Five Elements
May. 25th, 2017 11:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerMostly, I got the image of Jane Constantine wearing the traditional magician's assistant attire, because of course she would (probably likes the feel of the tights on her skin), and then using that to break the usual expectations (because of course she would) and then it became a thing with Dean and exploring what some "normal" not automatically combat magic from Constantine would look like.
She's so flirty. Also, sorry for lack of good ideas for title.
~Dreamer~
Main Points:
Constantine Genderbend/Supernatural
Summary: Dean and Sam have heard of an expert that might be able to help them research their latest case, but they're not sure they're in the right place...
Word Count: 1467
Rating: Gen
“Bobby’s busy, and this is the place listed. If he’s not here, they’ll get word to him, supposedly.” Dean shrugs, looking a bit less sure about things than he’d like, but Sammy doesn’t call him on it.
It’s a good thing, because this really doesn’t look like your normal place to find a Hunter. Most wouldn’t call attention to their skills through a show, but this ‘Constantine’ supposedly is.
They get settled. Dean leers appreciatively at the blond magician’s assistant. Maybe the guy has some good ideas, after all.
But the time comes, and there’s still no sign of the magician. The audience shifts restlessly.
“I’d like to thank you all for comin’,” the assistant remarks, smirking, and—apparently, she’s British. Dean shifts again.
“Where’s the magician?” someone else yells from the back, slurring his words.
“I am the magician,” she responds, smirk not dropping one bit.
“But you’re a woman,” the same man responds, and her smirk only grows.
“Well, that’s refreshing, that honesty, there. It’s rare that a bloke will come up to a bird and openly admit he’s a sexist pig.” That earns some laughter. A few people stand up, including the drunk heckler, and leave, or in the case of the drunk one stumble out, and she adds, “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”
The laughter’s more open, now. “A few lessons in magic. A magician takes what you see—and plays around with it. Defies your expectations. More than a few of you, I expect, came here to see your tired old hat tricks. I’ll be the first to tell you the Laughing Magician doesn’t do normal, now.”
“Then why do the traditional costume?” a woman tentatively asks, and that earns a flashing smile in the woman’s direction.
“Good question, luv. Answer is, I love the glitter and the way the tights show off me legs. Good enough answer for you?” A cheer starts up, and she grins, the cat that ate the canary. “There’s also the little bit about how I set up clear expectations for you all and proceeded to gleefully stomp all over them. A little inside joke, I suppose.”
She pauses for the cheers, then holds her hands out, spreading them out to either side in an exaggerated gesture. “If you came expecting your typical show, you came to the wrong place. That being said, if you’re here for something different, I’ll aim to please.” She pulls a lighter out from the front of her top to catcalls and lights it in an old, practiced move. Then she waves a hand over it, muttering. At first, it looks like she’s just simply put out the flame, but then she turns her hand over, and then they realize it’s floating above her hand. “Gotta keep this safe for later,” she muses, almost to herself, and Dean realizes belatedly that she’s using her looks and the shininess of the lighter to misdirect their attention. “Now, what do all of you think I should do with this little flame, eh?” She turns her hand over, rolling the flame over her knuckles.
“Fireball!” someone yells, and she makes a face.
“I like destruction as much as the next bird, but not when I’d be on the 'ook for the damages.” Still, she turns her hand over and the fire grows to a ball-shape, which she starts lazily throwing from one hand to another.
“Fireworks?” The next suggestion is more cautious, but she grins.
“Bloody brilliant.” The flame starts changing colors to a brilliant whitish blue, and then at a word races along her entire body, dancing along her spine. A couple people scream, but she just smiles a trickster’s smile.
When she’s speaking what sounds like magic incantations, her voice changes. It gets deeper, more powerful. The fire concentrates and in a flash forms what looks like a lightning bolt, starting from her outstretched hand.
And then the fireworks start, touching the ceiling, even some of the ones in the front of the row, but they always fizzle out when that happens.
“Oi, a little audience participation? Would someone be willing to share a little of their booze? It’s for a good cause, I promise.” Her voice sounds slightly strained, now.
Dean pauses for a second only before he raises a hand. “If it’s in the name of getting a pretty thing like you drunk, I’m all for it.” He can always buy more.
She smiles with a look that is pure sex and saunters up. “I might take ya up on that later, pretty boy. At the mo, though, this is serving as my little dose of Water. Ta, mate.” She turns toward the stage, then pours out a little into her hands and breathes on it in a quick burst. The air twists a little like a mirage and then the flames are dying like they’ve been put out a little more traditionally. She goes up to the front and pours out a little more onto her right hand, then touches it with her left and starts pulling her hands apart. The beer pulls apart like it’s silly putty, but the way that it bounces and twists suggests running water. “All this magic’s making me a little thirsty,” she adds, and the bottle lifts itself, pouring a little into her lips before going back to floating beside her like it’s being held by something. “Cheers,” she says, and there’s indeed cheers. “You know, I’ve never tried surfing. Is it any good?”
