Oh, you haven't seen trouble, really. [ Believe her, John. If she wanted to go for a huge amount 'fuss' and 'trouble', she'd have really pulled out all the stops. Of course she's fussing, but it's a very gentle kind of fussing.
But she understands it, she knows what it's like to not want the fuss and his awkwardness about the whole thing is pretty clear to her. She smiles kindly and shrugs a little. ]
Peter doesn't like a fuss for his birthday either. [ Back in November, she'd left his gifts for him as he slept. She'd come in, returning Rex after the month spent at her home, and slipped out again leaving behind gifts and a kiss. There, no fuss. ] But it's important to do something, even if it's just something rather... 'low-key'—?
[ That's how the modern kids describe it, isn't it? Low-key. ]
That still means you have to blow out the candles, though.
Is that a fact? [ Color him amused and curious. She seems to be the more straight-laced sort on first glance but he's been around her enough to know there's a streak of mischief running through it. A bit of chaos. ] I'll remember you said it.
[ John nods a little at the mention of Peter not really caring for his own. He understands that keenly. Though no one here seems to care to let him ruminate with a bottle and his own ruinous thoughts this year. Not that anyone really seemed to want to let him last year. ]
If it's that important to do then I'll humor it. Can't argue with the company at least.
[ A chuckle at the mention of blowing out the candles. Blimey, he hasn't done anything like this since before his sister ran off from home. He clears his throat and nods. ]
Wishes and all, eh? Right then. [ A breath and he takes a moment to himself, unsure what to think on. What to wish for. He's never been the sort to ask for much but honestly he just hopes that they all make it through this final death rattle of this place, as it were. That in mind is when he blows out the candles. ] That good enough?
Or is there something else I'm missing with all this birthday business?
[ Is she delighted he's actually indulging her with all of this and blowing out candles? Oh, absolutely — she's actually grinning. ]
I'm sure you made it a good wish. [ She nods cheerfully in approval before shrugging. ] You make of it what you want, I suppose. Make wishes, eat cake, open gifts. It doesn't have to be much bigger than that.
[ Well, she could sing. But it's probably best they skip that. ]
Why didn't you want to celebrate your birthday, anyway?
[ Ah, yes. Luna's uncomfortable honesty; asking the difficult questions. Even John can't get away from that. With Peter, she knows how much he tries to make himself small, tries not to draw attention to himself — birthdays being the complete opposite of that kind of effect. But she's curious to know why John'd be avoiding birthday celebrations like the plague. ]
[ That right there makes all of his being uncomfortable worth it, honestly. If it keeps that smile on her face, then he's all right with doing it. ]
So far as wishes go, I don't think it was half bad. [ He shrugs a little. ] Suppose all that stuff was better left for others, really.
[ But then she's asking the hard questions and he should've expected that. He clears his throat. ]
Not really the best day and all. Historically speaking. My, uh, my mum died having me. My old man---[ Well no one needs to know what his idea of celebrating John's birthday was. Peter's technically already seen that from a memory first hand. ]---my sister was the only one who ever really did anything for me growing up and when she ran away---
Just didn't see the point.
[ Nothing good ever came of the day. Tied very much into his own concept of self-worth. Still, he manages to offer over a smile for her. ]
But I have to say that so far this one here is one of the better ones I've had in a very long time.
You can't tell me, though. Otherwise the wish doesn't come true.
[ It sounds like it should be a joke, but she sincerely believes it. Wishes are very powerful, aren't they?
Oh. Now she understands it. The day they'd first met, with all those horrible rumours; the words written on his home: John Constantine killed his mother. He hadn't wanted to speak of it, then. Who would? It's not something one would want to explain to a stranger.
She's not a stranger now, though. But it still stings as much as it did then, and she's sorry — her expression softening into quiet sympathy. ]
I'm sorry it never felt like a day to celebrate. [ She reaches for his hand, holding it gently in hers and giving it a soft squeeze. ] But I'm glad we could make it a good day for you. Maybe something a little less painful, you know? Everyone deserves that.
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But she understands it, she knows what it's like to not want the fuss and his awkwardness about the whole thing is pretty clear to her. She smiles kindly and shrugs a little. ]
Peter doesn't like a fuss for his birthday either. [ Back in November, she'd left his gifts for him as he slept. She'd come in, returning Rex after the month spent at her home, and slipped out again leaving behind gifts and a kiss. There, no fuss. ] But it's important to do something, even if it's just something rather... 'low-key'—?
[ That's how the modern kids describe it, isn't it? Low-key. ]
That still means you have to blow out the candles, though.
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[ John nods a little at the mention of Peter not really caring for his own. He understands that keenly. Though no one here seems to care to let him ruminate with a bottle and his own ruinous thoughts this year. Not that anyone really seemed to want to let him last year. ]
If it's that important to do then I'll humor it. Can't argue with the company at least.
[ A chuckle at the mention of blowing out the candles. Blimey, he hasn't done anything like this since before his sister ran off from home. He clears his throat and nods. ]
Wishes and all, eh? Right then. [ A breath and he takes a moment to himself, unsure what to think on. What to wish for. He's never been the sort to ask for much but honestly he just hopes that they all make it through this final death rattle of this place, as it were. That in mind is when he blows out the candles. ] That good enough?
Or is there something else I'm missing with all this birthday business?
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I'm sure you made it a good wish. [ She nods cheerfully in approval before shrugging. ] You make of it what you want, I suppose. Make wishes, eat cake, open gifts. It doesn't have to be much bigger than that.
[ Well, she could sing. But it's probably best they skip that. ]
Why didn't you want to celebrate your birthday, anyway?
[ Ah, yes. Luna's uncomfortable honesty; asking the difficult questions. Even John can't get away from that. With Peter, she knows how much he tries to make himself small, tries not to draw attention to himself — birthdays being the complete opposite of that kind of effect. But she's curious to know why John'd be avoiding birthday celebrations like the plague. ]
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So far as wishes go, I don't think it was half bad. [ He shrugs a little. ] Suppose all that stuff was better left for others, really.
[ But then she's asking the hard questions and he should've expected that. He clears his throat. ]
Not really the best day and all. Historically speaking. My, uh, my mum died having me. My old man---[ Well no one needs to know what his idea of celebrating John's birthday was. Peter's technically already seen that from a memory first hand. ]---my sister was the only one who ever really did anything for me growing up and when she ran away---
Just didn't see the point.
[ Nothing good ever came of the day. Tied very much into his own concept of self-worth. Still, he manages to offer over a smile for her. ]
But I have to say that so far this one here is one of the better ones I've had in a very long time.
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[ It sounds like it should be a joke, but she sincerely believes it. Wishes are very powerful, aren't they?
Oh. Now she understands it. The day they'd first met, with all those horrible rumours; the words written on his home: John Constantine killed his mother. He hadn't wanted to speak of it, then. Who would? It's not something one would want to explain to a stranger.
She's not a stranger now, though. But it still stings as much as it did then, and she's sorry — her expression softening into quiet sympathy. ]
I'm sorry it never felt like a day to celebrate. [ She reaches for his hand, holding it gently in hers and giving it a soft squeeze. ] But I'm glad we could make it a good day for you. Maybe something a little less painful, you know? Everyone deserves that.
[ Yes, even you John Constantine. ]