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Naril
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Marie's intro post is up - my apologies about the length. For reference, she is (as mentioned at the end of the bio) in Kenan and currently working at a casino doing a small show called Voodoo Lily. The intro leaves her back at her place in the early morning with a blackjack dealer named Redmond Cruz. He should be considered minor (i.e. probably won't be seen much more). For anyone wishing to interact, you now know where to find her :-)
A multitude of purple candles in various shapes and sizes washed the small, stone-floored room in an eerie flickering light, as several elegantly-attired men and women sat crammed at one end on rickety wooden benches. Shelves along either side of the room were cluttered with small jars and bowls containing a vast array of odds and ends - dried plants, tobacco, dessicated animal parts, bones, and things beyond description. At the opposite end of the room, the outline of a wooden throne was just visible behind several gauze-like sheets of fabric in purple and white, and seated upon it a feminine form. A dozen women in all shades of skin clothed in loose-fitting white wraps danced around a candy-striped pole shaking rattles and bells, while a pair of men drummed at a frantic pace on rustic iron-framed drums with tanned hides stretched across their tops. The dancers chanted incomprehensible syllables and wailed as they gyrated to the rhythm, one by one collapsing in a fit of spasms, eyes rolled back into their heads, and then passing out where they lay. When all had fallen, a slender dark-featured woman rose from behind the veiled throne and threw herself down at the base of the pole, swaying from side to side. An abrupt flapping erupted as she raised a live chicken overhead and, with a frantic string of clucks punctuated by a sharp crack, twisted its head from its body, casting both onto the floor before the observers. Women squealed as the chicken flapped about aimlessly, spurting blood from its neck and painting the floor with crimson feather-strokes. Men feigned outrage as some sought to shelter their dates, while others seemed more concerned with protecting their own attire.
After a moment, the chicken ceased its death throes and a relative calm passed through the room. Momentarily, it was broken by the young woman who'd caused the calamity, "Se pou sa a pèlen touris peye bòdwo yo jiskaske ou wè anfòm yo montre kèk rezon." Save for a slight chuckle from a Hispanic-looking woman seated near the back, all were silent. Rising, Marie passed through the room, whispering something to each guest. The expressions that followed her passing were a mix of elation, confusion, and for a smartly-dressed man seated next to the Hispanic-looking woman, dread.
_____
Redmond Cruz tipped his chair on its hind legs, such that his back rested against the wall, and drummed his fingers casually against the table as he absently watched the monitor mounted behind the bar. His shift at the blackjack tables had ended nearly an hour earlier, but he lingered at one of the casino's less-popular bars hoping she'd come by after the show, as was her norm. Presently, feminine curves registered in his periphery, drawing his full attention as Marie arrived and approached the bar, the soft clicks of her sandals barely audible over the casual conversations around him. Delicate toes, polished in a French pedicure, peeked out from underneath the hem of her skirt, which was an ivory-colored lace affair that fell loosely about her ankles and tapered inward at around the knee to hug the curve of her hips and waist. The weave was coarsely textured with numerous openings hinting at the flesh underneath though, to his dismay, none afforded the view he sought. He lingered a moment at her midriff, left bare between the skirt's waistline and a snug-fitting strapless white tank top. A small titanium balled post at the top of her navel held an amber crystal in place, while a second post at the bottom secured a set of thin uneven chains, each dangling a similar amber crystal at its end. Across her bare stomach, indigo lines traced out the open wings of an angel, whose form disappeared beneath her waistline, descending places he'd tried his hardest to imagine. As for a heavily stylized heart covering the back at her left shoulder just above the scapula, imagination hadn't been necessary, though that portion of her smooth canvas held slightly less lure. The heart itself was a curious design, however, and Redmond had asked her about it once after a few too many drinks, but didn't recall the details of the conversation beyond them having something to do with an obscure mythology. He couldn't say whether he was in love with Marie or not, but her presence always held him captive and this night was no exception.
He'd scarcely left his seat to join her when a young woman with a mocha complexion and straight hair that fell mid-way down her bare back in a shimmering black sheet approached Marie timidly. Her burgundy cocktail dress fit perfectly, suggestive in what it revealed but modest where it counted, and was perhaps tailored to do so, as it tastefully followed the curve of her prenatal belly, maybe five months along by the look of it. "Excuse me. Miss Lily? May I ..." Her soft voice carried a thick Latin accent, but her voice was too low and Redmond's distance a little too guess at its origin.
Marie exhaled a long stream of fragrant smoke, rich with chocolate and raisin tones, then shifted her position on the stool slightly to fully acknowledge the young woman. "Wi?" Studying the young woman for an instant, Marie noticed her belly and immediately tapped out the cigarillo. "Eskize m'."
"No, no, it's fine. I didn't mean to bother you but, I ... it's." She paused for a moment, evidently bothered about something, but uncomfortable with the subject and uncertain as to how to proceed. "Your show. I saw one like it once, a long time ago, but it ... it was real." Where she appeared less direct with her eye contact previously, the young woman now studied Marie's expressions intently. If she'd expected surprise or disbelief, she got none. Instead, Marie slipped her foot around a leg of the adjacent stool and slid it out.
"The show. I remember you. They put Lily on the posters, but it's Mamarié. Ki sa ki nan sa a sou?"
The young woman took the offered seat, "Myou Cabral." And that was the last of the conversation Redmond could make out for several minutes, though he took a nearby seat at the bar thinking proximity might make the difference. It didn't, but he was able to work out that the young woman spoke something at least reasonably close to what he heard in fragments from Marie daily, though it was clear from their frequent pauses that it wasn't a perfect match.
"He doesn't come home some nights. I have these horrible nightmares and .. .and then I wake up with these." There was an uncomfortable pause as Mayou looked around nervously for a moment, then angled herself toward the bar and lifted the hem of her dress up high enough to reveal a portion of her belly. Marie studied it carefully, drawing back the fabric from a couple spots and touching them lightly. Though the entire maneuver was skillful enough that none were afforded an opportunistic view, Mayou's eyes darted around the room anxiously until Marie withdrew her hand and helped the young woman restore the dress.
After continuing on for another short while, the pair rose and the young woman handed Marie something small - small enough that they exchanged it with finger tips - then walked away. Redmond took that as his queue and slid into the seat she'd vacated. "So what was that all about?" When Marie responded by re-igniting her cigarillo and sipping at a snifter of tequila, he changed his tack. "Ok, so I get it, you're not interested. Can you at least say no again? Or something?"
