Hibernal 🔮💘 𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓾𝓷𝓮 𝓣𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝓣𝓮𝓷𝓽 💔🔮

[Lady_Botz]

Brünnhilde

.

.

@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

.

.

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

.

.

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

.

.

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 ]]

 

[GremlinSage]

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.

Cordelia

.

.

Fingers linger at the back of Aimi's neck a moment longer than necessary, thumb brushing slow, absent circles as though testing whether she'll flinch.

"Mm," she hums softly. "You're not afraid enough." She leaned closer. "I like that." While she spoke, the shadows had begun to recede, the tarot cards back in place but the bones were floating in the air. "Shall we?"

Cordelia looks to the bones, watching them spill onto the table.

A small tooth lands closest to Aimi.
The thread-wrapped bone curls toward it.
The knuckle bone pins them both.

"Oh, my pretty kitten." Cordelia purred, rounding the table to her own seat with the shadows disappearing behind her. "You're already chosen."

Her gaze lifts from the bones, warm and terrible at once.

"You are loved properly."

Those same shadows reappeared around Aimi, wrapping her in a cold blanket as it brushed strands of hair away from her eyes. "So why," Cordelia quietly adds, "are you still testing doors to see if they'll open?"

She leans forward then, green eyes peering from the shadows by Aimi's right shoulder. "A shame, I'll have to remain memorable."

Cordelia smiles, sweet as poison. "Unless you want me to keep you?"

It was then that the fae ducks were causing too much chaos to ignore, head snapping toward their rukus. "Stupid ducks."

 

[tonic]

Vedma Rozanov

.

.

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?”

There was a whir from the little piece of hardware that sounded like a groan, but the space outlaw needed very little prodding. In fact, she hadn't even intended on entering a booth yet -- she'd nearly gotten distracted by a colorful duck, which she intended to chase later. The pink body ducked inside, and for a moment, Zur wished Vega would go blind. The visual clutter was agonizing.

The alien flung herself atop the highest, bounciest pile of cushions and crossed her legs, and watched the colorful woman in fascination; her own reaction, though, was not why she had come here.

Zur was mentally criticizing the paper model for its lack of aerodynamic forethought. No wonder it crashed, Vega. It was at the woman's words that he was forced to become a participant in this farce of a predictive system. Disorder. Randomness. Entropy. A robotic voice crackled out of the speaker.

< If this is a fortune, Vega, it had better be yours. >

Pink alien eyes darted to try and glare, but that didn't really work, since they were sharing eyes right now, anyway. "Zur, tell the nice lady what fortune you want," she hissed, before grinning at here and moving her mouth exaggeratedly, as if to say, I'm not here.

There was a sound of grinding and general pissiness. A click, like a hard drive spinning, and then a flutter of little yellow LED lights, as if the earpiece were thinking. When he spoke, there were a hundred tiny, skeptical pauses.

< Miss... Vedna. I'm afraid I didn't prepare anything in advance. Although, I have always wondered. What is it like to eat? >

If Vega was surprised at this line of questioning, Zur was flabbergasted. He simply felt the words process through his speakers, as if preloaded. He did, truly, wish to know.

< Words like sweet, and chewy, and bitter, and... moist? They mean nothing to me anymore. It seems a very ...human process. The halfwit who brought me here never shuts up about choco-licorice. Will I get to eat chocolate, one day? >

Briefly, the captain made a note to hire a therapist for her GPS.

 

[NothingInAName]

​

“I said - go fuck yourself, Stef-”

In a blur of red and purple, Lil turned her heel to meet Stefan’s dark eyes as she shot him a particularly rude hand gesture with her right, while her left fumbled with the knob. As she passed through the frame she felt a terrible sinking sensation - as if she was in a lift that had just jolted into motion.

She thought that perhaps it was the drugs - but then - she hadn’t had any.

That was what the fight with Stefan had been about. He was refusing to give her relief - said no more unless she had the gold. As if he didn’t already know what had happened. Why she couldn’t return to work - what she had lost. Guilt ripped through her system. Then, finally, alarm as she pulled herself from her sulking.

If it wasn’t drugs…

The door she had exited out of slammed shut and then, to her horror, began to collapse in on itself. Folding and twisting and warping toward its center.

“What - no - what the fuck -” Came Lil’s desperate cry as she lunged toward it and then through it, collapsing face-first into a dusty carpet. Then, insult to injury - there was a quiet pop. She did not need to turn to know that it had vanished completely.

She lay there for a moment in stunned silence before slowly pushing herself and carefully drinking in her new surroundings. Thick fabric walls, tables and chairs, people - and a few who were certainly not human. Which, perhaps, was prejudiced of her. Non-humans could want to peer into their future too. No...no it wasn't just that they weren't himan - many were unlike anything she’d seen.

But what had dragged her here?

Her eyes darted about the room, hand flying to her pocket - only to find that she had no wand, no amulets, no potions - no magic of any kind. Her pale, freckled face twisted into an expression of panic - then, slowly, sank into understanding and swept a hand through her hair.

So she had fallen into a situation that she couldn’t have foreseen, had no understanding of. She had likely gotten there through some unknown fault of her own.

Not the first time, is it?

Head spinning, jade green eyes growing wide, she wandered deeper into the tent. Then - there was a great flapping of feathers, and a flock loud iridescent ducks burst through the room - swarming two patrons and - Ah. There they went - out the tent.

A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. She was reminded of a quote from a film she and her dad would watch - he insisted upon it during those Christmas holidays that she stayed with him.

“Ok. Out you two pixies go - through tha door or out tha window!”

“Good.” She murmured to herself. “Well done, Lil. Don’t know how you did it this time - but you did.” Hands patted aggressively against leather. It was with great relief that she found her cigarettes. Pulling one out with her teeth and lighting it with the spare lighter she always kept on her person, her eyes flicked back and forth as she considered what to do next.

Heavy, dark boots thudded against layers of mismatched carpet. Finally her searching gaze fell upon a crystal ball. A thousand questions came into her mind as she found herself working her way toward it, gaze dragging over the cracked surface. A seer’s tent. But one that had seen better days. Even the smell of the place was mismatched - cinnamon, then sage, then rosepetals - then something distinctly sour that made her cover her nose with the hand clutching the cigarette.

So what…time to peer into my future?

A bitter snort escaped her at the thought. What future awaited her now that she was alone once more? There was a dull ache in her sternum, the pain of past mistakes - of lost friendships - of foolish betrayals. She found herself touching the large scar that stretched down her front and disappeared beneath the low buttons of her blouse.

How many would she fail to save?

A lump rose unexpectedly in the back of her throat. She swallowed it down with another drag of her cigarette, the nicotine washing through her lungs, and hitched a lazy grin onto her face.

“Alright,” she announced, smoke pooling from her mouth and arms held open. “What the fuck is this?”

 

[chap]

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.

The Great Pugzini

.

.

The Great Pugzini watched the bill arrive with slow, reverent. He placed one paw upon it immediately. Not greedy. Just... responsible. He smoothed it flat against the table with the ceremonial gravity of a priest preparing communion, then gave a small, satisfied nod as though some unseen contract had just been signed between himself and the universe.

"Mm," He said. "Transaction complete."

He sniffed the air again, deeper this time. Long. Careful. Professional. His nose twitched once. Then twice. He leaned back a fraction, as if the air itself had just told him a secret it immediately regretted.

"Yeah," He muttered. "You got... layers. Like an onion full of thumbtacks."

Sniff.

"Motor oil."

A second sniff.

"Pine."

A slightly delayed sniff.

"Wet dog."

An elongated sniff.

"Blue raspberry vape."

He nodded to himself, deeply impressed with his own range. "Complex bouquet," He said. "Hints of chaos. Notes of poor decision making. A strong finish of 'uh oh, spaghetti-o'."

He sat with that for a moment, letting the scent hang in the air. Then he glanced at the table. At the cards. At the crystal ball, still gently swaying on its little string. He frowned. "Mm. Nah." He waved one paw dismissively. "No cards toy. No orb. Orb is... tired. Overworked. Underpaid. Crystal Ball Union says it gets break now and an hour long lunch break. We gotta try somethin' new."

