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Post by sante on Nov 22, 2011 0:17:32 GMT -5
Sante walked out to his El Camino. There was a sway to his walk, that most men couldn't carry. It was a walk that said he was confident and beautiful and in control of everything around him. The mesh wife beater in burnt sienna looked great against his mocha choca latte skin tone.The front half was tucked into black latex pants. His head was wrapped up with black lace to match the darkness of the pants, and the
faux mink bolero jacket matched the calf length fur boots he had the latex tucked into.
Several charms hung from his neck waiting to be invoked in case of an emergency. Gold hoops and enough mascara and eyeliner to give him full long lashes completed the outfit. He slid into the car without pause, reaching over to the big black and gold imitation gucci, Though there was a huge diamond flour de leaf in place of the Big G. Fishing the keys out he cranked up the car and put it into gear.
Rhianna's S&M blared out of the speakers and he turned onto the road without pause. It didn't take him long to make his way towards the area of New Orleans he felt most comfortable in. The French Quarter bloomed with life. Teemed really. Old women sitting out on the porches of houses that had most likely been their before the city of N'olens had been thought of.
Dark skinned men and women prowled the street of all ages and creeds. Teenagers through up signs as he passed in his car and he signed back. There was a certain amount of respect that was given to the leader of this community. He was the not so secret Queen on them humans that even the preternaturals watched out for. It was after all a Mistake to anger the servants of the Loa.
Sante slid his car on over to Decatur and parked in a spot reserved for him and kept that way with some strong and practical magic. He then made his way through the streets of Bourbon. It was a tourist attraction, Maria's House of Voodoo, but he had inherited it from a member of the congregation that thought the leader should be the one to run the famous Voodoo House.
He walked inside the 'rickity old shack' Though the house was ten times stronger then your average home, reinforced with steel bars and made plain with paneling over cement. The girl behind the counter, caucasian with raccoon striped dreads, and a witch to boot stood at the front and rang up folks, But she kept her eyes out for anyone magical or preternaturaul and when she saw them with her true sight she sent them on to the back where Sante offered his services, for a price.
TAGGED + Open to anyone, But especially that rascally werewolf, Alan Blythe
NOTES + Feel free to rp yourself into the back room
NOISE + Silence is golden
CREDIT + Sante Dede
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Post by Alan Blythe on Nov 22, 2011 2:50:27 GMT -5
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This time I'm mistaken for handing you a heart worth breaking and I've been wrong, i've been down, been to the bottom of every bottle these five words in my head scream "are we having fun yet?"
This is how, you remind me
The night was going quite well for him, but the month sure wasn't. His ex-wife somehow managed to get their daughter wounded against a hunter. He was only glad his daughter wasn't dead, but he wasn't exactly thrilled that the hunter got away with it. Maybe he would find a way to make the woman pay without ever having to meet her. If he met her she wouldn't have a fighting chance against him. Never go up against an angry werewolf, especially one who had children. Maybe that was why his ex-wife ran from him before he could kill her.
Walking down the street was he could do to keep himself from finding the woman. He needed time to calm down and get a grip on life and not seek revenge. He had been to the hospital earlier in the week to see his daughter, her mother in the next room for the day. He had sat at her bedside until night fell to find out what had happened. Rowan hadn't even looked great, from what he saw and heard she did risk her life to save the child even if she couldn't kill the hunter who had done the deed.
Heading into a shack, he looked around letting his eyes adjust to the lighting. There were quite a few people there, but he seemed to be looking for someone with enough skill that could do some damage from a distance without ever having to meet the person, but he had no way of actually finding out who the woman was without Rowan present, but as it was his wife was not exactly feeling safe to head out to get revenge. He had only caught her mumbling about being told she wasn't to harm the hunter or she would be dead, but who was to tell him he couldn't harm the woman? He was a bit unsure of where to go, having been in New Orleans much of three months and still didn't know where to go confused him, but maybe being the new Ulfric of the local pack, he could use it to his advantage to get help with getting pay back. If he could only find someone who would help him out.
