![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
matrixrefugeeTitle: Into the Valley of Death
Day/Theme: August 26: Souls are like armed battalions
Series: Constantine
Character/Pairing: Chas - Constantine (friendship/master - apprentice)
Rating: PG
Note: Takes place during the movie, as Chas and John enter Ravenscar... And the lines from the poem toward the very end of this fic are a little nod to Neil Gaiman's "The Books of Magic".
Spiritually armed to the teeth: Chas with a regular shotgun loaded with shells made from blessed silver; he, John, with the Holy Shotgun. Mammon and his minions didn't stand a chance against them or against his own indomitable will which bent to no one except maybe to the All Mighty. Chas might still be a rookie at this line of work, but he was learning. He had the tenacity and the guts, if he would just learn to fine-tune that cock-sureness. Chas had a touch of the sight -- nowhere as strong as John had it, but enough to know when something was lurking where it shouldn't -- and the ability to stick to something he put his mind to, qualities a demon-hunter needed in spades. John could attest to the last quality: Chas had attached himself to the older man like a barnacle after John had fished him out of a sinkhole a water elemental had opened up in the middle of a rough road out near Topanga Canyon.
He could feel the hellish aura growing in intensity as they made their way through the hallways of Ravenscar
"I'm all right," Chas said, his voice shaking just a little.
John glanced at him, realizing Chas was trying to reassure himself as much as he was trying to tell him he had himself pulled together
"I didn't ask," John replied. He didn't need to: he could practically smell the fear that rolled off Chas, but he could feel the kid's resolve, too.
Theirs not to make reply,/ Theirs but to do and die/ Into the valley of death, rode the six hundred, he thought, recalling the words of an old poem from high school literature. With Chas at his heels, he headed for the deserted wing that housed the hydrotherapy room. At every step up that canyon of instituitional green and white tiles, he felt the demonic aura grow stronger....
Day/Theme: August 26: Souls are like armed battalions
Series: Constantine
Character/Pairing: Chas - Constantine (friendship/master - apprentice)
Rating: PG
Note: Takes place during the movie, as Chas and John enter Ravenscar... And the lines from the poem toward the very end of this fic are a little nod to Neil Gaiman's "The Books of Magic".
Spiritually armed to the teeth: Chas with a regular shotgun loaded with shells made from blessed silver; he, John, with the Holy Shotgun. Mammon and his minions didn't stand a chance against them or against his own indomitable will which bent to no one except maybe to the All Mighty. Chas might still be a rookie at this line of work, but he was learning. He had the tenacity and the guts, if he would just learn to fine-tune that cock-sureness. Chas had a touch of the sight -- nowhere as strong as John had it, but enough to know when something was lurking where it shouldn't -- and the ability to stick to something he put his mind to, qualities a demon-hunter needed in spades. John could attest to the last quality: Chas had attached himself to the older man like a barnacle after John had fished him out of a sinkhole a water elemental had opened up in the middle of a rough road out near Topanga Canyon.
He could feel the hellish aura growing in intensity as they made their way through the hallways of Ravenscar
"I'm all right," Chas said, his voice shaking just a little.
John glanced at him, realizing Chas was trying to reassure himself as much as he was trying to tell him he had himself pulled together
"I didn't ask," John replied. He didn't need to: he could practically smell the fear that rolled off Chas, but he could feel the kid's resolve, too.
Theirs not to make reply,/ Theirs but to do and die/ Into the valley of death, rode the six hundred, he thought, recalling the words of an old poem from high school literature. With Chas at his heels, he headed for the deserted wing that housed the hydrotherapy room. At every step up that canyon of instituitional green and white tiles, he felt the demonic aura grow stronger....