He sat up straighter. More serious. More deliberate.

"Today," he said, lowering his voice. "I use... Advanced Pugnosis."

Silence. He nodded once, as though this term had been around for centuries and his customer was just embarrassingly out of the loop judging by the look of confusion on her face.

"Very rare technique," He said. "Ancient," He explained. "Discovered by me," He noted. "Fifteen minutes ago," He added.

He placed both paws on the table and leaned forward, nose twitching rapidly as he inhaled again. Not one sniff this time. A series. Short. Quick. Scientific. Sniff-sniff-sniff-sniff. HE closed his eyes and the candle flickered. "I'm reading your future," He murmured. "Through... scent-based vibrations. Your past is loud. Your present is louder."

Sniff-sniff-sniff-sniff.

"Your future smells like... gasoline and bad coffee," He told her. "That's travel. Movement. You go places. You do not stay still. Stillness is not for you. Stillness is for not-sparkling water and coma patients."

He inhaled again, slower this time. Longer. Like he was pulling a memory up through his nose. His brow, what little of it existed, tightened. Furrowed, even. "...huh," A pause. "Well, that's new. That's..."

His body went still. Not the small stillness of a dog pausing to listen, ears perked and jaw clenched. A deeper stillness. A held breath in the shape of a creature. The candle blew out completely. The Great Pugzini's nose twitched, then stopped. His eyes rolled slowly back into his head until only the pale crescents showed. His spine drew straight. Straighter, as if some invisible hand had reached down and taken hold of him by the scruff and lifted. His paws left the table. Only a little. Only an inch. But it was enough. The air in the tent seemed to grow tight and old and full of dust that had not yet settled. He hovered there, rigid, his small chest barely moving, his jowls hanging like loose cloth on his frame.

When he spoke, the voice was not the same. It was quieter. Further away. It came from somewhere down a long corridor, echoing and endless, a cacophony of all pugkind speaking at once. "I see it," He said. "I see the road laid out like a ribbon of black water across the bones of the earth. I see it running on and on into the distance where the light falls thin and tired and the land forgets the name of the people who cross it. You walk it. You walk it with dust on your boots and the wind at your back and the night coming behind you like a curtain. You do not stop. You do not turn. The past runs after you but it cannot catch what does not stand still."

The Great Pugzini's body began to spin in mid-air like it was placed atop an occult microwave tray.

"I see towns rising from the flat of the world like lanterns lit in the rain. I see them come and go behind you. Neon humming low in the dusk. Windows full of faces that do not know your name and do not ask for it. You pass through them like weather. I see nights where the road is the only thing left to you. Blacktop shining under moonlight, stars like pinholes in the sky. The sound of your steps and the sound of your heart and nothing else. The land is wide and empty and patient as the gods."

"I see the shape of another somewhere ahead. Not waiting. Not calling. Just there. Moving through the same miles. Drinking the same bad coffee. Wearing the same dust on their boots. A soul with its own hurt. A life that runs crooked and hard and keeps on running. I see you cross paths. Not by chance. There is no chance. Only the long slow pull of two lines drawn far apart that one day must meet. You do not trust them. You circle one another like stray things in a place without fences. You bare your teeth. You keep your distance. But they do not leave. They walk beside you. Not close enough to take hold. Not far enough to lose."

The darkness in the tent seemed to thicken, as if the night itself had leaned in.

"I see a love that does not come gentle. I see it arrive like stormclouds off the mountains. Hard and cold and real. I see hands that have known fighting learn to hold instead. I see two wild things learning the shape of their inner selves for the first time. I see years passing. I see miles take their toll. I see the road grow longer and the nights grow quieter. And I see you still walking. Not alone. Never alone."

A slow, raspy breath.

"Laughter in places where you thought there would be none. A fire burning low and steady against the dark."

The air seemed to loosen then, the pressure breaking. His body lowered back to its chair, slowly, as if the hand that held him had grown tired and set him gently back down. His paws touched the wood. His spine bent back into place. His eyes rolled forward again, blinking once. Twice. He sat there for a long moment, breathing softly, eyes a little unfocused. The candle sputtered back to life. The crystal ball gave one last, embarrassed sway. The Great Pugzini blinked again. Once. Twice. He looked down at the table and then back up at Chase.

"...and also," He said, voice rough and small. "You're gonna spill a whole coffee on yourself in, like, three weeks. Tragic."

 

[MioBrave]

View attachment 149325​

“I said - go fuck yourself, Stef-”

In a blur of red and purple, Lil turned her heel to meet Stefan’s dark eyes as she shot him a particularly rude hand gesture with her right, while her left fumbled with the knob. As she passed through the frame she felt a terrible sinking sensation - as if she was in a lift that had just jolted into motion.

She thought that perhaps it was the drugs - but then - she hadn’t had any.

That was what the fight with Stefan had been about. He was refusing to give her relief - said no more unless she had the gold. As if he didn’t already know what had happened. Why she couldn’t return to work - what she had lost. Guilt ripped through her system. Then, finally, alarm as she pulled herself from her sulking.

If it wasn’t drugs…

The door she had exited out of slammed shut and then, to her horror, began to collapse in on itself. Folding and twisting and warping toward its center.

“What - no - what the fuck -” Came Lil’s desperate cry as she lunged toward it and then through it, collapsing face-first into a dusty carpet. Then, insult to injury - there was a quiet pop. She did not need to turn to know that it had vanished completely.

She lay there for a moment in stunned silence before slowly pushing herself and carefully drinking in her new surroundings. Thick fabric walls, tables and chairs, people - and a few who were certainly not human. Which, perhaps, was prejudiced of her. Non-humans could want to peer into their future too. No...no it wasn't just that they weren't himan - many were unlike anything she’d seen.

But what had dragged her here?

Her eyes darted about the room, hand flying to her pocket - only to find that she had no wand, no amulets, no potions - no magic of any kind. Her pale, freckled face twisted into an expression of panic - then, slowly, sank into understanding and swept a hand through her hair.

So she had fallen into a situation that she couldn’t have foreseen, had no understanding of. She had likely gotten there through some unknown fault of her own.

Not the first time, is it?

Head spinning, jade green eyes growing wide, she wandered deeper into the tent. Then - there was a great flapping of feathers, and a flock loud iridescent ducks burst through the room - swarming two patrons and - Ah. There they went - out the tent.

A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. She was reminded of a quote from a film she and her dad would watch - he insisted upon it during those Christmas holidays that she stayed with him.

“Ok. Out you two pixies go - through tha door or out tha window!”

“Good.” She murmured to herself. “Well done, Lil. Don’t know how you did it this time - but you did.” Hands patted aggressively against leather. It was with great relief that she found her cigarettes. Pulling one out with her teeth and lighting it with the spare lighter she always kept on her person, her eyes flicked back and forth as she considered what to do next.

Heavy, dark boots thudded against layers of mismatched carpet. Finally her searching gaze fell upon a crystal ball. A thousand questions came into her mind as she found herself working her way toward it, gaze dragging over the cracked surface. A seer’s tent. But one that had seen better days. Even the smell of the place was mismatched - cinnamon, then sage, then rosepetals - then something distinctly sour that made her cover her nose with the hand clutching the cigarette.

So what…time to peer into my future?

A bitter snort escaped her at the thought. What future awaited her now that she was alone once more? There was a dull ache in her sternum, the pain of past mistakes - of lost friendships - of foolish betrayals. She found herself touching the large scar that stretched down her front and disappeared beneath the low buttons of her blouse.

How many would she fail to save?

A lump rose unexpectedly in the back of her throat. She swallowed it down with another drag of her cigarette, the nicotine washing through her lungs, and hitched a lazy grin onto her face.

“Alright,” she announced, smoke pooling from her mouth and arms held open. “What the fuck is this?”

Auracle

.

.

The fae startles when his duck friend ruffles suddenly, quacking loudly and quickly leaving the cubby. There's a ruckus out in the main entry, quacks and rustling wings.

