5415/In The Bush With Ghosts

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In The Bush With Ghosts
Date of Scene: 22 September 2018
Location: Jubaland, Somalia
Synopsis: At a remote encampment in the backcountry of Southern Somalia, two immortal monsters forge a pact in blood, marking day one of a new empire which threatens to drown the continent in chaos.

A FLASHPOINT KENYA scene

Trigger warnings: gore, masculine posturing, old-timey comic book language

Cast of Characters: Derek Khanata, Black Queen
Tinyplot: FLASHPOINT KENYA


Derek Khanata has posed:
A remote stretch of the Somali backcountry, where the desert meets a tropical forest. A crumbling, pock-marked section of gravel road is disintegrating to dust. A stream of 'technicals', modified Toyota pickups, is en route to a complex set back into the forest and partially obscured by the foliage. Young men in shabby uniforms, most no older than 16 or 17, armed to the teeth with Kalashnikovs, RPGs, and a few higher-tech weapons, whisper amongst themselves in muted tones as they scan the horizon. Squatting in the back of the middle vehicle of the convoy of five is Crule, bedecked in only a pair of fatigue pants held up by a rough rope belt. As a grisly adornment, several fresh human heads have been affixed to the belt, rough patches of bloodied hair fastening the grisly trophies. Flies swarm about the warlord, which he swats absently with a darkly-stained machete. He stares into the middle distance, mouth downcast, clearing brooding, an unlabeled, murky bottle in his lap.

Black Queen has posed:
Somewhere along the road, the lead truck starts to slow because... there's a person in the way. A woman sitting on a chair. She wears a knitted outfit of white, that covers little of her torso, even after considering the dangling threads that make it have a 'tribal' throwback look to it. And then the skirt is also knitted and rather short, revealing long tanned legs. And she walks with simply bare feet. A woman alone in the middle of the jungle, or the desert, where there are soldiers and such... well, it would be dangerous. Except, all of the men around her are or have been doing things for her, having brought a chair out for her to sit down, some water and even attempting to block the sun with whatever they can find. A few men are standing up on small step stairs and holding a tarp to block the sun as a makeshift umbrella. Trained and untrained alike, regardless of age, how long they've been standing there it is hard to tell, but one of them seems ready to pass out from heat exhaustion but doesn't move. And there she's been waiting, sipping water, and relaxing really, legs crossed, and clearly waiting for something, or someone to come along.

Derek Khanata has posed:
As the lead vehicle slows in response to this unexpected sight, the men gesture and babble among themselves in bewilderment and consternation. These children, uncertain, instinctively raise their rifles in a gesture of self-protection as the second and third vehicle pull up parallel to the first.

Crule, hunched in the back of his technical, sniffs at the air, grunting, his expression unreadable. As the truck screeches to a stop, he stands unhurriedly, having yet turned to face the impossible woman who who blocks their path.

"Witch-Queen."

Black Queen has posed:
Guns. They are so new and yet the same as any other weapon. Useless. Selene remains calm. She's not the fastest woman alive, nor a woman made of steel, nor does she carry with her much visual recognition like those young mutants with the X on their chests. Instead she sits, and waits, and as the vehicles all come to a stop she just smiles, still waiting.

The psychic weight of Selene is pretty robust, carrying with it a wave of stopping power for the youthful minds that will never grow old. Not at least in comparison to the actual people present. As one of the men who is holding up a tarp falls, crumpling under exhaustion, one of the men from the truck starts to move forward, walking and dropping his gun. It takes a while at human pace but he's clearly moving toward the tarp location to replace the one who fell.

The first words out of Selene's mouth, though she probably doesn't even need to speak to get the task accomplished, "Someone, please, be a dear and get our guest a chair." With that, someone who was too far away to hear, comes running out of one of the doors, carrying over their head another chair. And panting, arrives to set it down in front of Selene and then goes running off again to get out of the way. That soldier from the front truck will eventually make it to the spot where the unconscious soldier lies crumpled on the ground, and take his position holding the tarp so as to prevent it's flapping in the wind.

Derek Khanata has posed:
Those soldiers yet ensorcelled grow increasingly alarmed, agitation evident in both the disquieted pitch of their quelling voices and the uneasy shuffle of their feet as they excitedly confer amongst themselves, goading each other into action. They raise their rifles tentatively, sensing dimly in that alabaster figure a nameless Stygian dread. It appears that the moment will erupt into violence, until--

Crule roars in laughter, a full-bellied cackle, exclaiming, "By Crom!"

