Night's Omen

It was a damp cold winter night. Frank had been in New York for less than a week and was already wondering if he had lost his mind. What was he doing wandering around this city looking for....looking for....it was so absurd he could hardly believe he was in New York City looking for.....vampires. But that chance encounter on that drunken night around the camp fire of that Merc camp had changed his out look on life. As he wandered the city streets he detected an aroma that reminded him of childhood, it also reminded him that he hadn't eaten all day so he decided to follow his nose.

He arrived at a dark club under a sign that said Mojo's Lounge. Over come with with hunger he plunged into the darkness. Walking up to the bar, he motioned the bartender over and ordered whatever was being cooked in the kitchen and a double Turkey on the rocks with a splash of water. Taking his drink in hand he retreated to a table were he could have his back against the wall, and his eyes on the door. He began to size up the medium sized crowd. He was entirely unsure what in fact he was looking for, but he was scanning the room anyway.

As he scanned the crowd, he felt eyes scanning him back. He had noticed several of the bar patrons eyeing the odd shaped bulge between his shoulders. Concealed between his undershirt and his tattered Black Label Society T-shirt was a shortened and highly sharpened machete that he had picked up while doing some Merc work in Africa. It was a local favorite that he had quickly learned to use both out of immediate need and simple curiosity. He had it covered even more by his trusty old Duster, but as he entered the warm bar he had decided to take the jacket off. Much to his surprise no one appeared to have noticed the bulge above his right hip. That was his trusty XD .45, he had tried the behind the back method as it offered more concealment but he found it slowed his draw too much, to hell with it he thought...maybe seeing it will be that much more of a deterrent.

After making several slow passes across the room with his eyes, Frank was satisfied that no one seemed to be eyeing him with more interest than is normally paid to a new face in a smaller bar. About the time he had settled in, the waiter arrived with his dinner. A steaming plate of Fried Chicken, Turnip Greens, Black Eyed Peas and Hot Water Cornbread was placed in front of him. Slugging down the rest of his drink he motioned for another one and dug in.  He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he began eating the hot, delicious food. "MMMM just like home", he thought. His mind drifted back to his childhood, growing up on a large former plantation in the swamps of southern Louisiana. He pushed those thoughts from his mind, because he knew where they were headed...eventually the happiness of playing in the woods with his brothers and hunting with his father would give way to the last few weeks he was allowed to step foot in his fathers home. The fighting the shouting, the threats....and then those thoughts would lead him to that dark night in the desert...no better not to think of that. Frank drained his whiskey in one long gulp.

As the waiter collected his plate and brought him another double Turkey, Frank began to relax slightly. With his belly full of good food, and with strong liquor in his veins he sighed and slouched slightly down his chair. He began slowly scanning the room again. He had no clue what he was even looking for, all he remembered from that horrible night years ago was the eyes...the black eyes. As far as he could tell none of those in the bar had those terrible eyes. But there was something about the movements of some of the patrons that seemed...odd. They seemed to move with a strange almost...animal...grace. Frank shoved that thought down and attributed it to the booze. The thing that was itching in his brain the most that single word he remembered from his conversation with that mysterious Merc...the word Bruja.

Frank didn't know what the word meant. Hell, Bruja could be a place, or a person, or something even more abstract. All he knew was that it had something to do with killing creatures like those that had slaughtered his men and almost killed him. He was going to find out what it meant, thats why he was here in this City. He decided he would camp out in this bar for the rest of the evening. Maybe he would get lucky and the Merc from the camp had tipped someone off that he would come looking around and they would seek him out. If not, he was going to have to do things the hard way by gathering intel...and one thing Frank knew was that bartenders are usually some of the best connected people around. So worst come to worst he was going to have to spend some time hopping from bar to bar tracking this mysterious     Bruja....whatever it was.

Frank may have thought that he was garnering no more attention than any other stranger in this place, but he didn't quite understand the nature of the Mojo Lounge.  Papa Aristide ruled here, and he didn't miss much.  He knew who to focus on, and who was just bar-hopping, and Mr. Laun had his discreet attention.

Or at least, it was discreet until he man finished his meal, and Aristide sent the waiter with a message once the man had tucked into his second drink.  Then, he waited.  Frank might refuse at first, or he might not, but Aristide knew the man would eventually give in to his curiosity.  That was a problem with humans, particularly the ones with very little fear, and Aristide knew that this man wasn't afraid.  He wouldn't have come to the Mojo Lounge, of all places, for information if he was. 

The waiter did as he was told, anything for a boss that took care of them like Aristide did, and delivered the message with a third drink.

