[11th April 2008]

['House' of Brendan Finn, Killiney]

It was always a pretty disastrous situation when the just-turned-fourteen-year-old was the only sensible one in a room with two other grown-ass morons with magic. Drunken and evidently dying grown-ass morons at that as the idiot in the trench-coat and half smoked cigarette in his mouth closed the door behind him after I entered the crumbling old tower the other idiot lived in as a house. An idiot who opened his mouth, half pint of beer in hand, and gave a weak motion with his arm towards me despite the fact he looked like he could keel over at any moment. Yeah he certainly did look like he was bloody dying now didn't he?

"An' whose dis little bollocks John? Got yerself an apprentice did'ya? Hows this little cunt goin fix me when either us can't! Just some little culchie brat that those gobshites in the government tricked inna' workin' fer ya said" greeted me as I looked at this big unhealthy looking guy in stained and grubby shirt and trousers that reeked of the last hours session.

"Look, he says on the way 'ere that he bloody heals people in the hospital and stuff, like one them faith 'ealers so worth a shot like I's toldya already Brendan. That or he's a bleedin' necromancer and might have some trick buy ye bit ah time. Fuck what ya got'ta lose at this stage anyway!" the other idiot, the one me and my own escort were here to prevent causing collateral damage answered giving a half-stumble, half-shrug towards the native born one. Brendan Finn his name was officially and he'd somehow managed to fall in for this crumbling old tower; it was just as shabby as I'd expected. Still it faintly reminded me of my own from a past life. Ah the nostalgia.

Burly drunken idiot fiddled at a little tiny crucifix at his neck. Brand new one from the looks and feel of the holy symbol of that deity. He glanced at me the dim light of the old lamp on him indicating that, yes, this was certainly one fella nearly past his sell by date "So what are ye then, some sorta Church boyo come ta save me soul? Sorta gotta problem there"

I was tired after a long day. It was miserable weather outside. These two idiots were drunk and I was not and so not in the mood for this. Or, more importantly, the potential fallout that could result out from John fucking Constantine trying to find some really stupid way to fix this problem. So I opted for mostly honest in regards my reply. Because setting them on fire or shooting them would likely be a bad idea. Maybe.

"No I ain't with the Church, nor a faith healer like that exactly...and this fella..." I thumbed at the blonde nightmare in the trench-coat "...says ye sold yer soul as well in the mix. Least what he slurred out anyway best I could tell. Okay what ye dyin' off and have ye actually traded the auld soul away. Truth guys if I ye wanna me to try help out"

"Hmmm...ah, shur feck it...blech...can't hurt this late'in the game. Done got liver disease and Iz feckin' dying of its Iz am ta tells ya the truth. Like...ah don't think ah'll make it through da night dyin' of it young fella. So kinda want to avoid that since...well..."

"Since he sold his, sorry traded, his soul away for this fine auld selection of wines that he's been drinkin' down in the cellar" Constantine finished as I sat down at the table with them and started to rub the bridge of my nose in irritation. I sighed as the other one shrugged then laughed weakly with the other as the two found some seeming hilarity in the matter. And I was looking at this feckin' gobshites as my prospective trainers...Ilneval above what I had to deal with...

"Right, okay, sold your soul for a cellar of wines..."

"The very finest wines in the world!"

"...kay, the finest wines in the world and then got liver disease off drinkin' through it..." I sigh and give a thumbs up gesture at him "...dude your doing humanity proud. There's probably a Devil somewhere that got a Sales-devil of the month award for that little piece of sales pitch to a mage of all things...right, look maybe I can fix you. Bit fucking last minute but maybe. Now what're you trading me for services rendered assuming I can fix the both you?"

Because screw these two drunken idiots if thought I was Mammy Government come to rescue their stupid asses from self inflicted wounds. Now I would step in and save their lives if I could...but healing was still rather taxing at this age and without the ease access tap to my other existence as it was on Faerun. I could opt for the one of the handful Cure Disease potions I'd managed to ready and store securely in the hospital; but these were earmarked for me-emergencies and for sick kids as part of my deal with the Health Service. That and I'd need to actually heal up the damaged caused by such long term ravaging of a body by said disease. Of course it helped that I needed something, and they from me, and that meant a trade of some sort for everyone's benefit!

"Now lad there don't need ta be any talk of that till like am' not, loik, goin' die an all that. Can't ye think of it as..." Mr Finn started then seemed be grasping for something more to say to convince me and looking at the trench-coated problem for help. Who scratched at his stumble covered chin and gave me a look.

"...of your good Christian duty, charity and good works ahn' all that before God lad, savin' lives get ya in good with the Almighty..."