A grin spreads across Auracle's face. "Seems a few have stayed a bit too long. Better hurry out before the tent deems the same of you."

He gently pushes the potted plant into the hands of a startled and distracted Aurora, gently pulling her to stand as well. Warm sunlight envelopes her. When it fades, she's gone; sent back to her own world.

---

Auracle's wings twitch, and he tilts his head as he looks over his shoulder. With quiet steps he glides over to a partition of the tent long forgotten. A friend who'd gone years ago and left only remnants of their craft and a dark corner behind. He doesn't frown but doesn't smile. Lil only notices the silent man when his hand traces the wood table in front of her, rounding it to be directly across.

"You've been drawn to an interesting bit of the tent.." He comments softly. "Sorry to say, this teller isn't here." The man looks up from the table and at Lil, fully taking in the glow of her soul. "Interesting."

His fingers tap and trace over the broken orb, colors dancing beneath his touch. "There's red like fire, but it dims abruptly as if scared or worried. There are sharp bursts of black that suddenly sprout and bloom like spider lilies and uncontrolled power. There's green.. but in wisps.. You act first before you think, but you don't lack intelligence." He traces over the crack in the orb, warm sunlight following his fingertip. The crack seals up under his magic. "Tell me, why has fate brought a young witch to our pocket plane this time?"

 

[Batcat]

Cordelia

.

.

Fingers linger at the back of Aimi's neck a moment longer than necessary, thumb brushing slow, absent circles as though testing whether she'll flinch.

"Mm," she hums softly. "You're not afraid enough." She leaned closer. "I like that." While she spoke, the shadows had begun to recede, the tarot cards back in place but the bones were floating in the air. "Shall we?"

Cordelia looks to the bones, watching them spill onto the table.

A small tooth lands closest to Aimi.
The thread-wrapped bone curls toward it.
The knuckle bone pins them both.

"Oh, my pretty kitten." Cordelia purred, rounding the table to her own seat with the shadows disappearing behind her. "You're already chosen."

Her gaze lifts from the bones, warm and terrible at once.

"You are loved properly."

Those same shadows reappeared around Aimi, wrapping her in a cold blanket as it brushed strands of hair away from her eyes. "So why," Cordelia quietly adds, "are you still testing doors to see if they'll open?"

She leans forward then, green eyes peering from the shadows by Aimi's right shoulder. "A shame, I'll have to remain memorable."

Cordelia smiles, sweet as poison. "Unless you want me to keep you?"

It was then that the fae ducks were causing too much chaos to ignore, head snapping toward their rukus. "Stupid ducks."

Another chill runs fown Aimi's spine as she listens to the words spoken, somewhat cryptic and yet there's no denying how close to the mark that they hit. Her eyes widen nearly imperceptively as the shadows, gentle and yet chilling, brush a few rebellious strands of hair from her eyes. A part of her was sunk and she knew it. She had always been far too curious for her own good, even as a catfolk.

Before she can open her mouth to respond, the ruckus of the ducks making their exit temporarily steals her attention, her gaze shifting, albeit reluctantly, from the woman in front of her to the exit. She catches a glimpse of ruffling feathers, feathers that seemed an odd color for a duck, but before her mind can fully process many details, they were gone.

Blinking in a mixture of amusement and a bit of confusion, she shifts her attention back to Cordelia, the corners of her lips curving up ever so slightly in the hint of a smile. She should stand up and walk away, never looking back. It was most likely the wisest of options. There was something wrong with this place, something she couldn't quite put a paw on... But she had never been one to listen to her more logical side.

"Well," she softly purrs, "you know what they say about cats and curiosity... If I were to leave, would I be able to find this place again? I don't recall ever seeing this tent aside from today and, well... I'd hate for you to be reduced to a memory so soon..."

 

[NothingInAName]

His fingers tap and trace over the broken orb, colors dancing beneath his touch. "There's red like fire, but it dims abruptly as if scared or worried. There are sharp bursts of black that suddenly sprout and bloom like spider lilies and uncontrolled power. There's green.. but in wisps.. You act first before you think, but you don't lack intelligence." He traces over the crack in the orb, warm sunlight following his fingertip. The crack seals up under his magic. "Tell me, why has fate brought a young witch to our pocket plane this time?"
[/div][/div][/div]

She'd stood there, arms outstretched gazing around the room. Embarrassingly, her little outburst had gotten no response. Would it have been less embarrassing if someone had reacted? Probably not. But it wasn't as if she could sink much lower.

Lil let out an exasperated sigh and abandoned her posture to take a deep drag of her cigarette. With a cursory glance to the cigarette in her hands, she realized that the tip had accumulated ash. She could tap it onto the dusty floor but -

Bit rude, innit?

Rude?? She'd just been ported somewhere - yanked from her argument with Stefan, from the high Georgian architecture, and dropped in a bloody circus tent.

Yeah, it is a bit rude.

A memory then - ash flicked down on a pair of expensive trousers. A man bound. A scroll unravelled. She winced.

No! No…There has to be something I can use somewhere - Ah! There.

A long and narrow incense burner atop the table with the broken crystal ball. She wandered back over to it and stubbed out her source of comfort when - motion caught her eye.

Motion which led her to hands.
Hands that led to a soft featured face framed by white hair.
Finally -

Wings?
Fuuuuuckin hell.

And then it happened- as it always did when she sensed danger. She leaned to the side, head tilting so that the mane of red hair (a bit greasy today) fell behind her head. Then a small, warm smile graced her face.

“You've been drawn to an interesting part of the tent.”

A deserted part. Poetic in a way. Wasn't she always drawn to the broken and the abandoned. Isn't that what had driven her to become a detective in the first place? A terrible lurching in her stomach warned her not to think about what lay at the bottom of that well of recent memories.

And then…the…fairy? Fey. A creature of supposed legend - whatever he was called - he began to list out colors. Her eyes were drawn to the hypnotic dancing lights within the cracked ball where his fingers played upon its surface. As he spoke she considered his words.

Fire…water…red…black…power? Whisps of green.
Her brow furrowed. What the hell did that-

“You act first before you think, but you don't lack intelligence."”

She snorted. “Depends on who you ask, mate.” The joke came to her automatically. “I know someone who'd argue that I do, in fact, lack intelligence.”

Hadn't that been the last thing Stefan had yelled before she'd stormed out? Feli, Darien looking pityingly on - they'd been treating her like she was made of glass.

Well…nevermind. She had a puzzle before her. It had been some months, those abandoned parts of her mind creaking into life.

A proper seer then. Had to be. They were always speaking in riddles, weren't they? But also magical - very magical. There was a soft tinkling of glass. The ball was fixed. Not a spell or a channel to be heard or seen.

Alright so he was magic. This place was magic. He didn't know how she'd gotten here. Didn't seem too preoccupied with the how. Why was she here?

Well, he'd called her young, and that won him a grin.

“Was hopin' someone else would have that answer.” She said, eyebrows raising. “Honestly mate - just a bit lost. Took a wrong door - welll…” she hesitated. “More dragged than drawn, if you catch me. The right door but - wrong destination.”

She was sizing him up then.
Was he dangerous?
She didn't have magic, but her father had taught her how to throw a mean right hook. But he didn't seem threatening.

 

[Crenna]

The Great Pugzini

.

.

The Great Pugzini watched the bill arrive with slow, reverent. He placed one paw upon it immediately. Not greedy. Just... responsible. He smoothed it flat against the table with the ceremonial gravity of a priest preparing communion, then gave a small, satisfied nod as though some unseen contract had just been signed between himself and the universe.

"Mm," He said. "Transaction complete."

He sniffed the air again, deeper this time. Long. Careful. Professional. His nose twitched once. Then twice. He leaned back a fraction, as if the air itself had just told him a secret it immediately regretted.

"Yeah," He muttered. "You got... layers. Like an onion full of thumbtacks."

Sniff.

"Motor oil."

A second sniff.

"Pine."

A slightly delayed sniff.