"Sir?  Papa Aristide has taken care of your bill, and requests your presence at his table."  The man pointed to the large booth off in the corner, where the owner sat, watching with his dark eyes and a strange smile.  "He said that you won't find any of what you're looking for in the bottom of your glass."

With that, the waiter set down the free drink, and took his leave.

Frank listened to the message delivered by the waiter, and picked up his glass and took a long thoughtful sip. He glanced over to the booth that the waiter had pointed to. In the dim light Frank could faintly make out his benefactor. He decided that if the man thought he knew what had brought Frank to this city, the least Frank could do is hear him out. Setting his drink down on the table Frank gathered his coat, and then he rose from the table.  He reached back down and picked up the glass, and finished it off. The whiskey burned its way down into his guts, vanquishing any second thoughts that had begun to stir in the back of his skull.

Walking carefully across the bar, and being mindful of his surroundings, watching for signs of trouble or even worse an ambush. He detected no signs of danger as he crossed the room and approached the booth. What he did detect however as he neared the man in the booth was a strong feeling of power radiating from him. For the second time that night something reminded him of home. The echo of energy, or power radiating from this man was almost familiar to Frank. It reminded him of African drums booming from deep in the Louisiana swamps...of chanting voices carried on the wind, of the whispers that those small villages deep in the swamps founded by former slaves harbored a strange magic. A magic the local cajuns called voodoo. Frank had encountered these people in his youth and the feeling coming off of this Papa Atride, was very much akin to what he felt back home, only stronger and more intense.

Frank paused a respectful distance from the table, allowing his host to notice his approach.
"Sir, I'd like to thank you for your hospitality, the food and drink here is excellent", Frank began, "But sir, one thing puzzles me..the waiter told me that what I was looking for wasn't in the bottom of my glass...so is it possible that perhaps you know a thing or two about something or someone called Bruja?"

Well, Mr. Laun certainly took his sweet time in getting to Aristide's table, but that was fine.  This was a man who was well more than patient.  He could wait.  It gave him time to evaluate the man who would soon be joining his table, as well, which was always welcome.  Even if he knew quite a bit about Mr. Laun already, he wished to see with his own eyes that some of it was true.  No surprises.

Mr. Laun was more observant than the typical human.  He'd noticed something, and that make Aristide smile.

"Been waitin' for you, Monsieur Laun.  Sit," he told the man, instantly confirming Frank's thoughts regarding his origins.  Yes, Louisiana, and the swamps.  Aristide knew a thing or two about that, and his French cajun way of speaking showed it better than anything he could have actually said.  "Ah know many things, some of dem useful t'you, and some of dem jus' enough t'get you in trouble.  De question is, you really lookin' for Bruja, or is it something else you be wantin'?  Is Bruja what you desire, or is it jus' a tool?"

Aristide never told anyone anything straight.  It wouldn't take Laun long to figure that out.

"Honestly friend, I have no clue what Bruja even is", Frank began, "It's just a word that I faintly remember from a conversation I had a while back...but I think theres a little more to it than that."

Whether it was the whiskey coursing through his veins, or simply some strange pull that Papa Astride exerted over him, Frank recounted the story of his battle in Iran. He told Astride about the eyes...those horrible black eyes. And he finally told him what the Merc had told him that night around the campfire, about the world existing under the nose of humans. Frank was more than confident that Astride was aware of this world.

"But the main thing that I remember, was the word Bruja...and the Merc  said that whoever or whatever Bruja was...that they hunted and killed the things that had killed my men and left me for dead...What I want is revenge...and if Bruja is the tool to get that revenge,then thats what I'm looking for",Frank concluded.

"Dere's always more to it," Aristide returned, watching Frank carefully as the man told his tale.  None of it surprised the Hoodoo priest, which wasn't surprising itself.  Even if it had, he wouldn't have given anything away. 

Aristide appraised the man before him for a moment after the story, like he was making an internal decision, and finally leaned forward to fix Mr. Laun with his dark eyes.  "Bruja give you what you want, if you be patient, but she takes her payment in blood, mon ami.  You lived when you should have died.  Dat don' mean nothin' t'you?"

If Frank was smart, by Aristide's standards, he'd consider keeping his life to have been a gift from above, and go on with it, but the dark man before him knew better.  Some humans were so bad at looking at the big picture.

Frank sat quietly for a moment and pondered what Astride had  told him. Something in that mans eyes spoke to Frank...told him that Astride knew more than he was revealing, and that somehow he knew more about Frank than should be possible. After all...this was the first time the two had met...

