Hibernal 🔮💘 𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓾𝓷𝓮 𝓣𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝓣𝓮𝓷𝓽 💔🔮

[Lady_Botz]

Brünnhilde

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@Lady_Botz
When the girl entered, quiet, unobtrusive, and probably looking for the least attention possible, there was a sudden burst of activity from the other side of the tent. A woman, round of structure and slim of subtly, flung her arms open in exaltation, knocking over at least one candle and almost setting fire to the table cloth.

"Aye! At last! I see now why so much tingles being in my waters, yes! Y-yo- ah blast this thing--!"

Briefly wresting with her shawl, which she had unfortunately become entangled in, the woman pointed energetically at the poor girl.

"You! Yes, you! With the face like this," she called, gesturing to her own expression which was doing a poor and slightly horrific impression of being very worried, "Come, come inside! Get away from flap, girl, you bring much running energy into tent!" The woman waved her hands in the air theatrically, as if attempting to waft away the running energy (only pausing once to slap away an errant shadow hand that was getting too close to her leg). She had a strong accent that was thick and dragged on each word as if it were running at half the pace of it's owner, and a high-pitched tone that carried over the commotion of the tent with surprising ease. "Ah! So much energy, so much running...ugh, I hate running...also draft, from flap, and fear, and-"

The woman paused, sniffed, and then started to waft the energies into her face, "-and also, what is that? Fish? No, foreign, something foreign, like soooo foreign, like out of this world. It's quite nice, actually. Hmm, how interesting...eh, it probably nothing. Aye! Come here, closer, quickly before fate sees you standing like little fae duck shit. We don't know why but it gets very cranky when people just stand there and do nothing."

The woman settled down at her table (it wasn't very clear before but she's very short and was standing that whole time) while muttering to herself, something along the lines of, "It's Vedma's turn to clean the shit! And what is Vedma doing? Stealing my coupons!" and "I swear if that little shit, Pugzley doesn't return turban I'm going to put cone around little neck!" Then, after fixing her shawl in a jangle of bells, and knocking over another candle, she grandly gestured to the girl with both arms like she was hauling in a fish.

"Mmm, uh-huh. I see...you smell like future regret, young one. Is okay, is okay! Very popular scent.” she said when the girl got closer, nodding and smiling warmly (to her credit, she seemed absolutely sincere, whatever comfort that might have brought to the newcomer).

"Come, come sit. No! Not there. That is where the draft comes. From flap." The woman crossed herself, but with the wrong hand, "Now, little moushka, you are hunted, yes? I don’t need answer. Your shoulders, they already told me. There is no room for hiding here. Because of the duck. Lots and lots of duck, moushka.What else you want Brünnhilde do for you, hmm? "

Talia nearly jumped as a wild character of a woman made herself known from across the room. Talia hadn't realized how long she had been stationed at the entrance as her attention was on the various characters exclaiming and rushing about.

Once beckoned over, Talia glanced around herself, ensuring it was in fact her that the lady was talking to before walking over to the table. She slowly sat where directed.

"Future regret?" Talia's brow raised with slight concern. Maybe this was a bad idea. She didn't even know what she wanted when coming in here but so far she was regretting her choice. How fitting.

Shifting in her seat, Talia let her hands rest in her lap, thumbs running one over another. Her gaze fell as she watched her hands. "I want to know... I guess I want to ask... does he..." talia paused, unable to speak her mind. She knew what she wanted to ask but felt foolish to do so. There were more important things to ask a fortune teller, no?

With a small shake of her head she decided quickly to just ask something and leave. "Where is my life going?" She looked up expectantly, studying the short woman before her. She was quite the character and Talia was surprised by how much she trusted this strangers judgement and words.

 

[Crenna]

The Great Pugzini

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The Great Pugzini had been chewing thoughtfully on the corner of a laminated tarot card when the tent flap snapped open. Air rushed in. Noise. Panic. The smells of the world spilled into his sanctum like an invasion. The candle shivered. The crystal ball above the table swayed faintly, still hung on its pathetic little string like the universe's absolute worst disco ball. A presence entered.

