@proditeur Regulus Dupois says a very silly thing to Catherine Pinkerton, “ Heads or tails? No, wait – I’ve forgotten. My coin’s been beheaded. ”

the duke watches on with a bored interest ( is he yawning? ) as catherine takes her shot; and it was an admirable one, too! would've won the game outright, if only she was playing by herself. the spades have simply outdone themselves. but he perks when the queen is back to his side and he lifts a hand to reveal his coin — a button, red, slightly cracked — sitting in his palm. "tails! you've won again. you simply are the best at coinflip, your majesty."

 " my timing? why's that, then? " he does a decent job at feigning his surprise and confusion, all things considered, but there's still a shred of snickering amusement that slithers its way into his words. they are, after all, standing across the street from a raging inferno as it overtakes a flash office building, flames licking up glass windowpanes and reinforced concrete like they're dry tinder.

from the safety of the far side of the police cordon, john lights his cigarette and inhales deeply the smoke of cheap tobacco and incinerated hedge funds.

" s'pose i could say the same thing to you, seeing as we're both 'ere. " when john exhales, he does so with a grin in regulus' direction even as he blows his smoke towards the melting structure. " fancy a bevvy? we could do with an alibi, the two of us. "

"i already have an alibi—" from his side he lifts a prim, white takeaway bag with PÂTISSERIE LUMIÈRE emblazoned in soft pink lettering. see? i was in the neighborhood. but there's a story somewhere in that crumbling building and whether or not john has it, it's certainly more entertaining than eating a single cupcake alone in one's dining room. "and our little bevvy adventures have accumulated a tidy sum. you owe me $833.19."

She sits on the rail, her fingertips leaving a small stardust trail of light captured and held tight against the stone. They offer little illumination, just enough to see the faint smile on her face and mimic the night sky above. Even this much does not come naturally and it's clear she's distracted as she comments, " and which of those lessons should I be taking notes on? The plane or the energy? "

regulus wishes he was out-of-country.

reg closes a hand at the back of dick's neck and pulls him closer, pressing a kiss to the spot just beneath his ear, "when you elbowed that man in the jaw... i liked it."

cobalt hues fall to the wayside, shame creeping up his spine. he was supposed to be better than this. control himself better, keep it together. how was he supposed to become a functioning member of society if he kept reacting so strongly ? granted, those thugs had it coming, and he didn't hurt them that bad, but . . . he looks up when @proditeur pulls him closer, the lips pressed against his jaw making him shiver. wasn't much of a surprise that regulus liked it, but it did ease his worries. it pulls a little laugh out of him, and the knot in his chest slowly loosens.

❝ yeah ? it was nothing. ❞ with all the ease of a trained assassin, though still getting used to pulling his punches. dick closes the distance once more, leaning down to seal their lips in a kiss, hands finding their way easily to the other's waist. certainly a deeper kiss than what was needed just outside their apartment, but it was clear dick didn't really care. when he eventually pulls back, a small smile is curled on his lips. ❝ i should teach you how to defend yourself one of these days. well, without using your magic, of course. but how about you tell me how much you liked me elbowing that guy again, huh ? ❞

 " who'd you think you'd see, saint peter? not if i can 'elp it. "

frustration bleeds into john's voice in a way that many, especially regulus, might not be too familiar with. it's not often he gets worked up into such a state -- when worry graduates into a fear so great he can't even bring himself to crack wise about it. even though reg has gasped and sputtered back to the land of the living, it hasn't quite subsided yet.

truth be told, he hadn't been expecting to find reg here, either; but that's a story for another day. come for the third page news of the ' fifth drowning this week, police suspect foul play ', stay to make sure his sort of friend isn't the sixth.

john followed the gentle whisper of flowing water through the winding maze of hiking trails and thick forest, finally stumbling across the little swimming hole just in time to watch reg wade deeper into the current. gentle, my ass -- his feet must reach the drop-off point when john's back is turned to strip off the clothes he doesn't want ruined, because when he's facing the water again, reg has disappeared.

the whisper remains. a little voice, sweet as anything, pleading for help before she drowns; and regulus dupois, the stupid, gullible, no-self-preservation-having wanker has followed it down beneath the current. as if there's really some girl down there to save from her horrible fate ( maybe once, but not anymore ), and reg is no doubt moments away from being the sixth moron too late to save her.

john wades in after him, throws his whole body beneath the water's surface, catches reg around his middle, and hauls him back to shore. doesn't stop beating on his chest until he coughs up the river water in his lungs and the colour comes back to his lips ( and then gives his sternum one more thump just for good measure, but that one's personal, not business ).

he's still out of breath ( from all the running, the swimming, the cpr, or just the sheer panic of it all ) when he sits back on his heels, runs a hand down his wet face, and exclaims, " no pearly gates for you today, mate. just the bloody saint constantine -- and you owe me big time for that one. "

a quiet forest trail gives way to whispers; his fingertips burn with malevolent warning — and he may have heeded them if he had acted more quickly, taken a little less time to think and a little more time to put distance between himself and the wretched spirit that called to him. trapped then in a vision like a dream-sprint through a hall with no ending. following a sweet command, losing his battle against the curse in the depths—

—awakening to a shuddering breath and a fire in his lungs and a mouth closed around his with frustration trapped between its teeth. it takes him several gasping, agonized breaths to realize where he is and with whom, and what john has done, and he faces down an emotion he can't give a name to.

the last time i drowned, no one was there.

regulus is in as dignified a position as he can manage — balanced on his knees, both hands digging into the earth as though the river would whisk him away — staring at constantine's face with something like bewilderment and awe. the last time i drowned, no one came for me. "... john..." oh, where is your sharp tongue now, little witch? consumed by the river. "...

"...

"...

"... i'll send a fruit basket."

there it is ! alive and well, embarrassed and unharmed. but the sarcasm does not reach his eyes, brows creased in something almost like affection, and a smile hides itself in the corner of his mouth. "... pearly gates? i — HOFF ! — didn't take you for an optimist." if there is a heaven, then regulus is bound only for its fiery opposite. there is no peace for men like me. not in heaven and not here, evidently, as he rolls back onto his side and closes the inside of his elbow around his mouth, hacking whatever remains of the muddied water into his soaked sleeve.