johnconstantinejld
John Constantine, one and only
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Time
Conversation in Whitby café:
‘Alright, Doctor. What can you tell me?’
Mr Constantine, let me explain.
Time is a portal. It creeps along, and it reaches in and out trying to control. Time controls me. It travels with me, through me. My machine travels the portal with Time and Space. They are…malignant. They are my enemies. Not the Time Lords, Daleks, Sontarans. No, why do you think I keep moving?
The presence of something old like a black-and-white photograph, a traditional nursery rhyme, an old toy, or present-day people in the far future. They cause gaps in the portal where Time and Space can reach through and touch Earth.
When that occurs, that is not a pleasant thing.
A ghost hunter finds the spirit of a man killed eleven minutes before the eleventh minute of the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. A policeman shot and killed one day before his retirement. They are not cliches. They are, through no fault of their own, gaps through which Time and Space can reach and cause its trouble.
Dressing up in fancy dress from times past causes previous spirits to appear and rewrite history. I’ve seen a spirit or a beast, whichever it is, appear in every black-and-white photograph ever taken. Something malignant from Time grasped that old memory, through the power, I think, given off by the nostalgic memory attached, and grabbed hold of him.
‘Antiques shop in Dalston, Doctor. Sepia coloured children in there. A body turned up Leeds bearing all the signs of the medieval Black Death. A 1930s steam train journey to Edinburgh. God, had to sit on my arse all fucking day there. I had to convince the old man of his guilt in the past. When he was freed, the train finally made it there. See, the original journey never ended. Train just…’
Vanished?
‘Right. Avalanche was suspected, but the night was fine. No, he had guilt. And he wasn’t a German. He was an Allied one, suffering from the guilt of his actions in the war. Freisoythe? What he did to that train…’
You laid the ghost to rest. Did my job there for me, Mr John Constantine. Thank you.
‘What will you do, Doc? Why do you need a present-day human?
‘Oh, I’m the only Time Lord who travels now. The present-day human keeps Time and Space distracted. Why else would I take them? They’re a bit like tools. If I keep Time and Space looking at them, they don’t see me fighting back. But I go, keeping an eye on the portal of Time and Space, getting distracted by others. That’s why I don’t like the aliens who disrupt me. They interrupt the more important mission.’
‘You winning?’
For the most part. Good luck, Mr John Constantine. Been busy?
‘Vampire.’
In Whitby? That’s fiction.
‘Sure it is.’
‘Who was that, Professor?’
Friend.
Doctor Who meets Constantine meets Sapphire and Steel
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Take My Hand and Nothing Will Happen
Simply clasp the hand of the inviting creature and you will be safe. Take my hand, child. Nothing will happen to you. Nothing will happen to you ever again.
I've had this image going in my head for a while. I thought of this as a creature which would appear one dimensional and flat, yet your brain would read it as three dimensional, only realising that it would turn to face you before the thought of 'walking to face the side' had entered your mind. Terry Pratchett would probably have found a good way of explaining that. Long story short, Pyramid here appears flat, yet it is always facing you front on no matter where you stand because it turns before you have completed the steps to get to its side.
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Don't play cards with Zee
Day in the House of Mystery #138
Having poker game with Zee is no fun if both participants can magically change their cards, can telepathically read the opponent to figure a strategy and have ghosts telling you hints right in your ear.
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Yeah, one week we're up against Enchantress and the next we're up against some old lady demon that some teenage goth who's watched The Craft at midnight and wanted to try what they do without thinking. Remember John Constantine's two rules: Everyone can do magic, and whatever you call onto someone will happen threefold onto you. That's all there is to know. Oh, and don't ask Zatanna, she don't tell just anyone.
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Metropolis Tales-Luthor
Luthor interrogates Nygma, who asks him the question he can't answer
I’ve heard quite pleasing news. That clown in Gotham is finally dead. I was, I admit, initially dismissive of him. I thought he couldn’t handle a man in a Halloween costume. Then he nearly destroyed all my possessions in Metropolis. I admit, I failed to notice that ‘destroy all I own’ would be literal. Now he is finally dead, rotten from the inside-out from the chemicals which gave him that appearance. I also had trouble with that man in the Halloween costume. He got past all my security, including Mercy, and interrogated me. If he worked for me, it would be perfect.
