The Correa Coterie

After the chat with dear old dad, Zasha managed a precious few more moments of sleep back in her tent. It was the sort riddled through with dreams which fade with exasperating closeness. The words of her father buoyed things up slightly, as they always do. He never failed to help put her mind in the right order. Those dreams, however, those are best left forgotten for now.

Now she struts, stomach full of black tea and thick cut slices of dried venison on the most peculiarly bitter bread Zasha ever tried. Something about the air and the waters and the way the yeasts grew near Pannoa made the resulting loaves sour. That’s what one of the bakers said, at least. Whatever the cause, its results were unambiguously tasty.

Ahead, the voices of Vasco and Huey murmur around the trills of morning birdsong. The little camp set up at the request of the visitors painted a picture of the greater Pannoan settlement in miniature. A little cooking fire here, tents circles there. Zasha waves to the few children who toddle around with their unnatural gait. Unnerving as ever.

Vasco and Huey come into view now, standing around like two old men chatting the morning away. Zasha makes a show of stopping up short to spread one arm out towards the horizon, palm upwards.

“Good morning, Mr Vasco! Mr Huey! Dawn is here, and with it comes our hunt.”

She drops the arm, sending the wood and iron crossbow slung over her shoulder sliding downwards. With practiced ease, Zasha catches it with her right arm, guiding it towards the earth. Her foot secures the large metal loop at the front of the weapon, and her right arm draws the string back to the metal latch. What would take the strength of both arms, and a good deal of grunting and sweating, for the average Pannoan seems childs play for the strapping woman. Her snaggletooth grin is on full display now.

A little metallic snick sounds as Zasha thumbs a lever near the rounded guard covering the trigger of her massive crossbow. She cradles the instrument against her chest and strides the rest of the way forward towards her associates.

“I trust you both had whatever the appropriate amount of sleep is for Vampyrs. Can’t have clouded minds or sleepy arms today.”

Still cradling the crossbow, Zasha looks towards the sky again. Seems like a hot day brewing. The slight stickiness of humidity in the air makes her frown. The Old Country never got as hot as it did here...

Zasha slowly rolls the sleeves up on her jumpsuit, showing off the tattoos and runes underneath. In the early morning sun, they radiate with that sickly green-teal hue of her flames. Next comes down the collar, the center of her outerwear zipped down to just above her navel. The orange of her tight orange hued tunic cut up to a shadow of its former self. Satisfied with these adjustments, Zasha looks between Huey and Vasco.

“I like your cloak there, Mr Vasco. You’ll have to put me in touch with your tailor one of these days.”

A gesture to herself accompanies a mock sheepish smirk.

“I’m afraid my wardrobe usually revolves around things I don’t mind seeing burned, torn, or otherwise scuffed up.”

As she says this, various burn marks, hastily sewn patches, and tears reflect the accuracy of this statement. The article which betrays this general declaration are Zasha’s boots. Carefully treated and polished to a shine, the boots seem impervious to the dirt and grime of daily use. Thick platformed soles set Zasha’s already impressive height up another notch, and savage hobnails driven into the base leave gouges in the earth as she walks.

“Mr Huey, I couldn’t help but overhear mention of a fight between Mr Vasco and I, eh? Did I miss something fun?”

“Back in the Old Country, there was one particular night of fighting that I loved the most. See, the various gymnasiums and clubs and associations all had their top fighters. Who could say which was best? It got so bad for a few years that these chmapions would go at it in the streets. So everyone got together and decided. Every year there would be a free for all fight between the thirty or so top winners from the previous calendar of fights. Wrestlers, boxers, the more exotic types, all signed up for this fight. There’d be a big drawing at the beginning that gave you a number which told when you’d enter the ring with everyone else.”

Zasha leans against a nearby tree, her smile betraying a missing tooth which granted her a certain amount of earthy charm. She winks at Vasco.

“For seven years, Zasha ‘Arms of Stone and Fire’ Tolstov got to enter the ring second out of thirty. And for those years, she left the ring last. It didn’t matter how many of those lads and lasses conspired against me, I’d win. Some tried to throw me off guard by working with me to eliminate other fighters before trying to pull the mat out from under my feet. Others ignored everyone else to focus me down. I tell you this, Mr Vasco. None succeeded.”

With one hand, Zasha moves her clothing aside to show a tattoo under her ribs. Seven flames, each growing larger than the last, seem to flicker across her muscular core. Another hand shows that there is still room for more ink across her stomach and to the opposite side of her torso. She leaves the fabrics disheveled.

“Now! I took the opportunity to ask someone to give us a scouting out of those wildlands. I’m not really in the mood for marching around on a wild goose hunt, not when someone has the talents at hand to help us bypass that completely. Come, here is what she found.”

A brief scuffing of boots across the ground to expose a relatively even layer of dirt precedes Zasha squatting down low over her makeshift canvas. She flicks her wrist to send small droplets of fire falling into the loose diagram of the surrounding areas. In the lower left is the settlement. Scrubland gives way to forests and rolling hills. Near the far reaches of her diagram, Zasha strikes a burning X.

“Wolves here. Big old shaggy black things that ooze and shimmer in ways which suggest them being, well, not real wolves. Our teamwork will get us there, and that same teamwork will carry us to finding your mother. I have no aspirations of doing this all on my lonesome, Mr Vasco.”