Marie downed the remainder of her drink and stood, slipping the strap of a coarse white messenger bag, trimmed in lace and with silver fittings, over her shoulder. "The woman, Myou. Her man's gone missing. I need a ride."
"And how's that your business?" Redmond realized instantly what a jerk he must've sounded like and wasn't surprised when Marie rolled her eyes and started off. He caught her arm, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Where to?"
_____
Steam rolled up through a litter-lined storm drain, momentarily washing the pair in warmth and the smell of stagnant runoff as Redmond eased his bike, an almost completely chromed chopper, up onto the sidewalk across from a solid-looking two-story block structure with both windows and walls painted the same dull shade of black. Redmond flipped down the kickstand with a booted heel and settled back into the seat for a moment. The roar of bass rumbled through the building's walls as if they were nonexistent and the occasional opening of a pair of copper-handled red velvet doors let loose a deafening tide of musical mid-ranges with undertones of chatter. It was the freakish, near-stagnant procession inching through a corral of thick velvet ropes, supported by copper posts styled in similar fashion to the door's fixtures, that gave him pause. While the assemblage of leather, lace and latex - breathtaking in both its diversity of style and strategic minimalism - might have otherwise raised an eyebrow, Cruz was drawn instead to a handful that stood out even among that. A well-muscled young man, clothed solely in black latex shorts that left far too little to the imagination, crawled along the sidewalk behind a curvaceous young woman in a less revealing black latex dress. Her hair, a teased out pair of platinum and fuchsia ponytails jutting out from either side of her head, struck a sharp contrast against the sea of black, like fireworks against a night sky. As the line inched forward, she gave a sharp yank at a leash held casually in one hand, tugging the young man at her heels forward by what could only be described as a bit and bridle. As he scampered on hands and knees along the sidewalk, he drew his eyes upward from her stiletto-heeled boots along the lengths of her mesh-stockinged calves toward the promised land, only to be cut short by the sharp smack of a riding crop she held in her other hand. The searing in his backside spurred him forward. "Get the fuck back behind the rope!" shouted a broad, well-muscled member of staff, as indicated by a size-too-small black t-shirt bearing the simple identifier "Staff". His thick, protruding brow and general abundance of dark facial and arm hair lent him a neanderthal-esque appearance befitting the bouncer stereotype.
Redmond quickened his step to keep pace with Marie, who'd already slipped from the bike and closed half the distance to the entrance with a purposeful gait. "Geez, Lil. If I'd known we were coming here, I'd have worn my ass-less chaps." For whatever reason, he'd always called Marie by the stage name the casino gave her, which itself came from her last name, La Fleur, and someone in marketing mixing that up with fleur-de-lis. It literally took the geniuses in promotions all of five minutes to brand her show Voodoo Lily.
"Ou gen yon manman bourik bèl. Maybe next time."
"Next time? Wait, what else did you say? Seriously, damn it, stop with the French, or whatever the hell that is, already!" Truth be told, Redmond could lose himself for days in the quirky lilts and twangs of her accent, which seemed to flow effortlessly between graceful flourishes and slurred contractions, pocked with missing articles and conjunctions - at least in the parts he could understand. He trailed behind, watching her hips sway, savoring that fact that, regardless of the circumstances, he'd finally gotten her out on a date. Marie barely paused as she approached the head of the line, cordoned off by velvet rope and bolstered by another of the blocky door attendants, slowing only to fish a crumpled bill from her bra's lacy embrace. His brutish hand moved to prevent her passage, but was coolly intercepted by her own delicate one as fingers pressed the bill into his palm. The exchange was so fluid that few even registered the exchange until the ropes had parted and she'd slipped through the velvet doors beyond with Redmond close behind.
Sensory overload left Redmond dazed as the surging bass that had permeated the walls from the exterior now fully assaulted his system, coursing through his body. Gradually, his eyes adjusted to both the dim lighting and the billowing clouds of smoke, giving him to realize that what he'd seen outside paled in comparison to the wanton debauchery within. Bodies churned against one another, some dancing and some indulging in lewd acts, though the difference was only by degrees in the squirming masses that moved with the pounding beats like a frantic wave. Iron cages hung from the ceiling, all occupied, their nude captives bound with chains and clamps, though all seemed content with their predicament and they, too, writhed in time to the rhythm. In his distraction, Redmond lost sight of Marie only to have her reappear a moment later taking a long drag from a cigar and thrusting a shot glass of murky liquid into his hand. After he'd tipped back the shot - some rum-based concoction by the taste of it - she took back the glass and tapped out a large bunch of ash into the liquor remnants, muddling the mixture into a blackish paste with her thumb. Before he could draw back, Marie's hand was at his face, tracing a pattern across his forehead with the ashy sludge as she chanted something he didn't even pretend to understand. "Erzulie D'en pou deli, pwoteje sèvitè ou nan kay la nan move lespri."
Where Marie had previously seemed fixated on something imperceptible, Redmond could now see a faint flicker wafting through the air ahead of her, bobbing along with feeble currents like a leaf as it flitted among the crowd. As they made their way through the sea of bodies, something tugged at Redmond's core, drawing his attention to a barely-dressed auburn-haired young woman dancing against a dark, muscular man just a short distance away. Her skin glistened with sweat as her body writhed seductively, back pressed against his chest and his hands wandering freely across her thighs. Redmond lost his balance for an instant as his head felt thick and clouded, his vision became both blurred and singularly focused on the young woman - her eyes, her breasts - desire filled him. She leaned forward, arching her back as she pushed back against his pelvis, grinding against him. Momentarily, she met Redmond's gaze with lust-filled eyes that peeked through thin braids of hair matted with perspiration, then extended a beckoning finger. Her expression flashed a wicked grin as Redmond started toward her, compelled to answer the siren's call. As he neared her, a sharp pain shot through his skull, its piercing epicenter the ashen smudge placed by Marie only a moment earlier, and his vision turned double. Glancing back at the young seductress, in hopes of distracting himself from the pounding in his skull, he saw a scaly tail wind its way along her calf and upwards along her thigh until it disappeared underneath her skirt. Staggering back, Redmond bumped into Marie. "What the fuck did you give me?!?" He shouted but the words were barely audible over the blaring of the speakers. Her reply was calm and seemingly effortless, though he heard it plain as day in his head despite the cacophony surrounding them. "Fè atansyon. You in the house of ubio and we about to piss on the couch. Kenbe kaka ou ansanm."
