New Orleans is Sinking: Flashpoint

[x-gambit.livejournal.com]

Ororo and Sofia face off against the storm.



The wind was already punishing up on the levee that faced out to the Gulf of Mexico. On the horizon, and moving fast, was a dense and roiling wall of black clouds. In front of it, the waves were whipped into froth; high foamy breakers crashing around them and sucking greedily at the dam. Over the howl, they could hear the sound of the lashing rain on the water, an elemental growl growing closer. Hurricanes move fast, and this now Cat-5 beast whipped around at hundreds of miles an hour. Where it touched land, it destroyed it completely.

New Orleans lay directly in its path, with only two tiny figures standing before it.

There had been talking before - enough talking to lay out what plans there could be, enough talking to drive into their heads how impossible the task they were about to attempt was. Then there had been meditation, and prayer - to calm the mind and quiet the thoughts that threatened to send them away, far away from the madness they faced. Now there was nothing except silence broken by the wind and rain, silence which held in it words that might never be spoken now.

It had been a dangerous gambit, waiting this long to try and divert the storm, but they couldn't risk alerting those that controlled the storm to their presence until the others were well on their way into the city. Already the hurricane had dashed itself against the dozens of tiny islands that lay outside the city, and it was if this taste of destruction had only fueled its hunger. Ororo could feel the pull of it as freshwater droplets spattered against her face; her eyes had already clouded over to white as she turned and nodded at the woman beside her.

No matter the past, no matter her own feelings on the matter, or anything else, it was easy to make the winds part around them. Even the brushing of a stray lock of Ororo's hair behind her ear took no second thought, a quiet smile lifting the corner of Sofia's mouth as she hummed under her breath. "I should have hired someone to water my plants," she mentioned lowly, her voice carrying within her own mutation. "Would it be too morbid of us to play last requests? Were we able to remove ourselves from this spot."

The cessation of the winds made it that much easier for Ororo to gather her own concentration and extend it outward, feeling the wild and ragged edges of the storm as it neared them. 'Perhaps, but I think we are allowed a certain measure of gallows humor right now,' she replied as she tested the winds. She knew the magic would have unexpected consequences on whatever manipulations she might try and didn't want to overextend herself too early... there was no telling how long the storm might rage, or if the ritual could even be interrupted.

"I think I'd ask for one more sunrise," Sofia replied after a moment, still watching that errant strand with a sort of distant quality. "Is that too cliché? Maybe the ritual of putting on perfume in the morning. Or watering the garden."

"Yes, the garden," Ororo agreed in a murmur, shifting her stance until she was facing the storm squarely, arms extended towards it. "The feel of my hands in the dirt one last time." The hurricane was big, bigger than anything she had ever tried to manipulate before, and it was raging with the bokor-driven magic. The threefold plan - to try and hold off the wind and rains while simultaneously altering the pressure above and the warmth of the water below - required a great deal of attention, and she slipped into silence for so long that it was odd when she spoke again. "The chance to say a real goodbye."

"To say what went unsaid," Sofia agreed. She tossed her hair, a sharp, angry movement, that hid the small quiver of her mouth. "When we meet again. I'll have some geranium clippings for you." There was a pause, and Sofia gently rested her fingertips on Ororo's shoulder. "I've never been very good at farewells."

The opaque gaze that the weatherworker turned on her might have been eerie if there hadn't been the faint hint of a smile on her lips. "Then let us do our best to ensure this is not one. And whatever may happen, think of yourself." Ororo briefly moved to place her own hand over Sofia's, warm despite the howling winds and angry waters around them.

"Here she comes," Sofia answered, ignoring that it was not an answer at all.

Though she didn't need to, Ororo turned once more to face the storm, the funnel-shaped eyewall approaching at a rapid pace. Her concentration slipping away to encompass the whole of the storm, she gave a slight gasp to realize how large and completely wild it was. Refusing to be daunted now, she began her task, shoring up walls of wind to counteract the storm's approach, at the same time altering the rapidly-fluctuating banks of pressure and the heaving warm water below.

