnations and appearances. The use of the Absolute ident is no accident or embellishment, either; the central principle of DC's new run is to retain the core traits and pillars of the characters while stripping away something previously thought vital: Bruce's wealth, Kal-El's upbringing with the Kents, Flash's connection to the Speedforce. My Constantine - my Absolute Hellblazer - is a John without Astra, without magic; and yet, calamity somehow even more profound has struck him down, and John will have to rely on deals struck with others and the strength of his own wits to claw himself back from the Hell he will find himself mired in.

---

---

VOLUME TWO: EVERY ROOM A MOUTH

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ John Thomas Constantine _________________________________________________________ 21 | Single _________________________________________________________ Independent | English A L L I E S & A N T A G O N I S T S A L L I E S & A N T A G O N I S T S _________________________________________________________ - A L L I E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ FRANCIS 'CHAS' CHANDLER - Best Friend ◼ CHERYL CONSTANTINE - Sister (Severed from Causality) ◼ GARY LESTER - Friend (Deceased) A N T A G O N I S T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ THOMAS CONSTANTINE - Father (Missing) ◼ THE LAUGHING MAGICIANS - Ancestral Constantines (Banished) ◼ JACOB CONSTANTINE - Stillborn Brother (Taken by Nergal) ◼ NERGLE - Demon (Slain by Mammon) ◼ MAMMON - Demon Lord of Avarice ◼ BEVERLY 'BEAVER' HUGHES - Drug Dealer - - P O S T C A T A L O G U E P O S T C A T A L O G U E _________________________________________________________ VOLUME ONE: Original Sin 1.01 - Malice Aforethought 1.02 - According to Some 1.03 - Radical Notions 1.04 - Youth Today 1.05 - Lifelong Friends 1.06 - If Anyone Asks 1.07 - Valuable Lesson 1.08 - Eager to Die 1.09 - Salt the Earth 1.10 - . VOLUME TWO: Every Room A Mouth 2.01 - TBC 1

T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... __________________________________________________________________________________ John was born May 10th 2006 to Mary-Anne and Thomas Constantine, alongside his stillborn twin brother, Jacob. Mary-Anne died during childbirth, and Thomas, now a widower with a dead son, never forgave John. Hatred was seeded at John's very first moments of life, and his only reprieve would be his older sister Cheryl, who devoted herself to protecting John from their drunken and abusive father. The bond between Cheryl and John was unbreakable, even in the face of Thomas' misplaced wrath, and for seventeen years they would bulwark one another against the injustice of their father's wrath, bolstered further by their deep friendships with Francis 'Chas' Chandler and Gary Lester. The four found safe harbour and common ground in each other, and formed a strong unit based on compassion; until Cheryl disappeared, and the vanishing of one splintered those who were left behind. Unbeknownst to John, Jacob had been destined before his birth to be the next incarnation of a powerful sorcerer known as the Laughing Magician, an individual born over and over throughout the history of the Constantine bloodline. With Jacob's death in the womb through horrific accident, the ancestral Constantines hatched a plan to both rebirth Jacob as fated using Cheryl as an incubator, and also exact revenge on John as their chosen 'vessel' for Jacob's soul. Their plan was too successful, fracturing John's mind, and after they were forced to mitigate a suicide attempt, John spent two years in Ravenscar Psychiatric Hospital. Francis fled to London. Gary turned to drugs. When John got out, his ancestor's plans were set back in motion. Subtly guiding him to reconnect with Chas and Gary, they ended up once again on the fateful Runcorn Railway Bridge. John killed Gary in self-defence, and then it all went to Hell: first figuratively, when the demon known as Nergal appeared and explained the terrible conspiracy John had been caught up in, and then literally, when John forged a bargain with Nergal to take him to Hell where Cheryl was being kept. In Hell, John managed to cut a deal with Mammon, Lord of Avarice for his assistance in dealing with his rogue 'family'. Between John, Nergal, and Mammon, Jacob and the Laughing Magicians were defeated, Cheryl was freed, and John returned to Earth to be with his sister again, now dubbed by Mammon himself the true and last Laughing Magician, the last Constantine of his line. After returning home, John found a new world opening up to him, one mysterious and layered but also unfortunately, inevitably, dangerous. Having created new enemies and inherited old ones, John couldn't risk the target on his back extending to his now-saved sister, and made the difficult decision to leave her behind to keep her safe. Now, Cheryl is protected from forces that would do her harm to get to John, and John has abandoned England entirely, nothing left to keep him around. He and Chas have moved to Chicago; Chas trying to scrape a living, and John trying not to think about how much his misses his sister, how guilty he feels over Gary's murder, and how his soul is currently inevitably bound for Hell when his time comes. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ___________________________________________________________________________________ I brought John back in a previous RP in a bid to rekindle my drive for writing in general after a severe and ongoing depressive period that indirectly brought about a decision to leave my job. With suddenly oodles of time, I directed what energy I could into re-writing, and following through on, what I felt/feel was/is one of, if not my best stories across the many years of this hobby, one I'd had rattling around my head for at least six years. I wrote that story, start to finish, and I had a blast doing do, and it brought back some old writing mojo I'd lost in the last half-decade or so, and got a lot of very positive feedback in the process. In the end, I was quite pleased with what I'd managed and how successful the experiment had been, how I now officially had my stamp on Hellblazer forever, and left my stint as John in that RP there. Originally I didn't have a follow-up arc to carry on writing with. Six years is a long time to stew on a story and to come up with something that could stand up alongside a story I'd built up so much in my own head felt very daunting, and this got a little bit harder when the reception was so positive that I began to feel like I was teetering on a pedestal and liable to crash to the ground at any moment. However, in doing some research, I was struck with inspiration, and with the mojo returned from writing the original story in the first place, keeping that momentum felt a lot easier than screeching to a halt and pivoting to a different character and story completely. Between that and straight-up bonafide requests that I continue, it felt like we'd naturally moved on to the second experiment: now that the passion was re-ignited, could I carry on, continue enjoying myself, let myself play it a little faster and a little looser, but maintain consistency in both quality and engagement? Absolute Hellblazer Volume Two, Haunted House Boogaloo. Let's find out.

