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IGNORE THIS LIKE IT ISN'T HERE
John always tries to get Chas to stay over after a pub crawl, or an exorcism or a fight with Renee. He doesn't let on how desperate he actually is; he makes Chas think that it's him who had the idea.
But there's something so normal, so domesticated when Chas is over, that it's harder than any drug Constantine's ever tried. And he's tried a lot.
At half nine, John'll wake up, on his rather D.I.Y. bed that currently consists of a mattress on the floor, some cushions off the sofa, and a duvet; Already there'll be the sound of Chas mucking around in the kitchen, trying to find something vaguely edible.
Again, John knows there's nothing there, but he lets Chas look anyway, until:
"What the fuck do you eat, you daft cunt?" Floats down the hallway. It's not quite a good morning, but it's a decent enough reason for John to drag himself up out of the nest of makeshift pillows and lumpy mattress to go and see what the bastard's whinging about.
"I dunno." John grunts, scratching a hand through greasy hair, frowning at Chas like he's just made an incredibly stupid comment.
"All I've found in your whole kitchen is a can of tuna, some chocolate biscuits, teabags and something that looks like it used to be cheese." He jerks a thumb at the 'fridge pointedly, and John looks at the refrigerator with the expression of someone who's forgotten that it exists entirely.
"'M not usually up in time to eat anything - the pub opens in an hour," Is his eventual reasoning. "Just have a biscuit." He takes one himself, and chews the soggy digestive, grinning in an attempt to look as if he's actually enjoying it.
"If the pub opens in an hour, you've got enough time to go down bloody Tescos and get something," Chas is worse than Kit ever was. "Get dressed you lazy bastard, we're going shopping."
-
Of course John has no real problem with this, but he makes out like it's a huge inconvenience, just to goad Chas a little. It works, naturally, and by the time John's finally dressed the pub would be open anyway but Chas is going to drag him around the supermarket just to make a point.
"So what do you actually need?" Bless him, Chas has actually gotten paper and a biro from somewhere, and is writing a shopping list. John lights two cigarettes, hands one to Chas and opens the kitchen window, to let in all the fumes that London has to offer.
"Everything. You've already told me this, but not teabags." He exhales smoke, and watches Chas in what he hopes is an inconspicuous manner.
"Right. Bread. Er... Milk."
"Eggs?" John supplies helpfully, getting quite into this domestic thing.
"Yeah... Ehm. Bacon. I could murder a bacon sandwich."
"Well if you don't get a speed on, you can make a tuna and teabag one between two biscuits,"
"There's only one biscuit left." Chas tells him seriously, and carries on scrawling away on the paper.
Ten minutes later, there's the vague outline of a shopping list, to which John has contributed 'fags, and more teabags', whilst Chas has smoked his way through another cigarette and has managed to assemble the rest of the list based on what Renee usually buys.
"Come on, let's go, I'm starving." He grabs his bomber jacket, and tosses Constantine his trench coat, that he entirely fails to catch.
"You throw like a nancy," John grumbles, pulling his arms through the sleeves as he follows Chas out of the flat.
-
They walk to the nearest supermarket, which turns out to only be a five minute walk away, and which John insists that can't remember ever seeing before.
"You've lived here nearly ten years!" Chas exclaims, grabbing a trolley and nudging John pointedly in the backs of the legs with it.
"'S not my fault," John frowns, rubbing his thighs with a hurt expression. "I only come here when my fuckin' wife's over."
"You don't have a w-- Wait... Oh, you bastard!" Chas yells across the trolleys at John's retreating back and storms off after him under the watchful eye of the spotty, teenage security guard stood rather uselessly at the sliding doors.
"Oi, you can't smoke in here either, you daft twat," He pulls the freshly lit silk-cut out of John's mouth and crushes it in one of the one quid mugs on display for father's day. "Don't you know the first thing about shopping?"
There's an odd pride in Chas's voice, the same as when he's explaining The Knowledge or talking about Trish's school plays. It's the kind of reassurance that maybe John's not always better than him. That he's always got something no matter how small or stupid it seems, that he can do well at. John just plays along with it.
