Maybe somebody was prepared for when you came knocking. He had some kinda freaky rope for making a loa puppet. And this. *show card*.

"Performance anxiety?" you ask.
"Shut up." Baron Samedi winds up again and executes another hopping hex. A weak puffing tendril of smoke and then nothing. "Shit."

"Could it have anything to do with this?" You hold up the veve.
The Baron squints at it. "I don't think so. No. That's just a fucking playing card, LaCroix."
"It has a veve."
"Everyone has a veve. My balls have a veve. Fuck veves. Where'd you find that?"
"Someone in the church. One of the zombie jockeys."

The ghede loa have gathered around. Hommel tips his hat to you. Ermas clears his throat.

"I don't get it," mutters the crouching Baron. "Where did my mastery of the Dead go? And furthermore where did my mastery of hangovers go?" You shrug as he straightens up.
"Something fishy is going on," says the Baron. "I couldn't have just set it down somewhere, or, or given it away, or-" And then below the etched skull all the color drains from his face.

"Oh, fuck," he says.

And that's when you remember.

Last night. The pleasurable haze sharpens in your recollection.

It was a quayside bar, and there was this little sawdust-filled doll thing, and someone had stuck a magical pork-pie on it and given it a trumpet and it was blowing the kind of cheese that would make the Sainted Virgin throw her underwear around, and you were pulling the whole "Baby-I'm-A-Nine-Out-Of-Ten-When-I've-Got-Skin-On" on some giggling blond grand homme mademoiselle, and everyone was drinking spiced rum, and Hommel had just done the musket-ball trick with his forehead, and then the Baron burst in from the back room with the reserves, with his arm around a dazed, grinning homme, and he'd given him his hat, and he was saying something like:

"Guysss you'll never believe the kind of stories this fou is spitting it's wild I love this dirty fuckin vieux hahahahaaaa look at my hat on him look at his hat oh my god or bondye or whatever you wouldn't believe him! This guy! I love him! Do the spitting thing again haaaahahaha he did the spitting thing I'm Baron Samedi what's your name? I'm the loa of death do you want to be the loa of death? I like you you're the new death god what LaCroix leave me alone this motherfucker's great! He's great! It's fucking wild frere what's your name?

"Thimbi? I love that name hold my rum Thimbi"

"Oh, fuck," you say.

Well let's fucking march back into town and have Thimbi hand back over his power. He was DRUNK, he probably doesn't even remember he has the power! Heck, he was still drunk last time you saw him. You could probably get it back in exchange for some real good alcohol.

Well back into town to go politely ask him for your title back.

...well. Getting those powers back is going to be a problem, then. Considering the new god of death likely isn't gonna want to give them up, has the mojo to push you guys around, and the fact that you technically might be obligated to take orders from 'em.

>>548268
makes me wonder who gave these fools these powers to begin with.

>>548252
No he remembers. He even introduced himself as the God of Death. Still, doesnt mean you cant be a wily bag of bones and trick him out of it like in so many creole folk tales... Should you win it, though, I really wouldn't entrust it to, well, about anyone you know. Even the most responsible homme in the isle will get corrupted by power, and from the looks a things you cant trust a loa to keep a hold of his own head.

Play a doomed game with him, a rigged gambit. Like a shell game, but maybe something he wouldn't be familiar. Or get the guy twice-dead drunk and tell him crazy stories.

I guess you're about to be the baron?

>>548318
no, no. I mean petition Beyonde to give you loa kids a supervisor, some new johnny on the spot.

>>548318
>>548321
>>548317

That's no good. These loa are, for whatever reason, meant to be this way. The best you can do is return thing back to the status quo.

Makes you wonder if the Baron started the plague or Thimbi did on accident. Seeing as no one is going to get fixed until the Baron gets his mojo back I don't think he will be to unreasonable.

And can always try the trickery if need be.

Might get your stuff back by asking nicely and promising to take him to all your parties.

Guys,
>>548322
>>548321
>>548318
>>548317

La Croix already is a baron, or soon will be. No not The baron, a baron.

In the Ghede alone there are at least 3. One has horses who wears tuxes and top hats and act all snooty. Ahm serious: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baron_Cimeti%C3%A8re

And lets get this straight: Loa are not gods. They might have been back in the motherland, but here in the western hemisphere they're more comparable to saints or angels.

