( Hands in his pockets, Tony watches Constantine work, unperturbed by the brazen defacing of obscenely expensive marble tile. He rolls his shoulders in a casual shrug at the man's remark, trading that grin for a wry smirk. He was an innocent lamb then.
No, really. (Not really) )
That's it? No salt, goat blood, or a pile of coeds' bras?
(Really not innocent, okay. He nods at the circle. )
no subject
No, really. (Not really) )
That's it? No salt, goat blood, or a pile of coeds' bras?
( Really not innocent, okay. He nods at the circle. )
The sigils; what do they all mean?