While she laid the zombie soldiers, Atabei focused on healing her body just enough so that she could stand up. What to do when she managed to stand up, Atabei hadn’t come to the conclusion yet, but there were only two options. Flee to get away from the white man with the weapon and the male with him, or stay and defend herself. The second choice left much to be desired, because Atabei hadn’t started her ritual and offerings to the mighty lwa tonight. Which could result in an unfavorable outcome for her. The last time she bypassed her usual nightly routine, Atabei had been killed and stuck in a place for years, upon years. Until the lwa decided she could be freed, or had learned whatever lessons she had failed to learn while at the side of her sire.
Slowly, tissues, muscle and bone fused together while the male with the tan skin approached her skeletal minions, finding them not that challenging or distracting. As Atabei watched each one perish, she realized that a choice had to be made. She felt the need to flee, over the need to fight and defend. Fighting was not her style, or way of life, unless directed by the lwa. She had received no indication that fighting would be a course she should or would have to take, so it left fleeing. Yet, Atabei felt compelled to remain at the same time.
Not because she believed any of them could, or would be friends, but because the one with the skin some shades lighter than her own was tied to this earth. He was an aboriginal, which meant that he knew the way of this land and what had come of it in her absence. And some of the aboriginals possessed great powers, much like her own. Though, the white man with the knife was a problem for Atabei. The last white man she had an encounter with had taken her, and the majority of people in her village to a strange, new land. Where her people did things like cook, rear the children, work the fields, feed the animals, and other tasks the white man didn’t want to do. He had to go, but she was severely outmanned and out weaponed.
By the time the last of her boney minions had fallen, Atabei was healed and able to move again. She acted then, sprinting forward, both hands out as her Necromancer magic surged through her. Her fingers shirked out and brushed against both males, sending a temporary paralysis through both their bodies. Knowing that the white man wouldn’t be a problem anymore, her hand compressing around the aboriginal male, as the street metamorphosed into hardwood flooring, stained with a crimson. Tables lined the length of the room, all draped with different colors, with a variety of offerings. Anything from food, to money could be seen on any of the tables. One table, in particular stood out the most, only because the table (altar) was the biggest, with the most things on it. Those who knew her practice could associate it with some symbolism of importance; and they would be right. Her mait tete deserved no less than the best Atabei could offer him.
Her hold was released and Atabei stepped away. “Do yas spuk da tung of da white mayn?” She said as Atabei shuffled away from him, backwards, as to keep an eye on him. This was a sacred place and no one was typically allowed in, unless they were devoted servants of the lwa, or part of the sacrifice. So while she trusted him a little more than the white male, Atabei didn’t trust him that much. A watchful eye needed to be kept, because if any offense was made to the lwa, it was probably going to be her feeling the effects of the insult and not him.
The Deadman's Curve + Invite +
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Atabei Narcisse
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Re: The Deadman's Curve + Invite +
Mourinwa
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Kitchi
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Re: The Deadman's Curve + Invite +
With the effortless flow of an unexpected wind something unseen pulled him apart at the seams then put him back together again. There he was left behind while whatever had possession of him moved on. The power to move returned to his numerous muscles and joints and he did not let on that he was no longer incapacitated. The power used was not entirely lost on him. He had heard mention of it but did not possess it for his own use. His dusty long fingers wanted to move and form over his arm that wore the mark of altercation that remained from where he was prior but he permitted his eyes to drop instead. He had seen worse and it would certainly heal if only given the time he currently required to overcome it.
Dark storm centered eyes floated over the space surrounding him and took in what there was to absorb without moving a muscle outside the ones connected behind the whites centered in each skull socket. It was far from what he expected to happen. Then again he was counted on being where he was prior and only moving as far as his own feet carried him. The displacement was not his doing and evidently something within her rush of contact had taken power over his own. This really would be the quickest way to get under the skin of the Cree that was even farther from what he considered home than he ever planned on.
