1965-02-27 - Saints of New Orleans
Summary: The trip to NOLA turns to teh weird and esoteric
Related: None
Theme Song: None
lucifer michael jp 

New Orleans - The Big Easy

The reveal that some guttersnipe of a mortal learned an Angel's true name from a book was not acceptable. It meant, in short, that something was fundamentally out of place in the world. Then again, when was it not? Upon landing in New Orleans they went right to business turning the X-Ternals were sent to discover beignets and went with Severin with the understanding they'd meet up later. Because home of beignets. This was happening.

The more immediate question still was where is their brother, Raziel's, book, and why wasn't it with him?

The long walks through the city led them to what was a row of shotgun manor houses, and across Elysian Fields Dr. a large manor among the white plaster palaces a large, neat home. High gates and high shuttered windows. It was elegant and it made JP nervous as anything being this close to the place again. "This' the place." he assured them. "This the place that has what everyone's lookin for. Went in through the attic. It's on the second story in a room wit' no windows in the back."

Is that someone headed to Cafe du Monde? If so, they better come out schlepping the terrible coffee to go with those beignets or heads might literally roll. Spirits of vengeance have nothing so much on their master's master, occasionally compelled forth from his ennui for a display of displeasure. Lux's proprietor has no real affection for powdered sugar and given his inner child predates the beginning of time, any squealing delight belongs squarely to watching Michael try to puzzle out how to eat the thing.

Instead he gets to deal with a rogue book. Not the first nor the last time, though he has deigned to wear sunglasses and make a few inquiries in the background. Only because he fights best with words, and certain things can be temporarily 'borrowed.' In this case, he carries a heavy cane in New Orleans, like you do. It's his Mississippi Depth Sounding Stick.

"Not the worst of abodes, at least. Pretentious as the day is long," he opines dryly.

For once, Michael is not distracted by local wildlife like pigeons or rats. Focussed, indeed….and only walking to favor the mortal, and to keep their coming relatively secret. Beignets, later - he *will* get powdered sugar all over ihmself, it's a certainty.

No weapons on him, but those are extraneous. He is a weapon, the very oldest. He slants a look at Lucian, JP. "Shall we knock?" How do they want to do this - bad and badder cop?

The house seems owned by a very old collector; a patron to the city who remained civil, quiet, and generous from total seclusion. Oh goodie, one of those. The owner was rumored to be one Barnabas Bradley that inherited the house some 70 years ago and the home has a history of persons keeping to themselves. The iconography that turned up was a Knights of St. Yves, Archangel of Destiny, an order that went back long enough to be both forgotten about and respected in esoterica. Also one off those brothers that was unfortunatly oblique and rather insufferably difficult.

JP looked at Michael. What was he going to do, tell him no!? The kid looked incredibly uneasy but he was doing this for all the reasons he had to and frankly, he sort of was really into this absolution and not suffering for an eternity thing. Knock. He looked to Lucian and Michael and sighed. Fine, he'll knock. Heavy boots carried him up to the porch and he got two knocks out before the door swung open and there was a young nun, in her mid-30's with a shotgun leveled at the Cajun. "You're the thief."

Insufferably difficult? Hello, problem. We have your solution. "Knocking would seem the thing, though I can head inside while you perform the diabolical formalities." That said, JP is already knocking. Lucian's narrowing eyes sweep over the door and he leans upon his cane, in no apparent rush to get anywhere, do anything. See, he at least offered. As that shotgun appears pointed at their erstwhile knocker, a dutiful clearing of his throat follows.

Ominous words indeed. His tone is mild. "Sister, when a man comes to seek forgiveness with a penitent heart, do you raise your hand against him or extend your palm to lift him once more to your bosom?"

Lucian is the smart one. The German Shepherd to Michael's pit bull. Mike knows that. But to see it in action - he pauses, stares at Lucian, clearly impressed, even as his shoulders hunch. No wings in public, Michael. Not yet. Play it cool. Play it cool. He visibly shuts himself up and looks bland.

