Sabine Perrin du Lac

I got dust from a rattlesnake, I got a black spider bone.
If that don't do it, baby, you'd better leave it all alone.

"Papa Legba ouvre baye pou mwen, Ago eh!"

The red wolf chanted in a way that her words carried. She was blessed with a eerily melodic voice, despite the harshness she often spoke with, and the slight rasp that came along with her tune. Some have claimed it to have even seductive qualities, but she had always denied it.

"Papa Legba Ouvre baye pou mwen..."

She searched Fellmoor Swamp, her new place of residence (at least, self proclaimed place to stay, until she either grew old of it, or was in some means evicted), for anything she could find a use for. The sticky mud and insects seemed to be nothing for her, as she simply swatted a few pesky bugs away on occasion, her singing still ongoing.

"Ouvre baye pou mwen, Papa!"

The former marshland, now flooded and lacking in healthy vegetation (including possible herbs and spices for her many concoctions) seemed a perfect place for her. She felt a strong pull to the neglected land, something that gave her a sense of comfort. It wasn't claimed, at least not yet, that she knew of, so she felt it was fine for her to stay in the area. Though, if one was to come and tell her otherwise, she wouldn't leave without a fight, or placing a curse on the poor man's soul.

"Pou mwen passe, Le'm tounnen map remesi Lwa yo!"

Because of her go-getting personality and the inability to empathize, she usually got what she wanted. She felt no pity if it was at the cost of somebody else's possession, and the red wolf was determined to have her way.

With a huff, she stood straight. Her mess of hair, adorned with beads and bones, along with feathers from her dearest companion, her Kanlenkro, fell past her shoulders, a mass of curls and dreaded locks. Her pelt was muddy coloured, and she seemed to match her scenery.

To others, she would probably be described as eccentric. Or, perhaps, strange. Her style when it came to accessories was unlike most, but absolutely necessary to her.

"Wi, another!" Sabine said with a soft sort of giggle. Digging through the muck had proved useful at last, as she had gathered what looked to be another bird carcass. Others she had kept on the crook of one arm, the other limb free to search.

The land seemed to lack the rodents she wished for, and rabbit she desired. But, the bones, beaks, feathers and organs of the dead creatures she had collected would suffice until she was able to venture off to other lands.

Her Kalenkro would be content with her gifts, as well.

With her treasures in arm, she headed back to the shack in which she hid away, stored her things, and lived in quite comfortably.

She may have also smiled in doing so.

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They call me the voodoo woman...
And I know the reason why...

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Word Count: 375 -- Mine is even lamer ;u; I'm just sitting around waiting for class to start, HRRNGH

Bloodshot gaze was fueled by a primal desire to feed. The malnourished looking beast lurked through the swamp, not quite bothered by the belching and squishing of the mud under foot as he traipsed along, body slouched as sinewy tendons adjusted to each squish of the moist earth below. That lone hark swiveled slightly as he heard some warble of sound, and the half-dead vulture of a man strode closer to its source.



He didn't seem phased to see some strange woman adorned with beads, feathers, quills, bones and dreads, however, one thing did catch that dusty-hued gaze of his; the birds she held under her arm seemed enticing. Bastion lacked any energy required to take down the voodoo woman who plucked them from the earth's grasp, no, even though she seemed to be a much better prize. The feathered corpses would have to suffice. Thus, he followed this stranger and her collection of carrion, up until she vanished into a shack she had clearly decided to set up shop.



Distorted mind couldn't make sense of the situation, living in some building when one had the tendrils of tree branches to rest in. A swamp was a hunter's playground, a scavenger's haven, and a liar's retreat. There was so much more to explore, and yet, she lingered in this worn-down building. To what ends?



The beast sat there, a shark's grin tugging from ear to ear, seeing as how he had a lack for a better response. He carefully moved closer to the house, pausing to give the door a tug, some of his busted claws scraped the door. Sure, it was rude to enter someone's household without permission, but Bastion had never been scolded for doing such, never had his will been opposed, and to be frank, it was rare that anyone had ever been home during a previous breaking-and-entering before. Due to this belief, the beast simply assumed the woman had vanished, leaving her bounty within the house, ripe for the plucking. Bastion had no reason to believe she was there, his mind incapable to grasp onto things that he could not see, things he could not touch; to put it simply, once they vanished from his senses, they obviously ceased to exist.

