( AN OPEN POST #2 )

[charmlessness]

 
 
 

you know the drill. pick your poison (not entirely limited to those listed). reply with a prompt in the form of a post, photo, song, text, voicemail, whatever your heart desires & receive a response. simple, right? right.

 
 
 

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( lydia )

[dabbling]

[ this town's a bloody shithole. he can smell it about ten miles out; the whole thing reeks of teenagers' hormones and wolf bollocks.

he tells himself he could go the other way. chas has never been particularly fond of california, and he's not half fancy of it on his own, either. they say it's a beacon, of sorts — as if "beacon hills" wasn't cliched enough for you, here, let's have a pun, eh? — that it calls out to the supernatural in a way that might do up a shiver or two.

that's not why they're here, of course. it's rather a happy circumstance that they've made it past the state line, after a messy exorcism stint he'd had here back in the 80s. the same stint, in which, he'd found himself shacked up with a sort of harbinger of death: a banshee, one lorraine martin. she'd been out in los angeles when they'd come to know one another, but her heart never really left this cocked up spit of a town.

so, when he mutters to chas around a cigarette about taking a left instead of a right, he knows to do the opposite. they haven't happened here for nothing. there's trouble in them there hills, and he made a promise a long time ago to look after the next banshee that managed to find its way down the line. she's all spitfire red and a smile like her grandmother's; forgive him for keeping tabs on the girl, only doing his civic duty-like.

they've arrived none too soon. after the bit with the druids, the nogitsune bastard, and whatever the bleeding hell the argent girl had been turned into, there's talk of a storm brewing overhead. a storm that's like nothing they've ever known before. john's on the edge of his seat when he hears it. chas peels into gear, taking off toward the familiar wail.

when they arrive, john doesn't waste time. they're outside the local high school when he steps from the car. he tosses his cigarette to the wayside and raps his knuckles on the window. chas lowers it and john nods. ]

Keep an eye out, yeah? Kids out after curfew — nasty business.

[ he flashes his mate a grin and pulls his collar around his neck. the waves of her scream still resonate throughout the air. so much so, it's only a matter of tracing them to the source. he sighs as he pulls open the front door. ]

Right. School's back in bloody session, then.

[shesimmune]

( it's in the a.p. biology lab that she finds them — the bodies. at least a dozen of them, all displayed on the dissection tables primarily used for frogs and fetal pigs. clearly these people aren't meant to be a biology lesson, as they're (from what she can see in the darkness of the room) covered in precise carvings in a language that she can't discern. (the linguist deep inside of her cringes at the thought, but that's neither here nor there.)

like clockwork, from deep inside lydia martin's chest comes the uncontrollable scream that goes hand-in-hand with death. it rings through the empty hallways and she's sure that every being with a supernatural sense of hearing within a ten mile radius has heard it.

a couple of minutes drag by as she tries to steady herself from the oncoming spell of dizziness that comes with being so close to so many corpses. the idea alone is enough to leave her palms sweating, but the smell of the decaying flesh is far too much for her to handle. she quickly steps outside, back against the door of the lab and takes a deep, stomach-settling breath.

she's finally calming down when she hears it. even with her heart pounding in her ears, the sound of a door being opened can't be missed. the creaking followed by the familiar click of a large metal door falling back into place tells her that it's the front door of the school, which successfully traps her inside the building, given the fact that she's currently on the second floor.

her hand flies to her mouth in cover as her breathing quickens. the smart idea would be to go back inside the lab to hide, but in a room of dead people all screaming their stories at her, she would first go insane. the heels of her boots click softly (though not softly enough) on the tiled floor and she steps carefully to the edge of the stairwell and peeks over the railing.

of course, this plan goes to hell when her car keys that were dangling dangerously from her pocket slip out and fall down both flights of stairs. the rough sound of the metal keys jingling mocks her all the while. )

[dabbling]

[ a familiar tune fills the halls, pink floyd's 'another brick in the wall' bouncing back at him with all the irony he can muster. john's hands are in his pockets, fingering nick-nacks and bobbles that range from defence to protection. the rhythm lingers as he desists, eyes roaming through the darkness for any sign of life. this is whereabouts she rang from — of that, he'd had no doubt. surely, she'd be expecting someone to answer; all these creatures that go bump in beacon hills' night? who would heed the call? ]

I'm not here to hurt ya.

