Hibernal 🔮💘 𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓾𝓷𝓮 𝓣𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝓣𝓮𝓷𝓽 💔🔮

[Vivian Crissdon]

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.

Aurora stiffens.

Not dramatically but something in her posture locks, like a door quietly bolted from the inside. Her fingers, still laced on the table, tighten just enough for the knuckles to pale.

“…Right,” she says after a beat. “So this is the part where you pretend that wasn’t unsettling.”

Her gaze flicks instinctively to the space behind her, then back to Auracle. She studies him now, really studies him,the bare feet that don’t quite touch the floor, the wings, the way his covered eyes still seem aware of her. Her mouth twists.

“Okay,” Aurora continues, forcing a thin smile. “Let’s say I ignore the name thing for a second. And the fact that you just psychoanalyzed me using wind chimes.”

She leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, reclaiming space like armor. But there’s a crack in it now, something wary, unsettled, and very much engaged.

“A trellis,” she repeats. “That’s your advice? Build better scaffolding so I don’t keep face-planting into the same mistakes?”

Her eyes narrow, but there’s no real heat in it but rather more curiosity than offense.

“And what if,” she says slowly, “I did build one? What if I did everything right, took my time, trusted carefully, stopped running?”

She taps one finger lightly against the table.

“What happens then?”

A pause. Her voice drops, quieter, less sharp.

“Because people like me don’t rush upward for fun. We do it because standing still feels like drowning.”

She looks at him again, searching now rather than challenging.

“So tell me,” Aurora says softly. “Do you see growth… or do you just see me learning how to fall more gracefully?”

 

[Batcat]

A small black cat, ignored by most those who pass by, sits just outside of the tent, it's tail swishing gently as it stares up at the hanging sign. One of her ears twitches as the faint scent of burning incense wafts towards her from somewhere inside the tent; she tries to remember if she's seen this place before. Considering how many times she's passed through this square, with it being on the way to the fishing docks, she was certain that she would have noticed. But then, had she ever even been paying that much attention to the square? And yet, the more she thinks about it, the more that she remembers hearing the name of the place coming up in passing conversations. Being unable to think of anything major that she has planned for the day, the cat's curiosity becomes too much to ignore as she decides to peek inside.

One moment, the cat was sitting on the brick pathway, and in the next, a petite young woman, complete with fluffy cat ears, shoulder length raven black hair, and a swishing tail, stands nervously a few steps away from the entrance. It's fine, just a quick peek to see what's inside. If I don't like it, I can just walk away. What's the worse that can happen...? Glancing around one last time, not quite convinced that there weren't hidden cameras somewhere, Aimi takes a deep breath to calm her nerves before she closes the distance and pokes her head inside the tent. "Um, h-hello...?"

 

[MioBrave]

Aurora stiffens.

Not dramatically but something in her posture locks, like a door quietly bolted from the inside. Her fingers, still laced on the table, tighten just enough for the knuckles to pale.

“…Right,” she says after a beat. “So this is the part where you pretend that wasn’t unsettling.”

Her gaze flicks instinctively to the space behind her, then back to Auracle. She studies him now, really studies him,the bare feet that don’t quite touch the floor, the wings, the way his covered eyes still seem aware of her. Her mouth twists.

“Okay,” Aurora continues, forcing a thin smile. “Let’s say I ignore the name thing for a second. And the fact that you just psychoanalyzed me using wind chimes.”

She leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, reclaiming space like armor. But there’s a crack in it now, something wary, unsettled, and very much engaged.

“A trellis,” she repeats. “That’s your advice? Build better scaffolding so I don’t keep face-planting into the same mistakes?”

Her eyes narrow, but there’s no real heat in it but rather more curiosity than offense.

“And what if,” she says slowly, “I did build one? What if I did everything right, took my time, trusted carefully, stopped running?”

She taps one finger lightly against the table.

“What happens then?”

A pause. Her voice drops, quieter, less sharp.

“Because people like me don’t rush upward for fun. We do it because standing still feels like drowning.”

