Many Meetings and A Conspiracy

Domestic Dispute

“Why won’t you cooperate?!” She yells at the computer, an Apple MacBook Air, punctuating each syllable with a puff of cigarette smoke.
“Say… mag… rds… rev… crets… you” says the computer in a monotone, while she inhales with deep frustration another drag of her cigarette.
“You have said that before! This is not cooperating!” The computer is briefly enshrouded in a mist of all the cigarette smoke she blew at it.
When the mist clears and after chewing on her words, as she is about to embark on a new tirade she suddenly catches a glimpse of her reflection in the computer screen.
This causes her to pause.
She is struck all over again by her improbable appearance.
The architecture of her body and face and hair are ghigau, her skin and hair color are colleen.
Her outfit is a mismatched mix of traditional Irish and traditional Native American, with a lacing of Goth jewelry, underwear and footwear.
Contemplating her appearance she is compelled to muse on her improbable and improbably long name: Finola (Ineen Duv) Grieves Rain (Nanye-hi) Ward, which her parents always swore to her she came fully legitimately by dint of direct inheritance from her grandparents; which story she never thought to question, though she also never got to meet the actual people her grandparents.
Such musings inevitably draw her to contemplate the frescoes that decorate the walls of her vaguely cave-like efficiency apartment, which frescoes had earned her home the nickname Painted Cave, though she preferred to call it by another name, the frescoes of her illustrious ancestors: her paternal grandfather, the infamous flown Earl of Tyrconnell, Ireland, Rory Ó Donnell, which second wife was the source of her given name; her paternal grandmother, Old Lady Grieves The Enemy, a Pawnee woman warrior; her maternal grandfather, Rain-in-the-Face (Ité Omáǧažu), a Hunkpapa Lakota war chief who fought in the Battle of Little Bighorn; and finally her maternal grandmother, Nancy Ward or Nanye-hi, a Ghigau or Beloved Woman of the Cherokee nation.
Drifting around her bachelorette style apartment she suddenly stumbles upon a window facing out.
She looks out the window and beseeches of the moon:
“Goddess help me.”
The burning tip of her cigarette reaches her fingers. She yells, in a reflexive jerk throws the cigarette butt away, and sucks on her burned fingertips.
This jolts her back into her current here and now, and into the problem at hand; she darts back to sit at the chair in front of the desk where sits her computer and she frantically taps a new string of characters.
“Say… ical…”
“Oh do shut up” Cuts Nuala in disgust and frantically lights up a fresh cigarette, a Marlboro Virginia Blend 100’s.
She paces for a while in her cramped and run-down and dirty studio.
“And why are you stuttering?!” She yells once again at the computer in a single breath of smoke.
The computer answers with a discomfited silence.
“And for that matter, why are you so dirty?!” She gestures wildly, sprinkling cigarette ashes all across her room and at the computer.
The computer sinks into himself and shrugs and looks away with an ever more discomfited silence.
“For that matter, why is The Womb so dirty?!” This time she yells at the space between the fridge and the corner of the kitchenette partition.
The brownie steps out of that corner in a defensive stance and sour expression. He looks rather gaunt and disheveled himself.
“You haven’t fed neither me nor mine for a while. You know the mutual vows we took, the arrangement we…”
“Yes yes yes, I have heard all that before!” curtly interrupts Nuala.
The brownie’s stance grows all the more defensive, his face even more forbidding.
Noticing this, Nuala does a little circular jig, mutters angrily.
Then she stands looking out the window at the waning moon, taking advantage to stub her cigarette out in the adjacent ashtray, made of bloodstone, in the shape and pattern of a concave broken mirror.
“Goddess help me” She sighs away the lingering last exhalation of smoke.
Then she turns apologetically back to the brownie.
“Listen…” She sighs. “You know I have been a little preoccupied. I know that I have been failing on…”
This time it’s the brownie that cuts her off. When her eyes snap at him at this his stance has become conciliatory, his expression benign.
“I knew what I was getting myself into when I brought my family into your home.”
Nuala makes as to interrupt.
He makes an imperious hushing movement with his upraised arm.
“Shush! I know that it was your paternal grandfather that brought me from the Old Country into this New Land, and that in a certain sense we are indeed one of your family’s heirlooms; But. There is a certain degree of choice involved in the matter, as outlined in the oath we both took, namely a certain amount of rules which you must respect, some services you must provide us, some prohibitions you must respect, in exchange of the services we provide you, the breaking of which entails the penalty that results in enabling us the immediate departure from the household; and you just about have broken every single one of those rules.”
Nuala mutters to herself:
“The single fact that we are having this conversation.”
“Exactly.”
Then has if he hadn’t been interrupted.
“Now. There has always been great friendship between your kind and mine. But we of our kind are keenly aware that those of your kind’s particular flaw might make of you… not so reliable hosts.”
Nuala heaves a hesitant sigh of relief. She lights another cigarette to conceal her awkwardness.
“So… you are not leaving, are you?”
His stance gets more defensive than ever, crossing his arms across his chest, his face more gruff.
At this Nuala recoils.
“Did I…”
His face softens.
“Of course we won’t leave.”
Another deep sigh of relief from Nuala, wreathed in smoke.
“We just won’t perform our duties until you feed us.”
“Oh do shut up!”
Nuala dances another circular jig on the floor.
“Well, you know what? I’m thirsty. I’m going to feed.”
She heatedly crushes her half-smoked cigarette out to vent her frustration.
She starts packing a shoulder bag with a few essentials. The shoulder bag is entirely unadorned matte black leather with a silver zipper, as silver are the rings that bind the bag to the shoulder strap. Cigarettes and a lighter are easy to find. Keys prove impossible.
“Oh sod it!”
“Womb, do you know where are my keys?”
“Unable to comply with request…” Sighs the rustle of the cloth drapes against the glass windows.
She angrily lights up yet another cigarette.
“Can nobody in this household cooperate with me tonight?!” Shrieks Nuala.
The air within the room grows heavy, heavier than the mist of cigarette smoke would account for.
“And for that matter, why are you talking like Apple?!” She adds in the same tone.
The atmosphere grows oppressive.
Nuala presses her forehead to the top of her hand, then rubs her face in the palms of her hands, then rubs her eyes with her fingers. Then she inhales deeply from her cigarette which had been dangling from the corner of her lips, and sighs heavily a white mist of smoke and water vapor.
She looks once more imploringly to the moon and asks:
“Goddess help me.”
She dejectedly snuffs out her cigarette.
Then she faces once again her surroundings.
“Listen, Womb, this night is not going well, I am thirsty, and so I am going out to feed. I cannot find the keys. Be sure you don’t let any unwelcome guests in.”
“Thy will be done…” Sighs a draft from the open window to the underside of the door.
“Apple, I will be back to work on you. Don’t play any pranks on me, like falling asleep.”
“Say the magical word and I will reveal my secrets to you.” This time the computer manages not to stutter.
“Is really that all you can say? Oh sod it.” Says Nuala aghast.
Finally she turns to the brownie.
“As for you, my dear brùnaidh friend, would you at least be so kind as to tidy up the Hearth?”
The brownie has already turned his back on her and starts to walk away, grumbling:
“Yes, of course, mistress can go out and have fun while her servants are left doing all the dirty work, like dumping the ashes and cigarette butts from her ashtray, mistress the vampire can go and feed whenever she wants, in whatever warm body she desires, however much sweet blood she craves, while we her servants get to starve at her pleasure…”
His grumbling fades away in the distance, much greater than the space between the fridge and the corner would allow.
“What was that?!?”
“I said, thank’ee kindly for having addressed me by our native appellation, ma’am!”
Nuala hastily departs her home, lighting a cigarette as she hurries out.