[ he calls out, holding up his palms now in mock surrender. from his right hand dangles a necklace with a charm he'd found in egypt, meant to shield him from any suddenness eager to do him harm. john's brow quirks, ears pricked for any sign of life. on the second floor, there comes a bit of a shuffle, followed by a long fall and the sound of crashing.

there's our girl.

john strolls forward, cautiously. there's no point in frightening away the reason he's come now, is there? ]

Well, 'allo there.

[ he bends forward, crooking a finger about the keyring. they're held above his head and he tilts his chin up, toward the source of the fall. causing noises and keeping hidden afterward — he notices a pattern forming here. ]

My name is John Constantine; I got your call, luv.

[ this receives nothing, but a silence. ]

I'm here to help you.

[shesimmune]

( tonight marks one too many times that lydia martin has been in an empty building with one other, unknown person. a person that, by all things considered, could be the reason why those people are in the lab, not to mention how they wound up dead and covered in carvings.

it's like being mocked, like they know she's on the second floor and can't get out because the only way out from here is down, or to go farther up and wind up trapped on the roof. the whistling, the slow, casual footsteps, and then—

"I'm not here to hurt ya."

sure, because she's never heard that before. that line's been taken from every single horror movie ever written, right before the person in question gets hurt. no way in hell is she falling for that one. instead, her keys fall for her, and she's mentally slapping herself when he speaks again.

hand glued to her mouth to keep quiet, it takes a long moment before she finds the strength to speak up. he knows she's here, so there's nothing else to do. )

I didn't call anybody.

( though she knows she probably should have the second she got to the school. stiles will no doubt have a field day when he hears that she was in the school alone with a stranger. she can hear him now, all flustered words flying at her a hundred miles per hour and overwhelming arm movements that will endanger just about everybody around them. they'll get even more absurd when she tells him later that she believed the stranger when he said he was here to help.

—because that's exactly what she's doing as she steps into the stairwell. )

They're in the biology lab. Bodies.

[dabbling]

I wouldn't be so sure about that, 'f I were you.

[ she's the spitting image the young lorraine — the younger lorraine, of course. chas'd remarked on his fondness, during their earlier car-ride, of elder women. only to be counteracted with john's admitted fondness of anyone, given a good, stiff drink. his mate grinned at that; fair point, he'd said.

the sight of her provokes a grin, and as she reaches a step closer to his person, john extends the keys — his olive branch. both his hands settle back within his coat and he takes a bootful of room behind him, allowing her a bit of space. his head nods, the girl adequately measured up in his eyes. ]

Well, let's just take a look at them, then, shall we?

[ he'll save their one degree of separation for when she's come down from the adrenaline high. banshees aren't easy to get anything past once they've released a scream; he'll be the first person to tell anyone. whatever happens next, of course, needs to happen fast. each time she opens her throat up and lets out her shriek, it reaches ears further and further down the mile.

seems as though he's come just in the nick of time, all knight in shining armor-like. he can hear chas taking the piss already. which means it's time to start walking. he takes the first stair, slow. he'll begin the conversation, then, eh? ]

What's your name?

[shesimmune]

( one thing that's to be said about lydia is that she is by no means stupid. just the contrary, really. she's got the highest iq in all of beacon hills, and arguably the entire tri-county area. she's got the brains to understand that he's referring to the fact that she screamed; that she's a banshee. what she's not yet ready to ask is how he knows (if he does know this fact about her.), let alone how he knew how to find her, when a scream from her is loud enough to hear for miles, and quite difficult to pinpoint for the non-supernatural.

she reaches out carefully to take the keys from him and pocket them once more, hand not leaving the safety of the fabric once it's there, clutching at the metal pieces all the while. to say she trusts him would still be an overstatement, but if he wanted to hurt her, he's had the opportunity since he found her. simple math, though it does nothing to comfort her. )

Lydia.

