BROOD Part 3
Jan. 27th, 2005 10:57 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsBROOD
“LeBeau. Say I was glad to see you.” Arlen D’Armade lit a cigarette, blew the smoke out in a thick plume. “But dat not true.”
“I’m getting all nostalgic here, Arlen.” Remy LeBeau answered, taking a long drag of his own cigarette. It was dark and grimy in the alleyway, the typically garbage stuffed back around serving the clubs and restaurants that fronted the street. “See de families still know how to put on a spread.”
“I know dat you like to make jokes, Gambit, but dis is de wrong fucking time for it. Nique ta mare, dis is so fucked up.” Arlen scrubbed his hands through his long hair. “We dis close to de first major family war in a hundred and twenty-five years.”
“Pull back. Take a breath and let Tante Mattie work things out, like before.”
“Dat’s not going to happen dis time. De heads of all five guilds are pissed. Angry. Scared. Nervous.”
“Thought dey were supposed to be professional.”
“Get complicated. Come on inside.” D’Armade pulled open the door and walked in, LeBeau in tow. The hallway was tiled and dirty; the back entrance to a large buffet. Five men in black suits and sunglasses stood in the hallway, hands going into their coats as they saw Remy. D’Armade shook his head, and they relaxed. One that LeBeau recognized from years ago nodded to him, and he gave him a crooked smile back.
“M. Blanc.” Remy said in greeting as he passed. “See dat you brought in some talent for tonight.”
“As I said, de guilds don’t trust each other at all dis days.” Arlen turned down the hall and up a set of stairs. They lead to the second floor, and a nicely paneled door. It opened into a larger room, dominated by a large table. Four people looked up as they entered, and LeBeau recognized each of them.
It had been about six years since he was here last. The players at the table had just been young up and comers last time he’d talked to the guilds. Now, they were midlevel representatives; smart enough to talk for the guild, and young enough to still be both deniable and expendable.
Arlen D’Armade’s family owned control of the theft and smuggling in New Orleans. The best safe-crackers and contraband runners worked contacts up and across the length of the United States. Arlen was about the closest that LeBeau had to an ally here; Gambit had been a top-flight assassin, but his skills in security penetration were almost as good.
Daniel Boudreaux represented the Assassins, a family that controlled the hired killers, thugs, and muscle in the city. They were the most dangerous of the guilds, but also the least influential outside of the city. Their assassins were confined to the States, and had taken a dim view of LeBeau last time.
Ciel Baptiste and her family where the oldest and most respectable of the guilds. They had moved from farms to trade unions, slavery to politics. Her family owned most of the bent politicians in the city and the state, and focused their power on the ‘cleaner’ crimes; embezzlement, fraud, and protection. They always served as the defecto chair of the Guild Council.
Lucian Marceaux’s guild focused on vice, and even in a jaded city like New Orleans, they excelled. Drugs, prostitution and gambling all fell under their rule, growing increasingly more powerful as the years went on. The Marceaux had the closest ties to the Carrib communities, as Lucian’s coffee-coloured skin contrasted with his paler Gallic associates.
Zoe Ishihara was the only person representing a guild who was not of the same blood. A brilliant and devious computer expert, she’d been taken in by the Gravious family after her parents were killed. The Gravious had originally been conmen, forgers and counterfeiters. They had been only barely able to maintain Guild status until the computer age shot them up to the heights of power.
“Guess de gang’s all here. I miss roll-call?”
“Fuck this piece of merde.” Daniel spat. He shot quick looks around the room. “Can we call off this farce? I’ve got better things to do.”
“Calm down, Daniel.” Ciel said smoothly. “Despite what happened at the Guild Council, no one wants a blood bath of a guild war. While I remain unconvinced to Mattie Deveroux’s insistence that this is anything other than a power play being orchestrated by another Guild, completely disregarding her opinion is not something that we can do lightly. Since we know that Gambit is non-affiliated, we owe it to Tante to allow him a chance to review the situation.”