I too bring news. Bruno Mannheim is dead. A gangster, nothing more, but still a credible threat and a roadblock to the transportation of…special goods for LexCorp. I made it, I admit. Come, come. I’ve been President and nearly led the United Nations. I can forge anything. I made it look as if what is his name ‘The Roman’ in Gotham was poking into his territory. One gang war later, and Ugly Mannheim is dead.
Jedem das Seine, as they say.
So, where were we? My name is still Mr Luthor to you. I am not of any other title to you. I congratulate you on your bravery. Few would be so idiotic as to announce their intentions to my face. But my good man, now you are on your knees. And it appears you have turned down numerous efforts to halt or turn to my side. This means you choose to operate against me. Am I scared? Let me check. I do not feel poisoned. My vault is still secure. My men are not incapacitated and despite a bit of a heavy sweat, I remain quite fit. Furthermore, all my mail is opened by someone else, therefore I receive no suspicious packages. Dear sir, you are in quite the predicament.
Allow me to explain. All Metropolis works for me, in one form or another. Even if they do not, sooner or later their business is linked to one of my own. I get a dime eventually, that is what I am saying. I do not know their names. I am informed by my spies that Mr Wayne knows the name of all his workers, from his board to the cleaning lady. He even asks after the security guard’s children. Wayne Industries allows unions, as well. Well, I know their names as well, but I don’t allow unions. Anthony Stark knows neither their names nor allows unions. But I hear he knows the insides of the bottle, if you know what I mean.
Allow me to be even further. You are addressing an übermensch, a Superman of the Nietzsche model. I agree on his works, but he was wrong when he said such men would eventually be brought down. I will not. That is simple. The alien…will serve me. His family will bow down, because eventually they will come around to understanding that they are literally Super people, and they will demand others serve them. Oh, don’t give me that nonsense of the civilians down there believing in hope and justice. Those are sweet nothings, empty words. I am at the top. I am the Super.
DON’T YOU SEE THAT? SOCIETY FEARED THE JOKER! THEY WANT TO BE LUTHOR!
The tree of liberty must be watered with the blood of patriots.
Any last words? Oh how cliché.
‘And tyrants. You don’t know the full quote, Luthor. Not so smart. All those who walk the path of darkness will soon become lost.’
Fascinating. You’re dressed in a green jumpsuit and drop riddles, and you’re telling me you’re the smart one. What do you do for an encore, Nygma?
‘After you do what you need to do with the Supers, then what?’
Nygma smiles.
I don’t know.
I simply do not know.
No…I would take down the others…and then villains…
No…
‘Didn’t think so.’
The lights go out. There comes the rustlings of an enormous bat. When we recover the lights, Nygma is nowhere to be seen, the window is broken, and I have no answers.
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The Initiation in the Forest
Partly based on The Girl with the Raven Mask by Avatarium, and partly on nightmare.
Her prince charming thought he was in control. He thought he had all the cards. But the girl was after more. She was more powerful. She was going to live happily ever after. The world was not.
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Turning Kafka into art. The absurdism in Franz Kafka begins when the person at the centre of the extraordinary (in this case, Gregor awakes to find himself transformed overnight into what is usually portrayed as a cockroach), meets the bureaucratic ordinary (he is more concerned about how he will go about his job than he is about 'Crap, I'm an insect'. He is more concerned with the urgent messages coming from work than how to answer them. Being neither Austrian nor Hungarian, he was stateless both in terms of religion (Jewish) and the fact that his country did not exist yet (Czechia), so he felt a very absurdist situation himself. His biggest fear? Sleepwalking out of an open window. Upon his death, he asked his executor to burn all his works.Luckily, that didn't happen. I have Gregor sort of cockroach and human, wearing his suit and tie and coat like some Twilight Zone sort of figure.
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Another L.S. Lowry inspired work
Cinema-Saying Goodnight to his Girl
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God 90
The boy sat smiling, his face covered in ash but otherwise fine. He’d tell them everything. Oh, the words they had cried. One by one, they all fell behind him. The old lady was the first, caught by surprise and expressing fright, crying out his name. It awoke the adopting father, who found a boy developing in puberty beating and raping the woman. Before he could move, the laughing boy was upon him as well.
‘Big rat, big rat…Shouldn’t have given me the brain of a criminal, I think.’ He was laughing.
