disaster.

     It was right about then that their server came by with their food, saving John from his gut reaction of vague embarrassment. Intellectually, he knew they’d captured lightning in a bottle once upon a time in grotty nightclubs and bars in and around London proper. Had Newcastle not happened maybe so-called rock historians would be waxing poetic about them just as much as Black Flag or The Misfits. However, for the sake of not living in that regret, John chose to drown it all in that obvious facts: Like any other punk band, save a very rare few, Mucous Membrane had been shit. Not a one of them had truly had a grasp on how to play their instrument and John was not even a remotely talented singer. 

     “Ta, luv, really,” John chuckled softly as he unrolled his utensils, put the cloth napkin across his lap, and snapped his chopsticks apart. “I’m surprised when people remember us, too.” He took the bit about aging well in stride with a shrug. John knew what he looked like, and maybe living with his face was the only reason he questioned it sometimes. He’d seen it at its worse, after all. 

      John canted his head with the comment about the eventful decades. While it was indeed true, John was highly curious what he’d heard about and how it made him feel. Cassidy didn’t seem upset about the revelation of his dinner guest, but that didn’t mean that the vampire couldn’t have a few opinions.

      “Naff punk bands aside, wot else have y’heard bout me?” John asked before he expertly grasped a piece of chicken between each chop stick and brought the morsel to his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Making a vague gesture with the wooden utensils, John added in a rather pleasant tone. “Don’t y’worry bout offendin’ me either. I’ve heard it all an’ worse.”

        “yeah,” his gaze dropped to the orange chicken put in front of him, with two round scoops of rice. “i remember a whole lot of mostly useless stuff,” he faltered. “not tha’ your band was useless,” he’d made that blatantly clear with his enthusiasm just moments before. he was underscoring himself, but he wholeheartedly believed what he’d said. cassidy began to unroll the silverware on his side of the small table, the knife and fork set clattered onto the tabletop.

          “ya’ really wan’ tha?’” he stabbed at a piece of literal orange colored chicken and shoved the boneless mass into his mouth all at once. he chewed for several moments before he forcefully swallowed the food in his mouth. “most of it isn’ nice, ya’ know?” he sat up straight as the waitress returned with a full glass of soda once again and took his empty one. the vampire took a long drink of the bubbly beverage but didn’t finish it off in one go this time. 

           “i don’ make a habit of keepin' magicians or even other vampires for company,” he began and began to stab at his rice, shoving it across his plate and into the sticky orange mess. “ya’ know mostly abou’ a lo’ of demons an’ tha like,” he quickly loaded his mouth full of rice, chewed and swallowed before he began again. “ya’ know i’ve heard people call ya’ a demon fucker before,” he had to suppress laughter from having said that aloud. “heard tha’ in the states too! jersey, i think,” he’d warned him that his memory could be missing a few things. 

— — —   ⟡   -— — —   he doesn’t exactly like how he’s getting talked to, but liam is a polite man with a lot of patience.  ❝ I just cannot believe that vampires are a thing, I mean I was hoping that was the case, but I have never met one in person. ❜ the excitement was bubbling just under the surface and he found it hard to contain.  ❝ How do you deal with the hunger pains? ❜ he would do his best to not annoy the man–vampire, but there were too many unanswered questions brewing in his mind.  ❝ How old are you? ❜

     John smiled as he sipped his laced tea, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. This was always the hardest part, wasn’t it? Especially with a creature such as Cassidy. A hundred plus years? Yeah, he’d have likely heard of him. He hoped the reaction wasn’t too horrible, but then again, there was a reason he’d decided to have this getting-to-know-you session in public. John’s altruism never came without an ulterior motive.

     “I’m bloody John Constantine, darling,” John drawled. “There ain’t a lot that falls under the supernatural that shocks me anymore. Nothing personal, luv. I’m sure you’ve lived an extraordinary life, but if y’were hopin’ f’shock an’ awe, I’m afraid you’ve run across the wrong bloke.”

     He held his gaze, intent but not too intensely. John didn’t want to spook someone that could tear out his throat barehanded. He’d dealt with his kind before and knew the hazards. Yet once more he couldn’t shake the sense that Cassidy was incredibly unlike the vampires he’d met previously. There was no arrogance or intimidation, no mockery or superiority complex. Instead he just seemed like any other punter. Were it not for the fact that he’d apparently healed a near fatal wound overnight, John would have pegged him as one of those so-called mortal vampires. 

      silence immediately fell on his part as he processed the surname. it took a moment to snag a memory that was buried beneath years of mental neglect and drug use, but he couldn’t help but feel pleased with himself for recovering it. of course, he’d heard of john constantine, he was the bloke that fixed everyone’s messes, cassidy resisted the urge to ask if he even got paid for all of the things he did. probably not, so why did he do it at all? hopefully a conversation for another time, or within the next few minutes. there were people within his own species that weren’t fond of the man, not that cassidy made a habit of socializing with his own kind, it had happened a handful of times over the last century. john had come up at least twice, always in an angry vent. 

       “no, no, no, forget about tha’,” he’d spent the last hundred years drunk, high and alone - he didn’t feel that it had been extraordinary by any means. “it’s all borin’, really,” he didn’t explain WHY. excitement was visible on his face, a large grin etched into place. “i first heard of ya’ at a show, though!” not that he remembered many details of it - but enough to recall a name and a younger face.  “somethin’ membrane, wasn’ it?” he paused and mentally scratched away at the warped memory. “mucous membrane?” that was it, sounded right at least.