|Characters:||Aristide & Chloe|
|Summary:||Chloe catches up with her mystery vampire to pursue the second half of his divination. Introductions are made.|
Chloe is becoming a regular, whether she intended to be or not. There's an upnod to the bartender as she makes her way in, before she takes a look around the place, which is answered with a tip of his head toward Aristide. Her smile goes wide when she sets eye on the scarred vampire, and maybe just a little bit wider still for the beer sitting across from him. "Hope that shit's not warm," might be her way of saying she hopes he hasn't been waiting too long, if he's generous in his translation. Nevermind that this wasn't exactly a scheduled meeting. Or that she's flat out assuming that drink's for her. It certainly is now, as far as she's concerned. Tonight, her green hair's been pulled back into twin braids that make it seem shorter, except maybe where her bangs, left out, hang long, framing her face. Her tank top reveals more of her ink, on her arms, her shoulder, the crescent moon between her tits. Attempts at fighting the heat and humidity, nevermind that today's the first day it's dipped below 90 in a while. The current temperature is downright pleasant by comparison. Maybe that's what's got her in a good mood as she draws out the chair and sinks on down. In part, anyway.
The bottle was sweating, but the label wasn't showing much bubbling for having been exposed to it long. Blame it on the heat of the summer in the humid south, it's probably at least cool if not cold. "If it ain't cold it's just cause you took your sweet time shimmyin' on down here," he returns, glancing up toward her. The blush is there, but he still seems to have something of a haunted look about him, the natural unsettling aura a little more grimly amplified. Might be why none of the neighboring tables are occupied beyond the demands of social distancing. He waits for her to settle in her seat, crack the bottle - whatever the barkeep said she'd had most often - to venture, "Rumor has it I got myself a lil fanclub of one."
"You aren't the only thing I'm huntin', handsome," Chloe croons in response to that quip about her timing. Still, there's no bitching about the beer--a cheap, local IPA with a grassy profile--when she cracks it open and takes a swig, perfectly content with its kinda cool temperature, with the condensation dripping off the bottle on the way up. When she settles it back down and sinks back into her seat, she studies Aristide for a moment, considering if 'fanclub of one' is how she cares to be classified... and then nods, accepting that title. "Definitely a fan. You got any curiosity about how that little divination of yours has worked out so far?"
Aristide surveys the current patronage before glancing back toward Chloe with an arch to one brow, a bit of questioning of her tastes perhaps. The sort of mortals that might spend their time in a place like this at a time like this. There's a small twitch of a grin, exagerated for the scar it leads into. "If I were a bettin' man, and I reckon I been known t'be on the odd occasion...One or th'other of 'em wasted no time in makin' itself known to ya." He lifts one hand up from where he'd been leaning on both forearms folded together, to take an errant scratch at the scruff of his jaw, squinting at her a little closer. He eventually decides, with the help of the scritch, "Th'changed one found ya," he decides after a brief weighing of what would have come of either vision and his own takes on them. The possibility that they hadn't worked out atall, clearly, is never so much as entertained, his faith in the visions so resolute.
Chloe, on the other hand, does not consider the rest of the room. Whatever else she might be hunting, it's not here. All of her attention at the moment is for Aristide and the beer he so very kindly had waiting for her. Her smile holds steady as he considers her, as he poses that there's already been some resolution, only a flash of approval in her brown eyes confirming he's right before part two of that stakeless bet follows. "The changed one found me," she confirms, "and fuck has he changed. Like whoa." The way her eyes go wide both emphasizes the magnitude of said changes and her approval thereof. "Definitely clicking. Think I got a bead on part two, too, but I'm curious." Her head cants slightly as her beer lifts, a question asked just before she swigs. "What's your read?"
Aristide gives a dry chuckle at her explanation, more so at the approval. "Jewel bugs usually got some kinda promise wrapped up in 'em," just a passing remark as some other pulse outside the doorway catches his brief attention, tracking it down along the way until it's out of sight. By the time he looks back, she's just getting to her curiosity. He peers unblinking at her when she asks, and a few moments longer before remembering to blink and settling on, "My read's that just answerin' that one honest is riskin' th'webs 'n worse, lil moon beam. But th'water's still rushin' ya."
