Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 5:00:04 GMT
The Pontiac roared up Interstate 10, passing through North Shore, and turned onto Highway 190. From there they traveled through Sildel, until finally breaking out into a more rural section of highway. Their approach brought with it large road signs advertising the amusement park, thirty miles out, twenty miles out, until finally reaching one that said ten miles out. There were also brown state markers saying that Camp Salmen Nature Park was around fifteen miles away, and the two men assumed the park probably butted up right alongside it. The only reason the nature park existed was because the inheritors of the Plantation that made up most of Purity had donated the land.
Purity, LA had once been a booming mill town, but with most of the lumber having been eradicated in the area, the town had turned into a shell of its former glory. Now only a few hundred residence remained, and those were mostly those who had inherited their land from family members. It was the perfect place for an Amusement Park, as it was only about an hour and forty minutes outside of New Orleans, with hotels and restaurants in nearby North Shore and Franklinton.
They saw the roller-coasters and attractions before they ever actually made it to the entrance, which was a six lane road that ran between a huge archway with ‘Pure Amusement’ spanning across it. The road began to give way to turn offs into parking areas designated by numbers and letters. Since the park wasn’t officially open, they followed the road all the way up to the front lot, and pulled into a parking spot. There were a smattering of cars there, and they realized upon exiting the vehicle that the bar was open.
It rested right beside the many admission stations, a doorway facing the outside for patrons who weren’t there for the park to enter. Apparently it was Samedi’s idea to be opened year round for any of the locals, even in the parks off season. The building was a two story version of The Emporium, with red brick running the outside to give it the appearance of one of the old buildings in the French Quarter. Even the double doors that led into the place were made from stained heavy oak, and a sign hung above the portal that read, ‘The Crossroads’
Press & Youth could smell the aroma of Sam’s gumbo before making it to the door, and by the time they reached the curb they were starting to get hungry. Press pushed the double doors open, and a haze of cigar smoke billowed out into the outside air, and he grinned at Youth before entering.
The inside was more spacious than The Emporium, not being restricted by 17th century architecture, and with more modern lighting. As soon as you stepped in there were a set of stairs to your right that immediately cut to a sharp left running along the wall. Underneath the steps, and the railing that ran the interior of the room, were antique chairs and love seats, with mahogany tables positioned between them. Along the right side wall was a full length bar, where all manner of liquor and beer on tap were displayed. There were just as many books as there were bottles, and the arrangement seemed haphazard and random. A scattering of tables littered the center of the establishment, with a stage nook on the back wall where a band was preparing to play.
When you looked upstairs you could see more shelves lined with books, various vials and goblets, masks, and dolls. There also appeared to be more antique furniture, and there was even laboratory equipment that looked like it came straight out of the pages of Frankenstein. There was a smaller bar overhead as well, this one not doling out alcohol, but some of the finest cigars the men had ever seen.
Their presence did not go unnoticed by a number of patrons, but more importantly they did not go unnoticed by their reason for being there. Munin sat in an alcove near the bar, off to the side, hidden in the shadows of the Tavern. It offered her a modicum of privacy, and the perfect vantage to watch the patrons. Her eyes slid away for a moment as the band began to play.
The first strands of "House of the Rising Sun" began to ease through the bar and the patrons. Like a spell being cast, a number of patrons began to sway with the music, and as loud as it was, it couldn’t drown out the voice that called out across the bar at the men who had just entered.
“YOU!!” The voice thundered, deep and baritone. Youth and Press stopped gawking at the awesome interior of the bar, and zeroed in on the familiar voice that had called out.
Samedi, the owner of the establishment, was about six foot, two-hundred-and-thirty-two pounds, of obsidian Cajun, who hopped clear over the bar to land perfectly on the other side. He stalked through the bar, every eye of the twenty or so customers following his every move. When he came to a stop a few feet away from the two men, the expression on his face actually made them take an anxious step back, just to be cautious.
Samedi eyed both of them for just a moment with a disdainful expression on his face, before finally placing his hands on his hips. “Why you slimy, double-crossing, no-good swindlers. You've got a lot of guts coming here, after what you pulled.”
Now at this point if Munin had a box of popcorn, she would have been stuffing her face, eyes wide with anticipation. What an interesting turn of events. She couldn't have planned for better entertainment if she tried. Not only did Sam know Press and Youth, but they had managed to rile the usually easy going man. Alas there was no popcorn, and so she made do with her brandy and vape.
Press and Youth both looked to one another, then back to Samedi, and held their hands out at their sides in anguished surprise. Samedi stood there for a moment, silence having filled the room so that you could have heard a pin drop. His dark and foreboding eyes slowly began to relax, and a smile crept into the corners of his mouth, despite himself. A deep bellow of laughter emitted from the Cajun, startling both Press and Youth, along with the rest of the bar. He opened his arms wide, and thrust himself at the two men, hugging them around the neck in an affectionate embrace. Press and Youth exchanged a glanced over Samedi’s shoulder, and Youth just shrugged with a grin.
When the Cajun pulled back from the two men, his hands rested on their shoulders, and he beamed at them with a genuine smile. “Empire Strikes Back. Billy Dee Williams, a fine actor.”
Press cracked a grin, and shook his head, placing his own hand on Samedi’s arm. “You were always such a card, you crazy ass.”
“Better to be a crazy ass, than asshole crazy.” Samedi replied, followed by a wink. He put himself between the two men, draping his arms around their shoulders, and led them over to the bar. After putting them in a seat, he hopped up onto the counter, spinning his feet around to land on the other side. “So what are you two Neanderthals doing here in Louisiana? I would have thought you would have had your fill after our last exchange.”