Meeting of a Supernatural Kind of the Female Persuasion

Her apartment lies between New Dorp High School and the Miller Field Park, in New Dorp, Staten Island, New York City, New York State.
Just outside its entrance a woman waits for her. She is leaning, abandoned, against the wall, her head lolling slightly sideways, a stream of cigarette smoke blowing from her mouth and nostrils, her eyes closed in an expression of transcendental delight, one arm bent beneath her breasts, that hand cupping the elbow of the other arm, that hand holding a cigarette; one of her knees protrudes outward, that feet pressed against the wall at the level of the other knee.
She has the appearance of being of an indeterminate age, somewhere between just after the full bloom of puberty and an extremely wise but extremely well kept late old age, with no signs of child-bearing, though.
She has ghigau features, and her garments are of a native American design in rabbit fur, dyed ivory white and horn white; she has moon themed silver jewelry, including one piece with a carved image of a rabbit; a sacred bundle nestled in her cleavage; tattoos in silver across her forehead of the succeeding phases of the moon; and constantly shifting tattoos in quicksilver underneath her eyes, resembling silver tears.
She is bathed in a moon-beam.
“Great Warrior!” Salutes the woman as soon as Nuala comes upon her, dropping the cigarette she has been smoking to the ground and stubbing the butt with her toe.
Nuala blushes furiously and attempts a deep formal curtsy but the woman will have none of it.
Still blushing and now shaking her head vigorous in vehement denial Nuala mutters:
“That honor is only due my paternal grandmother.”
The woman stares enquiringly at her eyes.
Hanging her face even lower, speaking even more to herself.
“Besides, I am no warrior.”
At this a sudden anguished wave of compassion flashes across the woman’s face, and to hide it she hastily turns her face away and slightly downwards. And this time it is she who speaks to herself:
“Oh, but, my dear child, before this night is over, you might well have to be…”
Nuala doesn’t notice this remark. She has had time to recover herself.
“Lady Moon, you grace me with your presence, but I do not remember requesting your attendance.” Mumbles Nuala apologetically.
“Well, you did invoke my name three times. Third time is the charm, as they say.” Says Moon archly.
Nuala mumbles something with gratitude.
“And you might require my assistance before the night is over, my dear…”
Whispers Moon between her teeth.
“What was that?”
Moon shakes her head vigorously.
Then she smiles a bright smile, the kind of smile to bring light into the darkest night, even if only a pale light, that will guide even if it does not comfort nor does it satiate.
“Join me in a cigarette?”
Nuala fumbles with the contents of her carry bag, and then fumbles a cigarette lit.
Moon kisses the left corner of her lip, the position of her third eye, and the right corner of her lip. Only then does she accept the proffered cigarette.
“Milady, if I may be so bold…” Then Nuala can go no longer.
“Yes?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be smoking a pipe?”
Moon looks mock affronted.
Nuala starts fidgeting.
Moon’s posture and expression soften, her left hand brushes softly Nuala’s forearm.
But then gazes down briefly.
“You got to go with the times, I suppose…”
Then she looks Nuala in the eyes.
“Well, if it makes you feel more comfortable, I am sure I can accommodate you.”
The cigarette turns into a calumet.
“But then you must call me Pah.”
“Milady, I cannot…”
“I insist.”
To hide her embarrassment caused by her conflicting willingness and inability to argue the issue further, and in sudden remembrance that Pah had asked her to join her in a cigarette, not just give her one, Nuala lights a cigarette of her own.
For a while they walk on, smoking their cigarettes in companionable silence.
“Well, I’m here now, and I have nothing else to do than help you, so you might as well take advantage of me.” Pah smiles an impish smile saying this.
Nuala blushes furiously, fidgets, embarrassed.
More somberly, and after drawing deeply on her cigarette, punctuating every syllable with a puff of smoke, Pah says openly:
“I can anticipate that you are going to require my assistance. Not just in this immediate future, I have inkling that you will get yourself in a tiny spot of trouble before this night is out.”
Nuala glances furtively at her.
“No. This project that you are currently embarked upon, it will… shake things. For your kind in general, I mean; not just your family.”
At this Nuala stares penetratingly at Pah.
Pah looks at her feet, disturbance and concern in her eyes.
They have been making their way from Nuala’s apartment’s door to Miller Field Park.
Just as they are level with the end of the block with still a stretch of sidewalk to go until they cross the street between said last block and the park:
“Well, we’re here. Let’s see what the night brings us.” Says Nuala forlornly.
Pah smiles mischievously.
“Oh look, a taxi cab! I guess the night will bring us further than we set out to go!”
Says Pah with an impish grin.
And indeed a cab stops right in front of them – at the corner, parked just beyond the sidewalk – as if by design, and idles there, as if it is waiting for them to get in.
Almost with undue haste Pah is more than happy to comply, rushes the last stretch of sidewalk until she draws level with cub.
Nuala has no choice but to follow her in, in fact rushing harder than Pah to get to the cab first.

Meeting of the Supernatural Kind of Co-Ed Persuasion during a Journey with a Story thrown in for the Bargain

Strangely enough, even though the cab proclaims itself available and in fact has stopped of its own accord to take them in, there is already someone riding shotgun, so they both have to sit in the back.
Gentlemanly Nuala offers to enter through the street side, allowing Pah to enter through the sidewalk side.
Nuala fidgets a little, molding the seat to her body, adjusting her body to the seat. Then she steals a glance directed at Pah, to see if she is comfortable as well. Pah seems more comfortable than Nuala ever felt in her own couch.
Only then does she notice both the taxi driver and his passenger.
Instantly she tries to bow, but of course knocks her nose painfully in the back of the seat.
The passenger, a woman, raises her hand in an imperious halting gesture.
“No need.” She says crisply.
“Father-Of-Us-All, First-Mother…”
And she stops, groping for words, finding herself at a loss, all the words having deserted her.
Pah casts her another impish grin.
The man and the woman that have just commanded such an abject display of subservience from Nuala are an odd mismatched pair.
The man that Nuala addressed as Father-of-Us-All dresses as a tough guy, complete with shades. He has the looks of a muscle, of a mercenary; he is fit, but a fitness that seems to come not from the gym but from a very hard life. His skin is pale, though. He radiates an aura of a cold-blooded killer, someone who in fact could kill his own brother without even blinking.
Nuala is instinctively sure that it is none other than Caine himself.
The woman Nuala addressed as First-Mother is also very fit, this time ballerina fit. She is dressed in a sheath dress that seems made of snake skin, with scales, elastic, form fitting and thin to the point of see through. It appears to have been shed by a snake as it was molting, a sheath of snake skin into which the woman wormed herself. Making that assumption more plausible, she has a big snake draped around her shoulders, big enough to have shed the dress she is wearing. The woman radiates the strongest ever aura of Dominatrix.
Nuala is just as sure it is Lilith.
“I will tell you a story,” Says the taxi driver.
Nuala sinks deep into the couch, making herself as small as she can manage, and then devotes all the attention that she has ever been able to summon to the listening.
“A long time ago there lived a people of farmers. Being farmers, they had settled in cities. They stayed put, and what changed around them was the pattern of the seasons, which directed the patterns of their farming; patterns to which they were very much in tune.”
“Then along came a people of shepherds. Those went where their flocks went. A flock would find a meadow suited for grazing, graze it to a desert, then move on to the next suitable pasture. Their flocks seemed to have an uncanny sense of where to find their next feel, and the shepherds, nomads, went along for the ride. Whatever attunement this people might have with nature was wholly in the hands of their flocks.”
“One day a group of shepherds chanced upon the fields of a groups of farmers. The flock started to delightfully gorge itself on the produce.”
“Now, understand this: The farmers were peaceful. All they could ever need was contained in the small world constituted by their village and their farms, and whatever else they might desire they could get peacefully, by trading with their neighbors.”
“But when they saw the flock destroying their livelihood, they became enraged, and they slaughtered every animal, then proceeded to slaughter any man that had shepherded it.”
“But this was only two groups, the first meeting between these two people.”
“The shepherd people, on the other hand, were warlike, aggressive, and invasive. You see, of course they had done something like this before.”
“There was war.”
“And, even though the farmer people won the first battle, having fought with wholly uncharacteristic violence and having caught the shepherds by surprise, ultimately they lost the war.”
“But the shepherds appreciated the delight with which their flocks had fed on the farmer’s fields, so they settled for a compromise, of sorts.”
“A mixed society was construed, of farmers and shepherds, with the village at the center, a ring of fields, and fields for pasture for the flocks, who occasionally would roam about in an indefinite corona.”
“But, having won the war, the shepherd people and their way of life took precedence over the farmer people and theirs.”
“And their gods.”
The passenger woman then stares intensely at Nuala, to make sure she is pay9ing attention to what next she has to say.
“What he is not saying is this. That the farmer society was ruled by women. Because the cycle of the seasons ruled their lives, and the seasons were measured by the phases of the moon and the cycles of female bleeding, that were in tune with the moon. And their society being ruled by women, so were their Gods ruled by Goddesses.”
“The shepherds were ruled by men, who were little more than hunters, that concentrated their prey beasts in large flocks and only hunted from them sparingly, and whose beasts had become habituated to their presence and the occasional culling. That, and that the shepherds hunted away any other predators. The shepherds being ruled by men, the shepherd’s Gods ruled over their Goddesses.”
“When the shepherds first invaded then established a compromised with the farmers…”
She glances briefly at Pah.
“Well, you can fill in the blanks.”
Pah looks sharply at Nuala.
Nuala makes herself even smaller.
Suddenly:
“We’re here.” Says the taxi driver gruffly.
And so they are.
Nuala departs the taxi hastily, clumsy in her haste, almost stumbling out of it into the street and onto the sidewalk.
Pah leaves the cab as if she has all the time in the world.
They meet in the sidewalk.
The taxi speeds away.
“Where are we?” Asks Nuala insecurely, glancing nervously around.
“Where you are supposed to be.”
“Oh, a park.”
Pah nods.
“More exactly, Fresh Kills Park.”

