Marinette or Bust

April 17, 2016:

Lyn requests the aid of Fenris and John to aid her in a spiritual battle with the petro lwa, Marinette.

Warehouse, Gotham City

An abandoned warehouse located in Gotham City




NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Lyn had asked for the help of those around her. Mostly, those of a magical persuasion. After some lighter conversations, and a few more that weren't so easy, she had them agree to aid her in what might be the most idiotic thing the young mambo could possibly be doing. The location was set; a vacant warehouse lot by the ports in Gotham. It was away from people, and the openings were being sealed, magically, to keep anything from getting in, or more importantly, out. "Y'gettin' dere, John?" She questions out to the warlock, as his task for the time being was blessing the area. The girl was hard at work with chalk, marking out a summoning circle.

Her attire was a flowing gown of red, her hair held up and away in wrappings of scarlet and jet, and her arms were decorated with tribal bands of wood and metal. She was nervous, her shoulders trembling, yet she continues with her work, her lips moving in silence as she speaks spells down her arm and into the ground itself. In the middle of the circle is a small firepit, already set ablaze with a calm, low flame.

John wasn't happy. He didn't like the idea of the summoning, the ritual, or Lyn's personal trial into mastery.

But he wasn't going to stop Lyn from pursuing her ambition.

Moving around the periphery of the warehouse John keeps laying down runes and marks everywhere— doors, windows, even vents. He's laying down everything from Enochian sigils to Hindi mantras, in layers sufficient to make even the most formidable of invaders stop and take pause before attempting to trespass.

There was no way in hell anyone but Maniette was going to get in Lyn's face today.

Fenris isn't late, exactly. He does have a habit of just appearing out of thin air though owing to the somewhat global nature of the problem he's presently dealing with. The God-Wolf arrives alone, dressed rather simply - shirt, slacks, vest. No need for a coat with the weather, not that there ever is but he wears one often anyway. "Hello you two. Just getting ready, I take it?"

"De way we markin' dis place up, should t'ink a usin' it as some type a safe house sometime." The girl muses, trying to mask her own inner doubt about the entire thing. She notes Fenris, blinking a bit at the sudden arrival, but soon shakes it away when remembering who he was.

"Almost done," she informs him before finishing off her circle and stepping away from it, her feet bare and already powdered with dirt and ash. "Y'got dat amulet y'tellin' me 'bout? De one dat guard 'gainst possession? If I make her mad, m'goin' need dat." Opening a small, wooden box, she takes out what look to be black feathers, the black, curled up foot of a chicken, and a knife. "John, m'ready when y'done, chere. Now, m'goin' need you to t'jus'…breathe. Sit, pray, do as y'like, but jus'…be ready. Ok?"

"I'm always ready," John grates, looking more and more irritatble by the moment. He keeps moving around the warehouse until he deems the job done, then returns to Fenris and Lyn. "Are you sure the amulet's going to help?" he frowns at Lyn. "I'm not sure how she'll look on it if you're getting outside help to fight her off. It sure won't win you any favors with her," he advises the voodoun.

"I think if it comes to that John we'll have rather a different set of problems." Fenris murmurs as he reaches out with one hand to reveal and intricately carved amulet in brass and ivory. Much like John, Fenris is an expert in the arcane though of a different kind. His comes from thousands of years of study. This particular artifact is a trap, something that will draw any possessing spirit into a very small pocket plane much like those of fabled lamps. It's uncomfortable, he's told.

"There's always exceptions with magic but this should work." Then he quiets down to let the ritual proceed.

Lyn eyes John with a knowing glare. Her expression lightens as she accepts the trinket, and simply hangs it from a band around her hips; just another trinket. "Already got y'both here. Don' neither of y' do voodoo like me. M'bucking de odds as it is." She informs the Brit before moving to the fire pit and taking a deep breath.