Press grimaced at the mention of that, thinking, ‘so he hasn’t forgotten’.
As if reading Press’ mind, Samedi offered a wide grin as he placed two mugs of beer before the two men. “No worries, my friend. That was a long time ago, and all is forgiven. It is not good for the health to hold a grudge. Besides, it appears that you visited The Emporium before devising my new location.”
Press smirked, “Did you get that from reading your bones?”
“Of course not!” Samedi replied indignantly. “Bobby’s seal of approval is written all over your young partner’s face.”
Samedi and Press guffawed as Youth reached up to touch his pain riddled eye, and shook his head. “Fuck you guys.” He good naturedly remarked, taking a long sip of his beer.
“So, how long are you in town for?” Samedi asked, running a damp rag over the surface of the bar.
“Indefinitely.” Press answered.
Samedi turned his full attention back on the men before him, his eyes searching their faces. He was looking right at them, but in a way, it seemed like past them, through them. Both could feel a chill rise on the back of their necks, and the hair on their arms begin to rise. Sam finally blinked, and then cast a casual glance up at the railing behind them, and then back to them with a smile. “You are here for the wrestling.”
It was a statement, not a question, but Press nodded anyways.
Samedi sighed heavily, turning to face the shelves behind him, his hand cradling his chin in contemplation. He walked his fingers over several books until finally finding the one he was searching for, and pulled it down from the shelf. He then walked to the other end of the bar, and took a bottle of bourbon down as well. He returned to the two men with both in tow, and set them down in front of them. He then grabbed two glasses from under the counter, and set those in front of him.
Any amusement that Munin had once had, left her when Samedi pulled out that book. Her skin prickled uncomfortably as if someone had walked over her grave. She did not like it, and while she may not understand why, she did not want them near that book. So she had made her way to the bar silently, and patiently waited to be noticed. The vapor from her pipe curled around her like the smoke from a dragon.
Press and Youth watched as he uncorked the bottle, the label reading Pappy Van Winkle Family Reserve 23 Year, and poured the glasses half full of its golden contents. Each glass cost at least a hundred-and-forty bucks, and was way out of their price range. Before either of them could protest, Samedi had already turned his attention to the book, flipping it open and easily finding the page he wanted. He then turned the book around so that the pages were facing the boys, and he took a step back, nursing one of the drinks. On the page before them was a rendering of Odin, two ravens on either side of his head, peering out as if they could see the two men. The words beneath the picture read;
Hugin and Munin (pronounced “HOO-gin” and “MOO-nin”; Old Norse Huginn, “Thought” and Muninn, “Desire”) are two ravens in Norse mythology who are shamanic helping spirits of the god Odin. The Eddic poem Grímnismál describes them thus, from the perspective of Odin:
Hugin and Munin
Fly every day
Over all the world;
I worry for Hugin
That he might not return,
But I worry more for Munin.[1]
These informants are two of the many sources of Odin’s prodigious wisdom.
Hugin and Munin are semi-autonomous beings who are simultaneously projections or extensions of Odin’s own being. This may sound unusual, but Old Norse literature is rife with just this sort of phenomena. (See Shamanism and The Parts of the Self.) It’s difficult to determine exactly which parts of Odin they correspond to, however. Most helping spirits in animal form are fylgjur, “followers,” attendants who can tell a person with second sight much about the character of the spirit’s owner. However, their names are derived from hugr, “thought,” and munr, “desire,” both of which are distinct parts of the self in their own right. Perhaps they’re avian manifestations of Odin’s hugr and munr, or perhaps they’re fylgjur with the attributes of those other mental faculties. Unfortunately, as fragmentary as the sources for our knowledge of the pre-Christian traditions of the Norse and other Germanic peoples are, that’s just about all we know about Hugin and Munin.
(Note: it’s often claimed that Munin’s name means “Memory,” but for this to be so, it would have to be derived from minni, “memory,” rather than munr, “desire.” The latter, however, is by far the more parsimonious derivation; if the former were the case, we should expect Munin’s Old Norse name to have been something like “Minninn” rather than “Muninn.” Moreover, the above verse from the Grímnismál makes much more sense if Munin’s name means “Desire” rather than “Memory” – for Odin to state that he’s worried about losing his memory in a poem where he recites, in brilliant poetic form, a remarkably systematic description of the entire cosmos in considerable detail would be highly ironic, to say the least.)
Press looked up from the reading first, Youth running his finger across the lines of the page for a second time. His expression was one of a man who had been spread too thin in recent weeks by forces that were obviously in control, but uncertain of their destination. It had, after all, been a bumpy ride.
When Samedi met Press’ eyes, he recognized the expression right away. He said a silent prayer under his breath, and nodded in understanding. “It appears that you have brought trouble with you my friend.”
“Fate?” Press asked, his eyes searching for validation in the Voodoo priest’s eyes.
Samedi gave three short spats to the floor, then reached under the bar, and brought out a clasp of sage. He lit the end of leaves in a nearby candle, and shook the ash over the two men. In a curt tone, his deep voice breathed his retort. “Ne pas dire son nom ici, car elle est toujours à l'écoute!” (‘Do not say her name here, for she is always listening!’ *Translated from French*)
Youth finally looked up from the book, and placed his elbows on the counter, cradling his head in his hands. “This is just fucking perfect.”