It was difficult work, and as Ororo threw herself into it, she found herself grateful for at least one thing. Though this may be the end, and I may not return, at least I am not alone.

Pete's team makes their way to try and stop the Assassins from breaching the levee system.



The Industrial Canal was often referred to as the great water artery of New Orleans. It cut straight to the heart of the city, before winnowing off into smaller canals. Crisscrossed with bridges, it strung together the richer and poorer sections of the city, linking the more affluent western wards with the poorer ones of the east. All along the banks of the canal were the tall levies that had become vital for the city's survival. New Orleans was a bowl, below sea level and relying on the large levee system that dated back forty years to keep the waters of the Gulf of Mexico and Lake Pontchartrain out. Now, as Josephine growled hungrily towards the city, the whipping waters were breaking against the tops of those levees, ominously stressing that even if they were successful, the levees might not hold.

There had been plenty of time on the plane to discuss what Belladonna's assassins would do to cause the most damage, and the worrisome conclusion that there were simply too many miles of levee that could be targeted to cause the damage to wipe the poorer sections away with flood waters. Blasting a hole or causing the collapse of the system aware along the canal line would cause massive damage. Several breaches would submerge the city. Too many, and the entire system would collapse, spilling Portchartrain into the city until it met the Gulf.

Their plan was one of pragmatic hope; one target they had to mine would be the lock at the base of the Industrial Canal. If rendered inoperable, access by water to the inner parts of the city would be impossible, limiting any possible relief efforts severely. If they could stop that, and get their hands on someone with knowledge of the other locations, they might have a shot at limiting Belladonna's damage. About the only thing in their favour was that if Remy was right, Belladonna wouldn't risk a chance of the city being destroyed entirely. She'd focus on a few breaches placed to do her work most efficiently. It didn't comfort anyone.

Pete flicked his cigarette away, and pulled his trenchcoat tighter about him, shoving his hands in the pockets to hold it down against the wind. "All right, boys and girls, you know what needs doing. The only good thing is that in this weather, sound ain't going to carry very far, and the visibility is fucked out in the open, so worry more about getting this done fast than quiet until you hit the tunnels. The more of them we can take out before they know we're here, the better. You all know who you're with, and it turns out that I now count as two people, something I shall remind you all of at election time, so I'll see you all when we get this done. Give me two minutes to get into place, then get moving yourselves. And for Christ's sake, try not to let anything round here blow up, because I don't swim very fucking well." He flashed them all a quick grin, before turning and walking off into the storm.

"No explosions, check," Wanda murmured, tapping Mark on the shoulder. "Okay, the sooner we get this done, the faster we can get home, dry our socks and check on Marie-Ange." She worked around the slight feeling of dread that was starting to creep through her. Tunnels meant enclosed spaces that one couldn't get out of easily. Wanda detested things of that nature but there was no help for it now. "Onward and downward."

Doug seemed oblivious to the elements, his hair whipping around in the wind as he triple-checked his gear. He said little, watching the rest of the group, especially Sarah, since they were paired together for the mission. He took a deep breath, held it, then let it out. He couldn't afford to let Marie-Ange's condition distract him. Fretting about her wouldn't change whether or not she recovered from her injury, and ran a high risk of getting him injured or killed himself. He took another deep breath, tamping his fear and worry down into a small mental box that he visualized locking away, putting it out of his mind until the mission was done.

There was very little Sarah liked about this current situation. On the plus side, when they made it past this first set of assassins, there was a little more familiar territory to deal with. Tunnels were tunnels. Of course, that was if they didn't get blown off the face of the fucking planet first. She nodded back at Doug. "Let's get the hell on with this."

Doug responded with a wry nod and a flip of his hand, as if to say 'ladies first'. He grinned in response to the expected disdainful snort from Sarah, and the pair disappeared into the rain.