Outside the obvious his skin wore the unique scent of the one who drifted away from him as if she still had all the power in his own world in her fingertips. He tried to block its presence over him out but it would not fade. Everything took time and Kitchi was no different in that regard. While he came to grips that he was no longer on the dark road conflicted between the damage to his rolling tomato and a stranger he sent over the hood and the roof he took in the clues of what brought him to where he stood. The energy was dark. Different in some ways than that of which he recalled of his time around Acheron. A thorn was delivered in the form of a question he was quick to answer as opposed to others that were asked of him that he typically ignored.
“As little as possible.” He tasted the air about him as he spoke and the traces of shed blood no longer viable floated over his tongue. “What are you?”
The tone of his voice was not one of curious interest. It was deep, flat and left no doubt he expected an answer. Kitchi’s patience was ticking away with the mental second hand moving in his thoughts. His feet finally moved slowly one foot then the other. His movements gave no sign that he was out of his element even if he had been delivered there against his own will.
“Namito bazegw behanem.” Perhaps the versatile eastern Algonquian dialect would suit her more than his attempts with Woodland Cree. Despite his attempt the bitterness behind his tone formed quickly as he made his assumption known. Despite seeing a woman standing in his presence he knew there was far more to her than met the eye. He showed no concern or fear in what lined the walls surrounding him. “Demon. Witch.” His gaze held her, the depths of darkness challenging her as his steps continued.
Dark storm centered eyes floated over the space surrounding him and took in what there was to absorb without moving a muscle outside the ones connected behind the whites centered in each skull socket. It was far from what he expected to happen. Then again he was counted on being where he was prior and only moving as far as his own feet carried him. The displacement was not his doing and evidently something within her rush of contact had taken power over his own. This really would be the quickest way to get under the skin of the Cree that was even farther from what he considered home than he ever planned on.
Outside the obvious his skin wore the unique scent of the one who drifted away from him as if she still had all the power in his own world in her fingertips. He tried to block its presence over him out but it would not fade. Everything took time and Kitchi was no different in that regard. While he came to grips that he was no longer on the dark road conflicted between the damage to his rolling tomato and a stranger he sent over the hood and the roof he took in the clues of what brought him to where he stood. The energy was dark. Different in some ways than that of which he recalled of his time around Acheron. A thorn was delivered in the form of a question he was quick to answer as opposed to others that were asked of him that he typically ignored.
“As little as possible.” He tasted the air about him as he spoke and the traces of shed blood no longer viable floated over his tongue. “What are you?”
The tone of his voice was not one of curious interest. It was deep, flat and left no doubt he expected an answer. Kitchi’s patience was ticking away with the mental second hand moving in his thoughts. His feet finally moved slowly one foot then the other. His movements gave no sign that he was out of his element even if he had been delivered there against his own will.
“Namito bazegw behanem.” Perhaps the versatile eastern Algonquian dialect would suit her more than his attempts with Woodland Cree. Despite his attempt the bitterness behind his tone formed quickly as he made his assumption known. Despite seeing a woman standing in his presence he knew there was far more to her than met the eye. He showed no concern or fear in what lined the walls surrounding him. “Demon. Witch.” His gaze held her, the depths of darkness challenging her as his steps continued.
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Atabei Narcisse
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Re: The Deadman's Curve + Invite +
A low chuckle came from her lips before they parted. "Den dat is sum'tin we haf a lot in common wit." Atabei said, preferring silence or making her drawings over speaking the tongue of the white man. Another laugh rippled through her as she listened to the words he spoke in his own tongue-or some native tongue; picking up on the word 'woman.' That one she knew, it had been instilled in her brain from the earliest of nights when she had been turned into a vampire from her sire Hahnee. She also knew the word 'male' because he made sure to tell Atabei the difference when his hand pressed to his own chest when saying the word, instead of her's when letting her know what the word 'woman' meant in his tongue.
