[Right, well. Not the first time he's gotten so absolutely pissed last night that he woke up somewhere unfamiliar with a bit of a blackout and a monstrous hangover. But usually that involves bedhead hair, tousled sheets, warm bodies or cold corpses within reach depending on how the night went - and he's usually on steady ground. The gentle, almost-imperceptible bob of the ship has him on the edge of throwing up over the side of the bed.
This is a new one, but clearly he's taking it in his stride. Somehow, John manages to get his shit together, or at least not shit the bed on his way out the room. The door doesn't open - of course it doesn't - and he didn't so much read the note as he did scan it like front page news before ripping the lifevest out from the closet, putting it on backwards to protect his exposed nipples from the cold, and stumbling out into the narrow corridor.
Without his room key. And wearing absolutely nothing except for the back-to-front lifevest. To be fair, he's being helpful. Nothing would get anyone running to Deck One like some crazy naked blond fella with all his bits hanging out looking pale and nauseous.]
...C'oh, mate, I think I'm gonna be sick.
the devils I knew [At some point during his stay on the Serena Eterna, he does manage to get some clothes, and he even sobers up a bit, so no one else has to endure all the sights that John Constantine has to offer. In fact, he does a whole 180, and he's that guy with the tie in the trenchcoat standing next to the swimming pool, letting the poltergeists take cheap shots and use him for target practice. Figures, this isn't just a lucky ticket he was gifted by a very magnanimous Nigerian prince. Haunted cruiseships aren't really his specialty, but he's not too bothered by moving objects and gravity-defying gins and tonics.
At least, not until he gets hit in the head by a flying coconut. He gets knocked away from the pool and loses his balance, crashing into an unfortunate nearby bystander and knocking them off their feet. Hands flailing in all sorts of appropriate and inappropriate places, Constantine tries to regain his balance and put some respectable distance between them. Or at least get to his knees.]
...I'm alright. Cheers. [He thought he'd asked if the other person was alright, but you know, he was... thinking it, at least?]
wildcard (Up for any shenanigans, hit me up with anything!)
John Constantine | DCTV | OTA
[Right, well. Not the first time he's gotten so absolutely pissed last night that he woke up somewhere unfamiliar with a bit of a blackout and a monstrous hangover. But usually that involves bedhead hair, tousled sheets, warm bodies or cold corpses within reach depending on how the night went - and he's usually on steady ground. The gentle, almost-imperceptible bob of the ship has him on the edge of throwing up over the side of the bed.
This is a new one, but clearly he's taking it in his stride. Somehow, John manages to get his shit together, or at least not shit the bed on his way out the room. The door doesn't open - of course it doesn't - and he didn't so much read the note as he did scan it like front page news before ripping the lifevest out from the closet, putting it on backwards to protect his exposed nipples from the cold, and stumbling out into the narrow corridor.
Without his room key. And wearing absolutely nothing except for the back-to-front lifevest. To be fair, he's being helpful. Nothing would get anyone running to Deck One like some crazy naked blond fella with all his bits hanging out looking pale and nauseous.]
...C'oh, mate, I think I'm gonna be sick.
the devils I knew
[At some point during his stay on the Serena Eterna, he does manage to get some clothes, and he even sobers up a bit, so no one else has to endure all the sights that John Constantine has to offer. In fact, he does a whole 180, and he's that guy with the tie in the trenchcoat standing next to the swimming pool, letting the poltergeists take cheap shots and use him for target practice. Figures, this isn't just a lucky ticket he was gifted by a very magnanimous Nigerian prince. Haunted cruiseships aren't really his specialty, but he's not too bothered by moving objects and gravity-defying gins and tonics.
At least, not until he gets hit in the head by a flying coconut. He gets knocked away from the pool and loses his balance, crashing into an unfortunate nearby bystander and knocking them off their feet. Hands flailing in all sorts of appropriate and inappropriate places, Constantine tries to regain his balance and put some respectable distance between them. Or at least get to his knees.]
...I'm alright. Cheers. [He thought he'd asked if the other person was alright, but you know, he was... thinking it, at least?]
wildcard
(Up for any shenanigans, hit me up with anything!)