Layover in New Orleans

October 31, 2017:

Elinor Ravensdale has the information she needs to banish a spectre from Remy LeBeau's life. Now all they have to do is slip in and out of New Orleans to get the job done…the one place Remy should not be.

New Orleans, Louisiana

Not real big on putting things in the ground.


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Glitch


Mood Music: Hozier - Arsonist's Lullaby

Fade In…

Remy had not really counted anything his personal ghostbuster had to say as good news.

He'd balked at any trip to Louisiana, but Elinor had refused to go without him. Ultimately, he throws up his hands and agrees to go. In and out, gone in a flash. Glitch's revelations certainly made it clear that he's probably only marginally safer anywhere else, but this action, if he's caught, will be like thumbing his nose at both guilds.

The second bit was the bit where she told him she'd learned dirt from Julien's grave was a key ingredient in wrapping this thing up for him. "That's maybe gonna be a problem," he'd muttered, without really explaining why. But he'd booked the tickets.

Not under his own name, of course. Elinor gets a first class flight, red-eye flight with 'Jack Hebert,' pronounced A-Bear.

They're not far from their descent now. He's dressed to blend, with jeans and an LSU Tigers t-shirt. It means forsaking his staff, and his armor, in favor of his pack of cards. Not ideal, but one does not simply drag a bo staff through TSA when you can't even get a bottle of shampoo past them if the thing is too big. He's got fashion contacts on over those red eyes of his. They're damned uncomfortable, and he's not fond of them, but they are the only way he's going to hide what is a big, telltale beacon of who he is if any word gets around whatsoever. And sometimes in this state, especially when it comes to guild matters, even a large city like New Orleans can feel like the biggest small town in the universe if the right words get in the right ears. He's not interested in risking it. Hell, he's not even interested at picking up some boudain while he's got the chance.

In, out.

He's sipping on a cold one though; he might as well have a beer while he's heading back home. The truth is, he's missed it, and it's a bit bittersweet to have to return so quickly, undercover. Thus, he's been uncharacteristically (or perhaps blessedly?) quiet on the entire flight.

Elinor might have forgotten to mention she's never flown before. Small flying tubes filled with people never appealed to her in the least bit, and they're expensive and lets face it she doesn't have the money to fly. So she white knuckled the take off, and as soon as the bevrages were served she got herself a few bottles of tiny wine. So she became a little tipsy, fell asleep, than woke up at the first sign of turblance and is now impatiently looking out into the darkness beyond the window. At least there arn't a lot of ghosts up here.

However this situation was dire and if she wants to get it done correctly, she needs to be there, and get it done right. Seeing "Jack" in his dressed down and in contacts show just how serious business this is for him. "So Jack." She says quietly as as she nibbles on the tiny package of peanuts. "I know that we're not here for the sceneic tour, but can we at least get an airport bingnet? I hear they're the best." She gives him her best beaming smile. She's dressed down as well, with jeans and a off the shoulder t-shirt and her hair is braided to keep it from going so wild."

"I'm sorry, t-Elinor, but what did you just say you want me to get you?"

Amusement twitches at the corners of his mouth, and some of his cheer returns for the first time on this flight.

"Did you just call it a bing-net?"

His shoulders shake even more. "Did you do that on purpose just to make me laugh?" he demands. "There's no way you don't know it's a beignet." A ben-yay, apparently. He shakes his head, and a full on grin steals over his face. "At any rate there aren't no good places to get them in the airport. But…" He relents a little. "Well, I guess you can't visit New Orleans without visiting Cafe du Monde. It's open 24 hours, the crowds won't be as crazy by the time we land, and it's more or less between the airport and the place we gotta go." More or less is very relative, it will be something of a winding route, but…oh well. He'd like a beignet too. They have to eat sometime. And he wouldn't mind seeing how much powdered sugar Elinor gets all over herself.

"Well that's how it's spelled right?" She does her best to feign innocence, but she finally cracks a smile. "You have been very dour the whole flight, and I've had to mentally entertain myself instead of your normal witty banter. I was worried that you have indigestion." Though it's easy to see he has cold feet. She knows he didn't leave on good terms, and returning is bad, but just not how bad.