( it feels strange to offer such information. small talk doesn't seem important when a dozen corpses lay but a few yards from them, no doubt ready for some kind of crazy ritual sacrifice. she turns on her heel to head back in the direction she came from, her chest still tight from the scream she let out before her present company arrived.

she can only hope it's the only one she's going to release this evening as she waits for him to join her at the top of the stairwell. )

You? Or are you the nameless stoic type to just nod and ask where the dead people are?

[dabbling]

's like I've said, luv: The name's John Constantine.

[ john follows her, hand trailing behind hers along the railing. the whole place is practically teeming with dark energy. he can feel it crawling along the walls, slipping between the cracks in the floor. she had better stay close; a banshee can only do so much before she's realized her true potential — and with the way she's shaking, he's certain she hasn't quite gotten the hang of it. yet. ]

Lydia.

[ john repeats her name, allowing it to reverberate through his mouth and on skitter across his tongue. he wonders, for a short time, if she would say his name as lorraine once had. the idea causes a bit of a lurch in his gut, and he has to remind himself why he's come here. (can't blame the man for seeing what's right in front of him, can you? he's only human and that.) ]

Your surname wouldn't happen to be Martin, now, would it?

[ before she can jump to conclusions, his free hand raises, palm splayed in a quick — now, hang on a minute — motion. he's had enough of martin women leaping to conclusions for one lifetime. ]

I just so happened to know another banshee from around these parts, back in the eighties. Called herself Lorraine Martin. And me, well, I'm a few years right outside of the realm of coincidence, I'm afraid.

[shesimmune]

( like he said? does he really expect her to have heard everything he was saying while she was convinced that, if only for a brief moment, he was going to leave her carved up on one of those dissection tables?

john constantine. sounds like something out of one of those comic books that scott and stiles used to ramble about in school when they didn't think that anybody could hear them. only, something tells her that he doesn't quite have any of those superpowers.

he's right to put his hands up, because the second the word Martin leaves his lips, lydia's eyes are narrowed and she's spun around, staring at him with an please, explain expression. complete with an eyebrow raise and a hand at a jutted hip. any fear of this man has now been replaced with the ever present feeling of annoyance.

until, of course, he speaks of her grandmother, and that eyebrow raise turns into a furrow in confusion. )

You don't look old enough to have known my grandmother in the eighties. ( she takes a step towards him, arms crossing over her chest. ) How old were you, John Constantine? Ten, eleven, tops?

( all of this to avoid the fact that she's not yet ready to stomach the memory of her grandmother and all the things she didn't tell her about her life to come. all the confusion and hurt she could have saved her, and now here she's gone again, throwing some stranger her way.

always with the secrets in the martin family. )

If you're here to see her, you're a bit late. She died a long time ago at Eichen House.

[dabbling]

's a shame. She was a good woman, your grandmother.

[ john's expression falls into amusement as she attempts to punch holes in his story. he takes it, leaning an elbow on the railing as he listens to her. once she's had her say, of course, he nods his head. ]

Right, first thing's first — before we go any further, I'd just like to take a minute to point out that what you can do? Banshees, werewolves, angry Japanese trickster gods? Believe it. Believe in all of it. Because when you walk in my world, luv, you had better forget what you know and start realizing that the impossible just might save your life.

[ he starts past her, but as he begins his next point, he turns to her, pointing a finger as he looks down in her direction. ]

And number two: between you and me, I'll be takin' that bit about me age as a compliment, if you don't mind. Cheers.

[ john reaches the top of the stairs, eyeing a sign that indicates the chemistry lab is off in that direction. the direction that makes him feel ill in his bones. that'd be the one, of course.

can't have things going easy on him, now, can he? ]

[shesimmune]

( well, he got one thing right. if there was one thing lorraine martin was, at least in her earlier years, it was good. that's the side of her that lydia chooses to hold on to, not the side that drove a fellow banshee insane by experimenting on her. )

Your world. ( she reiterates the words, half amused and half annoyed. her lips purse now, and that eyebrow's gone right back to its previous spot high on her forehead. ) You walk into Beacon Hills high school one night, years after a sudden infestation of werewolves and banshees and angry Japanese trickster gods and suddenly it's your world? Where were you before all of this happened?

( she lets him walk by, because when it comes down to it, there's a much bigger problem at hand, and that's what brought them both here. or, rather, that's what brought her here; it's beginning to become more and more clear that she might be the reason he's here.