“I don’t think you’re dressed for it,” someone in the front responds, and she shrugs.
“Guess we’ll find out, eh?” She pours the entire bottle onto the stage below her feet and gestures, muttering a few more words, and the beer begins rising, carrying her up in what starts to look like a wave.
“You’re missing a surfboard,” someone else critiques.
“Oh, I would’ve never guessed, ta for that.” Sarcasm seems to be her default state. “Suppose you’re right, though.” She reaches back into her top and pulls out the lighter again. “Guess this’ll serve as my Metal, huh?” She speaks a few words and begins tugging on it. At first it looks like she’ll break it, but then it starts stretching out into a flat metal shape slowly growing to the length she’d need for a surfboard. Then she begins shaping it a little in her hands until it’s the right shape, jogging a little in place on the wave still churning in place on top of the stage. She slips it into place beneath her feet and instinctively gets into something like the crouch you’d need to surf. It’s not perfect (at least, from what Dean can guess from watching movies), but it’s not bad, either. “You know, I’m sorta enjoying this. What about you lot?”
The cheers in response are good enough for her.
“It’s not quite traditional—not quite the way they define it, anyway—but I think it’s time we moved on, yeah? We’re running out of time, for one thing.” She flips off the surfboard, landing on her feet in front of the wave. It finally crashes around her feet. “So here’s my little representation of Earth.” She pulls a crystal out from her top, and tells them all, “This is a little slice of magic, so keep a good eye on it, yeah?” Looking closely, there’s images moving around in the crystal. She opens her hands and lets the crystal fall, and then the images burst out of the crystal until suddenly they’re in a cave, one of those widely publicized caves with stalactites and stalagmites and dripping water.
Dean realizes during this all they’ve lost sight of Constantine, and searches for her among the light and darkness of the cave. She grins and nods at him and claps her hands. “All right, friends, it’s time for the Wood to end it.” She throws her palms up toward the ceiling, still muttering words, presumably of magic, and the wood of the stage flies upward, curving into massive trees. Dean, watching closely, briefly sees the ground catch on fire before all the lights go out.
And then the lights come back on, and everything’s just the same as when the show started.
One cry of “Encore!” starts a chant, and she grins that trickster’s grin again.
“Oh, I do know. Not being able to get enough of me is a common complaint, I’m afraid, but I don’t know a cure.” She bows. “Unfortunately, I believe our time is up, so you’re just going to have to deal with your disappointment.”
That’s a smile Dean would definitely not mind seeing more.
She's so flirty. Also, sorry for lack of good ideas for title.
~Dreamer~
Main Points:
Constantine Genderbend/Supernatural
Summary: Dean and Sam have heard of an expert that might be able to help them research their latest case, but they're not sure they're in the right place...
Word Count: 1467
Rating: Gen
“Are we sure we’re in the right place?” Sam asks quietly, shrinking slightly at the glares he receives as they stand in the hall waiting.
“Bobby’s busy, and this is the place listed. If he’s not here, they’ll get word to him, supposedly.” Dean shrugs, looking a bit less sure about things than he’d like, but Sammy doesn’t call him on it.
It’s a good thing, because this really doesn’t look like your normal place to find a Hunter. Most wouldn’t call attention to their skills through a show, but this ‘Constantine’ supposedly is.
They get settled. Dean leers appreciatively at the blond magician’s assistant. Maybe the guy has some good ideas, after all.
But the time comes, and there’s still no sign of the magician. The audience shifts restlessly.
“I’d like to thank you all for comin’,” the assistant remarks, smirking, and—apparently, she’s British. Dean shifts again.
“Where’s the magician?” someone else yells from the back, slurring his words.
“I am the magician,” she responds, smirk not dropping one bit.
“But you’re a woman,” the same man responds, and her smirk only grows.
“Well, that’s refreshing, that honesty, there. It’s rare that a bloke will come up to a bird and openly admit he’s a sexist pig.” That earns some laughter. A few people stand up, including the drunk heckler, and leave, or in the case of the drunk one stumble out, and she adds, “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”
The laughter’s more open, now. “A few lessons in magic. A magician takes what you see—and plays around with it. Defies your expectations. More than a few of you, I expect, came here to see your tired old hat tricks. I’ll be the first to tell you the Laughing Magician doesn’t do normal, now.”
“Then why do the traditional costume?” a woman tentatively asks, and that earns a flashing smile in the woman’s direction.
“Good question, luv. Answer is, I love the glitter and the way the tights show off me legs. Good enough answer for you?” A cheer starts up, and she grins, the cat that ate the canary. “There’s also the little bit about how I set up clear expectations for you all and proceeded to gleefully stomp all over them. A little inside joke, I suppose.”