She looks at him again, searching now rather than challenging.

“So tell me,” Aurora says softly. “Do you see growth… or do you just see me learning how to fall more gracefully?”

Auracle

.

.

"The trellis isn't to stop you. It's to give you somewhere to grow. You keep running with no destination, too busy avoiding what's behind you. You have goals, but they'll never flower if you don't take the time to give them what they need."

He lifts himself from the table. A few things float about him. A tiny flower pot places itself on the table. Then another colorful duck appears from nowhere, a nearly empty bag of potting soil in its bill. It flaps on iridescent wings to land on the table, setting the soil down. It tilts its head at Aurora, just staring.

Auracle opens the bag, not pouring but placing and patting the dirt in by hand. "I said a trellis, but not all plants need one. Some need specific soil. More or less water. Help pollinating. A breeze to spread their seeds. Vines need something to climb, and weeds need told when to stop." One of the floating plants draws near him, one that looks like some sort of succulent. He takes a small trimming off and carefully plants it. "Don't focus on the trellis. You just have to find what you need to grow, and you can't do that if you're too busy looking behind you."

He pats himself beneath his cloak, looking for something. "As for your follow up question. You can't have life without both. You want one or the other. Progress or falling. That's not how life works." He pulls out a bottle. The contents are clear but reflecting more rainbows. He pops the cap, fumbling for a second and spilling some on the table. He's been so graceful so far though, it almost feels intentional. "If you never fall, then you won't learn. Falling isn't failing, so stop trying to avoid it. You will start to fall more gracefully, because you'll keep on falling. Will you grow from it? That all depends on you. Use your experiences as fertilizer. Stop treating them like poison."

He waters the small pot with the bottle's contents, the glass gentle against the table as it's set aside. He pushes the small pot towards Aurora. A gift. Then runs a hand over his colorful duck friend.

 

[wine]

A dingy, disheveled man walked into the fortune teller’s tent purposefully, albeit a bit unstable on his feet. He was wearing an old mechanic’s uniform. The dark blue of the overalls had long since faded to a near light gray color and was filthy. The name patch, which once read Murray in a crisp red thread, had been ripped in half and now only vaguely read ‘Mur’ in a suspicious, dark- brown color. His dark eyes, blood-shot and rimmed with circles, erratically skirted the establishment, noting its strange assortment of artifacts and oddities. He leaned in closer to the pile of unidentifiable bones amongst the fortune tellers’ table to take a closer look, which prompted his to stomach grumble.

“Y’all sell wingss’shere?” The man’s gravelly tone was slurred and struck with obvious curiosity before he shook his head, as if reorienting his mind back to his objective. His thin, wiry comb-over remained askew even after his head had stopped shaking.

“Oh, right. Stay, focusss’d, Murray, dammit. Uhh— why am I here?” His gaze went wide around the tent again before he seemed to remember. “Oh, thatsaright!”

The man— presumably Murray—smelled vaguely of cheap aftershave, and strongly of poor decisions, which was to say, musty and sour. As if he’d spent days trapped in a stupor, only to awake after he’d drank, snorted and gambled away his very last dollar just to realize that he had in fact drank, snorted and gambled away his very last dollar. His bloodshot eyes boasted a glossy sheen to them, as if he were still drunk, high, or both, and he swayed slightly where he stood, pointed finger swinging wildly from teller to teller as he started to ramble off his pitch.

“I’ma on a quest! A most int’resting questical of curseee…” His eyes went wide with feigned incredulity, hands opening in an arc before him as if between them lay the promised lands. “But fuurst!” He sloppily slapped his hands back together; the emphatic clap terribly off-timed. “I will need assissis- assisti- argh, HALP!”

“Please, oh wiseones!! Help me! I need..nuhmburs. I NEED them!!..SIX! Of them…6 numbers, ‘tween one an twunty- tw, wait no. Uhh- forty-two! Yes, das’right... The order is very spec- speciff- matters, too!…Cmon, I know one’a’ya brutes can help me!!” He all but begged no one in particular, hands splaying on the table of bones before he shot a desperate wink at Brünnhilde.

