[Mourinwa] Bloodstream Taproot

[Abel Riese (DELETED 8904)]

[ mein ]

Nature’s best light show had reined in dusk. Abel cast a weary glance out the fogged window and scowled at the prospect of going out. Taught not to dwell on matters he had no choice in, the thirty-year-old turned his attention back to the sharpened blade in his hand, lucky to have had over a decade and a half of practice to memorise the curves of his distinctive face.

“Son?” A croaky voice sounded from the hallway upstairs, forcing Abel to pause his descent and glance back over his shoulder. The darkness that he found there held no secrets, though he was too far down to see over the landing.

“Just me, Dad. Go back to bed,” he called out, setting a hand on the wooden railing. The vampire stared blindly at the wooden steps that had creaked beneath his weight just moments ago. “I’m going to Cherrydale,” he added after a beat of silence, privy to his father’s confusion simply by the tightening grasp of the old man’s fingers on the bedroom door.

“Go back to sleep.”

Ageing parents were not unlike children in many regards. Abel stood on the steps, listening in the dark for some sign of resistance. When he heard the door creak shut, he turned on his heel and paused just a beat—long enough to hear the lock upstairs click—before scampering down the remaining steps. There was no point in trying to be stealthy when his father was already awake. Still, once downstairs, the vampire carefully picked up the keys from the bowl on the entrance table, and made for the door.

“Cursed child,” she hissed, her tone unforgiving. Abel paused just in time to watch a wispy reflection of himself contort in the mirror. Whatever it was—his shadow, his spirit—he felt its unnatural movement was an apt reaction to her reappearance. “Commanding your father in such a way. Disrespecting your elders,” she continued, her words soon bleeding into yiddish as the insults followed. It was far easier to ignore when she did that, and he was thankful for the creaking house and jangling wind chimes outside for drowning her out further.

He crossed the gritty driveway towards the SUV. His gear was already packed, stored in the trunk beneath a false bottom built in so many years ago. Abel glanced around as he pulled the driver’s side door open. In the distance, the lightning continued, though the bursts of wind in the vicinity drowned out the distant rumble of thunder.

Tying his hair back, the necromancer folded his large frame into the equally large car. Casting a glance out the windshield as the engine revved to life, he hoped the imminent deluge would hold off an hour or two. Taking an unneeded breath, he set course towards the cemetery, hoping the downpour would be his only obstacle in completing tonight’s job.

[Atabei Narcisse]

Eyes shot open when it was time, and it was only time when the sun was sleeping in the sky. Dark irises looked up at the cold concrete above her head, while her left hand reached for the coarse, dry reed that was bound together with some long, dark hair, by some string Atabei had found in the junk yard by accident. The fingers on her left hand clung to the man-made doll, before her right hand brushed against the concrete. Her palm flattened against the flat, cool surface before Atabei pushed up with all her strength and then moved the bulk of the weight of the concrete down. Just enough to make a small gap and allow the petite, chocolate skin toned colored woman to worm her way out.

After a few blinks, her eyes adjusted to the darkness, before Atabei moved to where a small altar had been made in a corner of the room. Her free fingers searched for the pack of matches, found them and then after two strikes of the match, it was set ablaze. The flame was moved to a candle in the middle of the table, the light revealing the many offerings she had set out for the lwa Atabei was praying to. Her eyes looked down at the doll, while Atabei's neck stifly stretched to the right, curiously studying the pins in them and the hair she had stole from Ajamu one night. The name was not his birth name, but the one that suited him, in Atabei's mind.

Ajamu intrigued the woman from Hispaniola and that was saying a lot for someone who wasn't of her bloodline. Ajamu, lived in an uncomplicated pattern. His life wasn't cluttered with the modern things people craved. Televisions. Computers. Internet. Minus the hideous red item on wheels. The possession that had struck Atabei a few months ago and almost killed her. But somewhere, out there, some Lwa intervened and kept her from finding the dark place again.

But, for as much as Ajamu kept Atabei wondering about him and his own spirits, there were things that scared her about him. He spoke things she didn't know anything about. Things like marshmallows. His spirit was primarily uncomplicated and basic, but with the gap in time and language, Atabei often found herself confused and at a lack of words, due to her misunderstanding. Mix in his wandering hands...it was a recipe for disaster. The vampires that came from another land spoke of ancient and powerful creatures that came from their kind. Was it true? Atabei didn't know.

What did he want from her? Of her? If Ajamu wanted, or hoped for things he hadn't felt for so long, he would be disappointed. Love, and the passion that came with the emotion, was not a concept afforded to people like Atabei, or a concept she was destined for. That didn't mean Atabei had never set an offering for the great Erzulie Freda when asked of. But the lwa was fickle, jealous and lazy. Not someone Atabei wanted to deal with if she could avoid it. Nothing good came from jealousy, Atabei believed.