"Yus. Dat I am. No crime in dat." She could barely hide the amusement in her tone as Atabei moved away from him, not because Kitchi was moving forward and coming at her, but because she had a candle to light on an altar-one that had been put out at some point while Atabei had been gone during the night. When he referred to her as a demon and a witch, Atabei howled with laughter. "Maybe. I hurd dos names of'en when I cum to da Americus. Da white may'n says it." Atabei threw her hands up in mild disgust, before shaking her head. "I dun be t'ink'n sum'on like yous shuld b cast'n no stones." She pointed a finger in his direction before waving it a couple times. "I knows wut da tan may'n and woman is capable of. I seen it wit' ma own eyes." She drug a match across an empty space on the wall, before bringing it to the candle to light it. "Yous has your own magics, dunchya?' She asked, her tone similar to his before she inhaled some air into her lungs and then blew it out, the flame on the match going out as she did that.
"I braut yas here fo' a reas'n." Atabei confessed as she turned her back to the altar that was designated for a Petro lwa. "I am luk'n fo' sum'on. He is impo'tent to me. He goes by da name of Hahnee." She said, her eyes on Kitchi as Atabei moved away from the altar, careful of the drawing that had been drawn in front of it by her, earlier in the week. "He is like us. A vampiya. He was pa't of des lands when I came here frum da white may'n lands."
"Yus. Dat I am. No crime in dat." She could barely hide the amusement in her tone as Atabei moved away from him, not because Kitchi was moving forward and coming at her, but because she had a candle to light on an altar-one that had been put out at some point while Atabei had been gone during the night. When he referred to her as a demon and a witch, Atabei howled with laughter. "Maybe. I hurd dos names of'en when I cum to da Americus. Da white may'n says it." Atabei threw her hands up in mild disgust, before shaking her head. "I dun be t'ink'n sum'on like yous shuld b cast'n no stones." She pointed a finger in his direction before waving it a couple times. "I knows wut da tan may'n and woman is capable of. I seen it wit' ma own eyes." She drug a match across an empty space on the wall, before bringing it to the candle to light it. "Yous has your own magics, dunchya?' She asked, her tone similar to his before she inhaled some air into her lungs and then blew it out, the flame on the match going out as she did that.
"I braut yas here fo' a reas'n." Atabei confessed as she turned her back to the altar that was designated for a Petro lwa. "I am luk'n fo' sum'on. He is impo'tent to me. He goes by da name of Hahnee." She said, her eyes on Kitchi as Atabei moved away from the altar, careful of the drawing that had been drawn in front of it by her, earlier in the week. "He is like us. A vampiya. He was pa't of des lands when I came here frum da white may'n lands."
Mourinwa
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Kitchi
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Re: The Deadman's Curve + Invite +
Kitchi watched the dark eyed woman never allowing her hands to escape his view. As she spoke he decided that their similarities were limited. Still they shared a few common points. What she had seen and he had seen was at the core fueled by the same notion that all men were not created equal. It was nothing new and had been around since the dawn of time. Outside that they shared a common sentence to a life that required blood to sustain them and perhaps having to avoid any sunlight. Anything else was far too early to conclude. Rest assured Kitchi was not a man to use stones if he was going to cast anything.
“If I had some magic I would have already used it.”
Of course he did but he owed her no answers or revelations. He could be one with any of the places he thought of without any effort. And there was more than that just as there likely was to the very one who brought him there against his will. His words paused and his narrowing earth burnt eyes told the rest. The sound of her brief but ear rattling laughter made his skin tighten somehow in response. Another step had him closer but it didn’t shake that feeling that there was an added risk to each spot the sole of his boot set down. It was not pleasant by any means. The more he advanced the darker it became. All of it worked at him while she lit a candle and moved as if she had all the options at her disposal.
“Demons are not only on the white tongue.”
Kitchi heard enough growing up, seen his fair share of proof that tan, white and the rest of the world rainbow carried their own examples. He was still willing to bet on what he was witnessing was not too far off from that. His twin, Pitikwaha, was one. Even his own father was willing to admit it. It didn't end there. World history was not entirely lost on the woodland cree just because he was raised in the same area that his family had been for hundreds of years. Word got around and so did the value of education about the world they found rather disappointing as it expanded into so much of what the first nations people were not.