Oh come on. John Constantine of all people trying to use this sort of bs on me of all things. I couldn't help but roll my eyes and fold my arms across my chest "Oh for the love of...not actually a real Christian fellas, thats just fer show so don't be tryin' any of that shite with me"

"Bollocks, I shoulda bleedin knew it!" Constantine swore at, and too, no one in particular "right ye little bastard what'ya want or yer gonna two very cranky mages on your hands"

And now we're unto threats of course, because that's always the way. Drawing upon the spirit and memories of orc war-priest me I stared right back at them. Sadly though the continued stress wasn't doing much for my formal and more polite speech patterns "Look, ye already sold yer bloody soul fer some gods-damned bottles of wine so it ain't gonna be as steep as that. All ah'll want is some tips and trainin' and have the both of ye sign on for that. Oh and more importantly a geas that you won't try betray me to demons an' such, or like mess around with them and such rituals over here without supervision. Don't give a fuck about what you do anywhere else, but we'd rather that random parts of the country...like say here for example...don't get sucked into the Nine Hells. Do that an' all heal both of ye to the best of me abilities. Alrite?"

I spread my arms out in a helpless expression "Look I know yer both better at all this than me...and will try squirm yer way out of anything but...both of ye get what you want and need, and I get what I want and need. And the government pays for it all. Everyone wins even them, cuz I've read your reports and they'd rather that didn't happen here..." I shrug "...or ye tell me to piss off and I try talking to the other dude we found, the one who turns into one of Hell's Knights, and ask him for advice. Honestly I'd rather not so just give me that little bit and everyone leaves happy. You do get to get live longer and screw over Satan after all. It's not like I'm not askin' for yer souls or to worship me as your Lord and Saviour and all that jazz"

The truth was trying to pressure John Constantine would have very bad results for everyone involved. But on the other side of the equation I highly doubted either of these two would take altruism at face value when it came to them. So my best bet was a deal they were winning at but gave me at least some of what I wanted; some basic help and John Constantine back on the boat to Liverpool after doing such. For all they may be drunk, and for all they maybe whining about the whole thing, it seemed by the glint in their eyes they were agreeable to it and they were already likely thinking a way to get even more benefit from all this. Even if they found a way to screw me out of what I wanted, which was sadly all too likely, it'd still be a learning experience assuming I survived it all of course. Mr Constantine took a drag on his cigarette and was seemingly seriously considering the whole thing, or thinking strongly on something after a glance at the clock.

"Fer a lad who claims to want training you've got a lotta bleedin' knowledge and confidence with things ye really shouldn't have ya know? An' yer not a good catholic boy either ya say...hmmm...memories ah things ye shouldn't have is it?"

I shrugged "That's fer me to know and ye to find out, but I will say my spell-craft...doesn't seem to match up much to we use nowadays. I just...know things and that's all I can really know to be true. But that ain't gonna keep me and mine safe way the world is, too much knowledge to life nice, dumb and ignorant but too little to be able see all the dangers that'll be come at me as well. I help ye fellas with this problem and then you help me with mine? Sound fair?"

"Not like we've a better offer on the table now is there Brend? Looks like we'll go with a yes, you heal him and then we'll sign up and ya can heal this here Liverpudlian after"

I sigh "Probably tomorrow or few days after, this ain't a simple thing..." easier than I was going to let on of course but not easy either "...as we're in a hurry. So where can I set up a ritual circle..." to hide my presence and divine channelling "...and get this part started. I'm takin' ye at yer word fellas"

Or at least John Constantine was since his burly Irish born friend was getting his round of healing first. Orcish runes, that neither knew, went onto the floor with a piece of chalk and fresh blood from some blood drive to ward against any issues. That done, I chanted faintly too my patron, or other world side, whatever, and laid hands upon Brendan Finn as the power flowed through me and into his disease weakened body. It was tiring since curing the disease evidently had to be followed by a heal serious wounds to reverse most of the damage caused by said thing. I'd encountered the same in the hospital a few months back; it rarely happen in my orc-me time as the presence of so many clerics tended to catch diseases well before they hit this stage unless they were magical ones. Whatever the case I poured in more power and as darkness fell he was healed and...

--

This is from Hellblazer Dangerous Habits (A drop of the strong stuff) and goes very differently. Basically Brendan Finn dies and Satan comes for his soul. Long story made short Constantine tricks him into drinking Holy Water and prevents him getting his friends soul through a loophole in the contract. Obviously things get derailed here though the SI doesn't remember any of the stories beyond 'John Constantine Bad! Fucks things up!'