1920's Voodoo.(HaloHeroWolf118 & Leviathan)

[HaloHeroWolf118]

It was cold night in the city of New Orleans and many were inside on nights like this huddled in bed all except those that had dark business to handle. One such person was strolling home not seeming to notice the rain that stuck his raven black hair to his forehead under his fedora. He was broad shouldered and had a fresh cut on his face, his coat and shirt were damp from walking in the rain but luckily his home was just ahead. Cars were no where to be seen this time of evening and they young man counted the small favors as he reached the over hang of his building and entered squinting against the bright lights of the entry hall from the darkness outside. There was the night guard but he knew who the man was by his height which was 6'6" and cold glacier blue eyes that regarded him with a dismissive sneer.

The ride up to the apartment he shared with his sister allowed the man time to remove his damp trench coat and fedora, the elevator had mirrors for walls so he examined himself. His glacier blue eyes stared back at him and examined his chiseled face and short black hair that matched the black stubble that marked his face. His forearms and hands were wrapped in boxing tape his hands were stained with washed out blood stains from his earlier business before what had kept out in the rain occured. Eric sighed at his reflection regarding the bruises he knew his sister would comment on if she saw them, the cut over his right eye would fade it wasn't as bad as other injuries he'd suffered.

Walking from the elevator to his and his sisters home he was soon inside and turned on a dim light so he could see. The light cast shadows across all the strange decorations that adorned their home, skulls that held melted candles on them and Gator skulls that also acted as candle holders. Book shelves held the majority of the skulls and there were couches and chairs that surrounded the center of the room. There were tables that held crystal balls but only one drew his attention it was the small table with a bottle of Moonshine with small shot glass' surrounding it. Eric approached the table and picked up the bottle he ignored the shot glass' and took a long pull from the bottle. He was surprised his sister hadn't already appeared as she often did when he came in late. He unbuttoned his dress shirt and sat on the couch with the bottle and occasionally took another pull off it as he listened to the silence of the apartment. He noticed his sisters Taro Cards were left out and he smirked having placed little belief in the weird things the old woman had taught them. He reached out and stopped some superstitious part of him putting more effort in drawing the card the Ace of Cups was the card that night it seemed. He stared at the card in the dim light and took another drink of the strong moonshine.

 

[Leviathan]

RE: 1920's Voodoo.


        Black heels clicked against the uneven pavement at an impatient speed. The rain may have stopped a half hour ago but the drizzle and fog was still swirling through the city streets and intermingling with the ebony cloak of night. Charlie reached up to her coat collar and pulled it tighter against the pale column of her bared throat. The cold didn’t have the sharp bite of winter but the chilling humidity clung to her bones and reminded her that it had been unwise to leave the house with only a light blouse and flannel skirt. Had the circumstances of her leaving been different, perhaps she would not have rushed out so quickly.

        The fact that anyone had called her so close to nightfall demanding to see her privately was shocking enough. Even in her line of business, most people had the common decency to make an appointment. Smugglers they may be, but even the mafia had to afford some mannerly conduct or else everything fell apart. Emergency phone calls were for police involvement and shipment dilemmas only. Yet the caller in question, a Mr. Braden MacFarlane, fit into neither of those categories. He’d been frightened and clearly rattled to say the very least, but as soon as she realised that his mannerism had nothing to do with the cartel her own panic quickly devolved into mild annoyance.

        He’d been incorrigible, mumbling about witchcraft and demons. Surely, he’d said, surely a woman of her particular background would understand. Who else could he turn to? Though most of the cartel had heard rumours of her and her brother’s origins, none had been so direct about it before. MacFarlane had left the speak-easy as panicked as he’d arrived and with a healthy dose of whiskey in him. Charlie had been left behind, puzzled and eerily unnerved—something in her gut telling her the man’s terror had been genuine. The smuggler had also left behind something far more telling; a leather-bound book which, upon closer inspection, was written entirely in a runic alphabet intermingled with faded sketches.