Marie tugged at Redmond's shirt, not letting go even after his momentum had returned which was, no doubt, for fear of him being baited by another seductress. He noticed that her movement was much more purposeful now and her gaze fixed on a neatly groomed thirty-something, shirtless but still wearing well-tailored black slacks that were unmistakably high-end - the kind Redmond only noticed on the high rollers. Scattered along the length of his neck and down across the upper part of his chest were a number of fresh bruises, almost certainly hickeys, and some quite dark. He stood looking somewhat dazed as a tall, dark-featured woman with long, straight raven hair streaked with teal ribbons licked at his earlobe, apparently whispering something as well before turning off through the crowd toward the back of the club. Marie moved quickly, releasing her grip on Redmond's shirt and nearly losing him among the gyrating throng, in her pursuit of, to his surprise, the woman. What he'd overheard of the conversation in the casino bar had led him to believe they were there to return the husband, not confront the mistress, so he hastened to keep up until it was clear he'd be able to follow no further. The door to the ladies room swung closed with both Marie and the raven-haired woman inside.
Redmond paced nervously for a moment or two, perking up each time the door opened only to have his wait extended with each random young woman who exited. Then it happened. A loud crash - loud enough to be heard over the music for those near the door. Without hesitation, he burst through to find Marie pressed against the wall where an automatic hand dryer had once been, the mistress' forearm bearing down on her neck with such force that murder was the evident intent. For her part, Marie looked as calm as one might in such a predicament and appeared to be fumbling through her bag with an unguided hand as she gasped for air. Redmond snatched a handful of the woman's hair and yanked her back, giving Marie an instant of freedom, before the woman turned on Redmond and, though his frame was considerably larger than her own, tossed him backward almost effortlessly into a large metal dispenser on the opposite wall. With it's mechanism jarred loose, it showered him with condoms and tampons. With the focus of a predator, the woman closed on him instantly and he felt a sharp ache in his chest, almost as if his insides were being pulled out. As his vision dimmed, the shadowy blur of Marie's figure appeared behind the mistress. Marie swung for all she was worth, employing the considerable bulk of the fallen hand dryer toward the act of smacking the woman squarely across the shoulders. In his semi-conscious haze, Redmond watched as Marie snatched at the raven hair with both hands, shoved a sandaled foot against her back, and pulled. Hard. So hard that the skin on the woman's face stretched in unnatural ways, her eyes slanting up, her mouth curling up into a bizarre sort of grin before something snapped, or tore, or something. In an instant, the woman's skin simply slipped free and slid up over her head like a macabre body suit. Underneath, the woman's form was plainly visible but shaped entirely of flame, cold flame that chilled Redmond to the core. Thankfully, it turned from him and clutched desperately at the suit, or skin, or whatever had previously concealed the flames underneath. Marie spat at the flames as she tugged the dermal appendage toward a stall and stuffed one end into a commode, then kicked at the flush lever until a whoosh sucked the skin halfway through the bowl. The flames hissed and knocked her backwards, again seeking to choke the life out of the young woman, when a pair of shadows slipped from under a sink and forced the creature through a window leading into an alley behind the club. There was a shriek and then silence.
Laying against the tile floor, Marie reached over into her bag to fetch a hand-rolled cigarillo and match, coaxing the former to life and taking several deep drags before Redmond spoke. Settled with his back against the wall, he tried to comprehend what he'd just witnessed. "What the fuck, Lily?" Eloquence departed some time earlier, but even at that, he hadn't mustered enough speech to specify exactly what he was referring to. Was he asking her what happened, what she'd given him to induce those hallucinations, what that thing was, or what carried it out the window? The end of the cigarillo lit up as Marie inhaled deeply, letting out a single puff that expanded into a ring as it rose toward the ceiling. "Soucouyant."
Redmond's nerves got the better of him. "Enough with the fucking French! I'm serious!"
"A soucouyant. Like a vampire. Them marks on Myou's man. Them and the ones on Myou's belly was both hers. That's some hate manje sou ti bebe an."
"But what about ... " Marie cut Redmond's next question short, "Sou yon lòt lè? Can you just take me home, get me drunk, maybe we mess around some, and you sleep on the couch I don't have?"
How could he refuse? She finally said yes. Sort of.
After a moment, the chicken ceased its death throes and a relative calm passed through the room. Momentarily, it was broken by the young woman who'd caused the calamity, "Se pou sa a pèlen touris peye bòdwo yo jiskaske ou wè anfòm yo montre kèk rezon." Save for a slight chuckle from a Hispanic-looking woman seated near the back, all were silent. Rising, Marie passed through the room, whispering something to each guest. The expressions that followed her passing were a mix of elation, confusion, and for a smartly-dressed man seated next to the Hispanic-looking woman, dread.
_____
Redmond Cruz tipped his chair on its hind legs, such that his back rested against the wall, and drummed his fingers casually against the table as he absently watched the monitor mounted behind the bar. His shift at the blackjack tables had ended nearly an hour earlier, but he lingered at one of the casino's less-popular bars hoping she'd come by after the show, as was her norm. Presently, feminine curves registered in his periphery, drawing his full attention as Marie arrived and approached the bar, the soft clicks of her sandals barely audible over the casual conversations around him. Delicate toes, polished in a French pedicure, peeked out from underneath the hem of her skirt, which was an ivory-colored lace affair that fell loosely about her ankles and tapered inward at around the knee to hug the curve of her hips and waist. The weave was coarsely textured with numerous openings hinting at the flesh underneath though, to his dismay, none afforded the view he sought. He lingered a moment at her midriff, left bare between the skirt's waistline and a snug-fitting strapless white tank top. A small titanium balled post at the top of her navel held an amber crystal in place, while a second post at the bottom secured a set of thin uneven chains, each dangling a similar amber crystal at its end. Across her bare stomach, indigo lines traced out the open wings of an angel, whose form disappeared beneath her waistline, descending places he'd tried his hardest to imagine. As for a heavily stylized heart covering the back at her left shoulder just above the scapula, imagination hadn't been necessary, though that portion of her smooth canvas held slightly less lure. The heart itself was a curious design, however, and Redmond had asked her about it once after a few too many drinks, but didn't recall the details of the conversation beyond them having something to do with an obscure mythology. He couldn't say whether he was in love with Marie or not, but her presence always held him captive and this night was no exception.
