Hibernal 🔮💘 𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓾𝓷𝓮 𝓣𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝓣𝓮𝓷𝓽 💔🔮

[GremlinSage]

Love is temporary. Bad decisions are forever.​

Set up at the far end of the square is a tent, a sagging thing of velvet and string lights of which no one knows how it's still standing. A hand-painted sign hangs crooked over the entrance:

FORTUNES · OMENS · TERRIBLE ADVICE
NO REFUNDS · NO CRYING · NO COUPLES​

Inside, it's far more spacious than what one would think, smelling faintly of incense, burnt sugar, and regret.

Inside you find multiple fortune tellers, tables with tarot cards that don't quite match, a crystal ball with a visible crack, and several charms that look suspiciously stolen. All are ready to peer into your absolutely fake romantic future, just be weary of who you're getting your fortune from, they like to pick and choose their victims visitors.

"Come in. Come in, my child. We mustn't lurk in doorways. It's rude. One might question your upbringing."

How to Play

⠀

• Simply post your character entering the tent
  • Nervous, curious, skeptical, dragged by friends, whatever you decide
  • You may ask a question, offer background, or say absolutely nothing.
• A fortune teller (played by other members) will respond in character with:
  • A fortune
  • A tarot or omen reading
  • A prophecy
  • A cursed warning
  • Extremely petty advice
  • Or something else entirely unhinged
• You may:
  • Reply IC and continue the scene
  • React and leave
  • Collect multiple readings from different fortune tellers.
• All fortunes, tarot readings, prophesies, omens, curses, and 'cosmic truths' are entirely fictional.
• Nothing in this event applies to real people, real lives, or real relationships.
• No real-world advice is being given.
• If a fortune hits a little too close to home... that's coincidence and narrative spice only.

All interaction is opt-in and for fun. Our fortune tellers are snarky and love a good laugh, this isn't for the faint of heart. Also, please remember this is an event and NOT a group RP.

OC's Only

⠀

• You must bring an original character to participate.
• No self-inserts, no playing yourself.
• The fortune tellers are also original characters being role played by other members.

Everyone in this tent, clients and tellers, are fictional.

• This is canon-friendly, if you want to use it as an IC belief, superstition, or motivator for your stories, go ahead.
• It is a one-off fun event, so treat it as a silly, standalone encounter that never comes up again.
• Let it linger as something your character half-believes, half-ignores.

The reading does not have to be canon unless you want it to be.

The Teller's

The Great Pugzini​	Brünnhilde​	Auracle​
Cordelia Nightwhisper​	Vedma Rozanov​	Frazil Narthex​
	Beware the Faeducks ​

 

[B_Julez]

It's probably stupid, but whatever... could be fun...

That was the final thought before Julez made her decision to enter the tent, unsure as to exactly what she was getting herself into. But whatever it was, it would probably get her mind off of work, which is the reason she hadn't gone home right away in the first place. Normally, the blonde dancer would take an Uber straight from the club to her apartment for a shower, occasionally followed by an ice bath if she was feeling particularly sore. But tonight, she wasn't in a rush to be alone with herself, a book, or reruns of Monk. Not that anything especially bad had happened... if anything, it had been one of her best earning nights in a while. But still... Music. Hands. Music. Spinning. Music. Hands. Groping. Squeezing. Music. Grinding. Spanking. Music. Dance. Hey, Baby. Fuck yeah, baby. Dollars. Music. Dancing. Music. Hands. Music. Groping. Music. Ha...

Julez squinted her eyes shut and willed the intrusive flash of rapid fire memories to quiet down in her mind.

Of course, it would be hard for anyone here to guess her "profession," she felt stupid sometimes even thinking of it in those terms, based on her current appearance. Clear heels, little pink school girl skirt, bikini tops, body lotion and glitter, a small purse stuffed full of ones... all of those clear indicators of where she'd just come from were safely hidden away in the non-descript duffel bag slung over her shoulder. What the inhabitants of the tent would see as she walked in was... yes, still a very attractive young woman with shimmering blonde hair and a presumably toned physique, but dressed in an oversized gray sweatshirt with a graphic of the Puerto Rican flag on it, a matching pair of sweat pants, a pair of white tennis shoes, and a pair of very large, round-rimmed glasses upon her face. For those optically-inclined individuals, those baby blues looked a bit larger than normal through the lenses, implying that the pretty blonde was far-sighted.

Julez shifted the bag on her shoulder and stepped forward, her petite 5'2" frame moving passed the tables of fortune tellers and oddities, trying to decide which one to stop at. Maybe one of these people can help me find a new job... or new a boyfriend... uh, what new? Try my first real boyfriend ever. Everyone loves a stripper, until it's time to get serious or romantic... She rolled her eyes, but quickly caught herself getting lost in her own head again.

Stop that.

Eyes went back to scanning the room for a potential person to talk to...

 

[GremlinSage]

It's probably stupid, but whatever... could be fun...

That was the final thought before Julez made her decision to enter the tent, unsure as to exactly what she was getting herself into. But whatever it was, it would probably get her mind off of work, which is the reason she hadn't gone home right away in the first place. Normally, the blonde dancer would take an Uber straight from the club to her apartment for a shower, occasionally followed by an ice bath if she was feeling particularly sore. But tonight, she wasn't in a rush to be alone with herself, a book, or reruns of Monk. Not that anything especially bad had happened... if anything, it had been one of her best earning nights in a while. But still... Music. Hands. Music. Spinning. Music. Hands. Groping. Squeezing. Music. Grinding. Spanking. Music. Dance. Hey, Baby. Fuck yeah, baby. Dollars. Music. Dancing. Music. Hands. Music. Groping. Music. Ha...

Julez squinted her eyes shut and willed the intrusive flash of rapid fire memories to quiet down in her mind.

Of course, it would be hard for anyone here to guess her "profession," she felt stupid sometimes even thinking of it in those terms, based on her current appearance. Clear heels, little pink school girl skirt, bikini tops, body lotion and glitter, a small purse stuffed full of ones... all of those clear indicators of where she'd just come from were safely hidden away in the non-descript duffel bag slung over her shoulder. What the inhabitants of the tent would see as she walked in was... yes, still a very attractive young woman with shimmering blonde hair and a presumably toned physique, but dressed in an oversized gray sweatshirt with a graphic of the Puerto Rican flag on it, a matching pair of sweat pants, a pair of white tennis shoes, and a pair of very large, round-rimmed glasses upon her face. For those optically-inclined individuals, those baby blues looked a bit larger than normal through the lenses, implying that the pretty blonde was far-sighted.

Julez shifted the bag on her shoulder and stepped forward, her petite 5'2" frame moving past the tables of fortune tellers and oddities, trying to decide which one to stop at. Maybe one of these people can help me find a new job... or new a boyfriend... uh, what new? Try my first real boyfriend ever. Everyone loves a stripper, until it's time to get serious or romantic... She rolled her eyes, but quickly caught herself getting lost in her own head again.

