The Deadman's Curve + Invite +

[Atabei Narcisse]

Hair: Wearing

She had been back for a couple months now, and even though the woman from hispanolia kept to herself, her lineage and the invisible parts of the city, it didn't take long for her to get the news about people knowing vampires existed. Two vampires were in the sewers talking about the possible trouble with the humans when Atabei came to learn about the things going on above ground. It seemed that vampires had been doing things for a while now. Had been careless (the words of the female vampire) and now they were all 'fucked.' Atabei didn't need to imagine what that word meant, not with the force behind the word and the way it had been used. By the time she closed the distance between her and them, the conversation was starting to dwindle.

“It ain't fo' us ta be judg'n wut da oters be do'n. Maybe dis be da time of da vam'ire. Wut will be, will be.” She told them before shaking her head, her hair shaking lose some dried leaves and dirt as she did this. “Mi't be wise ta sid back 'an wait before doi'n any'tin.” Atabei shuffled past the two of them, careful as to not bump into either one of them. She wasn't here to cause any problems with anyone, but she didn't believe the humans to be the sole problem. While humans had never been nice to her when she was human, but vampires had never been nice to her either when she was living among them. Each species had their downfall and yet somehow had the drive to survive in some way or another.

And while she wasn't going to meddle in the things going on that didn't come knocking on her front door, Atabei didn't want to be taken completely blind, should things come knocking on the door of her or her lineage. She heard the snickers that came from the male and female vampire as she moved down the depth of the sewer tunnel system to where she knew she could get to the ground above. A manhole cover not far from the cemetery she frequented and was nostalgic about too.

The temperature above ground was noticeable. It was slightly warmer and felt of summer, but the breeze spoke of an early autumn approaching the city. The colorful sarong whipped around her body, curling over her derriere, and snaking around her muscular thighs with each strong breeze that rolled through the city streets. Atabei ignored the material that parted every so often, not phased by what may or may not be seen by the lack of under clothing the woman wore. Her mind was focused on covering up the hole she just came out of, as to not draw in anyone who shouldn't be down there, and not the flesh of a thigh, or her backside that was seen every few seconds, or the car that was coming at her.

[Kitchi]

Car :ll: Attire

“It could handle better.” Kitchi was no mechanic but he knew the steering wheel in his hands was taking more effort to use than it should. “Ready to see what it can really do?”

The passenger in the red ‘75 Ford Pinto Pony with the white racing stripe was not saying much. Clearly Kitchi was far more invested in the machine he had control of than the one taking the first road test with him. The enthusiasm was out of character for the rather quiet woodland cree. Admittedly he was sold as soon as he saw the bright white stripe on the rumored rolling fire trap. Something about the car spoke to him. Supposedly it was modified and the required changes were made to make it street safe and legal. If the car wasn’t altered he would never know until it was going up in flames. It wasn’t like he was going to have it registered and he was not a automotive mechanic.

“I think it has a little more get up and go out in the open.” His long legs shifted sending it into another bunny hop for increased speed. The unexpected tug forward had his head bobbing forward then back. So it had a few more handling issues but he was optimistic. “Don’t worry about that.” His hand gripped tighter on the red padded steering wheel as if that made everything better. “It just means it is ready to run. “

Kitchi gave a firm press of his booted foot down on the gas pedal and sent it for a smooth glide into the gear that would open the gates and let the engine fly. The driver’s side window was rolled down and his long black hair was flying around in the interior of the car like it was at war with itself.

“Can you feel the power?” He raised his voice over the sound of the increasing turbulence rattling the dreamcatcher windchime that was secured to the rear view mirror. Thick long hair continued to roll like obsidian silk in the air between him and the passenger. “I don’t know what more could be said…”

It was then that he became aware just a little too late that the road was in use by something he could not avoid. Kitchi’s boot slammed down on the brake pedal sending the tires into a squealing lock down. The sound of impact sent a shiver down his spine. Whatever he hit created a rolling heavy series of thumping sounds over the hood, busting his windshield before disappearing over the car. All he saw was black as he finally cleared his field of vision free from hair. His knuckles were unusually pale as he managed to finally release his right hand from the steering wheel.

“What was that?” He was hoping the one beside him could tell him what he just hit.

[Jedediah]

Long bony fingers gripped the dashboard as the striped tomato accelerated down the road. The necromancer stared out the windshield, wondering how he had let delaney involve him in this… suicide attempt. Jedediah had spent a lifetime alone, solitary, and happy. Somehow the seemingly crazed harpy that had attacked him in the wilderness, had changed that. Kika, or kinky as he often called her in private, had somehow created a bond between him and his laney. Perhaps it was that she alternated the feeding on them as she drained and turned them, but somehow, laney...had become more important to him, then even his own survival. His eyes stared out the windshield, as Kitchi… otherwise known as kimchee gripped the steering wheel of the vibrating pinto, and tried to hold it between the lines. The aged transmission ground into a higher gear, and the vibrations became more pronounced. Mayhaps he should have send laney in his stead, at least she could have enjoyed part of the trip.