Sister Maria Lucia watched them and had her eyes on the one the broke into their sanctuary. She looked back to Lucian, "He's not come to kneel and ask forgiveness. He came to break Commandment on consecrated ground for those of evil intent." She was not… incorrect about any of these things. Her words were very matter-of-fact but not budging. She may very well in all likeliness understand what she was protecting or helping to protect. "Now, sirs, the master of this house is not seeing visitors. Good day." It was not a warm reception, but it was a polite one. Her eyes followed to all three of them giving them a polite nod. This would take finegling.

"And you have the power to see into a man's heart and presume to take the Lord's place?" Not incorrect, but the toss of a coin changes all things. "Even a thief had a change of heart at Golgotha, and was received into better company. I encourage you, Sister, to consider that whatever his crimes, they are all lesser sins before an act of cold-blooded murder." Lucian frowns ever so slightly, the flashpoint treated like she's shaking her shopping list at the trio instead of presenting a rather nasty weapon scant yards away. "As wretched as his diction happens to be, I do rather insist that not transpire today. You are, after all, consecrated to the Lord and sworn in your vows? One of those is undoubtedly not to kill. What was it, the fifth? So it may be the master is not seeing visitors. We aren't asking you to play messenger, Sister, but put that blasted thing down before you hurt yourself or offend our Demas here."

Polite, yes. Warm, never. The Morningstar is, for his part, rather much the same. Albeit not quite bored, not really, eclipsed and restrained. "I do fear I'll have to impinge upon your hospitality but a little longer, if it pleases you." And the Lord has nothing and everything to do with that unguarded look, a brief glimpse of the soul, a lifetime's freefall punched into the one person elected by God to know, the judge, and to mete out opinions accordingly.

The authorized judge. And behind him the executioner. Not that Mike is disposed to unleash. He'd get a lecture from Lucian subsequently. But that boomstick - it might hurt their mortal guide…. So Mike slips forward with that bizarre grace, the only hint of his nature evident, at least until he plucks the shotgun right out of the nun's hand, like a parent taking an inappropriate toy from a child.

"Be at ease, good sister," he soothes her, even as he dumps out the rounds on the front lawn. Then he has it cradled, broken open, in his elbow. Like he's about to take it out for shooting grouse.

Sister Maria Lucia relinquished the weapon though she didn't know precisely why and had her own inklings. JP hadn't moved a muscle. Shit lately he found out the hard way he can catch bullets like a pro! That was not the life skill he wanted. Taking a deep breath he offered to her, "T'be fair I'd hafta take somethin to be a thief. Tresspassin, sure. But it's lent ain't we have to forgive trespassing?" NO JP THAT'S NOT WHAT THAT MEANS!

She was remiss to agree, but she did respond to Lucian, "I will do whatever I have to to do my job. Some things are more important than ourselves.." Yes she'd shoot someone. Again. You know if she had to. Still she took a step back into the house and nodded to them. "I know you are not with them. Please… come in and sit down." Hospitality. She didn't want to know potentially knew all she invited in, but she did it. "I cannot promise I will be able to help you but you came to ask questions and you may ask them."

"Quite frankly I'm with no one but myself." Might as well be upfront about it. The Morningstar casts a look to his brother, cradling the gun tenderly as his firstborn, and suppresses the oh so human need to sigh on the spot. Truly there are moments to lament the necessity of more than two beings in all creation, and one of them is still Dad. He steps inside after Sister Maria Lucia permits them in, scraping his shoes off on any mat available. Following that, it's only a matter of cautiously attenuating himself while her back is turned out of his standard material wavelength into something just lower, infrared, for a moment or two in order to identify that he can do it at all. Just in case. You know. Ditching everyone to go snarf a book or something if it comes to that.

Hey, at least he didn't turn it into slag. He was tempted! "Thank you, Sister," Mike says, genially. A look at Mike, hurt. I'm here. With you. Whether you like it or not. "That is most generous of you. We won't take up too much of your time."