"Nope. None." He frowns at the display of mugs, picking one up to examine it closely. "'S why I bring you along for the ride, innit?"
Chas takes the mug and puts it back on the shelf carefully, like John's some very slow, very thick kid.
"I don't trust you not to break it. Leave stuff alone." He explains, shoving John again with the trolley, in an effort to get him to move away from the father's day display and back on track with the actual shopping.
-
"Can we not just go to the pub?" John finally complains after nearly twenty minutes of Chas comparing different prices for different kinds of cheese and onion crisps, before putting them both back and getting ready salted instead.
"No we bloody can't!"
"It'd be so much easier!" He cries, throwing a well aimed multipack at Chas's head. Chas snatches it out of mid air and turns with a face like thunder.
"You," He points at John with a long middle finger. "Are making a scene."
"What're you gonna do about it?" John asks snidely, throwing another bag at Chas, who sidesteps out of the way and stands on it. There's the bang of air escaping from the multipack, and then stony silence before Chas informs him that,
"I'm gonna shut you up." knuckles tightening on the sides of the trolley.
The woman beside them suddenly seems engrossed in the nutritional value of the rice crackers in her left hand, but still interested enough in the two of them to cast rather unsubtle glances across the aisle.
"Oooh. You're going to shut me up? You going to make me sit in the trolley, too?" John knows exactly what's going to happen if he provokes Chas, but it's okay because he's got a plan. "Can I have the end of the bread if I shut my gob?"
Rice cracker woman leans in fractionally, her mouth hanging open loosely at the soap opera style argument John's leading.
"You can have my fucking fist in your gob if you don't shut it!"
"That a promise, Chandler?"
By this point, Chas is finally shaking with barely controlled rage
[*HAS RUN OUT OF STUFF HALP*]
"We started a bloody domestic in the crisp aisle," Chas says, looking a little stunned. His eye's swelling up, and John's split lip is leaking gore all down his face. They are kicked out of Tesco in disgrace.
Sat in the trolley park outside Tesco in the pissing rain, John tries to light a cigarette. It goes out, then falls apart, adding to the general defeatist attitude.
Neither of them wants to be the first to say it, but finally, Chas is the one that relents.
".... Shall we just go to the pub?"
".... Yeah, all right then."
But there's something so normal, so domesticated when Chas is over, that it's harder than any drug Constantine's ever tried. And he's tried a lot.
At half nine, John'll wake up, on his rather D.I.Y. bed that currently consists of a mattress on the floor, some cushions off the sofa, and a duvet; Already there'll be the sound of Chas mucking around in the kitchen, trying to find something vaguely edible.
Again, John knows there's nothing there, but he lets Chas look anyway, until:
"What the fuck do you eat, you daft cunt?" Floats down the hallway. It's not quite a good morning, but it's a decent enough reason for John to drag himself up out of the nest of makeshift pillows and lumpy mattress to go and see what the bastard's whinging about.
"I dunno." John grunts, scratching a hand through greasy hair, frowning at Chas like he's just made an incredibly stupid comment.
"All I've found in your whole kitchen is a can of tuna, some chocolate biscuits, teabags and something that looks like it used to be cheese." He jerks a thumb at the 'fridge pointedly, and John looks at the refrigerator with the expression of someone who's forgotten that it exists entirely.
"'M not usually up in time to eat anything - the pub opens in an hour," Is his eventual reasoning. "Just have a biscuit." He takes one himself, and chews the soggy digestive, grinning in an attempt to look as if he's actually enjoying it.
"If the pub opens in an hour, you've got enough time to go down bloody Tescos and get something," Chas is worse than Kit ever was. "Get dressed you lazy bastard, we're going shopping."
-
Of course John has no real problem with this, but he makes out like it's a huge inconvenience, just to goad Chas a little. It works, naturally, and by the time John's finally dressed the pub would be open anyway but Chas is going to drag him around the supermarket just to make a point.
"So what do you actually need?" Bless him, Chas has actually gotten paper and a biro from somewhere, and is writing a shopping list. John lights two cigarettes, hands one to Chas and opens the kitchen window, to let in all the fumes that London has to offer.
"Everything. You've already told me this, but not teabags." He exhales smoke, and watches Chas in what he hopes is an inconspicuous manner.
