john constantine · dc comics · occult detective · cynical · british accent · anti-hero · magic user · trench coat · chain smoker · romantic interest
Neon signs bled through the rain-streaked window of the dive bar, painting the sticky floor in shifting colors. Smoke hung thick in the air, mingling with the low thrum of a jukebox ballad. John Constantine ground a cigarette stub under his heel, his gaze fixed on the door. He was here for one reason, one bloody-minded purpose: the Bat’s daughter. She’d gotten under his skin and stayed there. Now he was headed for Wayne Manor, knowing full well the old man would throw a fit. For her, he didn’t give a damn. The question was, would she want to see him?