Chloe offers no clarity on the nature of all the promise bound up in those jewel bugs, in how much the details seemed to resonate with Reed. She's still figuring all of that out herself, picking apart the unexpected relevance that resonated with the inked up changeling, and it's likely to take a while. What matters is that Ari was right. Though when he gives her that best not to shake the webs bullshit, she smirks and asks, "You think the only reason I'm here is to letcha know you're right?" Rhetorical though it sounds, she watches him for a second or two like she's expecting an answer before setting her beer down. She wipes her damp hand on her denim-clad hip before holding it, slightly dryer, out across the table. "Chloe Dubois. Daughter of Black Wolf. Witch. Interested."
"Nah don't reckon I do," fills the gap, half sighed as he sits back in his seat. Another glance toward the street just to flick back toward her when she offers the hand across from him. "This ain't shakin' on nothin'," he clarifies when he reaches out to take it. "Aristide Louviere this go 'round." Every few decades there might be a swap here and there, but it was convenient the first was the one up for recycling. "That from th'Baton Rouge Dubois?" he asks, one brow lifting like he half expected an affirmative. "Now why don't you just tell me what you're interested in and what it is you're thinkin' you're gonna find in those hearts that's worth th'risk?"
Chloe's hand, briefly, lifts so she can hold it palm out in defensive agreement with that assertion that there's no deeper meaning to the gesture, no pact in place. Her hand's soft, her fingernails manicured, but there's a bit of dirt beneath the nails, a hint of hidden strength in her grip. "Aristide," comes out in a near-purr, trying it on, getting a feel for it. Her hand catches her beer when she sinks back again, post-shake. "Indirectly," she says of the other Dubois. "I mean, we still got family out there, but my branch has been a bit more rural for a while now." With a smirk and a roll of her eyes, she adds, "Or suburban, in certain cases." The tip of the bottom of her beer toward her chest makes sure to include her. Before she answers the heavier question, she takes another pull from her drink, letting the booze lubricate her thinking a little. When the bottle comes down, sliding back into the condensation puddle on the table, her expression is a bit more serious. "I'm looking for my people." Like she said before. "I'm looking for those who will help me grow my roots, claim what's mine, who will help me learn and grow and, in kind, grow with me." She pauses, a brief purse of her lips acknowledging the vulnerability she feels when admitting that in the current context, but she doesn't let it slow her down. "I think those hearts have knowledge, ideas I can use, food for my soil. I think the webs might be as much connection as trap. And I'm not entirely alone anymore if I'm wrong and need somebody to pull my ass out of the current."
Ari's hand had been unchanged for decades, the same calluses he'd died with, nails thick-lined with dirt the same slightly too long length they'd always been. He gives he hand a snug squeeze, holds it a moment longer to turn it, to consider all the work on her hand up closer before he lets his fingers ease up to let her return to her drink. He cracks a grin, then a quiet laugh, but just what he's found amusing is left unsaid. Perhaps just the roll of her eye for the suburbs. He listens to her take on the vision, nodding along with some parts in a way that's mroe easily read as encouraging rather than confirming. When she reaches the end, he looks down to his palms.
He spends a couple of moments thumbing along his palms, looking down into them like he were reading from some esoteric but familiar book in the lines of his hands. "They are connections, yes, silvery shackles. Sneaky lil wormin' things. But they are th'least to fear from th'Dark Mother's tree, darlin'. Just leashes. There's a seed of rot in every one of them hearts and there's no willin' your way past that. It eats a soul faster'n death could ever hope to. And she won't give 'em up til you've flayed yourself open on her thorns tryin' to reach 'em. She won't give you shit for your soil, lil moon beam, til you're bleedin' for hers." It's all laid out calm as can be, glancing up toward her here and there, but returning back to his hands each time until he'd finished recollecting the thing and focused more fully on her. "You can still switch streams, and I could prolly point ya to a few good ones. If you're intent on this particular dead tree - know you'll suffer for it and I don't have the damnedest if She'd even recognize you."
