2678/Log 2678
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| Log 2678 | |
|---|---|
| Date of Scene: | 03 October 2017 |
| Location: | Unknown |
| Synopsis: | Summary needed |
| Cast of Characters: | Wu, Constantine
|
- Wu has posed:
There's something about China Basin that's timeless. Not in the sense of "timeless classic" or "timeless beauty" but more in the sense of "you can't tell what bloody time it is". This is largely because it's always bustling and busy, no matter what the time of day or weather, with seemingly the same shops, the same hawkers, the same restaurants, the same everything open for business, noisily and garishly advertising this to the world with blaring sound and neon.
At this time, which happens to be afternoon if you spot a clock or a phone, although with the brooding overcast skies it's dark enough to be early evening, a busload of tourists has just vomited forth the overweight, undercultured passengers to gawk and stare at the "quaint" local peoples and sites. A large lorry of uncertain provenance--at least three manufacturers' components seem to be involved in its construction--crawls along the street, the driver angrily honking at the people who've turned deaf ears to the noise and the implied danger. And over by the corner of a small attempt at a pagoda with garden, two people are seated in two of four stone stools positioned around a circular stone table.
A game of Chinese Chess is in the no-man's land between them.
"Why do you show me such disrespect?" the almost rumpled-looking woman asks, her shocking red hair out of place with the rest of her features. Her hands fumble in her pockets, pulling out what looks for the world like a sheaf of cigarette papers.
Cigarette papers with weird handwriting on them.
"You know who I am. You know what I am. You know what I can do. You know what I have done. And yet you continue with disrespectful lies."
The tall, willow-thin man at the table sitting across from her pales as she pulls out the sheaf, starts to rise, but is apparently too late. One paper slaps down on the table and, despite the breeze remains in place. The man freezes like a statue, half-out of his stool.
"We're going to have a pleasant conversation you an I," she says. "At least for your sake I hope it's pleasant. You know, otherwise, what I do to your kind."
- Wu has posed:
There's something about China Basin that's timeless. Not in the sense of "timeless classic" or "timeless beauty" but more in the sense of "you can't tell what bloody time it is". This is largely because it's always bustling and busy, no matter what the time of day or weather, with seemingly the same shops, the same hawkers, the same restaurants, the same everything open for business, noisily and garishly advertising this to the world with blaring sound and neon.
At this time, which happens to be afternoon if you spot a clock or a phone, although with the brooding overcast skies it's dark enough to be early evening, a busload of tourists has just vomited forth the overweight, undercultured passengers to gawk and stare at the "quaint" local peoples and sites. A large lorry of uncertain provenance--at least three manufacturers' components seem to be involved in its construction--crawls along the street, the driver angrily honking at the people who've turned deaf ears to the noise and the implied danger. And over by the corner of a small attempt at a pagoda with garden, two people are seated in two of four stone stools positioned around a circular stone table.
A game of Chinese Chess is in the no-man's land between them.
"Why do you show me such disrespect?" the almost rumpled-looking woman asks, her shocking red hair out of place with the rest of her features. Her hands fumble in her pockets, pulling out what looks for the world like a sheaf of cigarette papers.
Cigarette papers with weird handwriting on them.
"You know who I am. You know what I am. You know what I can do. You know what I have done. And yet you continue with disrespectful lies."
The tall, willow-thin man at the table sitting across from her pales as she pulls out the sheaf, starts to rise, but is apparently too late. One paper slaps down on the table and, despite the breeze remains in place. The man freezes like a statue, half-out of his stool.
"We're going to have a pleasant conversation you an I," she says. "At least for your sake I hope it's pleasant. You know, otherwise, what I do to your kind."
- Constantine has posed:
Lovely thing about China Basin, one can find so many good things here. There's something to be said about a place where you can get white oak shavings, dried seahorses, and illegal Silk Cut cigarettes by the carton, any time of day.
John had placed these things into that lovely khaki trench coat of his, having taken out a pack of cigarettes and placed one in his mouth, lighting it. The game of Xiangqi gets Constantine's attention, only when the spell seal is activated, the blonde haired mage makes his way to the two players, one frozen, the other seems to be the aggressor. "Y'know, somethin' about the way those seals work is intriguin'."
- Wu has posed:
Alice looks up at the interloper, calmly assessing him as she reflexively clutches at her jade pendant of Guanyin suspended from her neck by red silk thread. Her initially tense reaction subsides; she relaxes and points him to a chair.
"Please, take a seat ... Mr?..." she offers.
Her eyes swivel back to the talk, wisp-thin man opposite her. "There's been a short pause in our conversation. I do hope it's not too uncomfortable for you."
She turns her attention back to John. "And what can I do for you, mage?"
- Constantine has posed:
"Constantine, luv. Rhymes with fine." He offers, taking a seat, looking at the frozen man, and then back to Alice. A long drag off the cigarette before he speaks. "'s not my place to get in the middle. I was merely observin', 'ad a friend once that specialized in these lovely little spells. Never one for calligraphy meself, but sure come in handy when you can't speak an incantation."