Not a normal presence. Not the usual parade of dads with ironic mustaches or teenagers daring each other to get cursed. Oh no. This one came in sharp. Edges. Static. Like a thunderstorm stuffed into a leather jacket. The Great Pugzini did not startle. He did not rise. He simply looked up. Long. Unblinking. Eyes black and endless, like two spilled espresso beans on destiny's otherwise very clean countertop. He regarded her the way an old bartender regards a woman who just walked into the saloon with a loaded gun and a drinking problem.

He sniffed once.

Then again.

His nose twitched with the grave seriousness of a sommelier confronted with a bold vintage. He tasted the air. Motor oil. Pine. Wet dog. Blue raspberry vape. He sat very still, but inside his small pug body, his thoughts were moving fast, bumping into each other like moths in a jar.

This is not a love question, he thought. This is not a 'will my crush text me back' customer. This was... a running-for-my-life customer. A 'my-family-is-complicated' customer. A 'moonlight-makes-me-spicy' customer. The Great Pugzini's jowls sagged even further. The candlelight painted his wrinkles into deeper hieroglyphs of judgement.

He sensed danger.

He sensed pursuit.

He sensed... unresolved lore.

He had a strict two-paragraph maximum on backstory before it started cutting into his snack schedule, but still. It was good for business. Fear always paid. Fear tipped. He looked down at his table where the tarot cards lay scattered in their usual state of disorganized prophecy. The Fool on his cliff, The Tower half-chewed, a two-for-one coupon for mozzarella sticks at Dave & Buster's. The Great Pugzini did not acknowledge any of this. He simply continued to stare at the newcomer, letting the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable, until it became awkward, until it became a living thing with its own tax ID.

Finally, with the exact tone of a man greeting fate in a gas station restroom, he asked:

"Whassgood, bbgorl? How's about some reckless and absolutely irresponsible fortune telling? Ten buckaroonies. That's a deal."

It took a moment for Chase to realize that someone was speaking to her, her mind still on her pursuers. "Wha-?" She cut off when she turned to see a talking dog, a pug specifically, asking her about her fortune. She blinked a few times, making sure that it truly was a talking dog and not her mind finally breaking. Her eyes glanced around, taking stock of the occupants and realized that this was no ordinary tent. The air reeked with the supernatural which if she was a human, she would have left. But ever since her transformation, she had come to realize the supernatural world was much bigger and way more weirder than she had been led to believe.

"No, I don't need-" She cut herself off, checking outside. The hunters were still out there and she couldn't risk being kicked out of the tent. Taking a quick breath, she nodded. "Sure. Okay." Chase walked to the table, her hands in her pockets. This was fine. No one seemed to notice her except for the pug so she relaxed her shoulders. Sitting down at the table, she pulled out her wallet and handed over a ten dollar bill. "Okay, here. Hit me with my fortune." She definitely sounded skeptical, assuming that whatever the pug said would be generic.

 

[Jumbled]

Across what could have been worn cobblestone, or packed dirt, or plush grass, or asphalt, the platform heels of white latex boots were skipping double time, drumming up a rhythm of whatever onomatopoeia feels most appropriate to the reader at this time. The girl wearing them seemed to shimmy a bit as she walked, every movement carrying its own luxurious stretch, as if she'd spent quite some time in a rather cramped spot. Her skin was a rich magenta where it wasn't covered by shining spandex, and even her purple hair seemed to glittera bit -- this was because it desperately needed a wash. Captain Aliurani Vega had set out to seek fortune, and had absolutely not crashed her rust bucket of a starshooter into a nearby lake.

"Doesn't it feel great to get off the ship, Zur?" She spread her arms wide in a stretch and then grinned at Absolutely No One. Around one ridged ear, a metallic speaker crackled to life, spouting words that sounded more like electric humming than human speech.

< You mean, to be exported off of my console with no warning, shoved into this pathetic prototype, and then forced to be seen in public while looking like scrap metal, with you? >

"Yeah!" Unfazed, the alien's bubbly grin seemed to infect the air around her as she skipped herself closer to the tent. There was a pause as the little voice in her earpiece spent some processing power.

