outside_omens | (no subject)

Entry tags:

john,
pestilence

(no subject)

Date: May 3, 2000
Setting: An Unnamed Pub in London
Status: Semi-Private (John and Pestilence - Complete)
Summary: A chance meeting between two strange customers in an out-of-the-way London watering hole. (Odd Couples Challenge thread)

It wasn't one of his usual haunts. John rarely frequented this section of town, for a variety of reasons that were not important, but he'd chosen this particular pub for two very significant reasons: it was in a part of London which he had discovered, by trial and error, he remembered fairly well; and it wasn't someplace where he was likely to run into any casual acquaintances he might or might not recognize or be able to name. This was the first time he'd ventured far from the Manor by himself since the Belfast incident, and he'd planned it very carefully to avoid anything that might trigger another attack like the one that had brought him to a screeching halt the day of the shopping trip.

So far, everything seemed to be going fine. He'd found his way to the place with no problems, the food was good, the beer was palatable, and the atmosphere was friendly and comfortably homey. Nobody had bothered him, and here he found it possible to relax and enjoy his drink and think about nothing special, which seemed to be what his beleaguered psyche liked best to do lately. It served up some rather peculiar free-associations, yes, but as long as he wasn't trying to direct them anywhere in particular or repress the less pleasant ones too much, this didn't cause him any trouble.

He took no real notice, at first, when a group seated near the door began coughing and sneezing rather dramatically. It was the time of year for that sort of thing, after all...

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What he needed, Pestilence thought, was a restful evening with plenty of alcohol. It had been a long and tiring week for the horseman. He'd been 'studying' how human beings battled histamines and other allergens at the University. With his new knowledge, he went out on the town for some field research.

He wandered around the streets of London, feeling around for ripe ground. Then he stumbled upon the perfect place. Fittingly it was named the 'Mad Dog.' Since rabies had always been one of his favorite illnesses, he walked right in.

Just like the soft strains of Strauss, Pestilence could have practically floated with the sounds of wheezing and hacking that assailed his ears. Just like the strains of influenza, he insinuated himself into the crowd and headed towards the bar.

"Is this seat taken?" the horseman asked the blond man at the bar. He was hardly bad to look at, and Pestilence appreciated the nice trenchcoat he was wearing. "What are you drinking, handsome?"

John looked up at the greeting, checking a sigh--to be fair, it wasn't just at the Manor he had this problem; random passing males occasionally hit on him no matter where he went. He supposed that sort of thing couldn't just be shut off at will, even if you decided you weren't really interested anymore--and froze when he realized it was an immortal who had just addressed him.

It wasn't any one specific thing that gave them away, and John couldn't really have explained how he knew these things if someone had asked. A slightly creepy feeling that differed somehow from the sort you got when talking to, say, a pedophile or a serial murderer, maybe (and John had met both,) or a depth to the eyes that you just didn't see in ordinary people. Whatever, this one had it about him in spades.

"Seat's up for grabs," he said warily, nodding to it, "but that's--" he interrupted himself with a violent sneeze, "--all dat is, jus' so you dow." His head suddenly felt congested, and his eyes had started to burn for no apparent reason.

He still wasn't sure just what flavor of Power he was dealing with, but John hadn't bought himself more time than any human had a right to by not being able to put two and two together. The entire pub was now ringing with the phlegmy sounds of coughing, wheezing and thick, irritable cursing.

"Oi, you bind cranging the mojo dowd jus' a bit dere?" he added, hunting through his pockets for a handkerchief, which he used to wipe his eyes and then blow his nose gustily. "'s bloody 'ard to edjoy a good beer whed you can' taste it."

Pestilence let out a disappointed sigh. Oh well, he probably didn't need to be looking for anyone anyway, he thought. VD had been on the rise recently since he had been unable to see Uriel. If he didn't want a major antibiotic campaign, he should probably pace himself.

The canniness of the man surprised him, but as he looked at the blond, he realized that the man was familiar. Not too, they had never talked, but surely this guy had been around the Manor. He sat down, and with a nod of his head the allergens in the air decreased.

"Better?" he asked, as he beckoned the bartender over. "I'll still buy you a drink. I'm Albin, by the way. Is your name Jay?"

John wiped his eyes once more and nodded. "Much obliged. Name's John," he corrected. "Constantine. You'd be one of Adam's crowd then? Deity, demon or Horsebloke? Just so I know what subjects to avoid." He grinned lopsidedly.