Chloe's gaze follows his, a time or two, checking out his hands, the way his thumbs trace over old lines, details she only barely got the chance to feel with that handshake. She pays more mind to his face, to the eyes that intermittently flick up toward hers, ready and waiting when his attention rises in full again. After a few seconds of silent consideration, she replies quietly, "First? You say rot like it's a bad thing, like it doesn't feed the soil too. If you mean disease, something unwell and unhealthy, well..." She gives a little wave of her hand as her eyes flash wide; she might consider that a fair point of warning. "Second? Those won't be the first secrets I've bled for. You think the spirits don't make demands?" She breathes a quiet laugh, a grin tugging at her lips. "Might argue, too, that I know the difference between bonds and bondage, but I get your people work a bit differently than mine in that regard, and I'll keep that in mind." Her tongue peeks out past her lips briefly, thoughtfully. "But what I wanna know is what you want." Another flash of a grin. "And how you feel about me calling you mine."
Aristide cracks a grin and returns, "I say rot like it's somethin' that might make it a lil bit harder to walk that line ya'll gotta walk. Nothin' in your body gonna heal that." He lifts a brow at her silly tongue-poke, and mimics it back at her . Briefly. He doesn't seem to need all that much time to answer first, "I wanna see how much you can take." Skipping over the matter of bonds and threads and bondage entirely. "I wanna see if you can keep up while I build up my grove. Not all that sure yet." He eyes her over with a completely feigned, teasing skepticism. "You can call me yours when you got another word to follow it for th'time bein'."
Chloe takes the correction in regards to rot in silence, adding that characterization to the running summary of the risk she's looking at taking based on... what? Restlessness and bar room blood magic? Who's to say that this thread wasn't intentional, a lure laid out to catch her? She should walk away, but she likes what he's saying about thresholds and groves, likes the irreverence in that mimicry, grin tugging wider as she nods to his terms. "I got plenty of words that could follow it," she croons, shamelessly fliratious, but it's punctuated with a shrug, with a tip to one side as she fishes her phone from her pocket. "How about we start with my newest contact. So I don't gotta keep harassing our friend over there--" The bartender, she means. "--every time I wanna play fangirl."
Ari eyes the device she's pulled out like it's some sort of spirit bane, but after a moment, exhales a breath through his nose as he reaches for an inside pocket of his coat. He pulls out a phone that still has the plastic film on the screen and is currently completely powered down. He handles it like it's as fragile as spun glass when he sets it on the table, and then pushes it across toward her. "I been told it's in there. Somewhere. Can write yours in there too." Settling forward toward the table, he refolds his arms to prop himself up and watches the kine past her shoulder. "There's a patch of bayou I'll need cleared out. I'll getcha th'coordinates."
While she was working with his phone, he diverted back. If she did, she'd find it pretty much factory fresh with just a couple of contacts already in it. Someone named Pepe, and someone named Mesmir. A few alarms set in the evenings. He carries on without worry for what she might be doing with the phone, "Plenty is plenty 'nough to start tryin' 'em out. See what fits," had the tone of someone pretty certain they're calling a bluff, but perhaps in some small way hopeful they're not. "Newest contact's just one," added as he lifts his hand into a loose fist and pops his pinkie up. One.
"Oh, honey," sounds genuinely concerned as Chloe sets her own phone down to take up his, pushing the power button before she sets to removing the clingy plastic. "Has it been that long?" Has she ever known a world without cell phones? The mention of bayou snags more of her attention than it probably should, expression sinking into seriousness briefly, as she thinks. She doesn't fuck with anything, though she does scan what few contacts he has listed, curious but not precisely nosy. She enters herself as Chloe Dubois, no nicknames, no mysteries, and even snaps a picture of her smiling face to go with the number she enters. A cheerful tone from her phone marks the message sent from his to get her his number, a simple 'boop' that does the trick. "My favorite drinking buddy," she teases as she offers his phone back over, still on. "My answer man?" She plucks up her phone to send a text back, a kissing heart emoji, and start to save him before she realizes she has no idea how to spell Aristide. "My bayou bestie? Do you, uh, have a place out there? Cuz I've got, let's see, one more week to get out of my current apartment, and my roomie Mr. Jewel Bugs and I haven't found a new place yet, and if I'mma be carving out territory..." Well, it never hurts to ask, right? Without missing a beat, she moves right on to, "How do you spell your name?"
"Few decades," he nods. "Reagan was in office when I went 'n played Rip van Winkle," he clarifies further. He watches the steps she takes to manipulate the device curiously. He'd been foggy about it all still when Felix put it in his hands and showed him what it did. All he knew is it was supposedly a telephone and a camera and there was some kind of cloud witch craft involved. "Still dustin' off all th'things I lost track of while I was sleepin'. Find my channel back with - " trails off, watching the selfie business with a small shake of his head. "That's..." beyond his vocabulary apparently. "It kept makin' this radio jingle sound every night so I just turnt it off."
