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[Atabei Narcisse]

< Atabei Narcisse> The hard soles of her feet were damp from the early evening scattered showers as the dark skinned woman made her way from the crypt she kept her sacred belongings in, and to the edge of the cemetery grounds in the northern part of the city limits. The moon was but a quarter of the size it normally was, allowing the half dressed woman to move through the darkened grounds without any real problems. It waned in the night sky, shrinking from its previous glory nights, which was one of the two reasons the woman was not afraid to travel out of her normal places of the sewers and the mausoleum.

The purple sarong had been knotted in the middle, but even still left little to the imagination as Atabei moved around the tall cryptes and over the headstones of those that couldn’t afford such splendor at the times of their deaths. As Atabei moved through the vast depths of the cemetery, she couldn’t help but notice some minor acts of violence. Some paint on the sides and fronts of graves, and others, smaller tombstones tipped over and even broken. A frown creased the corners of her lips as Atabei bent down to inspect the damages, and attempt to figure out just how the damages came to be.

Her hand possessed a piece of rock from a tombstone that was jagged and jarred. Her head shook as Atabei thought of a number of scenarios in her mind, none of which were good. All of them boiled down to a clear disrespect for the dead. “Sum’tin needs ta be dun ‘bout dis.” Atabei concluded as she stood up, the rubble dropping from her hand and bouncing on the cement walkway at her side. “Da Baron be need’n ta cum home.” With that Atabei moved from the last row of tombstones, and to the outskirts of the city. She had things to collect before calling his attention to the disrespect done to those that have done no harm to anyone.

<Calen> It had been over a year since he had set foot in Harper Rock, Canada. He had left his work and his heart behind, his studies taking him to Italy. It was in Italy that he caught his first clue into the history of Atabei. The voodoo priestess was strong in Haitian lore, known to have been sent to Louisiana as a slave. Traveling to the boot state was refreshing, as he missed the familiarity of the States. And if was there, after six months, that he heard the whispers. Atabei. Alive. In Canada.

Or, well, as alive as one could be when they were centuries old. There was no doubt in his mind that there was more than simple black magic at work. The nagging voice in his head constantly whispered, "Vampire….vampire,”but he had done his best to ignore it. But, as soon as his feet touched the sidewalks of Harper Rock, the doubt crept in. Was it possible that Atabei was truly a vampire? A member of the undead creatures in the city?

Now, as he stood at the gates of Oldtowne cemetery, he tensed in anticipation. An old medium told him of the supposed sightings of the priestess. So, here he stood. With a deep breath, the very human professor opened the gates to the vandalized holy site. His nose wrinkled in disgust at the behavior of others, but rather than dwell on the fact, he pushed onward. He was on a mission.

< Atabei Narcisse> The squeal of the gate caught her attention before he did. Atabei stilled her movements, and turned to the direction of the gate that protested loudly when pushed open by the male. It was not unusual for the cemetery to get visitors during the day, but the night? The wary woman hunched down along the side of a cross shaped tombstone, her fingers wrapped snugly around the solid formation as Atabei watched. It was possible he was here just to visit someone buried here. It was also possible that he might be one of the potential vandals the cemetery had seen in the last few nights. And while that final thought brought a strong distaste to the haitian woman’s mouth, he was the master of his own destiny and it was not her place to intervene, unless directed by the almight lwa. So for now, she remained where she was, partially hidden behind the large rock in the shape of a cross and waited to see what the spirits decided his fate to be.

<Calen> There was a soft mist over the cool ground of the cemetery, creating the eerie scenes someone saw in a horror movie. Had it been one, he would be calling out to the mist while a serial killer on the loose, and then, he would lose his head. Or something. Thankfully for those involved, namely himself, he was not quite that stupid. Instead, he moved along silently, but swiftly. If he was to search the entirety of the area, he would need to be quick, but efficient. It was dark, foggy, and quiet..and he was a human in a vampire infested city.

”Whose bright idea was this, anyway?” he whispered aloud to himself, a sudden scowl forming on his lips. It had been a year, and he had changed quite a bit from the man he was. Searching for a lost Haitian priestess was tough business. ”Now...if I were a voodoo priestess, where would I be in a cemetery?”[/b'

He didn’t really expect an answer to that question, but damn, it would have been nice to get one.

