[u][b]Mary Hawthorne - Her House[/b][/u]

Mary sighed contentedly as she relaxed in the old claw-foot bath tub...her first hot bath in many years. As a ghoul, hot baths weren't a good idea as it just accelerated the skin flaking off. Being alone at her shack in the Swamps, she just bathed in the nearby river when she felt the need. But the warmth of the water...and the fallout in it...was deeply relaxing after two days of cleaning the dust and junk out of the house. she wished she had learned of the Children..and their gift...years ago, the longer lifespans of ghouls came at a price...a price she no longer had to pay, thanks to Zachariah and his followers. He had been a very apt pupil...once she showed him he had been playing with things far beyond his understanding at the time...she hoped he would heed her advice to limit his trafficking with the Outer Gods, such as Ub-Qualtoth, to a minimum. They have their own agendas, and they weren't in the interests of their  human followers. And then there were the Witch-finders...or whatever they were called now...that were drawn to Cults devoted to such worship as flies to honey. A group of determined mortals with sufficient knowledge could overcome even the most powerful sorcerer...something she had witnessed from the sidelines repeatedly over the centuries...and she had no intention of falling prey to them herself. 

With one hand, she poured herself another drink....Whisky and Nuka-Cola as they had run out of wine...then took a sip as she turned her attention back to the ancient tome she was reading. The [i]Malleus Maleficarum[/i]...1660 printing in Latin...the very book that had poisoned her husband's mind, and, ironically, led to her being here today, instead of forgotten under a crumbling gravestone in the churchyard with John and poor Abigail. The book itself was almost pure nonsense....a product of a diseased mind that had no exposure to the Mythos that she could tell beyond hearsay....but it gave insight to the mind of her mortal enemies, and the illustrations of witches consorting with demons still had an perversely erotic appeal to her. The reality of it hadn't quite lived up to her imagination, but some of the beings she had made such bargains with could be coaxed into performing adequately.    

Obediah...Zachariah...had made use of the portal in her basement to return to Blackhall Manor, so she had the house to herself. Most of the furnishings were useless now, her and Zachariah had piled them up in front of the house until she could find someone to carry them away. At least she was able to salvage a set of box springs and a mattress that wasn't too disgusting....with a sleeping bag it would do until she could find better. She needed to look around, and see what other people had gathered here, perhaps find a way to make a living so she did not have to dip into her supply of caps....a considerable sum....she was going to need them to find what she had returned home for. Rook was a name she remembered....that family had been prominent in Salem even before the War, but from what little Barney said there were few if any people here at all, which did have it's good points. She effectively had a clean slate here, no-one could possibly know of her links to Salem. That suited her just fine.

Faintly, outside, she heard the Brahmin mooing from the crude pen Zachariah had set up alongside the house for her. 
[i]
Damn....needs to be milked.[/i] 

Mary reluctantly closed the book and put it on the battered chair next to the tub, getting up and climbing out. She couldn't help but notice herself in the dusty full length mirror attached to the door. A comely wench she was now...that would get attention from men. While not unwelcome, it could be inconvenient, not to mention deadly. She dried off, then put up her hair, then picked up the book and walked out into the bedroom to dress. Placing the old tome on the dresser, the only one  she had been able to salvage, she put on a tan button down dress and then socks and boots. she turned to leave, then turned back to the rough woolen robe laid out on the bed. She picked that up and placed it in the empty bottom drawer of the dresser, making a mental note to burn it later. After placing a sheathed combat knife in her right hand boot, she went downstairs to the kitchen to retrieve a bucket and a stool, then exited the house from the front door. She walked around the side of the house, noticing a boat had arrived at the pier and a man carrying a large green bag was trudging up the hill. He didn't seem to be behaving oddly, sho she paid him no further mind and and entered the makeshift brahimin pen as the brahmim mooed at her. 

"Calm down, Bessie", she said as she put down the stool and placed the bucket under the protesting brahmin. "Mary's here to make you feel better."

She then started to milk the brahmin.