“Dat situation being D’Armade’s bankrolling of dat new gang batards?” Marceaux said smoothly, causing Arlen to flush.
“Lucian, please.” Ciel said with the long suffering tone of someone who has heard an argument a dozen times.
“Everyone’s been very quiet about what exactly is going on.” Remy accepted a coffee from the server and took a sip. “Anyone want to fill Remy in, or we just going t’ bark at each other for de next hour.”
“I’m ready to stop just barking, LeBeau.” Daniel growled, but was ignored.
“There have been a number of incidents between various Guild members.” Zoe clicked open her laptop. “Members of the Boudreaux, Marceaux, and even my own Garvois have been confirmed in attacks against other Guild assets. There are more that are unconfirmed, but likely real.”
“Another player maybe, recruiting heavily?”
“We’re hoping. However, at this point, especially with the people involved, the upper members of the guild believe it to be a series of escalations, with one or more of the guild working in unison, and trying to pass of the responses as additional confusion.”
“Which will be answered by the guilds. The D’Armade are already looking into Boudreaux and Baptiste involvement.” Arlen said.
“If the Baptiste were involved, you’d already be dead, Arlen. We do not fool around like the rest of your posturing thugs.”
“You sound like a bunch of fucking nègre. Always threatening t’ kill each other, wit’ dere dicks hanging out.” Daniel sneered. Lucian just smiled coldly back at him. “Let’s get rid of dis fuck and go home. I got a former Marceaux dat figured out dat she like a real cock up her.”
“Enough.” Zoe slammed her hand on the table. “This gets us nowhere. There is one thing that none of the guilds can account for, and that’s the pictures.”
“Pictures?” Gambit said.
“The only reason we’ve been given leeway to talk to you. One of the Baptiste family ended up in the morgue three nights ago, looking strange. We tracked her actions, and found she’d diverted close to million into hooded off-shore accounts. She was also the daughter of one of the chairs, and pregnant. Not the kind of person who would betray our family.” Ciel said, a touch of pain hidden behind the cool words. “Here are the photos from the morgue.
Remy picked up the photos, and looked puzzled at the black and white shots. The woman was lying on the slab, eyes wide open. The eyes were almost pure red, a notation listing severe subretinal bleeding. As well, the skin around her face and neck was cracked and dry; looking like it was severely chapped. The clipped pages of the autopsy could suggest no reason for the two effects, suggesting in vague terms an allergic reaction. The cause of death had been a knife wound to the side. While it was a deep wound, it wasn’t immediately life threatening. According to the report, it was as if the woman simply hadn’t noticed it, and bleed out over several hours.
It noted she was six months pregnant.
Remy turned over the photos a few times. “Dis is not de normal sight, hommes. You got ideas?”
“None.” Zoe said quietly.
“Right. Merde.” Remy sighed and drained the coffee. “What are the family’s terms?”
“Ten days. Mattie’s earned dat much.” Lucian said. “Ten days and den de Guilds move to protect our interests.”
“Fine.” Remy got up, smirked. “Glad to see things haven’t changed.”
“Drop by the house, LeBeau. I show you what’s changed. We haven’t forgot about my brother or sister.” Daniel said, and Remy flicked his fingers at him.
“’nother time, Daniel. Look forward to it.” Gambit turned and was gone.
“You trust him?” Ciel voiced the unspoken question.
“Non, but he Tante’s creature. He’ll tell the truth to her. If dat bogwitch tells us is something else.”
"So," Amanda said, apparently out of the blue. "She sends us t' a cemetery t' collect gravedirt an' that funky moss. At midnight. Cliched, much?" The Brit snorted, looking around what was very much a cemetery - it was one of the older ones in New Orleans, small and crowded with unkempt crypts and crumbling vaults, the bare-limbed trees festooned with Spanish moss that trailed like cobwebs in the fitful moonlight. "So much for draggin' magic out of the Dark Ages."
