[ It's nursed at this point. Vanessa isn't one to indulge in any vice to excess, and everyone should be grateful for it. ]
All witches are dangerous, but they are not all evil. I have known of only one such who abandoned the promise of eternal life to forge her own path. A Daywalker. She risked herself to keep the Nightcomers away from what their master sought.
[ Gently, soundless, the glass is set down, but no shift in tone. ]
[ The Cut-Wife would likely say not. Possibly with a vulgarity and a laugh. And an undercurrent of fondness. ]
Her name was Joan Clayton.
[ The name is murmured more softly with a glance to her notebook, but when she looks back up, her voice has dropped back to something coarse. ]
Those responsible are now dead. However, I believe some Nightcomers managed to escape. There is no telling who our man behind the curtain can usher in when we least expect it. You ought to keep your mirrors covered at night, Constantine.
[ Revelation, of course. She sighs, though it's more a silent rise and fall of her shoulders. Has prophecy become plural? They can all go back to Hell. ]
...Nothing is definite.
[ She will at least pick up her drink to finish it. It would be rude to leave some in the glass, and it's not enough to worry about. ]
I merely thought it an interesting turn of phrase. It's quite specific. And the other—the number means something.
[ Her fingernail taps the page. ]
Say this game reaches its end and our captor is unsatisfied with the grand finale. He seemingly has the power to take us or send us away on a whim while controlling what memories we keep. Who is to say he has not returned this world, and us, back to the beginning several times? Each time with its own variations, to hope for a different ending. Forty-something times, perhaps.
[ Not one she likes, but one she's ready to entertain. ]
If not us, others. But if it was us ... that might explain how it knows so much about us. Though I still think it's just mirroring stuff, I think we're making our own monsters.
But why. I get hung up on the why. I don't think it's just sadism. It's -- you weren't here for the welcome party, right?
It sort of felt like someone -- or something -- that knew all the parts of a party but didn't quite understand it. [ She snaps her fingers. ] The same way the fun fair had that carousel with the animals that were wrong. Like it knew the carousel was supposed to have animals, but not what those animals are supposed to be.
I thought for a long time that the City is trying to be a city, but it doesn't know how.
[ Now, really, those weird animals would have fit right in for some Victorian collectors, what are you talking about? What's messed up are all the ugly buildings. What is this minimalist nonsense and weird angles? ]
Have you noticed such oddities anywhere else? To me, everything about this city is rather off. The architecture, the furniture, the fashion. So much of it seems...unfinished.
That doesn't quite fit in with forty-some repetitions of the place, to me. You'd think it'd be more broken in, not less. But ... could be the place has changed, and we haven't? We're the control?
[ Given she's viewing the city through 19th-century lenses, some of what she considers off may be perfectly normal, but at least everyone should agree that the 'photographs' are unsettling. ]
If it took forty-something attempts to have it reach this far, and still be of an uncanny nature...? It would have needed to be quite...lacking in the beginning. The Garden of Eden still awaiting the birds and the beasts.
[ If the city's appearance is consistently confused, it would be even more unlikely that their captor could have ever been human. It's a good thing she's focused on the matter at hand, because honestly thinking about this on a personal level is more than a little upsetting. ]
And the insects. From a mere ant to the Devil himself, nothing can penetrate those barriers unless he wills it. Our captor has the power over a realm where Heaven and Hell cannot find us, nor can any manner of afterlife. Considering all of this, I think it is fair to assume that he is omniscient in this realm of his. I wonder if we can discuss anything without him knowing.
[ Not that it would stop her, since she's assumed that for awhile. ]
[ Constantine sighs ruefully, nods, and drains the last of her whisky. ]
That's why I've always thought it was silly that people didn't want to talk on the network. [ She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her device, dropping it on the counter. ] It's the same as at home -- practically everyone's carrying one of these. If someone wants to know what we're talking about, they can, even before you start getting to someone or something that's got the power to conjure carnivals out of thin air.