“Perhaps,” Samedi replied, “But that has yet to be determined, for it is here to make another play.” The last was spoken in a whisper for only the two men to hear, as he took the other glass of high end Bourbon, and sat it down on the counter off to the side of Press. The Big Man followed the Cajun’s dark appendage to the drink, and for the first time noticed the Lady, the one they had come to Louisiana for, sitting beside him. Internally he was damn near jumping out of his skin, but on the outside he gave a slight smile, and nodded in her direction as a sign of greeting.
Once she was acknowledged, she returned the offered smile with a tighter version. One hand slid the open book towards her. A quick scan had her letting out another plume of smoke. She closed it carefully, but firmly. “Teaching a little Norse mythology now Sam?”
“You know as well as I do, Lady, that Samedi is nothing if not a keeper of mythology. As for teaching, there are a great many things to be taught and learned from these two gentleman.” He grinned with the last comment, motioning wide with his hand to either of the BombTrax. “Would you not agree?” He asked, nudging the glass of expensive Bourbon further in her direction.
“I think it's safe to say that there is something that can be learned from anyone, but some things are better left alone.” The last sentence was said with a quiet "force" that seemed to shake the very air. The awkwardness was over though in just that moment. Munin blinked her eyes a few times, and subtly collected her bearings. With a teasing scowl she took the offered drink. “Trying to bribe me in front of the new talent, Samedi?”
“Oh, they aren’t that new, and not that talented.” Samedi replied, a playful grin dancing across his face.
Press grunted, and flashed the Cajun his middle finger before turning back to Munin. “Well, we’re here. Not sure what all this,” He used his hand to gesture towards the entrance to the park, “is, but we’re here. Care to explain?”
Munin chuckled softly at his question, and made a vague hand gesture of her own. "There is a lot of "this" that you could be referring to. What part did you specifically want explained?"
Press’ eyes narrowed, and he turned his body so that he was now fully facing Munin. The tenseness in his muscles relayed that he was about to say something curt, but before he could do it, Youth dashed around him, and hopped onto the stool on the other side of the Lady. “What he’s asking is what are we doing here specifically? Your postcard was a little vague on the details. It basically said if we trust you, then come to an amusement park in Louisiana. Well, we’re here. I guess that means we trust you, and were wondering what it is you want from us?” Youth smiled warmly, reaching up to remove a few strands of his dark hair from his face.
"Ah, of course." Munin paused her speech to turn her attention to Youth. "I want to contract you both to wrestle. This time you will be working for my company, and you will be receiving a pay check from me. I have no special orders or stipulations, other than I want your best. It will be a very rare occasion that I ask for anything more than that.” She took a moment to sip her her drink, and made a vague hand gesture to Samedi. With a skeletal grin he reached under the bar, and withdrew two contracts. A chuckle escaped him as he laid them out before the two men.
Press took the contracts, and passed one over to Youth, already skimming through the document for the details. It was a familiar deal, much like the one that they had signed with Evolution Wrestling when they had first met the lady. The term was for six months, came with a certain amount of creative control, and guaranteed at least a $3000 dollar pay out for their matches, with a $500 pay out for appearances. It was cleaner than the EW contract, fairer, and better money.
He cast a glance past Munin to Youth, who nodded, and without speaking a word, both men signed the contracts. Press passed the document over to Munin, and spoke in her direction, while looking at Samedi. “So you know the Cajun? Why am I not surprised? Old Bones gets around.”
Samedi took a step back, a mocking indignant expression covering his face. He placed his right hand over his heart, and shook his head. “Why do you wound me so, behemoth? Certainly my bones are no older than yours?” With his last statement he flashed a wide grin that bordered on wicked, as Press grunted, unable to hide the slight smile forming at the corners of his mouth.
Munin took the contracts with a pleased smile. The fact that the men knew each other was surprising, but immensely amusing. "Yes I know Sam very well, I helped him start the emporium when he hung up his wrestling hat, and his mother lives down the road from me." Munin chuckles at the thought of the older woman, and her smile turned fond. "Somehow her garden has extended into a rather large portion of mine."
“Oh man, I miss her cooking.” Youth remarked, patting his stomach. “She passed that on to ole’ Sam here. The Emporium wouldn’t be quite what it is without Mama’s gumbo.”
Press sat silent for a moment, contemplating. They had been to Sam’s mother’s house before, and had seen the turn off for the property that lay next to hers. Was it possible that they had been over there for supper, no more than a few acres separating them from Munin. He shook his head, more to clear the cobwebs that now formed over his brain than for the surprise, and turned his full attention in her direction.
In a quiet voice, he asked, “How long have you lived there?”
"Oh, well over five years. I've bought and sold a number of places, but Louisiana is home."
Press breathed a sigh of relief, and took a sip of his beer for good measure. They hadn’t been to Samedi’s homestead in nearly seven years. If Fate had played that game on them, he wasn’t sure he could take it. He smiled now, seeming to be in a better mood, and took on a different subject.
“So when’s the first card?” He asked.
Munin set her now empty glass to the side, and placed her hand over the top. "January seventh. Sam could I have some sweet tea and duck gumbo please?" The Cajun gave the hand covering the glass a mock glare. "You're a spoil sport, but yes I will."
“I take it we’re booked?” Press questioned, a sly grin crossing his face. It was an uncharacteristic portrait of the man, seeing as he was usually scowling.
It was nice to see a different expression on the usually brooding man. Munin returned his smile, not bothering to look sheepish. "I have a spot for you on it yes."
He nodded, and hopped up from his stool. “Well, it looks like we have something to look forward to. It’s good to see you Sam.” He nodded in the Cajun’s direction, and Samedi mockingly dipped into a dramatic bow. “We have to find a place nearby to stow our gear, and daylight’s burning. We’ll see you soon, and Sam, “ he paused, looking back over at the Cajun. “Leave the lights burning bright.”