Stop that.

Eyes went back to scanning the room for a potential person to talk to...

Cordelia

.

.

Cordelia shooed away the shadow at her shoulder, looking over the blonde with interest. Her grin spread from ear to ear as she got to her feet...
and then she was gone.

"You smell like bad timing."

The voice was soft, close to Julez ear as Cordelia's form slipped back into existence beside her. "Fascinating." She leaned in as if she were to whisper, breath warm, conspiratorial. "Come, take a seat."

Her hand gestured toward her table, a ragged black cloth covering the wood table beneath, tarot cards spread out in the center, and a pile of mixed bones in front of the teller's chair.

Cordelia didn't wait for Julez to speak. An arm slipping around her waist, guiding her firmly into the chair. "Mm," Cordelia mused once Julez was seated. "You smell like you're looking for something."

Cordelia settled into her own chair, finger's already drifting toward the cards. "How can I... help?"

 

[CelestialRosebud]

"I believe it's right here." Ivette's purple eyes focus on the tent in front of her. She secures her dagger to the garter just above her knee, then counts the gold from her belt's silken pocket. "One, two, three, four, five... I have enough it seems." Her voice is alto, suave, and beautiful... but hollow. In truth, currently, she's having another instance of the pact she made kicking in. She can feel the spindly spider's legs on her shoulder, a fog over her mind and a hankering to use her dark arts to add to the bodies she's put six feet under.
But she's able to push it away for long enough to walk into the tent. How someone like me could find love is stupidity at best and insanity at worst. And I know consulting a teller is not good... but I'm already this far gone.
She eyeballs the teller with her usual femme fatale bravado, but whatever part of her heart that hasn't been tainted by the spirits?... is trembling.

Some info on Ivette here!

 

[B_Julez]

"You smell like bad timing."

Dark blonde eyebrows furrowed slightly at the comments of the disembodied voice. "Hey!" Julez barked in annoyance, not fully understanding what was implied by those words, but knowing that she did not appreciate the sound of them. Then, she pinched the shoulder of her sweatshirt and lifted the fabric to her nose for a sniff. "Jeez. I don't smell that bad... maybe a little cigar smoke and spilled..."

Cordelia reappeared beside her.

"...beer, but nothi-Rryaaahh!!" Julez squawked and recoiled away from the... the... person. "What... what are you supposed to be?!" Baby blues blinked a few times before she gulped, hard, and one index finger rose to push the bridge of those glasses back up to their intended position upon her face. She took in the sight of Cordelia... her glowing eyes, her stitched neck tattoo (she hoped it was a tattoo, anyway...), the pale hue of her skin... Great, of course I'd attract one of the weirdos.

Julez cleared her throat and recovered from the initial reveal of the strange fortune teller. She wasn't a mean person by nature, and so she felt a bit badly about how she'd reacted. "Well, fascinating sounds better than bad timing..." The dancer mused out loud as Cordelia slipped her arm around her waist and urged her towards the table... then, borderline shoved her down into the chair. "Ughn!"

"You smell like you're looking for something."

Blue eyes rolled before Julez muttered under her breath, "...again with the smells..." Whether it was the intended effect or not, the blonde was growing ever more self conscious of her hygiene, which was, in reality, quite impeccable. "I think what you're smelling is a coconut and shea butter body lotion... and maybe a eucalyptus shampoo." She pursed her lips and looked off to the side. "Maybe I should have gone home for a shower..."

"How can I... help?"

Julez was momentarily lost in thought, "...instead. But I really don't smell that ba..." Eyes shifted back to the woman sitting across from her, having almost forgotten she was there. "Huh? Help? Oh!" She blushed and giggled, feeling a little bashful as she pressed her knees together, sandwiching her slightly cold hands between them. "Help? Um, yes. Help, help, help." She looked around the inside of the tent some more as the thought about how to word this... catching a glimpse of the redhead who had just entered (@CelestialRosebud). Her gaze lingered for a moment, finding her utterly stunning. Even if Julez wasn't normally attracted to girls, she could appreciate a beautiful woman. She worked with plenty, after all.

Then her eyes returned to Cordelia, sighing. "I don't know. I guess I just needed someone to talk to. I..." One hand rose, gesturing as she began to rally her thoughts. "I am surrounded by people, but I feel lonely. I'm constantly touched, or touching others... constantly earning their approval and affection. But... some how, I feel like no one knows me... and the worst part is, I don't know if I like that or not. If I even want to change that or not." She sighed and shook her head. "I'm not making any sense... I'm sorry."

Shoulders slumped. Great, I don't even know how to get my fortune told right...

 

[GremlinSage]

"You smell like bad timing."

Dark blonde eyebrows furrowed slightly at the comments of the disembodied voice. "Hey!" Julez barked in annoyance, not fully understanding what was implied by those words, but knowing that she did not appreciate the sound of them. Then, she pinched the shoulder of her sweatshirt and lifted the fabric to her nose for a sniff. "Jeez. I don't smell that bad... maybe a little cigar smoke and spilled..."

Cordelia reappeared beside her.

"...beer, but nothi-Rryaaahh!!" Julez squawked and recoiled away from the... the... person. "What... what are you supposed to be?!" Baby blues blinked a few times before she gulped, hard, and one index finger rose to push the bridge of those glasses back up to their intended position upon her face. She took in the sight of Cordelia... her glowing eyes, her stitched neck tattoo (she hoped it was a tattoo, anyway...), the pale hue of her skin... Great, of course I'd attract one of the weirdos.

Julez cleared her throat and recovered from the initial reveal of the strange fortune teller. She wasn't a mean person by nature, and so she felt a bit badly about how she'd reacted. "Well, fascinating sounds better than bad timing..." The dancer mused out loud as Cordelia slipped her arm around her waist and urged her towards the table... then, borderline shoved her down into the chair. "Ughn!"

"You smell like you're looking for something."

Blue eyes rolled before Julez muttered under her breath, "...again with the smells..." Whether it was the intended effect or not, the blonde was growing ever more self conscious of her hygiene, which was, in reality, quite impeccable. "I think what you're smelling is a coconut and shea butter body lotion... and maybe a eucalyptus shampoo." She pursed her lips and looked off to the side. "Maybe I should have gone home for a shower..."

"How can I... help?"

Julez was momentarily lost in thought, "...instead. But I really don't smell that ba..." Eyes shifted back to the woman sitting across from her, having almost forgotten she was there. "Huh? Help? Oh!" She blushed and giggled, feeling a little bashful as she pressed her knees together, sandwiching her slightly cold hands between them. "Help? Um, yes. Help, help, help." She looked around the inside of the tent some more as the thought about how to word this... catching a glimpse of the redhead who had just entered (@CelestialRosebud). Her gaze lingered for a moment, finding her utterly stunning. Even if Julez wasn't normally attracted to girls, she could appreciate a beautiful women. She worked with plenty, after all.