He'd scarcely left his seat to join her when a young woman with a mocha complexion and straight hair that fell mid-way down her bare back in a shimmering black sheet approached Marie timidly. Her burgundy cocktail dress fit perfectly, suggestive in what it revealed but modest where it counted, and was perhaps tailored to do so, as it tastefully followed the curve of her prenatal belly, maybe five months along by the look of it. "Excuse me. Miss Lily? May I ..." Her soft voice carried a thick Latin accent, but her voice was too low and Redmond's distance a little too guess at its origin.
Marie exhaled a long stream of fragrant smoke, rich with chocolate and raisin tones, then shifted her position on the stool slightly to fully acknowledge the young woman. "Wi?" Studying the young woman for an instant, Marie noticed her belly and immediately tapped out the cigarillo. "Eskize m'."
"No, no, it's fine. I didn't mean to bother you but, I ... it's." She paused for a moment, evidently bothered about something, but uncomfortable with the subject and uncertain as to how to proceed. "Your show. I saw one like it once, a long time ago, but it ... it was real." Where she appeared less direct with her eye contact previously, the young woman now studied Marie's expressions intently. If she'd expected surprise or disbelief, she got none. Instead, Marie slipped her foot around a leg of the adjacent stool and slid it out.
"The show. I remember you. They put Lily on the posters, but it's Mamarié. Ki sa ki nan sa a sou?"
The young woman took the offered seat, "Myou Cabral." And that was the last of the conversation Redmond could make out for several minutes, though he took a nearby seat at the bar thinking proximity might make the difference. It didn't, but he was able to work out that the young woman spoke something at least reasonably close to what he heard in fragments from Marie daily, though it was clear from their frequent pauses that it wasn't a perfect match.
"He doesn't come home some nights. I have these horrible nightmares and .. .and then I wake up with these." There was an uncomfortable pause as Mayou looked around nervously for a moment, then angled herself toward the bar and lifted the hem of her dress up high enough to reveal a portion of her belly. Marie studied it carefully, drawing back the fabric from a couple spots and touching them lightly. Though the entire maneuver was skillful enough that none were afforded an opportunistic view, Mayou's eyes darted around the room anxiously until Marie withdrew her hand and helped the young woman restore the dress.
After continuing on for another short while, the pair rose and the young woman handed Marie something small - small enough that they exchanged it with finger tips - then walked away. Redmond took that as his queue and slid into the seat she'd vacated. "So what was that all about?" When Marie responded by re-igniting her cigarillo and sipping at a snifter of tequila, he changed his tack. "Ok, so I get it, you're not interested. Can you at least say no again? Or something?"
Marie downed the remainder of her drink and stood, slipping the strap of a coarse white messenger bag, trimmed in lace and with silver fittings, over her shoulder. "The woman, Myou. Her man's gone missing. I need a ride."
"And how's that your business?" Redmond realized instantly what a jerk he must've sounded like and wasn't surprised when Marie rolled her eyes and started off. He caught her arm, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Where to?"
_____
Steam rolled up through a litter-lined storm drain, momentarily washing the pair in warmth and the smell of stagnant runoff as Redmond eased his bike, an almost completely chromed chopper, up onto the sidewalk across from a solid-looking two-story block structure with both windows and walls painted the same dull shade of black. Redmond flipped down the kickstand with a booted heel and settled back into the seat for a moment. The roar of bass rumbled through the building's walls as if they were nonexistent and the occasional opening of a pair of copper-handled red velvet doors let loose a deafening tide of musical mid-ranges with undertones of chatter. It was the freakish, near-stagnant procession inching through a corral of thick velvet ropes, supported by copper posts styled in similar fashion to the door's fixtures, that gave him pause. While the assemblage of leather, lace and latex - breathtaking in both its diversity of style and strategic minimalism - might have otherwise raised an eyebrow, Cruz was drawn instead to a handful that stood out even among that. A well-muscled young man, clothed solely in black latex shorts that left far too little to the imagination, crawled along the sidewalk behind a curvaceous young woman in a less revealing black latex dress. Her hair, a teased out pair of platinum and fuchsia ponytails jutting out from either side of her head, struck a sharp contrast against the sea of black, like fireworks against a night sky. As the line inched forward, she gave a sharp yank at a leash held casually in one hand, tugging the young man at her heels forward by what could only be described as a bit and bridle. As he scampered on hands and knees along the sidewalk, he drew his eyes upward from her stiletto-heeled boots along the lengths of her mesh-stockinged calves toward the promised land, only to be cut short by the sharp smack of a riding crop she held in her other hand. The searing in his backside spurred him forward. "Get the fuck back behind the rope!" shouted a broad, well-muscled member of staff, as indicated by a size-too-small black t-shirt bearing the simple identifier "Staff". His thick, protruding brow and general abundance of dark facial and arm hair lent him a neanderthal-esque appearance befitting the bouncer stereotype.
Redmond quickened his step to keep pace with Marie, who'd already slipped from the bike and closed half the distance to the entrance with a purposeful gait. "Geez, Lil. If I'd known we were coming here, I'd have worn my ass-less chaps." For whatever reason, he'd always called Marie by the stage name the casino gave her, which itself came from her last name, La Fleur, and someone in marketing mixing that up with fleur-de-lis. It literally took the geniuses in promotions all of five minutes to brand her show Voodoo Lily.
"Ou gen yon manman bourik bèl. Maybe next time."
"Next time? Wait, what else did you say? Seriously, damn it, stop with the French, or whatever the hell that is, already!" Truth be told, Redmond could lose himself for days in the quirky lilts and twangs of her accent, which seemed to flow effortlessly between graceful flourishes and slurred contractions, pocked with missing articles and conjunctions - at least in the parts he could understand. He trailed behind, watching her hips sway, savoring that fact that, regardless of the circumstances, he'd finally gotten her out on a date. Marie barely paused as she approached the head of the line, cordoned off by velvet rope and bolstered by another of the blocky door attendants, slowing only to fish a crumpled bill from her bra's lacy embrace. His brutish hand moved to prevent her passage, but was coolly intercepted by her own delicate one as fingers pressed the bill into his palm. The exchange was so fluid that few even registered the exchange until the ropes had parted and she'd slipped through the velvet doors beyond with Redmond close behind.