“What about you, purdy? Bet you cud help ole Murray out, huh? Whaddaya say?”

 

[Lady_Botz]

Talia tugs her small, waist height leather jacket around herself. It's purpose wasnt for warmth nor protection but style. She wore a plain white tee beneath and her long auburn hair was strung up in a high pony tail. Her features were soft but the gaze she wore showed a harshness only earned through trauma and death. Biting the bottom of her lip, she would glance over her shoulder once before gazing back on the tent that felt as if it appeared from nowhere.

How had she heard of these tellers? Whispers. Having escaped her small town, running from who knows what, she had gathered a tale or two of this place. Now having snuck from her responsibility and partner, she stood there, unsure of what she really wanted. Her heart and mind wandered to the creature of a man she had slipped from. He knew she was gone, that was for certain. But would he come and try to find her or patiently wait her return? She wasn't a prisoner to him but it almost felt wrong to leave anywhere without him. He was her guide of sorts and here she stood, alone.

Quietly her steps carried her past the tent entrance, her eyes wide as it took in the various scenes around her. Seemed the place was more popular than the outside suggested. She looked around once more, eyes moving over the many tellers. Who would she speak to? Did she choose or was she.. chosen? Once again she tugged at her jacket. Why was she here anyways? She was just a human who had found the world wasn't all it seemed. The characters in here further supported that new knowledge.

Perhaps she felt like she was in danger. Being on the run could do that to a person. Or maybe she was fearful of the strong feelings she had for her traveling companion. He wasn't of this world either yet she felt drawn to him in ways she didn't understand. Or maybe she was here for a sign to go back home. Her brother could be back home, waiting for her. Though she doubted that. He was probably out here looking for her, ready to kill the creature she had grown fond of.

Either way, her eagerness and curiosity drove her despite the lack of confidence.

 

[GremlinSage]

A small black cat, ignored by most those who pass by, sits just outside of the tent, it's tail swishing gently as it stares up at the hanging sign. One of her ears twitches as the faint scent of burning incense wafts towards her from somewhere inside the tent; she tries to remember if she's seen this place before. Considering how many times she's passed through this square, with it being on the way to the fishing docks, she was certain that she would have noticed. But then, had she ever even been paying that much attention to the square? And yet, the more she thinks about it, the more that she remembers hearing the name of the place coming up in passing conversations. Being unable to think of anything major that she has planned for the day, the cat's curiosity becomes too much to ignore as she decides to peek inside.

One moment, the cat was sitting on the brick pathway, and in the next, a petite young woman, complete with fluffy cat ears, shoulder length raven black hair, and a swishing tail, stands nervously a few steps away from the entrance. It's fine, just a quick peek to see what's inside. If I don't like it, I can just walk away. What's the worse that can happen...? Glancing around one last time, not quite convinced that there weren't hidden cameras somewhere, Aimi takes a deep breath to calm her nerves before she closes the distance and pokes her head inside the tent. "Um, h-hello...?"

Cordelia

.

.

While the shadows moved toward Julez, Cordelia picked up on the faint scent of a cat. It was still quite overpowered by a wet dog smell from a certain pug they wouldn't allow her to eat... with. Eat with. Yes. Gleefully she winked at Julez and was gone, fading into the shadows that had already started to engulf the table.

"Why hello there, kitten." Cordelia purred, her form gradually coming into view in front of the neko, excitement giving some life to those green eyes. Both hands, cold as ice cupped the neko's visage, pulling her with some force into the tent until there was no space between their bodies. "Are you here for love or for curses? Or did you want... a snack?" Her tongue licked under her upper lip, breathing in the cat's scent.

It was then she felt the bones at her table being touched, that gleeful expression instantly turning dark as eyes narrowed when she turned about. Cordelia didn't release the woman from her grasp, instead moving her hands to lace her arm round Aimi's arm, fingers interlacing. She could feel the bones vibrating against the touch of the man ( @wine ), pulling Aimi with her to her table when Julez would take her leave.