>>548324
I guess we're going to have to ring up le schtroumpf noir Papa Ghede and get this straightened out. I think Brom allowed some creative license when it comes to Caribbean beliefs for his quest ...and as funny an image your post makes, the term 'horse' are refer the living people loa posses--which these variety apparently do not do. It seems they posses only dead bodies, likely their own.

>>548330
If we can get Samedi to ride Thimbi as a Loa that might be halfway a solution to this mess. I'm not sure what the other half of that solution would be though.

We need to get some good alcohol on the off chance that Thimbi can be won over that easily.

Mmkay, considering the recent conversation, I am in favor of using the situation (should we win the powers back) to negotiate s promotion with Sammi.

As for resolving this situation, start psycho analyzing Thimbi. Is he a purchasable, superstitions and cowardly kind, or is he the kind of person who would watch the world burn? Also, use the support of the people for your actions as clout with the drunk. This guy may be death personified for this time onward, but if he's stupid about it he's going to live despised and lonely, shunned by homme and loa for his unending existence. If the above plans don't work, let him know this.

>>548330
Oh, no, you can horse folks just fine (Horsing's possession of a mortal, and the use of their body. Great at parties/religious events, not that the Baron makes that distinction). But if there's no one offering a ride to hitch, there's always the opportunity to just show up with no skin on.
Your unhorsed body is made up of your personal vodou. For you, it's sufficient for a skeleton, more or less. Baron Samedi's got enough juice he can show up to the party all the way fleshed.

Your old actual body is lying in an unmarked mass grave, somewhere in Europe.

>>548356
"You could horse him, boss," you say.

"You kidding me?" the Baron says. "Samedi the bigshot death spirit riding shotgun with a drunken, toothless old coot?"
"Fancy that," you say.
"What's that, LaCroix?"
"Nothing. It's maybe our only chance."
"Well." Samedi readjusts his jacket. He turns to survey his waiting crowd of adherents, who are all trying not to laugh at him. "I guess. Horse him, fix the mess, take my powers back, peace out, something like that?"
"That's right, bossman."
"All right. Lead on, LaCroix." Samedi starts to walk down the ridge, then halts, one stilty leg in the air. "Wait. Normally when I'm convincing a mortal to let me inside them I just sort of put my sunglasses down and go, 'hey sexy I'm Baron Samedi', but I don't know if Thimbi down there'll fall for that one. How do we convince him?"

[a] "Got any booze?"
[b] "We'll just freak him out a little until he says okay."
[c] "We don't need to. I'll tie him down."
[d] "I'm sure if we just explain the situation he'll consent."
[e] "Just do the sunglasses thing. He'll be into it."
[f] __________

A bit of Booze and smooze and you should be set. He did not seem like a unreasonable sort.

Show up for a party get him the good stuff and then explain how you would love to bring all his friends back but you made him a honorary death god last night. So if he would kindly give you your hat back you can get it out of the way and we can get to partying.

>>548611
E is soooo tempting, but A seems like a good chance of working.

>>548611

[f] "Alright, well, I have an alternate plan but it involves angry geese. That or a buncha furious chickens, either or."

A little of A and E. We need to get some good alcohol to compensate Thimbi for his time though.

Yeah, A and a little E, maybe.

We don't know if Thimbi is into Samedi like that, I say A is our likeliest starter choice and we proceed from there as we learn or fail.

You think that maybe this zombie outbreak and somebody new getting the powers of the loa of death might be related somehow? Just sayin', might be best to go in knowing it's possible he knows what he's got and he don't feel like cooperating.

"No!"
Thimbi cackles and takes another slug of spiced rum.

"No? What do you mean, no?" The Baron paces angrily in front of him, in the narrow, dusty hospital hall. "Do you know who you're talking to, little man?"

"Sure and I does," says Thimbi. He points at Baron Samedi, lord of death. "Big old crow looking fella! Cackling crow! With a big hat!"
The Baron glares at him, and glares even harder at the cluster of ghede loa who have crowded into the hall behind him, and are desperately biting their tongues as one to keep from laughing.
"I could turn you into a poison pufferfish soon as breathe on you, bonebag," says Samedi.
"You could, boy." Thimbi takes another drink and passes the bottle to a quietly shocked, chalkfaced Patchy. He leans forward on the barricade and taps his nose. "If I hain't got all your mojo, that is."
"Give it back and I promise you'll be in no trouble," says the Baron. You cough. "And we'll reward you, even!" He hastily adds. "Rum, yeah? You like rum?"