Sister Maria Lucita let them in in her pencil skirt, blouse, sensible shoes and moderate hair covering. The house looked… well Lamont would like it. There were tiny old things crammed on shelves that were neat with most available spaces reserved for items or texts of interest. The house for being very Southern and very 'polite' was warded and blessed by a number of things. That was something known immediately on entry for the Angels. Something or someplace was infused with Forces.

The mortal in their wake looked uneasy, but he'd seen the house before. Just not in daylight with persons home. Riiiiight.

Tea on ice was brought, because it was Louisiana and it was warm out. The tray was set down and glasses were left there. She was a stalwart soul, "You've come back for something that doesn't belong to you."

JP offered to her, "Trus, me, Sister I aon' wan' it. They got questions."

Turning her attention back to Lucian and the less verbose Michael she agreed, "I'm sure they do." Someone… some angel marked that house before them and 2 guesses as to whom. It didn't feel like they were here though.

Guess the first, Yves, guess the second, still Yves. Guess the third, Raziel is buried in the backyard.

Lucian toys with his cufflinks for a moment, straightening them out. He relies on that cane of his, applying the lightest tap to the ground as he can, the hospitality a matter for him to be terribly quiet about. A glance to Michael and he nods.

Puppers off the leash.

"It's a family matter," Michael attempting delicacy is like watching someone try to perform dressage with a moose. "One might argue that I have a claim. You see…..it has my name on it. And the fact that I heard it was here at all, well, that means that the one assigned to keep track of it isn't doing his job. It can't be left to lie about down here." Is he dithering? Buying time? Trying not to explode into a column of smoke and fire? Hard to tell.

Sister Maria Lucita looked to Michael and said softly, "Your name is not on it, but in it with other things that need not be known. There are more than mortal reaching beyond themselves that would care to know such things, but it was not meant to be theirs either. It needs to return to the owner, with all respect."

Yeah where wasthe owner was the question. JP quietly murmured in that Cajun drawl of his «"She means those guys what hired me. I don't pretend to know why. At the time it was just another job."»

Sister Maria Lucita, calm but impeccably stern, chided to JP in perfect French, «"Then maybe you need to redeem yourself and see other employment"» It was clear that she wasn't incentivised to just hand it over, but at least was also not interested in just handing it out.

"I know," he says, softly. "And that is my hope - to see it safely in the hands of the one meant to keep it." Michael's voice is soft, uneasy. Something capable of subduing Raziel, or stealing from him - that's something that can give the Taxiarch pause. Especially without the Host at his call…..though Lucifer's got to count for a lot. "No idea how this was taken?"

None of the Host to answer, and the remainder at Lucifer's unwanted beck and call? That would be a depravity to even sing their names to being, though Mazikeen herself might arrive in splendour with a war band if properly satiated by a chocolate, peanut butter, and graham cracker-crumb cheesecake and knives. While the nun speaks, he is still assessing his surroundings and somewhat her. The mortal is Michael's problem to deal with more than his.

"Would you care to explain where the owner is?" A precise, flat question, tone without a great deal of incentive to be warm or hostile or even intrigued. Partly because his eyes are scouring the walls.

The nun looked to Lucian and asked simply, "Were it you and you were in a state where you asked someone to tend to interests of your well being would you then, simply tell someone all you've asked them not to because they said so?" So she was sworn to silence. Oh joy. There was till the homeowner upstairs and the matter of the object direct. This didn't exactly lack options though she asked them, "What assurances can you offer?"

"What assurances would you accept?" Mike asks, mildly. "I can show my kinship to the true owner easily enough, if you like. He's a brother of mine."

Michael gets to answer matters of assurances. Lucifer has no patience, least of all with business like that. «Things are amiss within,» he says in a language ancient beyond telling, the first shimmering on the spectrum of thought and act used to communicate between the high pantheon of entities separated from the Creator. Sonorous tones lilt together, wrapped around one another, a tear-stained symphony for the ears and every bit as sumptuous. There are beguiling singers, and then there is the man cloven from the darkness to create the light — if you don't believe Jesus filled that role, foolish if one surmises that truth. He can just about walk through walls. How is this known? Because he literally walks through a crack in the door, vanishing out of sight, reappearing on the other side. Handy trick.

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