“You brought me here because you are looking for someone?”
The aged red that was crusted over the even older wood that they shared beneath them disappeared from view. Still it remained and had a subtle defeated sound all it’s own as his right boot covered part of the spill. A human ear would miss it but not the killer looming over it. Deep in the recesses of his mind the source fought before the blood was shed and it was nearly perfect as a kill could be. It could have took hold of him but there was a small curb to his cursed blood lust. It had to still be moist. Crust was implying significant time had passed. Enough that death had set in and the value it once offered was as dry as the air currently around him. It lost its hook for him at that point.
"Not my problem." With that he was closer to her than he needed to be to have her in hand yet he didn't make the attempt. "You check in any of the caves outside the city?" If Machk went by Hahnee or any other name he would never know. Chances were the wild haired vision in front of him did not have anything to do with his creator. There was no sense of Acheron in the place outside the scent of his own presence. Waste. It was growing in the time that he stood there and in the idea that any of it mattered. “You had no value to them once they took what they sought.” Now it was setting in. He was craving more than the walls around him could ever offer. "You matter not to the one you seek."
“If I had some magic I would have already used it.”
Of course he did but he owed her no answers or revelations. He could be one with any of the places he thought of without any effort. And there was more than that just as there likely was to the very one who brought him there against his will. His words paused and his narrowing earth burnt eyes told the rest. The sound of her brief but ear rattling laughter made his skin tighten somehow in response. Another step had him closer but it didn’t shake that feeling that there was an added risk to each spot the sole of his boot set down. It was not pleasant by any means. The more he advanced the darker it became. All of it worked at him while she lit a candle and moved as if she had all the options at her disposal.
“Demons are not only on the white tongue.”
Kitchi heard enough growing up, seen his fair share of proof that tan, white and the rest of the world rainbow carried their own examples. He was still willing to bet on what he was witnessing was not too far off from that. His twin, Pitikwaha, was one. Even his own father was willing to admit it. It didn't end there. World history was not entirely lost on the woodland cree just because he was raised in the same area that his family had been for hundreds of years. Word got around and so did the value of education about the world they found rather disappointing as it expanded into so much of what the first nations people were not.
“You brought me here because you are looking for someone?”
The aged red that was crusted over the even older wood that they shared beneath them disappeared from view. Still it remained and had a subtle defeated sound all it’s own as his right boot covered part of the spill. A human ear would miss it but not the killer looming over it. Deep in the recesses of his mind the source fought before the blood was shed and it was nearly perfect as a kill could be. It could have took hold of him but there was a small curb to his cursed blood lust. It had to still be moist. Crust was implying significant time had passed. Enough that death had set in and the value it once offered was as dry as the air currently around him. It lost its hook for him at that point.
"Not my problem." With that he was closer to her than he needed to be to have her in hand yet he didn't make the attempt. "You check in any of the caves outside the city?" If Machk went by Hahnee or any other name he would never know. Chances were the wild haired vision in front of him did not have anything to do with his creator. There was no sense of Acheron in the place outside the scent of his own presence. Waste. It was growing in the time that he stood there and in the idea that any of it mattered. “You had no value to them once they took what they sought.” Now it was setting in. He was craving more than the walls around him could ever offer. "You matter not to the one you seek."
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Atabei Narcisse
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Re: The Deadman's Curve + Invite +
Maybe he had magic, maybe he didn't. Atabei didn't expect the tan man to reveal everything about himself-not that she cared one way or another. She just nodded her head, her hair bouncing with the nod of her head. She didn't bother to look at him advancing, she could hear it with each step he took on the wooden floor. Each creak and each thud didn't go amiss; her eyes going to the drawing on the ground. It would be dangerous waters for Kitchi if he got too close to the designated veve for the lwa whose space this was designated to.
Atabei cracked a smile and chuckled when he spoke about Demons and nodded again. "Yous not wrong. But sum of us got mor' demons tied to us den da rest of us." She said in an amused tongue, knowing it to be true. To some people, Atabei was a demon, or a witch. To others, a great practitioner of her practice-someone to be revered. Neither one she cared about, one way or the other. Atabei didn't practice for others, she did it for herself.
