13730/Growth and RE-growth

Growth and RE-growth
Date of Scene:	16 August 2021
Location:	Cove Cottage - Conneticut
Synopsis:	You are not Zhul, John Constantine. How dare you manifest in my refrigerator. Also favours called, on discussions about the antichrist.
Cast of Characters:	Sinister, Constantine, Lucifer

---

Sinister has posed:
Things we lost along the way.

Two shreds of sanity.
A pair of wings (incinerated).
The will to stay awake, even when you don't have to sleep.
A rift and all the tiny balloon whisps, more's the pity, as taking a wander in Fairyland would've been strange.
Potentially other parts of the anatomy that don't want to be lost.

One thing that was not lost in the last night, was sleep. Even to those beings that are endless and eternal, rest must occasionally claim them. This is probably not the case for other Hellblazer types, but that's for the Narrators to dictate as and when said Hellblazer appears.

Cove cottage is mostly empty. The kitchen has old appliances, old stoves, the electrics have been upgraded but not yet the appliances. There's a bedroom set, quaint and from some gothic nook someplace filled with gargoyles and fireplaces. It's off the grid though, since a technological genius with a whole range of genetic samples to chose abilities from, bored geothermal generators the new fangled superpowered way in her downtime. Morning came, as mornings are want to do, along with a Morning Glory and a lovely ride she was too; save a horse, ride an archangel?

But now, the kettle whistles on the hob and Sinister at least, in a fuzzy dressing gown and similarly fuzzy raven slippers (with open beaks and beady black eyes) squeaks her way to the teapot. Each step makes a little 'cahh' sound which will probably be annoying when the novelty wears off. Shortly after the whistling kettle sings its final song, the smell of bacon, eggs, mushrooms and sausages with fried bread can be detected, a thing that the English are proud to call an 'english breakfast'. There's probably a grilled tomato in there somewhere, also.

Constantine has posed:
Bing. Did the refrigerator just light up and go bing? The airtight joints are glowing more and more. Cartoonesque rays of light find their way through, projecting mushroom shaped blobs of light all around. BANG! Something hit the doors from the inside quite hard. BANG! Also, broken glass sounds and othern unpleasant crushes. At least the supernatural light is receeding.

BANG! VLAM! Constantine falls out of the refrigerator, landing on his right shoulder. Alongside him also: running milk, several pickles, shattered glass and of course so many broken eggs. "Hrrrnngggh," he says. His eyes are shadowed, his skin pale and he's stained with blood. No, ketchup. No... both? His left arm is missing from the shoulder, the right arm hugging his bundled trademark trenchcoat. As a brilliant streetsmart man, he chooses this time to pass out so he doesn't have to explain himself.

Sinister has posed:
Stare. "You are not Zhul," she says this quietly, then finishes off doing breakfast, putting one goodly portion on a separate plate and putting a warming cover over it, then splits the remaining fried goodies between two other plates. None of the plates match, but that is a thing for another day. She goodwilled something to hold over. "Good lord, it's ghostbusters. There's an englishman in my fridge," Sinister gestures lightly over at the mess, closing the door, lifting the smashed items off of the floor -- every tiny shard of glass levitates and bounces like the sorceror's apprentice into the garbage bin.

She leaves John there for a few minutes as she sets down a salt and pepper shaker, knives and forks and some plastic cups for juice, puts the teapot under a cosy and sets out three mugs, sugar and lemon.

Only then does she crouch down to examine John's missing left arm with a wooden spoon, lifting bits up carefully and peering at the stump. A cluck of the tongue, a narrow of eyes and she stands, moving over to the counter, twirls a finger and summons an electrostatic lightning ring, through which tentacles begin dropping items onto the counter for her use: debriding and couretage tray, scalpels, gauze, sterile solution, several gadgets, a metal ... spider-like thing which she attaches to her left wrist; all eight legs insert themselves into her forearm, the mid section clamping down right to the bone in the middle. She hums as she prepares.

