Project Infinity - Thursday, August 16, 2001, 2:49 PM
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Beacon Harbor Public Library
A strong aroma drifts through this Library, carrying the scent of old leather, and even older tomes. The front area of the Library contains the Reference Section, and Front Desk. Aids, Volunteers, and Librarians can be found, to give helpful advice, or check you out. Sectioned off by a long table, the reference computers can be found, offering a listing of every book in the Library, along with those in the adjoining cities. To the back, the rows of bookshelves span out, dominating the middle and back section. Filed by the Dewey Decimal System, the Non-Fiction, Fiction, Magazines and Newspapers can be easily accessed.
Situated between the rows, and towards the back and front, tables, cubby holes, and chairs are located to allow the public to sit and read, in the silence of the Library. The floor is carpeted in a soft beige, in order to keep down on the noise. To the very far back, an oak door can be found, leading to the basement and lower levels of the Library.


The library is not John Constantine's place of preference. Problem number one, he can't smoke in here. Problem number two, he can't smoke in here. Problem number three, most libraries, unlike mysterious old bookstores, tend to have fairly...respectable books. Problem number four, there are lots of librarians fluttering around paying too much attention to him. Problem number five, did I mention he can't smoke in here?

But for now, he's in the library anyway, leaning into and against a far corner, where the History section meets that bit of the library usually stuffed under the heading of "New Age/Paranormal/Occult." In Beacon Harbor, the librarians have done that section the courtesy of dividing it between those topics, at least, but it's still hidden in the corner. Constantine doesn't really care what they call it, so long as it has what he needs. He's skimming through obscure-looking books, seeming much more fragile and tired than usual.

Lara enters the library, expression well hidden behind her shades. But her lips are very tight, and there's a distinctly clipped air about her. She's been trying to figure out where Constantine might be all day long, and this has been her last resort. When she sees him, her lips twitch slightly. Success. She starts to walk over.

Jack, on the other hand, looks better than he ever has - almost healthy, in fact. Visits from angels tend to do that sort of thing. He pads in, wrapped in an aura of fresh clove smoke - he's not the only one annoyed at the prohibition on smoking. Nosing down the aisles, he spots Lara, and wanders after her. "Croft?"

Seated in a somewhat slumped fashion in one of the comfortable chairs by the periodicals, Indiana holds a copy of the New York Times before him. The gray newsprint shields his face for the moment, and he seems to be engrossed in an article. The fedora, if you're curious, sits on a convenient table near at hand.

It's Jack's mention of Lara's name that draws John's attention; the more modern Englishman looks up from a book and blinks uncomprehending blue eyes at them both. Who are you and why are you approaching me? Two seconds later, memory deigns to supply him with the necessary information, and he hastily retrieves his composure as best he can. He still looks fraught and anxious, but at least he's making a half-hearted attempt at keeping his usual attitude. He raises his brows in question: well?

Oh, /crap/. Lara turns. "Celliers." she says, offering a nod of greeting, and then turns to Constantine. "Look," she says. "I need to talk to you. And it's important."

The tall blonde's drawl is more diffident than usual, with his usual arrogance in abeyance. "Shall I leave you two be, then?" he asks, pale gaze flicking from the magician to the raider, and back. "Don't mean to disturb, y'know,"

With a crisp crinkling sound, Indiana turns a page in the Times. His ear catches the distinctive lilt of British accented voices a few shelves over. His globe-trotting curiosity is peaked, and his eyes scan the rows of books between himself and the trio, paper lowered.

Constantine rubs a hand over his eyes. "Christ," he says miserably. Normally he'd say something very rude and probably anatomically impossible to someone who approached him with another task at a time like this. Okay, so he wouldn't say something like that to Lara, but he still would be pissed off. As it is, there's no way he can turn her away. That would be Bad of him. And his demanding new conscience doesn't allow him to be bad. Indy, of course, gets ignored for her. At the moment, John simply doesn't have the focus to notice that many people. "I don't really care whether you stay or go," he says to Jack, the careless arrogance all but gone from his voice as well. To Lara, he says, "Okay. But I've a lot to do already." Please don't let it be saving the world. Please.

Tough noogies, limey. "Angelus has performed the ritual to awaken Acathla. He did it last night. It's my fault." she says quietly, "And I know what needs to be done to stop him, but I'll need your help." Oh, that last word stings coming out of her mouth.

Voice even lower, Jack notes, with a feigned air of nonchalance, "when you've the time, mind telling us who Acathla is. And who's Angelus, as well? And what's this ritual mean? Or is this the sort of thing we mere mortals aren't cleared to know?" Of course he scents danger, and adventure. You'd think being stomped by a demon would have given him a little sense of caution...or at least his own mortality. No such luck, though.