Then her eyes returned to Cordelia, sighing. "I don't know. I guess I just needed someone to talk to. I..." One hand rose, gesturing as she began to rally her thoughts. "I am surrounded by people, but I feel lonely. I'm constantly touched, or touching others... constantly earning their approval and affection. But... some how, I feel like no one knows me... and the worst part is, I don't know if I like that or not. If I even want to change that or not." She sighed and shook her head. "I'm not making any sense... I'm sorry."

Shoulders slumped. Great, I don't even know how to get my fortune told right...

Cordelia

.

.

Cordelia's smile never faded, hearing Julez words but saying nothing. While the other spoke, she rested her chin in the palm of her hand, eyes fixed on Julez as though she were giving her undivided attention.

"Oh, no," Cordelia murmured, shifting slightly, fingers drifting toward the bones, but not yet touching them. "You are making perfect sense. You're known. Just... not for the right reasons."

She paused, gaze lowering to the bones as her hand hovered above them. "You let people touch you so they won't look too closely. You let them feel clossssse..."

Cordelia lifted her eyes again.

"...so they won't notice how far away you actually are."

Another pause.

"And the worst part?"

Cordelia gave a sympathetic cant of her head. "You aren't even sure you want to be seen. Or if you just want to stop feeling alone."

"Desirable." Her gaze slid unapologetically over Julez's form. "Agreeable. Available." A small, knowing smile. "But approval isn't intimacy, my dear and you didn't come here for romance."

 

[Rimechapel]

Frazil Narthex

.

.

kkkpffffffffss

The sound of a metallic respirator hissed out from a partitioned part of the tent, segmented from the rest with what looked like a pair of huge quilts made from recycled plastic bags, empty nicotine patches, and reused bodybags. A cloud of purplish fog wafted out from between the roped-back opening where the partitions met, perhaps mirroring the figurative fog in Ivette's mind. @CelestialRosebud

"Hey, kiddo."

The voice, something between a masculine bag of gravel and an ornery leather suitcase whose gender was kind of hard to place but which clearly didn't much care for the amount of clothes you had brought with you, emanated from the man sitting behind the metal table further within the partitioned area. His feet were propped up on the table and he had a very colorful, ruddy-headed duck in his jumpsuit-clad lap. One hand was petting the duck in a doting kind of way, much as some wealthy villain would pet a cat, while the other had an open bag of crunch snacks. The duck squeaked a flat note, reached into the bag, and flicked one of the crunchy snacks up and chomped on it openly until it crumbled into more manageable bits which fell onto the desk. The duck then began pecking and eating the bits, wiggling its tailfeathers happily.

"I know that look. That appraisal," the man continued. "Don't be a background player. Come on in. Let ol' Frazil Narthex tell your fortune. Heh. Snack?" He rattled the bag of crunchy snacks enticingly - at least, enticingly enough for the duck to seize at the edge of it and spill them all over the desk.

"Ah! Hey! You were supposed to make this look regal or something, not like a-- ugh-- impossible ducks--" the man, apparently Frazil, exclaimed, picking the duck up and scooting his legs back. His chair, which had been angled so as to accommodate his feet being propped up on the desk, hit the floor with a thump, and another pretty duck with a green head rapidly waddled out from behind the desk with its wings upraised, quacking a ruckus as it ran out, flapping wings and fanning fog. The ruddy-headed duck squirmed and flew free of Frazil's hands, and joined its kin in escaping the partition and running off in a trail of quacking.

kkkpffffffffss

"Ehhhh...." Frazil sighed. "It's like I've always said - a preening merganser is a looming disaster. Anyway, whatever - it ain't haruspicy, but it's all pretty clear to me." He gestured at the way the snacks had been strewn about the table.

"No boons. No hexes. Only corrective action if you can prove thyself. No breakdown, no camaraderie. You're living on borrowed time, and it doesn't take a clairvoyant to see that you aren't exactly a champion of light, kiddo. Use your finesse for the people at the monstrous shrine. Invoke the weaving spiders and keep a low profile. There's strength in shadows. You might be in a repressed alliance right now, but there's nothing a little self-care can't heal for you. Or... aftercare?" He chuckled - or made a sound that could have been confused for a meat grinder choking on a knuckle, at least.

kkkpffffffffss

"Anyway, you're hooked. Twice. Fix it - you know what 'it' is - and get out - you know where 'out' is, too." He looked at her expectantly as he sat back down behind the table and put one boot up on the table, then the other, leaning back in his chair and lacing his hands behind his masked head. "What? I'm a fortune teller, not a marriage counselor. Sheesh."

 

[CelestialRosebud]

Frazil Narthex

.

.

kkkpffffffffss

The sound of a metallic respirator hissed out from a partitioned part of the tent, segmented from the rest with what looked like a pair of huge quilts made from recycled plastic bags, empty nicotine patches, and reused bodybags. A cloud of purplish fog wafted out from between the roped-back opening where the partitions met, perhaps mirroring the figurative fog in Ivette's mind. @CelestialRosebud

"Hey, kiddo."

The voice, something between a masculine bag of gravel and an ornery leather suitcase whose gender was kind of hard to place but which clearly didn't much care for the amount of clothes you had brought with you, emanated from the man sitting behind the metal table further within the partitioned area. His feet were propped up on the table and he had a very colorful, ruddy-headed duck in his jumpsuit-clad lap. One hand was petting the duck in a doting kind of way, much as some wealthy villain would pet a cat, while the other had an open bag of crunch snacks. The duck squeaked a flat note, reached into the bag, and flicked one of the crunchy snacks up and chomped on it openly until it crumbled into more manageable bits which fell onto the desk. The duck then began pecking and eating the bits, wiggling its tailfeathers happily.

"I know that look. That appraisal," the man continued. "Don't be a background player. Come on in. Let ol' Frazil Narthex tell your fortune. Heh. Snack?" He rattled the bag of crunchy snacks enticingly - at least, enticingly enough for the duck to seize at the edge of it and spill them all over the desk.

"Ah! Hey! You were supposed to make this look regal or something, not like a-- ugh-- impossible ducks--" the man, apparently Frazil, exclaimed, picking the duck up and scooting his legs back. His chair, which had been angled so as to accommodate his feet being propped up on the desk, hit the floor with a thump, and another pretty duck with a green head rapidly waddled out from behind the desk with its wings upraised, quacking a ruckus as it ran out, flapping wings and fanning fog. The ruddy-headed duck squirmed and flew free of Frazil's hands, and joined its kin in escaping the partition and running off in a trail of quacking.

kkkpffffffffss

"Ehhhh...." Frazil sighed. "It's like I've always said - a preening merganser is a looming disaster. Anyway, whatever - it ain't haruspicy, but it's all pretty clear to me." He gestured at the way the snacks had been strewn about the table.