Marie-Ange didn't answer for a moment, untangling some entirely-too-friendly moss from her hair. When she did, it was with a small snort of annoyance. "I think she is just getting free labour out of us. Move this, unmould that. If I had wanted to run errands and have wet socks, I would have stayed at the school and taken Miles fishing."
"At least she didn't send us for zombie spare parts. Scary bitch or not, I'm not grave robbin' for anyone. Still, gets us out of the swamp an' close t' the city..." Amanda looked longingly at the glow of city lights visible through the trees. "I bet there's some great clubs here," she said a little wistfully.
"The bitch part is correct, at least." Tante Mattie scared the daylights out of Marie-Ange, not that she was going to let Tante know. She followed Amanda's line of sight and sighed wearily. "And real food that is not half things I cannot identify and half too spicy to eat…"
"Shoppin'," Amanda added, knowing Marie-Ange's weaknesses. "Dry shoes... nice dry shoes, even. An' music - lots of loud, lovely music." Shaking her head, she levered herself up onto one of the smaller crypts, half-sunk into the damp ground, and crossed her legs underneath her Indian-style. "Bah, now I'm just torturin' us both. Why'd we sign up for this again?"
Marie-Ange clambered up onto the crypt's near-twin and sat, knees drawn up to her chest. "Because Remy thinks that the crazy voundoun woman can help and we were insane enough to believe him?" She tilted her head to look off into the trees for a moment, and then shook her attention back to Amanda. "When we get home, if that woman ever -lets- us leave, I think we should see if Nathan will throw Remy into the lake."
"Is it? Helpin, I mean? I've been gettin' the usual guff about respectin' the magic an' all the rest, but is she doin' you any good?" Amanda chewed thoughtfully on a thumbnail. "As for Remy... he's shit-scared of her, did you notice? An' he's known her before he ever came t' the school, which means he met her as Gambit. The scary psycho-killer is scared of someone - what's that Buffy quote? 'When bad things are scared, run away'?"
"I am not sure yet.." Marie-Ange answered, shrugging. "I cannot tell if I am sleeping because I am exhausted, or because the silly mental exercises are helping. Did you get the lecture about not letting the power consume you, and controlling it instead of it controlling you?" She paused for a moment, and rolled her eyes. "I think I have heard that one far, far too many times." The mention of Remy, and Remy's former alter-ego sent a shudder up Marie-Ange's back. "I am trying very hard not to think about that. If I think about it, it is real and then I have to acknowledge other things about Remy, and ... " Another shudder. "I am not thinking about that."
"If yer've heard it too many times, then I definitely have. An' I get the bonus feature of bein' told magic isn't about usin' the power, it's about not usin' it and makin' people think you are. Or somethin' like that - I'm still havin' trouble makin' out half of what she's sayin'." Amanda blew hair out of her eyes. "Sorry. Still workin' on that whole denial thing." She didn't mention that the thought of Gambit being frightened of anything deeply disturbed her - she'd seen that part of Remy once, and once had been bad enough. So if Tante was worse than him...? "She's taught be some stuff, tho', the voodoo magic. 'S some seriously fucked-up shite right there. Powerful, tho'. Sort of scary in itself." She grinned mischievously. "Wonder if I can raise the dead yet? I know there's a few I'd like t' try that with."
"Can we .. maybe not make zombies?" Marie-Ange asked. "It is just, icky rotting things, I think would violate the pet policy at school... " She smiled thinly. "Mostly, I am getting history lessons, and long talks about 'The Sight,' and how powerful and strange and maddening it is. A lot of talk, and lectures and being yelled at." she shrugged. "I am getting the impression that Tante does -not- approve of my sharing my visions with others. I know for certain that she does not approve of Nathan. Not at all."
