[ Whatever amount that John would subtract or add to Hufflepuff's score count (if anything, twenty points to Hufflepuff for knowing when to question authority) is an incidental matter, as the room grows colder. Darker. John's already morgue-like office slips into something far too haunting to truly feel like it's still part of Hogwarts.
John isn't sure exactly when the creature appears. The energy in the room keeps darkening and the sense of dread and death that usually lingers in the back of his mind take the steering wheel. Panic alarms go off in his frontal lobe, the sensations of fight or flight replaced with a third, overriding order to freeze.
By the time John opens his eyes at the conclusion of the spell, it's already in the room.
The ragged black cloth floats like the tendrils of an ancient predator from the ocean, the sound of freezing air rattling through a dry ribcage threatens to ensnare John. He ignores the sensation that's something like an icicle puncturing his heart, bleeding him out and filling him back up again with pitch black nothingness. He keeps his head up, staring back at the abyss in physical form before him.
What makes this a tricky summon is that the thing cannot leave the circle, so long as John maintains it with focus. However, the effect of the Dementor's presence can extend to beyond the circle, and John cannot maintain the spell if he passes out.
But still he speaks calmly and gently, almost casually to Damian. Some of his persona drops out of his voice, replaced with the out-of-character and softer John that he reserves for frightened children and the damned few innocent souls he's ever met. Now, he is instructing himself as much as he is the boy. ]
Think of something good, lad. A memory, a wish, whatever works. But it has to be something that can't be touched, or tarnished by even the worst stuff in the world. Say the words when, and only when you have it. Then open your eyes.
[ In the meantime John will just try to contain the monster. A battle of wills with death incarnate. Just another goddamn Tuesday for Constantine, really. ]
no subject
John isn't sure exactly when the creature appears. The energy in the room keeps darkening and the sense of dread and death that usually lingers in the back of his mind take the steering wheel. Panic alarms go off in his frontal lobe, the sensations of fight or flight replaced with a third, overriding order to freeze.
By the time John opens his eyes at the conclusion of the spell, it's already in the room.
The ragged black cloth floats like the tendrils of an ancient predator from the ocean, the sound of freezing air rattling through a dry ribcage threatens to ensnare John. He ignores the sensation that's something like an icicle puncturing his heart, bleeding him out and filling him back up again with pitch black nothingness. He keeps his head up, staring back at the abyss in physical form before him.
What makes this a tricky summon is that the thing cannot leave the circle, so long as John maintains it with focus. However, the effect of the Dementor's presence can extend to beyond the circle, and John cannot maintain the spell if he passes out.
But still he speaks calmly and gently, almost casually to Damian. Some of his persona drops out of his voice, replaced with the out-of-character and softer John that he reserves for frightened children and the damned few innocent souls he's ever met. Now, he is instructing himself as much as he is the boy. ]
Think of something good, lad. A memory, a wish, whatever works. But it has to be something that can't be touched, or tarnished by even the worst stuff in the world. Say the words when, and only when you have it. Then open your eyes.
[ In the meantime John will just try to contain the monster. A battle of wills with death incarnate. Just another goddamn Tuesday for Constantine, really. ]