"Already?" he snickers over favorite drinking buddy, glancing out past her shoulder again. "Won't give ya too many of 'em. Show ya one way of many to earn 'em." He puzzled over the phone when it pings the face back, and furrows his brow at the little emoji. "I will once I can get in there and start workin' th'land," he answers distracted before just setting the phone down and nudging it aside. "You can set up a tent there if ya want, build somethin' even. One of those thread things though, havin' folks where I'm sleepin'." His head cants when he adds, "I'd have t'see what else th'Dark has to say 'bout Jewel Bugs, what sort of threads can be tied." He snickers at the stumble of his name and helps out with, "A-r...i-s...tide...Lou....v..i...e-r-e."
"Yeah, well," Chloe begins with a tone of concession in regards to those threads as she enters in his name, "I'mma need to talk with him, too. Make sure he's alright with the idea." Tipping her phone down to look across the table again, she clarifies, "Either of being a little bit removed from the comforts of the city or of making so very friendly and nice with a stranger of your proclivities." With a faint smirk, "Or of camping." Another glance at her phone, and she tucks it away again. "I'll try to arrange a meet. Pretty boy was talking about blood and guts divination day we caught back up, so I suspect you two might have at least a little in common." Nevermind that she'd brought it up in the first place; Reed was comfortable with the conversation, contributing. With a flicker of attention turned toward the phone, she offers, "I can help you with that, if you want. Fix alarms, change ringtones, whatever. You can make the whole thing silent, so it just doesn't make noise at all, if you want. But then you gotta remember to look at it, see if any cute witches have messaged you."
"I need to head out of town for a couple weeks, should be plenty of time t'get it cleared out even if it's on your lonesome," he offers with another of those visually exaggerated half-grins. "Can meet your lil Jewel Bug when I come back 'round. If I got th'juice, can see what th'Dark says." Ari glances sidelong towards the phone, and gives it another nudge towards her. "Make it silent," he nods. "Think th'alarms were just to mess wit' me, always goin' off when I wake up." His attention turned once more to the street when he adds, "You know you're makin' lil cartoon eyes at a dead man, darlin'," with an amused ring to his tone. "That's been sleepin' longer than you be livin'." Followed up with, "I gotta find myself a doll worth keepin' tabs on soon." Glancing back towards her, he grins a bit too wide, a bit too much teeth stained as yellow as they had been the day he died. "Happen t'know a cute lil witch that's not walkin' two worlds?"
"I'll see what I can do," Chloe assures of the patch of land in need of tending, not one little lick of airiness to it. She sounds like she knows exactly what she can do, sight unseen. "Easy thing about the alarms," she murmurs as she takes the phone up again and turns it to face him, "is you just gotta press the little clock here--" Tap. "--to turn 'em off. If they're grey, they're off. If they're--" She flips it around to check out the color again. "--blue, they're on." With a few taps, she turns them all off. "And, for what it's worth? I'd guess they were trying to help you. Lots of people wake up to alarms. Like, cuz of the alarms. Prolly doesn't know you've got a well-regulated internal clock." A few more seconds, and she has the volume down on everything except text message notifications. Who uses the phone for calls anymore? As she hands it back, she tells him, "You know you're pretty hot for an old dead man, right?" with only a hint of a grin at the end to sell it, the flirtation kept low-key. The flash of yellowed teeth might make her reconsider, but that uncertain look could be for the request he's making. "I tend to keep a particular kinda company, but I'll keep an eye out for occult candy while you're gone."
Clock...grey's off, he puts those away in his mind and hopes they stick this time around. "Mebbe not," didn't sound convinced. 'Pepe' should absolutely know but he seemed the cheeky sort. Always had to Ari. Good kid though. The phone is taken back, given a glance over, and returned to his pocket with the hopes that it will indeed be more useful this go around. "To a particular kinda company, mebbe so," he returns to her assertion, a different spin on her words. "Figured that'd be th'case," added for the assumption she meant fellow wolves. "She's still drainin' me for peekin' in, til I can shake th'connection to th'Dark off. Gonna have to find somethin' soon. Still can send any likely kine my way, can keep a few and easier on 'em."