Samedi grinned wide, nodding in Press’ direction. “Indeed, redeemer. They will burn as bright as you need them, a port in the storm, a beacon of hope. Bright as the sun.”
Munin nodded with a thoughtful expression. "If you don't find a place today, you could always stay the night at the old plantation house. We use it mostly for: offices, tours, and guest relations."
Samedi began to cough on his drink, looking uncharacteristically flustered. "No, the house is a bit restless, and I would rather it not be disturbed."
Munin put a calming hand on Samedi's, the larger man seemed to calm marginally at the touch. "If you don't want something disturbed Sam, it will be left alone. I trust your judgment, even if I don't understand it. End of story."
The tall ebony man slowly nodded and relaxed at her words. It was a funny thing trust, sometimes it was almost magical in the effect it could have on people.
Suddenly a hard slam came from the side of Munin, Youth's fist striking the counter, and nearly causing the woman to jump out of her skin. All eyes turned to the young man, though he regarded them with cloudy orbs. In disturbingly convincing Creole he spoke.
"Oh, Sam. Sure'n ye haven't got Papa Legba runnin' loose through this place. Ye got more sense dan dat."
Samedi's eyes went wide, and he slammed his own fist down on the bar, the other hurling an accusing finger at Youth. "Don't you come inta my house telling me my business! Don't ye dare! I be keepin' dat tight, and has none yo business."
The sudden coldness in the air permeated the establishment, until finally Youth blinked, as if from a deep sleep, and then offered a sheepish grin. "Sure, Sam. Sorry about that."
“Oooo,” Munin gave the Tavern Keeper a speculative look, "Kkkkkk....."
Press looked between the three for a moment before letting out a long sigh. "Yep, that's definitely our cue to go." He tried to make it sound light hearted, like from earlier, but without much success.
Turning to Munin, he smiled genuinely, but the tension was obvious despite how hard he tried to deny it with the gesture. “Lady, it’s always a pleasure.” Youth had already made it to the door by the time his partner had turned towards it, and was waving as he exited, despite the deflated expression on his face. Press followed suit, trying his best not to make any more eye contact than was necessary.
Samedi and Munin watched as the door swung closed, and he took a deep sigh. When she turned back to regard him, he had a smooth, even smile on his face. “I need to go check the kitchen for just a moment. Don’t go anywhere, we’ll talk.” Without further conversation or acknowledgement, Samedi made his way to the end of the bar, and through one of the side doors leading into the kitchen.
When The BombTrax came out into the fresh open expanse of the parking lot, Samedi was already leaning against the hood of the car. He wore a grave expression as he glowered at the two men, who reluctantly approached, seeing as they had no other choice. This was their car after all.
“What da hell was dat?” Samedi exploded, becoming suddenly animated, which didn’t match the sour tone of his voice. “Let me tell you what my retribution is! The business I have with the Lady, is our business. The business I have with you two, is our business. The business you have with her, is your business. Oui, Mon Amies? Dose are da terms if yo gonna be back in da City o’ Saints!”
Press held his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture, and nodded, trying to put the Cajun at ease. “We get it Sam. Don’t cross the streams.” Press shot a glance over at Youth, who was obviously still preoccupied by what had happened in the bar. “What the hell was that anyways, kid?”
Youth looked up from the pavement, and searched the two men’s eyes for answers that he didn’t have. “I don’t know. It just sort of came out, I couldn’t control it.”
Samedi took in a deep breath to steady himself, and then he reached over and took Youth by the chin. He angled the young man’s head to where he would have to look directly into his dark brown eyes, and stared hard into the mystifying orbs. Samedi shook his head, and made a clucking sound against the roof of his mouth.
“Da spirit has come home.”
“Oh, Jesus, I knew it!” Press exclaimed. “What did I say about this hocus pocus shit? I knew it would come back to bite us in the ass!”
“Calm yourself, wild one.” Samedi replied, resting a firm, but soothing hand on Press’ massive shoulder. “We don’ know yet how much o’ de soul has surfaced. Probably not a lot, or you’d have seen it when you went to The Emporium. If it persists, come see me, and I’ll do me best to put it back in dormir (sleep). But right now, you two need to be going, and going good.”
Samedi reached into his pocket, and produced an elaborately decorated business card. He handed it over to Press, and he examined it with a questioning glance back to the Cajun. “Go there, and tell them Sam from Bourbon Street sent you. They give you a fair price on a nice place to lay your head. Now go.” With that, Sam took a step back, and crossed his arms over his chest.
Seeing there wasn’t anything more to talk about, the two men hopped into the Pontiac, and pulled through to the next space, and then out of the parking lot. Samedi watched as the two disappeared around the corner, and just as he was about to turn and go back inside, something odd caught his eye. There, growing up from the pavement, and directly in the path of the tread where the Pontiac had just set, was a small, white, flower.
Samedi cocked his head to the side, and then knelt down to examine the phenomena. It didn’t’ appear that the asphalt was cracked in that spot, but, none-the-less, there it was, as pretty as you please. He gently caught the bud between thumb and forefinger, and plucked the impish flower from the ground to examine it closer. He knew its make, for he had seen them before, and they were certainly not native to Louisiana. He sniffed at the flower for a moment, confirming what he already knew.
Japanese Lilac.
He took in a deep breath and let out a heavy resonating sigh. He looked up the road where he could still see dust being kicked up by his old associates car, and then turned to look back in the direction of The Crossroads, where Lady Munin awaited his return, probably with questions. He shook his head, and let out the only thing that suited the absurdity of the situation.