Constantine has posed:
"Mrrrgh," Constantine does when the stump is prodded, probbed, scienced and Sinistered. Whatever removed his arm also cauterized everything. His love for fine wool saved his sleeveless pullover. The clamping of the bone is what does it for John: he suddenly tenses up, his eyes open wide and he shouts something like "Fockzulbarnyard!". Apparently this is a trigger for a spell that launches from his forehead going fwwwwwwwwooooosh across the room, leaving behind after images of a blue elephant man with too many arms. The magic hits a potted plant and POP! it's now dandelion seeds lazily floating across the room.

"Who...?" John asks, eyes rolling left and right and around Nathanielles' silouhette, failing to focus. "Offer a guy a drink first..." And he's passed out again.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister ducks as the spell zaps overhead and smacks into the petunia. No ore petunia. At least it didn't think 'oh no, not again' as it exploded into dandilion seeds. "What is it with men sensing me inserting powerful needles into my -own- arm? Good lord." She slips a strange metal glove-thing onto that hand, the fingerpads have metal plates, with wires that join in a link across her knuckles, with a plug that inserts into the metal spider. Her other hand is held out over Constantine's skull, psionic anaesthetic keeping him asleep for at least the first bit as she places the hand wearing the device at the stump of his arm. Needles insert from the rear end of the spider thing into her arm and bury along with long tubes which soon fill up with her own blood and she grunts as whatever it is starts to happen.

Regrowing a limb is NEVER fun. Worse, when it has to decauterize itself, slough off burned flesh, start to reknit bone and rapidly combine flesh seemingly from nowhere.

Oh, he'll probably wake up about half way through, when it starts to ache, then itch, then tingle, then ache more and finally flare up when all the nerve endings regenerate just before the skin. "Don't panic." She helpfully informs.

Constantine has posed:
"Ow." John is awake and the constant throbbing pain pushing him into pure focus this time. Adrenaline and cortisol and nicotine deprivation. His eyes are reduced to tired slits but he clearly sees Sinister now. "Where is this?" he asks, scanning what he can of the floor and kitchen modules. "I see you made it back. Good." He closes his eyes, this time willingly, for a couple seconds.

"Is it safe? Is your baby...?" he asks suddenly. "What are you doing?" He notice the whole thing going on at the shoulder for the first time. He looks up to Sinister with eyes full of pain and questions.

Sinister has posed:
Oh, how adorable is that?

"You're in my kitchen, which is not somewhere I thought I'd be doing this, but needs must as the Devil drives whatever he's driving off someplace not here right now. He'll be back. Stay still, you'll only make it sting more..." the hand wearing that torture device makes one more slow but methodical pass over the entire length of the regenerating limb, during which skin as white as snow forms entirely. Blessed numbness (or rather, lack of on-fire burny tingle hell) descends. She narrows her eyes at it and pokes it lightly with her other hand and melanin arrives, proving that it's his flesh and not trying to be -hers- (which it was for a moment, as it's her bioreading that it's mirroring itself on) And then, at least, fingernails. No nicotine stain though, he'll have to develop that all over again.

"You know, of all the questions to be asking when you can see your arm regrowing before your eyes, I was not expecting 'what are you doing' to be top of the list. I was regrowing your arm. You're welcome and I suspect... thank you, on top of that. Are you hungry? I made breakfast." She stands, detaches the spider thing with a grimace and watches the holes in her own flesh disappear in microseconds. "I only have orange juice."

Constantine has posed:
John remains still as one would when overhwelmed by regeneration, cloning spider gear and the news of 'only orange juice'. Suddenly he lets out a breath and he lives again. "I guess I owe you one." He tries the fingers, the wrist, the arm. Still tender, says the wince on his face. He's still cluthing the roll of made out of his dirty smelly trenchcoat. "'salright. I could eat a toast."

Getting up turns out to be a lot easier than anyone would have expected, even with the wooziness of bloodloss. Drunk training gives a man sealegs anywhere it seems. "We've a lot to talk," John says, aiming for the closest unoccupied seat near Nathanielle.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister gestures to the nicely set out plate of english breakfast, the orange juice and tea, goes to one of the cupboards and extracts a bottle of wiser's. It's cheapish, but it's cheerful and he can doctor whatever he wants with the stuff. Tea. Orange juice. Neat. Whatever floats his boat. She settles into one of the kitchen chairs, eyes the covered plate and adds a little pepper to her own plate of vittles. "Fry up does the soul good, every so often," she murmurs, pouring a cup for herself and adding only a drop of milk to it. Luckily, she had some in a little tea-jug before the rest of it died a death of COnstantine in its home.