Meetings of a Human kind, Male Persuasion

For a while they stroll side by side in a companionable silence along East Park.
Or so it appears to the unobservant passersby.
Nuala is constantly gazing at her shoes, lost inside her inner perplexities.
Pah gazes attentively at her surroundings, vibrantly lost in savoring the moment.
More of a mismatched pair would never be seen taking a walk in the park.
And yet a more observant watcher would sense that they were bonded, that each of them was taking something out of being in the company of the other.
Aimlessly they stroll on.

Suddenly, out of a park bench, a gaggle of male teens comes ambling towards them, three of them, three revelers obviously wasted on the poisons of their choice.
“Check this out! Foxy lady!”
“Foxy lady! Won’t you join our party?”
“Our party! We will give you fun!”
Pah acts as if they were not there. Nuala barely acknowledges them.
“Look at all the butterflies. Beautiful butterflies. Colorful and shiny butterflies.” She says listlessly.
“Wow man, check these butterflies!”
“Woo man, what gnarly groovy butterflies!”
“Hey man, I want these butterflies!”
The teenagers chase the butterflies away.
Nuala ambles on. Pah grows a bit moody.

A little further away, three men are selling dope, three dealers.
First comes the muscle, who had been covering them.
“Dame, would you care to check out our product?”
Then the dealer calls out from his park seat:
“Hey, mama, don’t you have some fun? We are selling funny pills!”
Then comes the pusher, who gets in their personal space and stands in their way, and because they don’t stop for him goes on walking backwards, pushing the product.
“Hey, ho, we have the best product in the neighborhood!”
Pah still reacts as if he wasn’t there. Nuala grows a bit aggravated.
“I don’t want your product. It is ruined. It is riddled with maggots.”
The dealer yells, darts back to the park bench that doubled has their stall, starts frantically to go through the product in an effort to salvage it, and then more frantically requests the help of the rest of his crew. In their frantic fumbling they scatter the product away. Bouts of recrimination ensue.
Nuala ambles on. Pah grows brooding.
They stroll on.

Further on three men move on them, three thugs, blocking their path. One of them waves a .38 Special gun, another twirls a switchblade knife, the third brandishes a fungo baseball bat.
“Look what the night dragged in!” “We are going to have us a party!” “We’re going to have some fun!” They leer.
Nuala gets miffed:
“Bugs. Your bodies are crawling with bugs. Creepy crawling bugs.”
“Ah!” “Get off, get off!” “Get’em offa me!” They yell.
They wander away.
Pah suddenly has had enough of this. She grabs hold of Nuala’s shoulder, forcing her to stop, moves ahead of her, stands in her way, stares hard into her eyes, and opens her mouth to speak…

Meeting of a Supernatural Kind, of Female Persuasion

“Are you me?”
The voice is barely understandable, tobacco-rough and booze-slurred and drug-hyper, yet it is clearly female and young. It seems to come out of everywhere, and at the same time from within their heads, like the voices a schizophrenic hears.
“I mean, I’m pretty sure I am me, so, um, you must be you, but herm… oh look your hair is so shiny, and woo where is the monster? Oh and but what you did it was like me, so for a while I wondered but look! There they are, in my domain!”
The young woman the voice belongs to seems to step out of nowhere.
The word mismatched was not enough to describe her.
Her shoes are mismatched. She has fish-net-stockings, but one half is mismatched from the other. But the four elements, two shoes, two sides of fishnet, exchange with each other randomly. Around her waist she carries a Classical Bell Tutu in iridescent rainbow. She has a tank top of several drab tones of camouflage gear exposing her midriff. Only the tutu and the tank top also exchange randomly. Man-sized peacock-colored butterfly wings protrude from her shoulders. She has a belly piercing of a rainbow iridescent butterfly.
She is emaciated. Her features are ravaged like those of a twenty something girl on a steady diet of all the psychotropic substances ever discovered or created by man. One side of her hair is a fine stubble of an iridescent fairness. The other is unruly and unkempt waves in a matte rainbow. The halves of her hair exchange sides too. Her eyes are also mismatched: one is green like emerald, the other is blue like a sea when you can see the bottom with little fishes floating somewhere above the bottom. The eyes exchange sides too.
Nuala attempts to kneel down, but Pah restrains her, so Nuala has to settle for a deep one sided bow. The strange youth chooses that moment to distract herself with colorful phosphorescent butterflies.
When Nuala finally finds her words:
“Exalted Lady! To what do I owe the honor?”
The youth smiles uncertainly, looks behind her. Then looks back at Nuala even more uncertainly. Then a light bulb lights on; literally:
“Oh, you mean, me, you are talking to me, you are asking me, why am I here?”
Nuala attempts to abase herself even more, preempted by Pah who has not let go of her arm in just such eventuality.
“I already told you!”
Exclaims the youth triumphantly, clapping her hands.
The deepest most troubled confusion stamps itself across Nuala’s face.
“I mean, you were being me… Oh, I mean, you were being like me, that is, you were doing things like me, that is, like I do, and you sent three sets of three people all in a row to my realm, so I felt drawn to you…”
She ends her confusing speech confused herself by her answer and leaving Nuala even more confused.
Nuala attempts to smile, unsteadily.
The youth has lost herself inside herself, chasing hard after a thought that is evading her even faster.
“There was something else…”
She mumbles.
“Someone told me that you might need me further on…”
She chases the thought even harder, but it grows more adroit still in evading her pursuit.
The confusion in Nuala’s face grows painful.
“Pah! So happy to see you! Long time no see! How are you!”
“I am well enough, Lady Delirium, well enough.”
Delirium hugs Pah wholeheartedly but clumsily, to which Pah responds primly.
Nuala is left looking like what had felt like solid ground before has just become the flimsiest of covers, growing flimsier by the second, and all that is left between her and a gaping pit that leads to an unfathomable abyss, and about to give up the struggle.
The two ladies move on ahead, hand in hand, Delirium chasing away erratically errant butterflies that she herself has just created, Pah walking extremely self possessed.
Leaving Nuala behind.
Pah glances briefly over her shoulder, the shoulder opposite to the one that leads to the hand that holds Delirium’s, at Nuala.
That breaks the spell.

Meetings of Human Kind, of Female Persuasion

They amble on for a while.
Suddenly Delirium appears to sniff the air, though she is probably using a super natural sense all her own.
She immediately darts off to just beyond her head and squats there, hovering, apparently fascinated by what is taking place within her head.
Pah moves just a pace to the side and stands by her feet, her posture rigid, and her expression unreadable.
Nuala almost stumbles upon her.
She is a pretty and beautiful young woman, hovering on the edge between the freshness of youth and the maturity of adultness. She is dressed for a night out on a fancy place.
She is lying on the floor, broken and ravaged, battered and slashed and pierced, with assorted bludgeon bruises and knife slashes and gunshot wounds.
She is also bleeding profusely between her legs.
She is making odd whimpering noises and her eyes flutter and dart this way and that. She is shuddering, obviously feverish, delirious in her fever.
Her breathing starts becoming shallower and shallower.
At one point Delirium asks off someone only she can see:
“Sister, will you take this one from my realm into your domain?”
At this Nuala shivers and finally reacts.
She darts to somewhere along her chest and squats. Then she takes from between her breasts an Ankh pendant with the loop portion in red and the cross portion in white, pulls at the base of the cross, thus revealing a tiny black blade. With it she proceeds to slashing from her wrist along her arm lengthwise. From this gash she drops three drops of blood into the rape victim’s lips.
The rape victim’s tongue licks Nuala’s blood drops from her lips, and then her throat makes a convulsive swallowing motion.
Her breathing immediately becomes more regular.
Delirium looks at the someone only she can see and says neutrally:
“I guess not…”
Then she looses all interest in the rape victim.
She creates a translucid fish balloon covered in iridescent scales and glowing from within, which starts drifting away; at this she seems to hesitate, compelled to follow its drifting, needing the others to follow.
Pah looks at Nuala as if meaning to hug her, with tears streaming down her eyes.
Nuala is just standing there, her eyes pointed at the rape victim, whom she starts to think of as Deirdre, at her chest which is now moving regularly, but not focused on her.
She makes an abortive gesture, meaning to start walking, briefly glances at Pah, and indicates with her hand Delirium.
“Shall we…?”
Pah grimaces in frustration.
Then she stomps on in the direction the fish was drifting to, thus liberating Delirium to follow it. As she walks off she engages in a vicious monologue with herself, marking pace with her stomping feet; only it is not addressed at herself, it apparently is meant as a dialogue with a second party on whom the words would surely be wasted.
Nuala stands for a while watching this, dumbfounded, watching both of them moving further away.
Then she shrugs and hurries to catch up with them.