< Atabei Narcisse> Dark hues assessed the male as he roamed deeper into the cemetery grounds. Where he went, so did her eyes and her ears. As he came around the side she was hiding along, Atabei flanked to the side with the longer width, then peeked under the ‘arm’ of the cross, as it were. His words did not go amiss, but she simply waited still. Atabei was not a hasty creature, and wanted to observe him and his possessions better before she revealed herself. Her eyes took in his clothing, then looked at her own lack of, but it didn’t bother her. Her cocoa colored shoulders rolled in a shrug. If he was looking for her, this is what he was going to be getting. Next, her eyes moved to the beam of light that came from his hand. It was similar to the source that Clementine had when she had been searching for the rogue vampire and came across Atabei instead. The name escaped her, and so Atabei concluded it was a circle light, but knew it to not be any form of magic or trickery. It was a modern invention her brood told her.

Not seeing anything else at the moment, Atabei slowly rose from her crouched position, her long hair splaying over her shoulders and covering most of that which wasn’t covered by clothing or man made materials. “She wud be e’re whur. I tink da biga quest’un be wut is a man like yo’self doin’ in a place like dis?” Her eyes locked on the side of his face as Atabei stood behind the stretched out cross, the ‘arm’ just above the rise of her navel.

<Calen> The sudden voice startled the man, his head whipping around to find the source. As his gaze settled on the half-naked woman, his lips pursed and he quickly looked away. While he was not uncomfortable, he was a man of modesty. Besides, looking upon women had become something of a problem. An uncomfortable guilt settled in the pit of stomach, as if he had anything to be guilty about. He was a single man, worthy of...affection. Wasn’t he?

”No…” he thought to himself, forcing his gaze back to the woman before him, face expressionless. The accent stuck with him, gears turning to place it’s familiarity. “That accent…” he mused, aloud, ignoring the question she posed. “That’s Haitian...isn’t it?”

Without waiting for an answer, he shivered. It was seemingly impossible to lose the sense of foreboding that came from this dark-skinned woman. Despite her small frame, he was intimidated by her presence, and he frowned. “And, for the record...I am here for the sake of my sanity, and my own personal interests. Why is that remotely important?”

< Atabei Narcisse> She was used to everyone she encountered looking away from her form, and would make no apologies for her state of undress. The scars and scabs on her back were often uncomfortable when rubbed with any material made to cover ones skin, so Atabei went without for her own sake and comfort. Her chin lifted a little when the white male made mention of her accent and the location from which it may have came from.

Then he did something semi-familiar. The male shivered and she cocked her head to the side. Another thing that happened, before they ran off or started begging for their life. She apparently screamed vampire or something scary in every sense possible, but the affairs of the humans rarely bothered or interested Atabei. “Dat is wut dey be call’n it for sum time now. But it not be wut I knows it as.” Atabei said quietly as both hands wrapped around the ‘t’ of the cross and she leaned forward. “I neva says it wus impot’ent.” Atabei corrected him as she grabbed the ‘t’ more firmly and used her upper body strength to hoist herself up on it and perch on it. “I doubts yas sane. Out hur talk’n to ya’sef in da midda of da night. Ain’t nut’n sane ‘bout that.” She looked at him pointedly with a small grin etched on the corners of her lips.

<Calen> His eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as she questioned his offered explanation of his presence, having no time to triffle around. He had things he was supposed to be doing, people to find...and he had found this woman. Something about her stuck with him, though, and he simply couldn’t put his finger on it. Instead, he stared into her eyes, trying hard to ignore the feelings of ants under his skin. He wanted so badly to move, but this women was somewhat captivating in the way she moved and spoke. Rather in curiosity, than physical attraction.

“It’s only a problem if I reply to myself, rather than simply speak aloud…” he countered, even if it could be seen as a rather weak argument. What sane man actually went out look for a supposed century year old woman, in a cemetery? Sighing, he shrugged and rolled his shoulders, his muscles tense. “And, what is it that you are doing out here, then?” he asked, eyes narrowing in question. He had his odd hope that he had come upon the woman he sought, but would not allow himself to jump to the conclusion. Harper Rock’s was full of the strange, after all.