"Please. Talk. I'm not sure where the conversation ought to start, so I'll let you throw that dart and see where it lands."

Constantine has posed:
Before sitting down, John carefully places his bundle on the floor. Even in his book this petri dish of a rainment is not allowed at the table. "You carry the Devil's baby." He makes an apologetic face with an upside down smile. "Lucifer has Heaven gunning for him and for you now and... Hell will follow soon." Ignoring the ustensils, he tears a piece of toast, dips it in the orange juice and shoves it in his mouth while looking at Sinister's reactions.

Sinister has posed:
"Yes, Heaven already tried," She eyes the bundle of coat being placed on the floor and although there's not precisely /approval/ in her mein, it's a darn sight better than it would've been if he hadn't done that. By the look on her face, she likely wants to burn that. "Order of st Jude, a trio of Watchers. THey got the drop on me but then I dropped a Lucifer on their heads. Mostly, I was surprised more than anything and they impaled me with a spear... that won't happen twice." She sniffs, sips her tea, seems satisfied and starts cutting up breakfast into perfect little bite sized nuggets. Very good table manners, she has and studiously ignores the dunking of the toast into orange juice. She's a cool cucumber she is. "What do you suppose Hell will do? Surely they'd be gunning the opposite direction? Mind you, I suppose having a bunch of demonic stalkers messing with my work just in case they're going to have to leap in and pollute a do-gooder might be problematic. I'm really not clear on all of that. It's new territory for me." Pausing to eat a forkful, she chews it dilligently before finishing her thought. "All of this is, honestly."

Constantine has posed:
Constantine doesn't seem to mind nor notice the difference in table manners. "So you're tough to kill, that's a plus. Thing is your mind isn't trained to see the cosmos when you spend your life splitting microbes. It's no blame, just facts." He has this tough love tone he uses for everyone who he's about to drag body and soul into danger of biblical proportion. Calm, measuring, fatherly. "When your son's born - sorry but it's got to be a boy - it'll be apocalypse or the like. So whoever controls your baby or his birth controls the fate of Creation." He pauses for dramatic purpose. "Yes, the WHOLE thing. Right now, you're the most powerful being after God... potentially."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister tips her head a fraction. "So the antichrist has to be a boy? How very misoginist of those that determine prophecy. If one is questioning the meaning of all existence, faith, the determination that all things are the will of god, I think the greatest -student- of that particular philosophy was in fact, a woman. Two women, if you count Lilith in the number." She taps at her chin with a single finger as she sips tea once again, satisfied at the taste. "I'm sure you're not wrong, just that it's an interesting tenet and frankly, the megalomaniacal side of me, which does exist, is quite flattered at the notion of being all powerful. I am not however. And I'm also not -quite- the test tube nerd that you think I am. I'm just woefully understudied."

There is a significant and long pause after this. "You know, I'm disinclined to let -either- side get a hold of my child. His or her determination is going to be her own, more so than any dogma might preach."

Lucifer has posed:
"Are you troubling her over bullshit prophecies and edicts?" Lucifer comments as he steps into the kitchen from the little hallway where a bedroom might be. "There are people who fight vampires and demons, and things that go bump in the night. I was supposed to remain in hell for all eternity. That BEAST you decided to go up against all on your lonesome for whatever stupid reason you can come up with, should have been rising from some Sea on Earth. Not some sea of the fae world."

Lucifer is, quite obviously, upset. His eyes are hellfire, his skin is cracked as if the Devil Proper is going to emerge any moment, regardless if his wings are still healing or not. "I am sick and tired to death of people claiming this prophecy or that edict is going to come true because someone, somewhere, EONS ago, thought they saw the truth while tripping on desert shrooms or drinking tainted waters. It's stupid." He points to Constantine then. "You show me. Right now. Where it says that if I, Lucifer Samael Morningstar, bring into this world life by one such as Nathanielle and I will shatter it to the ends of all Creation. HE does NOT get a say in this. He has NOTHING to do with any of this. It's already stuffed because it's not like I drug her to hell to fuck and impregnate without her consent. THAT I can see causing a crisis. Not this."

