The First Age

Rowan did not believe in sex outside of a relationship. After her late husband passed, she had gone on a month-long bender which involved a whole lot of Jack Daniels and dick. It was the only time in her life that she had been so promiscuous and it had landed her in trouble a few times. The issue was that you didn’t know what a guy was like if you just met and then fucked. Some men didn’t take no for an answer. Like ‘Rambo’… Cocksucker, Rowan thought to herself. The man wanted her, but she didn’t want him. He had Rowan anyway; now he was sitting at the bottom of Lake Pontchartrain wearing cement shoes. Fucker, Rowan thought to herself again.

                This dance with Mikhail wasn’t planned, but she welcomed it. Voodoo inspired primal urges and made people do strange things. She had never seen practitioners engaging in ritualistic sex… At least not in public, so that wouldn’t be happening here. Some innocent kissing was fine though. It played up the atmosphere, and people liked sex. Seeing two attractive people getting a little hot and bothered would be enough to catch everyone’s attention, if the Voodoo, fireworks, tarot cards, and all of those other things didn’t.

                If there was any doubt in Rowan’s mind that this other man could wield magic, it was washed away with the braids of fire. If she hung around this Mik, she’d have to be careful. He seemed like a pyromaniac what with the halos and now the swirling flames. It was hot and made Rowan damp with perspiration, but it was just one more thing to enhance the ritual that she had constructed for the night. As Mikhail ravished her, Rowan extracted her hands from his buttocks, which she had been firmly grasping… There was nothing wrong with groping either.

                The sound of monkeys chitter sounded in her mind. It had that strange ethereal quality that the song had, the one she heard before beckoning Mikhail into her circle. That could only mean one thing… She looked at Mikhail and whispered, “It appears that you and I are not the only ones…”

                Rowan pulled away from he partner in this wicked dance of tounges and threw her arms up into the air. She felt Papa Legba enter her once more, a waterfall of energy, cascading through her body, an unseen light shining behind her shoulder. The tarot cards swirled up from the ground again, arcing overhead and shuffling themselves. With a clap of her outstretched hands, the cards scattered in the air. Three cards darted off through the crowd and floated in the air before a man Rowan had never seen before. He appeared to be Asian, although Rowan hated assuming such things. He was handsome as well. Rowan didn’t have to see the cards to know which ones they were.

                Death… The Wheel of Fortune… The Fool…

                The fact that those cards sought him out meant that he could wield magic as well. This stranger was a Channeler. The audience would have no way of knowing that. To them, Rowan was just picking out another stranger from the crowd, lest he start casting his own spells like Mikhail. She pointed to the man and beckoned, then turning back to Mikhail.

                “When it rains, it pours,” She purred in her most sultry tone.

The show devolved quickly and then she threw cards into the air.  The shiver he felt along his skin was strange and unnatural.  Cards floated towards him and he had no clue what the meant but she becond him to the front of the audience.  

Li looked at her like she was crazy.  "I'm not participating in that witch."  He shook his head.  He meant it in the fondest sense, the monks at the monastery taught many things, and tolerance was all.  She was a balancing force, he could see that much about her.  But he wasn't going to participate in rituals he knew nothing about.

Yeah...this was interesting. The crowd didn't really bother him. Not like he was really gonna go to town in front of anyone. This was all a show....though he was enjoying it, that's for sure. She knew how to kiss, that was for sure. Keeping his head clear was kinda tough. The whiskey induced fog had been strong enough. Now this....?

She tore her lips from his, telling him he wasn't the only one. Interesting. What kind of trouble could he get up to tonight? She did her card trick again. Mik wished he could see how she did it. He wasn't sure why that was. Not that he was all thinking clearly anyway. Maybe because she was a girl? Who knew.

Anyway, so the cards flew through the air directly to hover in front of a tall Asian dude. He was all suited up. The woman called out to him, inviting him up. Guy didn't want to come up though. Eh. His loss.

Over the music and drums he called out to the woman. "Looks like he doesn't want to play!"

Xander watched from the new vantage point and was less than thrilled the snake was called to the front. He'd come up here to get away from him. The last thing he wanted was their kind of trouble. Or even her kind of trouble. Xander much preferred to keep his talents on the down low, people either took advantage of your talents or they ridiculed you for it. Neither of which was something Xander tolerated.

But what where the odds that he'd run into two men called up by the same witch who were special. Clearly the two up front were masters of their arts. Xander wondered about the first man. The darkness and anger, it reminded him of himself, but then he couldn't see his own aura with ease. Staring at himself just wasn't his thing and then it was distorted. Colored by his own knowledge.

