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(Another old fella)


John's feet pounded away at the sidewalk below him; his calf-length beige overcoat waving behind him and his loose red tie flopping side to side.

His teeth gritting into the smoke in his mouth, spreading the contaminates on his tongue.
Not that he cared much for it, he was busy tending to the important matters.

Had he been hit by a spell?
Curse maybe?
But why in the form of de-agement?!

Dying slowly was understandable, making him re-experience his god forsaken childhood again-was questionable.

John rested against an alleyway wall, catching as much air as his battered sides would let him.

Where the hell was he anyways?!

He looked down at his watch, 3:35 am.

Perfect, devil's hour.

John put back down his arm, making his way further down the alleyway.
He wasn't back in the states, by the way he the man talked anyways, suggested maybe England or somewhere close.

Taking out his lighter again, he flicked the lid open and closed, another habit of his.

Why send him somewhere over the pond, as a child of all things?
The only thing he could think of was revenge of some sort or an aftermath of whatever he fought.

Whatever demon, spirit or thing he faced down before his memory got shot-John couldn't remember a damn thing!

Last thing he did remember was that some church was had some funky things going on, he had to go it alone as Chaz had something to attend to with his family and Zed was home sick.

Said she didn't get sick often, so she wanted to stay 'fore it got worse.

He almost found out what it was, somewhere between either a poltergeist or demon.

Whichever one strong enough to stay in a church on its own.
Then you already know the rest he supposed.

John reached the brick wall at the end before turning around.

He needed to go do some research to find out which buggers had the power to accomplish this.

He took a long drag, before letting the cig fall to the ground, putting it out with his boot heel.

But, first order of official business, healing his ass enough to where it didn't hurt to walk.

Putting his hand to his chest, he muttered a small healing spell he picked up a while back; he didn't use it a lot since it didn't heal much-but what the hell?

"Numina Terrae Patitur Mea Me Consequi Posse Pace Parum."

John breathed sigh of relief as the pain in his sides and head fluttered away lightly.

He pulled high lighter in front of him to see his reflection, his face was only a bit better.
That's fine though, it was his insides he was concerned for.

Girls digged the bruised look right?

Pocketing it, he walked out the alleyway and out onto the streets again.

Needed to find dirt or sand, somewhere with a moldable surface.

Let's see if Manny would talk to him.


The worker turned the page again, marking down the names of magical children close to age on a separate paper.

Another year of Hogwarts was about to start, and Harry Potter was 11, she couldn't wait to see how the boy who lived turned out to be!

After an hour or so the worker skimmed the pages for names she missed, finding that she didn't, she closed the book and folded the list of potential students.

Getting from her desk chair, she moved towards the door and to the postal tower-and that's when it made it's self known.

A page, made to write down and document underage magic in use.
From purposefully to accidental.

The worker sighed, all records of underage magic is to be taken seriously. She walked towards the paper, and frowned, for it wasn't a name, but a place.

John Constantine and The Useless Magic RockWhere stories live. Discover now