"Well...I do think there is a reason I survived...and its not to go on living like nothing ever happened," Frank said. Frank knew that his one weakness was showing...his hatred. The thirst for revenge was burning inside his heart. His eyes briefly glanced down to the tattoo on his fore arm.  "Der Hölle Rache Kocht In Meinem Herzen" it said in thick black ink. He had gotten the tattoo right after he left the Corp...right after his men had been slaughtered and he had sworn to get revenge.

"Mr. Astride, I want to thank you for your hospitality...and your company. But I know that you have far more insight into this than I do. And as a man who spent many years in dangerous places, I have learned to trust the intel of the "natives" so to speak..more than my own initial impressions. I came to this place looking for revenge...but your words have made me stop and think. Maybe there is more to this than simply my revenge..maybe I have some sort of calling in this world. I would like to ask you for your help...if perhaps there is anything I could take care of for you in exchange for help or information please name it." and with those words spoken Frank leaned back in the booth and carefully watched the man across from him...awaiting his response

So the man could listen to advice, it seemed.  He wouldn't entirely take it, but he would listen.  That was better than nothing.  "You hear, but do not yet listen.  You will learn," he said, and he got the feeling it was true.  As long as Frank lived that long, he would learn to listen. 

And, there it was.  An offer of an exchange.  Aristide cracked a smile as Frank began, but by the time he'd made his offer, the voodoo man was actually laughing.  It was a deep, thunderous sort of laugh, with a definite hint of darkness, though it could hold true mirth when he chose.  This was something inbetween.  Amused, but also full of too much knowledge. 

"Ah deal in favors, boy," he responded after a moment, still smiling.  "Ah will help you, an' you will owe me when you leave here.  Perhaps you can help me sometime."  He let that hang in the air for just a short moment, in case Frank would refuse, but he didn't give it long before he began speaking again.

"A stake, a dagger, an' a crossbow.  Dey are Bruja's hearts.  Which lies in your heart?" he asked.  Naturally, he was speaking of the three weapons that symbolized the three guilds, but he wouldn't be saying that.  Each weapon spoke to different people, depending on who they were, and what they made of their life.  Those who had only brutal violence in their hearts could never truly appreciate a simple knife or a long-range weapon, and a dagger is far sneakier.  A crossbow would be difficult to hide, and far more showy.  Each weapon signified core elements of its guild, and Aristide would point Frank to the place he belonged.  To the leader he'd find his calling under.

"A Stake...A Dagger...and A Crossbow...hmmmm, that is an interesting question", Frank said. He immediately ruled out the crossbow, he had spent too much time operating in the dark, in the shadows, and being showy and making known his work was not something he believed in. He preferred to fly under the radar, planning and executing his missions with precision. A Stake....from what he knew of legend and lore, a stake was an instrument of brutal violence...effective but messy and usually left quite an interesting scene behind. While Frank was accustomed to violence..and far from a stranger to blood, the violence he associated in his head with a stake was just too clumsy...too heavy handed. But at the same time...in his revenge addled brain that brutality was tempting.

But the dagger spoke to him. He had silently dispatched more than a few men with a knife. In fact, sitting comfortably inside his boot was his favorite combat knife..its flat black blade having been washed in blood more than once. All those years running black ops in places he shouldn't have been..yes the dagger seemed almost to cry out to him. But still in the back of his head where the voices clamored for revenge...the stake whispered to him. But perhaps this Papa Astride, wise and insightful as he had been thus far, could help him sort out the mess.

"Well, to be honest..that dagger seems to be calling me strongly..but at the same time the stake isn't far from my mind...perhaps if I'm not imposing too much on you Mr. Astride, you might could favor me with a bit more of your insight...I know I'm already indebted to you for your help thus far but I would hate to take the wrong path into the jungle if it can be helped, so if you don't mind granting me one more favor, I give you my word that I will do whatever I need to do to repay you."

Once again, Aristide simply watched the man before him.  Just how much he was seeing was anyone's guess, since he didn't see only what a person would see.  There was far more to him than anyone could know, and just as he'd told Frank to listen instead of just hearing, he could listen.  He heard many, many things, whispers through the air that weren't for the ears of just anyone. 

Frank may not have known for sure where to go, but Aristide had an idea on the subject.  He wouldn't make it that easy, though.  Half of the answer lied in the choice.

"Which would you want more, boy, a club t'smash enemies wit', or a plan t'make dem disappear?  Don' jus' worry 'bout de ones who harmed you, but all enemies.  Where be your strong point?  Plannin' your attack, or rushin' in an' killin' everyone?"