"Wet dog."

An elongated sniff.

"Blue raspberry vape."

He nodded to himself, deeply impressed with his own range. "Complex bouquet," He said. "Hints of chaos. Notes of poor decision making. A strong finish of 'uh oh, spaghetti-o'."

He sat with that for a moment, letting the scent hang in the air. Then he glanced at the table. At the cards. At the crystal ball, still gently swaying on its little string. He frowned. "Mm. Nah." He waved one paw dismissively. "No cards toy. No orb. Orb is... tired. Overworked. Underpaid. Crystal Ball Union says it gets break now and an hour long lunch break. We gotta try somethin' new."

He sat up straighter. More serious. More deliberate.

"Today," he said, lowering his voice. "I use... Advanced Pugnosis."

Silence. He nodded once, as though this term had been around for centuries and his customer was just embarrassingly out of the loop judging by the look of confusion on her face.

"Very rare technique," He said. "Ancient," He explained. "Discovered by me," He noted. "Fifteen minutes ago," He added.

He placed both paws on the table and leaned forward, nose twitching rapidly as he inhaled again. Not one sniff this time. A series. Short. Quick. Scientific. Sniff-sniff-sniff-sniff. HE closed his eyes and the candle flickered. "I'm reading your future," He murmured. "Through... scent-based vibrations. Your past is loud. Your present is louder."

Sniff-sniff-sniff-sniff.

"Your future smells like... gasoline and bad coffee," He told her. "That's travel. Movement. You go places. You do not stay still. Stillness is not for you. Stillness is for not-sparkling water and coma patients."

He inhaled again, slower this time. Longer. Like he was pulling a memory up through his nose. His brow, what little of it existed, tightened. Furrowed, even. "...huh," A pause. "Well, that's new. That's..."

His body went still. Not the small stillness of a dog pausing to listen, ears perked and jaw clenched. A deeper stillness. A held breath in the shape of a creature. The candle blew out completely. The Great Pugzini's nose twitched, then stopped. His eyes rolled slowly back into his head until only the pale crescents showed. His spine drew straight. Straighter, as if some invisible hand had reached down and taken hold of him by the scruff and lifted. His paws left the table. Only a little. Only an inch. But it was enough. The air in the tent seemed to grow tight and old and full of dust that had not yet settled. He hovered there, rigid, his small chest barely moving, his jowls hanging like loose cloth on his frame.

When he spoke, the voice was not the same. It was quieter. Further away. It came from somewhere down a long corridor, echoing and endless, a cacophony of all pugkind speaking at once. "I see it," He said. "I see the road laid out like a ribbon of black water across the bones of the earth. I see it running on and on into the distance where the light falls thin and tired and the land forgets the name of the people who cross it. You walk it. You walk it with dust on your boots and the wind at your back and the night coming behind you like a curtain. You do not stop. You do not turn. The past runs after you but it cannot catch what does not stand still."

The Great Pugzini's body began to spin in mid-air like it was placed atop an occult microwave tray.

"I see towns rising from the flat of the world like lanterns lit in the rain. I see them come and go behind you. Neon humming low in the dusk. Windows full of faces that do not know your name and do not ask for it. You pass through them like weather. I see nights where the road is the only thing left to you. Blacktop shining under moonlight, stars like pinholes in the sky. The sound of your steps and the sound of your heart and nothing else. The land is wide and empty and patient as the gods."

"I see the shape of another somewhere ahead. Not waiting. Not calling. Just there. Moving through the same miles. Drinking the same bad coffee. Wearing the same dust on their boots. A soul with its own hurt. A life that runs crooked and hard and keeps on running. I see you cross paths. Not by chance. There is no chance. Only the long slow pull of two lines drawn far apart that one day must meet. You do not trust them. You circle one another like stray things in a place without fences. You bare your teeth. You keep your distance. But they do not leave. They walk beside you. Not close enough to take hold. Not far enough to lose."

The darkness in the tent seemed to thicken, as if the night itself had leaned in.

"I see a love that does not come gentle. I see it arrive like stormclouds off the mountains. Hard and cold and real. I see hands that have known fighting learn to hold instead. I see two wild things learning the shape of their inner selves for the first time. I see years passing. I see miles take their toll. I see the road grow longer and the nights grow quieter. And I see you still walking. Not alone. Never alone."

A slow, raspy breath.

"Laughter in places where you thought there would be none. A fire burning low and steady against the dark."

The air seemed to loosen then, the pressure breaking. His body lowered back to its chair, slowly, as if the hand that held him had grown tired and set him gently back down. His paws touched the wood. His spine bent back into place. His eyes rolled forward again, blinking once. Twice. He sat there for a long moment, breathing softly, eyes a little unfocused. The candle sputtered back to life. The crystal ball gave one last, embarrassed sway. The Great Pugzini blinked again. Once. Twice. He looked down at the table and then back up at Chase.

"...and also," He said, voice rough and small. "You're gonna spill a whole coffee on yourself in, like, three weeks. Tragic."

When the pug first listed off his observations, Chase just raised an eyebrow. She knew from experiences that canines, even small talking ones, had better noses than humans. So of course, he could smell all of those scents on her, though the wet dog did give her pause. Surely, he couldn't tell...She was ashamed of her transformation and rarely used her wolf form. How would she smell like wet dog? Maybe he was smelling himself...yes. that was the most logical.

As soon as he talked about the secret technique, Chase rolled her eyes and started to get up. This was stupid and pointless. A con man(dog?) using his nose to form a vague picture. She had never really believed in seers or fortune tellers and this was just another example of why. But then he started to speak and she paused. By the time he was hovering, she was sitting back down, leaning her arms on the table as she watched him. The hair on the back of her neck rose and she had to fight to keep her hackles from rising. This was not a con, she could feel the air spark with the supernatural.

After the pug was done talking, Chase just started at him. "Spilling coffee on myself? I do that at least weekly." She tried to act nonchalant as she rose to leave, "Uh thanks. I guess I'll keep it in mind." She left the table, her thoughts whirling. Meeting someone? Not being alone? She was fine being alone. She liked to be alone. People didn't get hurt when she was alone. No, it was just a stupid predication. He probably was faking the whole thing. She peeked out the tent to make sure it was safe for her to leave before looking back at the pug one last time. Something told her that she would be thinking about this for a long time. She slipped from the tent, back into the crowd, back to being alone.

 

[Jumbled]

It was puzzling. Yasmine had left the demonically summoned room that was housing her two traveling companions for only a moment. She intended to stretch and get a breath of fresh air. The other two were lounging on the bed inside, probably getting more intimate thanks to her absence.

They needed to get to the Silver City, not lose themselves inside of a love triangle. Yasmine was a proud elven woman, and perhaps more serious than a fairy or crow demon knew how to be, but she couldn't blame them. It was hard enough to ignore her own feelings, not that it showed. Yas wanted Bri. But, Bri wanted him. He... well, she had no idea, but Yasmine assumed he'd take them both.

Not wanting to leave Brielle worrying, Yasmine turned around, her long white hair fanning out as she spun to go back through the odd entrance between trees that the crow had made. But, instead of being greeted by two familiar faces, a low ceiling, and way too many chairs piled into a corner, the forest scout found herself in a massive tent with plumes of purples smoke, strange flashing lights, and unnatural smells that were foreign to Yasmine. There were so many vestibule entrances all connected to one another, yet separated.

“What—?”

What had that infernal creature done now? Yasmine, tired of his pranks, began to walk down a long stretch of carpets that created a pathway, looking for the crow inside one of the rooms. She paused as a few bizarre ducks passed her along the way.

This wasn't her world. It didn't feel or look the same—although she sensed some real chaos inside, it was nothing close to world devouring. No, this place was some magical, pocket dimension, just like Chyronae’s hide away. But it didn't feel like his work, oddly Yasmine realized the demon had a signature she was beginning to recognize, and the feathers on the ground were definitely from those ducks, not a pesky crow.