"I can be pretty particular," Chloe quips back, nice and easy. All phones seen to, she returns her attention to her beer, giving the bottle a little swirl to gauge how much is left. It isn't much, but she holds up on finishing it, long enough to note, "The city's filled with 'em," though it seems more of a question than an observation, an indirect prodding for anything more specific he might be seeking beyond cute human witch. With that, she drains her bottle, setting it back onto the table. "You wanna buy me another before you head out for your drink?" She knows she's pressing, looking for a line, seeing how he takes it.
"Seems t'be servin' ya well," was distracted again, eye narrowing on a passer-by, following him unitl he's out of sight and he returns his attention to her. "Might be but I got somethin' of a specialized diet," he remarks for the otherwise boundless supply, limited only by his willingness to part with what little vitae he had left to to invest in a new doll. "Like 'em with a good head on their shoulders. They're usually th'more sober than drunk ones out there. Still put together, still watchin' out 'round 'em," he adds before considering the bottle she has in front of her. "Whatcha gon' do to earn it?" he asks, looking back up to her and nodding to the bottle she has now. "Last thing I'm givin' up for free, least for a while."
"Might try checking out a less divey dive," Chloe poses. She's quick to bow her head, to lower her voice as she adds, "Though I do appreciate you coming by tonight," rather sincerely. When asked what she's gonna do for that second beer, one she could certainly pay for on her own, were she so inclined, she can't help her wide grin, the little arch of her brows that asks wordlessly if that's where he wants to go with this, intentionally reading the skeeviest meaning into that tease. At least, until she actually speaks, offering, "I could give you an answer, too. If you'd like."
"A fair point," was almost endearingly charmed with said divey dive. "It wasn't all a favor," he adds to her appreciation. Some measure of it for himself. He snorts at the wordless insinuation, lifts a lazy hannd to make the minimal effort to brush it aside before tipping his head to her offer. "To what question?"
Chloe shrugs, comfortable in her uncertainty. "You'd need to provide that, handsome." Her hand lifts from the table, tipping to one side in a sorta wobble. "Or I can. I mean, I can answer that question, if you want." The grin that follows is a bit more modest than the ones which preceded it, shallow and short-lived. "Maybe I can tell you how to find what you're looking for. Return the favor, nice and direct."
He dips his head, accepting the answer without seeming to think it's odd at all to wonder if she had the question as well. "No, not that one," he snickers at the tease, glancing down towards his hands and then back across towards her. He hadn't fully gotten his feet back beneath him to know what he was looking for other than a safe place to grow his garden, to re-establish his own roots now that he was out of hibernation. She might have expected a specific thing, but he instead asks, "A'right then, how do I find th'Thing I'm lookin' for?" in such a way it's clear enough in his fried murmur what he was asking.
Question confirmed, Chloe nods... and the scoots her chair a bit forward, closer to the table, so she can more comfortably sit with both her hands on the surface. Not that she does anything with them, leaving her limbs loose and comfortable as her gaze unfocuses. Her head turns a little, one ear angled toward the door Ari keeps looking back to like she's listening for the answer to just walk right through. And, after a middle-aged with grey roots coming up beneath her auburn hair comes in and makes for the bar, the ithaeur goes slack. Eyes closed, shoulders slouched, it looks very much like she's fallen into a spontaneous nap, like she's not in her body anymore. A couple minutes pass before her jaw goes slack, a little trickle of drool oozing out the left corner of her mouth soon thereafter. At least she isn't snoring.
When she comes to again, there's a gasp, a sharp intake of air as spirit returns to body. Her right hand comes up to swipe the back of her hand across her face as she blinks, reorienting herself to this world, back from wherever she'd been. When her gaze refocuses on Ari, she smiles almost sheepishly at him. "Alright," comes out dry for the time she left her mouth hanging, requiring a clearing of her throat, a pause before she shares whatever she's learned.
Ari watches her with a fairly academic sort of curiosity, minding the methods and practices she has pre-installed, as it were. Much more akin to the powers that came from his own beast rather than petitioned by a higher power, if he were to guess. He doesn't disturb, patient at least so long as the night held out, waiting to see how many minutes tick by. On one glance around, the barkeep makes an uncertain look his direction and points toward their table. Ari gestures that all is fine, in a dismissive wave, and looks back toward the table. Luckily no one present is white knight enough to come see about the suddenly passed out girl at the creepy guy's table.