They come upon a plaza in the middle of the park, the Confluence. In the middle of the plaza is a park bench, behind it a lamp, casting the park bench in a pool of light.
Upon the park bench sits a woman.
She is very pretty. She seems she should still be in the full bloom of youth, but already her features show the ravages of life. She is dressed very provocatively. She is obviously a hooker.
Delirium lays on the edge of the plaza in a most provocative though unconsciously so way, and starts creating glowing frogs in all the shimmering colors of the rainbow. Pah sits down, with her knees upturned, her arms wrapped around her knees, her chin cupped against her knees.
Nuala continues on in the direction of the park bench, as if drawn by a magnet, as if she had been alone all along, as if the park bench had been all along her destination.
She sits on the edge opposite from the one the hooker is sitting on.
Then all her resolve evaporates, and she just sits there awkwardly, unsure what to do next, what to say.
The hooker at first seems taken aback by her awkwardness, but eventually presses on:
“You lookin’ for a date, hon’?”
Nuala flushes and stutters.
“I… guh… guess…”
This seems to mellow out the hooker.
“Oh hon, no need to be so shy!”
Nuala blushes an even more furious scarlet.
The hooker presses on:
“Say what, hon’: I don’t usually do women, but for one as pretty as you I am willing to open an exception. How’s that sound?”
“Tha… tha… that sounds… fine, I guess…”
The hooker giggles.
Nuala starts thinking of her as Grania.
Then Grania becomes a bit matter of fact:
“We might need a bit of privacy though. And… tell you what: with you I will make another exception: you will only pay me afterwards, and I will let you set the price on account of how satisfied you are.”
At this Nuala grabs her left hand with her own left hand, and stares hard into Grania’s eyes:
“You are as pretty as a bird of paradise at night with a flock of fireflies around it against a backdrop of an water fall in a pool of moonlight.”
At this Grania is stunned, as if hypnotized.
“We won’t go anywhere for bigger privacy because in here we have all the privacy I require.”
Grania nods once.
“And I will give you ecstatic pleasure, more pleasure than you could ever conceive you could experience, and such pleasure will be my payment to you for your services.”
Grania nods vigorously.
When she ceases to, Nuala feeds from her.
Meanwhile Delirium gets distracted for a moment from her frogs, and watches the interaction, specially the transaction part of it, with a moderate interest, but as soon as Nuala starts feeding she looses interest again and resumes her play with her frogs.
Pah looks as if she has taken personal offense from what has just taken place, but then she shrugs and sighs.

When Nuala has had her fill they all move on until they meet at the other end of the plaza, outside the pool of light, as per previous arrangement.
They then amble on.

Eventually they reach the edge of the park. They come upon a taxi stop.
On it stands a young woman. Physically she is the opposite of Deirdre, if this time only beautiful, but she is dressed to match her. She stands insecurely, looking intently to the path they have been following, and then occasionally casting furtive glances all around her.
Several cabs stop at the taxi stop, and then move on when she fails to embark on them.
Once again Pah and Delirium hang back, Delirium becoming immediately distracted with hummingbirds of her creation, Pah watching attentively the unfolding action.
Nuala somehow knows that this beautiful youth is a lesbian, that she and Deirdre are lovers, which they arranged to meet here so they could get a taxi to go to their final destination, which this lesbian is waiting for Deirdre, which for obvious reasons will not make it.
Once again Nuala is pulled as if by a magnet.
Nuala moves intently until she stands in the personal space of the lesbian, which had stood startled by Nuala’s approach, but before the lesbian can move back and away Nuala takes the lesbian’s left wrist in her left hand and stares hard into her eyes.
Apparently anticipating what is to come, Delirium dissolves herself into a cloud of iridescent hummingbirds, each in one of the different colors of the rainbow, and the cloud drifts until it hovers around and above both their heads.
“You are as beautiful as the angel of beauty if there were such thing, bathed in the silvery radiance of the silver city. You are as beautiful as lovely loveable luscious Aphrodite, glowing from within in a divine radiance. You are as beautiful as Boticceli’s Venus, with as much allure, softly bathed in the lacquered radiance of the mother-of-pearl shell.”
Nuala starts thinking of the lesbian as Etain.
Etain stares transfixed at Nuala, with eyes that oscillate between the mesmerizing incomprehension of a rabbit caught in the headlights, the fascination a moth would express for a candle flame, and the adoration a person would devote if she came face to face with her personal deity.
“You are waiting for someone.”
A nod.
“Well it is my sad duty to inform you that she will not be able to meet you presently.”
A shake of the head in denial, eyes shining with an hint of worst fears confirmed.
“But I can tell you that if you hang around with me you might come to meet her again.”
The eyes of a drowning person reaching out to a stretched hand.
“Will you hang out with me?”
Vehement agreement.
“Where were you going now?”
Whispered words.
Turning her head sideways to listen Nuala notices someone approaching.
“Listen. You will go on ahead. There you will wait for me. I promise you I will meet you there.”
A hint of doubt, desperate hope.
Nuala glances again at the approaching person.
“Now I have to deal with an unexpected visitor.”
Nuala stares once again into Etain’s eyes.
“But I promise you I will meet you there. I promise.”
Vigorous nods.
As per arrangement a taxi stops and opens its door.
Etain steps in.
The taxi drives off.
Nuala watches the cab until it vanishes around a corner.
Then she turns to face the incoming visitor, which by now has drawn close to her. Pah is approaching too. The expression on Pah’s face is enigmatic.
Delirium has somehow just coalesced from the cloud of hummingbirds, though there are still some left, and she promptly goes on playing with them.

Meeting of a Supernatural Kind, of Female Persuasion

As soon as Nuala’s eyes meet the newcomer’s, the newcomer laughs. Her laugh is unexpected. She laughs as a young laughing child, with white teeth, and sparkling eyes.
She is a beautiful ghigau maiden, with braided hair. She is dressed in a tasseled buckskin tunic and skirt, with multicolored beads. Her midriff is exposed, and what it reveals is also unexpected. The outline of her midriff is that of a nubile woman, but her skin is riddled with stretch marks, as if she were an old woman who has borne countless children. She wears corn husks behind her head, corn cobs around her neck and bracelets of multicolored maize kernels for beads.
“Beloved Woman!” She cries out as a manner of salutation.
Nuala blushes furiously at her laugh and attempts a clumsy bow.
The newcomer will have none of that. She clasps Nuala’s shoulders, then, just as Pah had done, as a matter of greeting, she kisses the left corner of her lips, the place of her third eye in the forehead, and the right corner of her lips.
At this Nuala flushes even more furiously, is left gazing at her shoes and fidgeting and muttering vehemently.
“That honor is due my maternal grandmother.”
But already the newcomer has noticed Pah approaching. Pah finally steps close enough to recognize who the newcomer was.
At this Pah’s appearance transforms. Despite the constantly flowing silver tears of her tattoos her expression transmutes into that of someone who has found a long lost friend.
The two young woman whoop and run to each other and embrace an effusive embrace, twined around each other as if dancing, each face pressed into the other’s shoulder blade. The as by accord they clasp each other’s forearms and stare hard into each other’s eyes. At this the newcomer’s eyes grow more sparkling and Pah’s quick silver tears start flowing more copiously.
“Selu! Corn Woman! What a happy surprise!” Says Pah to the newcomer.
“Pah! Moon Grandmother! Long time no see!”
They embrace again, hard.
Then they unclasp and turn towards Nuala, though still hand in hand and standing within each other’s personal space.
Addressing Nuala, Selu exclaims:
“But haven’t you performed caring, nurturing, and healing, this very night? The very functions that define a Beloved Woman?”
Nuala actually starts to scrape the sidewalk with her shoes, as if indeed trying to dig a hole in the ground to hide herself in.
At this Selu stares enquiringly at Pah, who stares dispassionately at Nuala.
They move so as to be facing each other, still well within each other’s personal space, still clasping hands.
“I take it that it is not going well.” Opens Selu.
Pah frowns in frustration: “She seems to be too locked inside herself. Nothing seems to touch her, and nothing seems to touch her enough to wake her from that state where nothing seems to touch her.”
“She does indeed seem to need all the help she can get…”
At this Pah flinches.
“… in that regard, I was going to continue, but…”
Pah frowns deeply in preoccupation.
“So. It really is going to be so bad.”
Pah nods vigorously, more to herself.
“So. She does indeed seem to need all the help she can get.”
A single nod from Pah.
At this Selu is serious for a moment.
Then once again a child like laugh, sparkling eyes, and she actually rubs her hands in anticipation.
“Well, the night is still young, after all.”
This draws a smirk from Pah, something that attempts to be a smile but stops short, before it ceases to be a frown.
“Well, isn’t it?”
The thing in Pah’s lips succeeds in becoming more of a smile.
“Come on!” Says Selu, punctuating the words with punches in Pah’s shoulder.
This actually draws a laugh from Pah, which sounds like the peal of a silver bell.
“And look!” Whoops Selu “A taxi, all ready to take us to our next destination!”
Everybody else turns in the direction of the taxi stop to confirm.
And so there it is.

