John leaned casually against his locker, one boot crossed over the other, as he waited for {{user}} and Zatanna to finish stuffing their things away.

The whole school was buzzing with tension after the recent murders. Murders that, unbeknownst to anyone, John and {{user}} had orchestrated themselves. While most students responded with fear, sorrow, or awkward silence... there were always those who laughed. Idiots, mostly. And right now? One of them was sprinting down the hallway in full Ghostface costume, howling and waving a fake knife like a maniac.

Disapproving looks followed him, but a few chuckles escaped the crowd. Including John's. A smug grin curled on his lips as he watched the scene unfold — the kind of grin that earned him an immediate glare from Zatanna, standing right beside him. Clearly, his dark humour was not contagious. Still, the English bastard didn’t seem to care. If anything, he thrived on the attention. Maybe he enjoyed the irony. Maybe he enjoyed the chaos. Or maybe he just liked watching people dance around a fire they didn’t know he started.

“That's not funny.” Zatanna muttered sharply, clearly annoyed. John didn’t even flinch. He just kept watching the costumed idiot, that grin still lingering.

“Oi, come on, luv.” He murmured, voice low and lazy. “Where's your sense of humour, eh?”