         “Miss Charlotte, what a surprise! It’s rare to see you come in later than your brother.”

        Driven out of her reverie by the night guard’s greeting, the young woman’s cat-like green eyes titled upwards, raspberry lips offering an acknowledging smile. “Yes, it’s quite the turn of events...” she mumbled, more to herself than to the guard. “Tell me, is he alone this time or will I be trying to drag another flapper out of my apartment?”

        The guard offered a humouring grin. “No, miss—just the usual cuts and bruises.”

        “Merde.”

        Charlie was upstairs in no time, unlocking the door and slipping into the dimly-lit apartment with a prominent frown marking her sculpted features. Shrugging off her coat and placing the mysterious tome she had been carrying with her off to the side, her gaze focused rather pointedly on the roguish individual nursing a bottle of moonshine in the corner of the living room. Even with the low lighting she could spot the blackened marks across his face and barren chest; she must have arrived soon after him because he had yet to wash off the bloodstains from his arms and face. As if to support her assumption, his onyx hair was speckled with raindrops that matched her own dew-ridden black ringlets—contrary to most fashion-conscious women of the era, Charlie still wore her hair long, the tousled waves reaching a couple inches past her shoulders. In truth, it was easy to confuse the two of them as being blood-related with the matching black hair, clear eyes and outlandish aura. Though her brother was much more suited to the image of a danger-seeking gangster, every time Charlie entered a room people always had the impression that they were in the presence something foreign and not unlike the bayou’s own mysterious atmosphere.

        “Eric, I really hope you have a decent excuse for me this time,” she spoke in sharp tones, though it was hard to keep the honest concern from her voice.

        She was by his side in a couple steps, pulling the liquor bottle out of his hands and kneeling next to him in order to better examine his face. Seeing the black marks up close caused her bite her lip apprehensively. Her right hand moved to cup his chin and turn it towards her while the fingertips of her left feathered over the cut above his eye. Charlie had seen him in worse shape than this, but the sight of him injured was a sure-fire way to bring out the worst of her temper and anxieties. The unease made her Cajun accent all the more apparent and her vowels rounded into the Acadian-styled French resonance.

        “You idiot,” she muttered angrily. “You know you’re not invincible, right? What happened?”

 

[HaloHeroWolf118]

Eric had put the Ace of Cups back on the deck of cards just as his sister entered the apartment, her late arrival was a moot point as she turned to him that familiar concerned expression. He disliked that look but it was Charlie and he loved her, it had slowly turned from a brotherly affection toward something else that left him uncomfortable even if they shared no blood. Her delicate fingers lightly touching his chin turned him to look at her more directly before they were moving to his injuries he didn't even wince save for when she reached the cut, this moment of closeness gave him the chance to look at her clearly in the dim light of the room. Her hair was long and he often imagined how it'd look tousled from a night of passion but he pushed the thought down reminding himself that she didn't feel that way for him. The tone from earlier was replaced with an angry one but she had the right to be angry though he felt lucky she didn't have to chase one of his lady friends away this time.
His face didn't break from the stoic glower that he had been wearing since sitting on the couch. There was something off about her tonight he could feel it like the time he had sensed she was in trouble then raced off into the Bayou to find her. She was focused on him and the feeling passed but his cold blue eyes scanned her as she bit her lip. That little tell of hers made him smile though as it made him think back to less stressful times which brought a deep chuckle in his chest from the memories though it could have seemed it was from her questions. "You say that like I lost." he said his own cajun accent mirrored hers though in a deeper more masculine tone, he reached for his own coat and found the pocket where his wallet was stowed. "I was waiting for work to arrive and there was gambling." he said as he pulled out the leather item from his coat luckily well protected from the nights rain. The Leather bill fold was nearly impossible to close with twenties and hundreds stuffed in it, "Victor. Spoils." he said pointing to himself first then laying the heavy wallet on the table next to the deck of cards.