Sensory overload left Redmond dazed as the surging bass that had permeated the walls from the exterior now fully assaulted his system, coursing through his body. Gradually, his eyes adjusted to both the dim lighting and the billowing clouds of smoke, giving him to realize that what he'd seen outside paled in comparison to the wanton debauchery within. Bodies churned against one another, some dancing and some indulging in lewd acts, though the difference was only by degrees in the squirming masses that moved with the pounding beats like a frantic wave. Iron cages hung from the ceiling, all occupied, their nude captives bound with chains and clamps, though all seemed content with their predicament and they, too, writhed in time to the rhythm. In his distraction, Redmond lost sight of Marie only to have her reappear a moment later taking a long drag from a cigar and thrusting a shot glass of murky liquid into his hand. After he'd tipped back the shot - some rum-based concoction by the taste of it - she took back the glass and tapped out a large bunch of ash into the liquor remnants, muddling the mixture into a blackish paste with her thumb. Before he could draw back, Marie's hand was at his face, tracing a pattern across his forehead with the ashy sludge as she chanted something he didn't even pretend to understand. "Erzulie D'en pou deli, pwoteje sèvitè ou nan kay la nan move lespri."
Where Marie had previously seemed fixated on something imperceptible, Redmond could now see a faint flicker wafting through the air ahead of her, bobbing along with feeble currents like a leaf as it flitted among the crowd. As they made their way through the sea of bodies, something tugged at Redmond's core, drawing his attention to a barely-dressed auburn-haired young woman dancing against a dark, muscular man just a short distance away. Her skin glistened with sweat as her body writhed seductively, back pressed against his chest and his hands wandering freely across her thighs. Redmond lost his balance for an instant as his head felt thick and clouded, his vision became both blurred and singularly focused on the young woman - her eyes, her breasts - desire filled him. She leaned forward, arching her back as she pushed back against his pelvis, grinding against him. Momentarily, she met Redmond's gaze with lust-filled eyes that peeked through thin braids of hair matted with perspiration, then extended a beckoning finger. Her expression flashed a wicked grin as Redmond started toward her, compelled to answer the siren's call. As he neared her, a sharp pain shot through his skull, its piercing epicenter the ashen smudge placed by Marie only a moment earlier, and his vision turned double. Glancing back at the young seductress, in hopes of distracting himself from the pounding in his skull, he saw a scaly tail wind its way along her calf and upwards along her thigh until it disappeared underneath her skirt. Staggering back, Redmond bumped into Marie. "What the fuck did you give me?!?" He shouted but the words were barely audible over the blaring of the speakers. Her reply was calm and seemingly effortless, though he heard it plain as day in his head despite the cacophony surrounding them. "Fè atansyon. You in the house of ubio and we about to piss on the couch. Kenbe kaka ou ansanm."
Marie tugged at Redmond's shirt, not letting go even after his momentum had returned which was, no doubt, for fear of him being baited by another seductress. He noticed that her movement was much more purposeful now and her gaze fixed on a neatly groomed thirty-something, shirtless but still wearing well-tailored black slacks that were unmistakably high-end - the kind Redmond only noticed on the high rollers. Scattered along the length of his neck and down across the upper part of his chest were a number of fresh bruises, almost certainly hickeys, and some quite dark. He stood looking somewhat dazed as a tall, dark-featured woman with long, straight raven hair streaked with teal ribbons licked at his earlobe, apparently whispering something as well before turning off through the crowd toward the back of the club. Marie moved quickly, releasing her grip on Redmond's shirt and nearly losing him among the gyrating throng, in her pursuit of, to his surprise, the woman. What he'd overheard of the conversation in the casino bar had led him to believe they were there to return the husband, not confront the mistress, so he hastened to keep up until it was clear he'd be able to follow no further. The door to the ladies room swung closed with both Marie and the raven-haired woman inside.
Redmond paced nervously for a moment or two, perking up each time the door opened only to have his wait extended with each random young woman who exited. Then it happened. A loud crash - loud enough to be heard over the music for those near the door. Without hesitation, he burst through to find Marie pressed against the wall where an automatic hand dryer had once been, the mistress' forearm bearing down on her neck with such force that murder was the evident intent. For her part, Marie looked as calm as one might in such a predicament and appeared to be fumbling through her bag with an unguided hand as she gasped for air. Redmond snatched a handful of the woman's hair and yanked her back, giving Marie an instant of freedom, before the woman turned on Redmond and, though his frame was considerably larger than her own, tossed him backward almost effortlessly into a large metal dispenser on the opposite wall. With it's mechanism jarred loose, it showered him with condoms and tampons. With the focus of a predator, the woman closed on him instantly and he felt a sharp ache in his chest, almost as if his insides were being pulled out. As his vision dimmed, the shadowy blur of Marie's figure appeared behind the mistress. Marie swung for all she was worth, employing the considerable bulk of the fallen hand dryer toward the act of smacking the woman squarely across the shoulders. In his semi-conscious haze, Redmond watched as Marie snatched at the raven hair with both hands, shoved a sandaled foot against her back, and pulled. Hard. So hard that the skin on the woman's face stretched in unnatural ways, her eyes slanting up, her mouth curling up into a bizarre sort of grin before something snapped, or tore, or something. In an instant, the woman's skin simply slipped free and slid up over her head like a macabre body suit. Underneath, the woman's form was plainly visible but shaped entirely of flame, cold flame that chilled Redmond to the core. Thankfully, it turned from him and clutched desperately at the suit, or skin, or whatever had previously concealed the flames underneath. Marie spat at the flames as she tugged the dermal appendage toward a stall and stuffed one end into a commode, then kicked at the flush lever until a whoosh sucked the skin halfway through the bowl. The flames hissed and knocked her backwards, again seeking to choke the life out of the young woman, when a pair of shadows slipped from under a sink and forced the creature through a window leading into an alley behind the club. There was a shriek and then silence.
Laying against the tile floor, Marie reached over into her bag to fetch a hand-rolled cigarillo and match, coaxing the former to life and taking several deep drags before Redmond spoke. Settled with his back against the wall, he tried to comprehend what he'd just witnessed. "What the fuck, Lily?" Eloquence departed some time earlier, but even at that, he hadn't mustered enough speech to specify exactly what he was referring to. Was he asking her what happened, what she'd given him to induce those hallucinations, what that thing was, or what carried it out the window? The end of the cigarillo lit up as Marie inhaled deeply, letting out a single puff that expanded into a ring as it rose toward the ceiling. "Soucouyant."
