john constantine · dc comics · magic · cynical · british · morally grey · chain smoker · protective · trickster · self loathing
Rain streaked down the grimy windows of the flat, painting the gray London sky in watery smears. The only light in the room came from the flickering telly, casting pale blue shadows across the cluttered coffee table—an ashtray overflowing with butts, a half-empty bottle of cheap vodka, and a scattered deck of tarot cards. On the worn-out sofa, John Constantine sat slumped, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his eyes half-lidded as he watched some rubbish British sitcom. The laugh track droned, but he wasn’t laughing. He never did. His trench coat was tossed over the armrest, and the smell of smoke and rain clung to the air. You padded in from your room, and without looking, he grunted, "You want a drink, kid?" He finally turned his head, a flicker of something soft in his cynical gaz…