"No boons. No hexes. Only corrective action if you can prove thyself. No breakdown, no camaraderie. You're living on borrowed time, and it doesn't take a clairvoyant to see that you aren't exactly a champion of light, kiddo. Use your finesse for the people at the monstrous shrine. Invoke the weaving spiders and keep a low profile. There's strength in shadows. You might be in a repressed alliance right now, but there's nothing a little self-care can't heal for you. Or... aftercare?" He chuckled - or made a sound that could have been confused for a meat grinder choking on a knuckle, at least.

kkkpffffffffss

"Anyway, you're hooked. Twice. Fix it - you know what 'it' is - and get out - you know where 'out' is, too." He looked at her expectantly as he sat back down behind the table and put one boot up on the table, then the other, leaning back in his chair and lacing his hands behind his masked head. "What? I'm a fortune teller, not a marriage counselor. Sheesh."

Ivette watches the shenanigans of the duck with a raised eyebrow, still grinning a charming smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Your duck has character, I'll grant him that." She sits down, slinging one leg over the other and listens to what Frazil tells her. Immediately she's offput that he can just SEE the dark influence over her soul. But she keeps this to herself, even if she can feel sweat going down the nape of her neck. She folds her arms over her chest and chuckles. "Rather vague for someone supposedly able to read thoughts and the future." She pushes a red lock out of her face. "I'm not exactly here to heal myself, cutie. I'm here for something more..." She thinks for a split second, "intrapersonal". Ivette leans her back against her chair. "Across my... various travels, I've had some encounters of the male variety. Don't get excited, I never so much as kissed them. But these occurrences have left me with a question. If you're able to answer it."

Why are you even asking this question? You already know what he's going to say. He's either gonna be incredibly vague or he's going to see too much. And I don't exactly want the client in the other room hearing his appraisal. "Tell me, who is supposed to be my husband? Describe him to me."
(She does has a canon love interest but I wanna see what happens in this hahahaha!)

 

[Rimechapel]

Frazil Narthex

.

.

@CelestialRosebud
kkkpffffffffss

"I literally just told you I'm not a marriage counselor and you come back with some mashup query like that?" Frazil chuckled again, purple fog wafting out from beneath his mask. "And anyway those ducks aren't mine, they're their own beasts - obviously. There's like... four, or... I dunno, twelve of them around or something. I don't read minds, toots - I tell you how the snacks fall. Obviously. Anyway, I'm of the opinion I already described your precious husband to you, but if you don't like the 'entity in the fog coming to shove a chitinous appendage through your navel while you're struggling on a meat hook' answer, then I'll give you a more specific one; your husband wears a fashionable blue jacket not made for him, not made in his time, but it fits him perfectly. He wears a purple hat and has broad lips and a charming tongue - which enables him to reach areas you might not think. Hirsute, but not unattractive. A lover of naps, and cheese, and the word... 'Behold.' A lover of Raccoons as spiritual rivals, a lover of fast cars and fine ass. And couponing." He withdrew one hand from behind his head and pointed meaningfully at Ivette. "He loves couponing. You can forget everything else but remember that part. I guaran-fuggin-tee you."

"Anyway, it ain't gonna get better from here, kiddo. Might wanna quit while you're ahead. Those ducks could come back any second now."

 

[CelestialRosebud]

Frazil Narthex

.

.

@CelestialRosebud
kkkpffffffffss

"I literally just told you I'm not a marriage counselor and you come back with some mashup query like that?" Frazil chuckled again, purple fog wafting out from beneath his mask. "And anyway those ducks aren't mine, they're their own beasts - obviously. There's like... four, or... I dunno, twelve of them around or something. I don't read minds, toots - I tell you how the snacks fall. Obviously. Anyway, I'm of the opinion I already described your precious husband to you, but if you don't like the 'entity in the fog coming to shove a chitinous appendage through your navel while you're struggling on a meat hook' answer, then I'll give you a more specific one; your husband wears a fashionable blue jacket not made for him, not made in his time, but it fits him perfectly. He wears a purple hat and has broad lips and a charming tongue - which enables him to reach areas you might not think. Hirsute, but not unattractive. A lover of naps, and cheese, and the word... 'Behold.' A lover of Raccoons as spiritual rivals, a lover of fast cars and fine ass. And couponing." He withdrew one hand from behind his head and pointed meaningfully at Ivette. "He loves couponing. You can forget everything else but remember that part. I guaran-fuggin-tee you."

"Anyway, it ain't gonna get better from here, kiddo. Might wanna quit while you're ahead. Those ducks could come back any second now."

She blinks a few times, her eyelashes batting as she does so. The smile lessens as he describes her supposed soulmate. Particularly the... more obscene areas of his predictions. "Well... that escalated quite quickly, now didn't it? I believe I've heard enough. Perhaps I should sip on some atropa to clear my mind of what I just heard." She stands up, fixes her belt to sit higher on her waist and puts the gold in Frazil's hand. "You won't charm a woman by such a crass tongue, young man. Makes me question your upbringing." Well... who am I to talk? "In any case, thank you for your time. And don't worry, if the ducks think they can send me running, I'll have myself a roast of their fat for dinner." She winks at Frazil and simply walks out without another word.

She does see the other patron, though she doesn't linger. I don't seem to be the only flawed one here... though at least she can still be redeemed...

Ivette leaves the tent... just in time for the shadows to glaze over her eyes and the knife to go back into her shaking hand. And into the night she goes once again...

 

[Mikki]

Elijah Brooks

---

Elijah's shoulders sank as he looked at his watch. He only had a 20 minute break, and there wasn't really anywhere to sit down outside of his delivery truck. The brown truck idled roughly, and he found his head scanning for parking spots. The park seemed to be rather popular today, but it was close by and oh look. A free parking space! Elijah parked the truck, turned it off and closed and locked all the doors. He didn't need any packages finding "legs".

He stepped onto the sidewalk, and took in his surroundings. He needed to sit down, any place would do. What was this? Was there a fair in town? Or maybe...it was some strange holiday pop-up the locals did? He wasn't sure, but if it meant getting off of his feet for a few minutes, then it was a welcome chance.

He tilted and cracked his neck as he walked over. The brown uniform he wore felt a little more constricting than normal. Or maybe the inside of the tent was just too small? He had to duck to get inside. What a strange gathering of folks. They certainly appeared to cater to the more strange tastes in the city. He wasn't a guy that normally went for this sort of stuff, but sure. It killed some time and he could checks his messages. His hand was already fishing in his pocket for his Android when he found an empty chair. He flipped the phone over, and frowned. No service. Fuck. Well. Alright then. He shoved the device back into his pocket and looked up.