Acathla. Indy's head snaps up, the paper crumples a little. Recognition of the woman's voice and the word register. He didn't catch much else, but that was enough to turn his focus entirely towards his expedition cohorts and Her Majesty's Secret Bastard. He remains where he's seated, Times sagging over his lap.

A moment's stare. Then: "Shit. Shit. Bloody fuck." Ah. His usual eloquence. "Yeah? Acathla," he tells Jack, "is a demon who started sucking the world into Hell long ago. He was stopped, and turned to stone, when a virtuous knight impaled him with a blessed sword. And he'll start again when someone bleeds for him, and pulls the sword out. In other words, we're all going to Hell. Don't worry about directions. I'll meet you on the way." He still has his sarcasm. "What do you need *me* for, Lara? You're the Tomb Raider."

Lara looks at him. "For a number of reasons. For one thing, we'll need to get another sword - a sword the same knight that slew Acathla blessed. It's located in a small, desanctified church in Spain - but it's embedded into the stonework above what was once the altar. We'll need you to release it, and then...when we stop Angelus, you may need to do what you can to disrupt the remaining portions of the ritual. Unless of course, you'd rather sit back and wait for your ticket into the handbasket."

Just a nod from Jack - not even a flick in his slightly bemused expression...and that might even be due to his new scar. "So, Croft. We get this sword and then what?" he enquires, reaching into his pocket to extract a chromed Zippo.

Sitting with a newspaper and eavesdropping in the traditional spy fashion, Dr. Jones' countenance is hardly insidious or cunning at the moment. The expression he wears at the moment is slightly sad, progressing in the direction of bitter, edging towards angry. His teeth set on edge, then he shuts his mouth, eyes scanning the book spines without seeing.

Lara looks sidelong. "And then we get the Gem of Amarra off him. I think I know a way. If someone can kill Angelus with the blessed sword once the Gem is off his hand, it'll stop the whole process." She clenches her jaw, waiting for Jack to come to the obvious conclusion.

Constantine is, as always, deeply tempted to tell them all to just literally go to hell. But the temptation is cut short by his looming conscience. "I should warn you," he says mildly, "that I'm bloody useless right now. I don't know for how long. Not much longer, I hope. But...yeah. I'll help. I know the sword, I know the story, I can find out the details from some of my more religious-minded contacts." Spain. They're asking him to go all the way to bloody *Spain*. "Then," he explains to Jack, "we put it through Angelus. Once that ring's off him, anyway. I know someone who can do that. Although I don't know how the bastard can be distracted enough to let her do it. I'll figure something out, though." He's not making things any better for Indiana by ignoring him, either.

Jack holds up a hand. "Hold on a moment. Gem. That thing we went down to Mexico to get. And your anonymous patron is some sort of necromancer who wants to revive send the entire world to Hell? Just who the bloody hell is this Angelus?"

Lara almost spits the words out. "He's not a necromancer."

You say "He's a vampire."

The taller Brit's spine stiffens at the mention of the word. "We were working for a vampire? And this Gem we got for him. What does it do?"

Lara says in a deadened tone, "It grants them total immunity to all things that can kill it. Fire, stakes, sunlight." she looks away. "Do you remember David Nebbit - you met him on that bright, sunny day in the cafe? That was him. I didn't know he was Angelus until last night."

There's a certain curt, metallic flatness to his tone - the gentle, deferential drawl has melted into the kind of bark intended to flay hapless Tommies. "How long did you know what this Nebbit was?"

"One of the worst," Constantine agrees, at Lara's explanation of Angelus. "Yeah. It makes him invulnerable to everything that usually kills vampires. Or almost everything--these things usually have some kind of Achilles' heel, but I don't know what it would be, if it even exists." He glances back at Lara. "When are we planning to go, then? And how? I'm almost skint right now; I hope you're paying for the plane tickets." The reason he has so little money at the moment is, of course, because his usual methods for getting it are rather offensive to his new conscience.

Indiana looks thoroughly disgusted now. He looks at the paper in his hands distractedly, then folds it shut quietly, left to right, then bottom to top. He stands, palms his fedora, then slips the newspaper back in the allotted spot for the Times' latest edition. Forgetting his manners (such as they are), he puts the hat on before he has left the library, tugging it down tight over his scalp. Mumbling something, he rubs the knuckles of his clenched fist with his other hand, then relaxes both as he walks down a side aisle.