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Sabine Perrin du Lac

I got dust from a rattlesnake, I got a black spider bone.
If that don't do it, baby, you'd better leave it all alone.

Again with her chanting, she tossed the birds onto a small table made crudely of old pieces of wood balancing atop a dirty crate. It wasn't lovely, but it worked, and anything being particularly aesthetically pleasing was the least of the voodoo woman's concern; she didn't care, as long as she could do her work, and do so peacefully.

Immediately she plucked the birds of the remaining feathers, keeping those in nice shape, and grimacing at the others less useable. After she was through, she hastily took a small rod with a spoon-like end and fished the eyeballs out, tugging them free if they got to be a challenge with the tool, and placed them into a jar of other creature's eyes, of many shapes, sizes, and species.

Next was gutting the flying rats and saving what she deemed useful. A row of jars rested on a crooked shelf above her, each with their own specific use. After quickly dismembering and organizing the organs and such needed, Sabine grabbed up the filthy remains and turned to her right.

A smile was brought to her otherwise stoic face, and even that expression of mirth was creepier than most. Her dear pet, a large bearded vulture she'd named Kalenkro, was beating his wings, excited to have a meal freshly prepared for him. The voodoo woman cooed at her bird, leaning in to stroke his beak gently, easing the bird carcass to him. He quickly took his food from her hand, and indulged himself.

This process was repeated quickly, by expert hand, until only a couple birds were still left to be mutilated.

She'd been aware of other's presence, tanks to her connection with her precious spirits. Nothing could really surprise her anymore. But, as long as whatever felt the need to disturb her privacy left her and her work alone, she couldn't much care less.

"Dontcha make yerself at home, doe..." She huffed, starting on another carcass.

.

They call me the voodoo woman...
And I know the reason why...

template by revo. <3

Word Count: 239 -- ;u; too nice to me

The beast continued to pry at the door before pulling it open, only to hear her address him once more, calling the beast a 'doe'. His gaze was suspicious at the fact that the woman didn't vanish as soon as she wandered into her abode. Quivering nares picked up the scent of death, and he gazed to those little mutilated birds, and he quickly made his way over, uneven claws clacking on the wooden floor.



He certainly wasn't a polite gentleman, either. He brushed past this voodoo woman, clawed hands reaching forward and grasping the featherless birds with each of his hands, bringing one of them to awaiting jaws and yellowed teeth, the beast salivating as he made a meal of three of those smaller birds. Not once did he glance to this voodoo woman, or even her bearded vulture, who seemed quite fussy over the fact that some stranger was chowing down on his sustenance. Saliva dribbled from those jaws, only making Bastion's behavior that much more repulsive.



It was only after he tucked one of the remaining two corpses under his arm, and finished making a meal of the first that he glanced up, wiping his jaws with his forearm as his one-eyed gaze turned to the voodoo woman, still not saying a word as he looked her over with caution, brow furrowing lightly.



"Who're you?" he asked with a rather harsh tone, staring to the stranger.

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Sabine Perrin du Lac

I got dust from a rattlesnake, I got a black spider bone.
If that don't do it, baby, you'd better leave it all alone.

She simply stared, muddy eyes wide in fury and disbelief. This beast had just casually walked into her home, devoured (rather disgustingly) the birds she'd searched so long and hard through the muck for, and worst of all, deprived her beloved Kalenkro of his dinner! Then, he dare as who she was?

Infuriated would have been a proper word to use in describing how Sabine Perrin du Lac was feeling at the moment, had it been even stronger in portraying accurately her anger.

Without pausing to think about her actions, she drew her hand back and popped him like a mutt, right on his cheek. Grabbing his muzzle, she yanked him closer, before seeing upon closer inspection that she'd rather not touch the creature. She wasn't really disgusted, but the drooling was enough to cause discomfort. "WHAT do ya think you ah doin', saleau? Do you WANT to make me angry witcha?" She nearly hissed, looking the deformed hybrid dead in the... eye.

"Imma give ya to da count of trwa ta tell me who you ah, an' what business ya have here." Sabine said sternly, her beared vulture flapping about in a rather irritated manner behind her. She raised her fingers as she began counting.

"En! ...De!..."

.