"C'mon, imagine it - Joey Ramone as my very own pet zombie. You'd hardly be able to tell the difference, at least smell-wise..." She grinned at Marie-Ange, not at all serious. "And I'm gettin' the impression Tante don't approve of anyone sharin' anything mystic-wise with the great unwashed. 'S all 'bout the great mystery an' forces unknown an' makin' people respect the power by not handin' it out like boiled sweets... Still, it is helpin', 'least a bit. She's given me some ideas on how t' beat this fuckin' habit of mine, at least."
"I am -very- certain that the Professor would object to a zombie lurching about the hallway moaning about pet cemeteries..." Marie-Ange couldn't help but giggle a little at the idea. She could very easily picture the look on the Professor's face. or on Nathan's, or Mr. Summers'. "That is all well and good for magic, but ... " She shrugged. "When my visions can help, I am not keeping them back just because of ... some silly belief that the power needs to be feared…" Marie-Ange sighed a little. "She reminds me of some of the nuns, who believed that God should be feared, rather than respected, or that the two were inseparable."
"Fine, no zombies," Amanda said with a slight pout, digging in her jacket for her cigarettes. "An' 's not like I can just stop doin' it myself - power keeps comin' in, an' I need some way of lettin' it out again, or me head will explode or somethin'. An' if I can help along the way, well 's all well an' good." Lighting up, she carefully blew the smoke away from Marie-Ange's direction and gave her a curious look. "See, that always confused me, the God being scary part. One of me foster families was religious, an' they kept tellin' me God was love, but if He's all 'bout the love, why should you be afraid of Him?" She chuckled a little at a sudden thought. "Tho' I can't see Tante Mattie in one of those nun outfits."
That particular mental image sent Marie-Ange off in a fit of giggles. Amanda might not be able to, but she could, and it was far too funny. "I can, and ... it begs to be sketched, but not until we go home." Definitely not until they got home. Annoyed or not with the old woman, Marie-Ange didn't relish the idea of being cursed, turned into anything damp and slimy, or given any more stupid gather-this-icky-thing errands.
Amanda snorted, and as she happened to be taking a puff on her cigarette at the time, ended up in a coughing fit. "See, yer gunna have t' do that now," she managed at last. "But definitely not 'til we get home." Her expression turned a little wistful. "Think they miss us?"
"I hope so..." Marie-Ange sighed. "Not having my phone and laptop... I did not think I ever would understand why Doug twitches when he cannot have his. I should probably tell him when we get home that I understand now.." She hoped that Remy was checking in, because really, if he wasn't, half the mansion was going to be worried.
"Well, at least you don't have t' worry about Doug flirtin' with half the mansion while yer gone..." Amanda muttered, more to herself than anything. She took another long drag on her cigarette, casting a contemplative eye around the cemetery. Then something struck her. "Angie..." she said. "I just realised somethin'. Tante sent us for grave dirt, yeah? Do you see actual, you know, graves?"
Marie-Ange frowned, and her eyes went wide. "No.... no, all the tombs are above ground." She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Which means either we are being tricked, or she wanted us to have time to talk, or she is listening. Either way, going back is going to be not at all fun."
"Too much t' hope for that this is like one of those tricks they play on apprentices? You know, like left-handed screwdrivers an' cans of elbow grease?" Amanda suggested not-very-hopefully. Tante had a sense of humour, only it was unfathomably Cajun. The same as her accent. Finishing her cigarette and stubbing it out on the crypt she was sitting on, she gave Marie-Ange a resigned look. "Once more into the breach an' all that
rot?"
"Perhaps she wants us to find an open tomb and get -that- dirt..." Marie-Ange said with a grimace of disgust. "I suppose it cannot -hurt- to try to get it. I hope." She sighed. "What is that that Shakespeare quote? The one that Doug does in the Spike voice?"
"We few, we happy few," Amanda began with a grin, waiting for Marie-Ange to finish.
"Oh. Yes. We band of -buggered-." Marie-Ange occasionally worried that Doug was a bad, bad influence on her. Mostly because she was starting to do that quote-everything thing that he did. But it was funny, and right now, she needed a laugh.
