Summary:Mack is a little bit freaked out to be on her boat. Constantine drops by to help clean it up. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related Logs2019-03-26-harboring-resentment Theme SongNone |
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Mack and Rufus spent a night in a cheap hotel on shore. Why? Because A.) Her boat is covered in octo-goop. And B.) There may be more giant demon squid in the harbor. But the fishing captain can't afford hotels and she has to make a living, so she's back on the Quint's Folly, scrubbing the deck with a pushbroom and a hose dribbling water as she tries to get most of the stuff off the surfaces.
Rufus does NOT like the goop. He is sitting inside the open hatch to the hallway and galley, whining, with a tennis ball in his mouth. He is waiting, because Mack left Constantine a voicemail about her situation and needing advice.
Mack is in hip waders over her jeans, because she doesn't want any of that goop on her, and a sweatshirt underneath, to ward off the chill of 49 degrees on the water. Every few moments her eyes sweep to the water, looking for any sign of something huge lurking beneath the surface.
Constantine doesn't come bearing advice so much as he does bearing coffee and a snarky remark when he steps out of the taxi. Never did bother to learn to drive. His lips purse a bit. The smells of the job never do quite leave the nostrils. With a nod and one finger pointing around cup #2 he adds helpfully, "Missed a spot."
Asshole.
All that said he offers cup #2 out whilst taking a careful, plodding approach towards the Folly.
Rufus trundles out of the hatch and down the gangplank to the dock, to offer Constantine the tennis ball. It's like he knows the man helped keep them safe from the giant squid. His tail wags nonstop.
Mack snorts at John's comment. "I missed a lot of spots. I've been doing this for four hours already, jackass." She beckons him on board however, giving Rufus a look like he's a traitor for being so happy to see the gutter mage. The little blonde takes the coffee and seems at least slightly appeased by the offering. "Thanks for coming. Three guesses what it's about, and the first two don't count."
Constantine hands over the coffee and eyes the dog, "No place to throw that that you want to get into, mate." He sips his coffee rubbing his hand along the back of his neck still waking up. "Well, top three guesses would be need of an eighth shower, lunch, and a new boat." Giving the still affected area a look he nods slowly, "I'm going to presume," stretching- stretching is good, "that one of those three are less helpful of a situation." There's that impish smirk being so helpful, "But at least you can get lunch and a new boat. Fraid not a lot of going to get the goo gone." And yet, he showed.
"A new boat really isn't remotely an option. I'm so far in debt right now, and getting further by the moment, because I'm too scared of what might be living in the harbor to take her out and do my fucking job, John." Mack gives him a look, and sips the coffee, before setting it on top of a section of rail she's already cleaned.
"Rufus and I spent the last two nights in a hotel that makes my boat look like the Ritz Carlton, because I couldn't sleep, worrying another of those things might drag us to Davy Jones Locker overnight. So how do I protect myself, and my way of life, from those things down there?" Mack asks sincerely, leaning heavily on the push broom. Beneath the pixie cut and big dark eyes, she looks absolutely worn out.
Rufus trots back through the hatch to lie down at the threshold and watch his mom.
Constantine waves his hand vaguely, "Alright. One out of three." Man terrified people can be so testy! Looking over the boat he asks entirely out of the blue, "You have one of those… big squeegies on a pole?" Eyebrow pops up and he makes a shuffleboarding gesture with his hand. "Might be able to help you speed up teh process. The rest?" The look is faintly apologetic, but John isn't really one to actually apologize. There's some empathy at least. "The rest? Well… Adam might have the right of it. Trying to figure out and stop the why." Holding a hand up up indicating 'tall' even though John is a clean 2 meters tall. "Large chap…or…chaps really. Technically. I try not to think too hard on it. Was hugging the squid, yeah?"
"Yeah, he and I met on St. Patrick's Day," Mack admits, before she moves to grab a squeegee on a pole from a closet of equipment and hands it to John, along with a small bottle of dish soap. "Dawn seems to be working. It's what they use to clean animals caught in oil spills. So why not clean oils from an animal spill?" she theorizes. "I think he brought me home after I fainted. I woke up on one of the galley benches, intact, safe and sound. So he's ok in my book."
She goes back to her scrubbing, pondering how they can figure out what an alien squid wants in the harbor. But she pauses and blinks back at John. "Wait, did you say chaps? He is actually made up of…multiple people parts? Like goddamned Frankenstien's monster? There's only one him, to my eyes, not like the wolf thing. There's a whole pile of spirits wandering around in that one."