Meeting of the Supernatural Kind of Co-Ed Persuasion during a Journey with a Story thrown in for the Bargain

Selu, Pah and Delirium, in various degrees of attention and anticipation, all wait for Nuala to make a move.
Nuala seems lost inside herself, to a degree where the other three can no longer tell if she is pondering whether to go into the taxi or not, or any other deeper and greater conundrum.
Suddenly Nuala sighs, such a deep sigh that feels like a shudder, shakes her head, mutters incoherently, and moves once again to the street side door of the taxi, allowing the others to enter through the sidewalk side.
When Nuala is seated in the street side window of the back seat, she finds that the other three have piled themselves in on the back seat as well.
It is then that she notices that once again the passenger front seat of the taxi is occupied.
Then she notices that the taxi driver is the same as in the journey before.
She moves as if to get out of the taxi, but it speeds off into traffic in that very instant.
Only then does she notice that the passenger is different this time around.
Transparent would be the word to describe her.
She is wearing a gown in some sort of transparent fabric, gauze silk or some such.
But it is not just her garment that is transparent. Her skin is also transparent, allowing you to see her muscles, joints, and assorted organs. Her muscles and assorted organs are also transparent, allowing you to see the skeleton underneath. And her skeleton is also transparent.
So that when you look at her you can see right through her, say at the seat where she is sitting down on, in which she leaves an indentation though, so that you know that she is not immaterial, but you also can see all the layers of her and also her surface and outline.
“Ghost-Mother…” Is all that Nuala can muster.
The woman Nuala addressed as ghost mother just stares straight ahead.
As an ice breaker, the taxi driver interjects:
“I will tell you a story.”
Nuala throws a longing glance out the window, wishing she herself could become immaterial and slip out of the taxi.
Then settles down to listen.
“A long time ago, very far away,”
Begins the taxi driver.
“There was a Grand Father.”
“There was a Father”
“The Father had Three Mothers.”
“From the First Mother he had the First Born son, the Elder Brother.”
“From the Second Mother he had the Middle Son, the Young Brother.”
“From the Third Mother he had the Late Son, the Younger Brother.”
“The First Mother the Father hated. She was strong and willful, and would have herself superior in all regards to him, even unto lovemaking.”
“The Second Mother the Father despised, for she was a creature devoid of personality or character, a wisp of a woman.”
“The Third Mother the Father loved, for she had enough of a backbone to be her own creature, and yet she was subservient to him, in all things deferring to him.”
“The Grand Father preferred the Young Brother.”
“The Elder Brother had many misgivings. It rankled with him that his Father hated his Mother, and it rankled with him that the Grand Father preferred the Young Brother to him his Father’s First Born son.”
“The Elder Brother was a Farmer, the Young Brother was a Shepherd.”
“One day the Young Brother got careless of his flock, and his flock strayed into the Elder Brother’s garden and ate it all.”
“In a fit of self-righteous anger, avenging the loss of his own, the Elder Brother slew the Young Brother’s flock and then murdered the Young Brother.”
“The Grand Father, for he favored the Young Brother, cursed the Elder Brother and banished him.”
“The Father, having his heritage ensure by the Younger Brother, offspring of his favorite wife, did not object.”
“So the Elder Brother was forced into exile, adding to his previous misgivings the fact that is Grand Father had banished and cursed him.”
“The First Mother would not let this stand.”
“So in defiance to the Grand Father, since she could not overthrow his decisions to banish and curse her son, soon joined him in exile.”
Sensing that the story is done, Nuala in one swift motion opens the cab door and jumps outside, not caring whether the taxi is still rolling or if it is stopped, not caring that even if the taxi were stopped she might run into the path of an incoming car.
As luck would have it, the taxi is indeed stopped, and parked in a recessed parking lot where taxis stop and embark and disembark passengers.
Nuala has enough presence of mind to make it to the sidewalk.
There she frantically lights up a cigarette.
The others rejoin her, one by one.

Meetings of the Human Kind, of Co-Ed Persuasion.

Nuala is facing the street, facing the others.
She asks of the others:
“Now what?”
They point behind her.
She turns.
They are at the door of the club Etain had given the name and address off, which turns out to be the QSINY Restaurant & Nightclub.
“Oh.”
“Well, I guess that’s what next…”
They wait for her.
She makes her way into the club.
They follow.

Once inside the club Nuala unerringly homes in on Etain.
She is perching on a stool placed in the midpoint of the bar.
Nuala sits besides her, stares hard into her eyes, then finds herself at a loss for words.
Meanwhile Pah and Selu sit at one end of the bar, order bourbon, and engage in a spirited conversation.
Delirium goes to the dance floor and starts dancing wildly.
“You came!”
Says Etain to Nuala.
“I promised.”
“Yeah, but promises are empty things, everybody promises and nobody keeps, everybody says one thing and does another, and yet… and yet you came...”
“I promised!”
“Yes you came. You are here now, you came.”
“I promised…”
And once again Nuala falters, at a loss for words.
Etain kisses Nuala.
Nuala makes a decision.
She stares hard into Etain’s eyes, mesmerizing.
“You cannot come into my home tonight.”
Delirium has drifted to their neighborhood.
Nuala hands a hand scribbled napkin to Etain.
“Here is my address.”
“You cannot come into my house tonight, there is… stuff, going on tonight at my house.”
Etain stares despairingly into Nuala’s eyes, as if fearing she will never be able to go to her house, never see her again.
“But one night you will go to my house. You will go. You will.”
Etain nods vigorously
Then chokes out.
“… When?”
“You will know.”
“I need a cigarette. I am going to the patio for a smoke.”
Etain nods confused.
Nuala dashes off.

The air has grown still and humid and cold.
Nuala is leaning with her backed pressed against the handrail.
She looks at the moon, disregards the city and the city lights and the headlights of the night traffic.
She is looking for stars, but she cannot find any, for they are lost in the city’s light pollution.
She ends up smoking three cigarettes.
One very fast, in quick frantic inhalations, so hard and fast the cigarette burns.
The other more moderately, at a normal pace.
And the other very slowly, taking delight at each individual drag, as if making a sacrament of it.
Has she is stubbing the butt of the last one with her toe:
“I need to dance.”
She darts back inside.
The cloud of smoke she exhaled does not disperse.

Nuala is hyper.
She darts to Etain.
She grabs her, drags her to the middle of the dance floor.
Delirium, sensing what is to come, follows both of them eagerly.
Nuala starts dancing with all she has, combining the hip movements of an Arabian belly dancer with the mudras of an Indian classical dancer. Then she seems to remember who she is, and starts interspacing a vigorous jig with bits of dancing coming from the Sun Dance ceremonial.
Delirium dances fervently, with manic abandon.
Etain at first is at a loss.
Then she attempts to keep up, with far less elegance and energy.
Dancers crowd around them, leaving them a circular clear space to dance, cheering them on.
Nuala dances on.
Something grows within her.
Something she hasn’t experienced in a very long time.
Not since she was embraced.
It is a very incremental growth.
Suddenly a threshold is crossed.
Nuala stumbles, her hands flutter of their own accord to where her heart used to be.
Her lips form a soundless O.
She darts back to the patio.