"Rum, yeah!" Thimbi nods. "I like rum. Don't like big old crows in my head, though, idiote!"

He points directly at you. You look down at your bony chest as he pushes a finger against your sternum.
"Him I'll let in. Big skeleton man. Him's trustworthy."

>>550343
Yeah alright, then we can give it to Samedi. After a time.

Careful, this guy has tricked Samedi out of his mojo. It may be that Samedi was a moron, but it may also be that he's more of a witch than we realize and has a trick to gather all the Loa mojo.

Don't worry, bossman. I'll get your mojo back. (And we'll only hold it over your head and tease you a little before handing it back).

>>550378
>>550350
>>550344gun for a promotion, gun for a promotion!

So, what's the idea, here? I'm a little unsure of what's being discussed - is horsing necessary to transfer the powers back? Are both parties openly aware and in agreement that the goal is the return of the Baron's powers? Does Thimbi not want the Baron to horse him basically because he doesn't like him, or is there some particular set of things the Baron could do to Thimbi, horsed, that he couldn't just do after he regained his mojo?

The incense is lit, the drums start pounding (Ermas has to step in and martial the line a little because of how tipsy Jacques has gotten), and the circle is formed.
A clutch of tall, black corpses gather round Thimbi, who shuffles and claps delightedly with the best of them. The creaking in his bones is almost audible.

Thimbi drinks significantly more spiced rum than is strictly necessary, ignoring the Loa who tries to take it away. "That's the good spirit! Whazzat, aniseed?"
"Gunpowder," you say.
He burps, appreciatively. "I'm ready for ya, big man. Come on inside."
A ripple of laughter from the peanut gallery.
"Be gentle with him, LaCroix!" crows Samedi.
Diajua slaps your back. "You gonna call him back?"
"Hey, LaCroix! Come here often?"
"What, no foreplay, LaCroix?"

"Don't encourage them," you mutter to the cackling old man. You flick a match down its book and set it to a handful of dried herbs in your palm. "Three deep breaths."

Thimbi shuts his eyes and inhales heavily. Un. Deux. Troix.
On the third, he breathes you inside.

You travel into the lungs and out through the blood and all over Thimbi, head to toe.
You feel the years push down on your joints and you're almost glad you never got the chance to start breaking down.

But the power.

It's a strange feeling, the power of a Death God and the weary form of an old man.

It's intoxicating.

>Choose all that apply
[ ] Push the zombies back into the Earth.
[ ] Bring those killed back from the grave.
[ ] Bring back those in the village killed before their time.
[ ] Restore Thimbi to youth.
[ ] Bring yourself back to life.
[ ] Bring Diajua back to life.
[ ] Bring anyone back to life.
[ ] Kill someone.
[ ] Keep this power for yourself.
[ ] Give the power back, but keep a little for yourself on the side.
[ ] End Death.
[ ] End Life.

>>553327
[ ] Push the zombies back into the Earth.
[ ] Bring those killed back from the grave.
[ ] Give the power back, but keep a little for yourself on the side.

Let's do our duty, and not abuse this power. Thimbi didn't even use it, not once.

>Push the zombies back into the Earth.
And de-zombie them, of course. No good putting them in the earth if they're just going to crawl back out in an hour.

>Bring those killed back from the grave.
At least those killed as the result of the recent zombie incident. Obviously there should be constraints on how far back and over what geographical area the get out of grave free effect should apply.

>Give the power back, but keep a little for yourself on the side. not before dangling it over The Baron's head and teasing him with it

>>553377
this, but we should also
[ ] Restore Thimbi to youth.
he willingly gave up the god of deaths mojo, that deserves some kind of reward.

>>553401

Don't restore Thimbi's youth, just get him some good alcohol once in a while for the rest of his natural life.

>>553399
We went through all this trouble to be consistant with the natural order of life and death. Have to set an example to discourage any other amateur necromancers trying this kind of crap.