- Wu has posed:
"Constantine?" Alice asks, an eyebrow climbing its way to almost concealment under her bangs. "Surely not the Constantine. John Constantine? I don't deserve such good fortune," she says. Her face and voice are deadpan. She'd be a killer playing poker. "There are other advantages to charms, chief among them being they're easier to conceal under the noses of those looking for spell slingers."
She nods vaguely in the direction of the frozen man. "Meet Jian Li. He claims..." stress on that final word "...to be a jintong, yet cannot name his master, nor his paired yunu. Which would make him unique in the thousand-year annals of these creations. Personally I am guessing that he's some form of yuangui ... but for some reason is eschewing the aid that would allow him to pass on."
Now her eyes swivel back to the frozen creature. "And if he's refusing to seek aid as a yuangui, that means he has already found it. And given whom he's been associating with, this is not a good thing. We're going to have a little conversation until I'm satisfied."
Face turns back to John, a bland smile pasted onto it. "Satisfied, that is, that this being is not a threat to humanity."
- Constantine has posed:
John removes his cigarette, waving his hand in an emphasized fashion. "That's correct. The Laughing Magician, so on and so fourth, who keeps up with titles anyways?"
A small flask is taken out of his coat, and drawn from, the lovely liquor goes down with incredible ease before it is offered to Alice. "Ahh, lovely! So, who's our otherworldly friend been associatin' with?"
- Wu has posed:
"If I told you my title, you'd understand why I have no truck with it," Alice says acidly. "I'm Detective Alice Gulliver, Hong Kong Police, on attachment to and deputized by the Gotham City Police Department." For each named police force she flips one of the lapels of her vest, revealing a relevant badge. "That's what you'd call my day job. In my night job I protect us from..." She makes a gesture with her head not unlike a bull goring something with a horn. "That's more my calling, in truth, but not really of my choice. I make do."
She regards the subject of their conversation. "His name is Dmitri Vasilliovich. The man who has this being's marker. He's shown up on radar as part of ... something unpleasant. Imagine, however, my surprise when he turns out to also have links in the mystical demimonde. To the point of having a servant."
- Constantine has posed:
"Shite, a rozzer." Constantine exclaims, before putting back his flask. "And so, you're hedgin' your bets and tryin to find someone who'd give up their master in order to catch the ringleader." John assumes, but understands the logic behind it. "So, you've frozen the blighter, how you think to play it?" Another drag from the cigarette before he continues. "Ya can't force him to cross over?"
- Wu has posed:
"I can force him to Samsara's wheel if I wish, yes, but ... if he genuinely poses no risk it would be an unkindness. So my plan at this point is to make him ... uncomfortable ..." Something dark crosses her visage at this turn of phrase. "... and persuade him that it is in his best interests to help me now that I may help him later."
She turns her black eyes to rake over Constantine appraisingly. "I'm not cruel, you understand, Mr. Constantine, but I am goal-driven. I can't afford not to be. As much as I would love a world where we could all talk away our troubles over a nice game of chess and some tea, in this real world, as you know, there are things lurking just the other side of a veil who'd cheerfully eviscerate us and feast on our innards. Or worse."
A tight smile.
"You have a reputation. Well, you have many reputations. In some circles there are those who place you somewhere between "threat" and "menace" in your relationship to humanity, for example. But you also have a reputation for toughness and for competence. Would you care to observe or even participate in the questioning?"
- Constantine has posed:
"And a soul not crossin' over isn't considered cruel?" Unkind, perhaps, but in his experience, very few souls stay for amicable reasons. "As I understand, these creatures aren't much different than...come to think of it, they really aren't." John gives just a bit of a squint, before taking a drag on the cigarette. "It is about balance. Any one side has too much power and it spells doom for humanity. Unfortunately, humanity doesn't see it like that. And there are few who can see." This happens when you start seeing spirits at a young age. The memories of which, lead John straight to the bottle. "I wouldn't mind observin', if only to catch a glimpse at some nostalgic spells." Another drag before the butt is thrown to the ground, and sniffed on the sole.
- Wu has posed:
"The soul has a choice. This yuangui has something unfinished to attend to. Failing to attend to it would distract him and probably have him go through more turns of Samsara than he would otherwise have to. A few years spent attending to this something pales to insignificance to the multiple extra lifetimes of suffering before he attains detachment and oblivion."
She flutters through her rice papers again, finding the one she needs and licking the back before carefully smoothing it out on the table before her. The noises of the street and life in China Basin fall away into the distance as the world outside of a short radius turns into something that resembles a '40s film noir look: sepia-tinted black and white.
"That will keep the nosy away," she says, by way of explanation. "They can see us but they won't recognize us as something they can see. We're someone else's problem now."
From the another pocket of her vest she pulls out what appears to be a carving made of ivory with an interlaced face of a bodhisattva and a demon. This she places next to the first charm, carefully facing the target.
"Prepare yourself for some carrying-on," she says. "That image will remind him of what he truly is if, in fact, he is a yuangui, and he will not want to remember. If he thinks too long on it, he will re-enter Samsara with his issues weighing him down into the Hells."
Her fingernail scrapes away the binding charm, bringing the frozen man back to animation.