The beast casaully tosses the machete into the bush and snatches the cradled bottle at his feet before leaping from the side of the makeshift fighting vehicle with an audible thump, "How long has it been since--Nova Roma?"

The fiend's smile is nearly as grisly as his snarl, but Crule seems genuinely cheerful as he approaches--if not entirely steady on his feet. Weaving a bit, bottle upraised, his words slur as he barks orders to his 'soldiers', who reluctantly lower their guns in response.

"The years have treated you well, I see, Mother of Demons."

Black Queen has posed:
As the guns rise up and start to point at her, Selene smiles her eyes minimally widened by the excitement that might soon erupt. The violence, the death, to the point where she even brings up her index finger to her mouth and lightly bites it, waiting for the bullets to start to fly. Oh, but what would bullets do to a woman like her? Unlike many of the other immortals she has met, Selene isn't particularly durable. She's been burned alive, trapped, tortured, killed more times than she can count. Death and her are no stranger, bloody messes that mix her own and others, no stranger of, and of course she's only gained more tricks and power over time.

Then the barking of orders come, and a call to the dead god Crom. A pout, an absolute frown of a pout comes to her lips. And the excitement dies down in her eyes, and she leans back more casually. There's a seat nearby for Crule should he wish to sit, Selene doesn't otherwise move. "To count the years is like counting rain drops." She states, and her voice is that of conversational tone and loudness, but it reaches Crule's ears easily all the same. And in response to his comment about the years treating her well, she smiles and tilts her head just a little in a bit of a nod, "Why of course they have, it is tough being beautiful, smart, capable, powerful, and all in the same body for so long. And still, I manage. Though you... you would be surprised to find out how I knew you were still around. Would you like to hear how I came of this knowledge?"

Derek Khanata has posed:
The beast tosses back the bottle, a nauseating aroma of cheap rotgut filling the already-stifling air as he wipes his mouth, his wine-dark skin stained crimson from a spatter of blood on the back of his hand, "I imagine that you heard my name as any other does, witch..."

Crule wobbles uncertainly, shifting back and forth on his feet before collapsing heavily in his chair, grinning salaciously at his companion, "Whispered fearfully by children huddled around their hearths, the death that cruelly awaits them in the bush."

He laughs again, but there is a strained note in his gaiety; his mood shifting suddenly, he petulantly thrusts the bloodstained bottle at his companion, "Drink, sister! Save your machinations for a moment yet; let us simply enjoy this time together before we must inevitably attend to the family business. How fare thee? Do thy demon lovers yet sate your lust?"

Black Queen has posed:
The drink and it's aroma come wafting in Selene's direction. She wrinkles her nose at it and pulls back a bit. And then she smiles at your comment, "Oh, yes. For it is my favorite past time, to sit around in dark corners listening to the whispers of children." A soft laugh escapes her lips and she shakes her head just a bit. "When I am around children, they do not speak... even in whispers. At least not for very long." It's a bit of an ominous statement though she says it with ease, and then takes the bottle that is offered.

"You have the worst tastes..." Selene mentions and takes a small swig of it and bites it back a bit, not from the alcohol content but just from the flavor, and winces practically from the swig but then hands it back to Crule. There's etiquette to follow, and no concerns between the two for things like poison and such. And she offers, "I am doing rather well. I have quite a few thralls, developing circles of influence, the same old thing. A few pet projects here and there. And demonic lovers are as they have always been, equally able at satiating as they are at re-igniting desires." With that summary she lifts her hands, and sort of indicates the complex behind her, "And what of this then? Such a place, and with... peasants running it?"

Derek Khanata has posed:
"Good, sister! It heartens me to hear that you have lost none of your vigor; may the blood of your foes choke the gutters until they crust over!"

As Crule retakes the bottle, his face contorts into a sentiment that appears almost sweet. He gently reaches out to brush an errant fly from the witch's ivory cheek, the caress staining her ageless beauty with a fleck of scarlet.

He stands, restless and clumsy in his drunkenness, "So unlike the rest of our elder breed, swaddled in regrets, prisoners to their own ease!" He spits in disgust, his mood mercurial as he sways gently in place.

It is a long moment before he responds again, gesturing towards the tangerine sun descending towards the sea, "This place . . . It is perhaps the last remaining region where free men yet live. There are none of the trappings of the modern world here, that poison called civilization that saps men of their virility and speaks a thousand 'thou shalt nots'. Here, the jungle still sings."

