A Night's Haunt

Participants: John Constantine + Arnold Wesker
Open/Closed: Closed
Location(s): Gotham City
Time of Day: Night
Weather: Cloudy
Summary: In order to stop a haunting, Constantine must enlist the help... of a puppet. No, he's not happy about that either.

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A part of him was surprised this had never happened before. Blackgate Gallows had been the site of numerous deaths, brutal and gruesome, and those types of deaths often left unhappy, vengeful spirits. It was inevitable considering they liked to hang people there and that was, well, a violent death and not always as quick as people thought. Laws might have changed, some punishments might have been deemed illegal, but the dead didn't care about that. Surprisingly there hadn't been any sightings or at least none that had caused concern until recently. Citizens had reported seeing prisoners with nooses around their necks. Then the dead had tried to hang the living. Poltergeist activity clearly. Some had been successful.

The authorities were at a loss. News had reached Blüdhaven and the office of one John Constantine. There had to be something from Blackgate Gallows that had disturbed the dead and given them free reign over the entire city. He'd hated needing to reach out, but research was key so he'd put in a few calls with the locals, specifically the vigilante ones. It would have been easiest to locate whatever was the cause if he had something from Blackgate Gallows himself to use to trace it.

There was something in Gotham from that dreadful place. It hadn't been there during those times, rather made from bits and pieces. Upon reading the information sent back to him, and thus realizing who he'd have to go to for help, John set aside his shot glass and just grabbed the bottle, muttering, "You've got to be bloody kidding me."

Unfortunately that was how he found himself in Gotham, after a far too expensive cab ride, and knocking on the door that Bat information assured him belonged to Arnold Wesker. "Wesker, you home?" he called as he knocked again. He knew enough about Wesker to have his magic ready in case he needed to shield himself from a sudden barrage of bullets or deal with some hired thugs. And he stood to the side of the door, reaching over to knock so if it was swung open and someone ran out with intent to attack him, he'd have the element of surprise for a second before they saw where he stood. If security cameras hadn't already caught him.

"Just need to talk, mate," he said, grimacing and wondering how his life had come to this. First he'd been hired by the Penguin to deal with some bloody mummy and now here he was, about to ask some dummy if he could use him to track who knew what. Maybe moving to Blüdhaven, so close to Gotham, had been a mistake.

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445 words
Arnold Wesker

There was a loud rapping at the door, causing Arnold to let out a gentle yelp of surprise, nearly dropping the kettle hissing in his hands while he turned the heat off. 

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear..." He murmured to himself quietly, hoping that it wasn't one of Mr Scarface's more rowdy and unruly guests knocking outside his abode. From the second floor came an angry ramble, rattling down to the meager pawn, sending a shiver down his spine. 

"Quit the racket already dummy! I'm tryin' to get some shut eye 'ere!" Boomed Scarface's thundering voice, an audible gulp forcing itself down Wesker's throat as he nodded in compliance despite the lack of eyes upon him. 

Walking carefully over to the door, Wesker opened it only a sliver, trembling slightly as his glasses shone in the night, taking in the sight of his strange visitor. 

"I-I'm terribly sorry, but this really isn't a good time, Mr Scarface is sleeping, and if he gets woken up mid nap he tends to get cranky...The violent kind." Wesker carefully whispered towards the newcomer, hoping to defuse any potential conflict ahead of time from the safety of the doorframe. 

John Constantine

John contemplated what he'd do if the door wasn't answered. He'd been stood up by plenty of people - and things - in his life. A puppet would have been a new one, though. Thankfully it seemed he wasn't going to be stood up this night. There was still a chance the door would get slammed in his face but at this point, he'd take what he could get. The door was opened sort of. "Opened" felt like a hyperbole. The crack wasn't even enough to get a good look at the other man but he knew enough to guess this was Arnold Wesker. Christ, he really was jumpy, wasn't he? Now all he had to do was convince him to let him in. He held in a sigh.

"Name's John Constantine," he said and with a flick of magic, he held a business card out toward the sliver between the door and its frame. "I take care of the spooks." He waited for the business card to be taken before continuing. "Relax, Wesker, I simply-" He had to bit back some pride. "-need your help on a case. I don't want any trouble, I swear." But if there was one thing Constantine wasn't, it was patient. And he knew how to get where he wasn't wanted.

He placed a hand on the door and pushed to get it open more, at the same time, shoving his shoulder between the door and the frame the second there was enough room before slipping entirely through. He fixed the collar of his trench coat once he was inside. He opened his mouth to talk then remembered how Arnold had insisted Scarface was sleeping - Right. He didn't think that was possible but then again maybe that puppet really was "alive" and just possessed by some ghost... Nope, he didn't want to follow that train of thought.

"We don't have to wake Mr. Scarface, don't worry," he settled for saying, voice low so not to uh - wake the potentially haunted puppet. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat and arched an eyebrow at Arnold. "I'd like to have a chat with you if that's alright."

---

362 words
Arnold Wesker

Without Scarface around Wesker was too timid to resist Constantine barging his way past and into the rather humble apartment. It took a moment for Wesker to process the strange man's words. Here to talk with him? Nobody ever wanted to talk to him, just Mr Scarface...Wait, case? Oh no...

"I-I'm afraid I'll have to decline, if I ratted out any of Mr Scarface's plans, you and me both would be on the chopping block! E-especially if your a cop, t-the boss really doesn't take kindly to that sort of thing..."

Upon taking a closer inspection of the business card, Wesker couldn't help but scratch his head a bit. "Paranormal investigator? As in magic right? What brings you here then? Neither me nor Scarface know anything about that mumbo jumbo" Professed Wesker honestly, a piercing squeal soon ringing out as the kettle Arnold had prepared began to whistle. 

Gulping nervously, Wesker rushed over to pull it off the stove, but alas he was too late. 


"DUUUMMMMYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!" 

Rang out from upstairs with a thundering warning, a chill going down Arnold's spine at the tone, too disconnected to realize that it was in fact his own voice, his talented ventriloquism accurately bouncing his voice around. 

"S-sorry...Tea?" He offered, pouring himself a cup as well as his guest, before another shout startled the assistant. 

"You already woke me up, come fetch me dummy! You'd better have a good reason 'fer this!"

As Wesker gulped nervously again. "Pardon me one moment" He excused himself, heading upstairs for several moments before coming back down clasping a wooden dummy in his hands, Scarface clad in fancy silken pajamas and a little nightcap. 

"Who is this poser? You let one of them bums outside in 'ere? Getting the place all filthy?!" He accused, getting right up in Wesker's face. 

"N-no sir, he barged in on his own."

"That a fact...State your business dummy, less you wanna get filled with lead!"

John Constantine