"Why don't we save the 'bhen-yahay' for the victory lap? We'll need as much darkness as possible and I'm guessing that as soon as we're done we're hopping right back on one of these things." At least the return flight should be easier. "So… how many people have you pissed off in this city? Should I have brought actual weapons?"

"A great good many, and no, cause I'm more scared of TSA than I am of them," Remy drawls dryly.

Elinor don't need weapons. He's seen that for himself. He keeps his voice down, of course, bringing it to a low murmur. "I mean, Julien was a member of the local Assassin's Guild, him, so that oughta tell you everything you need to know about why I wanna get this done quick quick and be on my way. Same time, I sure don't wanna wait around for him to figure out how to throw a dadgum car at me."

He shakes his head at that one, running his fingers through his tousled auburn waves.

The stewardess comes to collect cups. They're going to be descending soon. The lights of the city stretch out below them, and Remy stares down at them, his own reflection staring back at him in the window by halves.

"The TSA do not fuck around. Seriously, it's just a pair of shoes, life isn't an episode of Get Smart." After all these boots take time to get on and off, and it's hard to rush boot perfection. "Assassins… great. Well I'll see what friends I can make on the way and perhaps get ourselves some extra protection, or at least a few extra pair of eyes." When he mentions the car, she sighs. "He's getting close, those motorcycles were not something a normal ghost can do."

She watches him grow pensive and look out the window, watching as the listful look crosses his face for his home city. She almost reaches out to comfort him, but a dip in the air causes her to resume her death grip on her chair. With a strained voice she squeaks out. "It's never easy coming home, but I'm glad you came with me." It's not likely she'd find the grave on her own.

"No, it's me that should be thanking you," Remy says, tearing his gaze away from the window. He sees the death grip, and after a moment offers a hand. "Squeeze tight as you like, it's not gonna bother me none," he instructs.

He well knows what she means by friends. He thinks she rather won't have a shortage, if all the rumors about his city being super haunted are correct. Then again, the first time he ever had to deal with a ghost was New York, so it's a definite 'your mileage may vary' moment.

Elinor hesitates, but she does accept his hand. She squeezes it as tightly as she can, which is tight, but she just has a mortal's strength but it at least exes her anxiety at the landing. Especially since she wasn't expecting the bump that comes with the wheels touching the ground. Thankfully, once they are down they're down and she gives him a sheepish smile before takes her hand back. "That wasn't horrible." She says about the flight.

She waits for the all clear before gathering her things and looking down at Jack. "Are you ready to face the music?" She knows they're on a ticking clock, and they still need to get through the airport and into the city itself.

He is not, as it happens, flirting this time. He simply takes the squeeze, keeping his own hand steady. His eyes are pretty steady too. Flying is not on the list of things he's worried about, nor takeoffs, nor landings. Nor will he give her any crap about it. The moment she takes her hand back he withdraws his and tips her a little salute and a smile.

"No, no I am not," he says with a laugh. "The plan is to avoid the music."

But they get to be first off the plane and first into Louis International Airport.

It's like any airport, and once they get outside she's subjected to cool night time winds. October in Louisiana is when things start getting really nice; it's no longer punishing hot but neither is it cold. It's often all crystal clear skies and winds that are cheerfully blustery without getting too obnoxious. Remy takes deep breaths of the night air, then finds them a cab. It's too late at night for public transportation, and the process to rent a car is one he doesn't want to get too mixed up in. Elinor could do it, he supposes, but he's been in New York City long enough to have figured out most New Yorkers aren't real big drivers.

Few ghosts at the airport, but the airport is barely in the city proper.

Remy isn't flirting, even when he has the best opportunity to do it. She knew things were dire, but she didn't realize they had progressed even past the mark of dire. Still, she's glad she packed light, nothing too strange, not even shampoo, if she needs it, she'll buy it. After all they're not even booking a hotel, at least not as far as she knows. "I have a feeling in a city that's alive all night long, the music is impossible to avoid."

