<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/Xwze2ZQ.png)</div><strong>NAME:</strong>John Constantine<br/>(Optional)<strong>WEARING:</strong>A trenchcoat, shirt, tie, slacks, loafers<br/><strong>DAY:</strong>Aug 21 2020<br/><strong>TIME:</strong>2130<br/><strong>LOCATION:</strong>Heaven's Undercarriage, Mammoth City, NJ<br/><strong>CONTENT:</strong>Being Obnoxious<br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong>Zachary Zatara<br/><br/><hr/><br/>"Fair cop, bruv. End of Days always been just next Sunday." John chuckled although his heart was not in it. He sounded tired, too, but he found refuge in talking, his greatest skill and passion and love. "There's lots of folks tell ya 'the Devil made me do it' or some such malarky, like Lucifer's perched on every chav's shoulder telling him it's right brilliant to piss on some posh lorrie. Truth is, squire, the Devil don't give a toss. He didn't want to be God's head boy - why would he give two tugs on a dead dog's dingle about humans?<br/><br/>"But there's other blokes out there who do. Folks'd just love for you, me, and my sainted mum to be all a quiver, caps in hand, as they lord on over us. One of them wankers name of Trigon's ready to give it a go with the whole conquering the Earth bit. A real serious go, squire. He came knocking and the sod almost got his foot in the door. Big bloody deal, this Trigon. Conquered a whole dimension of his own and now he wants this one too." John paused and drank the last of his beer. "Right cock up keeping him out, squire. Killed Dr. Fate - the bloke wearing the helmet, leastwise - and . . ." He decided not to mention the price Giovanni had paid. ". . . the Stranger actually got up off his arse and lent a hand."<br/><br/>John paused to let that sink in. The Phantom Stranger taking an active role.<br/><br/>"Bollocks. Look at me, carrying on like some old pearl-clutching church lady." John berated himself in a tired tone and rubbed the pads of his hands into his eyes.