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372 words. Sante Dede is starring. Bourbon Street is the location. ----- is the outfit. ----- notes
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Post by sante on Nov 22, 2011 9:56:54 GMT -5
The witch behind the counter perked up as the Ulfric entered the establishment. She had been taught what to look for. After all, Now that the lions were out the Werewolves were the ruling body in the city. Made so for almost three months now. She gestured to the man the moment she caught his eyes to head to the door marked do not enter. What? You expected a bead curtain?
The back room was filled with wondrous things, if by wondrous one meant seemingly normal or completely strange and terribly ugly. There were jars of things best left unsaid. Powders and tinctures of strange liquid for the ambiguous witch or practitioner. Wind chimes that would jingle only when a lie was spoken in Sante's presence. Rattles, and herbs.Gris Gris and hex bags.
There was even an herb sitting in a selifane bag that looked suspiciously like weed. An Affront to any cops delicate sensibilities. There sitting in a high backed chair that though worn and tired looking couldn't have seemed more like a throne sat Sante Dede, The Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, In the flesh. He perked up and looked at the Ulfric. Really looked at him.
His dark eyes trailed over the creases in the white man's forehead. The pale skin and dark hair. Dark eyes matched Sante's own. So dark, More then nighttime. Those were absent eyes. They didn't hold responsibility for actions committed. Handsome? Yes, he was handsome, But there was a flavor of unrestrained danger to the handsome face that made most people disagree.
Sante smiled a soft bareing of teeth as the other man walked in before speaking in his surprisingly deep male voice
"Je mae, Boco...Alan Blythe, Ulfric of The Rougarou of New Orleans." It was formal, delicate even considering that Sante and the rest of the congregation had performed a spell that cast every were lion in the city out into the open and forced them to lose control "Welcome to ma humble abode, What you come to see me bout this day?"
TAGGED + Alan Blythe.
NOTES + Wewt
NOISE + Alright now.
CREDIT + Sante Dede
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Post by Alan Blythe on Nov 24, 2011 1:40:42 GMT -5
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This time I'm mistaken for handing you a heart worth breaking and I've been wrong, i've been down, been to the bottom of every bottle these five words in my head scream "are we having fun yet?"
This is how, you remind me
Alan could only look around the place before he found out the woman was motioning for him to go to the back room. It seemed childish to sit around and not listen to the woman, but he was here to set things straight. This hunter was going to be harmed for her actions and he wasn't going to sit around and let the hunter get away with harming his child.
Walking into the backroom he looked at all the things that littered the place. It was obviously well kept and had plenty of things to help the voodoo people out. He even saw what looked like a bag of weed, but he wasn't on duty nor did he seem to care about taking it away from the place. Looking around he then noticed the person he came to see. The voodoo priest that he hoped would solve his problem or fix it really. He wanted nothing more than to see this woman go out in some kind of pain.
"Now I know you can do Voodoo magic. Is there a way to give a human or necromancer in this case something that can give them a disability to their ability? Say, blind them without ever touching them?" His voice was loud and clear and he ignored introductions. He was someone who wanted things done quick and left untouched with his prints. Being a police officer he had to make sure no one ever had ever known of his whereabouts off duty and what he did in his free time. If anyone had known about him being a werewolf he was gone from the squad, but so far after transferring from the Toronto Police Force to the New Orleans Force he had been doing well for a while without much trouble. He had often called in sick or took vacation days saying he had his daughter and didn't want anything to interfere with his time with her.
"Now can you do it or not? Time is of the essence here." his voice was demanding now as he stared at the black man. Of course he wasn't a fan of color he could careless about the man as long as he did his job correctly and the way Alan wanted it done. Nothing more. If this man could do it then he would make sure this man would never be harmed by anyone, human, vampire or were creature. Nothing would harm this man as long as Alan was Ulfric.
