[Bloody hell, of course he takes one evening to try and enjoy himself and the Doctor ends up abducted by… Constantine squints at the image. Oh. That’s not good.]
You’re not going to be able to get that open from inside. It’s a seal for a trap used by the True Followers of Time’s End. Designed to trap their messiah, who they believe to be an undying entity that walks the Earth for eternity, wearing many faces but present for all of humanities critical moments.
[As he types, Constantine is on his way out of the pub, possible pleasant evenings forgotten. He shouldn’t have left the handsome idiot alone, he practically hands himself out to be abducted at the best of times.]
They believe that they need to trap this entity and siphon power from them in order to break humanity free and bring on an age of enlightenment and freedom from the bounds of time.
[So yes, probably just a little more concerned, Doctor.]
[ He hums thoughtfully, pacing the room for probably the hundredth time. ]
Break humanity free... of course.
[ He works much better thinking out loud than he does through text, which is why a second later John gets a call from him-- and without much in the way of a 'How do you do?' ] The distress signal I picked up. I had picked it up in the time vortex, originating from somewhere near this time-space coordinate. I thought it was another Time Lord, stranded here. Probably should have expected something like this... unfortunately I was a little more prepared for your standard alien kidnapping, not my own personal occultist fan club.
[ It doesn't take too many guesses to figure out what he probably doesn't want to still be around when they decide to siphon power from him. Whatever it is they have in store can't be too pretty. ]
The question is: how did they manage to broadcast that signal? Because from everything I've gathered from our encounters indicates that the occult is terrestrial in nature. I've never seen it be able to have this sort of reach before...
[ The question should actually be: where am I and how do I get out of this. But the Doctor's mind is nothing if not fixated. ]
[It's probably a good thing that this exchange is via voice and the Doctor can't see him rolling his eyes as, of course the Time Lord is more interested in the puzzle than his own impending agonising death.
This is why he put one of the nails of St. Padua in the Doctor's coat, trusting that he carries so much in there he won't really notice. Never knew when he'd have to track the blasted man down.
Constantine digs out his own nail and balances it in the palm of his hand for a moment before starting off in the direction it indicates.]
Yeah, well. Magic is starting to get stronger these days. If they've had any contact with someone like you before, could be that they've found a way to boost it to reach where it needs to.
How long have you been there? [It'd give him an idea of what kind of time frame he might have before things got a lot more serious.]
It's been twelve hours and forty-two minutes since they sedated me. I woke up somewhere around the twelve-hour mark. Which really is remarkable, I don't think I've slept more than three hours at once in years. Usually just more of a quick doze every few months or so. Keeping me under that long without forcing me to regenerate? Whoever is behind this cult, they know what they're doing, I'll give them that much.
[ The talking helps give him an outlet for all that nervous energy bouncing around inside of him. He's bristling with equal parts fascination at getting tangled up in John's occult world again, and anticipation of the danger that's to come. He knows that he's likely running out of time. Cults had a tendency to be completely devoted not just to their cause, but to pomp and circumstance. He was beginning to get a sinking feeling of why they would have kept him locked down here for so long. Thirteen hours, thirteen regenerations.
Hopefully he was wrong and they'd just forgotten about him down there. Not likely, but it never hurt to hope. ]
John, not to rush you, but how long do you think it'll take you to track me down?
You've been awake for forty-two minutes and you're just telling me now?!
[He was going to kill him. He was going to rescue the Doctor, and then he was going to kill him. Maybe he'd even learn the sodding ritual himself and end him with that.]
Well I could have been there maybe a half hour ago, if you'd bothered to contact me when you first woke up!
[He's going to have to steal a car, isn't he. He has no idea how far away the Doctor is being held, just a direction, but he doubts he's going to be lucky enough for it to be around the sodding corner. Well, what's another warrant, right?
He keeps the phone line open, not wanting to lose contact if there's so little time left, and there's the sound of a crash, someone yelling, and a car starting.]
I wasn't planning on tell you at all, if I could help it. As far as I was concerned, what I was investigating was extra-terrestrial in nature. If I remember correctly, that's well outside your usual range of expertise.