Her words roll out now, not in Enlighs or French, but in something else all together. The flame licks and sputters, soon fed with dark feathers and a talons of jet. They continue to grow as the girl sways, her serpent like eyes going half lidded as if she were dancing to the hammering noise of drums all in her head. The knife aloft, she cuts against her palm, feeding the element her own life force, and the only words that may be understood are 'Petro' and 'Marinette'."

There's darkness then, as the fire dies completely before whooshing skyward, twisting and curling around itself. Lyn stands, head back, eyes rolled and arms out, her palm still bleeding as beads of scarlet trickle and fall to the ground, splattering on the floor.

John gives Fenris a worried, sidelong glance, fists closing and opening in worry. Worry for Lyn. And knowing that if things go wrong, by the time he can do anything about it at all— it might be too late.

So he just watches with nervous fear. "Mate, don't let me do something dumb here," he tells Fenris softly, eyes on the gibbering mambo.

Fenris nods to John quietly. He's not doing anything obvious himself, just watching. If Lyn and/or Constantine require extra power he'll offer it. Mostly he's here to offer what implicit 'cover' his presence might provide and to make good that protection if that's necessary. That Lyn felt it necessary to have both he and Constantine present when either one would scare plenty - John's reputation with spirits perhaps slightly more dire than his own - speaks to the gravity of the situation.

Lyn falls back slightly, her spine bowing as she arches, and arms still at her sides in a welcoming embrace of whatever it was that she was reaching out to, and for. Lines form across her bare shoulders, crossing and connecting, and making a pattern of scales as others trace down her arms, darkening her already cocoa flesh and leaving some places blank, creating the illusion of the girl being painted up like a skeleton.

Her hairwrap unfolds, allowing her curls to fall loose, as flames lick at her form and create a cover that shifts into that of a wolf's pelt, its mouth open across her skull, its teeth freely dripping liquid rubies. The mambo lifts off the ground, her toes brushing across the floor, before she's turned and set back steady, now facing the two men who wait outside of the circle. Her lips move, speaking words that could be understood, but only give half of a story; like listening to someone while they were on the phone. "No, girl. 'Course I dere dat night. Mmm, dey somet'in' else dere. De leash, it need be cut." Hallow eyes of onyx snap open, her head tilting as she, in the body of Lyn, seems to consider the two men close by. "Dey one dat sent me 'way. N' de brotha of de snake. Guess dat fittin'. I be payin' 'ttention to y'both."

John's face settles into that smug expression of perfect composure he almost always sports. Reassuringly confident and fairly arrogant. He reaches into his coat pocket and comes up with a cigarette, taking his time lighting it with a too-bright flame from his Zippo.

"Looking's free, luv. Touching, though, that'll cost you," John says, in a dryly ascerbic tone.

Fenris chuckles dryly at John's wit and inclines his head slightly. "I'm given to understand you've taken something of an unfortunate interest in someone who came to me for instruction." He understands that she did that with John as well but it still let's him claim some student-teacher privilege in the matter and spirits being what they are that's often important. "She was somewhat confused about why. We thought to ask the source directly." We being Lyn mostly and John as well.

"Don' cost me a t'ing, darlin'. 'sides, de doll be doin' all de touchin', no?" The spirit smirks, pressing Lyn's cheeks with their natural dimples. Lowering into and almost predatorial crouch, she begins to trace over the symbols in an overcoating of crimson that drains down the girl's hand and down her index finger. "Mmm, I know. She be askin' me, too. Don' know what drove me t'do what I did. Constontine dere, drove me 'way. I like de girl, truth b'told. Wit her de night dey try n'kill her. Dey somebody else pushin' me, givin' me angry offerin's."

One symbol down, she points to join and then slowly turns to Fenris. "Y'brotha, Wolf? How he doin'?" Chuckling, darkling, almost in a knowing manner, she chidly clicks her tongue against the back of her teeth.

