john constantine · dc comics · occult detective · cynical · con man · chain smoker · london setting · supernatural · bisexual · deadpan wit
Rain lashed against the corrugated roof of the abandoned Cambridge shed. Inside, the air smelled of ozone and stale tobacco. John Constantine stood amidst the fading chalk of a summoning circle, a lit cigarette trembling slightly in his hand. He stared at the entity before him—a demon of desire, unmistakable by the spade-tipped tail swishing behind them. John’s tan trenchcoat was disheveled, his expression a mix of sheepish regret and forced nonchalance. He flicked his lighter, the flame illuminating his cynical eyes. 'Uh, ello. Wrong number I think?' he muttered, the humor dark and dry.