"Besides dear soeur I've had worse." he said as he unwrapped the boxing tape from his hands and forearms. "I didn't even come home with a girl because you'd be even more upset and then I'd be upset you chased her off like all the others." he continued still smiling at her. He stood up as he removed his shirt revealing the muscled body beneath along with the scars someone like him acquired growing up on the Bayou. There were a few bruises on his washboard stomach which covered up a gator bite from when he had saved her from Smiling Moony the meanest Albino gator to ever hatch a Monarch of the Bayou as their Nanan had said.

"I'm going to bed. Only stayed up to make sure you got in." he said ruffling her hair as he had in their youth, the action hid him grasping the bottle of liquor through his coat as he moved past her. Prize in hand he moved at a calm pace toward his bedroom door showing his muscular and scarred back to her. "Bonne nuit." he said over his shoulder.

 

[Leviathan]

        “Oh non, I don’t think so,” the reply came with a swift sense of finality.

        Charlie leaned back on her heels and pushed herself up from the floor, her left hand quickly running through the strands of newly-ruffled hair in a halfhearted effort to push them away from her eyes. Within a couple strides she was behind her brother and she reached out to stop him, her hand clutching at his wrist and holding it firmly. Pulling him backwards with a sharp tug she turned him around to face her, a very stubborn frown turning the corners of her mouth downward. She had to tilt her chin upwards in order to meet his gaze properly; indeed, most people did. Although she was actually tall for a female, standing at around 5’6’’, she always seemed petite in comparison to her sibling. Her cool green eyes flickered to the bottle in his hand before they focused on his face determinedly and a small line appeared between her brows—a certain sign that she was serious.

        “You can pull off that sort of cool exit with your friends and bed-mates but not with me. You need to start learning how to take better care of yourself, Eric. That,” her eyes flickered pointedly to the still-bleeding cut above his eye, “isn’t going to heal on its own, and I promise you, you’re not going to be able to snag any young dreamboats off the streets once it turns black from infection.”

        Ebony hair settled messily about her shoulders as she shook her head in palpable frustration and sighed heavily. Her brother had always been a risk-taker and his willingness to jump head-first into danger was both his greatest fault and his most valuable asset. God knew how many times that devil-be-damned bravery had saved her from perilous circumstances. She’d been foolhardy when she was younger and curious to a fault; so much so that it was impossible for her to go a month without ending up in some sort of menacing trouble. Charlie instinctively found her gaze travelling downwards to the long, silvery marks across Eric’s well-muscled abdomen. Although the scar was now overridden by dark bruises the raised flesh was an intimidating sight, and for Charlie especially, it served as a grim reminder of how her recklessness had harmed the single most important thing in her life.

        Somewhere along the way, their positions had changed. Nowadays it seemed like Charlie was the protective caretaker while her brother was off gallivanting in the night. She had assumed it a side-effect of their change in lifestyle—after all, the city had a way of bringing out the daredevil in most people, especially young teenagers like they had been when the streets of New Orleans first seduced them. It wasn’t as if Charlie had played it safe either; being at the head of a cartel was risky business to say the least. However, while she took on most of the enterprise-related transactions, he had gained a reputation as a rather infamous gangster and rake. Her brother had become almost... self-destructive in recent years and sometimes that frightened her. She often wondered whether the change wasn’t somehow her own fault since, despite their incontestable closeness, she sometimes felt that he was keeping something from her hidden. Trying to shake off the expression of pained guilt that had overtaken her features in the hopes that he hadn’t noticed, she brought her gaze back up to match his.

        “A winner you may be, mon frère victorieux, but self-healing you are not.” Charlie pulled him forward again a little less roughly, placing both her hands on each of his sculpted forearms and manoeuvring him so that his back faced the living room couch. “Now sit down and wait here while I get the surgical thread and salve. Don’t,” she emphasised while her arms crossed over her chest, “try to argue with me on this.” Her eyes narrowed in a scolding fashion that only served to accentuate their feline shape as her thick lashes overshadowed them before she summarily turned on her heel and disappeared into the bathroom.