---

Roman's Archive

P E N N Y D R E A D F U L

---

^{P E N E L O P E B O Y L E ◼ O C T O B E R 2 0 0 1 ( 1 7 ) ◼ F E M A L E ◼ H E T E R O S E X U A L}

^{"Go away. No, I'm not being funny. Please leave. Look, I even said please. Go. Away."}

▼ A P P E A R A N C E:

---

^{"No, I didn't fall from heaven, these are Earth Pants not Space Pants, and I don't take Chem 101. This is embarrassing."}

//STATS:

◼ HEIGHT | 5'2"

◼ WEIGHT| 110lbs

◼ ETHNICITY| Caucasian

◼ EYES | Dark brown

◼ HAIR | Bright orange, but dyed to be subdued

//DESCRIPTION:

Penelope is pretty; undeniably so. She matured earlier than a lot of her peers and has comfortably become an attractive woman in a few short years - but she refuses to show it off, wearing baggy, form-hiding clothes to hide her hourglass shape. She is cold and intentionally distant, physically closing herself off to those around her with a furious glare and defensive body language.

▼ B I O G R A P H Y:

---

^{"Don't give people the chance to hurt you. Nothing dreadful about protecting yourself."}

To say Penelope's upbringing was conservative would be a fair estimation. Her mother struggled to conceive a child, and when they did, Penelope was a pale, sickly child, and her birth almost cost her mother her life - the family's doctors sternly advised against conceiving any more - so Penelope's parents took every precaution to cherish the only child they had; 'cherish' being a subjective term. Penelope's father was religious, and made sure his wife and daughter were penitent as well. With her mother not working, her father making a meager salary, and Penelope herself ill, or worried about becoming ill, she spent little time socialising, her parents often forcing her to take 'sick days' from school out of fear, and opting to hometeach her instead. Eventually she was pulled out of Elementary entirely in favour of her mother and father's tutelage, and she lost what few friends she had managed to acquaint herself with.

By the time Penelope aged out of elementary education, she had also aged out of positive relationships with her parents; her father was a strict, authoritarian figurehead to her rather than a dad, and her mother was a meek, unsure mouse of a woman who was more an extension of her husband's will than an individual person of free thinking and ambitions. Out of sheer frustration on her father's part, Penelope was enrolled to Mather's Memorial High just to ease the consistently-tense atmosphere of the house for eight hours a day, and thus she was forced to re-enter public education, and face her peers. They were not kind.

