Fear No Beer (Hellblazer Fan Fic)

[paperninja69]

J. L. Butler responsible for the poem. I know it's rough and there's typing errors but bear with me.

            John Constantine walked into a bar, holding the door open for the young blonde woman behind him and the short grumpy-looking middle aged man behind her. She shot daggers at him with her eyes. “You do realize I need at least three shots of tequila to even be in the same room as you.”

            He blew a kiss at her. “Of course, luv. You know you’ve missed me.”

            “Like I’d miss a case of the clap.” She took the other man’s arm. “Let’s find a table.”

            The bar was unusually quiet, save the usual cast of human decorations seated on stools nursing their drinks and chatting about nothing amongst themselves. John leaned on the bar and started to get the bartender’s attention when an old man grabbed his arm.

            “Magician,” he hissed in an unearthly voice, “you’re not welcomed here…”

            John caught a glimpse of the demon under the disguise. He jerked away and lit a cigarette. “Who’s going to make me leave? You?” He blew smoke in the air, readying for the spell he could sense building in the demon.

            A hand slammed down on the bar. “NOT IN HERE!” The bartender poked the old man. “You keep this up, mate, and you’ll be drinking elsewhere, got that? John’s as welcome as piss but he at least pays his fucking tab!”

            “Cheers, Mickey.” John winked.

            “Fuck you. What do you want?”

            “Three shots of tequila and a pitcher.”

            Mickey glanced at the woman. “Who’s the broad?”

            John shrugged. “A broad, what else?”

            He grunted. “I’ll bring it to you. Hate to see your useless ass spill good booze on the floor.”

            “Appreciate it.”

            He made it to the booth tucked in the corner of the room in time to her the woman say “But I’m serious!”

            John sat down next to the woman. “Israfel, she’s right.”

            “She can’t be!” the man sputtered. “If she were right, I’d know.”

            The woman sighed. “I’m punching Apollo in his fucking face next I see him.”

            “Still see him, Cassie?” John reached over her to grab the basket of peanuts.

            “Every so often he drops in to remind me that he’s hot shit.” She stole one of his cigerettes. “I love reminding him that I could care less.”

            “I could arrange to be there, in your bed if you you’d like.” He leered.

            “Uh, no.” Cassie blew smoke in the air. “Last thing I need is a pity lay from some yahoo that meddles in things that are none of his fucking business. Did you conviently forget why you dragged us out here?”

            Mickey appeared with a tray. “Three shots, pitcher and glasses all around.”

            Cassie dimpled. “5, 14, 8, 24 and 2.”

            “Thank you?” Mickey mumbled and wandered back behind the bar.

            “Lottery numbers,” she explained to Israfel. “Not like he’ll need them in a few weeks.”

            John snagged a shot. “Doom and gloom! It’s why I love you.” He down it and winced. “Alright. Now, the end of the world? Cassie, are you sure?”

            “Why do I bother?” She dumped the last two shots in a glass, filled the rest fo the glass with beer then downed the whole thing in one toss. She slammed the glass down. “Screw you, Constantine. You could care less about the world.”

            “Too right. I’m worried about my own skin.” He poured himself a glass. “Drink up, Israfel. She can drink us both under the table.” He toasted her. “So how do we stop it?”

            She glared at him. “You want me to trance right here? In public?”

            He shrugged. “Well, if we go to my place there’s the chance I could take advantage of you-“

            “STOP. Get me another shot.”

            John returned to the bar, getting an entire bottle of tequila and settling down. “Drink up, honey.”

            Cassie took a deep drink. She set the bottle aside and let her head roll back. Her eyes closed. “Two times seven days will pass then the Horsemen come to lay waste to those who have sinned against God. They are among the people, hidden from the angels and even themselves.

            “One is a guardian of the Holy Word, one moves the world with his voice, one heals with hands and the last one is believed to be an Agent of the Devil.

            “Find them and stop the end of all we know.”

            She collapsed against John. He looked at the now pale man sitting across from him. “Did you get all of that?”

            “I don’t believe you,” he sputtered. “He tells us everything. We’re a part of Him…”

            “Don’t you know who this is?” John’s eyes narrowed. “Cassandra. The seer cursed by Apollo to see the future but no one believes her. She’s right, mate.”

            Israfel stood up, trembling. “Must tell Gabriel… the Legions must be massing…” He scurried out, talking to himself and wringing his hands.

            Cassie opened one eye. “Did he buy it?”

            “Hook, line and sinker!” He laughed. “It’s been awhile since I tugged on the wings of those stuffy angelic types!”

            She grinned. “I didn’t think he would believe me.”

            “No, but he would believe me.” John took a swig from the bottle. “It’s the way around Apollo’s curse.”

            “But you believed me…” she mused.

            “Ah, but I was lying.” He waved the bottle around. “Don’t think too hard on it…” He started laughing again.

 

            It was nearly noon when the drunken magician and the immortal left the bar, holding each other up and singing something in Greek that made them laugh so hard they would fall down. Mickey poured them into a cab, paid the fare and started to clean up. It wasn’t until he got to the men’s room that he found some new graffiti scrawled on the wall.

 

Ode to My Awesome Power

Even though I never would,
I am so bitching that I could--
torture angels. Torture angels.
Even if they were to me--
bigger than, or smaller than a flea,
I’m strong enough to torture angels.
Graceful wings of feathered span,
or insectile as an ant’s--
Praise my power to torture angels.
As the shining sunset falls,
and they hide behind clouded walls,
Heaven’s children fear my power--to torture angels.

 

            Mickey shook his head and went back to mopping the floor.

 

Comments

[tw1stedwh1spers.livejournal.com]

*clapping*

I LOVE IT!

You even improved the poem--without changing or adding a word--by adding context!

Encore! Encore! Author! Author!

You've a real knack for this sort of writing. I don't think it's something I'd ever even dare--even in a fanfic. It's a hard style to manage--but you did it.

*lifting glass*

Here's to many more!

*bows*

[geisha-kitten69.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I wouldn't dream of touching the poem since it inspired the story.
Funny, I wasn't going to write it until this morning then I sat by the computer and said "John Constantine walks into a bar..." Iron Monkey said it sounded like the beginning of a joke and it just bloomed from there. I can honestly say I had no idea what was going to happen. I set the stage, put my characters together and let them talk. I've always felt that most of life is spent in conversation so stories should reflect that. I just wish I could break past the short story.
*blushes* I'm not sure if it's a knack but it is alot of fun!
Just wait... I think I like this drunken Cassandra. Wonder how she'd fare in New Orleans around Mardi Gras... Hhmmm...