Something about the tone Vasco deployed upon seeing her had Zasha feeling on the back foot. If he was planning something, maybe her little story would have him reconsider. The alternative was that this skinny boyo doubted her abilities. This smarted a bit, especially given his general... how to put it? Zasha cocked her head to the side and regarded Vasco again as he continued to wrestle with Huey. The kid really needed a lesson in torque if he seriously wanted to compete with the taller man. Zasha fakes a yawn to stifle a  rogue laugh. Showing off to Vasco at this point wasn’t worth it. Best to leave things be and show him exactly how much business she could handle.

As they came to the camp on the outskirts of the settlement, the group would find themselves surrounded by children. One by one, then five by five, until the entire coterie was upon them. They gathered around Maribel, vying for her attention. Each was of different age, from unique places, had varying quirks, but every single child had the exact same look in their eye; glazed over, grey, glassy, deadness. And yet, their actions, their hunger for the matriarch's attention, suggested otherwise.

Here, they witnessed something different from the domineering woman. She knelt, as she did with Huey, and allowed herself to be smothered by them. Soon, she erupted into laughter as she showered them in kisses and embraced them all in turn. The children jeered and chattered and giggled as they climbed all over her. This went on for no more than five minutes, for once Maribel clapped her hands, the children swiftly and silently slid away from her and lined up in front of the tents, becoming marble statues in the blink of an eye.

Satisfied with the result, the vampiress let Huey down, then mumbled to him a few words. With a bow, he, too, skittered off and vanished inside of the largest tent. Maribel gestured to her guests and announced to the children "As you were. Please treat our company nicely, as they are my guests. Tea and a snack, if you will." And then, she was off, walking into the largest tent.

It was a little bare, but there were some furs and quilts about. A small fire was set in the middle, where a pot of hot water was put to boil while Huey ran around to find a mixture of seeds and leaves to combine to make tea. He worked deftly, like an old butler who'd been doing this for years.

Maribel gestured to a short table with a quilt beneath it, where she knelt with one leg beneath her, the other propped up with an arm balanced on her knee. She was open, relaxed, but not sloppy. Her back was straight, chin up.

"Now, tell me: how did you all come here and where are we?"

Vasco opened his mouth to speak up. With a look, Maribel silenced him, waiting for the girls to reply.

Csilla clung to Vasco's arm the whole way to the encampment from the moment it had been offered. It strengthened the sense of safety she had that allowed her to remain far more calm than she should be. Not that the Matriarch herself hadn't been polite thus far, but rather there was a natural sense of apprehension and dread. Was it her own? She wasn't sure, but the anxiety didn't compare to how whole she felt walking by her angel's side. Knowing they were oth safe and together meant they could face it all together no matter what.

In Maribel's tent, the seamstress didn't sit down quite yet. She hadn't been told to by either Vasco nor Lady Maribel. That didn't prevent her from answering the question from her end though.
"I am Pannoan. I arrived along with the rest of the people in the camp; great ships. Most the the ships have been taken apart and used for construction of homes. As for where are we..." She looked over to Heavys. "I'm afraid I don't know much about where we are. since we've made landfall I wasn't able to take much of a look around beyond my tent, the camp, and the beach. I've also been kept out of most discussions concerning our people or the camp. I wish I had more to offer, I'm sorry."

She eyed the small child in the red dress. She seemed shorter than Huey though they were about the same age. They seemed pretty innocuous since they were just combing Maribel's hair.

When Theophania showed up to comb her hair, Maribel reached up behind her to pat her little arm, all the while keeping her piercing gaze on both women. To Vasco's relief, she did blink, and while such a thing seemed trivial to some, being stared down unwaveringly became rather unnerving after several long moments.

Maribel tapped her ling nails atop her knee. Hm. So it seemed everyone came here through the great waters surrounding them. The pieces were coming together, but there were still so many questions; ones that these two would not be able to answer.

Ah, and there it was. The rude village peasant was asking questions of her own. Realizing that she, herself, did not have the answer, Maribel switched her gaze to her son. Vasco's expression hardened.

"The castle flooded. Everyone that could make it gathered onto The Desmodus. Twenty-odd thralls in all."

The matriarch's eyes widened, just barely. Vasco hesitated before continuing. "We sailed for a long time. Long enough that we all nearly starved to death."

Another pause, this time with the two vampires staring at one another intently. The tension built until it was palpable until it grabbed their hearts with cold fingers and fluttered it into a panicked beat for them. Suddenly, Vasco's demeanor changed. His shoulders relaxed and a charming grin slid across his face. "And we just might have, if it weren't for your sacrifice, mother. As always, we have you to thank."

The smallest of smiles was reciprocated by the matriarch. She nodded, giving him her approval. Giving her attention back to both women she gestured outwardly, fingers splayed. "There you have it. It seems the journey wasn't easy for anyone. Poor souls, the lot of us, mm?"

She noted that Csilla was still standing, as did Vasco. Anxiously, he grabbed her hand to ease her down.

The kettle whistled.

"The mist seems dangerous. Is this the first time it has rolled through?" Maribel asked. "And what do you do? The both of you. What are your trades?"

On Vasco's silent insistence, Csilla lowered down to sit at the low table.

"The mist rolls through often enough, but never to this degree nor this effect. It was quite chaotic until it was moreso quiet than chaotic. It was a first." Csilla answered as factually as she could though she didn't exactly have much of a picture herself.

"I am a seamstress." She paused before finally addressing an elephant in the room. "You're wearing the dear Reverend's robes. You should think about changing it as its not appropriate to my people." She lowered her eyes to the table. "Mind you, the Reverend would willingly given the clothes on his back as long as it helped. I assume he hasn't been found?"
There was sadness that flashed through Csilla's eyes. She looked over to Vasco as the sight of him numbed the emptiness that threatened to take root in her chest.

"What of his daughter? Certainly the mist could not have taken both."