Her past was too dark, and no one could or should love someone as dark as she. Atabei had done some terrible things, things people still talked about, centuries later. It was how Calen and Valentine came to know about her and search her out in Harper Rock. She had done some good things too, but no one talked about those good things. It wasn't as interesting of a story, as the woman who had been ripped from her homeland, sold into slavery, allegedly using her devil powers to make the first family that owned her sick, receiving a dozen or more lashings that turned the earth red at her feet that night, then allegedly killing the eldest son of the second family with her 'dark magic,' practices. No one wanted to talk about the one time her practices saved a fever ridden slave boy, or the countless times she made offerings to Papa Guede to see the countless number of slaves into the afterlife, safely. Those stories weren't as morbid and striking.

Which was why she stole his hair and wrapped it with the old, brittle stalks of reed. It was a tool, but one that brought her comfort. She 'liked' Ajamu and she knew he liked her, but he could not, should not feel more than like for her. Whatever pins were in the doll were placed with careful decision. Not a single one was in the middle of the doll, but there was one residing near the doll's left knee currently. The other two had been removed the night before-one in an arm, the other in the head area. Atabei had not seen Ajamu in a couple of nights to know the affects the tool had on the tan skinned male.

Atabei's eyes looked over to the altar, as her hand tightened around the tiny doll, before her neck rolled backwards while her eyes rolled to the back of Atabei's head. She whispered a few words, released the pressure on the doll and then tossed it back in her concrete bed. The lid was slid back in place, before the woman grabbed for the teal colored, light cotton cover, and placed it over her head. Her fingers crept through her hair, brushing off the dirt from the tightly sprung coils that rested on Atabei's head, before she headed for the exit and went to investigate the grounds of the cemetery, looking to see how her offerings to the Baron Cimitière have pleased him.

The outfit

[Abel Riese (DELETED 8904)]

Singing was an effective way of quieting the invasive voice at the forefront of his mind. Gravelly and out of tune, Abel bellowed out the words without a twinge of hesitation. Glancing both ways as he slowed to a stop, he made no move to roll through the red light despite the absence of incoming traffic. He knew better than to set himself up for that fine. Police presence had increased in these parts of town, and he wouldn’t be surprised a cruiser materialise from the dark side streets should he take his chances. The last thing he needed was to call attention to himself.

Nodding his head to the music, he fought the urge to tap the foot firmly planted on the break pedal. As the chorus came around, he lifted his hands off the steering wheel and threw his arms out into the air for the drum solo. The light turned green shortly after, forcing one of his hands back to the steering wheel as he eased into the intersection. His other rested on the gear lever, fingers tapping against the worn leather head.

It was only when Abel pulled into the cemetery that he noticed the violent gusts of wind outside. The storm was getting visibly nearer, and he could only hope that the worst of it would hold off a while longer. He coasted the along the paved road until he found his stop, all the while keeping an eye on the convulsing branches overhead. There was no doubt in his mind that one of these trees would fall, and he only hoped that it wouldn’t be one he’d parked nearest to. His apprehension didn’t lessen when he opened the door, the wind so strong he had to put actual effort into pushing (and keeping) the door open. The hood of his windbreaker flipped up, smacking the back of his ears.

As he walked to the trunk, he cast a weary glare at his surroundings. The air was charged, the thrum of it tangible in his bones; it was an unpleasant feeling he couldn’t shake off. Winter-bare branches clattered overhead as he retrieved the canvas duffle bag from the trunk’s false bottom. He reached for the rifle and swung it over his opposite shoulder, never keen on the idea of using it, but sufficiently acquainted with zombies to know better than be a conscientious objector. In his free hand he balanced both shovel and spade, switching one to his opposite hand once he’d locked the car and stuffed the keys into his pocket.

It wasn’t the first time Abel came out at this hour to honour a contract, but having not been present during the service, he had no idea where the burial plot was exactly. Matt’s scribbled handwriting didn’t help matters either. It was a good thing his older brother was a talented mortician, because he lacked in the calligraphic department.

After rounding the two potential plots, the necromancer settled on the second. It was only when he glanced at the tombstones that he realised Matt’s illegible handwriting was of no consequence; the plots were labelled either way.

Gifted with the ability to regenerate blood, Abel was no longer required to carry blood packs for consumption, and thus unceremoniously dropped the duffle bag to the ground. Clients could spend up to a week buried and oftentimes needed a pick me up when they resurfaced. There was a time when carrying packs was imperative, the risk of being fed on too high. The clause in the contract not to feed on the employees remained, but now a vampire, Abel didn’t run the risk of being fed on.


Propping the shovel against the tombstone, the vampire walked around the area to decide the best way of digging six feet of dirt in this shoddy weather. Whatever angle he settled on, it was clear that the wind and rain would make this job a hundred times harder than it usually was. Plunging the spade into the dirt, he paused long enough to address the plot of dirt.

“Hello! I don’t know if you can hear me down there, but don’t panic. It’ll take about an hour to get you out.”

