LADY LAZARUS.

“and you would have us believe that you can sell the path to the heavens on this earthly plane?” astrid brandished the delicately penned parchment with marked agitation. “these TICKETS to heaven are nothing more but the poor forgery of a discount charlatan.” she rose her voice to allow the message to reach those around the pair. the tickets in questions are a pair bought by a young couple of newly wedded nobles, known to her through their meetings to speak on future, home, gods and love. NAIVE though they were, they pair did not deserve a false promise of heavens in a world that was fast becoming more BLIGHT than bright. “you’re lucky–” astrid insisted, ignoring the woman’s flowery promises; even her voice, itself, was affected and FALSEHOOD. “–lucky that you remain in such a holy city after committing such a cruel crime against tellus and its people.” dogmatic and indignant, astrid might have allowed her FAITH to waver, but her morality. “how much are you charging for your calligraphy, my lady?” the gatekeeper to HEAVEN was no lady, of that astrid was certain, but with the ignorance of her origins she was casting the word like a spell in hopes of revealing a reaction.

jehanne suppresses a frown. who was this woman? how DARE she insult her craft. her calligraphy was in fact, quite good; she managed to draw intricate patterns within the larger letters, decorating the “H’s” of every instance of “heaven” with cute little outlines of lilies. it took months of practice to master.

“of course, madame.” ashley resisted the urge to crumble within herself, feeling pathetic. she cleared her throat, her shoulders drooping ever-so-slightly. it sounded just like her mother, again. ‘the future does not allow me to pick and choose, fair ashley. it only tells me what it tells me’. at least jehanne was a bit more eloquent about it all. 

at the next words, ashley hesitated, before reaching into her small ( already quite poor ) coin bag, and retrieving her last few golden coins. she paused, before dutifully handing them over to jehanne.  “would… this perhaps help?” she couldn’t believe herself, for giving such money away, but ashley really was QUITE desperate these days. she swallowed hard, quickly wiping her hands on her skirts before placing them in the medium’s hands. “of COURSE.” ashley agreed, once again, a bit too eagerly. she was already shifting forward on the small stool, tongue darting out to moisten her dry lips. “anything, i- i just suppose… anything you see would be appreciated right now, madame. my family have been worried about me not… finding… a suitor.” the admission was so embarrassing that ashley almost wanted to disappear right then and there.

jehanne stifles the urge to scoff. no suitors? no problem. who would want to be tied down to a single man? jehanne herself has never had a suitor, not even before her family shipped her away to the convent ( her parents blamed it on her personality. jehanne blamed it on men’s inability to stand next to women with prides bigger than their cocks. ) but who was she to care? less commitment meant more fun, meant she was free to fuck the sacristans behind temple altars, her body a shrine to which they thrust their devotion, their prayers a scream of CLIMAX that could make even heathens feel holy. jehanne is tempted to say: you don’t need a suitor. you just need sex.

but the woman offers her coin and jehanne remembers that the blunt truth earns no keep, lies do. a satisfied smile rests on her lips, and she says, “thank you. the gods will be very pleased.” by gods, she means her wallet, her stomach, and perhaps, the lucky courtesan she could now afford to spend another night with. jehanne gently takes the woman’s hands and places them face up. with careful sweeps of her fingers, the pardoner traces the lines over the woman’s palm. “i see an M,” jehanne says. there are M’s on her own palms as well, but she declines to mention this, pulling her hands back to conceal them. “your true love will have an M in his name. whether it will begin or end with an M is unclear — i do not feel that your faith is STRONG enough to reveal the position of the letter. it could also be in the middle, perhaps. is there anyone in particular that comes to mind, my dear?” 

ashley soaked it all up, nodding with wide eyes, and understanding. honestly, everything that jehanne said reminded her so much of her own MOTHER, that even if ashley received bad news, she wouldn’t care. sometimes … ashley was just HOMESICK. and sometimes, this was the next best thing to leaving her job, and skyler and ophelia, in order to visit her poor mother, in that wretched pig farm. whilst ashley never fully believed in prophetical abilities, and often sighed at her mother’s own dreamy words and promises- she can’t help but SOAK in everything jehanne says.

ashley realises she’s leaning in, a bit too eagerly, and quickly, she folds her hands back onto her lap. “what else do you see?” ashley couldn’t help encouraging, own voice soft and quiet, as if scared to break this sanctity. “do you… maybe see… any other SOULS? joining mine?” she couldn’t help ask, cheeks flushing pink briefly. she ducked her head, trying not to sound too hopeful. she was getting older now, though, and ashley still hadn’t found a SUITOR. which definitely wasn’t going to look good for the baans family, which was already so often FROWNED upon. 