You stand, quavering, in this body of possibility.
The thrill of all this incredible shit you could do pumps through your jarringly alive veins.

"...LaCroix?"
Samedi waves a hand in your face. "You gonna do anything, or are you going to just shudder there till you piss yourself?"

You shake it out. You've got a job to do. "Right. Let's see."

You snap your fingers.

A massive nimbus of brilliant green pulsates out from between your fingertips and blasts the light out of every zombie in Capotille.

You snap your fingers.

Two score or more chewed, shredded, and murdered people are reknit and revived, stunning their weeping families into silent awe or riotous joy.

You snap your fingers.

Baron Samedi snaps his back at you, and a little green spark plays around his knucles. "That's the juice." His chalky skull grin pulls up another notch or two. "No wonder I felt so shitty this morning."
It felt good, while it lasted, if a little anticlimactic. You still feel the aftereffects of the power bouncing around inside you. It's left a quiet ache in its absence.
C'est la vie.

"Now wasn't that simple," you say.
"Sass the Baron before you give him back dominion over life and unlife, fou," says Samedi. "Not after."
You chuckle as you tuck away the sliver of power you've taken from him away into your soul. Not enough a man like the Baron would notice, but proper payment for services rendered.

"I suppose I have to talk to everyone now," says the Baron. He pulls a face. "I'll handle that shit, LaCroix. People like me."
"They like LaCroix," Diajua says as I pull myself out of Thimbi and back into my bones.
"And I like being the center of attention." Samedi tips his hat to Thimbi. "Thankee, old man."
"Thankee for being fool enough to leave yer powers with me, Crow-man," says Thimbi.
"I like him." Samedi turns on his heels. "So I'm going to ignore that. You coming, LaCroix?"

[a] Sure. Let's check in on everyone.
[b] No thanks, Baron. It's time for me and the boys to have an afterparty while you clean up the rest of the mess.
[c] No thanks, Baron. I believe I had plans to go somewhere with Diajua before all this happened. Coffee.

"I was thinking that I should take Diajua out on a nice date. Have I not done enough to help you today?"

C. ...and that better not be a lie, or we'll have to beat the damn head's skull in.

"You go on ahead, boss."
"Drinking with us, LaCroix?" Ermas snaps his trumpet case closed.
"I actually had plans already, frere. Sorry. Diajua?"

You heroically ignore the hooting catcalls and whistles as Diajua parts from the crowd and takes your hand with as much coquettish grace as a fiery war-skeleton can manage.
"Au revoir, boys," she says. "Have fun with the dead guys."
"Hey, stay," calls Jacques. "I gotta trick with embalming fluid you gotta see to believe."
"Jacques." You shake your fist. "You got no lip to bust, but don't think I can't knock a tooth or two out, fou."
"I've seen his embalming fluid trick," confides Ermas to Diajua. "If he ever finds a girl with no taste and no nose it'll boost him right into her drawers. We're sure."
"I regret missing it already." Diajua gives your bony wrist a tug. "Let's blow this popsicle stand, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy. I want to go somewhere we can have a little less crowd and a little more skin."
"Your wish and my command, ma rose."

"Times like this I wish I was ghede." Diajua leads you up the hill, back toward the graveyard.
"It's a boy's club," you say.
"I think you're all very cute in your tails and big hats, thank you very much. Why do you think I always pick you over some big Petro Loa with a six pack?"
"I have a six pack!"
"Sure, mon enfant. Sure."
You pull closer to her to squeeze by a tall, forbidding headstone. "I have a six pack."

"You have a gazillion pack, mon ami." Diajua hops onto a long, featureless slate sarcophagus, and it starts to pulse with the green vodou power of a gate back to the Other Side. A couple of raspy carrion crows lurch clumsily off a bare-twig tree and out into the sky, shrilling their complaints down at us.

She stretches out a hand to beckon you up to on top of the grave. "Dance with me, LaCroix."

[a] Dance a light, cheerful swing with her. Unwind.
[b] Show your class. Do a gliding waltz.
[c] Get close and romantic. Tango.
[d] "I'm feeling a little too corpse-bitten tonight." Pussy.
[e] __________

Dude, if you have a good swing band I say swing! The other options have comparatively tepid/tame music.