[Atabei Narcisse]

While the cold and winter elements didn't bother Atabei like they would a human, when her right foot was cut by a jar of ice snow, the woman groaned out in discomfort. Drops of blood pelted down to the sleek snow as the woman took a seat in the ground and lifted her foot up to glance at. It was in this action that Atabei realized she would need to dress differently; or at least her feet would need to be dressed. She could no longer walk barefoot as she could in the summer and fall months. The woman's dark pupils focused on the split skin at the underside of her foot, noting the years on her soles from walking barefoot. Even as a slave, the woman never had any shoes, not that there was much need. In the south, while it got cold, there was hardly ever any snow or ice. Eventually, her soles hardened, but there were still some places where her soles weren't as hardened and calloused over as at the heels and the point where toes met the foot. Somehow, tonight, Atabei just hit the right spot, just right.

Her teeth found the sleeve of the teal colored cover, as did both her hands after Atabei dropped her foot to rest, and the woman began to tear at the material with her teeth and hands. She would do this with both sleeves of the cover, and wrap each foot up in the cover, acting as a shoe of sorts; in the basic primitive sense. At least, Atabei should be able to walk more easily and not encounter any more tearing of her soles, at this rate. At least, the Hispanolian woman hoped so. The woman stood and carried on with her surveillance of the cemetery grounds, noting no new or excessive damage. At least not in the form of human or vampire.

The broken branches from trees that she came across while walking were pulled off graves and headstones, and tossed to the walking paths. Winter had provided a lot of snow downfall, which hadn't been kind to the trees on the ground. Broken branches lay dispersed throughout the grounds, broken by the weight of the snow and the wind that accompanied the chilly, winter weather. With the subsection nearest to Atabei's resting place, cleared free from debris, Atabei moved on to the other parts of the grounds, repeating the same pattern and procedure. Everything appeared to be the same as every other night. Quiet, and lifeless.

That was until the woman heard a voice in the distance. Her head turned to the direction of where it came from, and then slowly scuffled her way in the direction. Was the wind playing tricks on her ears, or had someone said something about getting someone out? Curious, and concerned, Atabei progressed onwards, until she came upon a peculiar scene. Unable to curb her tongue at the potential destruction of the grounds where the dead were laid to rest, Atabei narrowed her eyes at the vampire. "Wat iz it that yous be doin' ta dat grave der?" Atabei hissed at the male, crouching on all fours beside a headstone, then pointing to where he was digging.

[Abel Riese (DELETED 8904)]

Abel tried his darnedest to power through the task at hand. With the wind in his ears and his hair whisking about his face, there was little to none of his attention focused on the surroundings. His windbreaker fluttered behind him, annoyingly catching on his elbows on every downswing. The earth was tough to pierce through in spite of how few days had passed since the client’s funeral. Desiccated from days of negative temperatures and hardened by snow, the soil presented the vampire with more strife than he felt was due given the circumstances under which he was operating tonight.

Too young in his second coming, his senses were not sufficiently conditioned to catch a possible response or complaint from the vampire six feet below. Six feet! He’d only managed to clear a steep five inches at the centre of the grave when he caught sight of a crouched figure in his peripheral vision.

Abel let out a gravelly scream, visibly surprised. He stumbled backwards in his attempt to face the direction he’d seen something in. A longer look in the headstone’s general direction, unveiled the creepy shadow to be a woman. His hands tightened around the spade’s wooden shaft, but he resisted lifting it over his shoulder and turning it into a makeshift weapon.

The longer he looked at her —wide-eyed and weary— the more evident it became that she was not real, in the sense that these things often were not a reflection of this world but of the other he now partially inhabited. Theoretically, his attempt to walk the fadewalker path strengthened his bond with the undead, but he’d hoped that in becoming what he now was he’d have become better able to control these… visitations.

“The person down there isn’t dead. Well, they’re dead, but not dead dead. Kind of like you, except they exist—” he glanced down at the soil beneath his feet and furrowed his brow, “At least that’s—yeah, no, they’re there. And I’m here to get them out because that is what I came here to do, and I’m—I’m sorry, who are you?”

More importantly, why was she appearing to him? And, how could he get her to stay in the cemetery and not burrow herself into the corners of his mind and follow him out. But most importantly, why did she have to show up now when he had a job to finish?

[Atabei Narcisse]

Atabei didn't relinquish her awkward hunched stance as she waited and listened to the male in front of her, making a mess of the graveyard. When it was all said and done, there was some confusion furrowed in her brows, before there was a light of understanding that reflected in her dark orbs. "Hows long haz it been down der?" She assumed, incorrectly that for whatever reason that the person Abel was digging out of the earth was one of his, which brought a stiff flicker of amusement to the curves of her lips.

"I dun knows who tell'n ya about our kind, but yous dun have ta be bury'n them." Atabei said, wondering now just how young the vampire was. Or how misinformed he was. "Thur be some crypts all around dat coulda been used. Easier den doing dis." Atabei shrugged her shoulders as she came around and crawled her way over to the dirt piles, listening to the ground for signs of 'life.' "I gots many of names." Atabei concluded, not offering one of those names just yet. "How much further yous got?" She asked, looking down through the hole created by the male. "Make sures yous not disrupting the oda grave around it none. Papa be watch'un des parts." She gave him a warning, along with the matching tone, eyes flicking back up to the male. "My name is Atabei. What iz it dat yous be called?" Her eyes moved to his hair, then shoulders and finally back to his face, as Atabei scooted around the disrupted grave and the one disrupting it.