[M] With this Prince song inside my head

POSTED: Fri Jan 11, 2019 10:46 pm

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.
1176 Port Town of Ville Natale, 50 miles south of L'Île-Bizard, Quebec, Canada.
To find them a fortune, chests filled with gold

Sometimes she wondered about the Maybe's and What-if's. If she had followed the whispering of a fabled clan that shared her absent father's surname. If she had left her mother behind and the Port town that she had grown within. Wanderlust had grown in her younger days, and yet, Helena had made it barely half a handful of sunrises before she had turned about and headed back the trail she had trodden. She had bought herself a horse so that her return could be hastened.

How her mère cried when she stepped back inside their home.

She wondered more about them now, as his angry words lashed at her and she turned from him with hands rubbing at her temples. She could pretend they didn't hurt, that they weren't true. She could pretend but that would be falsity. Abruptly the woman turned, fury bubbling inside of her,

"Go then!" She roared, her palms connecting with his chest and shoving him backwards several steps. He stumbled, tripped and fell on his ass.

It was the same story again, as the last man she had invited into her life, and the one before that, and the one before that, et cetera. She was sick of it, sick of the sameness of their words. Dmitri scrambled to his feet, the pale greenness of his eyes hard and cold,

"You're crazy! Crazy.." It had been coming, she knew it so. That didn't mean she had not tried to circumvent it. She had tried with this one. That somehow made it all the worse.

She cut off his words,

"Zhen zhat is making zhe two of us, isn't it?" Fire, and fire. It always was true, she was too much for all of them. He continued on, insults that gave the conflagration more to consume.

Helena slapped him, the sound echoing in the small room. He fell silent, sullen and shocked. She had never hit him before. Striding past him, she wrenched open the door,

"Get out. Leave and do not be fucking returning." He left without a word. She slammed the wooden door on yet another dream, leaning back against the aged grain and finally allowed the pain to swirl in. They were bitter tears when they came, horrifying her for their visible weakness.

It reminded her too that no more would her gentle mother come knocking on her door to offer comfort. That sparked off a fresh round of sobbing and tears, and the inward promise to visit the newly dug grave.

When she regained control of herself, pushing away the swelling emotions that threatened on the edge, she pulled on the mask of civility and control. Letting it wipe away her grieving, she had customers to serve and a business to run.

La Bouilloire Noire was her baby, her pièce de résistance. She had built it from the ground up, taking over an abandoned building on the outskirts of the small port town. Originally a small bar and eatery, the quality of the food and drink prompted a dramatic growth in popularity and size. A favorite of the locals and often lauded to passers through, travelers and business canines alike.

Natalia had assisted her daughter, together they created Maison de Severoskoy. A name known far and wide in these parts. The rumor of Lykoi and Inferni faded from local knowledge, surpassed by the rising of a red haired star.

***

Moons passed her by, late fall gave way to a lonely, snowy winter and then back into a bright springtime.

She employed a man good with plants to build her a small garden, a decorated bower over the resting place of her mother, who had loved flowers and the singing birds in the summer, and a stone bench so Helena could sit and sing to her mère in spare moments.

La Bouilloire Noire was a cozy place, Helena deliberately tried to recreate the sense of 'home' that was so often missing for those far away from their lives.

Unless the heat of summer was excessive, there was always a fire in the hearth and usually with something delicious cooking away atop it. Rough hewn furniture, chairs and tables laden with scrounged covers and cushions. All together an eclectic conglomeration that spoke more of thrift than luxury, and yet, undeniably there was a sense of class beneath everything.

Helena appreciated the finer things where it counted, as evidenced by the food she served and the high-quality beer, wine and spirits she had to offer.

The blustery April afternoon found many folks escaping the chill winds within her establishment. She moved amongst them, a dark leather apron tied about her waist, and refilled drunks and offered food to the travelers resting from a long day on the trail.

Many of them kept running tabs that they would pay off with work or goods, Helena drove a hard bargain. Even the drunk respectably kept out of her way, her reputation proceeded her and with good reason, she was not a woman to be trifled with.

The other girl she employed, a small, blue eyed girl, collected dirty dishes and plates to wash them in the back room. Icaa her name was, small and quiet and efficient. Someone was singing a bawdy tune, to the hoots and hollers of his companions. Her black lips twisted to a smile.

Abruptly there was commotion and angry voices cut through the atmosphere. The sound of shattering glass. Helena's head snapped sharply. The wave of silence rolled, flowing outwards from herself as she stalked forwards. They parted as grass in a deluge before her wrath.

One male, it had been him too last time. He was the one that held the handle of the shattered glass. He swayed drunkenly from side to side, still snarling angrily at the other on the floor. Blood dripped from the prone male's face, he clutched at the side of his head where swelling was already raising.

Her voice lanced through all the voices that suddenly began chattering together,

"You're banned." She pointed at the drunk man and it rang with condemnation.

At least he dropped the glass handle before attempting to swing at her. She grabbed hold of the arm that came at her, and pulled him off balance, following around with her claws digging into his forearm.

He hit the floor with a yowl of pain as her knee came down upon his back. Her free hand buried itself in his hair and yanked his head back,

"You are going to be getting up now and leaving." She leaned heavily onto him, setting her weight upon fragile nerves, he groaned. Those few who had jumped up to help her stopped as they realized it was not necessary or desired.

She hauled him up to his feet, still with her claws dug deep into skin and hair. Helena marched him to the door, which was opened by another patron for her.

He was unceremoniously tossed out into the mud, and there he lay, stunned. Blinking up at her,

"I am not wanting to zee you back 'ere. I will do worse if I am seeing you 'anging around." She threatened, inherently serious, then turned without ceremony and stepped back inside her bar.

I can't help this awful energy
Helena Troy Lykoi

Salsola
The Inquisitor
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Jace
Luperci Conserje, Cocinero
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