Jedediah listened stoically, as the tall first nation beside him extolled the virtues of his new death trap, and fought to control the unguided missile heading through the cities streets, when the unthinkable happened. A fuzz headed woman appeared in the street from nowhere. His grip tightened as he lowered his head a moment before the resound thud of impact shook the car, and he felt the slivers of glass that had separated from the windshields laminate sliding over his neck. An errant thought crossed his mind as he felt the slewing of the vehicle as laney’s friend tried to retain control of the ancient car. “Was it the ‘72? Or the ‘75… that was known to explode into fireballs of destruction when impacted.” Shaking his head of the aftermath he turned and in a low, quiet breath replied, “A woman”

[Atabei Narcisse]

What will be will be. Atabei lived by that ideology in some respects. Her life was driven and guided by the almighty lwa, and so for whatever reason, there was a lesson to be learned here. If it came tonight, would be determined, but eventually, the woman from Hispaniola would come to learn what it was, whatever invisible force was guiding her, to learn.

All she saw was red as Atabei was stuck hard from her side, flew up and rolled over something strong. Something made of iron maybe? No part of her body was left without impacting the large moving object, both hips struck different places; one hit the hood, while the other hit the top where the windshield and metal encasing it, met. Her arms splayed about her like a brand new rag doll being tossed in the air by an excited little girl that just got her as a gift. Her back took the brunt end of the damage as Atabei rolled from hood, to window, to roof, and finally to trunk. There were dents on each part of the metal her back smacked against, but the front window took the brunt of it all. When she hit it, the window caved inwards and chipped apart due to the weight and impact of her body.

Atabei didn't stop rolling until she hit the ground and bounced a few feet. And when she did, Atabei looked upwards to the sky and just laid there. She could feel some broken bones, cuts, bruises and even some gouges. Her right arm lifts up, because the other one is broken and goes to her lungs where she rubs at her rib cage area. "T'ank da lwa I dun' be need'n nut'in inside." She said as her head rolled in the direction of the culprit; the large, tomato colored monster as she continued to lay on the ground. She could hear movement and sounds from the iron beast as it remained in one place. Atabei slowly lifts the upper half of her body, but immediately meets the ground face first, due to bones shifting and rattling around as Atabei tried to position herself in a sitting fashion. If understanding that everything in her body was connected and important was the message from the almighty spirits tonight, Atabei learned that as quickly and as painfully as possible.

[Kitchi]

It was a woman.

The glitter of broken glass was the frame to the black as midnight canvas Kitchi stared at. His grip on the wheel within his hands was hard to break. A woman that was nowhere to be seen was part of the picture that the woodland cree was trying in the second that he had left to piece together. His hand went to the door handle to his left and quickly thrust it open with enough force that the creaking of the hinges signaled that the car only had so much left to give. His height when he stood up left him scanning the roof of the car beneath his eyes. The moonlight blanketed the dented surface. Several yards in the distance he found what he was searching for.

The impact of what happened found him as he watched the body in the road for signs of life. The rear hatch was released with the pull of his hand to send upward. Leaning down and stretching to grab his jacket he fixed his eyes on his passenger, Jed.

“I think I found her.” His voice was flat, without expression other than the fact that he was stating.

His jacket and the wool blanket he weaved the winter before was in his arms as he made his way towards the body. The dull sounds of his boots pressing into the asphalt beneath trailed behind him as he walked. His eyes stayed on the body that had a wrapping of silk adorned with the pattern of orange and white diamonds. He shook out the blanket with his right hand and kneeled down. The woman attempting to teeter in a dazed seated position was introduced to the blanket over her shoulders. Kitchi expected worse and there was proof before him that he rarely came up with what he anticipated.

“Allow me to help you.” He refrained from touching her. His vehicle behind him in the distance did enough of that. His eyes scanned the area and for the moment he found no witnesses, no risk of discovering what transpired.

[Jedediah]

Jedediah sat quietly for a moment, as all noise faded. The car was stopped, engine off, and only the slight tick of the cooling motor broke that silence. Releasing the latch of the lapbelt, Jedediah slipped from the car, his eyes rolling over the shattered glass and crumpled sheet metal. There was no way the woman had survived. The necromancer ears heard and processed his companions words, but he focused his senses on their surroundings, letting his hunter's sixth sense spread out from him, caressing the area, and reporting back to him as he too turned to look behind them.