Already in possession of a dubious reputation for her disappearance from Elementary, and the general disdain that her parents publicly held for a lot of their neighbours, Penelope's entrance into High School was not well-received. When she started growing and maturing earlier and fuller than her peers, the jealousy and insecurity of her classmates mixed with whispered rumours and She was the victim of locker pranks, gum on her notes, snapped pens and pencils, lipstick-written warnings, hair pulled, projectile food in the cafeteria. Penelope was bullied, to put it simply, and she took this stress home with her, only worsening her relationship with her mother and father, who often grounded, isolated and berated her further. With no support network, Penelope dealt with her struggles through the only avenues left to her; a mix of volatile retaliation and a hard, structured shell. She constantly crossed between a short-fused and unpredictable hellion-child and a sullen, icy, and near-mute stone wall of a woman. Her newfound defensive mechanisms put a quick end to the more ostentatious bullying, but it earned her a new nickname that she was almost exclusively referred to by: 'Penny Dreadful'.

Penelope accepted the nickname, the snide comments, and the behind-the-back whispers gracefully, all things considered; to her, it was clear that she was not destined to be a sociable girl regardless, so public opinion of her didn't matter. She occasionally picked up attention from boys who didn't know better - which could not be helped given her attractive features - but they soon learnt, either from classmates, or from Penny herself, that she was neither worth the effort nor recipient of the advances. Penelope was terse, aloof, and stand-offish, and she was well-known among her academic year, although certainly not for the 'right' reasons. Everyone knew Penny Dreadful, and if you didn't, you'd see her coming soon enough, with a stare to freeze steel and a fierce temperament to back up her words.

Perhaps the only boon Penelope gathered from her tumultuous high school years was the ability to study un-distracted by the usual smattering of social gatherings and activities that her classmates were often partaking in. With no party invites, no mall hangouts, no summer barbecues, Penelope's free-time was used academically, and academically only. Her grades, previously suffering from the stress of her victimization, now began to soar. It was a small reward for an ultimately far greater cost - but Penelope was thankful for the rare positives she could cling to. A bright and intelligent girl, if socially stunted, Penelope looks towards leaving Mathers Memorial, and all of Crestwood, far behind her. Perhaps then she will make some true friends - if she learns to break down her walls.

▼ A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:

---

^{"My bite is far worse than my bark. Back off."}

//ABILITIES:

◼ AUTOBIOKINESIS | Penelope possesses the ability to freely warp her own genetic makeup on-the-fly to make immediate and drastic changes to her body's physiology. She is able to turn her hand into a brutal appendage of spiked or bladed bone, split her mouth to her ears and open a mouth full of fangs, sprout new eyes, push barbs through her skin and become thorned head-to-toe, re-route her stomach acid through her saliva glands...with full mastery, she will be a warping monster of flesh and bone, adapting quickly to incoming threats and turning herself into a flurry of teeth and bone.

//SKILLS:

◼ ACADEMICAL ACHIEVEMENT | Quite simply, with nothing else to do with her time, Penelope has managed to accomplish quite the academical record, with high and consistent GPA, extra-curricular activities, and excellent coursework and exam results.

◼ STONE-WALL AND ACID TONGUE | With her history of bullying, Penelope is quite blase about any attempts to 'get her goat' as it were, able to let insults, rumours, snappy asides, and all kinds of verbal unpleasantness slide right off her back, and reply quickly in an equally vicious manner.

//LIMITATIONS:

◼ SOCIAL INABILITY | With the only friends she's ever had far, far behind her, Penelope has never had the real, proper opportunity to learn how to make and keep friends, and with her past, what she has learnt is how to manage quite the opposite effect. She's not great in a social situation, and would rather avoid it altogether.

◼ BAD REPUTATION | Everyone knows about 'Penny Dreadful', and how she earned the moniker; there are few willing or capable of interacting with Penelope for fear of damaging their own social standing.

◼ CONSERVATION OF MASS | With the laws of physics in play, Penelope cannot materialize bio-matter to manipulate - she must change or transfer what is already there. A leg can change shape or form, but she cannot sprout an extra pair out of the blue.

//WEAKNESSES:

◼ INSECURITIES | With her early-developed body a frequent target for mockery and slander in her early Mathers Memorial years, Penelope has developed a fear of her own body, believing her impressive figure freakish and undesirable. She is sensitive about her appearance, and has debilitating body-image issues that she cannot face.

◼ MONSTROUS, NOT MUSCULAR | Penelope can sprout teeth, talons, thorns, eyes, mouths - all manner of assorted horrors straight from eldritch tomes - but she cannot make herself hardier, faster, tougher than she already is. Skin and bone is only as strong as skin and bone can be, regardless of where that skin and bone may find itself. She cannot command her muscles to withstand more damage than muscle can be reasonably expected to withstand; she must rely on agility and quick wits to avoid punishment while delivering her own.