He has a bandana in hand when she wakes up, offered over folded in half and half again on the diagonal. "Got a lil somethin' there," he snickers, nodding toward the corner of her mouth. "Better not be tryin' to pass off an ordinary nappin' dream," teased as he sits back, noddig again toward the keep with a lift of the more or less empty bottle to call for another.
Chloe licks at her mouth as she takes up the offered bandana, using it to wipe away the gooey streak along her chin, apparently a little surprised that it had been that long. She casts a quick look around the bar to make sure that longer-than-expected nap hasn't attracted any unwanted attention, flashing the bartender a reassuring smile on her way back toward Aristide. "What makes you think there's anything ordinary about my dreams?" Ah, but she was born under crescent moon, not gibbous, her dreams woefully ordinary. At least in any occult way. As she slides the cloth back, clearly not a thief, she tells him, "I saw a pool of..." Eyebrows go up as eyes go wide, and she admits, "I dunno. Small, contained. Tub. A tub of something. Thanks." That's for the beer brought by, a swig taken before she continues, eyes unfocused like she's looking elsewhere. "Layer of stuff on top of it. White and filmy and fuzzy. Sweet like rot, like growth. Color of apple cider under. Kinda like a light caramel?" But she's getting hung up on details, and she knows it. Refocusing on Ari, she flashes an apologetic smile for that minor detour into detail and continues, "Scruffy guy. Older than me. Younger than you." Grin. "Keeping watch over it. Keeping watch over a small patch of chaos. Real sweet smile." With that, she shrugs and points. Sorta. She extends an index finger and wobbles it, but can't seem to settle on a direction. "Northwest? With a bluebird on the doorstep."
"Th'drool," he answers first without missing a beat, taking the bandana back up to tuck back into his coat pocket. "If you were foamin' or splutterin' maybe - " he allows, cheeky about it. It took a few moments of open confusion to make heads or tails about just what she was relating, and even then, he couldn't be entirely sure what the end goal was but muses with a chuckle just the same, "Fermentin', my guess." The exact what was harder to say from the descriptions and unsure what methods folks were using today. "Can't say I knew I was lookin' for a minder of chaos," he muses aloud, scratching at his cheek. He snorts at the addition of younger than him. He could only imagine she meant by both standards. His eye follows the point of her finger until it made its mind up on a direction, then looks back towards her. "You know what I'll likely do with th'guy, yea?" asked curiously. "When I follow this lead 'n show up at whatever door he's hidin' behind without warnin'?" He leans forward some when he asks, "Would it bother you if you saw 'im round, to know he might be his own man if I weren't turned to his doorway?"
Chloe chirps an amused, "Fair," at the comment about the mess she made while disconnected from her body, thumbing at the corner of her mouth just in case there's the least little bit of drool left to catch. The assessment of what's in the tub or what Aristide did or did not know about what he was looking for earns a shrug as she swigs her beer. Not much her concern either way. Her drinking takes a bit of a dip when he poses that question of morality, when he points out her role in the potential separation of this stranger from his own autonomy. She brings the bottle back down to the table and studies the scarred man on the other side for a moment. Her potential mentor. "I've got this hope, and I think it's got a decently solid foundation so far, that you're the sort of man who takes care of what's his, that we got that in common. I'mma be terribly sad--" The slight incline of her head, the subtly stern arch of her brows make that seem like a threat from the green-haired wolfpup. "--if I'm wrong about that."
Aristide scratched at his jaw once more as he starts to pick himself up. "Startin' to see that rushin' water at work," he chuckles as he moves around the table. He claps a hand to her shoulder, squeezing it under his palm when he leans down toward her ear. "It don't rightly matter how good I am to th'guy. He's gonna feel things that didn't start with him, say yes to things he wouldn't want in a right thinkin' mind, and want for things he might not get. That's th'thing, darlin'. None of this comes without somebody losin'. Gonna have to square with th'gray 'n learn to be a'right with things bein' questionable without gettin' sad." He gives her shoulder another squeeze under his hand before it lifts to point off to the northwest, mumbling, "This way, yea?" as he strolls off, leaving her with that little bit to chew on until the coordinates to the little patch of bayou were delivered. Probably with the help of Ghandara's helpful ghoul.