>>553554
Hmm...yeah, agreed. Unless, of course, you think she'd like something else better.

Also, merry Christmas, everybody!

Tango is sexy as fuck. Do that.

Remember the tango is a five step ala 1-2, 1-2-3 or T-A, N-G-O. Also remember to wait until you get to the other side to dance as it is pelvis grinding to music virtually the entire time. If you start here and dance thru the doorway your bones might get locked and you both will be joined at the hip... Literally. (I mean I've heard about cleaving to your woman and becoming one flesh, but this is ridiculous!)

You hop onto the grave and close your hand around hers, pulling her close. The light beneath your feet pulses again and glows brighter.

"Hold on," she says, and breaks away for a moment to fumble with the buttons on her uniform. She grimaces a little.
Diajua has the unique problem of liking her uniform quite tight when she's fighting and possessing one of the most impressive prows in the afterlife.
It's a good thing there's not a lot of fighting in the Primordial Bayou, she's told you, because the mechanics of firing a gun or swinging a sword get a lot different when you have additional flesh in the way.
And in her case, it's a fairly substantial addition.
She finishes loosening her shirt and you suppress a little laughter at her exposed ribcage.
"Shut up, idiote," she says. "Come here."
You step into her arms and run a hand along the rough fabric of the uniform at the small of your back. She squeezes your shoulder and moves closer.
Then the ground cracks and crumbles away around you and you tango into the grave.

Brom 2013/12/28(Sat)00:28 No. 553933 ID: df41f8
File 138821930252.png - (358.51KB , 800x600 , 13.png )

The two of you dip and sashay through Limbo, kicking out and pulling in.
The muscle slithers onto and between the bones beneath your fingers. You feel her breath on your neck again.

One-two, one-two-three.

Your hips break off at one moment as Diajua dips and twirls, and when she comes up again the skin is filtering in rivulets across you both, hers cocoa-butter brown and dusted with freckles, and yours smooth and shiny and deep-midnight black.

You reknit your fingers between hers and lift her off her feet for a spin. She half-yelps and half-laughs as her eyes trickle up into her skull and fix on yours. The irises bloom and fan out like two drops of ink in water. Your chests never part, but you can feel yours getting pushed a little bit away from hers as her body reforms.

"Where the hell are your lips?" she asks.
"Patience," you say. "They'll be along any second."
You dip her again, and when she comes up you boost her up into the air (she's heavier now) and kiss her.

The dance drops for a minute or two as you hold one another. Around you, Limbo thrums and resonates.
"Mon amour," she whispers.
"Ma moitié," you say.
"You could have fired Samedi, you know. You could have sprung yourself back to life."
"I could have." You rub her shoulderblade, pensively.
"You had it all, for a second there."
"I don't need it all, fou." You extend your foot again, as the air starts to solidify around you. "I need just enough."
She smiles, and at your cue the dance begins again.

Brom 2013/12/28(Sat)00:28 No. 553934 ID: df41f8
File 138821932578.png - (174.52KB , 800x600 , 14.png )

When you surface on the other side it's blessedly far from the well you hopped in earlier.
The raucous music of the bar drifts through the thin, sepulchral air.
It would be even more romantic if you weren't both up to your knees in bayou muck.

"Euch." Diajua pulls her boots up out of the mud and onto a nearby wooden walkway, wobbling a little as she adjusts to the new weight in front. She stomps a couple of times and gets a big blob of it right on your sleeve. She helps you onto the boards after her.
"Nice." You flick the slime off. "That's going to need a spell or two to come out."
"You won't be in those duds too much longer," says Diajua, pulling you back into the tango.

The boards make soft sucking music below your feet as you dance.
"But we aren't going anywhere," you say. "Just my place, no?"
"Your place." She twirls out. "No afterparty with the boys?"
"I don't think so." You pull her back in. "I'm in the mood for an evening in."
She pushes up against you. "Coffee?"
"Coffee," you say.


"LLLLLLLYING MOTHERFUCKER YOU'RE A LIAR YOU'RE PROBABLY NOT EVEN GOING TO DRINK COFFEE YOU PIECE OF SHIT LIARRRR"

loool!

wait whaaa ... :O
just like that !?!?

Ahahahahaha

Nicely done.