Once again, her head bobbed as Atabei nodded at his question about looking for someone. "Dats wut I says." She said, talking really slow, because it seemed like Kitchi was either hard of hearing, or had a hard time processing the way she talked. Or processing at all. "Hahnee." Again, the name was said, slower than molasses being poured into some baking recipe. When Kitchi came too close to Atabei's work, she stepped in front of him, her dark eyes on his face as she claimed her territory and felt the hackles rise on the back of her neck. "Whach' yo'self." Atabei warned, her tone growing darker as the back of her heels hunkered down on the wood floor, just barely outside the intricate design of hand-made art work.
Her head shook this time, instead of bounced as she answered his question about the caves."No. I dun go out much." It was true-this had been the first time in a while since Atabei left some part of the underground-be it the graveyard of sewer areas. "Watch yo' tongue." A finger sliced through the air and came between them. "Yous dun know wut yous talk'n 'bout." Atabei had spent a significant amount of time with Hahnee and the others he sired over time-those older than her and a couple younger than her. "Dat is not ma' story." Atabei concluded before stepping around Kitchi, only enough to be eye to eye with him. While she had to look up at the significantly taller male, Atabei didn't seem all that short with the cold stare in her eyes that latched on to his. "Dat might be yo' story, but ain't mine. Whur is da white mayn yous was wit'?" She asked suddenly, noticing how they were still here-still alone and didn't see any indication that anyone seemed to care where he was.
Atabei made her point and didn't stay on it too long, before she raised both hands again and waved them down at the ground. "Yous dun know nut'n." She concluded, shaking her head. Where her sire was-where the others were and where her own white man was at was anyone's good guess. Answers she wasn't allowed to have yet, Atabei decided. When the time was right, she would know what was needed to be known, but now was not that time. "Da stairs is dat way-curves around and da door is to da left. Dun touch nut'n on yo way out." She warned before moving away to a wooden cabinet of mediocre quality at best, and pulling out some things in every day plastic containers, chipped coffee mugs, and broken tumblers, paying him no more mind.
Atabei cracked a smile and chuckled when he spoke about Demons and nodded again. "Yous not wrong. But sum of us got mor' demons tied to us den da rest of us." She said in an amused tongue, knowing it to be true. To some people, Atabei was a demon, or a witch. To others, a great practitioner of her practice-someone to be revered. Neither one she cared about, one way or the other. Atabei didn't practice for others, she did it for herself.
Once again, her head bobbed as Atabei nodded at his question about looking for someone. "Dats wut I says." She said, talking really slow, because it seemed like Kitchi was either hard of hearing, or had a hard time processing the way she talked. Or processing at all. "Hahnee." Again, the name was said, slower than molasses being poured into some baking recipe. When Kitchi came too close to Atabei's work, she stepped in front of him, her dark eyes on his face as she claimed her territory and felt the hackles rise on the back of her neck. "Whach' yo'self." Atabei warned, her tone growing darker as the back of her heels hunkered down on the wood floor, just barely outside the intricate design of hand-made art work.
Her head shook this time, instead of bounced as she answered his question about the caves."No. I dun go out much." It was true-this had been the first time in a while since Atabei left some part of the underground-be it the graveyard of sewer areas. "Watch yo' tongue." A finger sliced through the air and came between them. "Yous dun know wut yous talk'n 'bout." Atabei had spent a significant amount of time with Hahnee and the others he sired over time-those older than her and a couple younger than her. "Dat is not ma' story." Atabei concluded before stepping around Kitchi, only enough to be eye to eye with him. While she had to look up at the significantly taller male, Atabei didn't seem all that short with the cold stare in her eyes that latched on to his. "Dat might be yo' story, but ain't mine. Whur is da white mayn yous was wit'?" She asked suddenly, noticing how they were still here-still alone and didn't see any indication that anyone seemed to care where he was.