"We don't give fortune's for lottery." Cordelia hissed, keeping the neko close still. "Shoo, you disturb the dead, off my table." The cold shadows had slithered back on the table, blanketing the tarot cards and bones, wrapping around Mur's hands the longer they touched her table. Cordelia looked to Aimi, then, guiding her to the seat with a scritch at her ear, a thin smile breaking through again.

 

[ImnotAndy]

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.

It took Deven several breaths and blinks to understand all that was unfolding in front of her eyes. It was all too much. The casual way she'd dumped the fish in the bowl, her trying to speak in slang and the sign falling down finally revealing what Deven had suspected but couldn't name. Though her breaking point came when the paper doll was folded into thin air, right in front of her. "Yeah, I guess they say that? I was never a yu-gi oh fan, to be honest." She said dazed.

Deven kept blinking. Obsessivley so. As if one of those blinks would wake her up. Well, she hoped so anyway. "Hold my what?" Deven said, recoiling slightly before pinching the doll between two fingers, like it might stain her. Up close the doll was undeniably made of paper. Thin, creased and fragile. But what didn't make sense was how detailed the folding had been. Down to Deven's nose piercing and...Were those her freckles? That was impossible. Holding a paper version of herself felt wrong in a way she didn’t have a word for. "That's.. Euhm.. Nice. Hobby of yours huh? Yeah no that's really cute." Deven scoffed and swallowed. Her eyes darting around the room.

With every passing minute, the things she was observing became stranger. Was that fish in the bowl waving at her? And she could have sworn the painted man on the unicycle had just blinked. What is going on?

Deven's head snapped back at the mention of dating a cousin. "WAIT. What? No EW! No thanks. I don't want to talk to my grandpa or date any of my 26 cousins, no matter how far removed. Thanks." Her face twisted into a perfect mix of disgust and disbelief.

"So you're a fortune teller huh? That's cool. I guess. How'd ya roll into that?" Deven asked her, trying to seem casual. Then, with a small nod, like the answer would explain everything, she added, “You a fan of Charmed?”

She continued, because Deven was known not to like silences. All of them seemed awkward to her. "Because I am ashamed to admit that I don't really know what a fortune teller does, besides what I have seen in tv-shows like that so raven and charmed." She explained.

 

[wine]

Cordelia​

.

.While the shadows moved toward Julez, Cordelia picked up on the faint scent of a cat. It was still quite overpowered by a wet dog smell from a certain pug they wouldn't allow her to eat... with. Eat with. Yes. Gleefully she winked at Julez and was gone, fading into the shadows that had already started to engulf the table.

"Why hello there, kitten." Cordelia purred, her form gradually coming into view in front of the neko, excitement giving some life to those green eyes. Both hands, cold as ice cupped the neko's visage, pulling her with some force into the tent until there was no space between their bodies. "Are you here for love or for curses? Or did you want... a snack?" Her tongue licked under her upper lip, breathing in the cat's scent.

It was then she felt the bones at her table being touched, that gleeful expression instantly turning dark as eyes narrowed when she turned about. Cordelia didn't release the woman from her grasp, instead moving her hands to lace her arm round Aimi's arm, fingers interlacing. She could feel the bones vibrating against the touch of the man ( @wine ), pulling Aimi with her to her table when Julez would take her leave.

"We don't give fortune's for lottery." Cordelia hissed, keeping the neko close still. "Shoo, you disturb the dead, off my table." The cold shadows had slithered back on the table, blanketing the tarot cards and bones, wrapping around Mur's hands the longer they touched her table. Cordelia looked to Aimi, then, guiding her to the seat with a scritch at her ear, a thin smile breaking through again.​