She stands in the exact center of the patio, bathed in moonlight. She hugs herself, and occasionally her hands drift to her heart. She is circling slowly around herself.
Then she goes to lean again against the guardrail, this time on her elbows, taking in the lights of the city at night.
Then she turns back inwards, smokes a cigarette, in a contemplative mood.
Unbeknownst to her the smoke from this cigarette coalesces with the smoke from the previous three.
She heads back inside.

She has something to say to Etain.
For the first time in a very long time she knows what to say to someone, and she can’t wait to say it.
When Nuala spots Etain she is being harassed by an obnoxious young man.
Nuala makes a beeline towards them. Yanks him by his forearm. Twirls him around so that they are both with their backs to the bar, taking in the rest of the club. She is squeezing his forearm hard.
Delirium comes to see what is going on.
“Have you noticed where you are?”
All around them, the majority are young women paired with young women. Sprinkled amongst them are couples of young men. And in a couple of tables pressed against the wall lining the dance floor some couples of young men and women, for the most part engaged in each other’s company.
“What could possibly lead you to believe she had any interest in you?”
She waits for an answer.
With a look that betrays the pain she is inflicting on him through her squeezing his arm, he stares defiantly at her.
“Could you possibly be trying to save her?”
Her voice rises until her last word is cried out.
She lets go of his forearm forcibly.
“You disgust me.”
With his arm released he starts to walk away.
He hand snakes to his chin, jerks his head until their noses touch.
“You might love women. You might even have a sick fantasy about seeing two women together. No matter. Your manhood is shriveled. Forever more your manhood will shrivel at the sight of women. Forever more your manhood will only swell in pride in the presence of men. And always in the most embarrassing awkward moments, with your friends in the locker after gym practice, in bars with your friends bantering, even when wrestling or in fisticuffs with a foe.”
She stares a while longer into his eyes for effect.
Then releases his chin in disgust.
Terrified he flies the club.
Delirium blinks owlishly at her.
“Wow. That was rather… extreme…”
Etain is staring at her in a fight or flight posture, unsure whether to run to her or run away from her, delighted that she protected her honor or appalled at her overreaction.
Nuala thinks once again about what she had to say to Etain.
And darts away to the patio once again.

She only makes it out the door. She falls upwards leaning her back against it. Out of some sense of she knows not what, she inches to the side until she is leaning against the wall, and then falls squatting.
She raises her knees, hugs her legs, and rests her left cheek in her knees.
She just squats there for a very long time.
Eventually, tremulously, she lights up another cigarette.
The smoke of that cigarette combines with the cloud of smoke from all her previous cigarettes.
The cigarette smoke cloud coalesces into a person.

Meeting of Supernatural Kind, Female Persuasion

The person is a beautiful young ghigau. She wears White Buffalo Calf hide clothes. She bears a Quilled Tobacco Bag. She is smoking a Chanunpa.
Nuala gets the confused impression that she had coalesced from a smoke cloud that she herself had been smoking.
Nuala groans.
“Please don’t call me great chief.”
The newcomer at first looks affronted.
As if she had said something, Nuala continues.
“That honor is due my maternal grandfather.”
The newcomer’s face softens.
“Well you sure behaved like one!”
“Oh puhleeze, that was nothing!”
Protests Nuala with too much vehemence. She is thinking of what she had to say to Etain that she never had the chance to say, and she is starting to consider that she might indeed have overreacted, and what is more, been unfair, not punished the affront – because an affront had been committed that begat punishment – but she had unleashed her frustration of not being able to say what she wanted to.
The newcomer seems to sense this.
“Now listen to me…”
Nuala shakes her head
“Listen to me!” The newcomer says imperiously.
Nuala stares at her defiantly.
“You were right to defend that maiden’s honor, you were right to protect what was your own…”
Derisive snort from Nuala.
“… Anyway. As for overreacting, think of what the stories tell about me. I completely annihilated the man who tried to embrace me, reduced him to his bare bones.”
She looks seriously into Nuala’s eyes.
After a while, Nuala can’t help a chuckle, of sincere humor even if a very subdued one.
The newcomer feigns affront, but then relaxes her posture and lets out a chuckle of her own.
Then a wave of anguish clouds her expression.
“You might have to live up to your maternal grandfather before the night is out…”
She whispers to herself.

Just then Selu and Pah make their entrance into the patio.
“Wohpe! Sweet calf maiden!” Cries out Selu, and lets out a peal of laughter.
Pah smiles so hard her jaw threatens to come unhinged.
“Selu! Corn mother! Pah! Moon grandmother!” Greets Wohpe.
The three of them embrace.
Nuala picks herself off the ground.
Wohpe, as if she had been waiting just for this, kisses Nuala like the other two had, a peck on the left corner of her lips, a peck in the place of her third eye, and a peck on the right corner of her lips.
Nuala takes this greeting ill at ease.
Then once more drifts to the handrail, where once again she leans on her elbows, staring at the city.
Eventually she lights up a cigarette.
As if they had been just waiting for that, Wohpe produces a Calumet with a Fired Clay Pipestone to Selu, a Calumet with a Red Pipestone to Pah, and refills and relights her Chanunpa.

Pah, Selu, and Wohpe talk animatedly amongst themselves, with frequent gestures and stares aimed at Nuala, all the while smoking their pipes.
Occasionally a few words drift towards Nuala clear enough for her to discern them, words like “Malkavian” and “Insane” and “Derangement” and “Blunted Affect”.
Nuala gazes at the city and smokes her cigarette.
Eventually Delirium joins them and entertains herself playing with the smoke.

Suddenly.
“It’s time.”
Says Nuala.
And heads out of the patio.

Meeting of the Supernatural Kind of Co-Ed Persuasion during a Journey with a Story thrown in for the Bargain

When Nuala, closely followed by the others, finds herself outside the club at the taxi stop by the club entrance, it does not surprise her anymore that a cab has just stopped to take them all in.
As she enters, as is her want, by the street side backdoor, it is also without surprise that she notices that the shotgun seat is taken.
And by now she should have been expecting who the passenger this time was, though it still left her shaken.
“Mother-of-Kine!”
The woman thus addressed is wearing a practically shapeless smock-frock of indeterminate color that does not quite conceal the slightly bulging midsection nor the slightly swollen breasts. Her hair is as black as a raven’s wing, as black as the plumage of the raven that is perched on her shoulder. Her face is quite ageless, you can not quite tell whether she is a wizened pre-pubescent or an extremely well kept ancient past child bearing age or something in between.
Nuala just knows she is Eve.
“Dear child” She rejoins Nuala’a greeting.
“I am not your child!” retorts Nuala.
“I consider all my husband’s progeny my children, even if by his other wives.” Counters the woman.
Nuala sinks upon herself.
“Let’s hear the story, then, shall we?”
She mumbles between clenched teeth.
The woman nods accent towards the taxi driver.
“It concerns basically two brothers and a god who might be deemed to be their grandfather, since he created both their father and their wives. In later versions of the story the middle mother was almost completely forgotten, and the first mother was demonized, so that in the version most widely known only the last wife is reckoned as the only wife of their father, the mother of the two brothers.”
“The elder brother was a farmer; the younger brother was a shepherd.”
“The story goes that their god asked of the brothers a sacrifice to honor him.”
“Each brother sacrificed of what he produced, the elder brother vegetable produce, the younger brother meat (and arguably blood) from a carcass of one of his beasts.”
“It does not quite clarify why the god preferred the sacrifice of the younger brother over that of the elder brother, but that it did.”
“What is more unclear is why the elder brother reacted to this as he did.”
“What is known is, the elder brother murdered the younger brother.”
“What follows next is also unclear, the motives that moved the god to punish this action as he did, what was really done to the elder brother as punishment.”
“What is clear is that the elder brother found himself banished into exile, wandering away from the fertile lands where he had lived, cursed for all eternity and branded with a mark that conceded him unassailable protection.”
“The story goes on to say how he was visited by supernatural creatures that offered him a chance to return under certain conditions, and upon his refusal imputed upon him further courses.”
“And later on her found his mother, that first wife who had been demonized, who taught him the path of blood.”
“And how a long while later he would become the progenitor of all kindred.”
Nuala had been squirming and fidgeting in her seat for sometime now.
Finally she can restrain herself no longer.
“Yes, but how is that relevant to me now? I mean, everybody has been foreshadowing a conflict in which I will be involved proximally…”
“Precisely…”
“You were cursed! You were banished, cursed, marked, you were…”
“That’s not the point!”
Muttering to himself:
“The little bugger’s flock did eat from my farm!”
“And this is the point! You are entitled to self righteous anger! You are entitled to always defend, always fight for, your own, no matter the consequences, no matter what others might think or judged of your actions and what consequences might be visited upon you on that account!”
Taken aback but such vehemence, at first Nuala makes herself very small.
But, as the journey progresses, Nuala starts pondering the concluding words of the taxi driver, and she has just about worked herself up into a battle frenzy when the taxi comes to a halt.