“Gottdamit!”
Read more: officialpurepro.boards.net/thread/131/voodoo-woman-featuring-samedi-munin#ixzz45CxZ53J1
Purity, LA had once been a booming mill town, but with most of the lumber having been eradicated in the area, the town had turned into a shell of its former glory. Now only a few hundred residence remained, and those were mostly those who had inherited their land from family members. It was the perfect place for an Amusement Park, as it was only about an hour and forty minutes outside of New Orleans, with hotels and restaurants in nearby North Shore and Franklinton.
They saw the roller-coasters and attractions before they ever actually made it to the entrance, which was a six lane road that ran between a huge archway with ‘Pure Amusement’ spanning across it. The road began to give way to turn offs into parking areas designated by numbers and letters. Since the park wasn’t officially open, they followed the road all the way up to the front lot, and pulled into a parking spot. There were a smattering of cars there, and they realized upon exiting the vehicle that the bar was open.
It rested right beside the many admission stations, a doorway facing the outside for patrons who weren’t there for the park to enter. Apparently it was Samedi’s idea to be opened year round for any of the locals, even in the parks off season. The building was a two story version of The Emporium, with red brick running the outside to give it the appearance of one of the old buildings in the French Quarter. Even the double doors that led into the place were made from stained heavy oak, and a sign hung above the portal that read, ‘The Crossroads’
Press & Youth could smell the aroma of Sam’s gumbo before making it to the door, and by the time they reached the curb they were starting to get hungry. Press pushed the double doors open, and a haze of cigar smoke billowed out into the outside air, and he grinned at Youth before entering.
The inside was more spacious than The Emporium, not being restricted by 17th century architecture, and with more modern lighting. As soon as you stepped in there were a set of stairs to your right that immediately cut to a sharp left running along the wall. Underneath the steps, and the railing that ran the interior of the room, were antique chairs and love seats, with mahogany tables positioned between them. Along the right side wall was a full length bar, where all manner of liquor and beer on tap were displayed. There were just as many books as there were bottles, and the arrangement seemed haphazard and random. A scattering of tables littered the center of the establishment, with a stage nook on the back wall where a band was preparing to play.
When you looked upstairs you could see more shelves lined with books, various vials and goblets, masks, and dolls. There also appeared to be more antique furniture, and there was even laboratory equipment that looked like it came straight out of the pages of Frankenstein. There was a smaller bar overhead as well, this one not doling out alcohol, but some of the finest cigars the men had ever seen.
Their presence did not go unnoticed by a number of patrons, but more importantly they did not go unnoticed by their reason for being there. Munin sat in an alcove near the bar, off to the side, hidden in the shadows of the Tavern. It offered her a modicum of privacy, and the perfect vantage to watch the patrons. Her eyes slid away for a moment as the band began to play.
The first strands of "House of the Rising Sun" began to ease through the bar and the patrons. Like a spell being cast, a number of patrons began to sway with the music, and as loud as it was, it couldn’t drown out the voice that called out across the bar at the men who had just entered.
“YOU!!” The voice thundered, deep and baritone. Youth and Press stopped gawking at the awesome interior of the bar, and zeroed in on the familiar voice that had called out.
Samedi, the owner of the establishment, was about six foot, two-hundred-and-thirty-two pounds, of obsidian Cajun, who hopped clear over the bar to land perfectly on the other side. He stalked through the bar, every eye of the twenty or so customers following his every move. When he came to a stop a few feet away from the two men, the expression on his face actually made them take an anxious step back, just to be cautious.
Samedi eyed both of them for just a moment with a disdainful expression on his face, before finally placing his hands on his hips. “Why you slimy, double-crossing, no-good swindlers. You've got a lot of guts coming here, after what you pulled.”
Now at this point if Munin had a box of popcorn, she would have been stuffing her face, eyes wide with anticipation. What an interesting turn of events. She couldn't have planned for better entertainment if she tried. Not only did Sam know Press and Youth, but they had managed to rile the usually easy going man. Alas there was no popcorn, and so she made do with her brandy and vape.
Press and Youth both looked to one another, then back to Samedi, and held their hands out at their sides in anguished surprise. Samedi stood there for a moment, silence having filled the room so that you could have heard a pin drop. His dark and foreboding eyes slowly began to relax, and a smile crept into the corners of his mouth, despite himself. A deep bellow of laughter emitted from the Cajun, startling both Press and Youth, along with the rest of the bar. He opened his arms wide, and thrust himself at the two men, hugging them around the neck in an affectionate embrace. Press and Youth exchanged a glanced over Samedi’s shoulder, and Youth just shrugged with a grin.
When the Cajun pulled back from the two men, his hands rested on their shoulders, and he beamed at them with a genuine smile. “Empire Strikes Back. Billy Dee Williams, a fine actor.”
Press cracked a grin, and shook his head, placing his own hand on Samedi’s arm. “You were always such a card, you crazy ass.”
“Better to be a crazy ass, than asshole crazy.” Samedi replied, followed by a wink. He put himself between the two men, draping his arms around their shoulders, and led them over to the bar. After putting them in a seat, he hopped up onto the counter, spinning his feet around to land on the other side. “So what are you two Neanderthals doing here in Louisiana? I would have thought you would have had your fill after our last exchange.”
Press grimaced at the mention of that, thinking, ‘so he hasn’t forgotten’.