“LeBeau. Say I was glad to see you.” Arlen D’Armade lit a cigarette, blew the smoke out in a thick plume. “But dat not true.”
“I’m getting all nostalgic here, Arlen.” Remy LeBeau answered, taking a long drag of his own cigarette. It was dark and grimy in the alleyway, the typically garbage stuffed back around serving the clubs and restaurants that fronted the street. “See de families still know how to put on a spread.”
“I know dat you like to make jokes, Gambit, but dis is de wrong fucking time for it. Nique ta mare, dis is so fucked up.” Arlen scrubbed his hands through his long hair. “We dis close to de first major family war in a hundred and twenty-five years.”
“Pull back. Take a breath and let Tante Mattie work things out, like before.”
“Dat’s not going to happen dis time. De heads of all five guilds are pissed. Angry. Scared. Nervous.”
“Thought dey were supposed to be professional.”
“Get complicated. Come on inside.” D’Armade pulled open the door and walked in, LeBeau in tow. The hallway was tiled and dirty; the back entrance to a large buffet. Five men in black suits and sunglasses stood in the hallway, hands going into their coats as they saw Remy. D’Armade shook his head, and they relaxed. One that LeBeau recognized from years ago nodded to him, and he gave him a crooked smile back.
“M. Blanc.” Remy said in greeting as he passed. “See dat you brought in some talent for tonight.”
“As I said, de guilds don’t trust each other at all dis days.” Arlen turned down the hall and up a set of stairs. They lead to the second floor, and a nicely paneled door. It opened into a larger room, dominated by a large table. Four people looked up as they entered, and LeBeau recognized each of them.
It had been about six years since he was here last. The players at the table had just been young up and comers last time he’d talked to the guilds. Now, they were midlevel representatives; smart enough to talk for the guild, and young enough to still be both deniable and expendable.
Arlen D’Armade’s family owned control of the theft and smuggling in New Orleans. The best safe-crackers and contraband runners worked contacts up and across the length of the United States. Arlen was about the closest that LeBeau had to an ally here; Gambit had been a top-flight assassin, but his skills in security penetration were almost as good.
Daniel Boudreaux represented the Assassins, a family that controlled the hired killers, thugs, and muscle in the city. They were the most dangerous of the guilds, but also the least influential outside of the city. Their assassins were confined to the States, and had taken a dim view of LeBeau last time.
Ciel Baptiste and her family where the oldest and most respectable of the guilds. They had moved from farms to trade unions, slavery to politics. Her family owned most of the bent politicians in the city and the state, and focused their power on the ‘cleaner’ crimes; embezzlement, fraud, and protection. They always served as the defecto chair of the Guild Council.
Lucian Marceaux’s guild focused on vice, and even in a jaded city like New Orleans, they excelled. Drugs, prostitution and gambling all fell under their rule, growing increasingly more powerful as the years went on. The Marceaux had the closest ties to the Carrib communities, as Lucian’s coffee-coloured skin contrasted with his paler Gallic associates.
Zoe Ishihara was the only person representing a guild who was not of the same blood. A brilliant and devious computer expert, she’d been taken in by the Gravious family after her parents were killed. The Gravious had originally been conmen, forgers and counterfeiters. They had been only barely able to maintain Guild status until the computer age shot them up to the heights of power.
“Guess de gang’s all here. I miss roll-call?”
“Fuck this piece of merde.” Daniel spat. He shot quick looks around the room. “Can we call off this farce? I’ve got better things to do.”
“Calm down, Daniel.” Ciel said smoothly. “Despite what happened at the Guild Council, no one wants a blood bath of a guild war. While I remain unconvinced to Mattie Deveroux’s insistence that this is anything other than a power play being orchestrated by another Guild, completely disregarding her opinion is not something that we can do lightly. Since we know that Gambit is non-affiliated, we owe it to Tante to allow him a chance to review the situation.”
