( Rocking back toward the circle as he's told, Tony isn't particularly thrilled with what he thinks John's asking of him here. )
You're serious.
( Keen to move things along, however, sees him pulling at the knot of his tie. The pungent scent of blood calls up any number of vivid memories, some of them associated with this very building, and all of them harrowing. )
[It is, after all, the entire reason that he's here and doing this at all. Easier if Tony helps out, but Constantine doesn't mean to give up even if the man changes his mind and tosses him out on his arse. He's relieved at least that Tony isn't quite at that point yet, and does mutter a soft "sorry" as he quickly daubs a sigil at the base of the man's throat. The mixture of blood and several other ingredients is oddly warm against the skin, thick and clinging. Unpleasant to say the least, but he hopes that Tony can tolerate it for the time being.
A mark on his own forehead, then Constantine lifts the jar in both hands, chanting a Sumerian incantation before he drinks the remainder of the jar.
The effect is immediate; both sigils light up with a brilliant glow, the mixture going from oddly warm to uncomfortably hot as Constantine's voice reaches a crescendo and a thick smog fills the circle.]
( Tony feels his gorge rise as Constantine polishes off the jar's contents, but the wave of nausea doesn't last long, burned away by the shock of sudden heat. His hands reflexively move to his throat, and his eyes to the circle, the fog within churning like a vortex.
And then something just. Slams into the inner rim of that circle, then the opposite side, like a trapped bird beating its wings against a cage that's too small. The simile holds: there's a distinctly bird-ish creature in there, at least to Tony's desperate reckoning, something with huge owl eyes and wings and raking talons, all on a reptilian frame, and all of it eerily wrong. )
[Constantine jerks back, and for a moment the circle wavers, wisps of fog and the stench of sulphur ebbing out into the air before he tightens his hold once more. It's strong, stronger than he'd expected and more unusually it doesn't even pretend to take human form. Demons could come in all shapes and sizes, but during a summoning their favourite was often to pick something specifically to unsettle the summoners. A familiar face, a lost loved one, a glimpse of a terrible future... those were things he's familiar with and expects. This is something different.
He doesn't like it. And, by the look of him, neither does Tony.]
Look familiar to you? Anything at all could be a clue since this bastard is being less helpful than I'd hoped.
[There's a small chance it means something to the other man, if he's lucky, but he has a feeling it won't be an easy solution.]
I'll try and get it to talk but usually the problem is shutting them up.
( He trades Constantine's look for an expression of bafflement, charged at the edges with open disgust. No. and, also, What the fuck. Softly clearing his throat, whatever he's about to say aloud goes abruptly unsaid, when the freaky owl-y demon opens its beak and the cloying, sing-song voice of Obadiah Stane pours right on out: )
Funny, Exorcist. They say the same thing about you.
( The demon ruffles its feathers in a weirdly human fashion, the way a man might roll his shoulders to adjust the lines of a tailored suit. It shifts, as if it would ignore Constantine entirely if it could, focused on Stark's suddenly ashen features. )
[Right. Familiar to Tony then. That's both good and bad; good in that he likely won't need to spend hours they may not have pouring over texts to track down whatever might favour this form. Bad because it's strong and there's clearly a vendetta involved, and that sort of motivation lent power. A lot of power.]
Yeah? Well they also tell you I'm a nasty piece of work and also trouble for your kind? What's to stop me from packing you right back to where you came from?
[It's more bravado than he cares to admit; the demon is stronger than what he'd hoped they would be up against, and there's a genuine risk that it might manage to break through his wards with enough focus. It might be willing to spend time taunting Tony now, but who knew what would happen if it tried more direct action.]
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[Constantine focuses on Tony, the jar still carefully gripped in both hands.]
I need you here and focused if we mean to draw out what marked you, otherwise we're shooting in the dark.
So, what's it going to be?
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I'm here, okay. I'm focused. Just, a little extra disturbed on top of that. What else do you need from me?
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[Constantine moves around the circle and gestures at Tony's shirt and tie.]
Give us a little room, will you?
[With that he pops the lid of the jar off and a strong, coppery smell fills the air.]
no subject
You're serious.
( Keen to move things along, however, sees him pulling at the knot of his tie. The pungent scent of blood calls up any number of vivid memories, some of them associated with this very building, and all of them harrowing. )
no subject
[It is, after all, the entire reason that he's here and doing this at all. Easier if Tony helps out, but Constantine doesn't mean to give up even if the man changes his mind and tosses him out on his arse. He's relieved at least that Tony isn't quite at that point yet, and does mutter a soft "sorry" as he quickly daubs a sigil at the base of the man's throat. The mixture of blood and several other ingredients is oddly warm against the skin, thick and clinging. Unpleasant to say the least, but he hopes that Tony can tolerate it for the time being.
A mark on his own forehead, then Constantine lifts the jar in both hands, chanting a Sumerian incantation before he drinks the remainder of the jar.
The effect is immediate; both sigils light up with a brilliant glow, the mixture going from oddly warm to uncomfortably hot as Constantine's voice reaches a crescendo and a thick smog fills the circle.]
Come on, you bastard, let me see your face!
no subject
And then something just. Slams into the inner rim of that circle, then the opposite side, like a trapped bird beating its wings against a cage that's too small. The simile holds: there's a distinctly bird-ish creature in there, at least to Tony's desperate reckoning, something with huge owl eyes and wings and raking talons, all on a reptilian frame, and all of it eerily wrong. )
no subject
He doesn't like it. And, by the look of him, neither does Tony.]
Look familiar to you? Anything at all could be a clue since this bastard is being less helpful than I'd hoped.
[There's a small chance it means something to the other man, if he's lucky, but he has a feeling it won't be an easy solution.]
I'll try and get it to talk but usually the problem is shutting them up.
totally thought this sent, mea culpa maxima
Funny, Exorcist. They say the same thing about you.
( The demon ruffles its feathers in a weirdly human fashion, the way a man might roll his shoulders to adjust the lines of a tailored suit. It shifts, as if it would ignore Constantine entirely if it could, focused on Stark's suddenly ashen features. )
Heya, Tony. Long time no see.
all good!
Yeah? Well they also tell you I'm a nasty piece of work and also trouble for your kind? What's to stop me from packing you right back to where you came from?
[It's more bravado than he cares to admit; the demon is stronger than what he'd hoped they would be up against, and there's a genuine risk that it might manage to break through his wards with enough focus. It might be willing to spend time taunting Tony now, but who knew what would happen if it tried more direct action.]