Redmond's nerves got the better of him. "Enough with the fucking French! I'm serious!"
"A soucouyant. Like a vampire. Them marks on Myou's man. Them and the ones on Myou's belly was both hers. That's some hate manje sou ti bebe an."
"But what about ... " Marie cut Redmond's next question short, "Sou yon lòt lè? Can you just take me home, get me drunk, maybe we mess around some, and you sleep on the couch I don't have?"
How could he refuse? She finally said yes. Sort of.
Just wanted to check in and say bonjou. I'm working on Marié's intro, which will include a glimpse into how I'm approaching vodou and the Loa. There's nothing in it that's going to stretch the boundaries of our PM discussions on vodou, but if you (Mikael and/or slade) would be more comfortable previewing before I actually post, let me know.
Name: Mamarié (Marie) Jeanne La Fleur
Alias/Nickname: Voodoo Lily
Age: 23
Race: Human
Birth Place: Delacroix, LA
Height: 5' 9"
Weight: 120#
Appearance
Marie is a tall, slender young woman, light in appearance, with deep brown eyes and black hair that falls just past her shoulders. She carries herself confidently and her eyes project intelligence and determination. Her figure is light and her movements would best be described as possessing deliberate grace, both purposeful and fluid. She has a number of piercings and tattoos, many of which are plainly visible and, in particular, the mark of Erzulie on her left shoulder and a bare-breasted open-winged angel at her waist. When she speaks, she's prone to voice her opinion without filters in the thick flourishes of a Creole accent, complete with an array of regional colloquialisms that betray her worldliness. Her dress is eclectic and tends to portray her moods, ranging from a more comfort-oriented base state upwards, but is always fashionable if not also a tad revealing. She's fond of drink and can often be found perched atop a bar stool wreathed in a cloud of cigar smoke and smelling of booze. The latter penchants frequently gain her entry into the conversations of men, who find in her an attractive and engaging drinking buddy. Her choice of language fluctuates, and can do so mid-sentence, from her native Creole to English. While she tries to catch and correct herself, others are often left to their own devices in figuring out the various pieces of her fractured sentences.
Social Status:
Currently unaffiliated, but she's generally unsympathetic to any agenda that sees angels and demons encroaching on human domain. Among humans, her status varies by belief in vodou, which is necessarily limited to small pockets globally and, within that, a precious few who acknowledge its power. Among that scattered group, Marie would be regarded as a mambo asogwe, or high priestess, and one of a handful capable of inducting others into the ranks of the "clergy". By degree, her powers are lesser than those of similar standing given her recent ordainment; however, the title itself was conferred by Jeanne Vilet and stands an indisputable affirmation of Marie's mastery.
Relations:
There are no known living relations; however, Marie's parentage remains unknown, so there's a degree of uncertainty in her ancestry. With regard to Jeanne Vilet, she had no daughters and miscarried two sons, so Marie is her only descendant, if in spirit only.
General Activity:
Marie follows the Loa, wherever they advise, though it's become apparent to her that their leadership isn't an absolute. That is, Papa Legba leads true, if not always along a constant path; while Xango leads on more dangerous paths, and Erzulie seems to have no earthly direction at all. The young woman's time is most often spent waiting in service of the Loa, biding her time until their direction is clear. Often, that means long days and nights spent in whatever endeavor she deems appropriate; while at others it means serving the needs of other "believers", which she does enthusiastically. From a more practical standpoint, her time is divided between doing the bidding of the Loa, tempered by her own feelings on their fickle nature, and sustaining her own existence by whatever means necessary. It's a happy coincidence that the two frequently overlap. On occasion, it also means engaging directly in the affairs of angels and demons, though never when the outcome is speculative.
Abilities
Marie's brand of shamanistic magic is steeped in ritual and heavily dependent on the Loa for its most potent effects. In its more predictable state, charms, talismans, and potions channel the innate essence of humankind guided from elsewhere. In its less stable forms, the outcomes are wholly unpredictable and vary according to the nature of the Loa invoked.
Equipment:
Marie carries an oversized purse, or alternatively a femininely-styled white burlap messenger bag, depending on one's sense of style. Within, she carries a small supply of herbs and ingredients necessary for both common and more extraordinary effects. That is to say that the more frequent mundane ingredients and the rarer, but more potent, ones are in sufficient stock - those in between are absent. Suffice it to say, though, that the Loa are less finicky about their materials when something they hold dear is at stake, so insufficient inventory is seldom an issue experienced by any but the most novice. She carries no weaponry beyond a small, bone-handled knife used for ceremonial purposes and skinning small animals.
Personality:
Generally speaking, Marie is a heavy drinker, will smoke just about anything, and could be regarded as promiscuous. However, the more astute would, over time, observe patterns in her behavior such that for an extended period she might be a chaste teetotaler (rare), while at another nothing short of a drunken fille de joie (also rare). Within the broader range of the spectrum, her demeanor is warm and vivacious - she laughs easily and is frequently flirtatious, though less often genuinely interested in pursuing things further. In light conversation, she's downright chatty and easily able to carry on for hours; however, when pressed about herself becomes evasive and is quick to change the topic. It takes little time to discern that the young woman is an idealist, though the principles that drive her may be less certain and she's seldom forthcoming about them. The handful that can call her friend find her a loyal and resourceful ally, in whom they can place their complete confidence. Others will find in her a pragmatist that's more than capable of thriving in virtually any environment and willing to beg, borrow, or steal her way to any end.
Biography:
A light mist hung heavy in the stagnant air, rich with the chirps and croaks of the bayou. The night was dead calm, otherwise, moonless and damned near oppressive. The only light source was a century-old lantern, carried by a hand nearly as old, that cast wavering wisps of light into the darkness. "Wont sou ou, Legba, yo pote yon granmoun fanm soti sou yon jou lannwit tankou sa a." The lantern bearer's voice was old and crackled, and seemed to address no one in particular in thickly-accented Creole. "The girl, I know, I know. We been waitin a long time for her ... a long time." Jeanne Vilet's feeble frame hobbled along silently into the wee hours, the only sounds she made being the sloppy squish of her walking stick as it plunged into the muddy peat with each step. She looked every bit of her hundred-plus years, hunched over with loose, wrinkled skin and nearly lost in her antiquated night gown. After a time, she came to a halt at the base of a grand cypress, maybe five or six-hundred years old with gnarled roots twisting up through the layers of mud and algae to form a narrow plateau a couple feet above the muck. Braids of its ancient trunk encircled the space to form a tiny alcove around a swaddled infant nestled amongst its serpentine tangle of roots. "Thank you Legba ... now run and tell Erzulie we've found her daughter, Mamarié."