< Atabei Narcisse> She remained on the ‘t’ of the cross, listening to the man before she laughed at his retort. It wasn’t a laugh out of malice, but of confusion. Maybe he was right, maybe he was wrong. “Is dat so?” She asked, her neck inching forward to give the man a solid good look from the front now that they actually faced the other. When he asked her what she was doing her, as if she were trespassing, Atabei looked away from him and peered at the entirety of the graveyard.

[Calen]

< Atabei Narcisse> “Dis is my place. Dis is wur I visit da dead. Pay dem sum respects. It be impot’ent.” She nodded her head, her eyes falling back to him. “Dat is da pu’pose of a graveyar’ ain’t it?” She said in a non-challant mannerism, as if stating the obvious. “I ain’t look’n for no trouble, ya hear?” She waved a finger at him, eyes as wide as a Candian two dollar coin. “But if yous ain’t here to pay sum respects ta da dead, den it be best yous be on your way. Da spirits dun be tak’n to kindly to dose that be mess’n wit’ da dead.” The finger was dropped and placed once again around the concrete she was crouched upon.

<Calen> Calen simply nodded his head to her question, as it was perfectly so. He would not allow himself to doubt his sanity, as it was really the only thing he had left...other than his work. So, he would stand by the reason he offered the woman, crossing his arms over his chest in defiance. He still had the heebie jeebies, but he wouldn’t make down from a strange woman. Atabei, or not. It simply wasn’t in his nature.

As she began to explain her presence, he scowled. She had a point. A cemetery was meant for the dead, and for those to give them respects and find peace among the stones. Not that many did find said peace. Still, she continued and he immediately retorted, “I have more respect for the dead than to purposely cause trouble, or...vandalize the stones..” He finished with a grand gesture to the few stones nearby that lay broken and graffitied.

“Ma’am, might I ask what your name is?” he pushed. Not only for finding Atabei’s sake, but the fact it was simple courtesy to receive the name of those one pleasantly chatted with. If either one could call it pleasant

< Atabei Narcisse> Atabei noticed the scowl, but it didn’t bother her any. If something she said or did bothered him, that was his problem. Staying crouched retained some form of modesty, if the woman was worried about it. Her long hair kept her upper torso covered, while the wrap around her waist kept what was beneath hidden. If she turned in either direction, the glint of the moon would highlight the scars at her shoulder blades, but only a few, as most her hair kept the inner parts of her shoulders shrouded in its heavy weight.

“Gud. ‘Cus da dead wuhk so hard to git dead.” Atabei commented with a stiff nod of her head, already believing him to not be the vandal of the cemetery. When he asked her name, Atabei’s legs found the side of the structure she had been crouched on, the swift movement revealing more scars on her upper back and shoulders and even more flesh in the front. “Wich ‘un ya be want’n?” She asked in a solemn tone, though her eyes and lips imitated humor in them. “I lost track o’ dem all through da yurs.” She said with a small nod of her head, before Atabei expanded on her thoughts. “Da white man call’d me Addie since dey wanted ta give us their names.” Atabei spat on the ground, careful to mind the grave that was near her left side where she spat. “Den there wus da names dey gave me out of fear. Satan’s Siren. Witch. Da Voodoo Vixen. And about half a dozen mo’.” Atabei’s feet began to swing where she sat, just enough to provide some movement to them to try and appear ‘natural.’ “But none of dem is my name. I was named afta da modda in the sky. My name is Atabei.” She said before hopping down from the stone cross, landing to the left of it, and beside the grave that remained untouched from any vandals for the time being. “I haz sum wurk ta be doin’. Ain’t no rest e’en wun yous is dead.”

<Calen> He watched and listened as the woman spoke, taking in every word that she had. It was still an odd accent to try and comprehend, entirely, but he was starting to get the hang of it. Confident that she had just told him all that he needed to know, he couldn’t fight the small sense of triumph he felt. He had come to Harper Rock specifically looking for this woman, and there was a very good likelihood that she was right here, in front of him. Her scars pierced his heart, in a way. He was a compassionate man, and the scars were a testimony to how badly she had been treated. However, he didn’t think it polite to ask, and so, he tried his best to ignore them, for now. Maybe he would ask, another day at another time. When it was fit to do so. Assuming he ever saw her, again.

“So, it is safe to say that you are Atabei Narcisse?” he asked, looking up at her as she sat among the stone memorial. “The priestess of lore?” he continued as she landed on the ground, obviously trying to send him on his way. He couldn’t blame her, really. She was a woman of myth and legend, and yet, she was quite alive. In a sense. That wasn’t something one would want casually tossed around, he had to imagine.