Constantine listens to her explaination and a faint, wry quirk of his lips react to her assessment. "Really? That what your eyes see? Might want to start looking with something else. A good many of us aren't really ohnest on teh tin now." He can be so smug. He watches her go, one hand in pocket, teh other on his coffee. She comes back with the pole. Instead of taking it when she holds it out to the mage he stares at it, then her, and drinks his coffee. "Ain't for me luv. You're gonna need it. And carefully he sets the coffee aside and turns it one eight turn to teh left so it doesn't tip over. "Any change you can get Rufus to go back into teh cabin?"
Mack snorts at John's words about her vision. "Like I wouldn't turn it off if that was an option. Remind me to tell you about the talking bird with a Latin accent too," she mutters. When he refuses the squeegee she blinks a few times and a brow sloooowly works it's way up into an arch. "Rufus, bed!" she calls to the dog.
The Leonberger gets up and trots deeper into the boat to go lie in her bed in the captain's cabin. Mack closes the hatch behind him. She leans on the squeegee, eyes never moving off the gutter mage. "John? What are you about to do to my boat?" she asks.
Constantine takes off his coat holding it in one hand, but pauses, and looks to Mack to assess something curiously. With a quite serious expression he asks, "You want to learn a magic trick?" He plants his feet roughly shoulder width apart and nods for her to follow suit. "Good stance is everything. You'd be surprised the pushback one can get. Hit your mates. Spill your coffee. It can all go cock up in o time. Now. Take that squeegie you've got there and hold onto it in thirds." He demonstrates by holding his coat out laterally in lieu of a broom handle like she's got. "Now I want you to look at and just… concentrate on the boat. What do you see?"
Mack looks amused, but she mimics John's stance. "Magic trick, eh? Are we pulling a rabbit out of something?" she quips with a smirk. She pushes herself off the outer wall of the pilot house and holds the squeegee as instructed. "Look at the squeegee but concentrate on the boat. Right." She narrows her dark eyes and focuses them on the handle of the cleaning tool, while she concentrates on the boat. It's mostly thoughts of frustration at how covered in goop it is.
Constantine replies glibly, "I try not to indulge anyone's kinks before lunch." So much for the rabbit! As she's super, really, hyper-focused on the boat? John casually lays his coat neatly across teh middle of the broom handle being the only goop-free place he can put it. Cheers, Mack!
With a wink he smiles, "Smashing job. Keep it up. Now… Oy! what's with the look? Watch the boat. Job's not done yet." He unbuttons the cuffs and rolls up his sleeves with a flip-flip. The lighter comes out of his pocket, and is pop-snapped open striking the wheel to light it in one pass. Free hand waves fingers over the flame. He makes a loose fiat, and closes-pockets the lighter. Opening his hand the flame is still bloody well there. With care he passes the flame to spread it to both hands. "Right, there we are. Step one make it less sticky. Step two Let's… not ruin your home, yeah?"
Goddamit, John. That's a good way to get yourself beaten over the head with a squeegee. Mack mutters under her breath, but continues playing coat hanger while side-eyeing the mage. Her eyes widen a little at the flames in his hands, because come on, that's pretty damn cool. "Less sticky is good. Boat on fire is bad. Got it."
Constantine can come up with thirty other ways to get smacked and beated, if only there were time to enjoy them all. Pity. Walking up on deck he makes a face and crouches low murmuring, "I know…" And taking a deep breath he steels himself murmuring something else that sounds embittered, though there is a hell of a buzz in the air around him and then, that fire spreads from his fingers and jsut slowly extends working to cook the calamari bits, and evaporate the moisture without caking it to the boat. Oh lawdy the smell is super fishy. This is not the glorious part of being a pyromancer. Still she slowly lets it look like he's catching the boat all around him on fire noting alread, "Caaaaalm dooooown… boat's fine."
Mack seems a bit startled when it looks as if the boat is in flames, but as John insists it's fine, she swallows and continues to watch. "If it isn't fine, you owe me a boat," she notes. Her nose wrinkles a bit at the smell but she processes cod most days on the boat, so it's nothing offensive to her sensibilities. She chews her lower lip as she watches the bits of calamari blacken, and the steam from the evaporation of the liquid in the goo.
