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It would probably come to no surprise to anyone that when John Constantine came stumbling out of Special Collections, he was wearing only his trench coat and was still buttoning up his fly.
"Always nice to see you, Blythe!" he yelled cheerfully, flipping off the door as he backed out. "Shame about that deportation back to Hell. I'll cry myself raw tonight, really, I will."
There was an inhuman screech and a flare of light, and the doors to Special Collections slammed themselves shut as he waltzed towards his office.
"The fuck is with all this dust, we get a dust mephit invasion over the week I was gone?" he muttered to himself, flipping open his laptop and leaning down to open the drawer that contained his closest-to-hand booze...
"The fuck is my booze?!?!? Bloody hell, Shellstrop..."
And then a glance at the little digital calendar/clock on the login screen of his laptop.
"...Fucking shite. Winchester's gonna have m'skin over this one."
Well. Might as well post the sign to hire more library minions on the door before he headed home. It didn't look like she'd replaced him while he'd been on accidental walkabout, but looking productive might make the eventual dressing-down less severe.
[OOC: He's baaaaaaaaaaaaack, because I finally remembered to post the post I wrote back in SEPTEMBER. There is no sense of time in Pandemic World.]
"Always nice to see you, Blythe!" he yelled cheerfully, flipping off the door as he backed out. "Shame about that deportation back to Hell. I'll cry myself raw tonight, really, I will."
There was an inhuman screech and a flare of light, and the doors to Special Collections slammed themselves shut as he waltzed towards his office.
"The fuck is with all this dust, we get a dust mephit invasion over the week I was gone?" he muttered to himself, flipping open his laptop and leaning down to open the drawer that contained his closest-to-hand booze...
"The fuck is my booze?!?!? Bloody hell, Shellstrop..."
And then a glance at the little digital calendar/clock on the login screen of his laptop.
"...Fucking shite. Winchester's gonna have m'skin over this one."
Well. Might as well post the sign to hire more library minions on the door before he headed home. It didn't look like she'd replaced him while he'd been on accidental walkabout, but looking productive might make the eventual dressing-down less severe.
[OOC: He's baaaaaaaaaaaaack, because I finally remembered to post the post I wrote back in SEPTEMBER. There is no sense of time in Pandemic World.]