But from there her banter subsides. Part of her is excited, she's in a new place with strange sights and smells. Most of her is fearful, waiting for the other shoe to drop. While there are ghosts in the Airport, she knows she needs people, but these will be too far, and likely attached to their haunting zones. He is right though, she doesn't even have a license, because she never really needed one.

The cab takes them to Cafe du Monde, at least, and the smell of hot beignets and cafe au lait fills the air before they even exit the cab. There are, for a wonder, still tables in the wee hours of morning; there will be no need to chow down with strangers. He walks them right to the counter, where she can see the hot oil bubbling away from farther back in the kitchen. "Grab a tray," he adds, plucking up a powder blue one. "Then grab a coffee cup," he says, grabbing an empty one from the rack at the front of the line.

Every beignet is made fresh at the time of order, puffing up to a gorgeous golden brown right before the eyes, to be topped off with a mountain of powdered sugar. There are a few other options, but they aren't the main attraction, and Remy just goes for the basics of beignets (three to a plate) and a cup of cafe au lait. The former is served on a plain white diner plate. The latter is served in these big thick diner-style white ceramic cups; one has to put it beneath a dispenser, but it comes out hot and rich and smelling like it was made all of three minutes ago.

For those who want to put a zillion more pounds of sugar on their beignets? There are shakers of powdered sugar with little pink caps on every table.

Remy can't help it, he grins fondly at the place; he has spent many hours here, either at one of the porch tables or one of the indoor ones. Or at the barstools in the center. But ultimately he picks a table near the exit that puts them unobtrusively in a corner.

The smell is heavenly, and while she knows that they cannot waste a whole lot of time, this was the only thing she read about on the travel blog she googled. She grabs the tray and the cup, happy to get the cafe au lait like he made her before. Now she'll have a proper comparison. She doesn't see any reason to deviate from the norm, she might as well try what they are most famous for! Onve they're seated, she dives in, and it only takes second before she's covered in powdered sugar. "Holy shit." She says as she finishe her first bite. "I get it, I think I get it now."

After she finishes her first, she opens herself up to the ghosts around her. It's subtle at first, siple nods to those who linger, and a smile for the ones who are too shy, but soon she picks up her cellphone and begins to fake conversations. She lets them their plan, asking for any who wish to lend their hand to do so. She will not force any one of them to do it, and cannot promise any favors at this time, but her gratitude will have to suffice for now. It's probably strange for Remy to only hear part of her conversation, but it's better than the both of them trying to fake a conversation that isn't really happening.

The comparison is easy.

Cafe du Monde's is better. Remy's not even mad about it.

He grins as she gets her first bite, and says wistfully, "And this is just scratching the surface of the food scene, yeah."

But believe it or not, he's content to eat his beignets and let her do her thing. He's kind of gotten used to the notion that there are people there to talk to, whether he can see them or not; he understands why she's doing it, and depending on which helpers she gets it could very well get them in and out of the city without incident.

There are quite a few that will help, if she'll just tell them what she wants them to do, ghosts of all ages and stages from all sorts of time periods.

The cafe au lait is amazing, and Elinor can't help but savor it, knowing this is probably going to be a very rare treat. Remy does a good job with it, but it does not even compare. "If only we had more time, who knows what we'd uncover in the food world." She doesn't linger on that thought long, she knows it's already painful for her traveling companion to be here.

There are so many ghosts here, more than she's seen even in her part of New York. It's overhwelming, but she manages to focus enough to make some friends. "The task is simple, we need an escort to…" She looks to Remy so he can name the cemetary. "We'll need someone to watch our backs, and perhaps run interference if we need it. I'm hoping that we do not. I really apprciate your help on such short notice."

Elinor ends her fake phone call and smiles up at Remy. "I think I've gut us as ready as we can be."

And thus they make their way to one of the cemetaries, stopping to get a dagger along the way. It's not one of the touristy ones, but it's a good sized one anyway.