Conspiracy

Nuala doesn’t remember the last part of the taxi trip, she doesn’t remember leaving the taxi, doesn’t remember how she made it from the taxi to her home, doesn’t remember what she did until now.
She is not aware what befell her companions, she doesn’t know if they followed her out of the taxi and into her home, and if so she is not aware if they are here with her or not.
She is at the computer.
And for the first time… ever, the computer is behaving, in fact is behaving better than ever, as if it had been upgraded without her being aware of it.
Then one disembodied voice whispers:
“Network…”
And she understands.
She goes within, to that place within herself, where lies the essence not exactly of who but of what she is, or rather, has become, her nature as those whose being turned into a creature of the night came coupled with her point of view being turned as well, that place within that links her to all those who share in her affliction. She accesses the Malkavian Madness Network.
With them sharing in what she was doing, assessing what she was attempting and making suggestions here and there, and the computer assuming as much an active, advisory role as a passive one enacting her commands, she managed to achieve a surprisingly swift break through.
After what had felt like days banging her head against an unyielding wall, trying failed attempt after failed attempt to break into a place that had seemed remote, obscure, and unimportant but had proven itself to be remarkably well defended for its apparent non importance, she finally cracks into the place she had sought in just a… she is not aware exactly how much time has elapsed, only that she is taken aback by how little it feels like.
Then she starts exploring all the ramifications of that place, first stepping back to its parental place then exploring thoroughly all its filial steps and links and ramifications.
What she uncovers threatens to unhinge her even further, to a point where she will loose whatever little grasp she retained on herself and the world around her:
She uncovers a conspiracy going back to the dawn of times, uncoiling through three major stages of her kind’s history.
At first, during the Dark Ages, from as far back as the 1650s, when New York was yet New Amsterdam, the conspiracy was centered on the obscure descendants of an extinct lineage; it was instigated by the Harbingers of Skulls, the last remnants of the Cappadocian clan in the modern nights; the Lazerenes still claiming their history of treachery, for which it still sought to exact a hellish vengeance; the last survivor of the Cappadocians, an extinct clan, who were driven by their desire to understand the limits between life and death. A core member of the conspiracy, rumored to be Unre himself, had been an usurper-in-shadow to the successive rulers of her city since her kind and a ruler for it had first established in it, acting as a foil, perverting, undermining, corrupting, it’s every ruling.
Then, in the time of The Masquerade, the conspiracy grew more baroque: there was a lineage of creatures of the night, the Nosferatu, which due to their congenital disfigurement remained in the shadows, specializing in information gathering. Despite that most of them remained loyal to the law abiding sect, the Camarilla. But a tiny group of them had turned turncoats, antitribu: while pretending to remain loyal to the Camarilla they had shifted into the tribu that pandered to the chaotic sect, the Sabbat, and had been spying on the Camarilla for the Sabbat so that the Sabbat could better counter whatever the Camarilla undertook.
These turncoats were still and always acting in the furtherance of the interests of the prime instigator of this conspiracy.
Then more recently, in the time of the Requiem, there was evidence that three covenants: The Carthian Movement, concerned with government; The Invictus, or First Estate, concerned with greed and power; and The Lancea Sanctum, concerned with predation upon kine; were preparing to annihilate and engulf the covenant she belonged to, The Circle of the Crone, more concerned with pagan beliefs.
Simply because above mentioned instigator deemed the beliefs espoused by her covenant an antidote to its Machiavellian and nefarious ploys.

Confrontation

Time passes.
Nuala is not aware how long.
She is lost, absorbed in exploring the conspiracy.
Suddenly, jarringly.
“Loony kook…”
Taken aback she yelps:
“Creepy critter!”
And freezes.
“I should have guessed. As notorious as your kind is for its errantry, you also can be reckoned to bouts of obsession where you will bang away at a problem until you solve it, and also of bouts of insight to help you along.”
In answer, Nuala addresses the Painted Cave:
“Womb, I distinctly remember asking you, no visitors!”
Pointed silence.
Then, shaking so hard that her knees threaten to buckle from underneath her, she turns to face the intruder.
Though she is expecting it, she is still struck by how heinously disfigured the intruder is.
She manages to blurt:
“A guest, no matter how unwelcome, should introduce himself to his host…”
“Leonardo Di Caprio.”
Nuala groans.
“I know. Don’t start. You?”
She manages a degree of poise.
“You can call me Finola.”
And that is all Nuala can manage. She then falters, leaning her back against the computer desk.
She barely manages to stutter:
“I have friends, you know?”
To this the intruder snickers.
Wohpe steps forward.
“I come in the name of the Maiden.”
The intruder makes a welcoming motion.
But it is not directed at Wohpe.
Out of nowhere steps an ally of him.
A young man, in his mid twenties, exceptionally fit and handsome, with Italian heritage, with close fit tailor made Italian design black suit complete with a black fedora and the bulge of a gun holster underneath his armpit.
Nuala snorts, a sound that would be of derision if she were not so terrified.
“Michael Corleone! How quaint! I’m guessing you come in the name of the Carthian Movement… but are you not more associated with outlaws and organized crime, instead of governments?”
Then:
“I have more…”
To this Selu steps forward.
“I come in the name of the Mother.”
To this the newcomer replies with another mock welcoming bow.
Out of nowhere materializes another person.
This one is outfitted as a legionary from the roman legions, a centurion more exactly, with a gold crown on his head, bearing a lion pelt as a cloak, complete with a mane bearing head acting as a cloak, totally unbefitting his rank, and a lance from which tip perpetually drips fresh blood.
“Centurion Longinus! Exalted one! The founder of the Lancea Sanctum himself! You do us honor!”
This time it takes her longer to recover.
“I’m not done yet…”
Taking this as a cue, Pah steps up.
“I come in the name of the Crone!”
Another bow from the intruder.
The person who materializes is attired in an imperial roman toga, adorned with imperial purple. He is an exceedingly old and preternaturally aged man, with twisted limbs afflicted with palsy, drool threatening to drop from the corner of his mouth. But one is taken aback by his eyes, always shifting, never meeting one’s glance, always perusing the whole of you and the space around and frequent glances behind, wholly paranoid eyes.
“Emperor Claudius! Your highness! There is only the Invictus left! What a majestic representative did they decide to grace us with?!”
It takes her even longer to recover.
This time she only barely manages a shooing motion.
Delirium steps forward.
“I like her. She is me, or rather, she is not me but she is a lot like me, more so than any other of your kind, that any other vampire.”
The inviting bow.
The appearance of the entity that next materializes is somewhat bewildering. She has a base aspect, that of a totally androgynous human being with a sexless outfit and hairdo. But overlaid to that base is the most alluring and enticing looks to whoever is watching him/her, down to the smell he/she exudes.
Delirium blurts out:
“Sister?! Desire?! You, in league with these… ruffians!?”
Desire casts Delirium a coy gaze.
“Why not, sister? Did you think that I was only concerned with desires of a romantic or lustful nature? But, tell me, sister, isn’t any government based on an individual’s desire to rule over others? Isn’t power a desire to own others? Isn’t greed a desire for possession? Isn’t predation a desire to consume others? So, tell me, sister, why should I not be involved with them?”
“But, but…”
“Now, you tell me, sister, answer me this: Why did you let yourself get entangled in all this? This confrontation involves at the most gods and goddesses, which as you know are beneath our kind.”
Delirium at first looks ashamed but then shifts to offended, but through her swinging responses to her sister’s declaration she is unable to find the words to support her emotions.
Finally, embarrassed, she settles for.
“… Because…”
Desire snorts.
Silence.
Nuala mutters more to herself:
“If you think that I asked Womb not to let any visitors in… this place looks like Grand Central effing Station…”
Pointed silence.
Leonardo breaks it.
“So, are you done?”
Silence.
“Well, it would appear we have a Mexican stand-off.”

