"Not that kinda curse," John had to specify. He'd go into it later if he had any desire to, but it was definitely something he'd touch on eventually. He gave a quiet chuckle to the pun, and stood, patting Constantine on the shoulder again, and picked up the bag of sodas, nearly losing his balance when he bent over to grab the damn thing. He was quick to readjust though, and only slightly wobbled.
Once he had the incredibly heavy bag secured over one shoulder, John nodded in definitive, oddly serious manner, and waved for the other man to follow as he led the way. He made his way to the door, shouldering it open. "Probably protectiveness, yeah." Or heroics. He had no idea if that was the case, either, but the vast majority of the folks he'd met in this place seemed to be on the same level of having done some wild things. Present company included.
"My curse, though... I'm undead." That was a good enough explanation, right? No, not by John's standards. "I got in over my head in 1907, when I was tryin' to stop a string'a murders. Woke up dead, got some new abilities for my troubles. I'd say parts of it're definitely a curse. Some, I ain't so troubled by." He was doing a great job tiptoeing around the kind of undead he was, more to avoid saying the word, because it really, really sounded too dramatic for his tastes. It brought to mind Bram Stoker, Nosferatu, tales of corpses bloated and ruddy being exhumed and staked and buried upside down instead. The whole thing was too theatrical, and John was a simple guy. He didn't need that kind of association tacked onto him.
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Once he had the incredibly heavy bag secured over one shoulder, John nodded in definitive, oddly serious manner, and waved for the other man to follow as he led the way. He made his way to the door, shouldering it open. "Probably protectiveness, yeah." Or heroics. He had no idea if that was the case, either, but the vast majority of the folks he'd met in this place seemed to be on the same level of having done some wild things. Present company included.
"My curse, though... I'm undead." That was a good enough explanation, right? No, not by John's standards. "I got in over my head in 1907, when I was tryin' to stop a string'a murders. Woke up dead, got some new abilities for my troubles. I'd say parts of it're definitely a curse. Some, I ain't so troubled by." He was doing a great job tiptoeing around the kind of undead he was, more to avoid saying the word, because it really, really sounded too dramatic for his tastes. It brought to mind Bram Stoker, Nosferatu, tales of corpses bloated and ruddy being exhumed and staked and buried upside down instead. The whole thing was too theatrical, and John was a simple guy. He didn't need that kind of association tacked onto him.