“Dat situation being D’Armade’s bankrolling of dat new gang batards?” Marceaux said smoothly, causing Arlen to flush.
“Lucian, please.” Ciel said with the long suffering tone of someone who has heard an argument a dozen times.
“Everyone’s been very quiet about what exactly is going on.” Remy accepted a coffee from the server and took a sip. “Anyone want to fill Remy in, or we just going t’ bark at each other for de next hour.”
“I’m ready to stop just barking, LeBeau.” Daniel growled, but was ignored.
“There have been a number of incidents between various Guild members.” Zoe clicked open her laptop. “Members of the Boudreaux, Marceaux, and even my own Garvois have been confirmed in attacks against other Guild assets. There are more that are unconfirmed, but likely real.”
“Another player maybe, recruiting heavily?”
“We’re hoping. However, at this point, especially with the people involved, the upper members of the guild believe it to be a series of escalations, with one or more of the guild working in unison, and trying to pass of the responses as additional confusion.”
“Which will be answered by the guilds. The D’Armade are already looking into Boudreaux and Baptiste involvement.” Arlen said.
“If the Baptiste were involved, you’d already be dead, Arlen. We do not fool around like the rest of your posturing thugs.”
“You sound like a bunch of fucking nègre. Always threatening t’ kill each other, wit’ dere dicks hanging out.” Daniel sneered. Lucian just smiled coldly back at him. “Let’s get rid of dis fuck and go home. I got a former Marceaux dat figured out dat she like a real cock up her.”
“Enough.” Zoe slammed her hand on the table. “This gets us nowhere. There is one thing that none of the guilds can account for, and that’s the pictures.”
“Pictures?” Gambit said.
“The only reason we’ve been given leeway to talk to you. One of the Baptiste family ended up in the morgue three nights ago, looking strange. We tracked her actions, and found she’d diverted close to million into hooded off-shore accounts. She was also the daughter of one of the chairs, and pregnant. Not the kind of person who would betray our family.” Ciel said, a touch of pain hidden behind the cool words. “Here are the photos from the morgue.
Remy picked up the photos, and looked puzzled at the black and white shots. The woman was lying on the slab, eyes wide open. The eyes were almost pure red, a notation listing severe subretinal bleeding. As well, the skin around her face and neck was cracked and dry; looking like it was severely chapped. The clipped pages of the autopsy could suggest no reason for the two effects, suggesting in vague terms an allergic reaction. The cause of death had been a knife wound to the side. While it was a deep wound, it wasn’t immediately life threatening. According to the report, it was as if the woman simply hadn’t noticed it, and bleed out over several hours.
It noted she was six months pregnant.
Remy turned over the photos a few times. “Dis is not de normal sight, hommes. You got ideas?”
“None.” Zoe said quietly.
“Right. Merde.” Remy sighed and drained the coffee. “What are the family’s terms?”
“Ten days. Mattie’s earned dat much.” Lucian said. “Ten days and den de Guilds move to protect our interests.”
“Fine.” Remy got up, smirked. “Glad to see things haven’t changed.”
“Drop by the house, LeBeau. I show you what’s changed. We haven’t forgot about my brother or sister.” Daniel said, and Remy flicked his fingers at him.
“’nother time, Daniel. Look forward to it.” Gambit turned and was gone.
“You trust him?” Ciel voiced the unspoken question.
“Non, but he Tante’s creature. He’ll tell the truth to her. If dat bogwitch tells us is something else.”
"So," Amanda said, apparently out of the blue. "She sends us t' a cemetery t' collect gravedirt an' that funky moss. At midnight. Cliched, much?" The Brit snorted, looking around what was very much a cemetery - it was one of the older ones in New Orleans, small and crowded with unkempt crypts and crumbling vaults, the bare-limbed trees festooned with Spanish moss that trailed like cobwebs in the fitful moonlight. "So much for draggin' magic out of the Dark Ages."
