@x-rey:
Some could argue that the cultural backbone of the southern United States did not rely on metropolitan growth, but instead subsisted entirely on centers of spiritual freedom and evolution. This could not be better exemplified than with New Orleans. Under the skin of every chapel, mosque, and synagogue was a muffled heartbeat of the deeper roots that built the city. Spirits, both evil and benevolent, stalked the streets - especially at night - and none were as well-known as the one that blended the various aspects of the human imagination.
Some called him The Devil, others avoided his stomping grounds like the plague for fear of Mr. Pinstripe Suit. He merely addressed himself as Mephisto, the one responsible for the greatest radio show under the Earth.
He usually had somewhere to go, someplace to be, but tonight he seemed to be interested in settling into the background, finding places here and there to investigate talent he intended on bringing into the Big Band. Of course, when someone spotted him, he would disappear into the shadows like he was never there to begin with. Eventually, his path led him into the mysterious cloisters of the black sabbath. Witchcraft always made itself prevalent in the city, in one form or another. The howling phantoms of generations past were ever-restless, and easy to manipulate given the right circumstances.
This particular section of town never ceased to entertain him. Sure, there were tourist traps, but the dedicated and the righteous practitioners were handsomely rewarded in their own ways. He walked the streets, inviting himself into various shops and dark corner stores.
There was a certain inevitability in the air. All he had to do was capitalize on it.
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