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#Post#: 20449--------------------------------------------------
Multiversal Story: Bargg’s Bayou Bistro – Chapter 4: The Feast o
f Spirits
By: Raven Tepes Date: October 21, 2025, 6:52 pm
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New Orleans glittered like spilled starlight that night.
All Souls’ Eve had come — the night when the veil thinned, and
the dead mingled with the living. Candles flickered in windows,
jazz drifted through the streets, and the smell of sugar, smoke,
and spice rolled off the bayou like perfume.
Out beyond the city’s edge, The Feast of Spirits was in full
swing.
Lanterns floated over the water like fireflies, tables lined
with steaming pots of jambalaya, fried catfish, beignets dusted
in gold sugar, and—at the head of it all—Bargg’s Bayou Bistro,
proudly represented by a troll in an apron and a smile wide
enough to scare most men.
Beside him, Laura Duperon worked her magic — literally. Every
flick of her hand lit new torches, every whispered word kept the
restless dead calm and merry. Her laughter rolled through the
night like music.
“Not bad for two old troublemakers,” she said, watching a
ghostly jazz band play on the dock.
Bargg chuckled. “Just wait ‘til the gumbo hits. That’ll keep the
spirits hangin’ around ‘til sunrise.”
The crystal beneath his apron glowed steady, content. For once,
everything felt right.
Until it didn’t.
The wind shifted. The music stumbled. The lanterns above them
dimmed, flickering one by one. Bargg’s tusks twitched.
“Laura,” he rumbled, voice low. “You feel that?”
Before she could answer, the fog rolled in — thick and red as
blood. Out of it came Lucien Devereaux, dressed in midnight
silk, his smile sharp enough to cut glass. Behind him glided a
half-dozen pale figures in chef whites, their eyes glowing
faintly crimson.
“Bonsoir, my dear friends,” Lucien purred. “I hear there’s a
feast. How rude of you not to send me an invitation.”
Laura’s bracelets jingled as she crossed her arms. “Didn’t think
you’d show your fanged face ‘round these parts after we scrubbed
your hexes clean.”
Lucien’s grin widened. “Oh, I’m not here for hexes, my dear. I’m
here for revenge. And perhaps… a taste.”
The vampire chefs spread out, knives flashing, moving like
dancers in the mist.
Bargg cracked his knuckles, eyes glowing faintly blue from the
crystal’s light. “You really wanna throw down at a food
festival, Lucien?”
“Oh, darling troll,” Lucien whispered, his voice curling like
smoke, “I was born for dinner parties.”
Then the fog erupted in black lightning.
A bolt struck the dock behind Lucien, splitting a cypress in
two. From the smoke stepped a tall, lean man in a long coat that
shimmered like burnt silk. His hair was jet black, streaked
crimson, and his eyes burned like dying embers. He carried a
flask on one hip and a blade on the other.
“Lucien,” the newcomer said, his voice low and dangerous. “You
always did ruin a good party.”
Lucien blinked. “Qrow Darkfire? You?”
Qrow smirked. “Last I checked, betrayal doesn’t sit well with
me. You left me to die in Marseilles over a bottle of
O-negative.”
Laura let out a low whistle. “Well, damn. Guess the night just
got more interesting.”
Bargg looked Qrow up and down. “Friend of yours, Laura?”
“More like the devil I flirted with once or twice,” she said.
“He makes good whiskey, though.”
Qrow grinned, pulling the flask from his belt and tossing it to
Bargg. “Cinnamon whiskey. Sets fire to your soul, warms your
heart, and burns vampires from the inside out. Drink up, big
guy.”
Bargg took a swig — and the crystal flared bright as daylight.
Lucien hissed, his chef-coven recoiling from the sudden blaze.
“Traitor!” he spat at Qrow.
“Correction,” Qrow said, drawing his blade. “Freelancer.”
Lightning crackled around him, dark and violet. He lunged,
moving faster than any human eye could follow, cutting through
Lucien’s coven like wind through fog. Each strike was followed
by a flash of thunder, each vampire falling to ash before they
could even scream.
Meanwhile, Bargg and Laura stood side by side, fighting back
with magic and might. Bargg hurled flaming pots of gumbo like
grenades, splattering holy spice and boiling broth across the
undead. Laura sang in a language older than the swamp, her
charms burning through the mist like morning light.
Lucien snarled, his form shifting, stretching — his elegant
frame twisting into something monstrous. “You dare defy me in my
night?”
Qrow’s eyes glowed crimson. “Your night’s over.”
With a roar, Bargg grabbed the vampire and hurled him into the
bayou. Lightning followed — a blinding flash from Qrow’s blade —
and the water exploded in steam and ash.
When the smoke cleared, all that remained was silence and the
soft hum of jazz rising once more.
Laura exhaled, brushing hair from her face. “Well,” she said,
“that was dramatic.”
Qrow sheathed his sword, dusted off his coat, and reached for
another flask. “That’s New Orleans for you.”
Bargg looked out over the bayou, where the first hints of dawn
began to color the water. “Think he’s gone for good?”
Qrow took a drink, eyes shadowed. “Lucien Devereaux never dies
easy. But he’ll think twice before crashin’ another party.”
Laura raised her glass. “To victory — and to the strangest damn
dinner service in Louisiana.”
Bargg grinned, tusks gleaming in the light. “And to friends —
old, new, and occasionally undead.”
They toasted as the sun crept over the bayou, casting gold
across the water and smoke.
The Feast of Spirits continued long into the morning, the living
and the dead dancing together under a sky that smelled of
whiskey, gumbo, and victory.
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