As if reading Press’ mind, Samedi offered a wide grin as he placed two mugs of beer before the two men. “No worries, my friend. That was a long time ago, and all is forgiven. It is not good for the health to hold a grudge. Besides, it appears that you visited The Emporium before devising my new location.”
Press smirked, “Did you get that from reading your bones?”
“Of course not!” Samedi replied indignantly. “Bobby’s seal of approval is written all over your young partner’s face.”
Samedi and Press guffawed as Youth reached up to touch his pain riddled eye, and shook his head. “Fuck you guys.” He good naturedly remarked, taking a long sip of his beer.
“So, how long are you in town for?” Samedi asked, running a damp rag over the surface of the bar.
“Indefinitely.” Press answered.
Samedi turned his full attention back on the men before him, his eyes searching their faces. He was looking right at them, but in a way, it seemed like past them, through them. Both could feel a chill rise on the back of their necks, and the hair on their arms begin to rise. Sam finally blinked, and then cast a casual glance up at the railing behind them, and then back to them with a smile. “You are here for the wrestling.”
It was a statement, not a question, but Press nodded anyways.
Samedi sighed heavily, turning to face the shelves behind him, his hand cradling his chin in contemplation. He walked his fingers over several books until finally finding the one he was searching for, and pulled it down from the shelf. He then walked to the other end of the bar, and took a bottle of bourbon down as well. He returned to the two men with both in tow, and set them down in front of them. He then grabbed two glasses from under the counter, and set those in front of him.
Any amusement that Munin had once had, left her when Samedi pulled out that book. Her skin prickled uncomfortably as if someone had walked over her grave. She did not like it, and while she may not understand why, she did not want them near that book. So she had made her way to the bar silently, and patiently waited to be noticed. The vapor from her pipe curled around her like the smoke from a dragon.
Press and Youth watched as he uncorked the bottle, the label reading Pappy Van Winkle Family Reserve 23 Year, and poured the glasses half full of its golden contents. Each glass cost at least a hundred-and-forty bucks, and was way out of their price range. Before either of them could protest, Samedi had already turned his attention to the book, flipping it open and easily finding the page he wanted. He then turned the book around so that the pages were facing the boys, and he took a step back, nursing one of the drinks. On the page before them was a rendering of Odin, two ravens on either side of his head, peering out as if they could see the two men. The words beneath the picture read;
Hugin and Munin (pronounced “HOO-gin” and “MOO-nin”; Old Norse Huginn, “Thought” and Muninn, “Desire”) are two ravens in Norse mythology who are shamanic helping spirits of the god Odin. The Eddic poem Grímnismál describes them thus, from the perspective of Odin:
Hugin and Munin
Fly every day
Over all the world;
I worry for Hugin
That he might not return,
But I worry more for Munin.[1]
These informants are two of the many sources of Odin’s prodigious wisdom.
Hugin and Munin are semi-autonomous beings who are simultaneously projections or extensions of Odin’s own being. This may sound unusual, but Old Norse literature is rife with just this sort of phenomena. (See Shamanism and The Parts of the Self.) It’s difficult to determine exactly which parts of Odin they correspond to, however. Most helping spirits in animal form are fylgjur, “followers,” attendants who can tell a person with second sight much about the character of the spirit’s owner. However, their names are derived from hugr, “thought,” and munr, “desire,” both of which are distinct parts of the self in their own right. Perhaps they’re avian manifestations of Odin’s hugr and munr, or perhaps they’re fylgjur with the attributes of those other mental faculties. Unfortunately, as fragmentary as the sources for our knowledge of the pre-Christian traditions of the Norse and other Germanic peoples are, that’s just about all we know about Hugin and Munin.
(Note: it’s often claimed that Munin’s name means “Memory,” but for this to be so, it would have to be derived from minni, “memory,” rather than munr, “desire.” The latter, however, is by far the more parsimonious derivation; if the former were the case, we should expect Munin’s Old Norse name to have been something like “Minninn” rather than “Muninn.” Moreover, the above verse from the Grímnismál makes much more sense if Munin’s name means “Desire” rather than “Memory” – for Odin to state that he’s worried about losing his memory in a poem where he recites, in brilliant poetic form, a remarkably systematic description of the entire cosmos in considerable detail would be highly ironic, to say the least.)
Press looked up from the reading first, Youth running his finger across the lines of the page for a second time. His expression was one of a man who had been spread too thin in recent weeks by forces that were obviously in control, but uncertain of their destination. It had, after all, been a bumpy ride.
When Samedi met Press’ eyes, he recognized the expression right away. He said a silent prayer under his breath, and nodded in understanding. “It appears that you have brought trouble with you my friend.”
“Fate?” Press asked, his eyes searching for validation in the Voodoo priest’s eyes.
Samedi gave three short spats to the floor, then reached under the bar, and brought out a clasp of sage. He lit the end of leaves in a nearby candle, and shook the ash over the two men. In a curt tone, his deep voice breathed his retort. “Ne pas dire son nom ici, car elle est toujours à l'écoute!” (‘Do not say her name here, for she is always listening!’ *Translated from French*)
Youth finally looked up from the book, and placed his elbows on the counter, cradling his head in his hands. “This is just fucking perfect.”
“Perhaps,” Samedi replied, “But that has yet to be determined, for it is here to make another play.” The last was spoken in a whisper for only the two men to hear, as he took the other glass of high end Bourbon, and sat it down on the counter off to the side of Press. The Big Man followed the Cajun’s dark appendage to the drink, and for the first time noticed the Lady, the one they had come to Louisiana for, sitting beside him. Internally he was damn near jumping out of his skin, but on the outside he gave a slight smile, and nodded in her direction as a sign of greeting.