Murray’s face contorted into one of unconvincing confusion at the hiss. “The lottery??” Wha-What makes you tthi—“ Murray cut himself off, lips curling into an unsettling half- smirk, half-grin as he felt a feathery touch along his wrist. “Ooh, I think your sissster thinks I’m cute! Might even feel inclined to help a weary traveler.” He turned his wrist, attempting to take the dainty touch within his palm just to grasp at smoke and shadows. Literally. His sweaty digits only seemed to paw at a dark shadow where he was certain there had been a woman’s touch. Where there was still pressure, as if he were being held. Bewildered, his eyes followed his hands up to his wrist and nearly bulged out of his head. “What the! Whatthefuck!!” He flailed his hands frantically, roughly wiping them against his dirty overalls to no avail. “Letmego! Let me go! Let me gooo!” Murray wailed, red-rimmed eyes made redder by tears threatening to spill over. Dark, shadowy tendrils came from off the table, winding themselves in a creepy, slithering motion around his arms. No matter how hard Murray seemed to struggle, they wouldn’t give. The bones rattled viciously on the table, wrath evident. “Please! Puhhleaasee!! I promiths I’ll never- I’ll nevvurr come back here!!!” Murray begged and pleaded, tears falling freely now as he struggled against the shadows.

When he was finally released, Murray stumbled backwards with such momentum that he nearly tumbled out of the tent. Clumsily gathering himself back up to his feet, he looked over at Cordelia sourly. “Coulda just said no, witch.” He grumbled with a huff, smoothing his wiry hair back down over the bald spot in the middle before he began his listless amble toward the door. Stopping right before he slipped out, Murray cast a glance over his shoulder, the coy smirk of an addict on his features.

“Ok… forget-forget the numbersss! Anybody, anybody know where I can find two dollarss?”

Seeing the shadows rise up again with ire, Murray yelped and skedaddled out of the tent before anyone could answer.

 

[Jumbled]

It took Deven several breaths and blinks to understand all that was unfolding in front of her eyes. It was all too much. The casual way she'd dumped the fish in the bowl, her trying to speak in slang and the sign falling down finally revealing what Deven had suspected but couldn't name. Though her breaking point came when the paper doll was folded into thin air, right in front of her. "Yeah, I guess they say that? I was never a yu-gi oh fan, to be honest." She said dazed.

Deven kept blinking. Obsessivley so. As if one of those blinks would wake her up. Well, she hoped so anyway. "Hold my what?" Deven said, recoiling slightly before pinching the doll between two fingers, like it might stain her. Up close the doll was undeniably made of paper. Thin, creased and fragile. But what didn't make sense was how detailed the folding had been. Down to Deven's nose piercing and...Were those her freckles? That was impossible. Holding a paper version of herself felt wrong in a way she didn’t have a word for. "That's.. Euhm.. Nice. Hobby of yours huh? Yeah no that's really cute." Deven scoffed and swallowed. Her eyes darting around the room.

With every passing minute, the things she was observing became stranger. Was that fish in the bowl waving at her? And she could have sworn the painted man on the unicycle had just blinked. What is going on?

Deven's head snapped back at the mention of dating a cousin. "WAIT. What? No EW! No thanks. I don't want to talk to my grandpa or date any of my 26 cousins, no matter how far removed. Thanks." Her face twisted into a perfect mix of disgust and disbelief.

"So you're a fortune teller huh? That's cool. I guess. How'd ya roll into that?" Deven asked her, trying to seem casual. Then, with a small nod, like the answer would explain everything, she added, “You a fan of Charmed?”

She continued, because Deven was known not to like silences. All of them seemed awkward to her. "Because I am ashamed to admit that I don't really know what a fortune teller does, besides what I have seen in tv-shows like that so raven and charmed." She explained.

Vedma Rozanov

.

.

Vedma stopped humming. Both of her hands were pulling at long strands of her bright, red hair, holding them out to either side in a Pippi Longstocking type style, while her feral, yellow eyes stared at the lady across from her.

“No? No for the cousin? Okay. Fine. No cousins.” She opened her fingers and dropped her hands in surrender, but her hair stayed up in the air nevertheless.

“Charms and Ravens, yes… I see,” Vedma had no idea. The woman tapped her long nails against the surface of the crystal ball that sat on her table. Then she gasped.

