chas chandler

The moment he says John, it changes—and Loki could curse herself for that a million ways to Sunday, she rights her face as quickly as she can into its haughty rest, but the softening of her demeanor can’t be entirely hidden. 

Funny, she didn’t think John had any friends, not really. Though if she squints and thinks real hard, Loki can recall this man’s face, hitching a ride with him, John’s hand on her thigh in the backseat. She hadn’t been thinking about anything but John, then. Of course not, no matter how little it turns out he thinks of her, because that fight’s still brewing under her skin somewhere.

“Me? He sent you to me?” Loki snatches the paper from the stranger’s hand and looks at it, and sure enough, there’s his handwriting, strangely neat for its lazy scrawl, and her current hotel room. She isn’t even sure how he knew she was here, chews on the information for a moment, turns it over before she speaks. Could be a joke. “Chas, yeah? Come in. Tell me what you know. Want a glass of wine? Whiskey? Gin?”

Thank God she eases up when he mentions John - it’s usually the opposite. The tension in his posture loosens up, and he pauses at the door, not really sure if it’s really proper to just enter a ladies hotel room under such abrupt circumstances. “Well, alright, if you insist. And no thanks, got me cab parked right outside...” Mentally, he curses John. 

Standing in a clear space from any of the furniture, he tucks his cap under an arm and gestures vaguely with the other. “Dunno much, I don’t. I’m always kept in the bloody dark about most things like... this. But just the other day he says he’s dealin’ with some bloke in the Parliament about a bloody soul bank, n’ the next thing I know he’s tellin’ me he’s underestimated ‘im n’ now he’s outnumbered with demons. You--you’re... in the know about this kind of magic stuff, right?"

“Make it quick.”

Everything about her reads impatient—the sharply tapping heel, the way her weight shifts foot to foot, the somehow irritated red of her cigarette’s cherry. “The fuck do you want.”

 Chas doesn’t look the least bit comfortable, but he is polite as he clutches his removed cap in his hands, looking apologetic despite his underlying annoyance. “Forgive me, miss, it’s---it’s about me mate, John.” He says, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket with the address that led him here. 

As conversation flowed and drinks were served, John finds it difficult to keep his mind focused on the present. It was, like always, racing on ahead, constantly addressing potential developments and figuring out how he could manipulate the workings of fate to his own benefit before problems arose. He had a plan to handle most circumstances, or at least that was how it had been, before now. Before a particularly staggering price had to be paid so that his best mate’s daughter could be saved.

Blue hues narrow, but not because of anything that Chas had said. The cloak of sorrow that was sweeping over the glum blond like a veil had its origins in the same deed that saw him save a child– something that was worthy of celebration in itself, given his previous track record when it came to dealing with kids. But now was not an occasion worthy of applause. If he should be doing anything, John felt a strong need to warn Chas of what was about to happen– especially before they became complete strangers to one another.

“Yeah, Chas. She’s safe as houses now.” Her soul wrenched free from Nergal’s clutches, it allowed for the distraught Chandler family to come together and be reunited with their daughter. Or at least that was the optimal outcome, had it not been for his use of the Camdever curse to defeat the great demon.

“Listen, though. There’s…something I need to tell you.”

“Thas’ good, then. Knew I could count on ye, after all.” Chas says, unable to stop his sniffling. It’s an emotional moment, one he’s sure to remember as clearly as he does the Slag incident so many years ago. 

Though, for as long as he’s known John, he should heed his mate’s solemn expression with a little more caution than he is, but that’s hard to do when the worst that could possibly happen has been resolved, and the aftermath is a warm, sunny day in LA where he can actually do a little sightseeing. 

Pulling out his phone, he holds it in his hands as they rest again on the table between them, fingers idly scrolling through the contacts for Renee.

“--hhrg---JOHN---” It’s an immediate reaction, so integral to their relationship that it leaves his mouth before he can even think about what his mates really said. As he heads towards the door, he waves off the cigarette smoke in annoyance, resisting the urge to yank him by his collar until some kind of magic to fix this rattles out of his coat pockets. 

 There’s a lot to be said about surviving one of Hell’s nastiest demons after saving your daughter from eternal damnation, but here, in this diner with his best mate John Constantine, Chas doesn’t think he needs to say much at all. The scent of fresh coffee wafts between them, the faint sound of the pleasant waitress somewhere serving guests a few tables away, and for the first time since he’s arrived in L.A. things actually seem normal. It feels like he can finally breathe and enjoy the city. The sun ( how long had they’d been shrouded in darkness? ), splays across their table in soft light, and he smiles, fingers splayed into them as he gives his fingers a drum. At this point, he doesn’t even give a damn if John ends up making him pay for their meals ( again ) - he’s pulled another bloody miracle out of his arse and, just like Chas knew he would - kept his promise to help him. He looks like he’s about to cry.

There isn’t anyone in the world that could replace his best mate.

 Chas doesn’t really know what John’s gotten himself into now ( he never usually does ) but he’s finally here with the ice pack, aspirin, and incense. He holds the bag over, like a delivery boy, eyeing John’s swollen lip with equal amounts amusement and judgement. 

“Besides the fact I’ve followed you for…”he actually had to remember how many blocks it was. “More than five  - maybe ten or so.” Ky didn’t really care about how long it was, but he also couldn’t resist poking Chas about it. “I would have thought you’d caught on before the second block.” Or maybe that was his own vanity talking.

“But to answer your question? No, I don’t have a  problem, but that could change.”

 There’s nothing in Chas’ body language to imply that he’s ready to compromise with whatever it is this guy wants. He stands firm in his spot on the sidewalk, body squared, like he’s ready to fight should he need to. 

Chas: You're drunk but I kinda wanna see where this is going.

“Sorry fer all the fuss, makin’ ye come all the way ‘round here from the states, like." Chas says, climbing back into the cab after tucking her luggage away in the trunk. He buckles his seat belt, glancing at her through the rear view with an underlying contempt - not at her - but with the bastard involving them. Another bloody situation where he’s left to pick up his mate’s slack, while not even knowing what the hell is going on. 

“It’s John---never friggin’ tells me anythin’, ‘cept what to do. So he says, ‘Listen, mate, another favor, call Zee if I don’t come back tomorrow. You remember her, don’t you? An absolute light, she is. If anyone can save me arse, it’s her.’ So I did, of course with it bein’ a bloody international call, too. An’ now we’ve gotta go all the way across town.”