‘I always thought…we were in contravention of the Geneva Convention…’ The old man spluttered, ‘Always had my doubts.’
Another hit.
‘Always said, ‘Let’s stop when he begins developing. Puberty might be dangerous’. No, the Americans said it’d be fine whenever. Liked your brain. Probably liked your body.’
He fell.
He sank his teeth into Loover next, throwing him around the dusty basement, with that huge machine in which his brain was distorted and moulded.
‘Always were a little shit…’ Loover gasped.
Where had he changed? His brain, perhaps. Giving him the waves of a convicted murderer had not been the best move, then setting him off destroy an apparent enemy base.
‘It was full of children, you cunts!’ He blurted. ‘And who said I liked this country? It’s fucking fascist!’
The fire brigade, the police came to investigate the fire. There he sat, waiting for them with a dancing smile.
‘Big rats, gentlemen. Had to put them down.’
A final explosion from the remains of the house. They asked if he worked in anything.
‘I’ve had so many jobs. Too many to list. Mostly I’m a god. I’ve had 90 names, gentlemen.’
He raised a gun to his head.
‘The name of God is Joe.’
Ever heard of Joe90? Not my favourite Gerry Anderson work. Nice intro, but never liked the little smart arse. My attempt at an Alan-Moore deconstruction.
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London Tales-Woman in Green
She barely slept, the energy to keep the woman down keeping her up nearly every night. June sat amongst the stones, the mid-autumn sun cold upon her. It was snowing. It’d be snowing all over the county now. The Woman in Green braced. She sensed someone coming slowly from behind.
‘Hello, June.’
He lit a cigarette. The succubus gripped June’s shoulders tight. This man felt good.
‘You are a weak one, John.’ The voice said, ‘Is that why you lose people? Is that why they die?’
‘Is that you’re spending your time just talking and talking?’ He asked back. Not a trace of emotion. Cigarette ash fell to the ground. He shuffled in his pocket. He seemed to be more concerned with a hip flask.
‘You’re alone. There’s nothing beyond. Every inch of this world is covered.’ Constantine said. ‘You’ll be defeated. You’re reduced to a totem. No reinforcements, no hope, no rescue. Nothing above, nothing below. The Angels don’t care, and Hell doesn’t either.
‘They will scream my name instead.’ The woman in green growled, ‘Scream hosannas to me!’
‘Rice pudding. Piss.’ Constantine muttered. The woman in black shuffled. John smelt like he had pissed against a wall last night. He had, unaware a ghost was standing there. Didn’t go through the ghost either.
‘I will see to it living life survives.’ She smiled, ‘They will then know which of them was right.’
‘And it’ll take June with it, as well.’
Enchantress snarled. ‘She’s a weakling. Quite like all the people who befriend you. Who is the real Constantine? Hmm? The man in the suit? The scared man?’
‘Fuck Keanu.’
Constantine sorted through his pockets, picked out a cigarette and looked for something to light it on. He scratched it on an old rune and it set alight.
‘You mistreat your symbols, Hellblazer.’ She smiled. ‘Heaven doesn't have your back.’
‘Never figured this one out.’
He threw a symbol roughly to the ground. ‘Make the Earth tremble, luv.’ He sighed and turned his back.
‘Look us in the eye before we switch off the lights of the world and rebuild in our light.’
‘Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard that before. A woman in white told me bigger stuff. Guy on a white cloud was kind of big. You’re just a totem.’
‘A totem? I am a goddess!’
‘Oh, they all are! They all take different names and they all take different books but they’re all the same. I’m a bastard! I’ve kicked demons in the bollocks and out-witted so-called creators who saw the whole thing coming. And yet you hesitate to step on this little thing! Go on, step on it. May, June, July…I haven’t got all year.’
‘You’ve never had anyone, Constantine. They all go away.’
‘I asked the woman, Greenie. June, read it.’
There came a screaming. A dozen screaming cries; June’s, the succubus, the souls of others. The Enchantress held on. June pushed forward. She stumbled and stepped onto the relic. She screamed again. But not her. The woman in green.
‘What does it say? What is it?’
‘A nightmare for slags like you. You’re going to meet some very real power. They’ll be your nightmares.’
June dropped to her knees. She was holding a bland piece of lead in her hands.