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---- words. Sante Dede is starring. ----- is the location. ----- is the outfit. Writing this post on my ipad because im playing sims 3 and too lazy to quit... sorry for no word count. notes
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Post by sante on Nov 24, 2011 16:48:25 GMT -5
Sante's eyes narrowed on the man. He was Ulfric, which meant that meta physically speaking he was powerful. Sante had worried over the Rougarou coming to visit him about his little spell that had knocked the Chupecabra from their position of power in the hierarchy. But he hadn't expected The man to come a knocking about some kind of magical revenge.
He quirked an eyebrow at the man and accessed the situation. this was the type of man that didn't like being told no. Which wasn't the case in the first place. Sante could do it. Even if it was Necromancy. But would he? He reached over to the lower part of the cabinet next to his chair and pulled out a bottle of cheap ass Taaka vodka and a much smaller bottle of Tequila rose.
He pulled out two glasses and took his time in pouring a hefty measure in both and then topped it with half and half from a a cooler at his feet. He slid the second glass over to the Ulfric and picked the first one up, draining it till it was gone. When it was finished he set the glass down and poured more tequila rose in it to sip on.
He finally leaned back and looked at the werewolf "Yeah i can do it..It ain't Voodoo though. It's hoodoo, But the reel question is why would I? Risk myself. Magic is persecuted these days. Three strikes you out. It ain't like in the old days, when someone end up dead they say it was natural...Besides, Necromancy rare. It'z harsh. Anybody else would tell you, they couldn't do it."
He considered for a moment sipping the tequila rose. It was a sweet creamy mixture, but harsh like the real stuff. His eyes dropped to the liquid inside as he spoke "Maybe you find a way to convince. And No, i don't want you money. I could do it though, I need something personal of the the necromancers. You might just want to shoot em."
NOISE + Adele
CREDIT + Sante Dede
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Post by Alan Blythe on Nov 24, 2011 18:01:39 GMT -5
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This time I'm mistaken for handing you a heart worth breaking and I've been wrong, i've been down, been to the bottom of every bottle these five words in my head scream "are we having fun yet?"
This is how, you remind me
Alan watched as the man brought out two glasses and two different bottles. Alan wasn't the drinking type, he had a drink every now and then, but tonight was not one of those times. The only time you ever saw him out drinking was when he was out on a boat fishing with his buddies and that was the only time he ever drank. Needed to be sober to make sure his daughter didn't see him in his drunken state of mind.
"Because I'll make sure if anyone lays a hand on you I'll kill them. I give my protection to make sure this works out for the best. My daughter may live, but the woman who did this shouldn't be given the same gratitude of living. No. I want her to suffer like my ex-wife is. Blind. Money was never an option or a thought. I could have all the money in the world and give it to you, but I'll give you my protection from the pack to make sure this goes through. I want the woman to suffer." Alan was dead on and straight to the point of what he wanted. None of this let's stall until the man gives up wasting time to just do it. He went straight to the point and wanted it done the quickest instance possible.
"I have something. Off of the hunter's pretty little head. You can thank the necromancer's vampire master. He was willing to give it to me instead of me killing the woman." he snarled as he reached into his coat pocket to bring out a bag with a lock of red hair. He had kindly asked Rowan to get it from the hunter's vampire master or he was going to kill the woman himself and have the vampire die with her, but apparently Rowan wouldn't allow him to do that. This was the next best option.
"Will this work now? With a lock of the hunter's pretty red hair?" Alan's voice was in question as if this wasn't going to work and coming here was a mistake. If it was he would just kill the man and be done with it. Take the witch at the front of the building and go back to the pack and make the woman do it for him. Alan got what he wanted when he wanted it. The man killed his first and third wife and their children before ever finding out his second wife was still alive. So the man knew how to get what he wanted.