"Pete's always such a cheerful ray of sunshine," Mark commented to Wanda. "A great motivational speaker, too. It's that grin. He has good teeth for a Brit." He smirked and followed her down the path, his oversized headphones around his neck as usual, and his iPod firmly in his grasp.

"Careful, iPod Lad," she responded fondly, "too much sarcasm will rot your teeth, or so I have heard. Consider yourself lucky that Snow Valley has such a fantastic dental plan."

Remy and Amanda finally meet with Tante.



"Dat's far enough." Tante's voice was harsh; uncommon. Surrounded in the tattered Ninth Ward park, with black faces all around, Remy and Amanda were certainly the interlopers. LeBeau made a face, and shouldered through the men in front who doubtless thought they were hard.

"Not a lot of times for games, Tante."

"Dat be LeBeau gowan on. Dat de cabron dat don listen. I said dat's far 'nough for you." Tante Mattie drew herself up, dressed up in full regalia. There was a majesty there, caught in the loose folds of the various multicoloured robes and strange dresses. Amanda had never seen her in anything but simple clothing before, but now she was as colourful as a peacock. "Send de English petite forward, dat's a good homme."

"I've got a name, Tante, as well you full know," Amanda said mildly, but stepping forward all the same. "The shite's going down - we worked some of it out. Someone's using magic to ramp up this storm something fierce."

"You think dat Tante not figured dat out, 'manda. Dere's an evil wind blowing on to New Orleans, and dis is where it centred." Tante Mattie took a breath, and raised her arms, sweeping to encompass the mass around her. "Dey betrayed de Arrangement! Dey brought in dere men wit' guns, to stop us from escaping de face of de storm. Dey want us to die for dere ambitions. I say dat dis is not de shape of things! Dis is not our future!"

Tante's words rippled through the crowd. The people around them were scared, and obviously so. The howl of the wind was a precursor of the violence to come. They were worried about their homes, their families and their lives. Only decades of trusting Tante kept them there. Remy pushed closer to her.

"Dis isn't de way, Tante. We need to neutralize Belladonna and her ritual. Dis people are going to get caught in de middle."

"De middle is were de power comes from." Tante patted his cheek, before turning and raising her voice. "'manda, tell me about de people here, childe? Why dey important?"

"They're not." There was a brief ripple of noise, of discontent, disagreement, before Amanda spoke again. "And that's why they are. No-one cares about them except Tante, and us. And that's exactly why they should be involved. 'Cause they've been written off as expendable." Amanda flashed a feral looking grin. "And that's exactly what's going to bite the bastards in the arse."

"She can be taught." Tante said. "Dey power is dat dey have none, and de still alive. Dey still people, and all people need is someone dat tells dem dat dey matter." She turned to Remy. "And ja; assassin. Murderer. Beast. Monster. What 'bout jah, Remy LeBeau? What jah to lose tonight?"

"Remy not in de mood for games, Tante."

"Dat's good, since Tante have none for jah. What jah risk, Remy?"

"She's trying to stop de damn storm!" Remy said, suddenly violent.

"She does." Tante smiled widely. "Once, years ago, Tante held jah life in my hands, and wondered why de life of someone dat is less den a insect in de world deserved to live. Why did he matter? But jah trust something, and now we come full circle. 'manda, childe, Tante see Candra's scars hiding dere. Let's see dem in de light."

"Wait, what?" Amanda started, suddenly losing that assurance she'd had a moment ago, that feeling of finally understanding things. She'd never used New Orleans' power, but it was one of her cities, all the same. Tante's command... it broke that, reminded her of just what had happened to her, not so very far away. But under Tante's remorseless stare, she realised it was more than understanding. It was doing.

Gulping a little, she slipped the jacket off her shoulders, the new leather creaking a little, and handed the garment to Janelle, standing silently by. Then, with fingers that trembled a little, she peeled off the t-shirt she was wearing underneath, leaving only her bra. Black arcane symbols rippled across the skin of her back as she held out the shirt for Janelle to take.