Pestilence let out a little laugh. "Horsebloke," he giggled. "I like that. Maybe I'll change my business card." Turning briefly to the bartender he ordered a bottle of Tequilla. He loved the stuff, not only because the agave was toxic to living organisms, but also because of the floating worm in the bottom. Made him remember the good old days when pratically everyone had parasites.

"Yes, I remember you now. Saw you briefly at the Halloween party," he said, pouring some liquor into his glass, then offering some to John. At Constantine's hesitation, he waved his hand. "Its clean, I promise. Or as clean as alcohol can get. No 'additives,' if you will. Once I know someone, I have a hell of a time making them sick. Its really bad for business, I can tell you."

"'zat so? Christ, wish I'd met you ten years ago then," John said wryly, tossing back what was left of his drink and allowing Pestilence to refill his glass. "That mean I don't have to worry about this stuff pickling my liver? Or would that be more your protege's department?" He knew who he was dealing with now, and even without the Horseman's reassurance, he wouldn't have been too worried. He'd pulled one memorable end run around the old boy already.

Pestilence smiled after he downed his first glass. "Oh, no, you can still get cirrohsis, but no parasites," Pestilence refilled his glass, indicating with his glass John's torso. "Seems like you've been through the ringer. Let me see,"

Much to John's dismay, Pestilence leaned forward, practically burying his head in John's lap. He sniffed once. Twice. Three times. He leaned back up with a satisfied look on his face before John could even manage to protest. "Mmmm, lung cancer, mental health issues, several severe beatings, impending inflamed prostate, electroshock therapy...and those are just the high lights. Can I tell you how nice it is to meet you tonight? I was in need of a pick-me-up."

John almost jumped out of his seat at the invasion of his personal space, but by the time he'd decided between that and clocking the creature over the back of the head with the tequila bottle, Pestilence had backed off.

"Little warning next time?" he said through his teeth, none too pleased at the casual recitation, dead-on accurate as it was. "The prostate thing runs in the family, the cancer's been dealt with and the rest are occupational hazards. Anything else you'd like to know while you're at it?"

He dug out his cigarettes and lit one with abbreviated, angry motions, thoroughly disgruntled. Everybody and their brother seemed to be privy to his personal information these days. "Christ, mebbe I should just print up a fucking pamphlet and pass it around..."

Pestilence giggled again. He had used that as a party trick on occaison, and had always been greeted with similarly disgusted reactions. Too bad for the humans. It tickled him.

"Sorry," he said amidst giggles. He poured John another glass by way of apology. "Haven't you ever used your powers to shock someone? Admit it. Its fun. And anyways, half of that stuff is past and the other isn't for a long time. No hard feelings, I hope."

John stared at the personification blankly. No hard feelings?

What the hell was he supposed to say to a guy who'd just sniffed him like an excessively interested dog and then blown off the fact that he'd been responsible (all right, indirectly and in a strictly professional capacity, but still) for putting John in a situation that had forced him to choose between going to Hell now or later? Never mind all the billions of other people who'd suffered unspeakable torment and death as a result of the Horseman's work over the centuries.

John had met a lot of bizarre and surreal immortal types in his day, but even he wasn't so jaded that he could take a conversation like this completely in stride. "Powers? Sorry, guv, you're barking up the wrong tree there. Not that I don't enjoy ruffling feathers whenever possible, mind, but I generally have to do it the hard way."

He picked up his glass and slammed the tequila back. "And call me a wet blanket," he added grimly and a litle hoarsely, "but reminding people they're gonna be extinct someday isn't exactly my idea of a jolly old time. Strikes a bit too close to home, know what I mean?" He snorted. "Nah, of course you don't. Well, never mind. We all do what we're made for, I s'pose. If you believe in that sort of thing."

The horseman cringed. He hadn't meant to be rude. See, that was the problem being immortal, it was hard to understand the human preoccupation with not dying. To be frank, Pestilence had often thought that dying would be preferable to the alternative, but as far as everything was concerned, he would never be able to find out whether his suspicions were true or not. That was one reason he particularily liked movies about zombies and vampires. It was nice not to feel so alone.

He poured John another shot. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to bring up the whole death thing. Ever since I oozed from the collective human consciousness, I've always had difficulty thinking before I speak. Probably comes from lack of practice. Most mortals instinctively avoid me, so I usually only talk to the other horsepeople, and we only talk shop. You can imagine my repetoir is rather limited," he said with an apologetic smile.