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424 words. Sante is starring. ----- is the location. ----- is the outfit. ----- notes
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Post by sante on Nov 24, 2011 19:53:00 GMT -5
Sante calmly took the bag with the hair in it from the very angry werewolf. He examined it for a moment and nodded his head "Protection? Absolutely..for my Congregation and myself, but that's just a down payment bebe'. Sometime Someday, I'ma ask you for a favor or two, and you gonna do me right, ya here.." He turned then and walked to the back of the room. Whispering words as he went.
When he reached the back he opened a door and walked inside. The flaring of a match was the only light in the darkness, and the moment he touched it to a candle he stopped whispering and hundreds more candles flared to life throughout the room. He crossed himself and gestured for the Ulfric to have a seat at the edge of a circle of brick dust marked with an X.
He grabbed from the back several objects and a live black rooster then walked to the circle stepping inside and having a seat. He began to set things out. A bag of tobacco. A cigar, Black glasses, A top hat. White and black paint. The rooster in it's cage. A small machete. Three bags with herbs in them. A smaller bag of brick dust. Matches. A large ceremonial Bowl made of metal.A bottle of Gentlemen Jack Daniels And lastly, Chalk.
Sante let his eyes drift up to the Ulfric "You will begin your repayment to me when this is over by sending me a Rougarou from your pack to come and serve me as a Bodyguard and possibly a lover. Consider yourself Aligned with The Congregation. If we are attacked, you are attacked." He pulled the hair from the bag. just a few strands. not all of it. you never knew when it might come in handy again.
He placed what he took in the bowl. Then he cast the herbs over the top of it. Angelica root. White ash. Dried Peyote. A splash of the gentleman jack on top of it and he took the face paint and created a skull on his face with white and black. It was intricate with little crosses here and there. The top hat was then placed on his head. a skull attached to the band with a shining red feather coming from it. He quickly drew the symbols with the chalk and laid out a pile of tobacco and the cigar on top of it with the gentle men Jack next to it.
Finally he looked back to the man "Do we have an accord Alan Blythe?"
TAGGED + Alan Blythe
NOTES + Face Paint <---This is what the face paint looks like.
NOISE + Adele
CREDIT + Sante Dede
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Post by Alan Blythe on Nov 29, 2011 3:01:25 GMT -5
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This time I'm mistaken for handing you a heart worth breaking and I've been wrong, i've been down, been to the bottom of every bottle these five words in my head scream "are we having fun yet?"
This is how, you remind me
Alan watched the man take the bag and talk about how he owed the man a favor later on when he needed it for Alan giving protection to the man and his congregation. He followed the man into another room and sat where he pointed to wondering what would happen. He wanted this to work and if it didn't then the deal was off and his protection for this man was taken away. Alan was a man of his word and if this deal had gone wrong then everything was off. He would not be jipped because some man wanted something in return.
"A bodyguard I can do. A lover well you'll have to take it up with the person I send over if they are willing to give a gay man some love." Alan's voice was filled with a little anger, maybe even a bit more authoritative than normal. Alan didn't entirely trust the man, but he needed his revenge on the woman who harmed his daughter and personally he wanted to be the one who murdered his family, not someone else. He was just bidding his time until he could do it without anyone realizing what was going on.
"Yes we have an accord. Now did it work? Is she blind now?" Alan needed answers and he needed them now. He wanted to make sure the woman was blind and suffering without the sight of being able to use her weapons to harm someone. He would have the upper hand in this situation with a human. His wife was another story. Having nearly two months of being able to get used to her disability and navigating around as if she was on top of the world. Not something he was enjoying, but it made things certain that she was protective of the child or else the child probably wouldn't have been alive and he probably wouldn't have been here making a deal and making the hunter blind as a bat.
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330 words. Sante is starring. ----- is the location. ----- is the outfit. ----- notes
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Post by sante on Nov 30, 2011 0:22:37 GMT -5
Sante glared at the man and then rolled his eyes. It was time to begin the ritual. He grabbed the Machete and the rooster from it's crate. Silently he whispered prayers to Baron Samedi. Patron Saint of Necromancy and Death. Licking his lips and leaned back on his haunches. He could feel the erection pressing against his leg. Samedi was a phallic deity. He was the embodiment of Life and Death and They were both sexual.