"Oh shi- I mean. Uh sorry. What's uh? Going on here? What is all this?"
​

 

[ImnotAndy]

It had been strange. One minute Deven had laughed at Ray for almost puking after a ride in The Vortex, which she had been too scared to ride herself, the next she was looking around and everyone and everything had disappeared. All that was there now was a weird and ominous looking tent. "What the hell?" Despite walking around the tent and going in opposite directions of where it stood towering over her, she kept ending up in the exact same spot. In front of its dark opening. Deven chuckled. "Yeah, no way I'm going in there.. Really? Do you take me a fool?" She said quoting her favorite video game hero. " I have seen too many horror movies to fall for this!" She shouted at no one in particular but in her mind, they knew who she was talking too.

Fighting it was futile it seemed. Something wanted, no, needed her to come in. Since there was no way to go, it's all she could do. "Fine! But just so you know! I'm not happy about this." She took a deep breath. With closed eyes and her heart basically in her stomach, walked into the tent. Once inside, it was really not as bad as it had looked outside. Lots of scarfs, carpets and trinkets greeted her. It was the smell of incense that invited her to go deeper into its home. There was a table with a glass orb and weird lamps all over, colorfull fabrics draped over them, drenching their surroundings in atmospheric glows. Where am I? Too be fair, Deven could've been hit in the face with a sign that said 'Fortune tellers' and still it wouldn't have registered. Perhaps it was because she was convinced she was dreaming, maybe even dead.

"Hello?" She said softly. Something in the air made her feel more calm, serene even. "Can someone show me how to get back to my friends? I think I must've taken a wrong left or something... Really lovely home you have here though. I like the euhm.. 200 carpets and doilies you have laying around."

No one seemed to answer. Deven started looking around and finally the pieces started clicking. The glass orb, the cards and the kind of cliche decorations. "Oh wait!" She said nodding. "Are you like a psychic or something? Or what is it called? I have an aunt who thinks she can talk to ghosts. We haven't seen her in a few years. My aunty Hellen banned her from family events after she said my nephew wasn't really her husbands.. Apperently my grandpa told her or something. It's kind of sad really.." She kept talking to someone who hadn't shown themselves yet. Which was bizarre. "Who am I talking to? Anyone? Helloooo?"

 

[chap]

Elijah Brooks

---

Elijah's shoulders sank as he looked at his watch. He only had a 20 minute break, and there wasn't really anywhere to sit down outside of his delivery truck. The brown truck idled roughly, and he found his head scanning for parking spots. The park seemed to be rather popular today, but it was close by and oh look. A free parking space! Elijah parked the truck, turned it off and closed and locked all the doors. He didn't need any packages finding "legs".

He stepped onto the sidewalk, and took in his surroundings. He needed to sit down, any place would do. What was this? Was there a fair in town? Or maybe...it was some strange holiday pop-up the locals did? He wasn't sure, but if it meant getting off of his feet for a few minutes, then it was a welcome chance.

He tilted and cracked his neck as he walked over. The brown uniform he wore felt a little more constricting than normal. Or maybe the inside of the tent was just too small? He had to duck to get inside. What a strange gathering of folks. They certainly appeared to cater to the more strange tastes in the city. He wasn't a guy that normally went for this sort of stuff, but sure. It killed some time and he could checks his messages. His hand was already fishing in his pocket for his Android when he found an empty chair. He flipped the phone over, and frowned. No service. Fuck. Well. Alright then. He shoved the device back into his pocket and looked up.

"Oh shi- I mean. Uh sorry. What's uh? Going on here? What is all this?"
​

The Great Pugzini

.

.

The Great Pugzini was seated at the table like some squat idol hauled from a ruined chapel and dressed in the castoff garments of man. A pug in a denim jacket faded as riverstone, the sleeves rolled uneven, the brass buttons dulled, the collar turned up in some thin attempt at being 'real fuckin' cool'. His jowls hung in solemn decree. The candlelight laid its thin gold across his face and made his eyes two black, depthless wells.

And unfortunately, Elijah had decided to sit across from his expectant gaze.

The Great Pugzini regarded him for a long moment. The room held its breath. Somewhere outside the tent, the world continued, indifferent. But here? The pug leaned forward. The denim creaked softly along his shoulders. He lifted one paw as though to pronounce judgement, though he struck nothing but the edge of the deck and sent a card drifting to the floor.

He did not look down. Instead, he simply said, "Whaddup, slime?"

The words fell into the hush with the weight of something profane. Not quite a greeting. Not quite an omen. A stone dropped into still water. The Great Pugzini nodded once, as if he had spoken in tongues. The candle guttered. The flame bent and straightened again like a thing trying to compose itself. He spread his paws across the cards in their disorder. A gospel in shambles. Stars and swords and pentacles and the indistinct faces of saints turned sideways.

He said, "This is fate."

A pause, a wayward snort.

He said, "This is love."

Paws spread wide.

He said, "This is cupid's very bow, aimed for your goddang heart!"

His tongue appeared briefly, a quick animal punctuation, and then was gone. He looked down at the table as though expecting the future to be written plainly there, as though destiny might arrange itself neatly if stared at hard enough. After several moments of awkward silence, his eyes returned to Elijah and he asked, "You... uh... you want your fortune told or somethin'? Like, what're we doin' here? C'mon, champ. Time is money!"

 

[Jumbled]

It had been strange. One minute Deven had laughed at Ray for almost puking after a ride in The Vortex, which she had been too scared to ride herself, the next she was looking around and everyone and everything had disappeared. All that was there now was a weird and ominous looking tent. "What the hell?" Despite walking around the tent and going in opposite directions of where it stood towering over her, she kept ending up in the exact same spot. In front of its dark opening. Deven chuckled. "Yeah, no way I'm going in there.. Really? Do you take me a fool?" She said quoting her favorite video game hero. " I have seen too many horror movies to fall for this!" She shouted at no one in particular but in her mind, they knew who she was talking too.

Fighting it was futile it seemed. Something wanted, no, needed her to come in. Since there was no way to go, it's all she could do. "Fine! But just so you know! I'm not happy about this." She took a deep breath. With closed eyes and her heart basically in her stomach, walked into the tent. Once inside, it was really not as bad as it had looked outside. Lots of scarfs, carpets and trinkets greeted her. It was the smell of incense that invited her to go deeper into its home. There was a table with a glass orb and weird lamps all over, colorfull fabrics draped over them, drenching their surroundings in atmospheric glows. Where am I? Too be fair, Deven could've been hit in the face with a sign that said 'Fortune tellers' and still it wouldn't have registered. Perhaps it was because she was convinced she was dreaming, maybe even dead.

"Hello?" She said softly. Something in the air made her feel more calm, serene even. "Can someone show me how to get back to my friends? I think I must've taken a wrong left or something... Really lovely home you have here though. I like the euhm.. 200 carpets and doilies you have laying around."