[ There's an edge of annoyance to his tone. He doesn't like being told off by his companions-- friends, most especially when he actually deserves it. Maybe if he manages to get through this he'll have the chance to be contrite about the entire thing, but right now he needed to come up with plans B through P, in case plan A (John arriving in time) doesn't pan out.
However, the annoyance doesn't hold up long when he hears that crash-- likely John breaking into someone's car. ]
Though, I suppose I could have phoned you a little sooner. Maybe once I'd seen that sigil on the door.
[ He's already spent forty-two minutes exhausting all other possible avenues of escape from the cellar, there wasn't much else left to do at this point other than wait for his hosts to arrive. ]
John, don't worry if you can't get here in time, I'll manage to think of something. [ Though so far plans B-P were starting to look a little like Plan B: Think of something. Plan C: Think of something else. Plan D: Do something different. Plan E: Demand to die naked. Plan F: Think of something better... and so on. Though, he'd already tried Plan E before. Can't say it worked out any better for him the first time, but you never know with cults. ]
Yeah, well, I've had to adjust my expertise since I'm travelling in new circles. Always willing to learn new skills, that's me.
[Including skills on the go, like driving while also keeping an eye on where the nail was pointed and trying to avoid too much attention.]
What's your plan, then? Is it your usual one, talk at them while they torture you and hope something presents itself? Bollocks to that. Do you remember anything about where you were before they took you? Or anything you can see that might give a location?
In my defense, something usually does present itself if I can manage to talk long enough.
[ after, of course, quite a bit of the.... torture. Contrary to popular belief, no, he does not actually enjoy that part. But dwelling on it wasn't going to do him much good. Especially when the clock was ticking. ]
Let's see... I had been doing some nosing around town, trying to see if I could get any hints to the distress signal and it's source. There was some sort of interference stopping me from getting anything more accurate than a two kilometer radius of the area. They caught me as I was coming out of the church yard, injected me with something before I realized what was happening.
[ He idly swipes a finger of dust, dirt, and ground stone from the floor and rubs it against his thumb, humming thoughtfully. ] There's no windows in the room I'm in. Likely an underground cellar. Dates somewhere in the mid 18th-- [ He tastes his finger, then frowns. ] No, sorry, 17th century. Or at least the lower levels does.
The easiest guess would be the church, but I'm not so sure about that. It seems too--
[ Whatever he was going to say is cut off abruptly, and John can possibly hear the sound of wood creaking and shifting just before the sound of cloth rustling as the Doctor quickly shoves his phone into one of his pockets. ]
Ah, there you are! I was beginning to worry. Keeping your messiah waiting here in this dank cellar? You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.
[ If the cultists standing at the now open room were surprised in the least at his greeting, they were very good at hiding it. It was likely all the robes and hoods and the ominous, low toned chanting that was coming from somewhere down the corridor from his cell. ]
[Church yard. The Doctor likely doesn't know it, can't feel it like Constantine can, but the church was desecrated by something. It felt like an oily slick on the skin, a feeling that something wasn't quite right, but he hadn't done much more than note it as they'd passed by earlier. If he went about trying to stomp out every little flicker of darkness, he'd never get anything down.
Now, of course, Constantine is kicking himself for not realising sooner or at least looking into the blasted place. Maybe they wouldn't be in this mess now.
He can't even reassure the man that he's on his way. The fact that the Doctor is keeping the line open hasn't escaped his notice, and there's a chance that he might hear something useful. He can't jeopardise that. What he can do, at least, is switch it to mute so they can't hear him shouting curses and slamming his hand against the car door in frustration.
The church is the only lead he has, and it's where Constantine heads, though he doubts it's going to be as easy as just waltzing in the front door for a rescue. Building that old, had to be underground sections, maybe even tunnels somewhere. All the more places he'd have to search and time to waste.]
[ His captors are silent as the grave as they lead him out, surrounding him as they made their way down the long corridor, the chanting from the chamber they neared growing louder. Their lack of response doesn't stop him from doing what he does best-- filling the empty spaces with lots and lots of talking. ]
I am loving the ambiance of this place. You know, a lot of cults just don't go for this kind of true dedication to authenticity these days. Oh, they might splurge for a spooky graveyard or a ceremonial altar from IKEA, but you lot-- now this is really my idea of a secret sanctum. Long corridors, dingy cells, and the acoustics truly are impressive. We must be, oh-- somewhere around ten meters beneath ground level?
