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.]
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[ 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.]