Constantine nods slowly in agreement, "That would seem that is… the agreement." That the boat is rocking seems to eat up a bit of time, but if one rushes one sets anothers floating home ablaze and given the Hudson? Well, it's not the Erie but it still may never go out. Finally, with some effort as the boat rocks he asks finally, "Sort of a hell of a thing. What was all that you said the other day about your tattoo itching?"
Mack watches with the weather eye of someone deeply invested in the continued viability of her boat. At the question she looks at him and grimaces. "I think it knew something was coming, but since it was coming TO me, it didn't give me that urge to go somewhere else. If that makes sense? It's like…it finds a waypoint, where some unnatural event is going to happen, and it sends me there."
Constantine walks back over, carefully, releasing the flames in his hands to the air to be snuffed out and pulls the flame low and then out off the deck leaving the charred squiddy bits just steaming in the harbor breeze. That done he reclahis coat, "Cheers." Seriously how many tattoos mar his arms are as numerous as they are uncountable. "Squeegie." Now's her part. Is he breaking a sweat? Yes, but the job's satisfied. The story strikes him as most curious, "So your tattoo directs you towards danger?" Now to fish around for his cigarettes, "Your artist not like you? Important to tip them when you get arcane glyphs branded to your flesh."
"Not sure it's danger so much as something supernatural. That shit just mostly happens to be dangerous." Mack jerks the coat away so she can peruse the tattoos on his arms. "Looks like you have some serious experience with special tattoos yourself," she notes with a frown. "It didn't come with a manual or anything, so I'm kind of lost in the woods here. And being as those woods are on my fucking boat, well, things aren't great." She shoves the end of the squeegee at him on which his coat rests, before she begins to sweep the debris off the deck. MUCH easier.
Constantine squints looking around and back to her, "Being around the bird and I has got to be fun for you I'd imagine." Given how many things are active on a mage at any point, not to imagine active jinxes, hexes, curses. Typical Thursday stuff. Back to the coffee. Got my first ones when I joined. It's easier to keep your tools in your back pocket I guess. " Really though this was about hers which makes him now wonder, "I have a test I'd love to run with those. The question is, do you?"
"When you joined what? Hogwarts?" Mack asks as she continues sweeping the blackened not-tilapia off her boat. At the question she looks over her shoulder at him. "Do I what? And what sort of test?"
Constantine snerks, "You mmmmmuggles and your perception of how magic works." Funny, John. Just hilarious. After another sip he says simply, "The RAF. And do you want to find out. I'd say you don't know me from Adam but," He trails off looking where The Monster was standing hugging the giant squid tentacle and back to her making the face, "Well we're a bit distinct."
"I want answers, yeah," Mack admits. "Pretty sure I'm not gonna like the answers but…" She shrugs. "Do you think maybe it has something to do with my granddad? I mean he's lingering around the boat all ghost-like for something I'm guessing, instead of going upstairs to be with gran."
Constantine counters watching her do the work like a good teammate… okay a typical teammate. "The answers worth having are rarely the ones we want. That's why people stop asking question." With a stretch he looks for some place to throw his coffee cup away and looks around. Yeaaaah nothing that's not just covered in filth. Great. the question merits all fo the unpopular but plausible answers, "Could be you're in trouble. Not the first time someone wouldn't leave their descendants alone." There is a pause to give a wary eye around and quietly he continues, "Could even be hereditary. Mine was. To a point."
"Hereditary? Was your dad a firebug or something?" Mack asks with another arched brow. She tips her chin towards a plastic bag slung on a hook to indicate the garbage bin. "Do you do stuff besides fire? Not that fire isn't cool and all just, you know, if all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail."
"Asshole." John follows her chin to the bag and makes his way over to toss his rubbish. The question brings him pause and the ghost of a smile. That…. is a charmingly good question. With a fond amusement he answers only, "Well when you don't have a boat being attacked by a giant nail leaving tacks all over your boat? Maybe we'll find out." Looking around he asks, "You still have my card, yeah?"
"Yep. I have it stashed in the cabin, for emergencies that occur after noon," Mack notes with a smirk. She continues to sweep the stuff off the deck, relieved at how much easier it's become. Fire good.
Constantine warms a wry grin pointing a finger at her. Clever. "When you're done cleaning all… this up if you still are worried about coming back… that's my workshop. You'll itch terribly, but there's no seafood."
"All right. Then I'll likely be seeing you soon." Mack looks at the rest of the clean up to be done. "Ish. Thanks for the help, Chauncey." And a nickname is given.