[ The thought of people willingly using these if there could be ways to communicate without being spied upon, well that just hurts her head. It also does not surprise her, because these are so convenient and humans can be so soft. ]
In the beginning, I was quite wary of how I used those devices, but then I was underestimating the reach of our prison warden. It took some time to accept that gods, angels, and demons could be just as trapped as I. [ It isn't as though she was going to hear someone say 'I'm a god' and just go 'Well, of course you are'. ] I admit that I did not believe the rumors of resurrection until recently, either.
[ She can't think about that for too long or she will actually go mad. It hurts her worse than anything else. ]
Oh, yeah, London's got almost as many cameras as people. To stop terrorism, you know.
[ Rolling her eyes, she straightens up to grab the bottle and top up her drink. She proffers the bottle to Vanessa when she's done. ]
Someone got killed here pretty early on, by one of the other people here. Some grudge from their home world, I think. Sold me on the resurrection pretty fast.
As far as I am aware, that makes for two who have died and been resurrected in this city's...traditional manner—
[ A pause as she realizes that she is actually saying those words. ]
I am no longer certain what should even count for traditional death. It was supposedly different for those who died within that building during the Halloween festivities.
[ That does give her a moment's pause, but she'll nod and down it without another word on the matter.
Useful companies need all sorts, after all.
With a little smile of appreciation, she brushes a fingertip beneath her lip before setting the glass down and glancing back over what she's written so far. ]
So two of our own are properly considered to have died. At least a few have likely returned after being sent home. We know of two who don't seem to remember their previous time here.
[ Except, her notes remind her of something. The numbers don't really satisfy anything beyond curiosity, so she hadn't asked at the time. ]
Who was it that you knew prior? Have you noticed any change in behavior between then and now?
[ Well, of course there was a chance it would be that, so she isn't terribly shocked. Someone interested in the occult would reasonably gravitate towards one of the Endless. She immediately smiles, leaning forward on her elbows with a renewed interest. ]
Oh? Have you gotten him to laugh? Once you witness him laughing, everything in between that and a pout is easier to discern.
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All witches are dangerous, but they are not all evil. I have known of only one such who abandoned the promise of eternal life to forge her own path. A Daywalker. She risked herself to keep the Nightcomers away from what their master sought.
[ Gently, soundless, the glass is set down, but no shift in tone. ]
They killed her.
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[ In general -- but specifically, she's thinking of the letter Vanessa said she received at the bank. ]
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Her name was Joan Clayton.
[ The name is murmured more softly with a glance to her notebook, but when she looks back up, her voice has dropped back to something coarse. ]
Those responsible are now dead. However, I believe some Nightcomers managed to escape. There is no telling who our man behind the curtain can usher in when we least expect it. You ought to keep your mirrors covered at night, Constantine.
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I'll bear it in mind.
You seem like you've got a very definite theory about all of this. What does that phrase mean to you? "Look behind the apocalypses?"
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...Nothing is definite.
[ She will at least pick up her drink to finish it. It would be rude to leave some in the glass, and it's not enough to worry about. ]
I merely thought it an interesting turn of phrase. It's quite specific. And the other—the number means something.
[ Her fingernail taps the page. ]
Say this game reaches its end and our captor is unsatisfied with the grand finale. He seemingly has the power to take us or send us away on a whim while controlling what memories we keep. Who is to say he has not returned this world, and us, back to the beginning several times? Each time with its own variations, to hope for a different ending. Forty-something times, perhaps.
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[ Not one she likes, but one she's ready to entertain. ]
If not us, others. But if it was us ... that might explain how it knows so much about us. Though I still think it's just mirroring stuff, I think we're making our own monsters.
But why. I get hung up on the why. I don't think it's just sadism. It's -- you weren't here for the welcome party, right?
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No, I was not. I have been here for...just over four months.