Why prismatic ducks? Maybe they were from the fairy territory, but she sensed Brielle was somehow out of reach. She felt dread settle in her stomach at the thought of never getting back to the sweet fairy.

Yasmine looked back, supposing a fast exit would be for the best, but there was nothing behind her. Was the tent a trial then? She let her fingers dance over the energy that buzzed in the air. There was wild nature there, she sensed, but the mana felt different. Even so, Yasmine was certain if she needed to defend herself, she could summon a plant to serve as a whip. So, with one foot in front of the other, the tall, elven woman cautiously advanced through the colorful tent until she was greeted and beckoned to an available table.

A fortune teller’s table.

This tent-dimension was clearly a place that summoned people to it, and was probably never found unless it was needed. Well, it wasn’t her first dance around a soothsayer's station, and she was in need of some answers. But Yasmine was sure this was going to be unlike anything she’d experienced before. Maybe that was a good thing. This place was untainted by the black matter that was eating the magic in her own world. Perhaps someone in this strange place could help her find what she was after in the Silver City so that she could save her people from ruin.

 

[Jumbled]

There was a whir from the little piece of hardware that sounded like a groan, but the space outlaw needed very little prodding. In fact, she hadn't even intended on entering a booth yet -- she'd nearly gotten distracted by a colorful duck, which she intended to chase later. The pink body ducked inside, and for a moment, Zur wished Vega would go blind. The visual clutter was agonizing.

The alien flung herself atop the highest, bounciest pile of cushions and crossed her legs, and watched the colorful woman in fascination; her own reaction, though, was not why she had come here.

Zur was mentally criticizing the paper model for its lack of aerodynamic forethought. No wonder it crashed, Vega. It was at the woman's words that he was forced to become a participant in this farce of a predictive system. Disorder. Randomness. Entropy. A robotic voice crackled out of the speaker.

< If this is a fortune, Vega, it had better be yours. >

Pink alien eyes darted to try and glare, but that didn't really work, since they were sharing eyes right now, anyway. "Zur, tell the nice lady what fortune you want," she hissed, before grinning at here and moving her mouth exaggeratedly, as if to say, I'm not here.

There was a sound of grinding and general pissiness. A click, like a hard drive spinning, and then a flutter of little yellow LED lights, as if the earpiece were thinking. When he spoke, there were a hundred tiny, skeptical pauses.

< Miss... Vedna. I'm afraid I didn't prepare anything in advance. Although, I have always wondered. What is it like to eat? >

If Vega was surprised at this line of questioning, Zur was flabbergasted. He simply felt the words process through his speakers, as if preloaded. He did, truly, wish to know.

< Words like sweet, and chewy, and bitter, and... moist? They mean nothing to me anymore. It seems a very ...human process. The halfwit who brought me here never shuts up about choco-licorice. Will I get to eat chocolate, one day? >

Briefly, the captain made a note to hire a therapist for her GPS.

Vedma Rozanov

.

.

“Alas, I am Vedma, not Britannica, though I can understand your confusion.” The soothsayer arched her brow and her hair began to slowly fall like balloons that were leaking helium. The fish in the bowl began swimming in the opposite direction than they had been, a small whirlpool forming in the center of the bowl as bubbles rose to the surface and fizzled out like a shaken soda can.

“Sometimes cookies get deleted before you can have a byte. Microchips leave crumbs that cause lag. Next thing you know, you’re carrying extra weight and you’re stuck at the bottom of the fishbowl. You have to accept this and stop trying to be what you are not.”

The crystal ball on the table cleared itself of its misty green clouds, revealing a nebula with electric green and pink bursts of colors and shimmering stars all around. There was a flashing sign that said Galactic Grill attached to a suspended building, either a dentist or restaurant, perhaps both. The seer’s orb began to bead up with moisture as condensation dripped down from its exterior making a wet ring around the ball.

“You know how to fly, but when life gets sticky from candied fingers, can you stay afloat from increasing pressure to perform?"

Vedma streaked her hand across the fogged up surface of the crystal ball and the image inside of it changed to a small thumb drive. Her hands turned spectral as she reached into the crystal, then she pulled out the drive, causing the ball to fade to black. There was a dot of blue that transitioned in the standard ROYGBIV fashion, and it moved in a line that bounced off of the internal walls like an old Window’s screen saver.

“We do trade now and then you go.” Vedma smiled and dangled the drive in the air. She couldn’t snatch a freckle from a program that wanted to be human, but she would gladly accept whatever the magenta woman would offer her if it was a fair exchange.

“Use this when all is lost, and not a moment before that. Your spunky friend will know when the time is right.” Vedma stood and held out her hand to the sweet alien. “Now come, you must go find your vessel. Surely the fish have helped it back to the surface.”

 

[MioBrave]

She'd stood there, arms outstretched gazing around the room. Embarrassingly, her little outburst had gotten no response. Would it have been less embarrassing if someone had reacted? Probably not. But it wasn't as if she could sink much lower.

Lil let out an exasperated sigh and abandoned her posture to take a deep drag of her cigarette. With a cursory glance to the cigarette in her hands, she realized that the tip had accumulated ash. She could tap it onto the dusty floor but -

Bit rude, innit?

Rude?? She'd just been ported somewhere - yanked from her argument with Stefan, from the high Georgian architecture, and dropped in a bloody circus tent.

Yeah, it is a bit rude.

A memory then - ash flicked down on a pair of expensive trousers. A man bound. A scroll unravelled. She winced.

No! No…There has to be something I can use somewhere - Ah! There.

A long and narrow incense burner atop the table with the broken crystal ball. She wandered back over to it and stubbed out her source of comfort when - motion caught her eye.

Motion which led her to hands.
Hands that led to a soft featured face framed by white hair.
Finally -

Wings?
Fuuuuuckin hell.

And then it happened- as it always did when she sensed danger. She leaned to the side, head tilting so that the mane of red hair (a bit greasy today) fell behind her head. Then a small, warm smile graced her face.

“You've been drawn to an interesting part of the tent.”

A deserted part. Poetic in a way. Wasn't she always drawn to the broken and the abandoned. Isn't that what had driven her to become a detective in the first place? A terrible lurching in her stomach warned her not to think about what lay at the bottom of that well of recent memories.

And then…the…fairy? Fey. A creature of supposed legend - whatever he was called - he began to list out colors. Her eyes were drawn to the hypnotic dancing lights within the cracked ball where his fingers played upon its surface. As he spoke she considered his words.

Fire…water…red…black…power? Whisps of green.
Her brow furrowed. What the hell did that-

“You act first before you think, but you don't lack intelligence."”

She snorted. “Depends on who you ask, mate.” The joke came to her automatically. “I know someone who'd argue that I do, in fact, lack intelligence.”

Hadn't that been the last thing Stefan had yelled before she'd stormed out? Feli, Darien looking pityingly on - they'd been treating her like she was made of glass.

Well…nevermind. She had a puzzle before her. It had been some months, those abandoned parts of her mind creaking into life.

A proper seer then. Had to be. They were always speaking in riddles, weren't they? But also magical - very magical. There was a soft tinkling of glass. The ball was fixed. Not a spell or a channel to be heard or seen.

Alright so he was magic. This place was magic. He didn't know how she'd gotten here. Didn't seem too preoccupied with the how. Why was she here?

Well, he'd called her young, and that won him a grin.

“Was hopin' someone else would have that answer.” She said, eyebrows raising. “Honestly mate - just a bit lost. Took a wrong door - welll…” she hesitated. “More dragged than drawn, if you catch me. The right door but - wrong destination.”

She was sizing him up then.
Was he dangerous?
She didn't have magic, but her father had taught her how to throw a mean right hook. But he didn't seem threatening.

Auracle

.

.

Auracle hums in response. He tilts his head thoughtfully. "Well, If you don't know, and I don't know.. Maybe the tent does."

He taps twice on the scrying orb, just a fidget. Then he picks it up and tosses it above them, a quick fluid motion. In a flicker of light fractals, the orb flashes into a ball of sunlight then dims to a more comfortable brightness. Auracle can't help but grin as he hears Cordelia's shadows hiss from across the room. "Whoops." He chuckles. "Forgot how bright that can be."

