And we're all adrift together through the cold mist, 'til we're lifeless together

[dokkalfheimr]

[The preparations hit differently this time.

Last weekend was at least an attempt at being festive, even with the light supplies they have; at being joyous, at giving people at least one nice thing to look back upon before things inevitably took a turn for the worse. And now two people are dead, and instead of trying to figure out structure placement and how best to keep everyone entertained and occupied and well-fed, the preparations now are given to much more practical purposes.

Large amounts of bottled water from the machine. Bagels and bread and muffins, light starchy things to avoid forcing anyone to keep meat or seafood down after seeing a corpse. Fruit for the sake of providing energy. Avoiding including bananas for any reason. Quietly pulling aside one of the first people she sees with any experience in the matter and asking them to help her make tea.

Once she's got one of the tables at the party zone set up and the tea is on its way to being prepared, she'll set around letting people know; the invitations are simple, written in Freyja's broad, elegant handwriting:

I think another gathering tonight would be beneficial. Not to celebrate, but to remember; perhaps more importantly, to ensure that no one is alone if they don't want to be.

Tonight is hard. There is nothing further to do but get through it.]

Comments

[paucipan]

[She should walk away right now. She could walk away from this incident, satisfied with her punches, and with her proof that this human is garbage even without knowing his lewd dreams. It'd be simple for Plumeria to do so.

But then he lets that overconfident statement loose, and much like a stubborn, unruly bull, it ignites her anger anew.]

Gods, why won't you just shut up--

[She goes for another face shot again, but--well, she's getting her arm grabbed before it connects at all, which manages to startle the hell out of Plumeria. Not enough to let go of her anger entirely, but...]

--What?

[get her ass!!]

[scouserer]

[Constantine redirects her arm, maneuvering it to make it difficult to wrench it out of his grip. Despite the circumstances, a smirk seems to tug at the corners of his mouth. Just seeing her startled expression is a victory enough for him.]

You should know better than to trust the word of a magician, love.

[Constantine is not a fighter, and he's not drunk enough (yet) to try and take a few potshots of his own. He has nothing to prove. Plumeria is right in how despicable and wretched he is. So instead, he just glares at her, holding her and twisting her arm. After a few moments, he lets go, casting her arm aside with disdain.

His face stings. No doubt, there'll be bruises tomorrow.]

Are we finished, then?

[paucipan]

[Oh, this was a mistake. Plumeria should've taken her two shots and ran, really--the arm twist is more than enough to prove that, but oh how she doesn't just want to punch his smug face in for this.

But then he lets go, casting her arm aside with disdain as Plumeria glares at him in return. There's nothing but disdain and hatred in her look, at the realization that she likely only managed this because he let her. What a miserable night.]

Yes, I would say so. You're not worth a second more of my time.

[And with a prim little hmph, Plumeria will start to turn on her heels and walk the fuck away, rubbing at her arm in the process. He's gonna end up with bruises that she'll probably be able to enjoy seeing at some point, and maybe, just maybe, that'll be enough for her spiteful little heart.

...As well as trying to get the last word in, because Plumeria is just that much of a bitch.]

dont mind me squeezing one extra coin out of this

[scouserer]

[Constantine watches her go, a sour expression on his face. He turns to lean against the railing and drags a hand down his face, two-week old stubble poking at his calloused fingers. He's out of range of Plumeria's aggression, but that leaves him alone with his thoughts. And that's even worse.

This is what always happens. He's perfectly neutral with someone--perhaps even friendly--until one day he decides that he can't keep his mouth shut. Then, they find out how much of a miserable bastard Constantine really is and react appropriately.

Should've let her kept going. Should've let her toss you over the side of the ship, should've let your body hit the water and sink below to be eviscerated by the kraken--

He exhales sharply out his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. God. He could use a cigarette or two or ten right now. He eyes the half-empty bottle of Malort, which had been placed aside before the scuffle. He leans down to pick it up, swirling the liquid and grimacing in anticipation of the taste on his tongue. His original intention was to save it, horde the bottles until things became utterly unbearable to deal with sober.]

Sod it.

[It was bound to happen, one way or another. And it's for the best. Being out of his orbit means that Plumeria can't get dragged into the supermassive black hole centered around the one and only John Constantine. And, after all, he deserves it for being the way he is.

He drinks.]