Unlike other young Louisiana girls, Mamarié grew up near the edge of bayou country with her adopted guardian, Jeanne La Fleur, whom she knew as Mama Jeanne. Being that Delacroix was the nearest town, and that it was neither near nor much of a town, Mamarié and Jeanne were usually left to their own devices. It never struck Mamarié as odd, then, that the pair spoke only Creole and Latin at home, nor did speaking with the spirits seem to be anything but ordinary. In fact, sometimes their tiny shack seemed literally filled with personalities - some good, some bad, some with cheap perfume, and some that drank too much. As a child, Mamarié made modest attempts at interaction with her peers, though it was entirely a means of working on her English. Despite her differences from the other children, they were friendly towards her, if not a bit restrained - she later came to learn that they were afraid she'd work dark magic on them, but that's another story. She was never subjected to any kind of formal education beyond small makeshift classrooms, instead choosing to remain with Mama Jeanne and pursue other studies with what they both knew to be a limited time together.
One night during their last Summer, she and Mama Jeanne drank rum and smoked into the wee hours of the morning, as had become their habit. On this particular evening, however, Mama Jeanne told Mamarié that the Guédé waited for her at the crossroads - their time in the bayou was over and Mamarié would have to find her own way. The topic changed for a time to lighter conversation, though their drinking became heavier - much of the rest is a still a blur for Mamarié. They spat rum through their teeth, spraying it into a fine mist and offered up sacrifices for the Loa, some for Mama Jeanne's safe journey and others to call the Loa to Mamarié. It was the first time she ever actually saw them, the Loa, and they passed through her, such that she felt the nature of each. By dawn, she found herself alone, half-naked, and with a burning on her back, near her left shoulder - she bore a fresh tattoo, Erzulie's vever. That day she gathered the few things worth taking - a couple of Mama Jeanne's books, a small selection of herbs, several hand-rolled cigars, and a bottle of rum - and set fire to the only home she'd known.
In the brief span since, the Loa have led her safely across continents to Kenan, though they've not made their intentions for her there clear. For the most part, her days are spent drinking and smoking her way through the last of the cash at hand, though her tenuous accessibility to both is testing her patience and drawing a forced calling of the Loa ever closer.
Notes:
The Loa, as referenced above, are not spirits. Their nature is not wholly understood by Mamarié, though she's certain they've been in existence for at least several human generations. Their personalities vary, even within what she knows as the same Loa, though perhaps beyond what one might expect from a human. That there are several dozen of them muddies the waters even further, such that it requires one several years to simply learn to identify the broad classes of Loa. Regardless of their nature, it's evident that their existence is far less transient than that of humans and their grasp of magic far greater.
Alias/Nickname: Voodoo Lily
Age: 23
Race: Human
Birth Place: Delacroix, LA
Height: 5' 9"
Weight: 120#
Appearance
Marie is a tall, slender young woman, light in appearance, with deep brown eyes and black hair that falls just past her shoulders. She carries herself confidently and her eyes project intelligence and determination. Her figure is light and her movements would best be described as possessing deliberate grace, both purposeful and fluid. She has a number of piercings and tattoos, many of which are plainly visible and, in particular, the mark of Erzulie on her left shoulder and a bare-breasted open-winged angel at her waist. When she speaks, she's prone to voice her opinion without filters in the thick flourishes of a Creole accent, complete with an array of regional colloquialisms that betray her worldliness. Her dress is eclectic and tends to portray her moods, ranging from a more comfort-oriented base state upwards, but is always fashionable if not also a tad revealing. She's fond of drink and can often be found perched atop a bar stool wreathed in a cloud of cigar smoke and smelling of booze. The latter penchants frequently gain her entry into the conversations of men, who find in her an attractive and engaging drinking buddy. Her choice of language fluctuates, and can do so mid-sentence, from her native Creole to English. While she tries to catch and correct herself, others are often left to their own devices in figuring out the various pieces of her fractured sentences.
Social Status:
Currently unaffiliated, but she's generally unsympathetic to any agenda that sees angels and demons encroaching on human domain. Among humans, her status varies by belief in vodou, which is necessarily limited to small pockets globally and, within that, a precious few who acknowledge its power. Among that scattered group, Marie would be regarded as a mambo asogwe, or high priestess, and one of a handful capable of inducting others into the ranks of the "clergy". By degree, her powers are lesser than those of similar standing given her recent ordainment; however, the title itself was conferred by Jeanne Vilet and stands an indisputable affirmation of Marie's mastery.
Relations:
There are no known living relations; however, Marie's parentage remains unknown, so there's a degree of uncertainty in her ancestry. With regard to Jeanne Vilet, she had no daughters and miscarried two sons, so Marie is her only descendant, if in spirit only.
General Activity:
Marie follows the Loa, wherever they advise, though it's become apparent to her that their leadership isn't an absolute. That is, Papa Legba leads true, if not always along a constant path; while Xango leads on more dangerous paths, and Erzulie seems to have no earthly direction at all. The young woman's time is most often spent waiting in service of the Loa, biding her time until their direction is clear. Often, that means long days and nights spent in whatever endeavor she deems appropriate; while at others it means serving the needs of other "believers", which she does enthusiastically. From a more practical standpoint, her time is divided between doing the bidding of the Loa, tempered by her own feelings on their fickle nature, and sustaining her own existence by whatever means necessary. It's a happy coincidence that the two frequently overlap. On occasion, it also means engaging directly in the affairs of angels and demons, though never when the outcome is speculative.
Abilities
Marie's brand of shamanistic magic is steeped in ritual and heavily dependent on the Loa for its most potent effects. In its more predictable state, charms, talismans, and potions channel the innate essence of humankind guided from elsewhere. In its less stable forms, the outcomes are wholly unpredictable and vary according to the nature of the Loa invoked.
Equipment:
Marie carries an oversized purse, or alternatively a femininely-styled white burlap messenger bag, depending on one's sense of style. Within, she carries a small supply of herbs and ingredients necessary for both common and more extraordinary effects. That is to say that the more frequent mundane ingredients and the rarer, but more potent, ones are in sufficient stock - those in between are absent. Suffice it to say, though, that the Loa are less finicky about their materials when something they hold dear is at stake, so insufficient inventory is seldom an issue experienced by any but the most novice. She carries no weaponry beyond a small, bone-handled knife used for ceremonial purposes and skinning small animals.