Marie-Ange didn't answer for a moment, untangling some entirely-too-friendly moss from her hair. When she did, it was with a small snort of annoyance. "I think she is just getting free labour out of us. Move this, unmould that. If I had wanted to run errands and have wet socks, I would have stayed at the school and taken Miles fishing."
"At least she didn't send us for zombie spare parts. Scary bitch or not, I'm not grave robbin' for anyone. Still, gets us out of the swamp an' close t' the city..." Amanda looked longingly at the glow of city lights visible through the trees. "I bet there's some great clubs here," she said a little wistfully.
"The bitch part is correct, at least." Tante Mattie scared the daylights out of Marie-Ange, not that she was going to let Tante know. She followed Amanda's line of sight and sighed wearily. "And real food that is not half things I cannot identify and half too spicy to eat…"
"Shoppin'," Amanda added, knowing Marie-Ange's weaknesses. "Dry shoes... nice dry shoes, even. An' music - lots of loud, lovely music." Shaking her head, she levered herself up onto one of the smaller crypts, half-sunk into the damp ground, and crossed her legs underneath her Indian-style. "Bah, now I'm just torturin' us both. Why'd we sign up for this again?"
Marie-Ange clambered up onto the crypt's near-twin and sat, knees drawn up to her chest. "Because Remy thinks that the crazy voundoun woman can help and we were insane enough to believe him?" She tilted her head to look off into the trees for a moment, and then shook her attention back to Amanda. "When we get home, if that woman ever -lets- us leave, I think we should see if Nathan will throw Remy into the lake."
"Is it? Helpin, I mean? I've been gettin' the usual guff about respectin' the magic an' all the rest, but is she doin' you any good?" Amanda chewed thoughtfully on a thumbnail. "As for Remy... he's shit-scared of her, did you notice? An' he's known her before he ever came t' the school, which means he met her as Gambit. The scary psycho-killer is scared of someone - what's that Buffy quote? 'When bad things are scared, run away'?"
"I am not sure yet.." Marie-Ange answered, shrugging. "I cannot tell if I am sleeping because I am exhausted, or because the silly mental exercises are helping. Did you get the lecture about not letting the power consume you, and controlling it instead of it controlling you?" She paused for a moment, and rolled her eyes. "I think I have heard that one far, far too many times." The mention of Remy, and Remy's former alter-ego sent a shudder up Marie-Ange's back. "I am trying very hard not to think about that. If I think about it, it is real and then I have to acknowledge other things about Remy, and ... " Another shudder. "I am not thinking about that."
"If yer've heard it too many times, then I definitely have. An' I get the bonus feature of bein' told magic isn't about usin' the power, it's about not usin' it and makin' people think you are. Or somethin' like that - I'm still havin' trouble makin' out half of what she's sayin'." Amanda blew hair out of her eyes. "Sorry. Still workin' on that whole denial thing." She didn't mention that the thought of Gambit being frightened of anything deeply disturbed her - she'd seen that part of Remy once, and once had been bad enough. So if Tante was worse than him...? "She's taught be some stuff, tho', the voodoo magic. 'S some seriously fucked-up shite right there. Powerful, tho'. Sort of scary in itself." She grinned mischievously. "Wonder if I can raise the dead yet? I know there's a few I'd like t' try that with."
"Can we .. maybe not make zombies?" Marie-Ange asked. "It is just, icky rotting things, I think would violate the pet policy at school... " She smiled thinly. "Mostly, I am getting history lessons, and long talks about 'The Sight,' and how powerful and strange and maddening it is. A lot of talk, and lectures and being yelled at." she shrugged. "I am getting the impression that Tante does -not- approve of my sharing my visions with others. I know for certain that she does not approve of Nathan. Not at all."