"Right. Bread. Er... Milk."
"Eggs?" John supplies helpfully, getting quite into this domestic thing.
"Yeah... Ehm. Bacon. I could murder a bacon sandwich."
"Well if you don't get a speed on, you can make a tuna and teabag one between two biscuits,"
"There's only one biscuit left." Chas tells him seriously, and carries on scrawling away on the paper.
Ten minutes later, there's the vague outline of a shopping list, to which John has contributed 'fags, and more teabags', whilst Chas has smoked his way through another cigarette and has managed to assemble the rest of the list based on what Renee usually buys.
"Come on, let's go, I'm starving." He grabs his bomber jacket, and tosses Constantine his trench coat, that he entirely fails to catch.
"You throw like a nancy," John grumbles, pulling his arms through the sleeves as he follows Chas out of the flat.
-
They walk to the nearest supermarket, which turns out to only be a five minute walk away, and which John insists that can't remember ever seeing before.
"You've lived here nearly ten years!" Chas exclaims, grabbing a trolley and nudging John pointedly in the backs of the legs with it.
"'S not my fault," John frowns, rubbing his thighs with a hurt expression. "I only come here when my fuckin' wife's over."
"You don't have a w-- Wait... Oh, you bastard!" Chas yells across the trolleys at John's retreating back and storms off after him under the watchful eye of the spotty, teenage security guard stood rather uselessly at the sliding doors.
"Oi, you can't smoke in here either, you daft twat," He pulls the freshly lit silk-cut out of John's mouth and crushes it in one of the one quid mugs on display for father's day. "Don't you know the first thing about shopping?"
There's an odd pride in Chas's voice, the same as when he's explaining The Knowledge or talking about Trish's school plays. It's the kind of reassurance that maybe John's not always better than him. That he's always got something no matter how small or stupid it seems, that he can do well at. John just plays along with it.
"Nope. None." He frowns at the display of mugs, picking one up to examine it closely. "'S why I bring you along for the ride, innit?"
Chas takes the mug and puts it back on the shelf carefully, like John's some very slow, very thick kid.
"I don't trust you not to break it. Leave stuff alone." He explains, shoving John again with the trolley, in an effort to get him to move away from the father's day display and back on track with the actual shopping.
-
"Can we not just go to the pub?" John finally complains after nearly twenty minutes of Chas comparing different prices for different kinds of cheese and onion crisps, before putting them both back and getting ready salted instead.
"No we bloody can't!"
"It'd be so much easier!" He cries, throwing a well aimed multipack at Chas's head. Chas snatches it out of mid air and turns with a face like thunder.
"You," He points at John with a long middle finger. "Are making a scene."
"What're you gonna do about it?" John asks snidely, throwing another bag at Chas, who sidesteps out of the way and stands on it. There's the bang of air escaping from the multipack, and then stony silence before Chas informs him that,
"I'm gonna shut you up." knuckles tightening on the sides of the trolley.
The woman beside them suddenly seems engrossed in the nutritional value of the rice crackers in her left hand, but still interested enough in the two of them to cast rather unsubtle glances across the aisle.
"Oooh. You're going to shut me up? You going to make me sit in the trolley, too?" John knows exactly what's going to happen if he provokes Chas, but it's okay because he's got a plan. "Can I have the end of the bread if I shut my gob?"
Rice cracker woman leans in fractionally, her mouth hanging open loosely at the soap opera style argument John's leading.
"You can have my fucking fist in your gob if you don't shut it!"
"That a promise, Chandler?"
By this point, Chas is finally shaking with barely controlled rage
[*HAS RUN OUT OF STUFF HALP*]
"We started a bloody domestic in the crisp aisle," Chas says, looking a little stunned. His eye's swelling up, and John's split lip is leaking gore all down his face. They are kicked out of Tesco in disgrace.
Sat in the trolley park outside Tesco in the pissing rain, John tries to light a cigarette. It goes out, then falls apart, adding to the general defeatist attitude.
Neither of them wants to be the first to say it, but finally, Chas is the one that relents.
".... Shall we just go to the pub?"
".... Yeah, all right then."