#cosamstarter

It hadn’t been a hard place to find, or even to gain entry to-- Sophie had never been too high and mighty for a good old fashioned fake ID, though knowing one of the dancers and getting in without bluffing was certainly a nice change-- but it was another week down, money as tight as ever, and the Academy as cramped and itchy against her skin as it always was. Time had practically slowed to a crawl during her last few hours in Marie’s makeshift salon, and Sophie had powered through almost only on the knowledge that there were more outlets in the city than brooding in that musty old house. Tonight, Sophie planned on drinking and forgetting the weight at her back until the sun came up.

She’d planned for the occasion since Lizzie had mentioned the club, come dressed in loose hair and big jewelry, skirt high and blouse low, which sounded odd, but... the Maison would be crowded, but there, Sophie would be alone. At least for a little while, anyway-- her dance card tended to fill quickly, and brief, “friendly” company was thick on the floor. Sometimes that was appealing. Sometimes, you just wanted to see a familiar face. The neon and blacklight reflected in the chromed poles and the girls in tall shoes on glittery dance platforms were unfamiliar, though dazzling, but there was no sight of Lizzie yet.

It was finally warm outside— warm and sunny enough for Sophie to feel cabin fever itching away at her staying in the bleached-bone confines of the academy. Still, even with all of that, a girl got thirsty every so often.

Stirring the straw of her iced latte idly, Sophie browsed the shelves of the café and bookstore to at least pass the time while she drank. A familiar book caught her eye, half-buried behind fancier covers; a thick stout paperback edition of Diagrammes Rituels du Voudou. The last time Sophie had seen a copy was before her home with Marie had been attacked and burnt up.

While he had owned his daylight ring for a few months now, Devlin was having the hardest time getting used to the constant sunlight. He might have been immune to death via the sun, but that didn't mean his skin wasn't suffering. As the vampire walked down the bustling streets of the shopping district, he slouched. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes, and a hat atop his head prevented him from burning his scalp. Despite the best efforts to keep safe, it was clear that the ginger was already burning.

It was a long night, stretching out far behind Sophie and as far ahead of her as she could see with her eyes open or closed. She'd been having a lot of those lately; a side effect of the general agitation in the air, and the danger congealing in every corner. When Ayala started crying it had been as much for her own sake as for the baby's that Sophie offered to take the girl downstairs and let Lisbeth sleep.

The Academy was nearly stone silent at this hour. For all the magic inside it, diurnal was easier for most of the students, and even Ayala fell back asleep easily enough, once she was being carried and moving around rather than staying still in her bassinet. Sophie had been singing to her, haltingly-- the tune still fresh in the woman's memory, but the Louisiana Creole slow to return to her mind. She'd heard it, growing up, had even been conversant. But it was never Sophie's language, and her mouth forgot it, though understanding the French woven into the world around her never really went away.

She kept singing anyway, Ayala curled against her shoulder, pacing between the front hall and the kitchen. "Petits sans papas, petits sans mamans. Qui ça 'ou' zaut' fé pou' gagnein l'a'zan? Qui ça 'ou' zaut' fé pou' gagnein l'a'zan..."

New Years Eve had never been a bittersweet time for Gixx. He loved leaving the old year behind, and ushering in the new one surrounded by drinks and friends. This year, however, had been significantly different for him. So much had happened within the span of twelve months, so much so that he could hardly believe it when he realized that morning that it was, in fact, December 31st. He no longer had friends to drink with, or the desire to really leave his room, aside from the need to make money. It was a sad living that he was beginning to loathe, but every time he felt himself dreading the next morning, he reminded himself that he had been the reason for it. It was his choice.

Lizzie rested her head on the bar. waiting for the end of the countdown like you'd wait for a bullet to the skull. This was it. All the good was being left firmly behind her, and all the bad was right on her tail. Still, she'd made it. Another year down. Another birthday in the distance. It was more than she'd expected, and while the thought didn't really fill her with joy, when the cheers started, she sat up straight and added her voice to the din. She felt almost like she owed everyone that much.

"Happy New Year!" She put on the best grin she could manage, counting the moments until she could limp home and forget the entire night. 

It was nearly impossible not to get distracted by the colourful sights and sounds of New Orleans, and some days more than most, Gixx found himself getting distracted by all the delicious scents wafting fourth from all the hole in the wall restaurants or cafes. The werewolf was weak when it came to good food, especially if it had heat to it. Perhaps it was hubris, or maybe the overwhelming hunger that had take ahold of him that afternoon, but the werewolf had ordered a po boy from Zimmer's and had loaded enough sauce (titled the Devil's Piss) to consider it a sloppy joe. Usually he didn't take challenges when it came to spicy, but today he felt adventurous. He took the sandwich, packed and ready for consumption and left the small restaurant to find a place to eat. The weather was nice enough to sit outside and eat - much nicer than Iowa was at this time of year. He didn't like to think about his old state, or home town much. Anything pertaining to home put a bad taste in his mouth, and always dampened his mood. He knew a lot of wolves that felt the same way.

Once he found a nice bench away from too many people, Gixx sat down and opened up the wrap to his po boy. Already his mouth was watering, and he thought of how delicious the sandwich was going to taste, oozing with the extremely red, extremely dangerous smelling hot-sauce. He took a bite, than another, and began to chew slowly, savoring the taste.

And then it hit him.

Lisbeth whispered softly to Ayala, rocking the little girl against her shoulder. “Oh bayou, my baby on the bayou tonight, to the katydids serenade, my cherie - oh sleep tonight.” She cooed at the little girl. The yard wasn’t nearly as stifling as the atmosphere inside the walls, there at least she could let jasmine and lavender sprout up from where her feet hit the earth. 

She was uneasy. She was always uneasy, but with the party coming up, it was reaching a head. She'd lived in that house for too long. If she was going to face a vampire on his own turf, it felt unbearable to spend the months leading up to it in someone else's home, in a house full of ugly old history. 

“I’ll fly o’er that bayou to you, I’ll fly o’er that bayou to you.”