He turns, stepping further into the abandoned partition. His orb of light floats along side him, illuminating the area. Spiders scatter back into their webs, fleeing from the light. There's a shelf of dried herbs and incense, so old they're crumbling and some are half eaten by something. The rest of the area is filled with various looms, tapestries and baskets of materials. Some are half done and abandoned. A few are hung up with no source of how. The rest are folded neatly and stacked two or three feet high.

"This is where most of our blankets and rugs came from." He half jests. He runs a hand along some of the old wood, starting to mumble out loud to himself. "Now which one.. What brought you to this corner..." A small quack sounds beside him, startling him only for a second. He smiles, crouching and petting the fae duck beside his feet. "Don't suppose you know? You're more in tune with the tent than me."

The little thing quacks then preens at the attention. It starts to waddle its way along the stacks of woven things, tilting its head as if it were really thinking and looking. It stops near one pile, then nips at a loose thread and tugs. Auracle rises and follows. He attempts to pull out the one the duck is tugging at, but it's stuck near the bottom. He sits, crossing his legs, and carefully tries to lift and pull. Yet, despite his carefulness, the whole pile falls atop him. Colorful fabrics of various scenes, different worlds and some very random things.

He huffs. "Damn, well that wasn't very graceful." Another small quack is provided as commentary. "Yes, yes. I did ask for your help." He sighs.

He adjusts his blindfold. It had slipped down half his face, revealing blue eyes that can't seem to find focus. He covers them again, tying the wrapping taut and then pulling his hood back up. He peels himself from the fabric heap, bringing the chosen tapestry with him. He finds his way back to the table, pushing anything on it aside and laying the artwork across it. The pattern is odd and chaotic, swirls then odd moments of calm. Unfortunately it's not even finished at one end.

"I'm not very well versed in interpreting threads." He admits. "Not like they were." He refers to whoever used to be stationed here. "But, I know colors very well." His hand traces over the fabric. For a moment he's just silent.. Then he finally speaks again. "There's a lot of black.. Do you lose a lot of people? Or maybe.. That's what you're afraid of? Because there are strands in here that remind me of you, but they're faint. Like you're afraid to pull through, to fully act on who you need to be and what you need to do." His fingertips run over the horizontal weft threads, revealing the vertical warp threads underneath. The hidden threads are colorful, choked out by the thicker material. "There are people and fears holding you back. That's not uncommon. You have every right to be afraid." He folds his arms over his chest, hip leaned against the table. "But, you can't make a big omelette without fighting an ostrich. Or, whatever it is Vedma usually says." He cracks a grin at the nonsensical phrase.

He looks up at Lil again finally. "Life is hard. Things don't always go the way you want, and you can lose a lot of people." He holds out his hand, his ball of light landing in his palm then extinguishing back into a normal scrying orb. "Are you going to keep letting that hold you back? Or do you make it your driving force to keep pushing forward?" The orb shrinks, then he rolls it between his hands. When he offers it out to her it's been turned into a charm for a bag or a set of keys. That crack from before has reformed...

"Sometimes the tent doesn't summon you to give you answers. Sometimes it's to make you question yourself. I suggest you take some time to evaluate yourself and what you can do. Stop letting things hold you back." He takes a pause to let his words sink in, and for her to take the charm. "If you head to the tent's main entrance, it should spit you back out somewhere in your world." He advises, implying their time is up.

 

[NothingInAName]

Auracle

.

.

Auracle hums in response. He tilts his head thoughtfully. "Well, If you don't know, and I don't know.. Maybe the tent does."

He taps twice on the scrying orb, just a fidget. Then he picks it up and tosses it above them, a quick fluid motion. In a flicker of light fractals, the orb flashes into a ball of sunlight then dims to a more comfortable brightness. Auracle can't help but grin as he hears Cordelia's shadows hiss from across the room. "Whoops." He chuckles. "Forgot how bright that can be."

He turns, stepping further into the abandoned partition. His orb of light floats along side him, illuminating the area. Spiders scatter back into their webs, fleeing from the light. There's a shelf of dried herbs and incense, so old they're crumbling and some are half eaten by something. The rest of the area is filled with various looms, tapestries and baskets of materials. Some are half done and abandoned. A few are hung up with no source of how. The rest are folded neatly and stacked two or three feet high.

"This is where most of our blankets and rugs came from." He half jests. He runs a hand along some of the old wood, starting to mumble out loud to himself. "Now which one.. What brought you to this corner..." A small quack sounds beside him, startling him only for a second. He smiles, crouching and petting the fae duck beside his feet. "Don't suppose you know? You're more in tune with the tent than me."

The little thing quacks then preens at the attention. It starts to waddle its way along the stacks of woven things, tilting its head as if it were really thinking and looking. It stops near one pile, then nips at a loose thread and tugs. Auracle rises and follows. He attempts to pull out the one the duck is tugging at, but it's stuck near the bottom. He sits, crossing his legs, and carefully tries to lift and pull. Yet, despite his carefulness, the whole pile falls atop him. Colorful fabrics of various scenes, different worlds and some very random things.

He huffs. "Damn, well that wasn't very graceful." Another small quack is provided as commentary. "Yes, yes. I did ask for your help." He sighs.

He adjusts his blindfold. It had slipped down half his face, revealing blue eyes that can't seem to find focus. He covers them again, tying the wrapping taut and then pulling his hood back up. He peels himself from the fabric heap, bringing the chosen tapestry with him. He finds his way back to the table, pushing anything on it aside and laying the artwork across it. The pattern is odd and chaotic, swirls then odd moments of calm. Unfortunately it's not even finished at one end.

"I'm not very well versed in interpreting threads." He admits. "Not like they were." He refers to whoever used to be stationed here. "But, I know colors very well." His hand traces over the fabric. For a moment he's just silent.. Then he finally speaks again. "There's a lot of black.. Do you lose a lot of people? Or maybe.. That's what you're afraid of? Because there are strands in here that remind me of you, but they're faint. Like you're afraid to pull through, to fully act on who you need to be and what you need to do." His fingertips run over the horizontal weft threads, revealing the vertical warp threads underneath. The hidden threads are colorful, choked out by the thicker material. "There are people and fears holding you back. That's not uncommon. You have every right to be afraid." He folds his arms over his chest, hip leaned against the table. "But, you can't make a big omelette without fighting an ostrich. Or, whatever it is Vedma usually says." He cracks a grin at the nonsensical phrase.

He looks up at Lil again finally. "Life is hard. Things don't always go the way you want, and you can lose a lot of people." He holds out his hand, his ball of light landing in his palm then extinguishing back into a normal scrying orb. "Are you going to keep letting that hold you back? Or do you make it your driving force to keep pushing forward?" The orb shrinks, then he rolls it between his hands. When he offers it out to her it's been turned into a charm for a bag or a set of keys. That crack from before has reformed...

"Sometimes the tent doesn't summon you to give you answers. Sometimes it's to make you question yourself. I suggest you take some time to evaluate yourself and what you can do. Stop letting things hold you back." He takes a pause to let his words sink in, and for her to take the charm. "If you head to the tent's main entrance, it should spit you back out somewhere in your world." He advises, implying their time is up.

“Maybe the tent does…”

“Course’ - why wouldn't it?”

Lil shoved her hands into the pocket of her long purple dragon hide coat and watched as the orb soared and rotated in the air. A sense of ease at the sight - his magic was beautiful. Unlike anything she'd seen. Was there more like it, out there?

There was a low hiss in the shadows, but the person with the wings didn't seem at all distraught. In fact - he looked amused. He moved past the table, deeper into the abandoned space - the orb shedding light on the dusty corners and crevices. Her brows raised slightly as he continued.

"This is where most of our blankets and rugs came from."

“Yeah…” she said, doubtful. “Right.”

A soft quack. Another colorful little duck had wandered over. Despite herself, she was smiling down at it. Cute little lad. And the man was petting it gently. And it was leading him, and she found herself scratching her chin - unaware that her serpent tattoo had slithered down to her hand to watch the figure curiously.