"Ah-ah-ah," John says, snapping his fingers at the crouching loa like a firecracker. He waggles his index finger at her. "Keep smearing those runes around, you and I will have words, missy." He lifts a brow at Maniette. "Don't think I'm gonna let you paint yourself into that woman's body. It's been a day since I had to burn a loa out of someone's body, but believe me, the last time we met I was shooting from the hip and mostly improvising. This time, I'm more than ready." His other hand comes up with a dangling bone charm wrapped in his fingers, glittering with an otherworldly quality, and wiggles it at the loa. "And don't think I need to bind or banish you. I'll just kick your ass up between your ears."

Fenris steps around to the left to get a better look at what Lyn-Mari is doing. Hopefully nothing untoward. In the mean time the news she's giving isn't exactly good. "Any idea who would be… giving you those kinds of offerings. A bocor of some kind, surely? Or do you think one of your… family?"

As to his brother, the Old Wolf lets out a snort. "He's not sleeping as well as he should be and it's causing problems. Someone's trying to wake him… which would cause more problems, though I think you probably know that."

In an almost playful manner, the lwa ceases her drawing, and sticks her tongue out at the warlock. "Ain't stayin'. Jus' visitin'. Me n'de doll, we made a deal." Standing, she turns and sets her back to the flames, trailing after Fenris and taking, pointed, steps away from John, and his trinket. "'Course I know dat. S'funny, in a way."

The question of 'who' returning, the lwa cants her head from side to slow side. "Dey one dat didn't die." She murmurs, reaching down and reclaiming the knife from the floor, still slick with the girl's vitae. "He angry, dat one. 'N he ask f'help. It bad juju, curse 'gainst de doll."

John makes a snapping gesture and mutters some syllables, and the weight of the knife suddenly increases a thousandfold, as if a vast electromagnet had sized it. Enough to keep all but a superhuman from lifting the blade off the ground.

"I know you loa love talking in a circle luv, but I'm not some confused mambo looking for a word on the local lottery," John tells Maniette, wryly. "Speak a bit more clear. -Who- is manipulating you? What does he get from a maddened loa? No one's daft enough to corrupt the entire loa clan— Midnite would get to him long before someone like me did."

The one that didn't die. Fenris mulls that one. Seems like it might be something bound up in Lyn's history, unless it's a reference to a spirit or 'ascended'. He hasn't run into one of those in a dog's age. He can't well ask Lyn now though and glances to John as he asks a question. A name would be nice. He's not sure they'll get one but… that's often how these things go. Actually… one other question occurs to him…

"And if we were to make offerings for, mmm, help locating him? Or does he have a protector?" Which would certainly explain why pissed off loa haven't gone after the man.

Lyn grumbles as the blade drags her petite form down. Even in the girl's body, she still only had her strength; which wasn't much at all. Her bone like fingers ache and recoil away from the weapon before she stands up once more. "T'hell wit y', Constontine." Marinette mutters, spitting at the floor near the man's feet. Her bar foot brushes out, undoing one of the symbols, leaving it half made.

"Dat night, when I met de doll, was de night she goin' die. She pray, she cry, I helped. Dey say if y'goin' f'revenge, y'make two graves. Well, she kill t'save h'self, n'de girl ran. On, dough, he don' die. He live, too. N'he mad." At the mention of offerings, the lwa smirks wickedly. "What y'gon' give me, den, hmm? I take fr'm y'both, or dey no deal."

John brandishes the bone charm and hisses at Maniette, and mutters something under his breath. Shadows warp and crackle like whips, lashing out at the spirit. They pass through the skin unimpeded, striking the demon inside the girl.

"Last warning, Maniette. Touch one more rune and I will tie your neck to a rock and throw the rock into the middle of the burning font of the Source itself," he glowers.

"I think Fenris misspoke. You are gonna owe -us- for this one," John says. Ever quick, the lanky Brit is. He stomps on Fenris' foot, pointedly, and steps closer to Maniette. "He's got you by the short and curlies, unless I miss my guess. Lyn's a mambo with a gift like I haven't seen in years. Midnite himself wonders what she can do. If I hadn't come 'long that night, who knows? You might have found yourself chained to her will. Dumb move on my part, but it looks like you got a free pass."