Black Queen has posed:
Not flinching at the motion, Selene just waits until Crule has turned his back before she reaches up and wipes the fleck of scarlet from her cheek. A small flash of heat and it burns to ash from her finger tip. And then she leans back and waits, listening to Crule talk about the place, and romanticizing the lack of civilization. "It is true, the people in the city are a prudish lot." She comments easily, "I could almost be arrested for the attire I wear right now. Let alone if I put on the mere trappings that were common place in my youth. A man can walk about society, and dress like a savage of ages past, with not an inkling of cloth on his torso and barely much more about his waist. Though a woman? Never shall do the same."

She chuckles a bit, shaking her head, "And they believe almost as if nudity was a modern invention. They have these specialized beaches, where people are free to roam about without any threads of cloth, and yet, they have signs... it is most hilarious, to not have sex. Why then promote walking about naked? It seems counterproductive if you ask me."

And then she stands up, much smaller than the brutish immortal she's with, and she waves a hand in the direction of the complex. "This place is under threat. And it is you who have threatened it. A thousand times over your face has been shown to billions of people. Why just this morning my breakfast had seen your imagery, and that is how I came to know that you had not buried yourself in refuge from this world. They will not allow you to keep it. Powers that seek to take the savagery from man and squelch it beneath the prudishness of morality. And do not underestimate them, for they are more powerful than the generations that have come before them."

Derek Khanata has posed:
The fiend snarls, his single long, bronze braid whipping about him as he turns towards his diminutive companion, "Betrayed? By whom?"

Suddenly alert, the giant growls and paces like a caged animal, his fists unconsciously contracting, "The spy-eyes of these too-clever apes are everywhere, even here, damn them! I had assurances..."

Crule throws his head back and lets out a primal roar of frustration, beating his chest with his fist, the contents of the bottle sloshing down his torso. He shouts to the heavens, "Let them come! I shall lay with their women on a festering bed of their corpses, and they shall shudder with revulsion and pleasure from delights undream't in this befouled aeon!"

As suddenly as the fury fills the beast, it floods from him. He rips one of the heads from his belt, the scalp separating easily from the moldering skull, leaving the knot of hair and skin to flap in the sea breeze. He contemplates the death mask moodily, speaking mostly to himself, "These sons of Haasen are a poor lot, anyways, with none of the spirit of their fathers. A finer company of halberdiers I have never known--to my expense, at the time, those many years ago. I had hoped that their art had not been lost, but alas."

He tosses the remains behind him dismissively, the overripe flesh splitting as it lands in the gravel. "Perhaps these pencil-pushers will provide greater sport. I grow bored of easy victories."

Black Queen has posed:
There's a little bit of a laugh, and Selene is not taken aback by the response at all coming from Crule. Her smile grows, "Betrayed?" There's a bit of a shake of her head, "They have eyes so far into the sky they leave the weight of this earth, and they fly above. Every person seemingly has a technological eye that takes pictures, films, it could be anyone... anywhere." Offers Selene as she looks around the complex some more.

"Finding this place was easy. I merely scanned for you through the eyes of others, the weak willed lot that you have acquired simply are of minimal worth. A distraction that can be sent against others, utilize themselves to fight each other. Dwindle their numbers..."

That's when you rip the head off your belt, and then throw it and have it kind of cave in and split apart when it hits the ground. "Understand that they have new weapons, powerful weapons. Magicks capable of sealing us away if even they do not destroy us." There's a bit of a shake of her head, "You will see a challenge, I am sure, but one that you must prepare for instead of just attack face on. You will lose your face, though, to be honest, that may be an improvement... we should not test it."

Instead, she thinks, "There is an option of taking your... warriors, if you can call them that, and improving them. Though they would no longer be just... people any longer."

Derek Khanata has posed:
Fire flashes in Crule's eyes, a manic energy fueling him as he prowls towards his deathless compatriot. He looms above her, engulfing the witch-queen in his colossal shadow. "Yes! Join me, sister! It has been too long since we fought side-by-side. Let them quiver at the primevael darkness once more, as their ancestors did!"