I don't suppose any of you chatty lot would be able to tell me where I am?
[ The only answer he gets is the continued chanting. It doesn't sound like any language he's familiar with, and the TARDIS isn't translating it for him. Something about it was familiar, but he just couldn't put his finger on it.
They finally lead him into the large chamber, where the rest of the congregation were. The chamber was lit by rows of candles lining the floor and tall, rusty candelabras arranged in a circle. It looked exactly like you might imagine a room where a cult might gather to perform blood rituals-- right down to the details of vaguely occultish pentagrams and sigils decorating the floor. There weren't as many cultists gathered as he had expected, which he wasn't going to complain about in the least. ]
Only thirteen of you? Honestly, I'm a bit disappointed, I would have expected at least--
[ Whatever he was about to say was cut short as a man wearing dark robes slightly more elaborate than the rest moved forward, arms spread wide, and began reciting what was clearly some ritualistic speech, still in that same language the Doctor couldn't quite place. Two of his escorts took hold of him, one to each arm, and brought him forward to what was apparently the center stage for the main event. ]
Oh, moving right along, are we? I thought we had at least ten minutes left. You're aiming for the thirteenth hour, aren't you? Maybe you need to adjust your clocks. Thirteen regenerations, thirteen members, thirteen hours-- thirteen candelabras?
[Ten meters underground, long corridors and cells... of course the ruddy cult wasn't going to be easy to find. The church was at least only around the corner, but at the sight of the locked gates, Constantine swore.
And put his foot down. He had about enough time to shove the nail into his pocket before the car careened into the gates, ripping one of them from its hinges entirely. The scream of metal tearing and scraping filled the air along with scattering glass as the remaining gate tore through the passenger window. Constantine hit the brakes and managed to stop the whole mess with the aid of the church wall and a good deal more scraping and bruises to deal with later, but he knew he was short on time. The sound might have been heard by anyone keeping an eye out, and the commotion would definitely be reported to the Police. And he still had to find where the bloody underground sanctum was.
He was still cursing out himself for leaving the Doctor as he fished out his phone and the nail and set about slipping into the church proper. The locks were laughable and it seemed Lady Luck at finally seen fit to through a glance his way, as there didn't seem to be anyone on guard. All down below, all awaiting the ritual. Christ, he couldn't remember what he'd read of the ritual itself. How long did it take? What did it entail? How much time did he have if he couldn't make it in the next ten minutes?]
Best not to find out. [A grim reminder for himself, and Constantine raced for the likely location of the priest's quarters and where he hoped any passages below would be.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
For the Doctor
[Bloody hell, of course he takes one evening to try and enjoy himself and the Doctor ends up abducted by… Constantine squints at the image. Oh. That’s not good.]
You’re not going to be able to get that open from inside. It’s a seal for a trap used by the True Followers of Time’s End. Designed to trap their messiah, who they believe to be an undying entity that walks the Earth for eternity, wearing many faces but present for all of humanities critical moments.
[As he types, Constantine is on his way out of the pub, possible pleasant evenings forgotten. He shouldn’t have left the handsome idiot alone, he practically hands himself out to be abducted at the best of times.]
They believe that they need to trap this entity and siphon power from them in order to break humanity free and bring on an age of enlightenment and freedom from the bounds of time.
[So yes, probably just a little more concerned, Doctor.]
no subject
Break humanity free... of course.
[ He works much better thinking out loud than he does through text, which is why a second later John gets a call from him-- and without much in the way of a 'How do you do?' ] The distress signal I picked up. I had picked it up in the time vortex, originating from somewhere near this time-space coordinate. I thought it was another Time Lord, stranded here. Probably should have expected something like this... unfortunately I was a little more prepared for your standard alien kidnapping, not my own personal occultist fan club.
