I only speak the truth [OPEN]

[satangotmylungs]

Who; John Constantine and OPEN
What; See John drunk. See John passed out, in a rather bothersome spot. Poke with a stick, kick to the groin, splash with a bucket of water...wake up, John, wake up!
Where; Anywhere your character happens to be walking, an alley, whatever, the gutter, outside a shop...there is a head of dark hair, or a shiny black

Comments

[zerosuitjill]

Jill had seen her share of the wasted. She'd hauled a few off the streets back in her S.T.A.R.S. days.

Hell, she'd been there, although she hadn't made a habit of it and certainly had never lacked enough self-respect to take it into public.

All the same, rather than the usual bit of hard-nosed condescension she'd felt in her younger days, there was a spot of pity in her chest when she came across this particular case. Considering where they were, a person could hardly be blamed for getting drunk enough to fall over in the street. It was better than some alternatives, a darker part of her noted.

Even so, Jill was cautious from both knowledge and habit, and remained well out of easy reach as she stopped and circled around to the stranger's front (or what would have been his front if he stood). She didn't bother keeping a hand on one of her guns as per the usual cop routine.

"Hey," she tried, voice firm but not unfriendly. "Still conscious?"

[zerosuitjill]

Sexist slurs, ethnocentric bias, and political insertions, all in the first conversation. Oh, this one was a winner -- not even including the grade A lungs and liver he must have been toting.

There was a vague temptation to roll her eyes, but Jill resisted easily. She had any number of better things to do than lose her poise, least of all to some button-pushing hypocrite with a loose mouth -- who also happened to be drunk.

Her expression smoothing over to neutrality once more, she turned aside, her tone still casual. "No," she replied, matter-of-fact, "NASCAR dads tend to get drunk in groups." Jill glanced from the empty vodka bottle up to the guy's face, her gaze level. "And they have more class."

The guy was alive, for better or worse. She was done here.

[satangotmylungs]

"Yeah, cuz they're all inbred rednecks in the still-strong KKK who take their little girls to those group drinking sessions. Too stereotypical? Hmm. They all suck FOX News' cocks for information and play passive aggressive whenever they have to have conversation with someone who ain't a white person with first world problems."

He threw the butt down, giving it the honour of putting it out with the bottom of his shoe. "Fuckin' right you are, I'm just the worst of the worst."

If Jill had thought she was done, John knew it had only begun. Not because he was being a total tool that really warranted a good smack upside the head, but because whoever she was had a fantastic ass.

Classy, John. Classy indeed.

[zerosuitjill]

It was difficult lately, on occasion, for Jill to entirely control her face -- a side effect of not having any control over it at all for so long, maybe. Either way, when she sent a sharp glance over her shoulder, there was open irritation on her features.

It occurred to her briefly to wonder whether his head was really that far up his ass, or if he was just trying to get a reaction out of her. Probably both. She'd known enough good people who fell under one-sided stereotypes -- she was one -- for the latter to have succeeded, but she'd be willing to bet a good portion of her reputation on the former all the same. The two tended to go hand in hand, anyway.

Jill didn't bother with a retort. She just turned her back and kept going.