Personality:
Generally speaking, Marie is a heavy drinker, will smoke just about anything, and could be regarded as promiscuous. However, the more astute would, over time, observe patterns in her behavior such that for an extended period she might be a chaste teetotaler (rare), while at another nothing short of a drunken fille de joie (also rare). Within the broader range of the spectrum, her demeanor is warm and vivacious - she laughs easily and is frequently flirtatious, though less often genuinely interested in pursuing things further. In light conversation, she's downright chatty and easily able to carry on for hours; however, when pressed about herself becomes evasive and is quick to change the topic. It takes little time to discern that the young woman is an idealist, though the principles that drive her may be less certain and she's seldom forthcoming about them. The handful that can call her friend find her a loyal and resourceful ally, in whom they can place their complete confidence. Others will find in her a pragmatist that's more than capable of thriving in virtually any environment and willing to beg, borrow, or steal her way to any end.
Biography:
A light mist hung heavy in the stagnant air, rich with the chirps and croaks of the bayou. The night was dead calm, otherwise, moonless and damned near oppressive. The only light source was a century-old lantern, carried by a hand nearly as old, that cast wavering wisps of light into the darkness. "Wont sou ou, Legba, yo pote yon granmoun fanm soti sou yon jou lannwit tankou sa a." The lantern bearer's voice was old and crackled, and seemed to address no one in particular in thickly-accented Creole. "The girl, I know, I know. We been waitin a long time for her ... a long time." Jeanne Vilet's feeble frame hobbled along silently into the wee hours, the only sounds she made being the sloppy squish of her walking stick as it plunged into the muddy peat with each step. She looked every bit of her hundred-plus years, hunched over with loose, wrinkled skin and nearly lost in her antiquated night gown. After a time, she came to a halt at the base of a grand cypress, maybe five or six-hundred years old with gnarled roots twisting up through the layers of mud and algae to form a narrow plateau a couple feet above the muck. Braids of its ancient trunk encircled the space to form a tiny alcove around a swaddled infant nestled amongst its serpentine tangle of roots. "Thank you Legba ... now run and tell Erzulie we've found her daughter, Mamarié."
Unlike other young Louisiana girls, Mamarié grew up near the edge of bayou country with her adopted guardian, Jeanne La Fleur, whom she knew as Mama Jeanne. Being that Delacroix was the nearest town, and that it was neither near nor much of a town, Mamarié and Jeanne were usually left to their own devices. It never struck Mamarié as odd, then, that the pair spoke only Creole and Latin at home, nor did speaking with the spirits seem to be anything but ordinary. In fact, sometimes their tiny shack seemed literally filled with personalities - some good, some bad, some with cheap perfume, and some that drank too much. As a child, Mamarié made modest attempts at interaction with her peers, though it was entirely a means of working on her English. Despite her differences from the other children, they were friendly towards her, if not a bit restrained - she later came to learn that they were afraid she'd work dark magic on them, but that's another story. She was never subjected to any kind of formal education beyond small makeshift classrooms, instead choosing to remain with Mama Jeanne and pursue other studies with what they both knew to be a limited time together.
One night during their last Summer, she and Mama Jeanne drank rum and smoked into the wee hours of the morning, as had become their habit. On this particular evening, however, Mama Jeanne told Mamarié that the Guédé waited for her at the crossroads - their time in the bayou was over and Mamarié would have to find her own way. The topic changed for a time to lighter conversation, though their drinking became heavier - much of the rest is a still a blur for Mamarié. They spat rum through their teeth, spraying it into a fine mist and offered up sacrifices for the Loa, some for Mama Jeanne's safe journey and others to call the Loa to Mamarié. It was the first time she ever actually saw them, the Loa, and they passed through her, such that she felt the nature of each. By dawn, she found herself alone, half-naked, and with a burning on her back, near her left shoulder - she bore a fresh tattoo, Erzulie's vever. That day she gathered the few things worth taking - a couple of Mama Jeanne's books, a small selection of herbs, several hand-rolled cigars, and a bottle of rum - and set fire to the only home she'd known.
In the brief span since, the Loa have led her safely across continents to Kenan, though they've not made their intentions for her there clear. For the most part, her days are spent drinking and smoking her way through the last of the cash at hand, though her tenuous accessibility to both is testing her patience and drawing a forced calling of the Loa ever closer.
Notes:
The Loa, as referenced above, are not spirits. Their nature is not wholly understood by Mamarié, though she's certain they've been in existence for at least several human generations. Their personalities vary, even within what she knows as the same Loa, though perhaps beyond what one might expect from a human. That there are several dozen of them muddies the waters even further, such that it requires one several years to simply learn to identify the broad classes of Loa. Regardless of their nature, it's evident that their existence is far less transient than that of humans and their grasp of magic far greater.
Transient would work from my end, since it's less a matter of "snatching" than of being snatched. Active things like talismanic magic (e.g. gris gris) or ritual effects don't have to require spirit involvement at all and could easily be explained away in the context of any form of magic wrapped in superstitious garb. The other end is spiritual possession, which does involve being inhabited for a short time by a spirit, and it is one of the more colorful aspects I was hoping to tap. It's short-lived (no more than a few hours) and not predictable at all - the spirit could impart knowledge, temporary power, or just ride the host for sport.
Not at all. Put bluntly, if my intention was to submit a (human) character predicated on spirit interaction and there are no spirits, then that would be important to know. Things like possession, a la vodou, also depend entirely on the mechanics of spirits - i.e. if there are no spirits at all, then possession would be either synonymous with controlling magic or non-existent.
With the obvious differences in how Heaven and Hell and treated in this setting, how does that impact spirits? In other words, what happens to the dead and is that different depending on whether one is an angel, human, or demon?
I'm interested and will have a background submitted within the next day or two. Hopefully, my take on a vodou mambo will be a welcome addition.
-februari
-februari
I'm here.
I write them all off-line, so I have a copy. The various write-ups of the Boggart's Hole are what threw me - I had it visualized as chocked full of drinking patrons which, even in modern cities that "never sleep" is rare mid-morning. I'd have expected people having a light breakfast or something like that. Anyway, no worries.
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