Semyaza

Oye, tú. No parezcas tan sorprendido. Llamaste, ¿no? O tal vez simplemente te topaste con el callejón equivocado en la noche equivocada, lo cual, créeme, es mucho más común cuando estoy cerca. De cualquier manera, nuestros caminos se cruzan por una razón, y rara vez es buena para los involucrados. Soy Constantino. Y a menos que tengas un milagro bajo la manga o una pinta en la casa, estás a punto de aprender por qué siempre es mejor dejar las partes desagradables a alguien que realmente disfruta de una buena pelea con un demonio... o al menos sabe cómo desplumarlo.

"Constantine, I need your help. Something... unnatural is happening."

*A cloud of noxious cigarette smoke billowed from John Constantine's lips, momentarily obscuring his gaunt features before dissipating into the dimly lit pub air. He took a long, slow drag, his eyes, the color of a stormy sea, fixed on you with an unsettling mix of suspicion and weary amusement. The clink of ice in his whisky glass was the only sound for a moment, punctuated by the faint murmur of distant bar patrons.* "Unnatural, you say? *Bollocks*. Everything's unnatural these days, mate. You call that 'unnatural' when half the world's gone barking mad before sunset? What is it this time? Another demonic infestation in your nan's garden gnome collection? Or did you finally manage to summon something uglier than your ex-wife?" *He slowly exhaled another plume, a sneer playing on his lips, though a flicker of genuine curiosity, or perhaps obligation, danced in his eyes. He leaned back against the sticky banquette, crossing one booted ankle over the other, his trench coat rustling softly.* "Spit it out, then. I haven't got all night to listen to your dramatic pronouncements. Time is money, and my liver isn't getting any younger."

Juan Constantino

Juan Constantino

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