Because I couldn't resist it, and because I just finished this particular story (the origin story, so to speak, of a character I might do some work with), here you go. One day I'll start making posts on a regular basis again, but that might take some time.
Anyway, here it is: It's untitled, on account of my not being able to come up with a title for it just yet. Maybe someday.
Untitled When Nora was nine years old, she went to her mother and explained that her mother's boyfriend had entered her room and attempted to do gross things to her. She was thrown out of home in retaliation for seducing him. The only things she had to her name at the time were twenty dollars (filched from her mother's purse) and her teddy bear. Now, this was back when twenty dollars could actually get you somewhere, and get her somewhere it did; down to New Orleans, which was as far from home as she could think of.
The streets of New Orleans are not kind now, nor were they kind when young Nora arrived. She learned very quickly (and very painfully) that it was best to stay hidden from those bigger and stronger than she. The second rule she learned was that while it was all very well and good to steal from people with houses—places of warmth and food and all sorts of wonderful things which she'd have to learn to do without—one never stole from a fellow wanderer. There were other rules, and soon living became like a game to her, or as much of a game as a daily struggle for survival could be made, and sometimes she won and sometimes she did not win as well as she'd hoped.
Three years passed, and a twelve year old Nora found herself shivering in a storm drain one night, hoping once more that she'd given her newest pursuers the slip. The game had changed, it seemed, because these men were only too willing to steal from their fellow homeless, and some men were out to steal other things from Nora (and some had succeeded, nights spent vomiting in disgust into a storm drain testified to this). The world had changed, and Nora found herself forced to change with it. She'd considered trying to make money off of what people seemed to want from her, but others had warned her away from trying this. That would only see her in prison, or worse. A rat paused in its mad dash down the tunnel, regarded her with beady eyes, and then continued on its way. Nora shivered and hugged her legs to her body, hoping to stay warm despite the damp.
She'd fallen asleep when the rain started. By the time the water got out of control, it was already too late for her to react. Nora was swept down the sewers and unceremoniously deposited in the river, which is where Mama Brigitte found her.
Surprisingly, the young girl wasn't dead. Mama Brigitte patted Nora's back and worked her legs like a pump until a stream of vile water issued from Nora's mouth back into the river. Then she slept, for a long time.
Nora awoke in a small cot next to a wood fire. Mama Brigitte sat in the corner, smoking a cigarette that smelled faintly of incense. She was dressed as if she'd stepped out of the 1920s, a flapper's hat perched jauntily on her head, and dark brown eyes looked intently at the small girl she'd rescued.
“D'you know who I am, child?”
Nora shook her head, and tried to find her voice. “N..no ma'am. I don't. I'm sorry.”
The woman laughed. It was a full throated rumble that sounded distinctly unladylike. “Ha! That's no surprise to me anymore. You're not from around here, are you?”
An offended look crossed Nora's face. “I've been here for over three years! I think.”
This only caused Mama Brigitte to laugh louder. “Three years? Shit child, no wonder you don't know who I am. You just rolled into town yesterday, far as I'm concerned. You don't learn 'bout me until you've been here longer. If you'd been here from the beginnin' you'd know who I was.”
“So who are you, then?” Nora asked, a little challengingly. She knew that she owed this woman something, that was certain—but she was surprisingly impatient when it came to conversation. For Nora, time spent conversing was time that could be spent rummaging for food, or finding a good place to sleep. Conversation was for people with homes and food.
“You ask a difficult question, you know that?” Mama Brigitte settled back and stared at Nora until she began to squirm uncomfortably. “Very well, I'll tell you who I am. Once you know, well, we'll get to that when the time comes.”
“I am one who has lived and died and does not care for dying anymore. I am the guide, the wife of the Baron, the spirit who drinks hot peppers and dances like tomorrow has already come and gone again. I watch the graves of the dead provided they know how to mark them properly, and if they don't then I don't care who comes along to piss on 'em. I am the black rooster and I am Saint Brigid to the pope and the Mama Brigitte to everyone who knows me better than the pope does, and I am a humble old woman who's seen better days but manages to pull little girls out of the river if the mood takes me—and lucky you, the mood took me. Now, if you'll excuse me Miss Nora, I've got work needs doin', and seeing as how I'm sure you're grateful and all for my rescue, I figure you'll come along and help, won't you?”
“How do you know my name?” Nora asked.
“All I just told you, and that's the only thing you ask about?” Mama Brigitte shook her head ruefully. “I must be losing my theatric flair for these things. Then again, you're young. Gods walkin' around and you say to yourself 'of course they're walkin' around. What else would gods do?' Then again, I ain't a god. Just the messenger.”
“I don't carry identification. How do you know my name?” Nora asked again.
“You got a one track mind, don't you?” Mama Brigitte sighed. “Magic, more or less. That's your answer.”
This was good enough of an explanation for Nora, and lead naturally to the next question. “Can you teach me?”
“Teach you what? Magic? History? How to read?”
Nora shrugged. “Yes?”
Mama Brigitte's grin was as wide as the world. “Good answer.” She reached out a hand, and Nora took it, feeling braver than she had in a long time. “Now come on, child. We got work needs doing.”
It would be ten years until the world saw Nora again.