Atabei made her point and didn't stay on it too long, before she raised both hands again and waved them down at the ground. "Yous dun know nut'n." She concluded, shaking her head. Where her sire was-where the others were and where her own white man was at was anyone's good guess. Answers she wasn't allowed to have yet, Atabei decided. When the time was right, she would know what was needed to be known, but now was not that time. "Da stairs is dat way-curves around and da door is to da left. Dun touch nut'n on yo way out." She warned before moving away to a wooden cabinet of mediocre quality at best, and pulling out some things in every day plastic containers, chipped coffee mugs, and broken tumblers, paying him no more mind.
Mourinwa
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Kitchi
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Re: The Deadman's Curve + Invite +
Kitchi stood still. For a moment or two he stared at her. Long enough to decide that she was just as done with him as he was with her. Finally they reached an understanding. There was nothing to gain by hanging around where he was. There was at least a dozen or more things he could think of to do besides debate who was more in the wrong or the right with the woman who seemingly lost interest in their short lived debate. Just as his attention was pulling from her in search of the door her plentiful hair topping her head reminded him of the clouds of wool that he watched his mother and grandmother weave into blankets. Each turned out unique for the obvious reasons and had a story that could be read in each row that was tightly connected to the one above and below. He turned on his heels. He had no reason to remain. Especially in a place with a stranger that reminded him how far he was from his home and how deep he was in a darkness he clearly did not fully understand.
Following her directions had him on course and finding his way out from where she brought him without consent. Then again he also ran her over in his car with just as much approval. Jed perhaps could shed some light on just what was going on. There was someone named Hahnee that was in for a world of trouble if the woman found him. Conflict found him in that thought. Would he warn him if he happened upon the one who went by the name? Or would he give her the ease of finding him by revealing his whereabouts? It hardly concerned him enough to debate how he would handle it. He had been given the directions to leave and that was what he did. Without an ounce of reservation or regret. He was all too happy to start stepping. She was Hahnee’s worry now.
Once outside he thought of where he rather be. It was simple as that. Like the wind around him and the ground beneath his feet he was moving, sort of. A power he had come familiar with was as simple as blinking his eyes. The tall dark cree arrived without any huge effort beyond the power of thought and the minimal energy it required. Celerity delivered him back to where his car was the last time he saw it. Jedediah was nowhere in sight. Not that he expected him to wait around to find out what happened. His dark eyes narrowed to discover the flashing lights of warning that said his vehicle had company. A tow truck and a police car to boot. Just what he didn’t need to deal with. He went unnoticed as he retreated where he desired next. Transportation may just be one of those things he was going to have to forgo and stick with what was currently far more reliable in most circumstances. As for the woman who brought on all the inconvenience he was confident they were not crossing paths again. Not if he could help it.
Following her directions had him on course and finding his way out from where she brought him without consent. Then again he also ran her over in his car with just as much approval. Jed perhaps could shed some light on just what was going on. There was someone named Hahnee that was in for a world of trouble if the woman found him. Conflict found him in that thought. Would he warn him if he happened upon the one who went by the name? Or would he give her the ease of finding him by revealing his whereabouts? It hardly concerned him enough to debate how he would handle it. He had been given the directions to leave and that was what he did. Without an ounce of reservation or regret. He was all too happy to start stepping. She was Hahnee’s worry now.
Once outside he thought of where he rather be. It was simple as that. Like the wind around him and the ground beneath his feet he was moving, sort of. A power he had come familiar with was as simple as blinking his eyes. The tall dark cree arrived without any huge effort beyond the power of thought and the minimal energy it required. Celerity delivered him back to where his car was the last time he saw it. Jedediah was nowhere in sight. Not that he expected him to wait around to find out what happened. His dark eyes narrowed to discover the flashing lights of warning that said his vehicle had company. A tow truck and a police car to boot. Just what he didn’t need to deal with. He went unnoticed as he retreated where he desired next. Transportation may just be one of those things he was going to have to forgo and stick with what was currently far more reliable in most circumstances. As for the woman who brought on all the inconvenience he was confident they were not crossing paths again. Not if he could help it.