Row after row of above-ground graves stretch out along the paths, big stone edifices placed firmly atop the earth. "And now you see why I am hoping 'grave dirt' is sort of a metaphorical sort of a thing," he says dryly. He knows where he's going, walking with sure steps, but gestures one broad hand at all of it. He had to wonder if Elinor's contact had remembered that about New Orleans, but…he suspects not.

Still, they gotta try something.

Elinor is distracted on the way to the cemttary, both with the ghosts that are walking next to her and the sites of the city itself. There is something alive about this city that New York doesn't have. Her thoughts are quickly dashed away when she sees what they're dealing with. Her steps become very slow while one of her hands runs over the raised grave.
"They're not buried." She says stating the obvious, and growing visably pale.

"No wonder this city has so many dead walking it's streets, there isn't a barrier between their body and the rest of the world. Why the hell would they do this?" The obvious hasn't come to her mind yet. When he brings up that valid point she sighs. "Perhaps she hasn't visited here? I'll have to inprovise, or hope for the best. I can't come this far to fail you."

"Floods. Same reason there's not a basement to be found in all Louisiana, 'cept for some coullion fool in Baton Rouge who decided it would be a good idea to stick one in Spanish Town or something. But that guy managed to find, I think, the one place in the whole dadgum state where he could pull off that nonsense. And here? This city's basically a giant bowl, sitting two feet below the sea level, so the problem's even worse, extending right up to the graves."

Remy gives her a half-grin. "If we buried them, what would happen is a parade of corpses as far as the eye could see, all bloated and floating in the streets, them. The concrete slabs, they as good as it gets. But…don't feel bad. Most people forget." He raps lightly on one. "This one here's Julien's, the bastard."

But despite this set-back, he seems confident in her ability to come up with some sort of decent solution.

"Oh." Elinor says shaking her head and laughing. "Well that's obvious, I don't know why I didn't think of it before hand. Yes, this is far better than bloaded dead bodies floating in the streets. That sounds like nightmare fuel." Once they get to the grave she looks it over, reading the name and looking at the general state of upkeep. She kneels down next to it, letting her hands move over the surface and the writing on top.

Slowly the darkness around them grows thicker as she pulls her magic and the energies around them toward the grave. "Well, here goes nothing." She makes a small pile with the dirt and dust that's been gathered on top of the grave and pull out the newly aquired dagger, she presses it to her palm but doesn't break the skin yet. "Are you ready? This could get ugly."

Oh hell, she's doing this right now, right here.

Well, that makes sense. Better to put him to rest at his grave than haul a bunch of dirt (or whatever) back to New York City. It's Remy's turn to feel silly for his own startlement and lack of deductions. "Ready," he says, because really, though 'ugly' can cover a wide variety of things, all she can do is give him a bunch of maybes on what could happen. The quicker this is done, the better he'll feel.

Still, he's not sure how to prepare for ugly, so he does it by the simple expedient of palming one of his playing cards. As if he's going to blow up a spectre.

While they could easily take the dust, fly back on a plane and hope that it works, but being right here above his grave is going to make it so much easier to do what she hopes to do. Severing a tie like this could go horribly wrong, or it oculd be fine. "I apologize in advance if this all gones wrong and you can deduct it from my fee." There is a hint of a smirk on her lips, trying to lighten the mood a touch.

All joking aside, she finally presses the tip of the blade into her palm and lets a bit of blood pool in it before she drips it on the gathered dust. She quietly says his full name, calling him before her and exerting her will and urging him to join them.

The wind picks up in a grinding howl that carries the scent of rain. It whips the trees about overhead, filling the air with a sybillant hissing sound.

The cemetary seems to get darker and more oppressive. The spirits that Elinor has gathered to her aid stir uneasily. The ghost resists, but time and space and distance have no meaning for the dead, and the grave serves as an unmistakable anchor. He appears, hovering above it, radiating rage, face twisted in hate.

He draws a rapier out of his own body and points it at Elinor in clear and present threat.