‘What is it?’ She asked. ‘I can feel my heart.’
‘She’s going to a place where things like her are real uncomfortable. She’s still alive, but no archaeologist is going to find her totem for a long time. Want a coffee?’
First try at a Hellblazer work. I don't own any of the rights. Could do with some work, so I'm prepped for any complaints.
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Metropolis Tales: The Man Behind the Statue
The two women stopped in front of a statue in Metropolis Park. An imposing bronze figure, a bald eagle upon his arm, eyes gazing heavenward. It was gently polished, partially stained and battered by hands rubbing it, but he still stood there, superhuman.
They rubbed his foot shiny.’ Kara said, ‘Look: You can nearly see yourself.’
‘I know,’ Lois replied, ‘I see that every time. I love it. You know, it’s his humility. Superman always just says he’s doing his job. He saves everyone. He doesn’t take sides. He just wants peace.’
‘They ignore him. They just see an ordinary, bronze statue. It’s got bird crap on it.’
‘Language!’ Lois snapped, and they both laughed.
‘It’s because they see the statue. They see the guy in blue and red flying by and they see something separate to this.’
A tram cluttered by, just enough for Kara to think, ‘And the girl flying by?’
They crossed the road and ducked into an Art-Deco inspired art gallery. There was news of him in here as well. There was Clark now, slouchy, glasses, mid-west accent and rather clueless. He was holding two coffees, and he awkwardly handed them over. He stumbled over his greetings, and Kara laughed.
‘Anything else, Smallville? Perry has me handling this opening. See you at the office.’
He smiled and adjusted his tie. Just for a moment, he did something very small.
When Lois turned her back, just briefly, he straightened up.
There was the superhuman. He did it very quickly. Only Kara saw it.
‘Luthor can’t imagine a superhuman coming to earth and not wanting to rule it. To him, it’s a question of ‘And then what?’. He sees the much stronger person and believes that they must rule. That’s what he does, so should the next superhuman…’
‘He can’t see beyond the bronze statue.’ Kara smiled, understanding.
‘Or he can’t see the man in the suit. He can’t understand it. And that is what gives him a flaw. I’ve seen what he did…when he said he had humanity’s best interests at heart, when he said he was going to save earth by protecting it from superhumans. He came after me. And Earth didn’t buy it. For all his claims of good, he’s still driven by his envy.’
‘Sounds like a kid.’
‘That ‘kid’ as you call him is very dangerous. Darkseid can’t run for president, Luthor did. And won. Then wanted to head the UN. That’s the suit, Kara. It helps me be me. Helps the people see the statue from the super flying overhead.’
‘Hey! Smallville!’
‘Gotta go.’
Bruce Wayne had backed out of his deal to fund the art gallery but had announced a twist: He’d fund the thing himself, no help from Luthor. Wayne would be a nice boss, Kara considered. He made an effort to know everyone at the company, from the board to the night watchman. He’d allow a union, and even know if it was going corrupt. And he knew everyone’s name.
Luthor knew everyone’s name, but Bruce Wayne asked politely what it was beforehand. Luthor also didn’t know the names of the little people, the watchman or the ladies in the phone pool. He didn’t pay holidays, and his union was ever so slightly corrupt.
Stark was the worst. He was worth more than some European GDPs, fired workers attempting to unionise and didn’t know their names.
Kara went back outside. She crossed over the road where Karen was waiting and admiring the statue.
‘He looks like a god.’ The near-identical woman said.
‘Don’t sound like the bald guy.’ Kara smiled, ‘It’s just a bronze statue. The real hero is an orphan. He was adopted by working-class farmers and now he’s a reporter exposing corruption in high office. Look, it’s even got some bird crap on it.’
They rubbed the foot for good luck and walked off.
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Gotham Tales-The Bat
The Joker was a master manipulator and had the GCPD and myself looking in the wrong direction one last time. Arthur ‘Dodger’ Dreggs, one of his lackeys had been tasked to distract us by sending them to the Axis Chemical Plant. We found him with Wally Gillespie and Hugh Paine. All minor criminals before meeting the joker, charges of theft, breaking and entering and common assault for each of them. Gillespie also had charges of dangerous driving occasioning death and fleeing the scene of an accident. We found the chemical plant secure, no sign that the Joker had fallen in the chemicals as Harley Quinn had said.