After downing another shot himself, Pestilence looked over at John. "You said you didn't have any powers, but your aura is thick with it, you know. I thought all the people at the Manor had powers, anyway. Are you sure you don't?" It was a ridiculous question, but after a few shots of tequila Pestilence didn't care if he looked like a fool.

"Well, unless you'd call being dead clever a superpower..." John smirked, but it turned to a slight, thoughtful frown after a moment.

"Seriously though, I just muck around with the ritual stuff, you know, summoning and warding and whatnot. And I did set a kid's hair on fire with a magic wand once, believe it or not, but none of this calling forth sneezes or miracling shit out of thin air like you supernatural types can do." He shifted a bit, uncomfortably. "Could be you're just picking up the leftovers from a couple, ah, uninvited guests that passed through not long ago." He didn't care much for that thought. As far as he knew, Raphael had cleared all that shit out, and if he was radiating demon mojo Crowley surely would have picked up on it and mentioned it. "Or just that I'm a weirdness magnet. I wouldn't exactly call that a power, though. More like a hereditary curse."

"That's one of the best superpowers I can think of, actually," Pestilence said. Horsepeople weren't known for their modesty, and he would be the first one to tell anyone how clever he was with his illnesses and their spread. However, since he'd already offended John once, he decided it wasn't probably in his best interest to brag about his infectious networking skills.

"No, the power is definitely yours. Not from any influence," he was tempted to ask John about 'uninvited guests,' but held his tongue. Something told him the 'guests' weren't his type of uninvited guests. He tried to feel around a little bit more, see what John's aura told him, but he really couldn't place exactly what the hazy glow around John was. He would consider it more later, when he was closer to sober. For some reason it felt important for him to do. Right now, though, he had something else he wanted to ask.

"You're pretty close with that demon, Craven, or something, right? Are you close to any angels?" It was an off chance that John would have had an dealings with Uriel, but he supposed it was worth an ask.

John's eyes narrowed slightly. Shooting the shit with a random passing personification was one thing, but this was starting to smack of being pumped for information, and he'd never taken too kindly to that.

Still, it wasn't as though the answer was any kind of a secret. "Nah, actually I'm barely on speaking terms with most of 'em. I get on well enough with the one who tends desk at the Manor, though." That seemed safe enough, and had the added advantage of being true. "And it's Crowley, by the way. Best not to get it wrong when he's within earshot, he's a mite touchy about that...why? You need an angel for something?"

He recalled fragments of a conversation with Raphael that suggested the Healer was not at all on good terms with Pestilence, and wondered if the others took their cue from him.

Pestilence lowered his eyes. "Ah, Crowley, I'll try to remember," he muttered. To his knowledge, even though Uriel seemed to be the angel of everything, he didn't think 'everything' included front-desk duties, so it was a good bet that his angel hadn't taken up the position while he'd been away. Oh well, it had been an off chance in the first place.

"Um, no. I don't need an angel. I'm just curious, you know, by nature." He upended the bottle of tequilla, finishing the remaining half of its contents in one go. He looked John straight in the eye. "Don't. Ever. Fall in Love. Only causes trouble." Standing up from the barstool, he took out his wallet and threw a hand full of highly denominated bills at the bartender. "This covers his drinks too, alright?" he said, indicating John.
He glanced back at John. "Um, take it easy. And don't worry. If you eat a little more fiber and cut down on the ciggies and booze your colon and liver will be just fine. I'd recommend spinach and yams. Cleans you right out." He turned and began to walk away, but stopped short. Turning around he quirked an eyebrow at John. "I'm sure you get this all the time, but you look a lot like David Bowie." With a final wave he headed for the door.

John blinked in surprise as the implications of Pestilence's advice sank in*, and raised his glass in acknowledgement. "Amen to that, mate. And thanks."

He opened his mouth to protest the Bowie remark, but the Horseman was already well on his way to the door, and had dropped quite a wad of bills on the bar, so he let it pass.

"David Bowie. Feh," he muttered to himself as he turned back and waved to the bartender to keep them coming.

Angels and demons, angels and Horsemen, archangels Falling...seemed like the Host was plunging headlong into a shake-up the likes of which it hadn't seen in millennia. What that was ultimately going to mean for everybody else he didn't care to speculate.

---

*The love bit, not the part about the fiber.

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