“There! Look at that!” The beaded curtain began to sway and the room began to fill with strange purple smoke that clung to the floor like sickly rolling smog that smelled like too much Axe Body Spray and motor oil. Vedma wrinkled her nose but continued to look at the ball in front of them.

“Look, just there,” she pointed just a moment longer, trying to show Deven the image inside of the ball, then exclaimed at the top of her lungs. “Duck!” Perhaps Deven (or literally anyone in the general vicinity that didn’t know better) expected more items to fall from the ceiling.

Instead of debris, there was a gap of silence where nothing happened at all, until suddenly there was a duck at her table, with a head nearly as bright as Vedma’s hair, and a mouth full of cards. Vedma traded the cards for a small bell on a string, and a single large button.

“Charms, yes! If it helps, pretend duck is raven,” Vedma seemed unconcerned with how long the entire process took for the duck to then disappear behind Deven, jingling away with its traded items through the tent, off to disturb someone else.

“The duck provides. More paper!” Vedma spread the cards out onto the table, ignoring the crystal ball entirely—after all, she’d only used it as a sort of mirror, anyway—and she nodded knowingly at the spread. The fowl had given her playing cards, not tarot, but it mattered not.

Two of Diamonds. Four of Hearts. Four of Clubs. Three of Spades. Four of Diamonds. Two of Hearts. Five of Spades.

“The cards speak to me. Financial changes for a more stable home and work life. It may cause some… emotional strain for you. Perhaps it is not so Raven, but Big Cock that you need.” Vedma clapped her hands together happily then stood from her table. “Yes! Good. You have what you need now.” Vedma motioned for Deven to stand and began to walk her out.

“Once you are back to where you have come from, unfold your doll. All will become clear.”

The Doll Unfolded

 

[Batcat]

Cordelia

.

.

While the shadows moved toward Julez, Cordelia picked up on the faint scent of a cat. It was still quite overpowered by a wet dog smell from a certain pug they wouldn't allow her to eat... with. Eat with. Yes. Gleefully she winked at Julez and was gone, fading into the shadows that had already started to engulf the table.

"Why hello there, kitten." Cordelia purred, her form gradually coming into view in front of the neko, excitement giving some life to those green eyes. Both hands, cold as ice cupped the neko's visage, pulling her with some force into the tent until there was no space between their bodies. "Are you here for love or for curses? Or did you want... a snack?" Her tongue licked under her upper lip, breathing in the cat's scent.

It was then she felt the bones at her table being touched, that gleeful expression instantly turning dark as eyes narrowed when she turned about. Cordelia didn't release the woman from her grasp, instead moving her hands to lace her arm round Aimi's arm, fingers interlacing. She could feel the bones vibrating against the touch of the man ( @wine ), pulling Aimi with her to her table when Julez would take her leave.

"We don't give fortune's for lottery." Cordelia hissed, keeping the neko close still. "Shoo, you disturb the dead, off my table." The cold shadows had slithered back on the table, blanketing the tarot cards and bones, wrapping around Mur's hands the longer they touched her table. Cordelia looked to Aimi, then, guiding her to the seat with a scritch at her ear, a thin smile breaking through again.

Sky blue eyes blink once, twice, three times even as chills erupt across her body as she's pulled fully into the tent. Despite the coldness of the woman's touch, Aimi's cheeks mottle pink from the sudden close proximity. Normally, she would have been squirming to get away from someone being so 'hands on' with her, yet she found herself far more curious than distressed. The sensation as she was lead to a seat was how she imagined a deer caught in headlights felt, wanting to run away, yet too overwhelmed to get her body to listen. And yet... She was finding that she didn't truly wish to run. She wished to stay and see what this madness was all about. Of course, the ear scritches were going quite a ways towards nulling any fear she may have had. Curiosity did kill the cat, after all... She was just hoping that the experience would give her enough satisfaction to bring her back...