Constantine has posed:
John listens, nodding or yielding where appropriate. "Well, knowing you... your baby has to be born a boy but after that..." He shrugs. The arrival of the Devil himself has wrecked his doom train it seems. He raises his glass of sad orange juice to Lucifer. "Congratulations. It's a boy." He sips as is traditional for a toast - and regrets it. "Look... I didn't write it down. Doesn't matter if it's /true/ even. What matters is a lot of powerful people /believe/ it's true. Cosmic politics and you know it. Nathanielle deserves to know the stakes since she's about to play at the big table too."

He breaks eye contact to stare at the floor. "I just mean well. The guys at the Crossroads? They're powerful necroghosts who filled in after Merlin's Dragon was finally released. They'd have taken your child to feed themselves back to life."

Sinister has posed:
"Morning, sweetheart," Sinister pours a cup of tea for Lucifer, dropping a slice of lemon in and nudging it gently toward the chair next to her, on the other side from Constantine. She also unveils the plate of still-hot english breakfast, totally unsubtley. "I cooked it myself," which may or may not have significance to the one man, but certainly ought to the other. And it even smells edible.

Listening to them both though, she polishes off more fried mushrooms a nice hot bit of tomato and some bacon. "Necroghosts are what, exactly?" is what she took out of that "And they would be in trouble trying to get me to not throw a bubble of the astral plane and positive energy around myself. Again, I'm not completely ignoramous, just woefully understudied." And because praise where praise is due, or at least point where point was made "...John's likely right, you know. It doesn't matter what we know is a truth, or probable truth, there's enough whackadoodles out there that will believe the rapture will come tomorrow or that seventy seven virgins wait for them if they blow up that plane, with me in it."

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer holds a finger up after a moment. His skin settles back to its pale glow and his eyes return to their normal blue hues. There's another moment taken for him to listen to Constantine, and Sinister, letting what all they say sink in and then he takes a slow breath. Looking to Constantine then he sort of lowers his shoulders, slumping his stance a bit a bit. "You're right. Of course. I...I'm just tired of things interfering with what I want to do with my life." The finger comes down but then a hand comes right back up. "And don't...with your 'sorry mate but this is just the way it goes for people'... I know that. Doesn't mean I can't bitch about it any less."

Apologetic eyes shift to Sinister as the Devil approaches the table and sits adjacent to her. "I should have warned you. I mean... I suppose I didn't think it would get this bad but...definitely should have warned you better than just joking that we might upset a few people if they thing we're birthing the antichrist..."

Constantine has posed:
Now John remembers what a fork and knife are for. Must be because royalty rolled in. "Is all fine. Punk rocker, remember? Stick it to the Man, yadda yadda. And you did, big time. Now it's time to give on a good show because the crowd's rolling in." He rolls some beans, some egg to over a piece of toast. That planes take off and lands in his mouth without losing any cargo. Shame he didn't bother to swallow before talking again. "Of course, there could be ways to hide your child safely, for a while. Ah yeah, necroghosts. Some souls go to Heaven, some go to Hell, so get stuck in Limbo, some on Earth... whichever Earth. A powerful necromancer or a covent of them may be able to break the rules and get themselves stuck between life and death. All they need then is equal amount of rule breaking magic to be born again."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister gets a frown on her face then. Uh-oh. Rule breaking magic? Ok, so she was born a man and can be precisely what she wants to be, be it deep sea monstrosity, sexy woman, nosferatu pale supervillain... whatever you want. Her eyes narrow down. "Our baby is not breaking -any- rules, other than a doctrine by an overzealous parent that their child must be fuckingwell always wearing a rubber johnny." Well, that's an image. She remains looking miffed, setting her fork down with a CLANK and snatching up her tea with a sniff, sitting back to cradle it and look maliciously over the top of the rim. "Oh, nevermind me, I'm only a person that mostly turned myself into what I am, capable of conceiving despite biologically being a man with two hundred year old cells. Nephilim have existed before, it's only a matter of the rarity of an archangel Nephilim." Snort, Pff. Sip.