While the ritual was of interest to Xander, it wasn't to Alexis. There was no prospect of money here. Unless she wished to go on the road and sell her gift. He'd done that once, traveled with a carnival and told people their fortunes, it was a sad gig. And he'd been 'let go' because all of his prophecies were dark. All the true ones always were.

If the snake came forward Xander would leave, he didn't want to get caught up in whatever game he was playing. And he didn't want to see anymore of those images up close and personal.

  “Suit yourself, brother,” Rowan called after the man. She plucked a business card from inside her bodice and sent it up into the air with the cards. The paper danced among the magical wind before arcing overhead and zipping down into the stranger’s pocket. Rowan blew the man a kiss before returning to Mikhail.

                She drew him into another dance, grabbing him and spinning around and around. They made their way around the entire circle, spinning faster and faster, Rowan’s hair flailing about as if the Loa were making her long golden tresses dance along with them. She felt that familiar glow, that savory energy spill into her. Rowan let out a cackle of a laugh; it wasn’t on purpose, but she found it served her purposes during these ceremonies. With Voodoo, the spectacle was everything for the non-believer.

                Everywhere Rowan’s feet touched, flowers, moss, and other things of the earth sprung up, pushing their way through the cement, fissures, and cracks giving way to the bounties of the planet. Rowan brought their dance back to the center, and without warning, they stopped abruptly. Rowan gave Mik another peck on the cheek before pulling away and turning to look at the crowd.

                “As citizens of the CCD, I am sure you have all heard the Ascendancy talk at length about magic and Channelers! I do not know much about that. I am an immigrant from New Orleans, USA. I have come to your beautiful country in search of my brother. His name is Aiden Finnegan, a superstar from across the pond. I am sure some of you have heard of him,” She brought her arms up into the air and felt the wind pick up once more, scattering flower petals everywhere. A rain of pinks, reds, blues, and yellows fell on the crowd; it looked as if mother earth had showered them with her own special brand of confetti.

                The crowd ate it up and Rowan waited for them to quiet again before going on, “I have opened a new café just a few blocks from here. It is called ‘The Bottom of the Cup,’ we serve all sorts of baked goods and teas. If you come to my shop, you will find fortune tellers, live bands, and so much more. If any of you here tonight have any information on the whereabouts of my brother; or even if you wish to learn the sacred arts of Voodoo, our door is always open. I will turn away no one,” She looked to the sky and then to the ground, “As above, so below! The circle is open but never broken!” The wind gave one final rush… and then it was over. That last bit wasn’t from Voodoo, but from the Wiccan religion; still, it served Rowan just fine.

                The crowd stood around for a few moments more before they started to dissipate. Rowan grabbed her cards, paid the band, and then approached Mikhail, “What are you up to tonight, handsome? I am sure we have plenty to chat about.”

For once Xander's personal interest and his persona's interests aligned.  Not perfectly, but at least This cafe - the Bottom of the Cup - was worth while.  He could see what this broad had to offer.  Alexis could see what the shop had to offer.  And if it made money it it might be a good investment for both Xander and Alexs' pockets.  At the very least the woman's so called readings might draw in a few customers worth while even if the joint was profitable.

Xander wasn't above the prospect of offering his talents for more money in the long run.  But Alexis, he wasn't a fortune teller. Tobias Johnsen was however.  Tobias was a drifter, doing whatever he needed to to get by.  A slow smile spread across Xander's lips.  He turned away from the crowd that was dispersing and made his way home.

Home was a simple apartment on the edge of the so called Enlightened District, which was just a street really of a lot of old book stores and churches.  Historically speaking it was unique, and even more so since the snakes house burnt down to the ground.  Where better to live than where the snakes were no longer?  Xander had picked the apartment shortly after the Baccarat Mansion burnt down.  Which was to say a matter of weeks - maybe a month he'd been there, most of his things were unpacked, but the boxes themselves were still stacked lazily in the corner.

Tobias was a jeans and t-shirt sort of guy.  More comfortable.  Where Alexis was clean cut, his hair brushed back and style, Tobias's ink black hair was tousled like he'd just gotten out of bed.   He wore a dash of eye liner to make his eyes seem more sad and emo, but his attire was not gothic in any sense of the words.  More like he was a rockstar, torn jeans and a faded heavy metal t-shirt that was actually one of Xander's favorite bands.  But no one knew that.