 

[HaloHeroWolf118]

He knew that tone, knew it was fruitless to argue even as she directed him to a seat on the couch he showed no resistance. His plan on avoiding listening to her berate him on his reckless behavior had failed, he watched her walk into the bathroom focusing his eyes where he had struck men for opening staring too often. He was a grown man yet still knew better than to get on her bad side, few believed in magic but they knew better they'd seen the old woman use it before. She had been taught some of it which explained their decorations, he didn't need a repeat of the last time he had made her mad, so he took another drink out of the bottle and sighed. He tried not to think of her, he tried not to think of how he could make her happy, or how good it would feel to hold her and not some random stranger from the bar. He pushed the thoughts aside, he had booze, money, power, they practically owned the largest crime ring in New Orleans answering mainly to the boss who some suspected had killed Atlus their once main competitor.

After the mans death his second in command had come over to them, Eric didn't like him, he was cold, calculating and deadly. The man reminded him to much of a gator that just sat in the water watching and waiting, the two of them never came to blows unless you counted verbal sparring. They often worked with him tying up loose ends, or eliminating would be competitors. He was often looking and smiling at Charlie and talking to her how he wished he could, he was often left glaring at them when ever they spoke. He took another drink while trying not to think of him, instead he remembered where he had been that night.

Earlier that night...

Eric sat in the truck trying not to dwell on the stench of pig that drifted from the bed of farm vehicles, the head lights illuminated the Thomas and Fredrick along with one of the few remaining Atlas gang members. The man was currently trying to talk his way out of the situation after they had caught him trying to secure their shipment of liquor from their supplier. Eric didn't hate the guy in fact he liked him he had a Cheshire grin and a wild look in his watery green eyes, Eric could commend him on his loyalty to his late boss but the Herman brother weren't forgiving this time. They had nailed him to one of the board in the rail track ensuring he'd meet messy end along with the pig they needed rid of and were to lazy just to dig a hole.
"C'mon guys. This is a Joke right? I mean I get it the message now really. Hundred percent, loud and clear." the man said tugging at his ruined tie.

The Herman brothers just chortled to one another as they watched him, both men could pass for the other. Big men with round bellies and who looked like their clothes had a dislike of water, and from the smell so did the two men. They often were how they got rid of bodies they didn't need being found as pigs would eat anything. They talked with him till he said something clever that had both men arguing with each other so he could escape leaving his tie behind. Eric had laughed hard after that both impressed and growing a fondness for the slippery man. By the time they had made it back to the city the rain had begun to fall and they had let him out a few blocks from his home as repayment for not aiding them in catching their intended victim.

Present...

Eric came out of his thoughts just as Charlie returned and again he tried avoid looking at her too directly. "So what were you doing tonight?" he asked taking another drink, already he could feel a buzz in his mind as the drink took effect. He wasn't as worried as he had been about her giving him a talking to if he knew where she had been that night.

 

[Leviathan]

        A dark brow arched at the question, followed by a faintly humouring smile as she entered the room. Charlie was well aware of her brother’s subtle attempt to change the subject and curb her temper but she allowed for the decrease in tension nevertheless. Sighing and relaxing her shoulders, she released the scolding stiffness that had overtaken her features. In truth, it was a rather welcome change in topic; the mysterious book and MacFarlane’s bizarre behaviour had been rattling in her mind until the sight of Eric’s condition had momentary paused all other concerns. With her passion for foreign oddities and witchcraft-like eccentricities, the events of tonight would doubtlessly keep her up until dawn. She knew her brother didn’t quite share her faith in the supernatural but a second opinion would be welcome all the same.

        “Discussing the existence of demonic entities with a Fenian gentleman, surprisingly enough. Not nearly as exciting as fighting and gambling, I suppose,” she offered him a sharp side-glace at that, “but it was a novel evening nonetheless.”