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer takes another long moment to think on things. While he thinks, he listens to what both Contantine and Sinister say on the matter at hand. Fingers drum against the table top for a moment while eyes watch Sinister who goes into a huff puff miff about who's saying what on the matter of their child.

"It's my fault."

He finally offers these words and then shifts his gaze to look anywhere but the table or at either of his companions there. "Were this child the product of Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, or any of the other archangels... there wouldn't be such malice towards it. I have a specific part to play... even now... eventually I will likely have to take my place back as Lord of Hell." Then something else dawns in his mind and he shakes his head a little. "Though I do wonder. The apocalypse is nigh regardless of what happens. So why are they so determined to stop it if this IS it? It's all prophesized that it will come to pass... so why try to delay the inevitible. True or not... there is some truth to it..." A pause. "We all have our parts to play."

Constantine has posed:
It's John's turn to do finger stuff, right after the fated couple claimed their stake in this mess: he forms a stepple before his mouth and touches his nose boop boop boop three times, reflecting. "There's gonna be a fight. Some want the baby, some want the baby free on Earth, some want it dead, some want it in Hell... doesn't matter. A big fight. The wiser ones know they can't win the fight, not against the both of you, no. But if they can decide /where/ and /when/ the fight is to happen..." He pauses, doing the stepple again, boop, boop, "then they have terrain advantage. They don't need to beat you, they just need to beat everyone else. They decide who dies, where the fallouts go, how to rebuild..."

Sinister has posed:
"Oh for the love of cheese," setting her cup down, SInister puts her fingers on the bridge of her nose, pinches against her eyes there. "I rather remember why I thought religion was a silly thing," she shakes her head. "No, Lucifer it is not your -fault-. Fault implies flaw, implies error, implies blame where there is none. You have thoughts, feelings, emotions, needs, drives, wants and desires. You're a thinking, living breathing being that just happens to be an immortal, an archangel and by dint of being a feisty little bugger who would not just bow and scrape and obey blindly, got tasked with having independent thought and governing the road to goddamn redemption. Once upon a time, perhaps, there was wrath and eternal damnation, but now, that's more a reserve for those that have condemned themselves, by your own admission. Heaven? It's a piece of piss. Lovely happy people, done good, gone to the happy plane, there's nothing difficult about an eternity of bliss and tranquility and all your little tiny heart desires. Hell? Hell you have to work for. No other person in existence had the gumption to go up against your dad, fall for it then get the reward of punishment which essentially puts you as nearly his equal. A goodly portion of me reckons they're only all over this nonsense because it means you'll have grown into more than you were, which means you've outgrown the model and have added improvements."

She waves a hand. "I'm going with that. I have my own metaphors. But the apocalypse, end of days, serious fucked up times and crazy events have been happening for two hundred years, since men figured out how to industrialize. The archaic became mired in so much silliness, that it ends up having to be clung to, to make it have any validity in an age where men worship the cold hard dollar. Augh, I don't know where I'm going with this... basically, I think this is a load of crock and I've been fighting for my entire life in one form or another, I've =met= one who calls himself apocalypse and honestly, that just means the lifting of veils. I think we're all in the throws of this and realistically, with all the goddamn lunacy of it all, after the insanity is supposed to come a thousand years of bliss and heaven on flippin' earth. But they just don't want there to be all the nasty ahead of it. And the fact that they fight it, says that it -can- be faught otherwise, why would they bother? Mindless little sheep. I'm waffling."

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer watches Sinister for the time that she uses to give her true what-for feelings on all things surrounding their little drama right now. He taps fingers on the table top again and then looks up at the ceiling. As always, he listened to everything she said before finally giving a nod of his head. "You're right. He's right. They're right. We're all right in one degree or another. In a meshy, messy whackadoodle conundrum that only Heaven really gives two flips about." Then he turns his attention to Constantine. "We've got no choice but to fight. And fight we will. I've been calling in favors." Ah, so thats what the Devil was up to this morning.