Sitting down, the neko opens her mouth to speak, revealing a hint of fang before closing again. The process repeats a few times as it seems that she's caught her own tongue as her eyes glance around the room. It's clear the woman is a bit overwhelmed, but she does her best to focus on the reason she had decided to indulge in her own curiosity. After a few second, she finally manages to find her voice again as her gaze settles back onto Cordellia. "Um... I'm set on love and I, um, don't really have any use for curses.., But I'd never say no to a snack," she mutters with a smile. "Wouldn't say no to a fortune reading, either, but I don't think I have enough to cover the cost, however much that may be." She hadn't exactly been planning on doing any shopping, so her wallet had been left at home.

 

[Rimechapel]

View attachment 149144
@Rimechapel


Purple haze, fowl swearing, burnt sage and duck shit.

What in the hell am I in for?

Cain's boots stopped just inside the partition, eyes adjusting to the dim chaos of Frazil's setup. His brows knit, not in confusion, but in appraisal.

"Papacito." The word as natural as oil slick on rain. Frazil waved him in with that lazy two-finger gesture. Cards came out. Not tarot. Playing cards. Wrong tool on purpose and a desk that looked like it had survived three bar fights and a grease fire.

Cain’s eyes flicked to the crushed snacks then back to the mask, the boots on the desk and the crumbs grinding.

An off-rhythm respirator and a couple trickster gnomes. What else could they have been? He took in the way the green-headed one preened like it knew it was being watched and the way the other duck already had beady eyes on the crumbs, the cards and the exits.

Not ducks, his mind corrected.
Mischief with feathers.

Little saboteurs, destiny and fate with bills tucked under bristled wings.

Then, the performance unfolded. There was quacking, indignant exits, card thefts. Cain went still the way wolves do before deciding whether something is food or noise.

Queen of Spades. Stolen.
Ace of Diamonds. Gone.

¿Qué chingados?

More cards vanished. Twelve and too many to be coincidence. Each snatch sharpened his attention. Not to the cards, but to the pattern. The interruption was the point. Outcomes weren't being read, they were being denied.

"I sense... you're lookin' for a woman. In black." It was odd but he also noticed the way the vapor puffed with each chuckle, almost rhetorical.

The biker leaned forward a hair. “What kind of KFC chicken-bone reading, witch-doctor, juju magic, divination shit is this?” A mild question threaded with amusement in his voice.

“You let poultry unionize, or do they do your job and you're just a pet?” He continued, silver rings catching the light as he combed his hair back.

Absurdity sat between them like a tight membrane holding two realities from contaminating the other. Circus tent, has to be. A bruised knuckle hooked on his leather belt.

Before he could speak again, a quarter hit the table. Cain’s pupils reflected the coin as it spun, wobbling through crumbs and grease, and he focused on it unconsciously with a predator-tracking motion round to round.

When it finally settled, so did his gaze. The ruddy-headed duck waddled off with its stolen cards, proud as a priest leaving a confession booth with fresh secrets. Cain trailed it, the corner of his mouth twitched once when it stormed past him like he'd personally offended it.

He stepped closer and pulled the chair, legs scraping metal against something that might've been a stiff rug or fossilized snack debris. He sat down, picked up the quarter between two ringed fingers and turned it over once, twice and let the dim light catch the silver.

Two-one-two. A number that was too familiar.

An image dredged from the back of his memory the way an anchor rakes the sea floor.

The Velvet Narwhal, strip joint.

The one with the black door and the neon sign on it. The one he'd already been to twice and walked out of with more questions than he'd walked in with.

His thumb pressed the rim of the quarter once. Deliberate.

Frazil mentioned something earlier, something about a duck, a nice big duck, but Cain's thoughts had already left the conversation. He was back in that soft VIP lounge. The low light. The smell of sweat and spilled bourbon with something underneath it all that never belonged.

Something sweeter.
Darker.
Her.

He set the quarter down on the edge of the table. Didn't push it back. Didn't pocket it either, just left it there between them like an answer he wasn't ready to say out loud and leaned back. One arm draped over the chair, his honey-colored irises locking on Frazil through the haze.