Once she was acknowledged, she returned the offered smile with a tighter version. One hand slid the open book towards her. A quick scan had her letting out another plume of smoke. She closed it carefully, but firmly. “Teaching a little Norse mythology now Sam?”
“You know as well as I do, Lady, that Samedi is nothing if not a keeper of mythology. As for teaching, there are a great many things to be taught and learned from these two gentleman.” He grinned with the last comment, motioning wide with his hand to either of the BombTrax. “Would you not agree?” He asked, nudging the glass of expensive Bourbon further in her direction.
“I think it's safe to say that there is something that can be learned from anyone, but some things are better left alone.” The last sentence was said with a quiet "force" that seemed to shake the very air. The awkwardness was over though in just that moment. Munin blinked her eyes a few times, and subtly collected her bearings. With a teasing scowl she took the offered drink. “Trying to bribe me in front of the new talent, Samedi?”
“Oh, they aren’t that new, and not that talented.” Samedi replied, a playful grin dancing across his face.
Press grunted, and flashed the Cajun his middle finger before turning back to Munin. “Well, we’re here. Not sure what all this,” He used his hand to gesture towards the entrance to the park, “is, but we’re here. Care to explain?”
Munin chuckled softly at his question, and made a vague hand gesture of her own. "There is a lot of "this" that you could be referring to. What part did you specifically want explained?"
Press’ eyes narrowed, and he turned his body so that he was now fully facing Munin. The tenseness in his muscles relayed that he was about to say something curt, but before he could do it, Youth dashed around him, and hopped onto the stool on the other side of the Lady. “What he’s asking is what are we doing here specifically? Your postcard was a little vague on the details. It basically said if we trust you, then come to an amusement park in Louisiana. Well, we’re here. I guess that means we trust you, and were wondering what it is you want from us?” Youth smiled warmly, reaching up to remove a few strands of his dark hair from his face.
"Ah, of course." Munin paused her speech to turn her attention to Youth. "I want to contract you both to wrestle. This time you will be working for my company, and you will be receiving a pay check from me. I have no special orders or stipulations, other than I want your best. It will be a very rare occasion that I ask for anything more than that.” She took a moment to sip her her drink, and made a vague hand gesture to Samedi. With a skeletal grin he reached under the bar, and withdrew two contracts. A chuckle escaped him as he laid them out before the two men.
Press took the contracts, and passed one over to Youth, already skimming through the document for the details. It was a familiar deal, much like the one that they had signed with Evolution Wrestling when they had first met the lady. The term was for six months, came with a certain amount of creative control, and guaranteed at least a $3000 dollar pay out for their matches, with a $500 pay out for appearances. It was cleaner than the EW contract, fairer, and better money.
He cast a glance past Munin to Youth, who nodded, and without speaking a word, both men signed the contracts. Press passed the document over to Munin, and spoke in her direction, while looking at Samedi. “So you know the Cajun? Why am I not surprised? Old Bones gets around.”
Samedi took a step back, a mocking indignant expression covering his face. He placed his right hand over his heart, and shook his head. “Why do you wound me so, behemoth? Certainly my bones are no older than yours?” With his last statement he flashed a wide grin that bordered on wicked, as Press grunted, unable to hide the slight smile forming at the corners of his mouth.
Munin took the contracts with a pleased smile. The fact that the men knew each other was surprising, but immensely amusing. "Yes I know Sam very well, I helped him start the emporium when he hung up his wrestling hat, and his mother lives down the road from me." Munin chuckles at the thought of the older woman, and her smile turned fond. "Somehow her garden has extended into a rather large portion of mine."
“Oh man, I miss her cooking.” Youth remarked, patting his stomach. “She passed that on to ole’ Sam here. The Emporium wouldn’t be quite what it is without Mama’s gumbo.”
Press sat silent for a moment, contemplating. They had been to Sam’s mother’s house before, and had seen the turn off for the property that lay next to hers. Was it possible that they had been over there for supper, no more than a few acres separating them from Munin. He shook his head, more to clear the cobwebs that now formed over his brain than for the surprise, and turned his full attention in her direction.
In a quiet voice, he asked, “How long have you lived there?”
"Oh, well over five years. I've bought and sold a number of places, but Louisiana is home."
Press breathed a sigh of relief, and took a sip of his beer for good measure. They hadn’t been to Samedi’s homestead in nearly seven years. If Fate had played that game on them, he wasn’t sure he could take it. He smiled now, seeming to be in a better mood, and took on a different subject.
“So when’s the first card?” He asked.
Munin set her now empty glass to the side, and placed her hand over the top. "January seventh. Sam could I have some sweet tea and duck gumbo please?" The Cajun gave the hand covering the glass a mock glare. "You're a spoil sport, but yes I will."
“I take it we’re booked?” Press questioned, a sly grin crossing his face. It was an uncharacteristic portrait of the man, seeing as he was usually scowling.
It was nice to see a different expression on the usually brooding man. Munin returned his smile, not bothering to look sheepish. "I have a spot for you on it yes."
He nodded, and hopped up from his stool. “Well, it looks like we have something to look forward to. It’s good to see you Sam.” He nodded in the Cajun’s direction, and Samedi mockingly dipped into a dramatic bow. “We have to find a place nearby to stow our gear, and daylight’s burning. We’ll see you soon, and Sam, “ he paused, looking back over at the Cajun. “Leave the lights burning bright.”
Samedi grinned wide, nodding in Press’ direction. “Indeed, redeemer. They will burn as bright as you need them, a port in the storm, a beacon of hope. Bright as the sun.”
