Cemetery Musings

Cementerio de los Santos - Cementerio De Los Santos

	A high adobe wall surrounds the Cementerio, allowing only a single entrance through a wrought iron gate to the South. The Cementerio was built atop a hill which gradually climbs and peaks at the center of the property. At the top of the hill is a large dead tree. There isn't any grass growing. Only dirt, due to the regions hot and dry climate. There are numerous bodies laid to rest here despite the Cementerio's small size. Above ground crypts adorn the property. Each surrounded by above ground graves. Most of which have headstones or are marked with either a crude wooden cross or one made of wrought iron. A gravel path winds its way through the Cementerio, beginning at the Southern gate. At certain points along the path are marble statues of the many Saints of the Catholic religion.


                               PLACES available


	(This room needs a Wraith desc. @mail building staff if you want to provide one.)

Contents:
Angel
Ulani
Alfie

	*** Nightzone ***

Obvious Exits:
  Out <O>


 	 As per usual, Alfie is sitting on a gravestone at the top of the cemetery, 'chatting'. Angel sits on a gravestone of his own, and the two of them seem to be in a pissy mood. Ulani stands between the two, seemingly unaffected by the sour looks and tones passed between the other two.
 	 Alfie begins to roll himself another cigarette, "So Ulani, I know. Steve or Eric here, I do not." He finishes rolling his smoke, lights it up, and then shows Angel a few quick Sabbat hand signs on the sly, testing.

	Pabs makes his way into the cemetery, wearing an old skool walkman. Orange foam headphones and all! He's listening to Rage Against the Machine, and dancing his way along the path.

Ulani listens to Angel speak as the wind around him shifts and picks up a little bit. It's becoming more and more evident Ulani may be the source of the anomaly, "Nope, your sugar - britches from now on." He looks at Alfie, "We met?" He looks at Alfie giving a quick once over, maybe trying to remember.

	Angel rolls his eyes, and then says, "Fuck my mother, *yes*, I know what you're gesturing about. Jesus christ. My name is Angel. I operate out of the Hotel de Castillion in Tijuana. I can spread my asscheeks and show you where they put my mark if that'd make you feel any better." He leans against a grave monument, and then he tilts his head, and gives it a slight shake. "If I wasn't this is the last place I'd be." He does seem put out about something, but not necessarily about Alfie.

	Pablo blinks as he finds the cemetery crowded on this particular evening! He'll amble on over towards the group, accompanied by the two moliated wraiths that are omnipresent with him.

 	 "Court." Alfie mutters to Ulani, "You had to have a talkin' to cuz you didn't know how they wanted their asses kissed." He peers down the cemetery path towards Pablo, "Ahhh, this kid again. He likes it up here too." He turns to Angel and shrugs, "Yea, let's see it muchacho, drop them shorts. I ain't got nothin' better to do." He chuckles a raspy chuckle, "Maybe we can figure out what the fuck crawled up your ass, eh? Fuckin' snotty little..."

Ulani chuckles to himself, as the shadows fall upside down around him, its an eerie sight in a graveyard. "Yea, I thought i was in a camarilla city for a second." He runs his hand up to rub his jaw, "They fight like Sabbat though."

	Angel raises an eyebrow, and then says, "Fine." He begins to strip. "You want it?" He says, "Take it." He begins to throw articles of clothing. "It's only rags! You want to call me some snot-nosed punk?" he pulls off a necklace, and throws that too. "I came here to mourn, and what I get for it is a goddamn insult by someone who looks like he got *fucked* by the goddamn ugly tree. I'll go someplace else, where I can have some god damn peace."

	Pabs reaches up and pulls the orange phone headphones off his ears, Bulls on Parade blaring loudly. "Hey! Its me, Pablo! Everything good here, fam?"

 	 "Not my cup of tea either." Alfie tells Ulani with a shrug, "What's good, Pablo? Everything's tranquilo up here, hombre. This little bitch over here," he points with his chin towards Angel, "came up here to cry in the dark and spy on me singing Neal Young, but hey, just another day." He puffs his cigarette and cracks a smile, his mood apparently shifting after some good shit talking.

	Pabs looks over to Angel and offers a smile and wave to the man. Then looks back to Alfie. "He's cool, though. Interesting mojo, that one carries." Finally, a glance to Ulani.

Ulani looks at Pablo, giving him a nod. "Ulani." His attention goes to Angel briefly, but seems to pay more attention to Pablo. "Interesting."

Angel looks at Pablo and then says, simply, "Seriously?" Then he looks to Alfie, and says, "You claim brotherhood with someone and then call him names out of both sides of your mouth." He glares at Alfie and grabs up his trousers, and, without bothering to dress, he takes a packet out of the pocket, and blows it into the air, and then he says something in Creole, "Sa a pa aktyèlman yon madichon. Mwen jis kònen kèk tabak nan ou konsa ou pral panse mwen te hexed ou! Men, mwen parye ou pral tonbe pou li, ou bèbè mak boule-bourik!"

	Pabs gives Angel a nod, and the universal non-Sabbat sign language "thumbs up" sign. "Seriously." But then Angel goes and speaks in tongues and gets even more interesting!

 	 "You puttin' a curse on me or some shit, cuz?" Alfie suddenly hops down from his gravestone, flicking his cigarette the the side. Things just got serious. "Act your fuckin' age, little hombre. You shoulda stayed hidden if you wanted to cry in peace. No, you pop up and start actin' like a cunt. Put your fuckin' clothes back on and get the fuck out of here with that voodoo shit!"