“Oh - shit…” She was soon kneeling next to him, pulling at some of the rugs that had fallen atop him. But she was grinning - more understanding than mocking. “Should have seen me when I tried to catch the door!” She offered.

Scrutinous green eyes caught unseeing blue, and she watched as he adjusted the wrap - following him to the table uncertainly. She the leaned back on her heels to observe as he began unfolding it - listening to his words with open curiosity.

“There's a lot of black.. Do you lose a lot of people?”

“W-what?”

The easy, genial smile slipped from her face. Faces of students, mouths opened and eyes unseeing. And then - more corpses. Recent. Mistakes she could not unmake - he would be alive if she had just handed it over. Wouldn't have run into her again. Wouldn't have been stupid enough to think that she would spare him.

But the hooded figure had moved on, and she was scrambling past it. Hand flying to her sternum where it lived - that terrible pain - the rotten corrosive core that had been steadily eating at everything she thought she was. Grief - rusting her from the inside out. No amount of potion or herb or drink could dull it. Which was a shame because until then - those had all been a fitting remedy.

Unbeknownst to her, the serpent had come to meet her hand, curling, twisting and sliding over itself as it peered at the fey through slitted eyes.

"People and fears holding you back."

Nah…she was holding them back, wasn't she?
Suddenly she was not so sure.

She was staring at the stranger. Lillian was usually so adept at smothering the feelings - keeping pain, longing and fear so close to her chest that people thought her too stupid or callous to feel anything at all.

Till I fucking can't.

And she almost couldn't. It would push water from her eyes, pull sobs from her lungs - the feelings rushing forth in an undamable flood. But this time - this time was not so dramatic as that. It was just a small lump in the back of her throat. The corrosion fading to a dull ache.

There was something about the tent - the dim smokey light, the resonance of the man's voice - even the soft quaking of his duck that seemed to have slipped right past her bravado.

"Life is hard. Things don't always go the way you want, and you can lose a lot of people."

A truth she knew. The woman held out her hand automatically - and the orb fell into her open palm. There was water in the corner of her eyes.

And just like that - he was done. And she was staring at him uncertainly, the cool glass of the now shrunken crystal rolling smoothly across her hand. A laugh then - at her own pained reaction. At the idea that somehow - for some reason - she'd been pulled somewhere.

“It's a dream, yeah?” She offered, though she didn't believe it. There was a sniff, and a swallow and she hitched the grin back onto her face. She held up the chain so that the ball swung gently back and forth. There were questions of course. A thousand questions. Who was he? What was this place if not a dream? Were there more worlds like this one - with fairies and mechanical people and - was that a pug in a turban?

And - most baffling of all -why had this place chosen her? A failure. A loser. A reckless witch who had skidded past death a thousand times and caused the end of dozens in her thoughtless wake?

"Sometimes the tent doesn't summon you to give you answers. Sometimes it's to make you question yourself.”

Well it had done that n’all.
Her teeth pulled at her lower lip, a huff through her nose as she regarded him.

“Cheers, mate.” She said with a nod. “I - err…well. This helped, somehow.”

It had done that too n'all.

She reached out to gently punch his arm - then hesitated uncertain if the gesture would translate. Grin turning sheepish, hand sliding back to her pockets she instead said, “yeah. Thanks. I'll…see myself out then. Be...be seein you."

The tent flap peeled back, and rather than the jolt she'd felt upon arrival she was greeted with a strange pressure - as if she was stepping through jelly - only to be deposited in the tall-ceilinged hallway. Stefan had just turned - but he rounded on her, eyes narrowing. His Welsh drawl came biting and sarcastic.

“Got more to say, then?”

She stared at him.
They'd been friends once.
Her hands fell to her pockets and she was relieved to find it all there - spells and wand and potions and amulets. Everything she'd need, really.

“I'm leaving.” She said flatly.

Stefan's expression became suspicious. “What is this?”

She moved past him, the small crystal still in her palm. The words came firm - determined - a once extinguished fire sputtering back into life.

“You're right.” She said sharply. “I have to move on.”

Stefan was following her down the stairs, and soon Samuel, Felicity and Darien had joined - each chiming in with their own notes.

“‘S'goin on then?”

“Lil - where yeh goin, babs?”

“Lil - what are you-”

She turned to face them all when she reached the door. They were worried. All of them. Sam - most of all - her older brother having actually caught her arm as he gazed down at her.

“Look - shouldn't have cut you off -”

“No. Stefan's right.”

Stefan gave a cough. “Pardon?”

“You're right. An asshole - yeah - but I've been hiding, haven't I? Since all that happened- and theres -” she thought of the blindfolded figure, the magic he'd shown, the fucking duck - and a grin came over her face. “There's worlds out there. And I…want to see em. All I've ever wanted was to help - but -” she cleared her throat. “I got too much to learn, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Said Darien, simply. And of course it was he who understood. They'd fought together, in the war. He'd seen their eyes open, empty. He'd heard the screams too. Course, He'd handled it better. Darien was the best of all of them. “Where you going?”

“I dunno.”

Stefan made a sound like snort and a sneer and threw a hand up in the air. “Bloody typical, isn't it?”

“I'll be alright Stef. Really. Dun worry about me.”

“I won't.”

She ran a thumb over it the glass.
People holding you back.

She grinned at them all, and gave a one handed salute. Stefan was calling after her as she jogged lightly down the steps into the cool London air, the scent of fried food and damp filling her nostrils. Her smile widened with every step. Almost felt real.

“You'll be back in a week.”

Nah.
Nah she wouldn't.
She had a world to rediscover.

 

[Rimechapel]

It was puzzling. Yasmine had left the demonically summoned room that was housing her two traveling companions for only a moment. She intended to stretch and get a breath of fresh air. The other two were lounging on the bed inside, probably getting more intimate thanks to her absence.

They needed to get to the Silver City, not lose themselves inside of a love triangle. Yasmine was a proud elven woman, and perhaps more serious than a fairy or crow demon knew how to be, but she couldn't blame them. It was hard enough to ignore her own feelings, not that it showed. Yas wanted Bri. But, Bri wanted him. He... well, she had no idea, but Yasmine assumed he'd take them both.

Not wanting to leave Brielle worrying, Yasmine turned around, her long white hair fanning out as she spun to go back through the odd entrance between trees that the crow had made. But, instead of being greeted by two familiar faces, a low ceiling, and way too many chairs piled into a corner, the forest scout found herself in a massive tent with plumes of purples smoke, strange flashing lights, and unnatural smells that were foreign to Yasmine. There were so many vestibule entrances all connected to one another, yet separated.

“What—?”

What had that infernal creature done now? Yasmine, tired of his pranks, began to walk down a long stretch of carpets that created a pathway, looking for the crow inside one of the rooms. She paused as a few bizarre ducks passed her along the way.

This wasn't her world. It didn't feel or look the same—although she sensed some real chaos inside, it was nothing close to world devouring. No, this place was some magical, pocket dimension, just like Chyronae’s hide away. But it didn't feel like his work, oddly Yasmine realized the demon had a signature she was beginning to recognize, and the feathers on the ground were definitely from those ducks, not a pesky crow.

Why prismatic ducks? Maybe they were from the fairy territory, but she sensed Brielle was somehow out of reach. She felt dread settle in her stomach at the thought of never getting back to the sweet fairy.

Yasmine looked back, supposing a fast exit would be for the best, but there was nothing behind her. Was the tent a trial then? She let her fingers dance over the energy that buzzed in the air. There was wild nature there, she sensed, but the mana felt different. Even so, Yasmine was certain if she needed to defend herself, she could summon a plant to serve as a whip. So, with one foot in front of the other, the tall, elven woman cautiously advanced through the colorful tent until she was greeted and beckoned to an available table.

A fortune teller’s table.