Constantine has posed:
After another unfortunate sip of juice, Constantine is done with breakfast. "No one ever doubted your worth nor your potency, not around this table. I was expandable back there, you weren't. Those sonofwitches... Heck. I took one of them with me, too." He kicks the bundle on the floor and it whimpers eerily, waaaaaaaaahhhhaaaah. "Thank you for a lovely meal, Mizz Nathanielle," he says, pushing his plate half an inch further. Then he proceeds to disturb the napkin with his fingertips and wipe his lips a bit.

"So you go about recalling favors but you don't ask me. I'm... flattered?" John would light up a Silk Cut but he'd have to search inside his coat, which is presently bloody occupied. "Or you knew I don't like big waves so you didn't bother. More likely, yes. Thing is, a lot of people's about to call in their favors off me, too. I'm not even sure I should be seen through a window." He makes a gun with his fingers and a pow sound with his mouth. "I'm gonna have to pick a side, Your Highness."

Sinister has posed:
"Of course I am, I'm a bear of above average brain," Sinister murmurs, but it's joking and she quiets thereafter, looking seriously at Lucifer. She reaches for his hand. It's a feminine thing to do, to touch the digits on the table, but it's more significant when it's the Prince of Hell getting moral support. And a lot of other things, but the support is the big thing in the moment.

And then John too, is offering a thing or two and she? She reaches to her hip, staring out over the table as the menfolk have their own moment of 'favours' cashed in or owed. In the meantime, she presses her fingers to her hip and digs in. There's a fleeting wince as fingers pass through flesh above her underwear, dig into the hip bone itself and rummage. They can talk for a bit, make big waves, not make big waves, pick sides. She pulls out a lump of hip bone, bloody and smeared over her fingers and the wound closes over almost instantly as she works the bone like putty in her hand, fiddling with its shape. It ends up becoming the shape of a pack of cigarettes, with one bone coffin nail sticking up out of the open pack. A hole in the top offers room for a thong and still bloody, she sets the little charm down infront of John Constantine. Whut?

"John, you owe me one. Make that look like it's just another of your baubles but keep it safely on you. Don't let it go. That's all I ask."

Lucifer has posed:
"Honestly, Constantine, I wasn't sure if you'd be on my side or not. Also, you were elsewhere fighting Beastie when I made the decision - after it being rightly suggested - to call in my favors." Lucifer explains. "If you want to throw in with me, you're more than welcome to. I'd hate, after all this time, to have to actually consider you an enemy." This too before he reaches into a pocket, pulls out a pack of actual cigarettes and then tosses them towards John. A flick of finger and he's lit the two in his mouth, passing one of them to Sinister. "Long road ahead. We should come up with some plans of action soon...until then...I just want to take a couple days to relax."

Constantine has posed:
Constantine blinks before the cornucopia of boons being thrown at him. "You two are too much and you belong with each other. You're... great." He smiles with genuine glee. "Thank you for your hospitality and your gifts. Of course I'm on your side. I'll fight with you, for the sake of this new soul... and because I'm getting too old to run, I guess." He secures Sinister's trinket first in a pants' front pocket. "Oh huh..."

"This is yours." John slide a tube of lipstick across the table. "I borrowed it in case we lost each other. I had to use it a bit so... let me know?" Now he can light up a cigarette with a shaky, if new, hand. "How much do you trust this place here? Or any place? Because for the time being, you're welcome to my mansion. It's hard to prepare a war on the run. Think on it." He rises. "I won't smoke near the baby," he adds, leaving in search of a suitable room.

Sinister has posed:
Nevermind that both parents are smoking. Mind one can prevent any such nasty hitting the kiddo. "If you want to crash, there's a spare room with a cotbed..." Sinister calls. She settles back, enjoying the cigarette, eyeing the lipstick. "And I didn't even notice." And just because it's fun to drop a clanger on the devil every so often. "Keep your ring safer still. If they kill me, I can bring us back through that ring. If even a tiny bit of me is left intact, I will return." This all a whisper. "And after that dour but hopeful annotation in the annals of our surreal life... I want to go back to bed for another three hours. C'mon." And so saying, she shuffles back to the bedroom, her raven slips 'cahh cahh'ing with every step.