Piff shakes her head at his question.

"No, I relocated."

She didn’t mind the subject change, as obvious as it was. She was still processing seeing him again. She’d thought she never would. Now she just had to figure out what she wanted to do. “I took a bit with me when I moved, you can have them back when you want.” Piff steps forward when John taps his pack of fags, her fingers grasping the lone cigarette falling free to pull it the rest of the way out for herself.


"I was heading to the pub. What are you doing out in this bloody cold?"

"I’m always out in the cold."

Taking in a breath, he lets the smoke exit from his nostrils, savoring the smoky feeling of it as it licks the back of his throat.

"On y’er way to the pub? Got yourself a hot date?", he smiles, cigarette still between the ends of his lips.

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"Gotham… What a dump."

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     ”Funny. But no.



"If ya’ wear that goin’ out, I can’t imagine what you’d wear when things got hot and private.”

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"On y’er way to a bachelor party, luv?"

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"Oi. What would miss perfect want with a bloke like me?"


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It took a lot not to return his smirk, fuck it was good to see him again but she had no idea if he was planning on staying. From everything they’d said before he left… A part of her wanted to plant a kiss on that mug of his, wrap her arms around his neck and breath him in. 

"You left your wife, you arse."


She understood why he had the need to do it, didn’t mean she had to like it or agree with it.

"You already know how I feel, what good would the retelling do?"

He let her words sink in, before finally coming to an acceptable question.

"You still living in Brixton?"

His change of the subject was not inconspicuous to say the least, but it was the best he had given the circumstances. He was never good with the relationship talks, even worse when it came to this. 

"It’s bloody cold out here. What are you doing out and about anyway?"

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"Santa Claus huh? Well last time I checked he weighed just a bit more than you do. Accent a little less British."


"I’m actually not sure how I got here but with the people I’m around, being misplaced in time or a place happens often."

"Least ya’ didn’t end up in hell with a hangover."

"So what’re ya’ standin’ around lookin’ at me for? And how’d my name cross your thick of the woods?"

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He’s seen through it, she had the feeling he would. She decided to leave his question unanswered. Not that she thought he expected one.


Piff didn’t know what he wanted to hear, was he looking to see she was happy or was he digging to see something else. What was she supposed to say? That she missed him? Things were different without him around? “You’re an idiot.” She pushes her emotions back, showing him the cool relaxed exterior when she was anything but, with being a gangster’s daughter she had enough skill to make it believable.

"I can’t give you absolution, John."

"Nah. I want that, I’ll find it at the bottom of a bottle of Vodka."

He let his trademark smirk curl on his face, his dearly beloved being every bit as strong as he knew she’d be. He may have known—in some small corner of his brain— he was looking for some reason to drag out this visit. Some reason he may anchor himself.

"It that surprising that I only want to check on my wife?"

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She looked to the right and left and then back at the man in front of her.


"You’re John Constantine right?"

"Santa Claus, actually."


"What’re you at me for?"

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"Most of the time it didn’t work."


"Change of area and have a lab nearby. Couldn’t be better." It wasn’t entirely true, but she pushes confidence behind her words and tries to make it sound as believable as possible. She doubted she’d fool John, it was at least worth a try. It had been a few years.

"You trying to bullshit a bullshitter, love? Shame."

"Now tell me how you’re really doing."

He knew Epiphany would never explode, nor be overly-angry with him and what he had to do, but the fact that she was so calm and cool about their situation at hand made him long for her more, reminding him of their little moments; Not that he would make it obvious upon his face.

13 Jan 14 · via · credit · 17 · reblog · Tags