< ... At least we aren't on Ovania-9. >

Vega smirked. Yeah. He was having fun. "What are you going to wish for?" They were growing closer to the tent now, an inky dark swath to cut out a patch of stars as Vega looked up. Zur, for his part, did not have an optical lens installed -- one of the wires running from the earpiece of the back of Vega's skull allowed her cosmic pink eyes to see for both of them.

< Captain, do you know what a fortune teller does? >

"Uh, yeah, Zur. We tell them about the fortune, and they tell us where to find it. I do read, you know." There was some static from the earpiece that could be the mind in the machine laughing, or hissing, or just plain cussing in code. Zur had seen too scantily clad women on the covers of some of those comic books to place much trust in their veracity. He whirred the microfans inside of his tiny casing, the closest he could get to a half-decent sigh. If there was a fortune to be found, he thought, lungs sure would be nice.

< Okay, Cap. Yeah. Okay. Sure. Go get your fortune, and then get me back to the ship so I can have my interface back. >

"Oh, me?" Vega snickered in a way that was far too knowing to mean anything good. "Dude, I'm not the one who needs to be socialized." Zur couldn't feel the wild grin on her face, but he felt it, and his processors kicked into overdrive. Could a robot sound afraid?

< First of all, I am not a feral honeycat; second of all, I am six whole years older than you, you little - >

"Alrighty! Let's find you a fortune, Zur."

And with that, Vega peeled back the heavy, ornate curtain, and her legs walked Zur, the Unwilling Computer Virus, into the fortune tellers' abode.

Vedma Rozanov

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Vedma continued to guide Deven away, stealing the tiniest of freckles from the woman’s back as a payment before waving good-bye—a painless process she would never notice, surely. Then she stood outside of her trove of oddities that some claimed was used as a reference for the animated production of The Little Mermaid, lingering at the entrance of her space within the massive tent. She was gazing down the magical stretch of a pathway before suddenly sneezing; a type of sneeze that only happened when her rival was talking about her.

“Brünnhilde, you witch. It’s not my fault ducks like your section the best for their business. You offend birds with your smell.” She hissed her accented words into the air, knowing her message would be received. “And stop trying to burn the tent down. I thought I told Cordelia to take away your candles.”

Vedma, with her hair still standing up from her last reading, considered wandering one entrance over to barter back Frazil’s playing cards for a pile of snacks, but she’d had about enough of that stench from when the ducks carried it through the beaded partition while leaving his area. Purple Haze was better as a song—his tent was actually worse smelling than Brüna’s, but Vedma wasn’t about to admit that. Besides she could sense he was busy with a patron, and more than that, she felt she had a new customer of her own.

Alien. Exotic. Pretty, pink person with purple pigtailed hair, possibly pirate? Treasure hunter? Vedma moved to the side and ushered the girl in with the motion of her hand, then followed in after her.

“Come, come. Sit on the pile of rugs and pillows. It’s soft.” Vedma glanced at the metal contraption around Vega’s pointed, magenta ear before narrowing her stare and moving to the other side of the table. They weren’t supposed to take couples, but the being with her felt more like a something than a someone.

A new sheet of paper rose into the air before her guest. The cards from her last reading were gone, and the crystal ball in the center had green mist whirling within its depths while the paper folded (more origami) in midair. After several moments, the square was in the shape of a tiny space craft. She moved a step forward, as if to grab it like she had the earlier doll, but the paper flew off and away, into her fishbowl on the shelf.

Shoulders dropping, Vedma blinked and walked over to the bowl, babying her poor fish that were genuinely unbothered, then removed the soggy paper craft from their home.

“Disorder. Randomness. Entropy.” Vedma squeezed the ship like a wet washcloth over the fishbowl, then shook it back out to the splendidly shaped ship, unsaturated and small as it was. “Here, take your star-sailor.” She handed the paper craft to the woman, Vega, before sitting down on a large cushion. “Now, what do you wish to ask Miss Vedma?”

 

[SDBMBH]

@B_Julez

Cellophane confessions.

The sign at the entrance surfaced in his mind, hand-painted, crooked and half-peeling.

NO REFUNDS · NO CRYING · NO COUPLES.

House rules are the only ones that mattered until an inevitable exception is made. And there's always an exception.