"Happily." Angel says. "You can keep the clothes. They're just rags. I will grieve for what I've lost where I feel like it, and *when* I feel like it. Perhaps if you sat and thought about anything at all, you'd grieve too." He squares his shoulders back, and walks away. Whether or not he cast a curse, he leaves hanging in the air unspoken.

	Pablo looks disappointed when Angel decides to head out. He enjoyed the man's mystical stylings, in all their similar and dissimilar glory! A sigh as he reaches for his orange foam headphones so that he can put them back on over his ears.

 	 Alfie just laughs, rather sadistically, "Grieve? Grieve?!? You must be fuckin' kiddin' me." His posture relaxes a bit, though he doesn't take his eyes off of Angel for a moment. "Come back and give me more of that voodoo shit and I'll give you something to grieve, muchacho. Hear me? I ain't playin'..."

 	 Staring daggers into Angel's back as he walks away, Alfie finally turns and in a huff, heads down the path himself. He saddles up onto his motorcycle and speeds off furiously into the night.

	Pablo shrugs, then resumes his dancing along the cemetery path, RATM blaring in his ears. Where da mosh pit at?!?!?!

	After Alfie leaves, Angel says, "...The fake curse scares them off every time. He'll look over his shoulder for the next week." He sits on a gravestone, butt naked. "Don't tell me I'm not allowed to grieve. Bastard."

	...He never actually left, it seems. He just obfuscated himself in the dark.

	Pablo blinks when Angel re-appears! "Hey! You'll startle someone to death!" He's loud, on account of the music blaring in his ears.

	Angel looks up at Pablo, and says, "You know, I've spent the past god knows how long hating your guts. I can see that every last scrap of magic that I've clawed and bit and sucked dick to get just comes easily to you. I take this moment to engage in a moment of trite self-indulgence and say it's not fucking FAIR."

	Pabs reaches up to pull down his headphones, the music now blaring around his neck. "Well, I did haveta die to get it. And dying, it was /very/ painful. The jaguar god, he is neither lenient, nor merciful, in applying his lessons. But if its any consolation, your own mojo is very interesting. To me, at least."
Angel mutters. "I lose someone I care about, and all the magic in the world is worthless. The Baron has dug his grave, and he is beyond all my power to contact or recall. I am only able to wish him well. I come here to do that, and I get insulted by some mangy cock-sucker." He shakes his head, and says, "My mojo is pathetic. I watch the leaders of the Sabbat break bread with a creature who'd destroy me given half a moment, and what do I do about it? I clamp my jaw shut and say nothing."

	Pabs's curiosity is officially stoked! "What?! Which creature? Man, I spend a few days back home in Mexicali and I miss out!"

	Angel tilts his head, and he blinks, slow and liquid. "...Nevermind." He says. "There's nothing I can do about it anyway. I'm reduced to tossing insults that look like curses." He sits, returning to looking visibly depressed.

	Pabs makes his way over and claps Angel onna shoulder. "Hey, buddy - those insults sound /really/ cool. Magic schmagic, when you got bags and bags of style, y'know?"

	Angel shakes his head, and says, "I feel worthless. And what good is a magician when he has no confidence, hm?" He says. "I suppose it's only a matter of time till the fucking Setite Hierophant has me killed anyway."

	Pablo pfts. "Maybe, but until then? Night sky's the limit! And if its any consolation, I promise if he does, I'll make sure he ends up pasted 'cuz of it. Jaguar magic does pretty well against snake magic."

	"As a practitioner of snake magic, that just fills me full of confidence." Angel says. "I was *there*, you know. I was a ghoul when the Cohort came and demanded we put ourselves in shackles - back in shackles - for their dusty, worthless, *dead* god. We chose death before shame, before dishonor... and that courage has left me completely. I had a lover, now they're dead; all I have is sorrow."

	Pablo reaches out and gives Angel a ruffle, while his other hand hits the stop button on his vintage walkman. "And if I only could, I'd make a deal with God, And I'd get him to swap our places." A pause as he shrugs, "But I can't. My god doesn't quite work that way. Doesn't mean we can't figure something else out."

	"Why would you want to be where I am?" Angel asks, incredulous. "You have everything. You hum with power. You can walk in the sun. I'm consigned to darkness. Right now, in every possible way." He shakes his head, and rests his chin in his hand.

	"I'm el brujo especial - that and 3 bucks gets me crummy coffee at Starbys" Pablo demurs. "My entire civilization got wiped out, /twice/ - once in the real and then a second time across the shroud. I'm like some Mandalorian straggler, unaware that the story has already passed me by." A shrug as he indicates his walkman. "That's why I sing and dance like no one's watching."

	Angel raises an eyebrow at Pablo, and then says, simply enough, "If your cause has crumbled away, then you live for yourself. Do you know why we hate the Setites so much? Because many of us *were slaves* in our living days. I wasn't. I was just the latchkey child of a halfbreed prostitute and a US marine. But I heard the accounts from those who live them. And then they shook the shackles at us and meekly demanded we slip them back on. There aren't *words* for how much I hate the Followers of Set." Then he puts his hands on his chin again. "Write a new story for yourself."

	A small crooked grin. "Trying, man. Trying. One step at a time. Some nights are easier than others. For those other nights?" He hits play on his Walkman, "The dancing and singing helps. I gotta split back to Mexicali - a minute to midnight, can't be late, better come runnin' 'cause the spirits won't wait."

	"I'm just going to sit here." Angel says. "And feel sorry for myself, until I get sick of it." He remains sitting where he is. "Or until that burned-face jackass comes back and decides he's brave enough to try to kill me."
Writing reality out to disk. Please wait...

	Pabs nods. "I'm on pins and needles. See you 'round, pal." And with that he begins dancing his way down the path towards the exit.