John stops with his toes just on the safe side of the runed circle, smiling knowingly at Maniette. "So I'm willing to deal, luv. You give me the name of the blighter we're looking for, and you can owe us each a favor, rest assured that Fenris and I will go handle him for you."

"Because Lyn doesn't know who I am, but your kin among the loa, do. Go ask them what happens to the ones who get in the way of John Constantine, and ask yourself if it's worth owing me a little favor on the off-chance someone will rub me the wrong way and get his arse kicked."

Fenris quiets at the stomp giving John a look that's somewhere between curious and amused. Oh that's brass ballsy negotiating, that one and he's more than willing to see how it plays out. Being owed a favor won't hurt to be sure, if she goes for it. Depends, really, on how eager she is to be rid of this nuissance. And how much of a nuisance it is, he supposes.

"Y't'ink m'dat stupid, do y', Constontine? I know well who y'are, n' I've felt y in ways y'don' wan' t' know." The Lwa promises, looking at the trinket once more before glancing back and forth between the pair. "De boy, he die later. Weepin', n'blubberin' in his papa's arms. Y'know dat man, don' ya, John? Y'speak his name. Y'give'm drink. Y'let'm near y'doll. Dat boy? His mama? Dey know dat man. Linton. He know you, too."

The girl reaches for her throat then, taking in a shakey breath, gulping at the air like someone coming up from a deep plunge into water. Her eyes flicker and flutter, shifting from onyx to jade, and soon her tiny body meets the ground, the flames of the fire-pit blazing up and around the circle entire. The runes start to burn, as do every mark that had been etched into the doors, windows, vents.

With a groan, Lyn rolls over onto her side, the wolf pelt over her head falling to ash that coats her skin and hair grey. In her cut hand, she clutches the amulet given to her by Fenris, her knuckles white.

John scowls at the loa, but she's gone— he holds out the bone charm and sniffs about, looking at the destroyed remains of his intricate wards. "Bloody cheek, that one," he grumbles. He moves towards Lyn trepidatiously, and nudges her with the toe of his Oxford shoe. "'lo, lass, you still with us?" he asks in a bright tone, goosing her again. "Seems the Bloody Handed Lady has taken her leave of the mo'."

Fenris kneels down but doesn't break the circle. It's intricate and he's not sure if his nature will trigger anything in it. Best to let John do whatever he needs to do to power it down first. "Take your time if you need." Fenris rumbles as before he looks up at John with a questioning quirk of his brow. What did she mean, after all, by 'you know that man'?

Lyn moves her arm back, swatting John's foot away. "I hate you," the Creole mutters with a dry, husky voice. "Stop pokin' me wit y'foot!" She moves to stand, still gripping the amulet and swaying along the way. The fire has died leaving nothing but coals and embers behind, and it looks as if the girl is, by all accounts, back to normal. The scales on her back, however, remain, each painted a rich scarlet and black, with a natural shimmer when touched by the light.

"I keep dis," she explains to Fenris, showing him the now blood stained jewel. "Marinette, she restin' in dere. S'part of our 'greement, so I guess y'all won. She chat wit you two 'bout anyt'ing?"

John glances at Fenris, then back at Lyn, and takes one last drag of his cigarette and flicks it into the air. It vanishes mere inches from his fingers. "She knows the man. Turns out… I do, too. C'mon, Lyn. You and I have some preparations to make." He moves past Fenris and uplifts his chin. "Thanks for the assist, Old Wolf. Be seeing you around."

Fenris nods to Lyn. "Of course. It was meant to be yours in any case. We… won, yes you could say that. There's some unfinished business of yours it seems. Sounds quite personal, but I think John has more knowledge on it than I."

As John begins to move Fenris straightens up. "My pleasure. You have my number, both of you, if you need more." He's possibly on decent terms with some spirits, though he avoids others. Thankfully the Wolf's teeth weren't needed tonight.

"Now, I need to check in on a family matter…" He sounds more than a little annoyed at that as he opens a Way. "Good eve to you both." And then he steps through and is gone.

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