The wind and darkness do not frigthen her, nor does the rapier in her face. The rage does worry her,and she didn't have the ability to hold him last time, but she came prepared this time. Her own shadows rise around her, crawling up her legs and traveling down her arms. Her eyes grow dark as the shadodws continue to stir. Closing the hand that she drew blood from she looks up to Julien and orders a simple command. "Drop your sword."

She has control, and the sword does drop from his hands.

But then Elinor will feel the pull.

Another ectomancer enters the scene, walking up through a cloud of mists forged by the ghosts that she is abruptly taking from the ranks of Elinor's hastily assembled team. Her long skirts flutter about her ankles, her shawls like banners in the night. She fixes Elinor with a stare, and says, "Who tampers with my kin?"

Remy turns swiftly to face her, card lighting up. "That's Evangeline LeDoux," he mutters. "She's a witch. For the Assassin's Guild."

And he's not going for the insult there, he means it literally.

But Elinor can already tell, because of course she can feel the rival ectomancer's own magic. She can feel for herself that this is the true source of young Julien's strength, the real reason why a ghost of a few months can match a ghost of a century. Coached and fed by a woman whose philosophies on dealing with the dead are the exact opposite of Elinor's own.

"This worked better than I thought," Evangeline says, laughing. "I thought it efficient to send Julien's spectre to hunt you and end you, but you actually dared to return, Remy LeBeau. A foolish thing to do indeed."

Then, she fixes Elinor with a gaze. "I've no quarrel with you, sister. You may leave, if you are willing to leave him to me."

She reaches out to stroke the head of a massive, dead, and very feral looking dog.

"My pets are hungry."

Grimly, Remy says, "You should take her up on it, Elinor. This wasn't what you signed on for."

There is a wickedly satisfied smile as Elinor commands Julien to drop his sword and he does. Finally, she feels like this is possible, that they'll be able to finish up here, hop back on the plane and be back for Halloween. "Good, now if you'll—" She stops mid sentence as she feels that tug, the familiar pull of someone taking ghosts from her. It's happened before, and she really didn't like it the last time. She whips her head toward the witch, before turning back to Remy.

"When the fuck were you going to tell me that they had her in their pocket?" As the woman continues to speak she puts her finger up toward her and makes a shushing motion. "I'm talking to my client." Her anger flares up again when she turns back to Remy. "First Voodoo, now Necromancy? Oh you are paying for this, there are going to be shopping trips and fancy ass dinners and… things. So many things." Her voice has raised just a touch, but she shakes her head. "What are you going to do? You're in over your head. Face it LeBeau, you need me." She looks back toward the witch then back at Remy. "Does she have to survive this encounter?" She asks in a low and dark voice.

"Hi, sorry, he's a bit of a handful." She says in a cheery tone. "I know he's pissed off your little club, but I'm not walking away from this… disgusting display of power." She gestures toward the undead dog with a scowl. "Kin or not, Julian is either moving on, or going to be claimed by the Baron himself. Do not get in my way, that is your only warning."

"Uh well, I didn't think about it," Remy admits, wincing.

And he hadn't. He'd been thinking in general terms. "Other than the whole…in, out, leave New Orleans fast bit in general."

His lips twitch a little; apparently he'll be paying in dates?

"I definitely do," he agrees of Elinor. Cause his plan was really only to start blowing shit up in the hopes of not nobly dying, but, you know. He'll take the back-up, too.

But when it's Elinor that asks if the assassin has to survive the encounter, he starts. He clears his throat. "It's…probably best we don't leave bodies," he says quietly. For a whole host of reasons he doesn't have time to explain now…

Up to and including the fact that he really doesn't enjoy the thought of killing someone else.

And then Elinor is addressing the necromancer, who narrows her eyes. "You threaten me in my own territory, girl, surrounded by the graves of my ancestors." She expends power, and…

Well, now some of the ancestors are coming to dinner, clawing their way up out of the grave.

"Weh. Definitely didn't expect the zombies," Remy adds.

Now he flings one of the playing cards, this time at a grave that's got someone bursting out of it, even as the undead dog leaps for his throat. Elinor will find the necromancer trying to rip the rest of the ghosts from her control.