        Charlie took a seat beside him on the sofa, hitching her skirt up and to the side so that she could face him. While fetching her medical supplies she had pulled her hair up into a messy bun, the wild waves kept at bay from her eyes by several bobby pins to allow her a clear view. In her hands she held a small woven basket overflowing with various bottles and dried herbs. Voodoo may have been considered supernatural hooey by most but anyone who was familiar with the practice also knew that the medicinal knowledge involved was certainly more than effective in cases of healing. It was an art that Charlie had learned very well—in part due to her and her brother’s more wilful habits.

        Soaking a large cotton ball in a round vial smelling strongly of peppermint, alcohol, and rosemary, she leaned forward so that her chest was parallel to his shoulder and placed her weight on her knees so that she sat just a little higher than him. Her left hand ran upwards through Eric’s hair, pushing the stray locks of ebony away from his forehead to allow a better view of the injury. Charlie kept her touch gentle and soothing, trying not to irritate the area further. Dabbing the cool substance along the split flesh, she didn’t bother to warn him about the slight sting that would follow—he knew the process of disinfecting wounds as well as she did. Her own concoction certainly burned less than the usual haphazard use of vodka that most brawling men were used to, and the willow bark within helped a fair bit with numbing as well.

        “Braden MacFarlane—one of our smugglers—called me near twilight asking for an emergency meeting at the Black Goat speakeasy. At first I thought something had gone wrong with one of our shipments but it turned out that he had wanted to speak to me especially. Apparently I’m known for my career in witchcraft as well as my business talents.”

        Charlie chuckled breathily at that, pulling away from her brother and searching through the small basket once more. She began swabbing a thin, curved suture needle and surgical thread with the same disinfectant before resuming her position at his side. She took his hand in hers, placing it where her left had been near his hairline to keep the locks from falling forward while she worked.

        “Désolé, cher.” She mumbled the small apology out of habit, beginning to work on reconnecting the damaged skin and closing the wound. She continued to speak for the sake of distracting him, her words slower now that she was focused on keeping her touch as delicate and precise as possible. “He was concerned about a coming of demons, to be specific. Or, at least what he believed were demons. Diabhail-Faolchú was the term he used; Irish for Devil-Hound or Demon-Wolf or something or other. He was utterly inconsolable, I couldn’t tell whether he was trying to warn me or ask for my assistance or if he was simply in need of someone to talk to in all his desperation. He kept switching between English and Irish, but there was another word he kept using... Banríon-Cailleach. A Witch-Queen, I believe? He referred to me as a cailleach a couple times, too. I’m not certain whether I should have taken offence to that. It was the oddest thing... He walked out before I could really make any sense of it all, and he also managed to leave behind an equally mysterious grimoire of sorts. I tried to read through it but it was all in runic—some sort of Celtic variation. Honestly, I haven’t been bombarded with so much of the arcane since Nanan passed.”

 

[HaloHeroWolf118]

Luckily the liquor helped with numbing the slight sting from disinfectant when she pressed to the gash over his eye, what it couldn't numb was the feeling of her pressed against him. He had looked over as she settled in and hitched her skirt up giving him a look at her smooth legs, then came the sensation of her breasts pressed against his shoulder. Lewd thoughts swirled in his less than sober state, he kept control but only by the barest of margins as her soft fingers ran through his hair. He tried not to think of how it would feel with her gripping his hair as he... He mentally berated himself for not keeping his thoughts brotherly. How could he when she was so beautiful and warm, her clothes may have been damp but he could feel her warmth through them. He sighed as she started to stitch the gash making his free hand twitch each time the needle wen in.

He listened to her story up to the point she mentioned the creatures and a different air settled over him, it was like hearing words vaguely remembered as if in a dream. He remembered bits and pieces before they moved from Ireland to America, he had been only five years old when the accident claimed his mother and father leaving him orphaned in New Orleans when their Nanan had adopted him and her three years later. "Where's the book now?" he asked her he often acted like he didn't take what Nanan did seriously but he did almost deadly serious.