(she doesn't acknowledge this fact, though, because the idea alone is enough to make her stomach turn in an uneasy manner. just how much was her grandmother keeping from her?)

clearing her throat, lydia takes another step towards the lab. part of her tells her to go in and learn more, while the other, louder part of her wants to go as far as physically possible away from these screaming — yet silent, all at the same time — bodies. )

It's not so bad in there. ( something that shouldn't be said about corpses by a teenage girl, so she continues: ) I mean, if you're used to that kind of stuff.

[dabbling]

England. [ john answers simply.

but the answer is never really that easy with john — how could it be? opening up with hey, by the way, swung about to keep an eye on you. sorry i'm late, luv. traffic's hell isn't his way of doing things. he'll get there; at the moment, this — whatever this is — is taking precedence.

he felt the entity as soon as he'd crossed city limits. chas and john exchanged quirking eyebrows and pursed lips. his fingers had reached for a fag instinctively, and he'd muttered i hate this bloody town around the filter. it's old, something ancient. it makes the hallways pulse and the city streets come alive. beacon hills was due for its true purpose any day now.

good thing he'd shown up when he had, eh?

she's still talking just at his shoulder, most of her words falling on deaf ears. it isn't until her final note that he turns his head towards her. his lips are spread into a grin, all mischief and battered charm. she has no fucking clue.

his back is pressed to the door frame as he steps hesitantly. the door swings slow as he presses his palm to it, creaking on its hinges. the outline of the bodies is visible even in the darkness. when his fingers reach out to turn on the light, nothing comes. ]

Well, that's just bloody typical, ennit?

[ john moves inside the biology room fully now, pulling a small torch from his coat pocket. he points it, illuminating the corpses that lay in the distance. as he crosses the floor, his nose draws in the scent of sulfur, thick and ruminating. ]

I was all for a bit of dissection, back in my day, but this—?

[shesimmune]

( there's a lot lydia could say to this man at the moment, but a couple of very specific questions come to mind, first. number one being how the hell he even got involved with her grandmother. following shortly after is if he was in england, did he come all the way back to beacon hills just for her?

instead of following through with these or any of the other countless thoughts that have popped into her head, lydia simply shakes her head. it's been a whopping couple of minutes with john constantine, and she's just about finished with him. maybe it's the attitude, maybe it's the overwhelming "i'm the greatest" vibe that seems to radiate off of him, or maybe it's the fact that she doesn't really feel all that bothered by his presence. she only wishes she was.

stepping back in the room, she's suddenly glad for the cold front that the town's been having. imagine being in a hot room full of freshly dead people with open wounds. the thought alone is enough to twist her lips in disgust. )

There's no way you couldn't have seen that coming. ( she resists a snort, arms crossing once more as she steps behind him, eager to stay close just in case whoever did this is still in the building. ) That's supernatural cliché number one: the lights won't work.

( now, if only this were really a horror movie, and they actually weren't currently standing in a room full of corpses that are clearly meant for some kind of evil that beacon hills has not yet seen. that would require a luck that lydia martin does not possess. )

Have you seen anything like this before? I didn't recognize the language.

[dabbling]

She's an expert now, is she?

[ john holds the torch between his teeth, reaching toward the nearest corpse with both his hands. the skin is carved into, symbols and glyphs spread like art. the wounds are still fresh, but that does nothing for the smell of rot that reaches the back of his throat.

he turns over the corpse's hand in his own, looking at the specific symbol placed at the center of the palm. john raises a brow, mouthing the word hel-lo around the base of the light. he takes a step backwards, removing the torch. ]

You wouldn't.

[ he shines the light toward lydia. ]

That there's a demonic language.

[ the beam is pointed over the row of bodies. they're young, but older than the students that might frequent these halls. now, they're victims of a nasty bastard with a grudge on this town. the same one that's moving underneath their feet and hiding in the shadows. ]

Enochian, they call it. Straight from Hell's Bible — not your average King James version, this. What we're dealing with is something big. One nasty bugger looking to sink its teeth into your Beacon Hills.

[ john grins. ]

Lucky I'm here, then, eh?