Chapter Text
“ You’ve reached the voicemail of John Constantine, Petty Dabbler in the Dark Arts. If you’re looking for me, no, you aren’t. Leave your name, pronoun, and problem at the beep.”
VOICEMAILS ON THE PREVIOUS PHONE OF JOHN CONSTANTINE, LEFT IN A TRASH CAN ON HOLLYWOOD BOULEVARD
January 11th, 4:11PM: “ Hey handsome, it’s the stranger with the funny name. Hope you take me up on that offer. Come by my club around eight and I’ll show you a naughtier City of Angels. Mwah .”
January 12th, 6:22AM: “ Johnnie, sweetie, thank you kindly for last night. It’s rare anybody gives me a run for my money on stamina, nor works out my little secret so quickly. Your reputation wasn’t for nothing, on both counts. I’d love to take you out proper, though. Text me at 432-899-0666. Ciao, Johnnie.”
February 14th, 12:30PM: “ Nearly finished with dinner here, gorgeous. Let me know if those ingredients for your nasty little spell worked out, and perhaps this time, the muddy boots can be left outside, yes? See you soon.”
February 15th, 1:00AM: “ Johnnie, please come back. I need your help. Bringing up Newcastle was low, I understand that, but you’re the only person I can turn to. Patron Saint of Last Resorts and all. Please, John. The detective needs you. I need you.”
March 28th, 3:15PM: “ Hey John, grab milk, mermaid hair, and eggs on your way home, yeah? I’ll reimburse you.”
April 2nd, 2:22PM: “ John, there’s a heap of sentient swamp on my doorstep looking for you. Quite gross, smells like a pool filter, and he’s eaten all my guacamole. Get home, and get this wet, marshy, Swamp-Thing off my porch.”
April 30th, 12:00PM: “ John, I don’t know where you are, but you need to listen to me. Don’t come home. I don’t know where your funky moving House is, but I’d go there for a little bit. My brother’s here. I’ll explain, but stay wherever you are, don’t come home, and wait for my call…I love you, John. So much. ”
June 1st, 1AM: “ I know you told me not to call you because you’re ditching this phone, but Johnnie, even if we can’t be together, I’d come if you called. If you need anything, if you’re in trouble, you can call me. I’ll always have a soft spot for John Constantine…Mr. Patron Saint of Last Resorts, you’re the only one of those bloody saints I’d ever pray to. Goodbye, John.”