Resolution

Suddenly the Painted Cave starts rumbling as if it were suffering an earthquake and its walls were actually coming tore down. And in the middle of all that racket words can easily be discerned.
“From the dawn of time territory has afforded and advantage to its owner. Think of the she bear in her cave, the she fox in her den, to name just a few. The territory is familiar to its owner, it is laced with his essence, it is his haven of security, his seat of power, it assures him and it empowers him.”
Then the rumblings go meaningless as white noise for a while, enough for all those who listen to take in her words.
The computer interjects.
“Nuala, I have taken upon myself to virally send links to all the pages where this conspiracy is outlined to all the relevant parties: to the current ruler of our city, to his body of advisors from the heads of the various lineages, to the head of your own lineage, to the heads of your covenant. Whatever the outcome of this confrontation, everyone affected by this conspiracy now knows of it.”
Then the same disembodied voice as before suggests:
“… Network…”
In the middle of the entire ruckus Nuala manages to accede the place within her that places her in thrall with all those of her lineage within her kind, she once again accesses the Cobweb, so that all the other Malkavians can testify to what is taking place.
Then the rumblings uttered by The Womb magnify in a crescendo into a paroxysm of fury, out of which words can be resolved:
“I confer the advantage of territory to Nuala and all her allies!”
And the brownie chooses this moment to show everybody concerned what it means when a host is pissed off at a guest that has abused his hospitality.

Epilogue

Nuala is sitting on an ergonomic chair in the rooftop terrace of her apartment building. She is sitting on an ergonomic chair so as she does not have to feel that she is sitting down, so that sitting down feels like floating in a sensory deprivation chamber.
She is intravenously administering to herself blood at body temperature from a blood bag employing a drip chamber. She is doing that so as not to feel thirsty.
The universe tends to entropy. Life is an organized form state of matter. As such it is always being attacked, being ravaged by the universal tendency to entropy.
That is true even for unlife. The rate of decay might be slower and remain unchanged, enabling virtually eternal unlife, enabling a vampire to unlive indefinitely, but it was still there. A vampire needed blood to offset that decay, to provide its body with new matter and energy for the regenerative processes that offset that decay. A vampire, undead that he was, still needed sustenance to offset that decay, to sustain his unlife, like any living creature needed food and drink. Because all a vampire fed on was blood, and because the blood that a vampire drank was what was used to offset that decay, and because that meant that the blood that a vampire ingested was constantly being consumed, used, lost, in offsetting that decay and sustaining its unlife, that process was called bloodloss.
Nuala has adjusted the rate at which the drip chamber, to which the blood bag is connected and which connects to the IV line which connects to the hypodermic needle that is inserted in her vein, releases the blood to exactly mirror her rate of bloodloss, so that she does not even have to feel neither the need of thirst nor the comfort of its assuagement.
She has allowed herself to slip into catatonia, and even beyond. She has removed from herself as completely as she can manage any stimulus, internal or external, be it positive or negative, environmental stimulus or bodily needs. She is not paying any attention at all to her surroundings. She has also allowed her brain to stop producing any intrinsic activity, thoughts or emotions.
She has allowed herself to drift to as close to her Final Death as she can manage to.
The only sign of unlife in her is the exact balance she has established between bloodloss and blood replenishment, the eternal struggle between the regenerative powers of life – or unlife for that matter – which needs sustenance to be maintained and the universal tendency for entropy which afflicts life with decay.

What? Were You Expecting A Happy Ending? Not All Stories Have A Happy Ending! Alright Already, I Will Give You A Happy Ending!

“Nuala? Are you coming? Everybody is here. The party is going full swing.”
“In a minute.”

Nuala pauses at the threshold. She takes time to look around, to take it all in, to take stock of her household.
It has plenty of people, all in happy fulfilling relationships.
Wohpe, Selu, and Pah, despite stemming from different Native American tribes, are now a family: Wohpe the daughter, Selu the mother, Pah the grandmother. They have sort of adopted Delirium as a kind of surrogate granddaughter.
As a reward for her role in the unraveling of the conspiracy, both the Prince and the Primogen have granted Nuala permission to embrace Etain. So now Nuala is Sire to Etain, Etain, to whom Nuala has ascribed the pet name Baobhan Sidhe, is now Nuala’s Childe. They are now also a sort of a lesbian couple, as much as two vampires can be a couple.
When, due to the healing powers of Nuala’s blood, Deirdre recovered from the damages inflicted upon her during her rape, drawn by the calling of the blood she eventually made her way into Nuala’s home. Eventually she became Nuala’s Ghoul. Nuala has given her the pet name of Leanan Sidhe after sealing their bond with two more sips of her blood. She still also loves Etain dearly, and has agreed to become her Blood Doll.
Grania one day showed up at Nuala’s corner. When a vampire feeds from a human, as other blood drinkers will, the vampire injects, through her saliva, much as serpents do with their venom through their fangs, an analgesic, an anesthetic and a stimulant, granting to the Kine being fed upon one of the most ecstatic experiences she can experience. Grania became addicted to this experience, so she agreed to become Nuala’s Blood Doll. But she remains sort of marginal to Nuala’s household. She still makes a living as a hooker, she still spends most of her nights out working and she has her own place, though she sometimes will crash at Nuala’s place. Unwillingly and unwittingly Nuala has become a sort of pimp to Grania. For starters she had to deal with so called upstanding neighbors that were outraged that she was plying her trade in their so called respectable neighborhood. Then, when Grania started having success, Nuala had to deal with other hookers trying to shoo in into her turf. Then she had to deal with pimps trying to hire her for themselves. She even had to deal with johns that had been less than respectful to her. Acknowledging that, Grania started sharing some of her income with Nuala. Also, Deirdre still loves Etain, but she also still has sexual needs, needs that Grania is more than happy to satisfy, throwing Deirdre an occasional freebie.
The household has even gained pets. When the household started being provisioned with victuals (more on that later) a rat, affectionately called Mickey, started roaming the household, feeding on crumbs. A stray cat, affectionately called Tom, started making the rounds of the household for leftovers as well. And Deirdre brought in her dog, Pluto.
Besides people, the household also has an abundance of victuals now.
Pah, with a little help from Selu, started keeping the household provisioned with Corn Mash Moonshine Bourbon. Deirdre helps herself heavily to it: partly to deal with a bit of a post traumatic stress disorder remnant from her rape; when there are parties so that she can unwind and have fun; and so that Etain can become drunk by proxy. Grania also helps herself to it whenever she drops by. Offerings are made of it to the Brownie. And Nuala leaves portions of it as libations for the three Goddesses when they are not around.
Selu keeps the household provisioned in Corn Pones. Etain and Grania eat them for breakfast. They are left as offerings to the Brownie. It was the crumbs from the Corn Pones that attracted the Rat. If sometimes Mickey doesn’t wait for the Corn Pones to become crumbs, if sometimes he gets to them before the Brownie gets a chance to, the Brownie never seemed to mind.
Wohpe’s contributions are manifold.
She contributes with Buffalo Milk. Deirdre and Grania help themselves to it, mostly for breakfast. Nuala also makes libations of it for the three Goddesses. Offerings of it are also made to the Brownie. And it was those that attracted the Cat. Once more the Brownie doesn’t seem to care that Tom competes with him for his sustenance.
Wohpe also provides Buffalo Beef Jerky. Deirdre and Grania have that for lunch and dinner. Offerings of it are also made to the Brownie. They are the Dog’s only sustenance. And it was the Brownie that made a point of sharing it with Pluto.
Wohpe already carried around a Chanumpa, with a Red Pipestone. She made Calumets to both Selu and Pah, the one for Selu with a Clay pipestone, the one for Pah with a Bluestone Pipestone. They all smoke Wild Tobacco.
The other members of the household have all taken to smoking hand-rolled cigarettes made up of Virginia Blend Shag, also provided by her.
With the help of Selu she even manufactured a miniature Calumet for the Brownie, with a Corn Cob Pipestone. The Brownie smokes nothing else but Corn Silk, provided by Selu.
Now that the Brownie is well fed he keeps Womb the Painted Cave the Studio clean and tidy; he also wipes carefully and regularly Apple the computer and he keeps him provisioned with the latest hardware and software upgrades.
All in all, a healthy and wealthy household, muses Nuala.
A warm glow ignites somewhere in the middle of her, percolates to the rest of her, until she is thoroughly suffused in it.
A radiant smile on her face, she crosses the threshold, enters the womb, and joins the party.