There are times when Elinor realizes that her mouth has bitten off more than it can chew, this is definatly one of those times. With a shudder she watches as her ancestors rise from the grave. That vile feel of Necromancy filling the air makes her scowl, and it grow as the lovely smell a zombie comes to her nose. She agrees with his statement, that killing this woman is only going to cause more problems, though she has to laugh at how he says it. "Oh and the zombie corpses arn't going to be hard to explain?"

Bantering aside, she lets Remy get to throwing cards around and turning her attention back to Evangeline. "Yep. I do." She says, pulling that cocky attitude back to the surface before she grins darkly at the woman. "Julian." She says exerting her will over the ghost again, since she worked so hard to get control of him. "Pick up your sword and keep the dead off of us. The rest of you," She says to the ghosts who still remain in her control, as fleeting as it is. "If you can possess the bodies of those who are risen, and turn her kin own against her." This would be an easier task for Espy or any of her other ghost roomates, but she figures it's at least worth a shot.

As for the Evangeline, Elinor begins to use the darkness around around the witch against her. It closes around her, and reaches for her with disembodied hands. The shadows around Elinor begin to cling to her body and wraps around her like armor. Her face grows paler and dark shadows form around her eyes as she gives into the darkness that is always whispering in her ear, tempting her to give in just a little more.

Julien is definitely the ghost she still has a hold of, bound by blood and the dirt of his own grave as he is. He springs forward, shrieking like the revenant he is, furious to be pressed into Elinor's service but unable to stop himself. The other ghosts spring forward to begin a struggle with the dead; bodies thrash in their graves as they struggle for prominence.

Shadow tendrils curl and cling to Evangeline, and for a moment that looks like it's going to be it. She doesn't seem to have a similar defense.

But then she whispers a command, and one of the ghosts goes flying straight into Remy LeBeau.

Who is no longer Remy LeBeau as he stalks forward, and tries to punch Elinor.

Defeating a necromancer is never easy.

Well at least one thing is going right. Seeing Julian fight for her is pleasing, but only until one of the ghosts decides to take a ride on Remy. Thinking back, it might have been smart of her to create some sort of deflection charm, but there wasn't time. Perahps she'll make on in the future. These are the random things that go through her as that punch heads for her head. She ducks, but that doesn't stop it from grazing the side of her head and causing her to stumble back. Now dazed, it takes some effort to keep control over what she has going. "Fuck." She yells shaking her head. "That is going on your bill Lebeau." Not that LeBeau is in control, she's still going to add it to the tally. "I can't be dealing with this right now."

Raising her hand toward Remy, she wraps him in darkness, giving him a feeling of safety and warmth, but also tugging on that exhustion the last several hours of rough travel. Through it all, a voice rings out in the darkness to carry him to sleep. ""Sway to and fro in the twilight gray, This is the ferry for Shadowtown; It always sails at the end of day, Just as the darkness is closing down."

Elinor waits only long enough to assure that Remy is out and out of harms way before she turns back to the Necromancer.

"Listen defiler," Elinor snarls. "You break your own ancestors rest, now that'll be on your soul later down the road. Now, you're extreamly lucky that he requested that you live." She pauses as she steps closer, letting the darkness pool between them. "But he never said I couldn't give you a taste of death." That's when that darkness grows cold, thick, and suffocating. The feel of being deep underwater, with no air to breath, but no where to escape it.

It doesn't matter how badass a human being is.

There are basic needs. Food. Water. Shelter. Air.

And of them all, air is the only one someone can't go without for more than a few moments.

Cutting off someone's air supply inspires clawing panic. The necromancer falls to her knees, gasping, clutching her throat, eyes blind and wild as she loses control of every ghost in the place. The corpses fall silent, save for the ones that Elinor's troops managed to get control over. These array themselves behind her in a sort of V-formation, staring restlessly at the woman at the ectomancer's mercy.

Julien hovers with his sword out, right above Elinor's left shoulder, his eyes cold and dead. He doesn't even look at Remy now; he vibrates, as do all the ghosts, with the force of Elinor's own fury, all aimed at this single reprehensible target.