There is an urgency in his voice as the beast kneels to meet Selene eye-to-eye, both feverish and pleading, "I shall build you a throne of skulls where you will sit at my right hand, the hot blood of our foes sticky on our naked skins. Think of it, sister! With your magicks and my military skill, we can carve out an empire here. Should the forces of civilization come for us, we will make them earn their pound of flesh! If we die, we die; it means little to ones such as us, and their empires will crumble as all others have. When we are reborn, perhaps the wheel will have turned again in our favor."

He smiles enigmatically, "I have resources of my own that even you perhaps are not aware of, witch-queen. We would be unstoppable."

Black Queen has posed:
As Selene stands there and looks over at Crule, she thinks for a bit. Then looks over the landscape, "I have resources and people that are working to fix this world." And she hrms, "Though, I have never been much for playing by the rules..." With that Selene looks at Crule, and offers, "You would build me a throne of skulls? To sit at your side? As if we were equals..."

There's a bit of a thought there and Selene stares at Crule, and she smiles a bit, "If I should be Queen of a new land, then you can be the General of a force that will rival whatever is sent your way. Though, at your side?" She questions again, shaking her head, "No. You shall be at my side. And if you wish to be there then you may." Such an arrogant, woman, and she tilts her head to the side a bit, in questioning thought. "Do you agree? You shall lead the front, and be the head in the field, but when it comes to design of this place, to ruling over people. What experience do you have with this? Except by a fist... such a job requires... a woman's touch. Do we have a deal? And, the skulls... please, have them bloody... Feels good against my flesh." Of course, she waits for the answer, but Selene has always and will always assume that she will win. That it is her way, every time.

Derek Khanata has posed:
Crule snarls, his face contorted in fury, shoulders heaving as Selene lays out her audacious proposal. He glares for several moments before bursting into a peal of raucous laughter, causing a screeching commotion amongst unseen wildlife lurking nearby, so loud does he boom.

"What gall, witch-queen! You presume to wrest my throne from beneath me before the mortar is set? Truly, sister, there has never been another like you--our family is blessed to count you among our ranks."

He raises to his full height, gesturing dismissively as he turns away, "You wish to manage the ledgers and listen to the mewlings of petitioners? Be my guest; I have little patience for such things, or the secret cabals that are your stock and trade. I will happily leave them to you."

The fiend strolls to where he tossed his ghastly trophy, now swarming with ants as it oozes into the powdered concrete, "But understand this, witch-queen: this place can only be ruled through force."

"Cross me--" Crule crushes the collapsed skull beneath his heel, "And the Mohammedans shall flay you alive."

He swills again from the bottle, spits, and throws it forcefully into the brush, "There are many details to discuss before we settle on this thing, for not is all as it appears. Certain allies of mine are eager to see those Islamic devils put in their proper place, and their resources and protection are critical to our continued success."

Black Queen has posed:
The attractive but thin, slender woman with not a bit of obtuse muscle stands there while Crule, a walking mass of violence snarls and makes noises. Like a person staring down a wild animal, Selene neither runs nor shows fear, she just watches him, staring, not backing up a bit. This would not be the first nor the last time that she has stood her ground against someone far more physically powerful than her, and when Crule says there are none like her she smirks, "It is good of you to recognize that."

And then she watches the display, and pretty much rolls her eyes as the big man steps on the tiny old skull. Selene gives a bored look, and even looks at her well manicured nails, "Yes yes yes. Flayed alive. If I had but an ounce of gold per time I heard that. Or you may, as your demonstration indicates, step on my head and crush it. Oozing all my bits all over the ground. Paint the walls red with my blood. Burn me alive. Stick me into an iron maiden and have me bleed out. Put me on the rack." Selene yawns and covers her mouth as she does so, "Please. Next you will say that you will run me through with a hot poker or impale me upon a stake and have me writhe in pain till I die above the ground. Vlad did that to me twice, I lived amongst the mongols, Chengiss Khan was quite a bit more inventive."

Though she waves dismissively at the big man, "So I understand. If I betray you you shall... murder me in some kind of horrible bloody fashion. Now down to business, shall we? Should we ajourn to an inner complex incase those eyes in the sky do any sort of flying by?"

Derek Khanata has posed:
"As the forces of civilization should not be underestimated, neither should Al-Shabaab. They, at least, are worthy enemies, and would make great sport of one such as you. They are perhaps cunning enough to invent tortures that would surprise even you, sister."

Crule grunts in agreement, "Indeed. There is much for us to review."

As they walk into the compound, the savage lays a meaty paw on the witch-queen's back in a show of affection, "Let me show you our kingdom."