They call me the voodoo woman...
And I know the reason why...

template by revo. <3

Word Count: 400+ -- Bastion no understand >:C

Lips curled in retaliation as the woman struck him, his functioning sight set ablaze as he snapped his head back to stare at the voodoo woman. As soon as she grabbed that slim muzzle of his, jaws parted, yellowed teeth displaying his distaste of her mannerisms, though the beast wasn't one to really speak of such things, seeing as how he had just broken into her home and eaten supplies while she witnessed it. One of those hands came up, spidery fingers gripping the woman's wrist, uneven, yellowed claws starkly contrasting with that caramel fur of her limb.



Her rambling only continued to irritate the beast, his wide eyes narrowing perceptively as she continued. That accent of hers; it was thick. Palpable, nearly. It was something that stuck in the throat, and rolled off the tongue. He could recognize the french dialect mixed with her swamp-witch accent, atrocious and assaulting to the ear that pinned back against the male's long locks. The sounds were only punctuated and accented by the croons and flaps of the irritated vulture behind her. His predatory gaze was intently trained on the woman, however, the one who so crudely thought to discipline him. The one who dared to defy him. She was not his mother.



And yet! Here she was, daring to act as such? Such thoughts caused an ache in Bastion's skull, a dull pounding in his scarred temple, though he never removed his grip, never misplaced his vision from her muddy gold eyes, remaining silent. The pounding persisted in his skull, spreading a bit and causing the bottom lid of his malformed eye to pull up faintly, as though the twitch in facial features would break the tempo of thuds and the ache.



The predator was thinking less of her words now, the sound strange and foreign as it swam through his mind. En... En... Deux... En... De, de, un... The situation was growing frustrating hand tightening it's grip in slight. Un...? Un, deux, trois... Where was the trois? Was she deliberately doing this? Counting so slow, failing to finish the sequence? Clearly, this was all a test, a clever test at his patience, and he was failing. Such feelings were announced as a low, bubbling rumble from his chest.



"Trois," he finished for her, gaze daring her to oppose him. His stance was aggressive. He had been caught up in trying to get her to finish the three number sequence that he hadn't bothered to focus on her interrogation.



"You speak too much," he muttered once more, clearly irritated by her hard-to-understand rabble.

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Sabine Perrin du Lac

I got dust from a rattlesnake, I got a black spider bone.
If that don't do it, baby, you'd better leave it all alone.

Her hand yanked away quickly from his grasps, though not out of disgust. Despite the yellowed teeth and claws of the spidery individual, Sabine wasn't ever a being who really appreciated being touched. The only other living thing she was slow to was her dearest Kalenkro, who was still quite livid over losing his meal.

She didn't mind company, and the fact that he broke into her home wasn't even anything too upsetting to the voodoo woman, but to insult her by speaking in the way he did, and disrespecting her pet was where she drew the line. His presence was no longer wanting, and by any means possible, she planned to make that obvious.

The swampy woman grimaced when she realized her wrist was still caught by the other, and tried again at pulling away. The red wold had intended, when freed, to slap him once more, especially if the act wasn't one to end soon.

"Ya let go me, now, couyon!' Sabine yelped, tugging still before his outburst made her pause. Her golden eyes widened, hardly believing such a disrespectful statement he'd supplied ever after the rude finishing of her count.

A growl escaped her slender body and she leaning in closer, ears adorned with piercings and bones pinned back against dreaded locks. "Why, ya bon rien! Mais, jamais d'la vie!" She snapped, insulted highly by the disfigured male. "Ya had better learn ya some manners, t'ere, bebette, 'for ya end up somewheres ya don' wanna be..."

Her tone had shifted from angry to threatening, breathing out the last of the words as she closed in on him.

"Now, ya get out of t'is home 'fore I cut your ugly lil' face up an' feed it ta my baby... Ya hear?" Her bearded vulture had only just settled, seemingly calmed by her heavily accenting voice. Her words were as muddy as she was, but despite the thick pronunciation, Kalenkro was soothed into submission, behaving himself as he most usually would.

Her warning was given, and with that, she trusted he'd either leave and let her be done with her work, or he'd stay, and force her into toying more. Until that decision was made, though, Sabine Perrin du Lac figured that time shouldn't be wasted, and turned back to her table.

They call me the voodoo woman...
And I know the reason why...

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