“dear, i’m a pardoner, not a soothsayer. i see where souls go, not whom they join,” she says, her voice dripping with the same humility jehanne has always feigned ( if she had showed certainty in predictions that didn’t come true, would anyone still believe her? ), maintaining the serenity of her expression. “and seeing whom they join is difficult. like how waves do not touch the same shore twice, a soul’s partner is ever-changing. some are joined in every lifetime, every universe, every iteration of their existence —  but this is rare.”

“but divinities aren’t as difficult to persuade. perhaps if you provided some... charitable donation,” she says, careful to conceal the GREED seething within, “they’ll make an exception for you. give me your hands.” palms facing the sky, jehanne rests her hands on her lap. “remember, us preachers have no powers of our own, we merely act as bridges to the divine. the strength of what i see relies on the strength of your faith. call upon the gods, beg them, BELIEVE that they can show you what you wish to see.”

“the sky is a mirror,” jehanne explains, a hand motioning toward the night’s bare heavens. “what are stars but reflections of souls taking rest in the sea?”

jehanne makes certain her roots are indistinguishable. she speaks slowly, tone controlled. her accent is a patchwork of handpicked traits from every kingdom: the gentleness of arvum, the sincerity of calx, the certainty of imber, and beneath it, the artfulness of littus. she leaves no trace of pestis — history has had her homeland carry connotations of untrustworthiness, the lot of them likened with pirates and thieves.

of course, they aren’t wrong. religion was just another brand of trickery, painting over the gaps of what was yet to be known with LIES disguised as prophetic wisdom. it offered two things people this age so desperately craved: salvation and some bullshit explanation.

and it paid. oh gods, it paid. “let me weave your souls into GOLD so you may find your place in the heavens.”

god is dead and no one cares / if there’s a hell i’ll see you there.

BASIC INFO

name: jehanne marchand

faceclaim: eleanor tomlinson

age: 25

alliance: pestis

marital status: living the holy life of single blessedness 

occupation: pardoner ( basically a person that sells indulgences or - tickets to heaven )

BIOGRAPHY

born a restless soul, jehanne always wanted a life beyond the simple peasant living their parents were making. the marchands was extraordinary simply for the fact that weren’t, their plainness standing out against pestis’s typical vigor and colour. they were merchants, yes, but honest, and loyal to virtues that were absent among most. in a world of cheats and swindlers, it was difficult for the upright to survive.

jehanne’s parents were pious people, loyal to the gods that jehanne didn’t believe existed. it seemed strange to her, how easily people bought into the idea of gods, gods with power who so claimed to love them. how could they exist when the world was so full of rot?

upon learning of her atheism, the marchand parents shipped jehanne to a convent, hoping to reform her. after all, she needed something to fix her rowdy behavior, and they’d believed that placing her on a path toward single blessedness would fix that. but the excessiveness of religion only pushed jehanne further away from faith and made her a much more rebellious soul, much to the frustration of the convent nuns and monks.

jehanne rebelled and rebelled and rebelled, until the realization dawned on her that they’d only set her free once she swallowed it all, holy scriptures and sacred text and stories of some savior mumbo jumbo. it wasn’t easy, at first, but she learned to pretend. soon, at age 20, she was allowed to preach.

jehanne’s made a name for herself as a preacher, her stories not QUITE true to the holy text, but much more interesting. it became a strength, the ability to make people believe in the things she herself didn’t believe in. preaching wasn’t so different from the work of the cheats and merchants of pestis, was it? and there was money involved, the generous donations of pious fools who believed they could buy their way into heaven. it was then that jehanne got the brilliant idea of becoming a pardoner.

gold’s come easy since then. heaven isn’t real but it‘s real easy to sell, she says. demand for indulgences has been rising, especially now that the infection‘s trying to dig its unrelenting claws into every sinner and saint in tellus. the people are hungry for salvation, and jehanne is hungry for a sale.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

The CHOICE to intervene or not intervene was as mercurial as Faust. Her desire to play the hero was an easier choice on some days than others. but when the VICTIM was on the run from raiders? It just made the work that much sweeter. Anytime she could ruin the day of one of the scum-sucking bottom feeders, she was ready and WILLING. Take their loot? Check. Their lives? Check. Their kills? An easy choice. Like the patches on the backs of the motorcycle club members raiders took their pleasure in DECIMATING, she was happy to rip apart their best laid plans. They were more mice than MEN and she was more than happy to exterminate them.