No one seemed to answer. Deven started looking around and finally the pieces started clicking. The glass orb, the cards and the kind of cliche decorations. "Oh wait!" She said nodding. "Are you like a psychic or something? Or what is it called? I have an aunt who thinks she can talk to ghosts. We haven't seen her in a few years. My aunty Hellen banned her from family events after she said my nephew wasn't really her husbands.. Apperently my grandpa told her or something. It's kind of sad really.." She kept talking to someone who hadn't shown themselves yet. Which was bizarre. "Who am I talking to? Anyone? Helloooo?"

Vedma Rozanov

.

.

Sometimes, in avoiding one fear, we allow bigger threats to cross our paths. Had Deven braved the Vortex, would she have then found herself standing outside of such an ominous looking tent with nowhere left to go but inside its glowing entrance? Not that the tent was a dangerous place, of course…

The air was thick with the smoke of mismatched incense cones and sticks, sandalwood and medieval mixes that carried notes of herbs and citrus in a lovely blend. The gentle sound of plastics clicking together played like a metronome as a pair of colorful ducks waddled past a beaded curtain in the back. One had a bundle of sage in its mouth, burning its way through the tent as if to rid the space of lingering evils, or maybe it was just hungry. The other one quacked a hello, or maybe a profanity, at Deven.

“There are two hundred and seven rugs, actually. And another fifty doilies, some are in the back.” A warm, Russian accent filled the room as a paper on the table began to fold into a small origami person seemingly on its own. It rose in the air slowly, the lights began to flicker yellowish-greens and reds, and the crystal orb on the table suddenly captured the reflection of a red haired woman inside of it. Vedma Rozanov walked in through the same entrance that Deven had used, unnoticed.

“Ah, you activated my trap card,” She walked around her guest as she lifted up the orb—which was actually just an empty fish bowl— then placed it on a shelf with some bagged fish she began to dump back into the bowl. “This is what the nerd kids say, no?” She dropped a few flakes of food into the water. “Can’t let those ducks have my babies.”

Vedma then pulled the paper doll from the air and squeezed it in her fist, turning to face the dear Deven. “Look out,” she said with a small point up of her spindly fingers. A cardboard sign fell down from its worn out string (yarn really), with finger painted words Fortune Teller in red lettering across its base. “I made that myself. Here, I’ll put it back. Hold your doll.”

Vedma took the sign, tsk'ing as she looked at the frayed yarn, blindly handing Deven the white paper doll that had folded in front of her very eyes earlier.

“So! You want I talk to your dead grandpa’s ghost to see if you can date your cousin, yes?” Vedma sat down on the opposite side of her table and slammed a real crystal ball on top of the velvet covered surface and began to hum.

 

[Mikki]

Elijah Brooks

---

Elijah's jaw slacked, his eyes slowly taking in the... Pugcian in front of him. It took several moments for his brain to catch up. He scratched at the rough 5 o' clock shadow, trying to shut his mouth.

"Holy....what the fuck?! Dude you were GREAT in Men In Black!" Elijah laughed loudly, spittle flying in the air at his exclamation.

"What are you doing here bro.! This place ... doesn't really seem your style!"

Elijah looked around and grew quiet. He cleared his throat, a cough really, and tried to sit back.

"Uhhhhh love? Naw man. But like uh what will it take for me to sit here a lil longer? I only have like 10 minutes left of my break so..."

He pulled his wallet out, and pulled out a crisp twenty dollar bill and set it on the table.

"Bro, your jacket is fuckin cool tho. Like late 80s/ early 90s swagger without tryin too hard."
​

 

[chap]

Elijah Brooks

---

Elijah's jaw slacked, his eyes slowly taking in the... Pugcian in front of him. It took several moments for his brain to catch up. He scratched at the rough 5 o' clock shadow, trying to shut his mouth.

"Holy....what the fuck?! Dude you were GREAT in Men In Black!" Elijah laughed loudly, spittle flying in the air at his exclamation.

"What are you doing here bro.! This place ... doesn't really seem your style!"

Elijah looked around and grew quiet. He cleared his throat, a cough really, and tried to sit back.

"Uhhhhh love? Naw man. But like uh what will it take for me to sit here a lil longer? I only have like 10 minutes left of my break so..."

He pulled his wallet out, and pulled out a crisp twenty dollar bill and set it on the table.

"Bro, your jacket is fuckin cool tho. Like late 80s/ early 90s swagger without tryin too hard."
​

The Great Pugzini

.

.

The Great Pugzini regarded the laughter without change. The spittle hung in the candlelight for a moment like some brief meteor and then fell. He did not flinch. His eyes remained fixed, black and endless, as if Elijah's astonishment were merely a passing storm. Men often spoken. Men often marveled. Men filled the world with noise to keep from hearing the void.

And the pug's jowls sagged in permanent judgement.

He let the silence sit there a moment longer, as if allowing Elijah's disbelief to cool in the air like molten metal. The world outside the tent went on with its petty errands and bright afternoons and the ebb and flow of a thousand tiny lives, but within this canvas womb there was only the candle's thin nerve of flame and the small dog pretending at eternity.

The Great Pugzini's gaze drifted downward.

There on the table lay the twenty-dollar bill. Crisp. Green. His tiny heart fluttered at the thought of turning that bill into a pile of cheeseburgers, as though through some esoteric alchemical process.

He placed one paw upon it with the slow, deliberate weight of an executioner signing a warrant... and then he nodded.

"Ten minutes," he said.

He said it like a sentence handed down. Like a man granting parole. Like a priest offering communion with a time limit. Then he glanced back up, the black wells of his eyes unsoftened.

He said, "Men in Black..."

A pause.

He said, "I have never been in black."

He shifted in the chair as if the thought offended him.

"Denim only."

As if the denim were not fabric, but lineage. Creed. Covenant. He snorted once, sharply, as though testing the air for mockery.

"This jacket is... powerful," he said. "Late century," he explained. "Pre-collapse," he noted.

He nodded as well as a pug can possibly nod, satisfied with his own historical framing. The candle trembled. The cards lay scattered before him in ruin. Not a spread. Not a reading. A crime scene. The Tower was sideways. The Moon, face down, ass up. One card was just stuck to his paw, riding along like an unpaid intern. Another appeared to be a Blockbuster membership card, voided and in great black letters scrawled, 'DO NOT RENT TO THIS BOZO'.

The Great Pugzini did not acknowledge this.

"You are wise, slime," he said. "Men pay far more for far less. But, like, we're doing a whole thing here, man. I've gots to tell your fortune. Otherwise... it's just me, in a tent, with cards and vibes, takin' your lunch money. And that's... that's not fate. That's capitalism."

He frowned. Can pugs frown? Google says they can, but I don't really belie--

Sorry.

The Great Pugzini swept the cards toward himself with both paws in a gesture meant to be grand, ceremonial, priestlike... and immediately launched the rest of the deck off the table. A soft papery avalanche. The future fleeing in all directions. He looked down as if offended, as if righteous fury were coursing through his puggy frame, as if he were cursing the gods above for his severe lack of thumbs.