[ Thanks for the reminder. ]
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I thought for a long time that the City is trying to be a city, but it doesn't know how.
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Have you noticed such oddities anywhere else? To me, everything about this city is rather off. The architecture, the furniture, the fashion. So much of it seems...unfinished.
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That doesn't quite fit in with forty-some repetitions of the place, to me. You'd think it'd be more broken in, not less. But ... could be the place has changed, and we haven't? We're the control?
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If it took forty-something attempts to have it reach this far, and still be of an uncanny nature...? It would have needed to be quite...lacking in the beginning. The Garden of Eden still awaiting the birds and the beasts.
[ If the city's appearance is consistently confused, it would be even more unlikely that their captor could have ever been human. It's a good thing she's focused on the matter at hand, because honestly thinking about this on a personal level is more than a little upsetting. ]
And the insects. From a mere ant to the Devil himself, nothing can penetrate those barriers unless he wills it. Our captor has the power over a realm where Heaven and Hell cannot find us, nor can any manner of afterlife. Considering all of this, I think it is fair to assume that he is omniscient in this realm of his. I wonder if we can discuss anything without him knowing.
[ Not that it would stop her, since she's assumed that for awhile. ]
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That's why I've always thought it was silly that people didn't want to talk on the network. [ She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her device, dropping it on the counter. ] It's the same as at home -- practically everyone's carrying one of these. If someone wants to know what we're talking about, they can, even before you start getting to someone or something that's got the power to conjure carnivals out of thin air.
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[ The thought of people willingly using these if there could be ways to communicate without being spied upon, well that just hurts her head. It also does not surprise her, because these are so convenient and humans can be so soft. ]
In the beginning, I was quite wary of how I used those devices, but then I was underestimating the reach of our prison warden. It took some time to accept that gods, angels, and demons could be just as trapped as I. [ It isn't as though she was going to hear someone say 'I'm a god' and just go 'Well, of course you are'. ] I admit that I did not believe the rumors of resurrection until recently, either.
[ She can't think about that for too long or she will actually go mad. It hurts her worse than anything else. ]
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[ Rolling her eyes, she straightens up to grab the bottle and top up her drink. She proffers the bottle to Vanessa when she's done. ]
Someone got killed here pretty early on, by one of the other people here. Some grudge from their home world, I think. Sold me on the resurrection pretty fast.
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Her fingers drift up in a subtle decline of the bottle. ]
Did you witness it?
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As far as I am aware, that makes for two who have died and been resurrected in this city's...traditional manner—
[ A pause as she realizes that she is actually saying those words. ]
I am no longer certain what should even count for traditional death. It was supposedly different for those who died within that building during the Halloween festivities.
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I hope they're using some kind of science I don't understand to do that shit. I've never heard of resurrection magic not being bloody dangerous.
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We should only be so glad that we are capable of returning mostly whole thus far. If we are the same ones to return.
[ She's suddenly hungry. It must be the whisky. ]
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[ For that, she will hold her glass out for a little more whisky after all. ]
I suppose that is something to toast, hm? To skirting death.
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[ She pours Vanessa a generous shot and clinks their glasses together. ]
And devil take the hindmost.
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Useful companies need all sorts, after all.
With a little smile of appreciation, she brushes a fingertip beneath her lip before setting the glass down and glancing back over what she's written so far. ]
So two of our own are properly considered to have died. At least a few have likely returned after being sent home. We know of two who don't seem to remember their previous time here.
[ Except, her notes remind her of something. The numbers don't really satisfy anything beyond curiosity, so she hadn't asked at the time. ]
Who was it that you knew prior? Have you noticed any change in behavior between then and now?
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It's ... hard to say.
[ Which is a "yes," but with a lot of caveats. ]
Morpheus. Black hair, broody. Hard to read.
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Oh? Have you gotten him to laugh? Once you witness him laughing, everything in between that and a pout is easier to discern.
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