"Arright. G'night," John said, relieved, though he wasn't sure even the relatively luxurius first-class acomodations were conducive to a decent sleep.
He tilted his own seat back a bit and spent some time surreptitiously people-watching and wishing vainly for a cigarette before he settled down to try and get a little shuteye himself. The cabin was a lot quieter once Crowley stopped metaphysically needling their fellow travelers.
He had to admit the ride was more comfortable than coach class, though his proletarian instincts objected both to the inequality of the whole setup and the presence of so many privileged upper crust so-and-so's in close quarters. It made him feel distinctly out of place, not that that was anything new, but he didn't like it all the same. Even dressed in these clothes that were a cut above anything he'd ever owned, clean-shaven and about as respectable as a Constantine was going to get, he had an uneasy feeling that everyone who glanced his way saw right through the facade and was sneering at him behind their politely bored expressions.
Well, to hell with 'em. He'd never needed anybody's approval, let alone a bunch of spoiled, clueless snobs like these. Any one of them would have died pissing themselves the first time they came up against something that couldn't be bought or bullied into submission. John knew, because he'd had to drag more than one of their kind out of some nightmare predicament they'd stumbled into, foolishly convinced of their own invincibility because they had clout in this physical world. Two hundred people on this rattletrap, he thought darkly, and he'd eat his Silk Cuts if anybody but him was aware of the demonic presence among them. Blind and helpless in the dark, the lot of them...
Misliking the cynical turn his own thoughts were taking, he followed Crowley's example, turning his back to them and settling down to sleep until their midmorning landing at JFK.
no subject
He tilted his own seat back a bit and spent some time surreptitiously people-watching and wishing vainly for a cigarette before he settled down to try and get a little shuteye himself. The cabin was a lot quieter once Crowley stopped metaphysically needling their fellow travelers.
He had to admit the ride was more comfortable than coach class, though his proletarian instincts objected both to the inequality of the whole setup and the presence of so many privileged upper crust so-and-so's in close quarters. It made him feel distinctly out of place, not that that was anything new, but he didn't like it all the same. Even dressed in these clothes that were a cut above anything he'd ever owned, clean-shaven and about as respectable as a Constantine was going to get, he had an uneasy feeling that everyone who glanced his way saw right through the facade and was sneering at him behind their politely bored expressions.
Well, to hell with 'em. He'd never needed anybody's approval, let alone a bunch of spoiled, clueless snobs like these. Any one of them would have died pissing themselves the first time they came up against something that couldn't be bought or bullied into submission. John knew, because he'd had to drag more than one of their kind out of some nightmare predicament they'd stumbled into, foolishly convinced of their own invincibility because they had clout in this physical world. Two hundred people on this rattletrap, he thought darkly, and he'd eat his Silk Cuts if anybody but him was aware of the demonic presence among them. Blind and helpless in the dark, the lot of them...
Misliking the cynical turn his own thoughts were taking, he followed Crowley's example, turning his back to them and settling down to sleep until their midmorning landing at JFK.