[ It doesn't take too many guesses to figure out what he probably doesn't want to still be around when they decide to siphon power from him. Whatever it is they have in store can't be too pretty. ]
The question is: how did they manage to broadcast that signal? Because from everything I've gathered from our encounters indicates that the occult is terrestrial in nature. I've never seen it be able to have this sort of reach before...
[ The question should actually be: where am I and how do I get out of this. But the Doctor's mind is nothing if not fixated. ]
no subject
This is why he put one of the nails of St. Padua in the Doctor's coat, trusting that he carries so much in there he won't really notice. Never knew when he'd have to track the blasted man down.
Constantine digs out his own nail and balances it in the palm of his hand for a moment before starting off in the direction it indicates.]
Yeah, well. Magic is starting to get stronger these days. If they've had any contact with someone like you before, could be that they've found a way to boost it to reach where it needs to.
How long have you been there? [It'd give him an idea of what kind of time frame he might have before things got a lot more serious.]
no subject
[ The talking helps give him an outlet for all that nervous energy bouncing around inside of him. He's bristling with equal parts fascination at getting tangled up in John's occult world again, and anticipation of the danger that's to come. He knows that he's likely running out of time. Cults had a tendency to be completely devoted not just to their cause, but to pomp and circumstance. He was beginning to get a sinking feeling of why they would have kept him locked down here for so long. Thirteen hours, thirteen regenerations.
Hopefully he was wrong and they'd just forgotten about him down there. Not likely, but it never hurt to hope. ]
John, not to rush you, but how long do you think it'll take you to track me down?
no subject
[He was going to kill him. He was going to rescue the Doctor, and then he was going to kill him. Maybe he'd even learn the sodding ritual himself and end him with that.]
Well I could have been there maybe a half hour ago, if you'd bothered to contact me when you first woke up!
[He's going to have to steal a car, isn't he. He has no idea how far away the Doctor is being held, just a direction, but he doubts he's going to be lucky enough for it to be around the sodding corner. Well, what's another warrant, right?
He keeps the phone line open, not wanting to lose contact if there's so little time left, and there's the sound of a crash, someone yelling, and a car starting.]
Keep your fancy coat on, I'm on my way.
no subject
[ There's an edge of annoyance to his tone. He doesn't like being told off by his
companions-- friends, most especially when he actually deserves it. Maybe if he manages to get through this he'll have the chance to be contrite about the entire thing, but right now he needed to come up with plans B through P, in case plan A (John arriving in time) doesn't pan out.However, the annoyance doesn't hold up long when he hears that crash-- likely John breaking into someone's car. ]
Though, I suppose I could have phoned you a little sooner. Maybe once I'd seen that sigil on the door.
[ He's already spent forty-two minutes exhausting all other possible avenues of escape from the cellar, there wasn't much else left to do at this point other than wait for his hosts to arrive. ]
John, don't worry if you can't get here in time, I'll manage to think of something. [ Though so far plans B-P were starting to look a little like Plan B: Think of something. Plan C: Think of something else. Plan D: Do something different. Plan E: Demand to die naked. Plan F: Think of something better... and so on. Though, he'd already tried Plan E before. Can't say it worked out any better for him the first time, but you never know with cults. ]
no subject
[Including skills on the go, like driving while also keeping an eye on where the nail was pointed and trying to avoid too much attention.]
What's your plan, then? Is it your usual one, talk at them while they torture you and hope something presents itself? Bollocks to that. Do you remember anything about where you were before they took you? Or anything you can see that might give a location?
no subject
[ after, of course, quite a bit of the.... torture. Contrary to popular belief, no, he does not actually enjoy that part. But dwelling on it wasn't going to do him much good. Especially when the clock was ticking. ]
Let's see... I had been doing some nosing around town, trying to see if I could get any hints to the distress signal and it's source. There was some sort of interference stopping me from getting anything more accurate than a two kilometer radius of the area. They caught me as I was coming out of the church yard, injected me with something before I realized what was happening.
[ He idly swipes a finger of dust, dirt, and ground stone from the floor and rubs it against his thumb, humming thoughtfully. ] There's no windows in the room I'm in. Likely an underground cellar. Dates somewhere in the mid 18th-- [ He tastes his finger, then frowns. ] No, sorry, 17th century. Or at least the lower levels does.