Sante could feel the press of the spirit. He sighed a breath of power and Breathed in the Spirit allowing Baron Samedi to Draw into his body. When Sante opened his eyes they were a gleaming glowing red like blood with light shining through. It was deadly. Combined with the face paint it might have been terrifying. The cold wind of Death swept into the room and the temperature dropped 30 degrees. It was the cold of the grave breathing down Alan Blythe's neck.
When Sante dropped his gaze it was to the cigar. He smiled and reached down to pick it and the bottle of Gentlemen jack up. Without Pause he took the bottle and swallowed every single drop of it. Glug, Glug, Glug. When he finished he put the tip of the bottle into his mouth like he were giving head to it. He proceeded for a few seconds with the seemingly oral sex then when it grew to seem too much he bit down on it. The glass crumbled in his mouth like a cracker and he began to swallow it. Blood seeped from the edges of his mouth dropping down to the floor.
When the bottle was devoured the possessed Sante looked at Alan and gave a long loud laugh that sounded much like the glass was breaking in his stomach. He then reached down and cut the chicken's head off. It fought, still moving even though it was decapitated. He tipped it over and poured the blood into the Bowl. It burst into flames as he did so, sickly green and every other candle in the room went out. The only other color was the glowing red of Sante's eyes.
The remains were quickly burning up and the smoke drifted into the air, but managed too straight into Sante's nostril where he proceeded to breath it in with every ounce of his being. Finally he reached with his hand into the fire and his hand caught the flame. Bringing it to his mouth he lit the end of the cigar and exhaled disgusting green smoke as the candles seemed to flicker back to life and the room returned to color.
The fire went out but Alan might notice the blisters and pustules forming on Sante's hand. The fire had actually burned him and he seemed not to care. When he leaned back and smiled and then opened his mouth and spoke it was the voice of spirits, ghosts, the deceased "It is Done..."
There was a sound in the room as cold drafts took form and ghosts floated along wailing in the air. The sound of scratching came from beneath the floor boards right below their feet. It was the scratching of nails on wood. Nails that had long ago rotted and fallen away. This was the Realm of the dead. The ghosts whispered, Run, Run while you can.
CREDIT + Sante Dede
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Post by Alan Blythe on Dec 8, 2011 1:47:05 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=align,center] [style=width: 420px; font-family: impact; font-size: 30px; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: -1px; color: #5c514c; align: center; margin-top: -10px;]Lock 'n' load and I'm ready to go! [/style] | [style=width:210px; background-color: #343235; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; text-transform: lowercase;margin-left: -225px; overflow:auto; height: 450px; color: #5c514c;margin-top: 2px; ]Alan watched the man, but he didn't seem impressed to be there watching something that he figured wouldn't work. The man was just down right creepy as shit. The faster this was done, the faster he could get out of there. Sitting there wasn't exactly as much fun as a fight or a theater production was. Alan watched as the man took the bottle and ate the broken pieces of the glass. What kind of person ate glasses? He hoped this work or the deal was off.
But frankly, Alan wasn't going to give the man anything. Why he even came here seemed stupid enough as it was. When he was told it was done, he stood up ready to go. "What is done? What I asked for or did you completely lie to me about what you were asked to do?" Alan wanted to make sure what he asked for was done. And nothing more. If it wasn't what he wanted, then someone was going to pay for the damage that had happened, and not what he had asked for.
Alan didn't take his time getting out of the building, but he did notice what had happened to the man during his little circle of magic. Blistered hands, not something he wanted touch if he could help it. So he was hoping the man wouldn't shake his hand as he left. "You didn't do what I asked. There is no deal. And I'll make sure I charge you with illegal drugs. So tell me now. Did you do what I asked or not?" Alan's voice was stern and very level headed, but you could tell he was getting annoyed.
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