▼ N O T E S:

---

//SUPPORTING CAST:

▼ ALLIES

◼ DANIEL BOYLE | Penelope's father, a terse and faithful man, with a strained relationship with his daughter. He maintains a paternal bond with Penelope, but their personal relationship is frayed and fraught with tense and heated arguments about her manner, belief, future, responsibilities...both Penelope and her father imagine it would be easier to list what they don't argue about, as opposed to what they do.

◼ MATHILDA BOYLE | Penelope's mother, a pale, meek woman, rarely speaking and often too quiet to be heard when she does offer some words of advice. Struggling since Penelope's birth with physical weakness, and then struggling mentally with the stress of Penelope's upbringing and personal troubles, she seems firmly sequestered within her own self, walled away to an even greater degree that what her daughter has learnt to do.

▼ FRIENDS

◼ NONE | Yet, Penelope hopes, but she isn't helping her own cause.

▼ ENEMIES

◼ PENELOPE'S PEERS | Penelope's reputation and past haunt and cling to her to this day, and she rarely walks down a hallway these days without some verbal jab speared in her direction. Physical altercations have long since ceased, but the icy air that surrounds her is still waiting to clear.

//STOMPING GROUNDS

◼ MATHER'S MEMORIAL HIGH SCHOOL | Where Penelope spends the majority of her time, often even on weekends. She studies in class, eats alone at lunch, remains after school in any number of extra-curricular activities - ranging from elective study hall to assistant administration work - and then returns home to eat, sleep, avoid her parents, and return to Mathers Memorial the following day.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Popping in to say work is kicking my ass this week as I've just had one of my members of management taken from me due to internal politics at another site and I'm also having to panic prep for my half-year review which was dropped on me at the weekend. Also got a close friend's birthday tomorrow and seeing IT: Chapter One and Two double bill Thursday night. Those aren't work obligations but they are 'keep me sane' obligations.

Girlfriend is away all weekend from Friday morning so if I can get past Thursday and my review I don't have anything in my way and I can get Matt up and hopefully John issue 2.

I don't anticipate work to get easier for at least 4-5 weeks, depending on what some of my peers can offer me for support due to this political situation, so I'm STILL IN but I may need to really use all of the 2 weeks between posts. Sorry wraith and the general public too.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

_{Previously...}

Next...

---

_{Season One: All The Rest Of Us}

Issue One: Departure

John Constantine’s room is a shithole.

Wall-to-wall, the floor is visible only in scraps, littered with garbage that feels like aggressive white noise in its hostile repetitiveness. Beer can, discarded food packet, dirty laundry, beer can, discarded food packet, dirty laundry, beer can, scrap of carpet. Foil sheet, emptied of pills. Beer can. Empty plastic bottle of six bob voddy. Beer can. Laundry. Beer can. Beer can. Beer ca-

John wakes up. His neck hurts, and he knows this is because he has no pillow, but he is inwardly angry anyway, resenting his body for being damaged by his own poor caretaking. He rolls over onto his stomach, and the physical exertion makes him feel nauseous, and he reaches for a plastic carrier bag to vomit into. Nothing comes up, but John tastes bile in the back of his throat and spits thick saliva into the bag. He throws the bag away, another movement he immediately regrets, and while it lands atop one of the scarce few bits of carpet left, John tears rapidly through the closest pile of rubbish and fag-butts to find at least one smokeable cigarette. He comes up empty, and now his hangover, a fetid miasma of migraine, nausea and muscle ache, begins to crash in waves against him, and his scorched throat begs for further lashings.

Ignoring both, or at least ignoring the ever-increasing urge to vomit, John sits up on his mattress. His duvet, thin with no sheets, falls off his torso quietly, the change in temperature barely noticeable. He splays his legs out in front of him, kicking aside empty cans and paper wrappers with his heels as he waits for the dizziness to subside. John rubs his eyes. He stands, legs cold and shaking, and then makes a quick trip to the bathroom across the hall, where the nausea overcomes him and he empties his stomach and his bladder in quick succession.