Lara nods absently to Constantine, "I'm arranging things." she looks to Jack. "Not when we met. But when we went to get the Gem, yes - I knew. He made me believe that he - had a soul, as he put it. That he'd been cursed with one, and that he was fighting the other vampires. He'd been looking for the Gem for decades he said, and explained how it would help him in his battles. Other vampires attacked him in front of me." her lips twist in a bitter line, "It was all very convincing."

Lara hears the ruffle of newspaper, finally turns. "Indiana!" She's promptly shushed by several people, and for the first time in years, Lara actually flushes in embarrassment.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Jack spits. "What, does no one read Stoker these days? You thought his intentions were benign? I don't believe it. You're either lying, or far less intelligent than I gave you credit for being." That said, he forcibly clamps down on his rage, and turns away a moment. After a few heartbeat's pause, he turns back, and asks tightly. "Any road, what can I do to keep this from happening?"

"I wouldn't've been convinced," John says. "But that's because I'm a suspicious bastard, and I know about these things enough to be familiar with the name Angelus. Shut up," he adds to Jack, temper flaring a little. "With *some* kinds of vampires it's actually possible for them to be relatively decent. Not many, but some. Don't rely on Stoker for your vampire lessons." He looks up, startled, to see Indiana.

Lara looks back at Jack, "There /are/ curses in this world that do what Angelus described, I know because I've read them." she adds in a hiss, "If you were in my position and it was Kate, don't you dare deny that you wouldn't have wanted to believe." Her eyes track to Indy, who had been walking out in disgust.

Jack notes, curtly, "You didn't almost get killed so this thing could become invincible, Constantine. And what, you fell in love with this creature, before you knew what it was?"

Pausing at the end of the history shelves, Indiana looks down the rows of books at Lara. "Don't let me stop your little soiree, Sweetheart." He nods, touches his hat, then turns and continues on his displeased way."

Lara looks pained. "Indy..." she almost starts after him, but her attention reverts back to Jack. She doesn't directly answer the question, but says acidly, "I never thought I'd see the day when Holmes would be more understanding of such things then you are."

"Am I meant to feel sorry for you?" Constantine demands of Jack. Then he promptly ignores him, instead turning his attention to Lara. "If you need to get in contact with me again, my phone number--Holmes is coming, too?"

Lara nods. "Holmes...another friend of mine who can get us to Europe without a fuss, and you."

Jack flicks a hand irritatedly at Constantine. "No," His earlier anger does seem to have subsided, a little. "And I'm sorry my tastes are confined to my own species, Croft," he notes, dully. "No doubt I'll be more sympathetic when I fall in love with a ghul, or what not."

Lara looks at Jack a moment, and then suddenly her lips tighten. She won't say it. She looks back at Constantine. "Your number, John?" she prompts coolly. "I'll let you know when we're ready to leave."

Oh wonderful. Sherlock Holmes makes Constantine so very uneasy. But he says nothing. After all, his new conscience is making disapproving noises at him about how it's wrong to dislike Holmes for being smarter than he himself is. "There's someone else I know--I think she might've done something like this before, in her own world. Buffy. She's meant to be the Vampire Slayer. Or she was, anyway. My number--" He gives it to her and then switches gears to comment to Jack, "You'd just better hope the ghul falls in love with *you* then, unlikely as that may be." If Lara won't say it, he will, conscience or not.

Lara says dryly, "Yes, Jack. At least you've limited your interests to your own species." The look she gives him is unfathomable. At least, to anyone but Jack.

Constantine is ignored, as Jack simply gives Lara a shrug. "One has to have some standards," he notes, moving for the door to the library.

Constantine goes back to looking at the book in his arms, shifting position so that he can hold up two fingers in Jack's direction. Not that he's being entirely fair to the other Englishman, but this whole mess is a little easier for John if he has someone to be angry at.

Lara's her lips together in a thin line. She won't throw dirt, it's unbecoming. She looks at Jack.

Lara says softly, "Yes...and your standards no doubt led you to be arrested, or perhaps even sent to Bedlam for a bit of a spell."

That shot goes home, and Jack turns very slowly to face Lara. "What precisely did my lady mean by that?" he asks, voice low, sweet, and icy.

Lara says to him calmly, "Someone who can't come to terms with something he's viewed as his deviancy has no right to think he can stand on morale high ground where my personal business is concerned."

Constantine says nothing. He's busy with the book. Really. He's not eavesdropping at all. Yeah right.

"Deviant?" Jack replies, still in that sweet tone, as if discussing the weather with a good friend.

Lara says to him calmly, "That is how you see it. Don't bother pretending otherwise." With that, she looks to the not-eavesdropping John. "I'll phone you." With that, she begins to leave the library.

Jack's voice remains low, but that arrogant growl has crept back into it. "Nebulous accusation, Croft," he notes, dismissively, before heading for the door.