As soon as the girl’s body makes impact with the back of her bike, smacking into her back hard enough to almost steal Faust’s breath from her lungs like an OLD WIVE’S TALE. A nimble flick of the wrist revved the bike with a mature purr that contradicted the juvenile way she peeled out, spitting a POTENT mix of dirt and gravel behind the two women and onto their pursuers.

“Know the way to Whispering chase?” Faust snorted, almost SCREAMING over the sound of the engine. “I fucking live there.” Hardly able to distinguish the girl’s features through the blanket of night, let alone the darkened visor of her helmet, she yelled again. “Who are you?”

“KINGSLEY TAU,” the name of her fellow trader sounds raspy as Jackie screams it out.  There’s no harm in telling the truth, but there’s no fun in it either. “It’s just the AIR out here makin’ my voice higher.” Traces of Tennessee remain evident in a badly disguised southern drawl, but it hardly matters. Jackie knows she isn’t fooling anyone. 

Despite the wind whipping against her, a grin cuts through Jackie’s face, elastic and cheeky. “God BLESS you, baby,” she says, because she doesn’t want her words of gratefulness lending too much power, because lending power violates her simple philosophy: DON’T OWE NOBODY NOTHIN’. Traders aren’t always cheats, but cheats always get the best of the trade, and Jackie is happy to accept favours from kind strangers, so long as she never has to be a kind stranger herself. 

“Should’ve figured we were from the same camp. The bike looked familiar.” The woman’s voice is, too, but Jackie can’t pin a name to it. While her mind does have the capacity to remember, her heart doesn’t have the capacity to care. “Got a name, helmet?” 

his eyes rolled at her CHILDISH repertoire. he should’ve expected that; an immature reaction to and immature conversation. nathan didn’t particularly MIND – he just wasn’t sure he was counting on such a…lively personality. “ is that what you consider yourself to be? A SICKO? “ his hand flew to his forehead as soon as the cherry hit – brown orbs dipping in ANNOYANCE. “ you’re playing a very RISKY game, kid. i’d watch it if i were you. “ 

jackie stifled yet another laugh, chest welling with satisfaction upon seeing the annoyance written on the man’s expression. “oh believe me, baby. there are much worse things to be.” crossing her legs, she leaned back in some quiet display of self-possession. “and you? what do you consider yourself to be?” other than a square with a stick up your ass. “got a name, sweet pea?”

THE GAME rung quite a few bells. some bullshit facebook app someone’s little brother lost their mind to; a friend, perhaps. a temporary shelter with food for PEOPLE rather than the spirits his mother preferred to feed. yes – YES. he remembered it. he didn’t waste his time playing it, though. nathan’s hands were more keen on an x box back in the day. “ i think that would be HANDY – and dangerous in the wrong hands, “ he nodded towards the cherry in her grip. “ we’re not all as PRUDENT as you are, red. “ 

“dangerous? you worried that some sicko like me would use it against you?” she said, lowering her voice in an unserious attempt to sound threatening. “boom.” a lopsided grin spread wide across her face as she flung the cherry in the man’s direction, letting it SMASH against the man’s forehead. hand over mouth, jackie suppressed the childish laugh that threatened to leave her throat. “check out that state of the art weaponry.”

he APPRECIATED that she’d included ‘ as ’… like she didn’t see him as a KID. it was enough to make his expression soften ; he was more ready to answer. ❛ yeah, ❜ he replied with a nod, smiling sweetly now. dark brown eyes shot back to her and he stared as she explained — slowly, his expression widened and glossed to the point you’d think he was looking at heaven itself. ❛ yeah, ❜ he repeated MUCH softer this time, pupils dilated, palms sweaty. finally, he tore his gaze away to think. ❛ they probably do exist… pretty cool to think. ❜

“did i say a shit-ton?” she half-gasped, her eyes widening as she realized that the mini nick jonas, despite his height, was probably no older than fifteen. “i meant a FUCK-TON.” jackie placed the cherry in her mouth and and chewed, tossing the stem away with a casual flick of her wrist. once she finished, a harsh spit sent the remaining seed shooting to the ground. “you know what i wish were real? the jalapeño peppers. remember how they just sent all those BOBSLED BITCHES burnin’ up? jesus, that’s just what we need right now.”