Talulah Jezebel: meditate

"Sword". She says out loud and lies the sword down on the concrete floor. "Toledo steel" . She sits down besides it, staring out into the half-lit room. Without looking she withdraws it from the scabbard and nimble, tiny fingers touches the cold metal of the blade. Her fingertips comes to rest there. "Sword" she repeats, "Toledo steel".
Unseeing eyes stares ahead, looking at something that isn't there. Her free hand streches out, seem to capture something from the air. "Chess piece....queen". She meditates on this. "still a pawn"
She plucks something else from the air, her right hand still resting om the sword. "Ring" another pause. "King......but only metal". Again the change. "Dice....chance." This one she seems to ponder for quite some time before shaking her head and dismissing it into thin air. "No such thing."
She leans her head to the side now and gets one more immatrial object.

"The Cross" She holds her empty hand up to the weak light, like she really saw something in it that she wanted some light on. She then moves it towards her chest where her own cross is nesting. She rest like this for a few seconds, left hand hiding the necklace. Then a wave, a cramp moves through her body, and her right hand is almost snatched away from the sword. She again lifts her hand away from her necklace and seem to stare with sadness and disgust at whatever invisible thing she's holding.

"This isn't his cross."
"This is yours."

But whoever she's speaking too isn't there.

Talulah Jezebel: Mr. J.

There is a Baptist church i New Orleans and there are many doors within this church.
There was a knock upon a door in New Orleans.
There was a knock upon a door in New Orleans and it was answered.
"Jeremiah." The black man who opened the door for his visitor stated, like it really wasn't a surprise.
"Do come in. Have a seat" 
"Thank you, Father Hosaia." The younger looking man nodded to the priest, into whose office he now entered with swagging confidence. The black man, who boar some resemblance to Malcolm X for those who knew of the reference, held the door open for a second more and then closed it gently behind his guest. He crossed the floor, which was covered in outdated green carpeting, probably from the 1960:s, and got into the chair behind his desk. The office was quite well lit. He did not offer his guest a drink as Jeremiah sat down across from him. They sat in silence toghether for a while, Father Hosaias index fingers pressed toghether, building a pyramid with his hands.

"Father Hosaia" The young man started the conversation. "I understand that you have heard from Talulah"? Hosaia adjusted his heavy 1950:esque glasses upon his nose and sighed although he did not need to. "Yes." His face was blank and unreadable. "And as I understand this should be good news as her whereabouts were up for some debate? And that we even lacked confirmation on wheter she was alive or not?? The young man continued. Father Hosaia put one of his hands on the table and calmly drew a cirkle with his index finger, following it with his gaze. Like he was waiting for the other man to say something more. But the visitor did not.
"I recieved....a letter....yes."

The visitor lit up, all smiles now. "Ah, and she is well, I trust!?" He threw his hands up in some kind of mimic of a relieved gesture. The Father gave him a blank stare, with heavy eyes. "No...she is not. The letter was not from her." Now it was the visitor who went blank, but there was some surprise to his features. Then he put his hands together, mimicking empathy and compassion. "I'm truly sorry tah hear. Does this mean we have to take....precautions?" This provoked a deep, almost subsonic growl from the black mans position, but nothing changed in his features. "She is not.....It isn't...she's not into that kind of trouble." He opened one of the wooden drawers in his impressive desk and picked up a letter that had been hidden within. "The letter is from a Nosferatu Elder named Skuld." He put it very gently upon the desk between them, like he was daring the other man to pick it up. "She writes to let me know that my childe is currently in her employment in Gothenburg." He got up from his chair, but stayed behind the desk, leaning slightly over it. He was an impressive sight, for a clergyman. And beneath his priestly collar the scar of his hanging could now be seen.
"Which is in Europe. Which makes her an European elder.....now please tell me, Mr Jeremiah, what kind of precausions you wish to make with my childe?"

They stared at eachother in silence. Father Hosaia needed not draw his claws. Mr Jeremiah did not need to show any of the plethora of powers that were at his disposal. And in the end Mr Jeremiah got up, not to quickly and not to slowly. He opened the door himself. But as he was about to walk out the door, he stopped. Without turning he spoke once more "One of these nights Hosaia...There are lot's of gangrels in Europe too...and I don't think I need to cross the ocean just for her. She is not that special.? He paused. "And she will not save the world."