Munin nodded with a thoughtful expression. "If you don't find a place today, you could always stay the night at the old plantation house. We use it mostly for: offices, tours, and guest relations."
Samedi began to cough on his drink, looking uncharacteristically flustered. "No, the house is a bit restless, and I would rather it not be disturbed."
Munin put a calming hand on Samedi's, the larger man seemed to calm marginally at the touch. "If you don't want something disturbed Sam, it will be left alone. I trust your judgment, even if I don't understand it. End of story."
The tall ebony man slowly nodded and relaxed at her words. It was a funny thing trust, sometimes it was almost magical in the effect it could have on people.
Suddenly a hard slam came from the side of Munin, Youth's fist striking the counter, and nearly causing the woman to jump out of her skin. All eyes turned to the young man, though he regarded them with cloudy orbs. In disturbingly convincing Creole he spoke.
"Oh, Sam. Sure'n ye haven't got Papa Legba runnin' loose through this place. Ye got more sense dan dat."
Samedi's eyes went wide, and he slammed his own fist down on the bar, the other hurling an accusing finger at Youth. "Don't you come inta my house telling me my business! Don't ye dare! I be keepin' dat tight, and has none yo business."
The sudden coldness in the air permeated the establishment, until finally Youth blinked, as if from a deep sleep, and then offered a sheepish grin. "Sure, Sam. Sorry about that."
“Oooo,” Munin gave the Tavern Keeper a speculative look, "Kkkkkk....."
Press looked between the three for a moment before letting out a long sigh. "Yep, that's definitely our cue to go." He tried to make it sound light hearted, like from earlier, but without much success.
Turning to Munin, he smiled genuinely, but the tension was obvious despite how hard he tried to deny it with the gesture. “Lady, it’s always a pleasure.” Youth had already made it to the door by the time his partner had turned towards it, and was waving as he exited, despite the deflated expression on his face. Press followed suit, trying his best not to make any more eye contact than was necessary.
Samedi and Munin watched as the door swung closed, and he took a deep sigh. When she turned back to regard him, he had a smooth, even smile on his face. “I need to go check the kitchen for just a moment. Don’t go anywhere, we’ll talk.” Without further conversation or acknowledgement, Samedi made his way to the end of the bar, and through one of the side doors leading into the kitchen.
When The BombTrax came out into the fresh open expanse of the parking lot, Samedi was already leaning against the hood of the car. He wore a grave expression as he glowered at the two men, who reluctantly approached, seeing as they had no other choice. This was their car after all.
“What da hell was dat?” Samedi exploded, becoming suddenly animated, which didn’t match the sour tone of his voice. “Let me tell you what my retribution is! The business I have with the Lady, is our business. The business I have with you two, is our business. The business you have with her, is your business. Oui, Mon Amies? Dose are da terms if yo gonna be back in da City o’ Saints!”
Press held his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture, and nodded, trying to put the Cajun at ease. “We get it Sam. Don’t cross the streams.” Press shot a glance over at Youth, who was obviously still preoccupied by what had happened in the bar. “What the hell was that anyways, kid?”
Youth looked up from the pavement, and searched the two men’s eyes for answers that he didn’t have. “I don’t know. It just sort of came out, I couldn’t control it.”
Samedi took in a deep breath to steady himself, and then he reached over and took Youth by the chin. He angled the young man’s head to where he would have to look directly into his dark brown eyes, and stared hard into the mystifying orbs. Samedi shook his head, and made a clucking sound against the roof of his mouth.
“Da spirit has come home.”
“Oh, Jesus, I knew it!” Press exclaimed. “What did I say about this hocus pocus shit? I knew it would come back to bite us in the ass!”
“Calm yourself, wild one.” Samedi replied, resting a firm, but soothing hand on Press’ massive shoulder. “We don’ know yet how much o’ de soul has surfaced. Probably not a lot, or you’d have seen it when you went to The Emporium. If it persists, come see me, and I’ll do me best to put it back in dormir (sleep). But right now, you two need to be going, and going good.”
Samedi reached into his pocket, and produced an elaborately decorated business card. He handed it over to Press, and he examined it with a questioning glance back to the Cajun. “Go there, and tell them Sam from Bourbon Street sent you. They give you a fair price on a nice place to lay your head. Now go.” With that, Sam took a step back, and crossed his arms over his chest.
Seeing there wasn’t anything more to talk about, the two men hopped into the Pontiac, and pulled through to the next space, and then out of the parking lot. Samedi watched as the two disappeared around the corner, and just as he was about to turn and go back inside, something odd caught his eye. There, growing up from the pavement, and directly in the path of the tread where the Pontiac had just set, was a small, white, flower.
Samedi cocked his head to the side, and then knelt down to examine the phenomena. It didn’t’ appear that the asphalt was cracked in that spot, but, none-the-less, there it was, as pretty as you please. He gently caught the bud between thumb and forefinger, and plucked the impish flower from the ground to examine it closer. He knew its make, for he had seen them before, and they were certainly not native to Louisiana. He sniffed at the flower for a moment, confirming what he already knew.
Japanese Lilac.
He took in a deep breath and let out a heavy resonating sigh. He looked up the road where he could still see dust being kicked up by his old associates car, and then turned to look back in the direction of The Crossroads, where Lady Munin awaited his return, probably with questions. He shook his head, and let out the only thing that suited the absurdity of the situation.
“Gottdamit!”
Read more: officialpurepro.boards.net/thread/131/voodoo-woman-featuring-samedi-munin#ixzz45CxZ53J1