The woman moved. She was battered and broken, and yet she moved. His hand slid to the worn leather wrappings of the huge Arkansas toothpick strapped low to his thigh, slowly drawing it as his eyes took in every detail of the woman. The blade was huge, a massive chunk of steel designed for stabbing, killing... but hrs of meticulous work spent working it on the fine Japanese water stones, in his lair had left both edges sharp enough, that in a pinch, the lanky necromancer could dry shave the day's stubble from his cheeks with it. The creature/woman lived, and that meant she was no human. She was either a child of the night, or .... well it did not really matter, she was not human. Jedediah inhaled sharply, his face darkening, She did not smell of Acheron, she smelt completely different, different and old... very old.

What he wouldn't give to have his trusted Marlin in his hands. It had been just over a year, since he had been attacked deep within the supposed safety of the wilderness by a deranged harpy vampire. One of the most important lessons he had learned, was to trust no one, besides his laney, and to be forever on watch against any and all outside the sire of his sire's lineage. Humans, held no sway, they were easily dispatched, but the others, the ones like he now was... they were the truly dangerous, and kimchee had just hit one with his abomination, one that reeked of age and power. Kimchee was too trusting, to willing to allow others in, and as he approached the woman, Jedediah circled to his back, covering him, in case the creature on the ground, had followers nearby.

[Atabei Narcisse]

Steps were approaching and the dazed woman attempted to glance to them. If vampires could be in a state of shock, Atabei was certainly 'in shock.' She hadn't anticipated getting hit by something, let alone something she didn't know was. She had seen others like the flash of red she had seen before getting smacked by the large metal beast, but Atabei typically stayed clear of all things modern and all things people. Tonight, however, she needed things and those things weren't going to get to her from just simply wanting or needing them.

Something heavy and unfamiliar was dropped on her shoulders by the one who approached her first. Shoulders that wore at least a dozen scars, of all lengths and depths from years of unkind human acts. It wasn't often Bei thought of them, but when they were touched by someone or something, even if it was just a blanket, that something or someone often irritated them and the scars started so bleed. Wounds that appeared to never heal; a reminder of who she was, and the events that shaped her life.

The scratching of the blanket against her scars sort of brought Atabei out of her bout of stupor, the woman blinking a couple times before she focused on the sound of where the voice was coming from. The color of his skin was the first thing Atabei recognized, because it was similar to that of her sire all those centuries ago. He was an aboriginal to the lands. Native.

Another set of steps approached, and her attention drifted to the white male. He wasn't as eager to offer his assistance as the native of the land was. It made Atabei leery of the other approaching male, so much she shook her head and declined the offer of assistance. “No.” She said above a whisper, her voice cracked and hollow. She didn't talk to a lot of people, so her voice was seldom utilized to its full benefit. A hand was brought to the aboriginal's arm, and pushed against roughly, while her eyes were still fixed on the other man. And eventually to the object wrapped around his thighs. She wasn't naive to not know what it was-it was very clearly a weapon.

She knew the potential repercussions of causing harm to people that were the wanderers of this land; if not to her way of life, than to that of the native's way of life. While their beliefs were different as were the spirits, the premise close in Atabei's mind. Which was probably why her sire sired the woman from Hispaniola. “Git awa' ya be hur'n?” Atabei decided to take the risk. Years of mixing and mingling with folks of all ways of life, left her not knowing who was an enemy, who was a friend, and who meant nothing other than someone she saw and passed by. But since the one male had a knife; a large one at that, Atabei took it as at least one, if not both meant to do her harm. Instantly, the woman focused her magical properties, closed her eyes and muttered in an unrecognizable language some words that sent a 'curse' to the male that had implied he wanted to help, but came with another who didn't seem to want to help.

[Kitchi]

The sounds behind him did little to distract him. A refusal of assistance had his attention as did the cool, rough brush off of the woman’s hand. He was stone faced leaving no signs of caring one way or the other. He had no reason to. The cree women he knew were strong so it was nothing new. His blood would have done the same thing if they rolled off the top of a moving car and landed without apparent injury as this particular one did. The cool air brushed over his face as he stood. The hints of strange unfamiliar scents in the air added to his curiosity but he left all of that with the stranger beneath the blanket he offered. She could stay where she was then. Her choice.

As soon as he turned on his heels he was fully prepared to head back to the beat up pinto behind him. Instead it felt as though the unexpected wave of bad karma was heading his way and he couldn’t shake it. Something wasn’t right. It wasn’t exactly a sense of guilt working at him. He had nothing to be afraid of even if he did just knock a body off of its feet going over the speed limit. She was talking and moving. It could have been worse. She could have been human.

Given it was not something he wanted to repeat but he certainly wasn’t remorseful. She came out of nowhere now she would think twice. If anything was damaged it would be his ride. The car appeared to be in worse shape than she did. He offered to help, she refused. So why was he feeling less competent, less sure the closer he got back to his vehicle? He even passed by Jed without a word. The pale woods savvy male who seemed ready to carve something up instead of get back into what used to be a vehicle worth having pride in.