It is while John washes his hands, mouth, and face under the cold tap in the sink that he thinks of his stash. He finishes off, patting himself dry on a stained, ragged old towel that he scoops from the floor and then returns there, and crosses the hall again back to his room. His stash is hidden behind his chest of drawers, and he has to move a pile of laundry before he can move it, but when he does he can see the cracks in the wall almost instantly. He can't remember the last time he used his stash, but to his nicotine starved mind, behind that small section of pull-away wall hides John's earthly salvation: a small white box, adorned with a simple purple square.

John feverishly works his finger into the small hole carved into the wall and pulls at the section. It is stiff but comes loose without much effort, and John quickly pushes his free hand into the compartment. His fingers find no box, but instead touch glossy paper. John seizes the object and pulls it out for inspection.

He barely glances at the old photograph before he drops it reflexively and casts his gaze away, his whole body flinching before going rigid. He is dumbfounded, all thought function seizing up and clattering to a halt. His vision swims and his heart-rate and breathing speed up involuntarily, as his surroundings seem to swell against him and push upon his skin. He places a hand on the chest of drawers to steady himself, and screws his eyes shut tight enough to hurt. His blood pounds in his ears, drowning out all other sound, and though John breaths he is asphyxiating, his chest feeling like a clockwork spring with its key being wound; tighter and tighter, twisting his innards into a tense ball that grows smaller withe very turn, every gasp for air a new threat that it would burst and punch a hole clean through John's torso, killing him and letting loose every demon and insecurity, every bad though he'd ever had, for everyone to see and point and judge and laugh and ostracize and -

And then it's over. The coil unwinds, slowly but gently, and John's breath and vision come back to him. He lets go of the drawers, his knuckles brilliant white and his hand aching, and carefully, slowly, picks up the two pill boxes that stand alone atop the unit, pulling a foil rack from each and pop-pop releasing the pills from their containers. John reads the words 'citalopram' and 'clozapine' with glazed-over eyes as he swallows the tablets dry, and then takes some deep, steady breaths as he bends down to retrieve the photograph, holding it with both hands as he stands back up.

The photo is of a young girl, center frame, water behind her and the light of the sun reflected off of it to illuminate the girl from behind, giving her an ethereal golden outline. John is almost moved to tears just looking at the picture.

Instead, he tears his eyes away from the smiling face of the girl and sets the photo down next to his pills. He looks around his room, allowing the true scope and meaning of the filth to sink in, and then dresses himself in the least-smelly pair of jeans and top with the fewest stains. He pockets his pills, and then carefully folds and pockets the photo as well.

Downstairs, John pads quietly from the hallway to the kitchen in search of water and food. He drinks from the tap and takes a half-empty packet of digestives from the cupboard, and then makes his way to the front door. Behind him, through the hallway into the living room, he can see Thomas Constantine - a father to the letter of the law and no further - sound asleep on his worn and rotted old armchair. A can of lager has fallen from his hand and spilled across his lap and the floor. From here John can smell piss as well. He nervously eyes the small mound of empty cans beside Thomas, and can't help but picture the cans on his bedroom floor upstairs.

John turns around. Thomas' jacket is hung beside the door and John does not hesitate to pilfer the wallet from the inside pocket and empty it of the cash within. He turns, putting a hand on the handle of the door, and hesitates only long enough for his other hand to touch a finger to the photograph of his sister in his pocket - and then he leaves.

---

John was ten, Cheryl fourteen. Summer in Liverpool, as much as Liverpool could allow, and the sky was covered by a pallid shroud of grey clouds. They were collecting change - running through the streets, spotting shrapnel on the floor, on abandoned tables, in phoneboxes and ticket machines. John's pockets rattled melodically with coins as he joked, jostled, teased and cracked wise. Cheryl downplayed her amusement but could not stifle a chuckle here and there.

At a dockside cafe, Cheryl distracted the owner with meandering, protracted questions about the menu, while John took the opportunity to dip his hand into the tip jar and came up with a few more silvers than he had gone in with. Cheryl had ordered cola and sandwiches and the pair ate outside; when the owner turned to serve another customer, the pair had ran, laughing at themselves and each other as the frustrated shouts grew quieter and quieter behind them.

Back on the high street they ducked into a Boots and found a disposable camera; John emptying his pockets into Cheryl's outstretched hands so that she could count out their collection. They had only scrap left after their purchase, but they left the coins and the plastic wrapping of the camera on the counter behind them as they left with their prize. They filled the camera roll in only a few short hours, and then returned to Boots to develop the film. The lady behind the counter huffed and puffed as they turned out their pockets to pay the fee, and eventually, just waived it entirely as their performance grew too tedious to deal with any longer.