She pauses for the cheers, then holds her hands out, spreading them out to either side in an exaggerated gesture. “If you came expecting your typical show, you came to the wrong place. That being said, if you’re here for something different, I’ll aim to please.” She pulls a lighter out from the front of her top to catcalls and lights it in an old, practiced move. Then she waves a hand over it, muttering. At first, it looks like she’s just simply put out the flame, but then she turns her hand over, and then they realize it’s floating above her hand. “Gotta keep this safe for later,” she muses, almost to herself, and Dean realizes belatedly that she’s using her looks and the shininess of the lighter to misdirect their attention. “Now, what do all of you think I should do with this little flame, eh?” She turns her hand over, rolling the flame over her knuckles.
“Fireball!” someone yells, and she makes a face.
“I like destruction as much as the next bird, but not when I’d be on the 'ook for the damages.” Still, she turns her hand over and the fire grows to a ball-shape, which she starts lazily throwing from one hand to another.
“Fireworks?” The next suggestion is more cautious, but she grins.
“Bloody brilliant.” The flame starts changing colors to a brilliant whitish blue, and then at a word races along her entire body, dancing along her spine. A couple people scream, but she just smiles a trickster’s smile.
When she’s speaking what sounds like magic incantations, her voice changes. It gets deeper, more powerful. The fire concentrates and in a flash forms what looks like a lightning bolt, starting from her outstretched hand.
And then the fireworks start, touching the ceiling, even some of the ones in the front of the row, but they always fizzle out when that happens.
“Oi, a little audience participation? Would someone be willing to share a little of their booze? It’s for a good cause, I promise.” Her voice sounds slightly strained, now.
Dean pauses for a second only before he raises a hand. “If it’s in the name of getting a pretty thing like you drunk, I’m all for it.” He can always buy more.
She smiles with a look that is pure sex and saunters up. “I might take ya up on that later, pretty boy. At the mo, though, this is serving as my little dose of Water. Ta, mate.” She turns toward the stage, then pours out a little into her hands and breathes on it in a quick burst. The air twists a little like a mirage and then the flames are dying like they’ve been put out a little more traditionally. She goes up to the front and pours out a little more onto her right hand, then touches it with her left and starts pulling her hands apart. The beer pulls apart like it’s silly putty, but the way that it bounces and twists suggests running water. “All this magic’s making me a little thirsty,” she adds, and the bottle lifts itself, pouring a little into her lips before going back to floating beside her like it’s being held by something. “Cheers,” she says, and there’s indeed cheers. “You know, I’ve never tried surfing. Is it any good?”
“I don’t think you’re dressed for it,” someone in the front responds, and she shrugs.
“Guess we’ll find out, eh?” She pours the entire bottle onto the stage below her feet and gestures, muttering a few more words, and the beer begins rising, carrying her up in what starts to look like a wave.
“You’re missing a surfboard,” someone else critiques.
“Oh, I would’ve never guessed, ta for that.” Sarcasm seems to be her default state. “Suppose you’re right, though.” She reaches back into her top and pulls out the lighter again. “Guess this’ll serve as my Metal, huh?” She speaks a few words and begins tugging on it. At first it looks like she’ll break it, but then it starts stretching out into a flat metal shape slowly growing to the length she’d need for a surfboard. Then she begins shaping it a little in her hands until it’s the right shape, jogging a little in place on the wave still churning in place on top of the stage. She slips it into place beneath her feet and instinctively gets into something like the crouch you’d need to surf. It’s not perfect (at least, from what Dean can guess from watching movies), but it’s not bad, either. “You know, I’m sorta enjoying this. What about you lot?”
The cheers in response are good enough for her.
“It’s not quite traditional—not quite the way they define it, anyway—but I think it’s time we moved on, yeah? We’re running out of time, for one thing.” She flips off the surfboard, landing on her feet in front of the wave. It finally crashes around her feet. “So here’s my little representation of Earth.” She pulls a crystal out from her top, and tells them all, “This is a little slice of magic, so keep a good eye on it, yeah?” Looking closely, there’s images moving around in the crystal. She opens her hands and lets the crystal fall, and then the images burst out of the crystal until suddenly they’re in a cave, one of those widely publicized caves with stalactites and stalagmites and dripping water.
Dean realizes during this all they’ve lost sight of Constantine, and searches for her among the light and darkness of the cave. She grins and nods at him and claps her hands. “All right, friends, it’s time for the Wood to end it.” She throws her palms up toward the ceiling, still muttering words, presumably of magic, and the wood of the stage flies upward, curving into massive trees. Dean, watching closely, briefly sees the ground catch on fire before all the lights go out.
And then the lights come back on, and everything’s just the same as when the show started.
One cry of “Encore!” starts a chant, and she grins that trickster’s grin again.
“Oh, I do know. Not being able to get enough of me is a common complaint, I’m afraid, but I don’t know a cure.” She bows. “Unfortunately, I believe our time is up, so you’re just going to have to deal with your disappointment.”
That’s a smile Dean would definitely not mind seeing more.