"Typical of her. So focused. So limited." Tante reached out, and clasped Amanda on the shoulder. "De future rarely makes sense, childe. Until it slowly happens for us. Jah wonder why de images happen, and den, you forced to make a decision. You connected wit' dat one, and de poor girl in New York. All one person; one purpose, and Tante make you so."

Under her hand, Amanda's scars started to glow. "Remy, jah been a plague on de world. You know dat better den anyone. So what was jah life worth anything? Because now, dis is what thousands of people need. Jah need to be de best monster, de greatest killer, and de worst person jah can be for dis night. And 'manda help ja be it." Magic flared under her fingers.

"Wait, no..." Amanda started forward, trying to jerk herself away from Tante's touch, but as the houdon released her power, Amanda's body stiffened and jerked as if a live current had been put through it. Her head flung back, her fingers splayed as she stood transfixed under Tante's hold. Only her eyes, rolling slightly to meet Remy's, told of her anguish, the dilemma. The thing about sacrifice is it's clean...

"Tante call on de loa!" Her voice boomed like a cannon, reverberating across the area. "I call on de spirits of de dead; de deep parts of de world! I bring de gifts of rum, of smoke and of a life! I call jah down to walk in de steps of blood, of de man of murder and his body!"

Remy had been stock still, and with each word, his body seemed oddly buffeted; disjointed and reacting. He opened his mouth, and his scream was full throated and laced with razors. Amanda tried to struggle, even against the energy sleeting through her, but Tante's grip was iron.

The world spoke of death; a hanging reek of the grave. Tobacco smoke raised up, pungent and green in the season. Only the undulating cry of a throat pushed raw by pain and passion and command hanging in the air. Finally, the cry died out, and Remy LeBeau's body pitched forward into the mud and the rain. Flares of energy still spiking around the strange symbols, Tante's released Amanda. "Jah know what Candra and Selene only guessed at, childe."

The girl's head was hanging down, strands of blonde hair escaped from the sensible ponytail hanging across her face, plastered to her skin by the rain sleeting down. With every flare of energy, her body twitched and jerked spasmodically. Then she abruptly fell onto her knees in the mud before Remy, and her hand stretched out to lay on his head. "Rise," she croaked out, and her voice was her own, the accent of a far country. "Rise and dance, Baron. Your people call on you, through me."

Energy crackled, sparked and leapt in the humid air. Remy's head came up slowly, and he pulled himself up slowly. He touched his head, and the ghostly trace of a top hat sketched around his hand. His grin was wide and white, too wide for Remy's face. He reached out and pulled out Remy's staff, that seemed to be more of a cane then a staff.

"De Saturday Lord! Jah people call jah! Awake! Drink jah rum, and breathe in de smoke! Jah people call!"

He stood, in the body of LeBeau and his features something different. He tipped his hat to Tante, and looked for a moment at Amanda before leaning the staff on his shoulder.

"It be time t' start de dance. Jah gowen t' dance. It be de place for jah all!" He spread his hands, and the thousands behind roared. With skipping step, he jumped out ahead, and the people surged around to follow him. He danced and spun, and they cheered, moving in a flood that left Tante and Amanda behind.

There was a long pause in the silence that followed, Amanda's head still bowed as her shoulders heaved with her gasped breaths. Then, without looking up, she spoke. "Lot of magic involved in this," she said, voice low and harsh with effort. "I felt every bit of it. What happens to Remy when it's done?"

"He dances wit' de Baron now. He's de spirit of Death and rebirth and pleasure. He part of de loa now." Tante sighed and took her hand off Amanda. "He de only thing dat might fight his way through. But dere's a cost."

Tante went quiet for a moment, and pointed where Remy danced, tipping a hat that didn't exist and smiling too wide. "De loa takes one of dem self, and eats dem up. No one person ever survives de ride of Baron. Ever. Dat's what Remy here for."

"To die." It wasn't a question.

"Dat's right." Tante smiled at her. "Jah made his death, childe."