Author's note: I wrote a Constantine drabble. Just… because, really.
I, Constantine, have directed Sir Top Hat and The Squire Who Speaks All Tongues to the kennel of the smelly-ink man called the Storyteller. Now I, Constantine, will return faithfully to my master's side!
I have traveled far, and when I arrive at the cages of men I am most pawsore. Alas, no tankard of cool water nor a trencher of meat awaits me. Nevertheless I wag my tail at the guards, and having awed them with my chivalry, slip into the depths of the dungeon a few bread crusts fuller for my trouble.
I, Constantine, am a dexterous dog. It is no trouble to wriggle between the bars of the cage that holds my master and leap up into his lap.
"Good e'en, little squire," he says.
"Master!" I yip.
Master pats my head. "I regret that I have no dinner for so bold and loyal a companion."
Though my belly growls, I care not, but only lick my master's hand. To be in his presence is food and drink to me. Never will I desert him.