Xander stared in the mirror and spoke in a heavy Dutch accented English.  "Tobias Johnsen."  Xander pulled on the leather jacket that completed the look and he headed back out the door.  He had a Voodoo priestess to see and her shop to dissect for marks.

[[ Xander will join you in a bit ]]

He had to give it to the doll. She knew how to run a show. The flower petals thing was a neat trick. He'd have to ask her how she did it. Not that it would be too useful. Well, come to think of it, it might. Pretty little thing sitting on a bench in the park and he makes flowering plants grow around her? I mean come on! That would totally get her attention. 

Hah! Or she'd run screaming, all scared of channelers and shit. That would a be toss of the dice. Could be kinda fun too.

Anyway, she mentioned her brother. Mik didn't know the name at all. American superstars or whatever didn't interest him. And he'd never had any food from....what did she say? Louisiana? That like a city or something?

But she wanted to talk and the way she said it fired his blood. "Yeah, I talk real good," he said goofily. His stomach rumbled. "And maybe you can let me taste whatever it is you cook at your place, too. Long as its not newts or ground up spiders or whatever." He winked at her. It was all in fun. He actually might try it if they did it right.

Rowan grabbed Mikhail’s hand and lead him through the disappearing crowd. She made sure to toss a little extra hip wiggle in with her walk. She had dealt with men like Mik before. They thought with their dicks. That didn’t bother Rowan, so long as he didn’t try to force himself on her. She had to be in control of the situation, otherwise, she’d have no choice but to invoke Papa Legba once more. Perhaps Chango. Chango always gave her incredible results when dealing with the touchy-feely type.

                Mik reminded her of home, especially Bourbon Street. The place was always crawling with out-of-towners, and even though Rowan was one in the CCD, Mik’s thick accent made her feel like he was the tourist. It was comforting. She always knew how to show tourists a good time. Keeping that mindset would make the night easier.

                The wove their way down the street and Rowan spoke over her shoulder, “The baked goods are all my own recipes. I’ve even got a few… ‘special brownies’ in the back of house. I’m in a sharing mood, so if you’re down with Mary Jane, I’d gladly let you try one. They’d make a nice compliment to the evening we’ve had. No spiders or newts, I’m afraid. That’s for European witches… At least from what I’ve heard.” She turned her head and winked at him. Real witches didn’t use those things… Well, she thought they didn’t. Rowan was well versed in different magical traditions, but it wouldn’t surprise her if there were some out there that took those ancient stories of witches and warts as gospel.


 
                After twenty minutes of walking, they ended up in front of a Queen Anne Victorian style restaurant. It looked out of place on the street, but that was the point. Rowan wanted it to feel like God plucked a French Quarter café right off of Bourbon and set it in the middle of Russia. Father designed it, of course. He had contemplated using Greek Revival or Colonial, but Rowan insisted on Queen Anne. It reminded her of the Garden District mansions she used to obsess over as a child.

                The Bottom of the Cup Café had a striking asymmetrical façade with a dominant front-facing gable, seven polygonal towers sprouted up from the roof. A large wrap-around porch encircled the building, wrought iron tables and chairs dotted the wooden floor; a second-story balcony covered the entire ground level porch. Patterned wood shingles shaped into fish scales covered the outer walls, oriel and bay windows jutting out all over. A monumental chimney, painted balustrades, and carved columns set off the rest of the architecture. A wooden fence enclosed the property with an expansive garden separating the fence from the rest of the café. Jazz music and warm smells of sugar, cinnamon, and coffee permeated the atmosphere.

                “Welcome to the Bottom of the Cup Café, Mon Dieu,” Rowan breathed into Mik’s ear before dragging him into the front yard of the café and up the wooden steps. The doors opened onto a rowdy scene, not very café like at all. About fifty patrons filled the cafe; three other open doorways lead to rooms in the New Orleans style. There would be no hallways here, except upstairs maybe. The décor screamed ‘The Big Easy.’ Antique French furniture, Low-country antiques, ornamental iron, crystal chandeliers, gilding, tufting, and elaborate plasterwork made the entire place a feast for the eyes. Off to the right was a long counter, cash register atop it, menus scatter about, and candles glowing from every inch of unused surface.

                An old, gnarled, ebony-skinned woman sat behind the counter. She wore thick coke bottle lenses set into a golden framework, her bone white hair plaited in a multitude of braids. In her hands, she held a copy of ‘Queen of the Damned’ by Anne Rice, which she looked up from as Rowan and Mikhail walked in. A gummy smile erupted on her ancient face at the sight of them. With her other hand, she hitched her wool knit shawl up around her shoulders and broke out into a hearty laugh.