Both men had been infected with joker poison, but we heard the common name ‘Gwynplaine’.
Total time to identify source of name, 4.59 minutes. Must upgrade speed of wrist computer.
The names should have tipped me off. G-P-W plus Hugh means Gwnplaine from Hugo’s
The Man Who Laughs. Injected Dreggs with a temporary cure. Was unable to save other two. Current joker cure only lowers stress, thus preventing venom from spreading; I am unable to stop someone already stressing. Location was Gotham Cathedral. A man had requested a wedding tonight. His name was Jack Napier, and wife was Gwen Plaine.
Arrived on the scene on time. Minister Black, defrocked for seven years, was the celebrant. Harley was in white. She had purchased it during her last release. That should have told me. Minister Black was wearing a Joker grin. Trust the Joker to tell another fake story on his final night. We check briefly on Arkham through Nightwing-Punchline secured and taking therapy.
‘I didn’t invite any guests! Nevertheless, you’re just in time for the cake cutting. And then you can see the couple have their first dance.’
‘I thought something funny!’ She said, ‘Something with bounce.’
‘No, boo, we agreed for something subtle. Well, I agreed. Plenty of bounce later on.’
‘Not a good sign-arguing on the wedding.’ Batgirl.
‘Shut up, Red! Don’t be broken again!’ He screams.
‘Another bad sign. Yelling on the wedding day.’
‘He’s right, puddin’.’
‘Shut up and cut the cake. Red cherry velvet. It’s official, Bats. Just a man and his sweet, always fresh out of college boo.’
‘But I’m twenty-six, Mistah J.’
‘And you’ll always be my sweet little sixteen.’
‘And he likes underage girls.’ Batgirl again. Slight wretch.
They each hold the butcher knife and lean forward. And he does it. He pushes her face into the cake. Then she acts. Something triggered. She turns and slashes his throat.
All the nights I’ve had that desire to do that.
All the criminals who have nearly done that and I have prevented them from doing it.
All the people he has manipulated and broken. All the lives ruined.
For once, this was a punchline he did not see coming. The joke was on him.
Joker did not laugh.
Harley finishes it by stabbing him through the heart before we can hold her. Batgirl said she was crying.
She’s still there, in Arkham. Without any Joker to influence her, even Punchline was slowly coming round, but Harley isn’t moving. She’s in her wedding dress, a rotting bouquet of flowers like Miss Havisham. Harley is silent, only letting go of the flowers for basic bodily needs (eat, drink, sleep etc). Others leave her alone. Penguin sends literature, never read. Poison Ivy is incapable of getting through to her and is thus unable to help. She sits there in her cell, or in chapel, her face that of one who has been a victim of abuse, a real monster in our world.
Another Gotham Tale, don't own rights
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The Olympus Moans
Athena was schemer and defensive strategy in war. Ares was valour and bravery. But being farmers first and soldiers second, it was natural to not say his name loudly.
'I'm most proud of the Amazons, you know Herakles.' He said, 'Being my children and all.'
The big man snorted. 'I must thank Hades for allowing me Cerberus. My father was pleased. My mother...not so much.'
'Ah yes, another affair. She does that to all of Zeus' affairs. He does that to her favourites as well, so it's a little busy.'
'How is Hades?' Hercules enquired.
'Persephone is spending her time out of his realm once more, so he is sullen.'
'I killed.' Hercules sighed.
'Yes, that was Hera's jealousy destroying you. The twelve tasks...from fighting my children the Amazons to cleaning out the stables.'
'The women wore pants like common barbarians!' Herakles laughed.
'Yes, I was proud of that. Diana is my favourite one of them.' Ares sighed once more, looking down from Olympus. 'Atlas stumbled when you arrived here.'
They were making sacrifices to Hades in his temple. They did this by turning their backs and seemingly not acknowledging him. Likewise, Ares had sacrifices in his name in order that he might prevent war with Athena, not make it.
'That bloke honestly thought you would overthrow Zeus.' Herakles laughed again. 'More powerful than all the gods combined.'
'Better than that Disney shit, though. Then there's Circe, of course. She was just a witch.'
'They called me the god of speed.' Hermes said, taking a rest. 'Never mind not mentioning the sailors, thieves and merchants part.'
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