“I came here to find you...I have studied your life, your beliefs...I spent nearly 6 months in Louisiana trying to learn more about you, and it pointed me here,” he pushed on, hoping she might continue the conversation if she knew how hard he had worked to find her. “You say you are dead, but...how are you here, then?” He didn’t want to assume she was a vampire simply because of the city she happened to be found in .

< Atabei Narcisse> When he said her name, Atabei just stood there in mild surprise and slight amusement. His tale almost mirrored Valentine’s but it was different in many ways. Valentine both understood the lore and practiced it to an extent. Many of her childre did, in their own way. It was a beautiful thing, and she only offered her input when it was asked. There was no right or wrong way to practice what she knew, and had shared in these last few months. But a small bell of alarm rang in Atabei’s mind as she tried to piece together why another would be looking for her. Why a very white male would be looking for her. She knew the days of slaves had ended some time ago, thanks to Valentine, but it still made her cautious and curious. “Wut wuld a white man be want’n wit ole Atabei?” Atabei asked as she took a step forward, neither confirming or denying the name he had said. “Yous studied da wurk’n of Voudoun?” Her eyes moved up and down, taking in his taller size and his appearance. “Dun mean ya be know’n anyt’in about it.” She said confidently, knowing what the years had done to the practice due to myths, legends and even movies apparently. Even her own life had some truth and untruths to it due to the stories wove. Valentine had been a testament to that. “And da only way to be know’n anyt’in about anyt’in is ta be doin’ dat sum’tin.” Atabei said as she moved around Calen, content with going on her business it seemed. Until she stopped and turned. “Is yous ready ta learn?” She didn’t wait for an answer, her back riddled with scars in his view as she kept moving.

<Calen> The male blinked several times as the woman offered to teach him, though he had no idea what it was that she was about to show. A wary acceptance settled over him as he nodded his head and began to follow her, taking note of the many many scars on her back. A hand rose up to cover his mouth, and soon slid from it and down the front of his neck. The scars stirred up unwanted and unnecessary guilt. He wasn’t the men that brought such wounds to the woman before him, but it still, it hit him.

“For the record, I never claimed to know everything about it. I simply said I studied it, and you…” he corrected as he followed along behind her. “When I have spent many years studying the occult and voodoo, meeting someone of your...infamy would be quite the honor.” He could only assume that the woman understood what kind of figure she was in the history books. Even if she didn’t, he could go on and on about what others had said and done in regards to her legacy. Though, from the looks of her, he doubted she would care.

With a soft sigh, he looked around the cemetery in wonder, “You never did tell me how you were alive,” he pointed out. In a way, he didn’t expect an answer. Atabei seemed to be a woman who would rather demonstrate, than explain.

< Atabei Narcisse> She stopped walking and then turned her head just a little, just enough that her eyes could fall on him a little bit. “Dun believe e’eryt’in dat yous be hur’n.” She knew all too well those that studied things were sometimes led down paths of misrepresentation and mistruths. There was a difference between the things she learned back in what was now known at Haiti, compared to what those in New Orleans and other places near it learned and knew.

She cackled a hollow laugh when he reminded her that she lacked to share the secret of her long life. “Dat is sum’tin dat can only be explained wit’ time. Sum’tins can’t be learned wit’ words.” Atabei’s line of vision once again returned in front of her as she extended an arm upwards, making a ‘follow me,’ motion.

<Calen> The male narrowed his gaze on the woman as she walked ahead of him. He had never doubted that some history books and lore were, in a way, myth. But, every legend came from some form of truth. It may have been twisted and changed along the way, but there was also some fact. And he refused to believe that this woman was not who he thought she was. The only way to find out, though, was continue to follow her and see what it was that she wanted to show him.

“Alright, then...you can show me what it is that you are taking me to,” he finally replied, taking in his surroundings as they traveled deeper into the cemetery. Along with his anxiety about being around her, being this far in the cemetery only added to the concern. It wasn’t that he was necessarily worried about being with this woman, alone, but he also had no idea where she was taking him.

“Do you frequent cemeteries, often?” he asked in wonder, curious to see if she would avoid this question, as well.