Talulah Jezebel: 6:e april

She had been to the Tabernacle on Storgatan just prior to coming to the Elysium on Kungsgatan. There had been a musical portraying the last hours of the life of Jesus. It had been invigoration. The happiness and the warmth of those people. They even had headphones that gave her a translation to english of what they were saying, and singing. Not that she really needed one. She was so in tune with everything that happened on stage.
Some of the other homeless men that she used to meet at the soupkitchen that the Tabernacle used to give four times a week had also come. Most only because the weather had taken a turn to the worse, becoming colder again. Afterwards there was coffee for the rest of them. She herself walked up Raoul Wallenbergs street, across the bridge and over the canal to Elysium. She liked using her feet. They had served her well in her years, before her eyes were opened up.

A lonely figure moves across the canal, past the University building for Pedagogy. She is dressed in black cotton and linen and black leather and she wear a cross across her chest. And she carries her heart on her sleeve.

 

Talulah Jezebel: Angels fall first

I en rabatt i en villaträdgård sitter Talulah, några bleknande blåmärken rikare och filosoferar. Hon har förtröstan, hon har förtroende och där under marken kan hon fortfarande höra honom ännu en liten stund även efter det att dörren stängts och låsts. Hon måste ge sig av, hon har andra plikter, men något håller henne kvar tills alla ljud dör ut.

Hon mumlar för sig själv.
"All who use swords are destroyed by swords.
Don't you realize that I am able right now to call to my Father, and twelve companies, more, if I want them, of fighting angels would be here, battle-ready?
But if I did that, how would the Scriptures come true that say this is the way it has to be?" 


That this is the way it has to be.... 

Hon ställer sig upp, knäcker till med nacken och borstar av sig det värsta av rabattjorden. Händer vilar än en gång framför bröstkorgen när hon sakta avlägsnar sig från huset, och det är inte förrens hon är en bit därifrån som hon vänder sig om och tittar på det. Hon undslipper sig en suck, och hennes ögonbryn rynkas bekymrat. Men hon återvänder inte.

Talulah Jezebel: Angels Fall First

She awoke
she had to be awake.
The two pains were confusing....his wounds and her own still melting into one feeling. Talulah sat up in the bath-tub where she´d chosen to rest for the day. Not only was the once warm bath-water now icy cold, but as always her lifeblood had seeped away from her, turning the water ar sickly pink. Her lifeblood...or his?
She half-expected the angel already, but there was no such precense in the darkened room. Slowly her wounds closed themselves to their maximum extent, leaving her famished. Hungry. Hungry once more. You could run....yes....one could run, or flee...but what had God asked her? He only asked of her that she go....where angels fear to thread.

It was up to him if he dared follow.

Talulah Jezebel: Angels fall first

1. She didn't know if the others we're watching her, and she didn't really care. She didn't know if he would be able to hear her, or find it in his heart to try to understand her. But it was important to God that she at least tried. And in the dark and crowded room which smelled overwhelmingly of blood and hate she crouched in front of him where he sat chained to the broken down sofa.

I'm sorry angel...so sorry. 

His face was a mess now. Some of the others had really shown a mean streak in their cruelty. They took turns now that their elders were away. Responsibility thrown aside. They see him as the enemy - the thought appeared to her. Just the way that Mister Jansson treated that sabbat they asked her to interrogate. But in many ways this was worse.
And then, the shrilling vision played out in front of her. His soul twisted, darkened...and broke...as the mind of another touched his and violated it's most basic nature.

I think it might be time to stop now....please? 

Afterwards she sat beside him. But there was nothing she could do. She ran her fingers through his bloodmatted hair as he lay still. Nothing else she could do. She couldn't even think of a fitting psalm.

2. The darkened corridor outside the strange room at the elysium. They were both crouched down on the floor, herself and the Captain. That thousand mile stare of hers. Something tired in the way she, the captain held herself.

You and me are both soldiers, Jez.
It's not for us to ask why.

Talulah Jezebel: there will be blood

Forrest
Chaos

"I have a phone, we could caall Alice"
"Jag ringer, du kan ju inte prata"
Tystnad.
"She's on four"
"Öh...hallå? Alice?"

Chaos
Forrest.
The pain was excruciating even though her enemy didn't hit anything vital. She'd taken worse but most of those times she had been face to face with her enemy, not jumped from behind and pinned to the ground. And it wasn't his claws pinning her to the wet ground that hurt the most, it was the fact that she was kept as an captive, an hostage against her clan. Just because she had been the slowest one, the one who set the pace for the rest of them. The one he had been toying with.
They snarled threaths to eachother in swedish and when they turned to talking instead she felt the pain subside and let loose it's grip. Slowly she worked herself over on her back, still lying down, only to find herself in the midst of a blaze of auras aflame....
The thud of the weapon, the uttered words of disrespect and she could see Taylors beast lunge before him. So she went for the enemy.

They all did.

And in the following darkness she could feel nothing more than impending doom and regret ...as his blood was on her hands.