"Well, shit."

A silence. Then, slowly, with the dignity of a ruined emperor, he leaned down over the table's edge and peered into the papery debris as though the answers might simply arrange themselves out of fear. They did not. He sighed through his nose. The sigh contained multitudes. Grief. Resignation. A hint of processed meat.

Then...

From somewhere above them, deep in the canvas rafters of the tent, there came a sound. A faint creak. A soft whirrrrrr. The Great Pugzini looked up. And from the ceiling, lowered on a thin bit of string like an afterthought from God, descended... a crystal ball. Not a grand, jeweled thing. Not something forged in mystic furnaces. It looked like someone had stolen a decorative lamp globe from a Pier 1 Imports and decided it was destiny now.

It bobbed there, swinging gently.

Thunk.

It tapped the table with all the drama of a coconut hitting a puddle. The candlelight refracted through it, filling the tent with warped, aquatic ghosts. The Great Pugzini regarded it... and then he regarded Elijah. He leaned forward until his wrinkled face was mashed up against the glass like a doomed prophet at an aquarium. His breath fogged the orb. The universe waited. The pug spoke.

"I see... a road," he nodded, as though this road were legally binding. "It's long. It's paved. It has... like, little rocks? There's also a Taco Bell."

The Great Pugzini lifted one paw slowly, hovering it over the ball,.

"I see love," he said. "I see passion. I see you... meeting someone."

The Great Pugzini's eyes widened.

His jowls trembled.

He whispered, reverent:

"You're going to meet someone and you're going to take them to... THE BONE ZONE."

The candle flickered as though ashamed.

"Yes!" he shouted. "Behold! THE BONE ZONE! Capital letters! But... oh no! Alas! I also see hardship! I see you climbing their body as though it were Mordor! They're calling you Captain Coochie! The bed, oh woe and wonder, is on the verge of breaking!"

He nodded once. Satisfied. Then quietly, almost tenderly...

"And then you'll text them something dumb and they'll not respond for six hours and you'll think they're dying and you'll text them over and over again and they'll finally get back to you like, 'Jeez man, I was sleeping, I think I need some space' and you'll never see them again."

The pug's eyes were endless.

The crystal ball swung.

Fate was a cheap object on a string.

The Great Pugzini leaned back.

"That'll be twenty dollars again next time. NEXT!"

 

[B_Julez]

Cordelia

.

.

Cordelia's smile never faded, hearing Julez words but saying nothing. While the other spoke, she rested her chin in the palm of her hand, eyes fixed on Julez as though she were giving her undivided attention.

"Oh, no," Cordelia murmured, shifting slightly, fingers drifting toward the bones, but not yet touching them. "You are making perfect sense. You're known. Just... not for the right reasons."

She paused, gaze lowering to the bones as her hand hovered above them. "You let people touch you so they won't look too closely. You let them feel clossssse..."

Cordelia lifted her eyes again.

"...so they won't notice how far away you actually are."

Another pause.

"And the worst part?"

Cordelia gave a sympathetic cant of her head. "You aren't even sure you want to be seen. Or if you just want to stop feeling alone."

"Desirable." Her gaze slid unapologetically over Julez's form. "Agreeable. Available." A small, knowing smile. "But approval isn't intimacy, my dear and you didn't come here for romance."

"I am?" Julez said with a small laugh and a sigh of relief once told that she was making perfect sense. Full, glossy pink lips spread into a reassured smile, but only for a moment, as her pretty features quickly took on a concerned expression. "Wait, are those animal bones...?" Julez pointed with one index finger, then balled both hands up under her chin, leaning in to whisper. "I'm a vegan. Does that mess with, like, your whole..." Julez waved one hand around in an unsure gesture, "...thing that you got going here?"

The blonde continued to lean forward incrementally as Cordelia spoke, then paused, then spoke again, then paused again... intolerable suspense building up inside the young dancer.

"Desirable."

She nodded. "I try..."

"Agreeable."

She nodded again. "I love to please..."

"Available."

She nodded eagerly, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Schedule's always open..."

"But approval isn't intimacy, my dear and you didn't come here for romance."

She shook her head adamantly. "No, I didn't..." Then, as if coming out of a trance, Julez blinked several times and sat up straight. "Wait, I didn't? Aww c'mon, I thought you were going to help me find a boyfriend or something!" Julez let out a heavy "Hmph!" and leaned back in the chair, arms crossing over her chest. "Well, that's disappointing." She frowned, then finally looked up after a few seconds. "Well, then what did I come here for?"

There was a brief pause before she added. "Wait, am I paying for this? Because we never discussed payme..."

Julez stopped talking immediately as one of her own hands reached up casually to scratch the side of her neck... only to find that she'd forgotten to remove one teeny-tiny, uh, article of "clothing" before she'd left the club. Oh no! The blonde almost panicked as it dawned upon her that around her neck was a thick, black, pleather (she is vegan after all) dog collar with a silver O ring dangling from the center of her throat. Oh my GOD, how did I forget to take this off? Nervous laughter spilled from her lips uncontrollably as she lowered her hand away from the collar. Maybe it won't stand out. People wear all kinds of weird stuff out in the world these days, it's just a fashion statement... or something...

"Ahem," Julez cleared her throat, eventually recomposing herself. "Sorry, um, can we..." She made a rolling motion with her hands. "Can we kind of get to why I am here and what you think I'm looking for? Thanks..." She gulped hard, feeling very self conscious that some of her club life was spilling out into the real world. Uuuhuhh, I can't believe I left this on... but what Julez didn't realize is that she had taken it off and hidden it away in the duffel bag that now lay on the ground beside her chair.

She hadn't forgotten... so why is it around her neck right now?

 

[Vivian Crissdon]

A pause at the threshold.

The tent flap rustles, catching briefly on a ringed hand before it’s tugged aside with a sharp, impatient flick. A woman steps in like she’s already decided this is nonsense but is staying anyway.

Aurora smells faintly of spiced wine and smoke, the kind that clings after festivals and bad decisions. Her dark coat hangs open, scarf half-undone, boots scuffed like she walked here without fully knowing why. There’s confidence in how she carries herself, but it’s the brittle kind,polished, practiced, hiding something restless underneath.

Her sharp eyes sweep the interior: the crooked tarot decks, the cracked crystal ball, the charms that look borrowed at best. One brow lifts.

“…Wow,” she says dryly. “This place looks like it would absolutely steal my jewelry and then blame Mercury.”

She lingers standing for a moment, arms crossed, as if daring the room to impress her. When she finally sits, it’s with exaggerated care, chair scraped just a little too loudly against the floor.

“I’m not here because I believe in fate,” Aurora says, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m here because my friends thought it would be funny if I got cursed.”

