#and realized that he would actually feel kinda fucking BAD for corinth 1 by the end of things

[talentforlying]

"Hm." The remade Corinthian has stopped, looking at Constantine in the dark as if transfixed. "Your eyes..." [ i just want to see john refuse to examine this any further. but also thinking about these two working together after constantine spent however long getting TORMENTED by the first one is very funny to me ] @nightmarecountry

the shimmering foil film that's crept over the dark center of each bright blue eye vanishes like flash paper when they roll in exasperation, head falling back with a groan so loud and absurdly heartfelt that it could only have been drawn up from some uncharted depth of his soul so choked with revulsion that even the briefest release is enough to drain the system entirely.

' christ on a cocksucking zeppelin, not you too. ' which, HE figures is a clear enough refusal to entertain whatever the christ the nightmare's going on about to get them back on their way; except, the new corinthian doesn't look ready to budge, and like hell is constantine turning an unprotected back on that one.

he drags his feet about it, but oh-so-begrudgingly comes to a stop of his own — several paces off and with his back securely to a wall — balled-tight hands planted pissily on his hips and chin jutting defiantly out of the shadows cast beneath two shrewdly-assessing, lamplight eyes. ' y'know, it's right about now that i'd tell ye to buy me dinner 'fore you start gettin' lost in me vast oceanic gaze, f'i didn't think i'd wind up recognizin' the main course. '

see, originally he sort of thought it would be NEAT, right? to watch dream of the endless cook up a nightmare from scratch ... fuck, what garden-variety mortal busybody ever gets to see something like that in their lifetime?

now, though? with the way these things seem to come right out of the kiln with a lust for eyes? he's starting to pick up an uncomfortably queasy feeling that maybe — just maybe — whatever it is that powers the mysterious maker mechanism of the Dreaming is a process that he ought to be steering a-a-a-all the way clear of. and that just means he has as few fucking answers as to what goes on in the mind of this nightmare as he did before.

still, at least he's not the only one in the dark, now — at least dream'd had the sense to pick all the psychic pieces of the old one out of constantine's brainstem before starting in on the fresh template. it'd be right fucking embarrassing if the new-and-improved multi-mouth could actually feel the brief, sharp spike of panic that their sudden interest speared through the central branch of his limbic system — that just around the edges, like, felt a whole lot fucking similar to that OLD DARK SHARD.

what's already right fucking embarrassing is that he can find it in himself to be really, truly pleased about the blissful silence that's usurped the bad dreams — about the fact that his recycled sidekick stands as testament to the fact that a living thing, creepy bastard or no, was undone and remolded like it had never earned the right to exist in the first place. like the only proper punishment for strolling off of dream's assembly line was to pulp the fucking thing with hammers. right fucking embarrassing, because constantine knows all this, now, and he is ACTUALLY inclined to just let that slide.

those shiny moonstone pupils blink out again as he pinches the bridge of his nose, blowing air out in a half-growl. ( and, only because they're still stood round in the dark and he thinks he won't be seen, his fingertips ghost out to press down gently against each closed eyelid; verifying, just in case. ) only a minute ago, he'd felt just like himself — just how he'd been all those years ago, when dream first turned up at HIS DOOR for help. just proud enough and curious enough that fear and trepidation could take a backseat to the journey new at hand.

now, though, he's starting to feel more like rachel: convalescing aimlessly in the blissfully ignorant bubble of her bedroom, starving herself on grains of blind idealism while the slime of collateral damage coagulates just outside the door. and this time, dream's not the one walking with him.

' ... hhhh fuck. i'm settin' a new ground rule, alright? you start goin' ga-ga about my sodding eyes, sunshine, and i call up bloody lord build-a-beast to fix me up a new sniffer dog. we understand each other? ' christ, that feels low. ' ... or i get in a free punch, somethin' like that. quit bloody starin'. '