"Club with a heart on it." Cain's jaw worked for a second like he was chewing on the words before he let them out.

"Bring shovels." He repeated it back, slow. Not a question. A wisp of ink coiled in the sclera of his right eye for a second then disappeared.

"Bodies, still buried..."
He exhaled.
"or yet to be?"

His hand drifted to the pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket. Pulled one free, cradled it in his fingers, and rolled it slowly, an old nervous habit he'd never quite shaken.

"The woman in black. The one your helpful duck says is gone." His brow arched. "Gone where?" The butt found his lips. He struck the lighter, orange painted his features.

The flame danced as he lit the stick and cast shadows on his face as he took a drag. Smoke slipped through his nose as he studied Frazil with the patience of a man who'd followed worse leads into worse places.

"Preciate the fortune, hermano." He leaned forward again, humor resurfacing like steel drawn from skin.

“But you tell me to call someone who cares, hand me some change and let your gnomes steal the rest.” An index finger tapped on the table.

“Either you’re full of mierda…”
He took another drag.
“…or you’re allergic to making sense."

He waited and let the silence sit there, thick with smoke and the distant quacking of ducks and whatever the hell else lived in this fever dream of a tent.

Frazil Narthex

.

.

@SDBMBH

Frazil's laughter came out from his mask like a Kawasaki Eliminator having a seizure in the parking lot of a haunted hospital. "You fuggin' serious right now, homie? Look, it's all downhill from here. The last person who wanted a double dip of Narthex tied their own panties in a knot with their buttcheeks! But hey, okay. Guess today is the day I learn that 'gnome' is Spanish for 'that fuggin' duck over there' or somethin'."

kkkpffffffffss

"Anyway," he continued, slipping his feet off the table and letting his chair thud onto the ground. "Your girl's gone to KFC! Duh." He spread his arms wide like he was welcoming home a law school student who absolutely had not flunked their Ethics class this time and he was so, so proud of them for it. "Wanted some genuine KFC chicken-bone readings - not this Swedish Fish-doctor jujubeans or whatever it was you said, you know what I'm sayin'?" He flopped his arms down to slap the desk, causing crumbs to dance briefly. The quarter warbled brief, numismatic applause before hushing like George Washington himself was mortified of this entire debacle.

"I already told you where she went, you numbnuts. Lookin' for a nice big duck! And for your information," Frazil went on, slowly leaning forward, hands on the desk.

kkkpffffffffss

"I've made a living out of being full of it, while being right. Now get yourself a gasmask, homie. Can't have this one, though. It's part of the bit, see."

 

[Crenna]

Chase leaned against a post, her silver vape in her hands as she watched the crowd. The noise and smells of the fair were overwhelming her senses and she wished she was back on the road, riding her bike wherever the wind took her. But, luck had never been on her side. Her bike had broken down so now she was stuck here until repairs could be made. She was half tempted to go off and find a quiet spot to wait but her instincts told her to stay among the crowd. After all, if the hunter she had seen awhile back was still in the area, she could disappear into the crowd easier than if she was secluded. For Chase was being hunted, by her family no less, for who she was. After all, a werewolf hunting family couldn't really have a werewolf for a daughter. So Chase had been on the run, drifting in and out of small towns, staying long enough to do some odd jobs and then hitting the road again. She had to be one step ahead of her family or else.

A scent caught her attention and she turned her to locate it. She let out a curse as she saw two hunters stalking through the crowd, clearly looking for their target. Shit. Chase was a sitting duck until her bike was repaired so she looked around for some cover. Anything to keep them off her tail. Seeing a tent across from her, she made a beeline for her. It looked old and smelled musty but it provided shelter. The woman hastened into the tent, hoping that the hunters did not see her enter. The woman was wearing black pants, a red flannel jacket, brown leather boots and a black leather jacket. Her black hair was up in a pony tail with strands of hair tucked behind a pair of sunglasses on her head. She wasn't really paying attention to the nature of the tent or its occupants as she was really just going to use it to hide for a few minutes before slipping back out.