The easiest guess would be the church, but I'm not so sure about that. It seems too--
[ Whatever he was going to say is cut off abruptly, and John can possibly hear the sound of wood creaking and shifting just before the sound of cloth rustling as the Doctor quickly shoves his phone into one of his pockets. ]
Ah, there you are! I was beginning to worry. Keeping your messiah waiting here in this dank cellar? You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.
[ If the cultists standing at the now open room were surprised in the least at his greeting, they were very good at hiding it. It was likely all the robes and hoods and the ominous, low toned chanting that was coming from somewhere down the corridor from his cell. ]
no subject
Now, of course, Constantine is kicking himself for not realising sooner or at least looking into the blasted place. Maybe they wouldn't be in this mess now.
He can't even reassure the man that he's on his way. The fact that the Doctor is keeping the line open hasn't escaped his notice, and there's a chance that he might hear something useful. He can't jeopardise that. What he can do, at least, is switch it to mute so they can't hear him shouting curses and slamming his hand against the car door in frustration.
The church is the only lead he has, and it's where Constantine heads, though he doubts it's going to be as easy as just waltzing in the front door for a rescue. Building that old, had to be underground sections, maybe even tunnels somewhere. All the more places he'd have to search and time to waste.]
no subject
I am loving the ambiance of this place. You know, a lot of cults just don't go for this kind of true dedication to authenticity these days. Oh, they might splurge for a spooky graveyard or a ceremonial altar from IKEA, but you lot-- now this is really my idea of a secret sanctum. Long corridors, dingy cells, and the acoustics truly are impressive. We must be, oh-- somewhere around ten meters beneath ground level?
I don't suppose any of you chatty lot would be able to tell me where I am?
[ The only answer he gets is the continued chanting. It doesn't sound like any language he's familiar with, and the TARDIS isn't translating it for him. Something about it was familiar, but he just couldn't put his finger on it.
They finally lead him into the large chamber, where the rest of the congregation were. The chamber was lit by rows of candles lining the floor and tall, rusty candelabras arranged in a circle. It looked exactly like you might imagine a room where a cult might gather to perform blood rituals-- right down to the details of vaguely occultish pentagrams and sigils decorating the floor. There weren't as many cultists gathered as he had expected, which he wasn't going to complain about in the least. ]
Only thirteen of you? Honestly, I'm a bit disappointed, I would have expected at least--
[ Whatever he was about to say was cut short as a man wearing dark robes slightly more elaborate than the rest moved forward, arms spread wide, and began reciting what was clearly some ritualistic speech, still in that same language the Doctor couldn't quite place. Two of his escorts took hold of him, one to each arm, and brought him forward to what was apparently the center stage for the main event. ]
Oh, moving right along, are we? I thought we had at least ten minutes left. You're aiming for the thirteenth hour, aren't you? Maybe you need to adjust your clocks. Thirteen regenerations, thirteen members, thirteen hours-- thirteen candelabras?
no subject
And put his foot down. He had about enough time to shove the nail into his pocket before the car careened into the gates, ripping one of them from its hinges entirely. The scream of metal tearing and scraping filled the air along with scattering glass as the remaining gate tore through the passenger window. Constantine hit the brakes and managed to stop the whole mess with the aid of the church wall and a good deal more scraping and bruises to deal with later, but he knew he was short on time. The sound might have been heard by anyone keeping an eye out, and the commotion would definitely be reported to the Police. And he still had to find where the bloody underground sanctum was.
He was still cursing out himself for leaving the Doctor as he fished out his phone and the nail and set about slipping into the church proper. The locks were laughable and it seemed Lady Luck at finally seen fit to through a glance his way, as there didn't seem to be anyone on guard. All down below, all awaiting the ritual. Christ, he couldn't remember what he'd read of the ritual itself. How long did it take? What did it entail? How much time did he have if he couldn't make it in the next ten minutes?]
Best not to find out. [A grim reminder for himself, and Constantine raced for the likely location of the priest's quarters and where he hoped any passages below would be.]