"C'mon, imagine it - Joey Ramone as my very own pet zombie. You'd hardly be able to tell the difference, at least smell-wise..." She grinned at Marie-Ange, not at all serious. "And I'm gettin' the impression Tante don't approve of anyone sharin' anything mystic-wise with the great unwashed. 'S all 'bout the great mystery an' forces unknown an' makin' people respect the power by not handin' it out like boiled sweets... Still, it is helpin', 'least a bit. She's given me some ideas on how t' beat this fuckin' habit of mine, at least."
"I am -very- certain that the Professor would object to a zombie lurching about the hallway moaning about pet cemeteries..." Marie-Ange couldn't help but giggle a little at the idea. She could very easily picture the look on the Professor's face. or on Nathan's, or Mr. Summers'. "That is all well and good for magic, but ... " She shrugged. "When my visions can help, I am not keeping them back just because of ... some silly belief that the power needs to be feared…" Marie-Ange sighed a little. "She reminds me of some of the nuns, who believed that God should be feared, rather than respected, or that the two were inseparable."
"Fine, no zombies," Amanda said with a slight pout, digging in her jacket for her cigarettes. "An' 's not like I can just stop doin' it myself - power keeps comin' in, an' I need some way of lettin' it out again, or me head will explode or somethin'. An' if I can help along the way, well 's all well an' good." Lighting up, she carefully blew the smoke away from Marie-Ange's direction and gave her a curious look. "See, that always confused me, the God being scary part. One of me foster families was religious, an' they kept tellin' me God was love, but if He's all 'bout the love, why should you be afraid of Him?" She chuckled a little at a sudden thought. "Tho' I can't see Tante Mattie in one of those nun outfits."
That particular mental image sent Marie-Ange off in a fit of giggles. Amanda might not be able to, but she could, and it was far too funny. "I can, and ... it begs to be sketched, but not until we go home." Definitely not until they got home. Annoyed or not with the old woman, Marie-Ange didn't relish the idea of being cursed, turned into anything damp and slimy, or given any more stupid gather-this-icky-thing errands.
Amanda snorted, and as she happened to be taking a puff on her cigarette at the time, ended up in a coughing fit. "See, yer gunna have t' do that now," she managed at last. "But definitely not 'til we get home." Her expression turned a little wistful. "Think they miss us?"
"I hope so..." Marie-Ange sighed. "Not having my phone and laptop... I did not think I ever would understand why Doug twitches when he cannot have his. I should probably tell him when we get home that I understand now.." She hoped that Remy was checking in, because really, if he wasn't, half the mansion was going to be worried.
"Well, at least you don't have t' worry about Doug flirtin' with half the mansion while yer gone..." Amanda muttered, more to herself than anything. She took another long drag on her cigarette, casting a contemplative eye around the cemetery. Then something struck her. "Angie..." she said. "I just realised somethin'. Tante sent us for grave dirt, yeah? Do you see actual, you know, graves?"
Marie-Ange frowned, and her eyes went wide. "No.... no, all the tombs are above ground." She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Which means either we are being tricked, or she wanted us to have time to talk, or she is listening. Either way, going back is going to be not at all fun."
"Too much t' hope for that this is like one of those tricks they play on apprentices? You know, like left-handed screwdrivers an' cans of elbow grease?" Amanda suggested not-very-hopefully. Tante had a sense of humour, only it was unfathomably Cajun. The same as her accent. Finishing her cigarette and stubbing it out on the crypt she was sitting on, she gave Marie-Ange a resigned look. "Once more into the breach an' all that
rot?"
"Perhaps she wants us to find an open tomb and get -that- dirt..." Marie-Ange said with a grimace of disgust. "I suppose it cannot -hurt- to try to get it. I hope." She sighed. "What is that that Shakespeare quote? The one that Doug does in the Spike voice?"
"We few, we happy few," Amanda began with a grin, waiting for Marie-Ange to finish.
"Oh. Yes. We band of -buggered-." Marie-Ange occasionally worried that Doug was a bad, bad influence on her. Mostly because she was starting to do that quote-everything thing that he did. But it was funny, and right now, she needed a laugh.
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