                “Picked another stray up from the alleys, did ya, Rowan? Well… Bring ‘im upstairs and I’ll have Galton bring the poor cat some milk and fish,” the old woman said between giggles.

                “Hello, Maman Marie,” Rowan purred at the older woman, “No, no. This is Mik. He’s another- ah – practitioner. Wanted to see the place and try some of your world famous gumbo. Have Galton bring some of that out. How’s business this evening? I see we have quite the rush. Hopefully, my ritual helped. We’ll be over at one of the back tables in the Amber Room.”

                “Practitioner, you say? Well, my stars and garters,” Maman Marie quipped. She always thought using old southern terms was funny. Rowan didn’t care for them, but she humored the woman. “Watch your pants boy, Rowan over her has been known to charm the best of ‘em. Quite the witch. Quite. Behave yourselves you two! Or take it upstairs! None of us are gonna be wanting to see that nastiness.” Maman Marie howled with laughter as Rowan led Mik into the room off to the right.

                It looked much the same as the other room, same décor and furniture; the only difference was that everything in here was colored in various shades of amber. A large set of French doors lead out onto the porch. A few patrons mingled in here, drinking, eating, laughing, singing. Another large open doorway led into another room off to the left, a live jazz band swinging and playing for a small crowd. The music leaked into the Amber Room and Rowan couldn’t help but nod her head to the beat. She lead Mik over to a chaise lounge and collapsed on it, one of the waiters coming by with a glass of red wine for her. He turned to Mik and asked, “What’ll it be, sir?”

                Rowan eyed Mik, “Anything you want, we got. On the house. Let’s get comfy, cutie. I want to know all about you… And your gifts.” She sipped the wine and patted the spot next to her on the lounge.

The cafe was crowded in a way that naturally made Asha tense. Too many people and their rag-tag emotions pressed a constant barrage to protect herself from, and without Elias she had no buffer to fall back on should it overwhelm her. His frustration of late crashed heavy waves against her senses, and she was desperate to help. Which incidentally was why she was here. He wouldn't approve, probably, and while the wrap of his protection curled happy warmth in her stomach, he sometimes seemed to forget how long she had lived on her own before their paths collided.

She'd picked a tucked away table, and sat with her back pressed against a wall lest someone jostle her from behind. It was beautiful in here, full of details to pull an eye as curious as Asha's, but she made an effort to watch the people coming and going instead. She'd reached out on the blog she'd written for years looking for leads amongst the crazy, until finally settling on a promising meet. Jazz music drifted from another room, a distraction from the voices if not the little bubbles of emotion vying for her attention. Her sleeves were pulled low over her knuckles, fingers wrapped about a steaming cup of coffee while she waited.

The Bottom of the Cup looked like home. Not that Xander ever called New Orleans home but it was American by every scope of the word. He'd been to American diners here in Moscow and everyone one of them threw it over the top, but this one looked like home. Inside he expected to see it the same, maybe a little over done to accommodate the things people saw on the idiot box. What they thought was true was rather humorous in and of itself.

Xander walked in and saw the place was hopping. It didn't feel like home. But then New Orleans never was, but it was familiar. There were so many people the aura's almost mixed and mingled and gave Xander a headache. Tobias ran his fingers through his hair while he waited tossling the mop even more. The multitude of auras lended to the faked hangover Tobias has. It was not early, he'd just gotten out of bed from a late shift at some stocking job that paid cash. The wad of cash was in his pocket.

Xander shuffled over to an unoccupied table near a girl in the corner. Her aura was different. He couldn't put a finger on the reason for it. She was a mix of colors, everything shuffling and shifting and it didn't even look like it was hers. Xander sat down facing her instead of with his back to the corner as he'd have preferred. His waitress stopped by and Xander barely looked up at her he ordered a coffee and some water while he looked at the menu. He didn't mean to stare, but there was something about her. And he wanted to figure it out. And Tobias was lacking tact. What better way to get her to say something to him.

The girl came back with his coffee and water, "What can I get you?"

Not forgetting Tobias' dutchman accent he smiled up at her. "I'll take a large bowl of whatever gumbo is freshest, easy on the rice, and beignets for desert, heavy on the powdered sugar. And more coffee. A pot might be nice."

Xander sipped at his hot coffee he'd loaded with sugar and added some cream. He studied the girl from over the rim of his coffee cup.