A pause. Then she exhales, softer now, gaze flicking briefly to the crystal ball before settling back on the fortune teller.

“But since I’m already inside the suspicious velvet death trap…”

She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, fingers laced together. Her expression sharpens, half challenge, half curiosity.

“Tell me this,” Aurora says. “Am I running toward something that will ruin me… or running away from something that already has?”

Her lips curve into a crooked, almost-smile.

“And don’t sugarcoat it. If the universe is going to call me out, it can at least do it with style.”

 

[SDBMBH]

What is purpose? A thing so fragile it could be taken away by the same lips that had whispered it in his ear in the first place.

The witch who had caught an eclipse in her eyes still eluded him. Cain spent every recourse he could manage tracking her down. Desperate nights ended in the wrong places. Empty-handed, bruised, bloodied.

And it all led to this.

Even through laughter, he could not believe the joke as it revealed itself. An out-of-print phone book gave him the last trail to the fortune teller’s tent.

“¿Dónde estás, muñeca?”

For a few heartbeats the motorcycle refused to be silent when he turned the keys.

Metal ticked as it cooled, sharp and resonant in the open parking lot, each click louder than it should have been in the sudden quiet. Heat radiated up from the engine block and pressed against his calves through denim.

A few paces down, a loose sign creaked once, then went still. He stayed seated, one boot planted, the other resting on the peg as if waiting for the street to say something back.

He drew a cigarette. The leather seat shifted with a dry, papery crinkle as he leaned forward, shoulders rolling slightly.

When he struck the lighter, the flame flared and painted his face in brief, molten orange. The light caught the edge of stubble along his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the steady focus of honey-colored eyes. He drew in slowly, deliberately, and the tip burned red, a small, living coal in the dark.

Smoke poured through his nose. The scent layered itself over oil, hide, and rain-slick stone.

"Querida mía."

A breeze combed through his hair, dark strands lifting and settling again. The silver cross at his throat shifted with the motion catching faint light as it came to rest against his chest. One leg swung over the bike and he stood. His boots hit the ground with a dull, solid squelch.

Black nails and matte lipstick.

As he flicked the cigarette away, his hand moved almost carelessly, rings clinking softly against one another. The ember spun once before dying on the asphalt. His gaze trailed up to a tent that sat hunched at the far edge of the square, velvet sagging between poles that had seen better decades.

Wire lights clung to its outline, some glowing steadily, others flickering as if unsure of their own commitment. A hand-painted sign hung crooked above the entrance, letters uneven and bold in a way that suggested intention rather than skill.

The woman with lingering jasmine and cinnamon. The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile.

He crossed the square. Boots splashed through a shallow puddle left by earlier rain and water breaking around the leather sending ripples across the reflected surface.

When he reached the tent, he stopped close enough to feel warmth bleeding out from inside.

His ringed fingers lifted and parted the entrance. The fabric was thicker than it looked, textured, worn smooth in places by countless hands. It brushed his knuckles and wrist as he pushed through the cloth whispering softly as it gave way.

The smell hit him immediately.

Incense, heavy and foreign, threaded with something sweet that had been pushed too far into bitterness. Burnt sugar lingered under it and clung to the air.

There was also something older beneath everything else.

Old smoke.
Old fabric.
Old secrets that had soaked into the walls and never quite left.

A single earring in his left ear cooled as the air moved past it. Thin trails from incense curled upward, then sideways, responding to movement. Cards tapped softly against tabletops, fingerpads sliding over paper. The rustle of skirts and scarves as people shifted in their seats.

Voices overlapped in murmurs and half-whispers, fortunes being spun, argued with, laughed at. A low chuckle somewhere to his right. A sharp intake of breath to his left.

So, what will it be, fortune or misfortune, bullets and chandeliers?

 

[MioBrave]

A pause at the threshold.

The tent flap rustles, catching briefly on a ringed hand before it’s tugged aside with a sharp, impatient flick. A woman steps in like she’s already decided this is nonsense but is staying anyway.

Aurora smells faintly of spiced wine and smoke, the kind that clings after festivals and bad decisions. Her dark coat hangs open, scarf half-undone, boots scuffed like she walked here without fully knowing why. There’s confidence in how she carries herself, but it’s the brittle kind,polished, practiced, hiding something restless underneath.

Her sharp eyes sweep the interior: the crooked tarot decks, the cracked crystal ball, the charms that look borrowed at best. One brow lifts.

“…Wow,” she says dryly. “This place looks like it would absolutely steal my jewelry and then blame Mercury.”

She lingers standing for a moment, arms crossed, as if daring the room to impress her. When she finally sits, it’s with exaggerated care, chair scraped just a little too loudly against the floor.

“I’m not here because I believe in fate,” Aurora says, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m here because my friends thought it would be funny if I got cursed.”

A pause. Then she exhales, softer now, gaze flicking briefly to the crystal ball before settling back on the fortune teller.

“But since I’m already inside the suspicious velvet death trap…”

She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, fingers laced together. Her expression sharpens, half challenge, half curiosity.

“Tell me this,” Aurora says. “Am I running toward something that will ruin me… or running away from something that already has?”

Her lips curve into a crooked, almost-smile.

“And don’t sugarcoat it. If the universe is going to call me out, it can at least do it with style.”

Auracle

.

.

This bit of tent glows a bit brightly, and it's warm like the sun in spring. There are trellises with odd plants vining up them, one's that seem from another realm or world. There are other plants which just float, hovering gently, with no source for how. Then a few tall arbors with a hundred or so strings of various crystals hanging from them like sun catchers, casting rainbows in fractals across the space.

Auracle lifts his head from his corner, pausing from feeding a rather colorful duck. He's sat in a pile of pillows at the back of his cubby, but stands when Aurora sits at his table. The avian pads off as he does; to some other part of the tent to surely bother another teller or guest. The fae's bare feet hardly touch the ground as he walks, his wings giving a twitch.

He cracks a small grin. "Not even a hello or a name? Just straight to business?" The voice is gentle. His head weaves through all the hangings, as if he could see them there despite the covering on his eyes. He stops, not yet sitting, just placing his hands on the back of the throw covered chair. "Most people are running away from something. Since you seem in such a rush, I'd assume you're the same. Not that I blame you; everyone's always anxious for answers."

He turns and touches one of the crystal strands, turning it as if examining it. "You've got a strong soul. Bright, with a touch of red confidence. Strong headed but distrustful." He 'looks' back to Aurora, tilting his head. "I see a rough history behind you, but I'm not sure that it isn't your own fault. Partially at least. You can't run from yourself, you know? You can only grow. If you keep rushing upward without building a trellis to climb, you're bound to just keep falling over."

He moves to lean forward on the table, setting his chin in his hand. Still grinning, head still tilted in a knowing way. "So, both. Does that answer your question, Aurora?" He speaks her name, despite the fact that she never said it.