Elinor watches the woman claw in panic as her eyes grow dark. Part of her urgers that it would be easier to let her die, and remove an asset from the guild. It swears that even Remy would understand the reasoning, or perhaps he wouldn't have to be told at all. What is one more ghost to haunt a cemetary?

It takes all of her training, her will and restraint to remove that darkness from Evangeline. Allowing the woman to breath again, she kneels down to her level and speaks in a low dark voice. "Know that I could have killed you right here, but I chose to show you mercy. If you ever send anyone living, dead or undead after him again, you will not find me merciful. Lay your dead to rest, remove the tether to Lebeau and get the fuck out of my sight." The anger and fury is still rolling off of her, but she stands and takes a step back with her ghost allies behind her.

Evangeline 's hand shakes as she gets slowly to her feet. She looks at Elinor with real fear.

And real hatred.

Elinor has just made an enemy today, perhaps of the entire Assassin's Guild herself.

But today, she triumphs; the woman speaks a harsh phrase in Cajun French, gathers all of her power, and severs Julien's tie to Remy and the land of the living herself, shunting him off into his afterlife in rather rough, but effective fashion. The rest of the dead shuffle back into their graves as her power continues to assert itself, weaving through them. They are more than strong enough to pull those concrete slabs back over their own resting places, just as they were to push them aside earlier.

Meanwhile, Remy sleeps peacefully through it all.

Elinor makes a mental note to add that to Remy's tab. Pissing off an entire guild of assassins to save is life is probably going to put him into debt.

She remains very still as she watches the dead return to their tombs, Julian shoved off into the afterlife and that seething hatred that rolls off the other woman. She waits until Evageline is out of sight before she looks down at the sleeping man. He looks peaceful and serene while he rests. She's sure he hasn't slept this deep in a long time and it would be rude of her to wake him. She reaches down to lightly touch his cheek, before her hand quickly rears back and slaps him square across the face.

"You deserve that, and you're welcome."

Remy LeBeau wakes to a slap so stinging it knocks his other contact out. He'd already lost one. He stares at her, disoriented and shocked, spluttering a little bit in a rapid string of Cajun French so fast that anyone other than another person from that region might well have had trouble sorting it out. He soon remembers she doesn't speak that language, and slows it down.


Because he's almost not sure if that's the right answer, or the one that's going to invite more of his companion's righteous fury upon him. He looks around, and then asks, "Hey, where the ghosts, them?"

Catching up.

Real slow.

Elinor lets him have his moment of angry French at her while she gets to her feet. While he orients himself she'll dump a bottle of water on the grave to wash her blood away, since she doesn't want to leave that laying around. Turning back toward her traveling companion, she'll reach her hand out to help him to his feet.

"I convinced Evangeline that it was a very poor idea to hunt you, and that it would be best if she fucked off and never bothered you again." She looks back at his eyes, that are free of those annoying contacts. Her eyes are stil black and nearly smoking, but it's slowly starting to fade. The offered hand shakes, showing that the effort she just used to keep them both alive is taking it's toll.

"I think we have a plane to catch right?"

Admiration crosses his face; he watches those black eyes smoke. He takes that hand, seeing the shakiness only after he stands. After a moment, Remy LeBeau offers her a gentlemanly arm to lean on should she want it. He won't insist, but he will offer. There's some emotion in his red eyes, but it would be hard to say what it is, exactly. They're hard to read, those eyes, unnatural as they are.

"Weh, t-Elinor," he agrees. "Weh, that we do. That we do indeed."

Elinor raises her brows as she catches that look in his eyes. She's not sure what it is he's feeling, and she almost asks but decides that perhaps that's not an answer for the level of exhaustion she's feeling. Still she takes the offered arm and leans on him as they walk. She's tired, he's tall, and makes a decent crutch. Silence falls between them, and Elinor breaks it with more banter. "I broke my calculator trying to figure out how much you owe me, but I'll be sure to get a bill in the mail as soon as you decide to settle some where." Witty banter is easier than actually talking about what just happened.

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