“Nakatew Iskwew.” He muttered to himself following his own statement of leaving the woman while the echo of his steps followed him back to the car. His next words were to the passenger he brought with him. “Leave her. A woman’s pride is a consolation all it’s own.”

He pulled at the handle of the car door with his fingers. It creaked and released the sounds of groaning metal. His jaw tightened in irritation. His mood was darkening considerably as he narrowed his eyes looking to the two he left in the distance. He was done with cars. He was done with hard headed women and he was all but done with the part of Canada he was standing in.

[Atabei Narcisse]

Atabei was going to have to figure out how to get from point A, to point B at some stage. Meaning from here to her crypt. Already, Atabei could feel the anxiety in the pit if her stomach and at the base of her throat. It wasn't due to the idea that if she didn't get out of this spot and to her crypt that she would be kissed by the sun, while it rose in the daytime sky. No, it was more due to the fact that her things; her possessions--her altar and her coffin would be left without her watchful eye. And while Atabei believed what will be will be-because the almightly Lwa did not intervene in the mundane trials and tribulations of the lesser beings such as herself...it still worried Atabei that she couldn't, and wouldn't be able to return to her safe haven.

The darker of the two males; the one that reminded Atabei of her own sire, spoke. His language seemed familiar, but there was some slight variation to that of her sire. Atabie's mind raced through the words she knew in her native tongue, to that of the French language, then the English and finally to her sire's own tribal language. While she was no expert on the French language, as in how to speak it, Atabei became familiar with it due to her time in the south as a slave.

Dry, chapped lips parted to say something as Atabei mumbled the only word of maybe ten that she knew and understood from her sire's own background. And even then, Atabei didn't know if she was saying it right, or using it right either. "Nagaataa." A word that she believe meant 'stop,' or 'wait.' Although there was a greater chance that it meant absolutely nothing to him either. Atabei second guessed her decision to call out to the male when the tanner man spoke once again; this time in English. Atabei coughed and sputtered blood to the ground next to her as her chin lifted up slowly. Pride had never been a trait associated to, or with anything Atabei did, and the comment jarred the woman. She would suffer the consequences later.

In the dirt, next to the blood she had spat out, her fingers pressed into the earth to make an image of a male. It was an image of Kitchi, though it hardly looked like much. Just a male with longer hair; the only distinguishing factor that made it appear as though it was Kitchi. Atabei whispered a couple of words, then a few more before the woman bit the inside of her cheek. Blood filled her mouth at a faster and larger rate , acidic in taste before she spit the corrosive blood on the 'kitchi' figure in the dirt, ensuring a curse of unfortunate events for him. And with that rose zombies in three before Atabei, as if guarding her, while they focused on Kitchi and staggered forward to do the necromancer's hidden desires.

[Kitchi]

As soon as he heard the word wrapped in the woman’s voice his feet froze. The right boot was off the ground and prepared to slide into the car and take lead of the rest of his tall body into the driver’s seat. It pulled back and hit the ground beneath him. His eyes pierced the distance and discovered that what he said was hardly touching what he was observing. She was not moving from where she sat. No effort was being made to relieve herself from the place she landed and head for some safer point to lick her wounds.

Was she more wounded than even she was aware of? Perhaps her head had been rattled harder than he first considered making her so unreasonable. It appeared to be so as he watched her. His long fingers curled over the top of the door and squeezed hard. Her hand moved in patterned movements and so did his brow. First inward then shooting up in question. Drawing. His nostrils flared. She was drawing. This was not a good sign. His jaw tightened as he stepped back and pushed the door closed.

“Nitha?”

Whatever she said didn’t register so much as that she was attempting to say something. He called out with a hard snap of his thumb pounding back against his chest. He questioned her in the language of his ancestors as his feet pressed down hard in the shells of worn leather over them. Each was leaving behind the crushed remnants of pebbles and debris behind him with a rising hiss. The wind kicked up around him as he made the long legged stride towards where she refused to move from.

“Néhiya wi?” He wanted to know if she was one of those that was able to pick up any dialect within seconds of hearing it. It would be to her benefit if she was. “Kiya métawéwin?”

If she was about to pull some tricks he wanted to know. His steps continued to carry him closer to her. Then the answer came in the most unexpected form. From nowhere he could place outside the wind flowing over his shoulders and face three walking dead materialized between him and the one who summoned them. He ignored the sounds and scent of the incoming long enough to look over to Jedediah. It wasn't like Kitchi had any issue taking down what was in front of him. He was more than ready. It was the hope while he was doing it that the one with a knife out and at the ready was prepared to handle anything else that happened to show up univited.

Translations:

*Me?

** Speak Cree?

*** You playing a game?