Caín's shoulders rose, head canted. A metallic groan escaped the folded chair as he stood. The legs scraped once against wrappers and duck feces. He tapped the quarter once and pocketed it without looking down and the coin disappeared into denim without a sound.

"I was always the double-dipping kind, adivino."

Pupils slowly dilated, inky tendrils snaked like lapping flames of a dark sun. The purple haze around them thinned for a second and pulled toward him.

"You just bought something more than a bit," His tongue pressed an incisor as the silver cross at his throat mirrored Frazil's mask.

"So no crying now."

The words broke easily like a snapped leash, practically familiar in the way a beast rattles a cage.

"For now I'll take the fortune. And if I don't find her where you said I would..." The pause stretched. Long enough to make the ducks somewhere in the background stop pretending they weren't listening. A crumb rolled off the table's edge and hit the floor with a soft tap.

"We're gonna have a different conversation. One without tea and crumpets." Caín's jaw angled to the side when he spoke. His mandible tightened like he held back a reflex.

The biker's eyes returned to normal, his right hand hung loose at his side. El lobo no corre cuando sabe dónde estás. Fingers flexed and his veins became black for a brief moment. Rings clinked together twice like the sound of grinding molars.

Wax ran down and pooled on the candle facing him. The flame guttered, then steadied, its wick angled toward him. He turned toward the partition and brought the cigarette to his lips. Smoke curled in folds down his chest, almost sweet, like burnt tea leaves and dry earth. It mixed with the purple fog, threading through it and turning the air in the room gray.

His brow raised a fraction. "You know, funny thing about ducks, amigo." His tone now warmer, almost conversational. The respirator hissed –kkkpffffffffss–kkkpfff— but the rhythm stuttered.

"They only look random when you don't know what they're doing." Then, his attention trailed down to the mess on the table. Held it for two heartbeats. Grease shimmered under the low light. A snack wrapper shifted slightly, disturbed by nothing visible.

"You could use divination pointers from the Fent zombie down the alley birdman." A curve parted his mouth, almost a smile. His boot heel lifted, weight shifted forward.

"Nos vemos carnal."

Cloth kissed leather as he walked through the partition without waiting for a reply. Beads clicked apart softly, apologetic.

--

The pellets swayed and knocked together again, hard plastic settling into place.

Caín stopped.
Someone was already there.
Too close.

Leather brushed pleather. Fabric whispered and his knuckles grazed warm skin in motion. A woman's breath fanned his collar bone before he adjusted.

Their foreheads missed by an inch. Nose to nose. Her perfume hit first, a synthetic sweetness cut with something sour underneath. Old sweat, citrus spray and vinyl warmed by sinful flesh.

Honeyed irises met baby blues. His chin dipped slightly. “Didn’t realize they had part-time fortune tellers tonight,” the bulb dimmed behind his tall frame. “Or are you picking up a second shift?” The cigarette hovered on his mouth, ash smoldering as he exhaled.

Smoke licked around her shoulder and split, curling away from her torso, thinning where her chest rose and fell. Behind them, someone laughed inside the tent. A duck quacked, sharp and irritated, then went quiet.

He remained still. Cain’s eyes slowly followed the chain at her neck to her hands over crossed arms. Vaya... otra muñeca rota.

Cain’s gaze lifted and met the blonde's again. It didn't linger on her pretty face, it looked deeper. He saw a void. Not one the hunger of touch or attention could fill, but one that craved purpose.

He’d seen it many times in dressing rooms. In back alleys. In ceiling mirrors.

A need that didn’t want wanting.
A need that wanted to be witnessed.

"I'm chasing someone who disappeared on purpose." His head leaned in to her side, his stubble almost tracing her earlobe.

"And you look like the type people open up to with information."

 

[Jumbled]

Flock of Fae Ducks

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In a flurry of flapping wings and angry quacks, the Fae Ducks all flew down toward the opening of Frazil's entryway. The commotion was enough to cause all of the Tellers within the tent to pause briefly from the sound and sight of fast flying fowl, knowing just how dangerous it was to linger in doorways for too long.

Before Julez or Cain could speak another word, they were both transported aggressively out of the tent, and back to their own dimensions, where they belonged.

[[ @B_Julez and @SDBMBH time is up, we must move on. Feel free to talk more in DMs ]]