John and Cheryl sat on a street bench in the fading sunlight, thumbing eagerly through their envelope of photographs. Many were unfortunately marred by poor lighting, lens glare, or even intrusions from John's clumsy fingers as he had played with the camera. But one picture stood out: Cheryl, standing center frame with the Royal Albert Docks behind her, smiling and laughing at the John behind the camera. The clouds had opened up in a moment of serendipity to stream sunlight down onto the water, and it bounced off the surface of the docks to light up the photo from behind. To John, the photo was remarkable, perhaps the greatest accomplishment of his young life so far; it held a paradoxically fleeting and infinite moment of serenity, and seemed to capture an angelic quality about Cheryl. The photo was a gleaming representation of John's sister through John's eyes; he loved it, and her, and they spent the rest of the evening delaying their return home any way they knew how.

---

John sits on his arse on the kerb outside of Leicester central station, staring at the creased photo of Cheryl he holds out in front of him. The cash in his father's wallet got him from Liverpool to Nottingham, and dodging the ticket man had gotten him from Nottingham to Leicester, and here he had been caught and summarily ejected when he was found unable to pay the fine.

The sun he sits in is suddenly blocked by an approaching figure, who casts a large shadow across John as he stands watching. John looks up, squinting against the sun that shines behind the man.
"What do you want." John demands, his back bristling on habit alone. Liverpool didn't teach him to be friendly.
"You look lost."
"What's it to you, geez? Shove off."
The man chuckles, and this both irritates and disarms John.
"Thought you might need a hand."

John pauses, hesitant. This stranger's forward nature unsettles him. He is not used to kindness.
"I'm fine. Shove off." The man does not move. This annoys John. "You bored?"
"What's that photo?"
John stands up, and pockets the photo. The man is taller than John, and wider, and John is cold and hungry, but John has anger and a wild, nervous energy building inside him. John thinks he could take the man if he had to.
"None of your business." He responds, looking the stranger directly in the eyes and locking his jaw. He waits.

The man steps back, and without the sun behind his head John can see him clearly. He has a friendly face, and in his eyes is a look of genuine concern and empathy. The man holds both his hands up before putting them back in his jacket.
"Fair enough. Bad start.” He steps forward, only slightly, and extends a hand to shake. John does not take it. “Francis Chandler.”
John does not offer his name. Instead, he sits back down. Francis stays standing. After a long pause, John explains.
“I’ve come from Liverpool. Trying to get to London to visit an old friend. Cash ran out at Nottingham. Narcs caught me here. Now I’m stuck.”

Francis rubs the messy stubble of his chin and sits down next to John, taking off his flat cap.
“Well, that’s a fair bit of luck to get from Nottingham to here.” He days after a moment of deliberation. John murmurs an unenthusiastic agreement. “And I reckon you got chucked just in time too.”
John frowns and looks at Francis. He smiles, a wry little smirk that forces John to like him a little. “I’m leaving back to London today. Just escaped a visit to my ogre of a ma. Car’s parked at the station. Saw you first, though. Lucky bugger, don’t you think?”

John stares at Francis, his face conveying all manner of emotion: incredulity; confusion; distrust; disbelief; hope. He doesn’t know how to respond, or whether he should. Most of him thinks Francis is playing a cruel joke.
“If you get your jollies being a cunt I reckon you’re done for the day with this one.” He finally says, and Francis laughs. John waits for a response, but Francis doesn’t reply. “Why?”

Francis shrugs.
“You look like you could use some help.”
“I could be about to take you for all you’re worth.”
Francis laughs again. “You’re welcome to, got fuck all anyway. I’d let you drive away with me in the boot if it got me away from my mother.”
“Why do you want to help me so bad?”

Francis stands up, John does the same. Francis stands across from John, regarding his skinny frame in the sunlight.
“I’ve got a nose for good hearts. Good people. You got an aura about you. I can tell. You just need a break.”
John could cry. Francis has compassion he hasn’t felt since...that he hasn’t felt in a long time. He clears his throat.
“I think you’re full of shit.” He pauses as Francis chuckles. “But I could do with a break.”
John extends his hand to shake. Francis takes it firmly.
“John Constantine. Nice to meet ya, Francis.”

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Who even IS 'Luke'?!

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

SUB-TWEETING

Either I’m Not funny or I’m wasted on you people and on god I’m not admitting to the former

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

No sub-tweeting please.