Thread: 1920's Voodoo.(HaloHeroWolf118 & Leviathan)

RE 1920's Voodoo. Black heels clicked against the uneven pavement at an impatient speed. The rain may have stopped a half hour ago but the drizzle and fog was still swirling through the city streets and intermingling with the ebony cloak of night. Charlie reached up to her coat collar and pulled it tighter against the pale column of her bared throat. The cold didnt have the sharp bite of winter but the chilling humidity clung to her bones and reminded her that it had been unwise to leave the house with only a light blouse and flannel skirt. Had the circumstances of her leaving been different, perhaps she would not have rushed out so quickly. The fact that anyone had called her so close to nightfall demanding to see her privately was shocking enough. Even in her line of business, most people had the common decency to make an appointment. Smugglers they may be, but even the mafia had to afford some mannerly conduct or else everything fell apart. Emergency phone calls were for police involvement and shipment dilemmas only. Yet the caller in question, a Mr. Braden MacFarlane, fit into neither of those categories. Hed been frightened and clearly rattled to say the very least, but as soon as she realised that his mannerism had nothing to do with the cartel her own panic quickly devolved into mild annoyance. Hed been incorrigible, mumbling about witchcraft and demons. Surely, hed said, surely a woman of her particular background would understand. Who else could he turn to? Though most of the cartel had heard rumours of her and her brothers origins, none had been so direct about it before. MacFarlane had left the speak-easy as panicked as hed arrived and with a healthy dose of whiskey in him. Charlie had been left behind, puzzled and eerily unnervedsomething in her gut telling her the mans terror had been genuine. The smuggler had also left behind something far more telling a leather-bound book which, upon closer inspection, was written entirely in a runic alphabet intermingled with faded sketches. Miss Charlotte, what a surprise! Its rare to see you come in later than your brother. Driven out of her reverie by the night guards greeting, the young womans cat-like green eyes titled upwards, raspberry lips offering an acknowledging smile. Yes, its quite the turn of events... she mumbled, more to herself than to the guard. Tell me, is he alone this time or will I be trying to drag another flapper out of my apartment? The guard offered a humouring grin. No, missjust the usual cuts and bruises. Merde . Charlie was upstairs in no time, unlocking the door and slipping into the dimly-lit apartment with a prominent frown marking her sculpted features. Shrugging off her coat and placing the mysterious tome she had been carrying with her off to the side, her gaze focused rather pointedly on the roguish individual nursing a bottle of moonshine in the corner of the living room. Even with the low lighting she could spot the blackened marks across his face and barren chest she must have arrived soon after him because he had yet to wash off the bloodstains from his arms and face. As if to support her assumption, his onyx hair was speckled with raindrops that matched her own dew-ridden black ringletscontrary to most fashion-conscious women of the era, Charlie still wore her hair long, the tousled waves reaching a couple inches past her shoulders. In truth, it was easy to confuse the two of them as being blood-related with the matching black hair, clear eyes and outlandish aura. Though her brother was much more suited to the image of a danger-seeking gangster, every time Charlie entered a room people always had the impression that they were in the presence something foreign and not unlike the bayous own mysterious atmosphere. Eric, I really hope you have a decent excuse for me this time, she spoke in sharp tones, though it was hard to keep the honest concern from her voice. She was by his side in a couple steps, pulling the liquor bottle out of his hands and kneeling next to him in order to better examine his face. Seeing the black marks up close caused her bite her lip apprehensively. Her right hand moved to cup his chin and turn it towards her while the fingertips of her left feathered over the cut above his eye. Charlie had seen him in worse shape than this, but the sight of him injured was a sure-fire way to bring out the worst of her temper and anxieties. The unease made her Cajun accent all the more apparent and her vowels rounded into the Acadian-styled French resonance. You idiot, she muttered angrily. You know youre not invincible, right? What happened?