Some hunters used both tactics to maximum effect, so it was all choice for Frank.  He'd either go to Frost or Crimson.

Just as Frank had thought...there was much, much more to Astride than meets the eye. Frank had been right when he thought he felt an energy coming off the man. The man was connected all right, just as Frank had wagered the owner of such a place would be...but he was connected to something more than just the trivial underground matters of men.

"Well, I've spent the last 10 years of my life planning and executing operations. And sometimes the end result was to make someone disappear, and sometimes it was to kill a bunch of people. But there was always a careful plan. Sometimes it took days, sometimes even months. Thats the life I'm used to, thats the life I know. I have no problem killing and its something you could say I'm good at...but its not something I do lightly...I don't like to be exposed and I don't like to act without an exit strategy....so I guess you could say that my strength lies in a plan and not just in brazen violence," Frank replied.

And truthfully, Frank was a skilled and some would say brilliant killer, but the thing that had contributed most to his rapid climb through the ranks of the Marine Corp had been his intellect. Frank had an above average IQ and he was a gifted tactician. Those same skills had made him a highly sought after Mercenary, because you could pay almost anyone to gun a man down...but it took a pro like Frank to make the man vanish.

It was good that Frank truly considered the question at hand, and Aristide wasn't going to say anything to make the man change his mind.  He had chosen to guide him towards the answer that made sense, but it had been all Frank's choice from the start.  Now, he'd chosen.

"Dagger.  Ah will give you an address, de place where you will be findin' your road.  It may be long, but patience will see you where you need t'be.  When you have no answer for de question you been asked, it is Batten you be needing.  Take dis, and give it as proof t'de man you mus' face," he said, and from the booth beside him, he withdrew a dagger, a knife.  It was old, obviously well-used in killing, but kept sharp as only a professional would keep it.  It had a carving breaking up the smoothness of the dark wooden handle in Native American designs that were obviously hand made.  There was nothing mass-produced about this weapon, and it was even in the blade that it was obvious. 

Whoever it had belonged to had obviously loved it.

Frank took the dagger in his hands and looked it over. It was a warriors weapon, well used and cared for. Something clicked in his head that told him this was it...there was no turning back. He stood from the booth, and slid the worn Duster over his shoulders. He slid the dagger into his pocket and turned back to Astride.
Frank stood there for a moment, just looking into the mans eyes. He had more questions, but he sensed that it was time for him to go.

"So, I take this blade to this Batten fellow, and it gets me in the door...so I guess we're through here, But I'm not the kind of man to leave a debt unsettled..so before I go, is there anything of immediate importance you need me to do for you, or should I just check back with you after I meet with Battan?" Frank asked.

It was good of Mr. Laun to ask if there was anything he could settle immediately, but that wasn't how Aristide worked.  He saved favors until he needed them.  Some of them expired, usually violently, before he could collect, but that was a risk he was willing to take.  Those that came to full fruition were well worth the wait.

"Jus' remember what ah tol' you, an' we'll talk again sometime," he returned, smiling once more.  "You'll know when ah require you."

Patience.  The name of the game was patience, and there were few things Aristide loved more than an ace in the hole.  The fact that this ace understood the origins of his power, and what that meant, only made the deal sweeter.  This was a man who knew and knowledge was power.  Who held that power here was a rather good question, though.  Aristide would be betting on himself.

"Batten is safe, but ah'll be sendin' something you may need in de future.  Watch for it, and good luck, Monsieur Laun."

And that was it.  Aristide was finished.  He didn't do anything so dramatic as disappearing, but it was in the way he leaned back against his booth and fell silent that made it obvious the conversation was over.  Frank had as much as he was going to get.

"Well then Mr.Astride, I thank you for your time and hospitality...and I look forward to working with you in the future, if indeed that is what the future holds," and with those parting words Frank turned and headed toward the door.

As Frank emerged onto the cold sidewalk, a thousand thoughts raced through his head. He looked at the address that Astride had given him. It was fairly close, and it was still fairly early. Frank decided that he might as well follow up on it that night. After all there was no other reason for him to even be here. The encounter with Astride had shaken him somewhat. The familiarity of the man's power had softened the blow somewhat, but not entirely. The realization that there was an entire world in front of him that he didn't see, and that it was populated by beings with power he couldn't begin to understand was a humbling experience.

He had always been in control, many times the strongest in a given situation. But now...he was practically a fish out of water. He was not frightened, but at the same time he was somewhat reluctant to proceed. But he knew that there was no other road than the one forward....so he turned away from the Mojo Lounge and headed into the night, headed toward something called Crimson, and someone called Batten.