This tent-dimension was clearly a place that summoned people to it, and was probably never found unless it was needed. Well, it wasn’t her first dance around a soothsayer's station, and she was in need of some answers. But Yasmine was sure this was going to be unlike anything she’d experienced before. Maybe that was a good thing. This place was untainted by the black matter that was eating the magic in her own world. Perhaps someone in this strange place could help her find what she was after in the Silver City so that she could save her people from ruin.

Frazil Narthex

.

.

@Jumbled

kkkpffffffffss

"Yeah, whatever, I ain't scared of him. Mhmm... oh, with a garden gnome? Oh. Well I guess that makes sense if that's where he put his small--"

Frazil looked up, perceiving motion through the sickly sweet purple haze of his room. He was petting a cyan and brown duck - which appeared to be asleep in his lap - his own booted feet propped up on the desk, as was his custom.

"Hey, yeah, come on in, whatever, not like you're interrupting a very important conversation or whatever," Frazil muttered, in such a way that perhaps Yasmine might even be able to hear his eyes rolling behind his mask. "Don't worry, contrary to the opinion of people who are crazy enough to confuse ducks with gnomes and warnings with crying, these lil dudes are potty-trained. Or something like that. I dunno, the floor is pretty clean, okay?"

The floor was absolutely not clean. It was packed dirt with patches of grass underfoot, and appeared much as anyone might expect the ground to appear under a pitched tent in a fairground - including the prevalence of a debris field of crunchy snacks. No duck poops, though. Not in this area, though.

"Take a load off, lady," Frazil muttered lazily, gesturing to the simple chair on the other side of the metal desk, the surface of which held nothing but crumbs. "You like birds. Yeah - no, it wasn't a question. It was an observation. You," he gestured with one hand, making a brief and weird symbol in the air; fist clenched, index and middle finger raised together, thumb tucked over the ring finger and pinky, "like," another bizarre hand gesture, but different; he put just the fingertips of his hand on his chest, and drew his hand away from himself while moving his thumb to his middle finger, as though pulling some invisible thread, "birds." The last gesture, but at least it might have made sense; he formed an L with his finger and thumb and tapped them together twice, perhaps mimicking the motion a tweeting bird made. Whatever purpose for narrating a simple, three word sentiment with such curious somatic components may not have been clear, but the emphasis behind it was obvious - if obnoxious.

"Don't worry, though, I guess I do, too," he continued, although the only gesture this time was to pick up the apparently sleeping duck with both hands, much like someone picks up a large sandwich that will fall apart if they do not handle it carefully. He set the duck on the desk, wherupon the duck tucked its bill under its wing. "Sure as hell beats the alternative."

He pulled his feet from the table and leaned forward on his elbows. "Look. I'm gonna be as straight with you as I can. Alright? Which ain't very straight, but you're smart. You can figure it out. Ya boy's a dirty rotten thief and that's really all he's got going for him. Like, there's stuff, but we ain't really gonna talk about that. He didn't summon a room, he didn't bake a pie; he borrowed or stole all that stuff from your Mother. No-- hey, nooo~" he raised a finger chidingly, his voice looping upward the way a father's empty threat does as he tries to redirect a wandering child. "Not your cutie pie elf-mom. Your Mother. Okay? Your Mother. Capital 'M.' She just probably forgot all about that attic, because, guess what? She likes flowers, and has a lot of them, and builds gardens for them all. And do you know why you're here? Also your Mother. Yeah, she's a meanie, but she's got your best interests at heart, so stop mourning your inability to ride horses or whatever that was. Do you have any idea how frickin' funny it woulda been if you said, 'Yeah, gimme a horse, bitch,' to that lil birdbrain? Heh... heheh, ah - opportunities missed."

kkkpffffffffss

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Anyway, just go to that stupid city. Maybe kiss a pair of cuties along the way. One ain't picky, but one kind of is. Not super picky, just... kind of. Y'know? And check out a, um... a, um... ehh, what's the word... an accounting house or something. Yeah. He'll hate it, you'll hate it, she'll hate it, but oh man - is it gonna be some useful information. It'll lead to tragedy, eventually, but..."

kkkpffffffffss

He shrugged apathetically. "That's why you gotta make the most of it in the meantime, honey. Don't let it go with even more missed opportunities. Cuz it ain't forever. Now get outta here, before the rest of the birds get you. You're way too proud for all that."

 

[Jumbled]

Frazil Narthex

.

.

@Jumbled

kkkpffffffffss

"Yeah, whatever, I ain't scared of him. Mhmm... oh, with a garden gnome? Oh. Well I guess that makes sense if that's where he put his small--"

Frazil looked up, perceiving motion through the sickly sweet purple haze of his room. He was petting a cyan and brown duck - which appeared to be asleep in his lap - his own booted feet propped up on the desk, as was his custom.

"Hey, yeah, come on in, whatever, not like you're interrupting a very important conversation or whatever," Frazil muttered, in such a way that perhaps Yasmine might even be able to hear his eyes rolling behind his mask. "Don't worry, contrary to the opinion of people who are crazy enough to confuse ducks with gnomes and warnings with crying, these lil dudes are potty-trained. Or something like that. I dunno, the floor is pretty clean, okay?"

The floor was absolutely not clean. It was packed dirt with patches of grass underfoot, and appeared much as anyone might expect the ground to appear under a pitched tent in a fairground - including the prevalence of a debris field of crunchy snacks. No duck poops, though. Not in this area, though.

"Take a load off, lady," Frazil muttered lazily, gesturing to the simple chair on the other side of the metal desk, the surface of which held nothing but crumbs. "You like birds. Yeah - no, it wasn't a question. It was an observation. You," he gestured with one hand, making a brief and weird symbol in the air; fist clenched, index and middle finger raised together, thumb tucked over the ring finger and pinky, "like," another bizarre hand gesture, but different; he put just the fingertips of his hand on his chest, and drew his hand away from himself while moving his thumb to his middle finger, as though pulling some invisible thread, "birds." The last gesture, but at least it might have made sense; he formed an L with his finger and thumb and tapped them together twice, perhaps mimicking the motion a tweeting bird made. Whatever purpose for narrating a simple, three word sentiment with such curious somatic components may not have been clear, but the emphasis behind it was obvious - if obnoxious.

"Don't worry, though, I guess I do, too," he continued, although the only gesture this time was to pick up the apparently sleeping duck with both hands, much like someone picks up a large sandwich that will fall apart if they do not handle it carefully. He set the duck on the desk, wherupon the duck tucked its bill under its wing. "Sure as hell beats the alternative."

He pulled his feet from the table and leaned forward on his elbows. "Look. I'm gonna be as straight with you as I can. Alright? Which ain't very straight, but you're smart. You can figure it out. Ya boy's a dirty rotten thief and that's really all he's got going for him. Like, there's stuff, but we ain't really gonna talk about that. He didn't summon a room, he didn't bake a pie; he borrowed or stole all that stuff from your Mother. No-- hey, nooo~" he raised a finger chidingly, his voice looping upward the way a father's empty threat does as he tries to redirect a wandering child. "Not your cutie pie elf-mom. Your Mother. Okay? Your Mother. Capital 'M.' She just probably forgot all about that attic, because, guess what? She likes flowers, and has a lot of them, and builds gardens for them all. And do you know why you're here? Also your Mother. Yeah, she's a meanie, but she's got your best interests at heart, so stop mourning your inability to ride horses or whatever that was. Do you have any idea how frickin' funny it woulda been if you said, 'Yeah, gimme a horse, bitch,' to that lil birdbrain? Heh... heheh, ah - opportunities missed."

kkkpffffffffss

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Anyway, just go to that stupid city. Maybe kiss a pair of cuties along the way. One ain't picky, but one kind of is. Not super picky, just... kind of. Y'know? And check out a, um... a, um... ehh, what's the word... an accounting house or something. Yeah. He'll hate it, you'll hate it, she'll hate it, but oh man - is it gonna be some useful information. It'll lead to tragedy, eventually, but..."

kkkpffffffffss

He shrugged apathetically. "That's why you gotta make the most of it in the meantime, honey. Don't let it go with even more missed opportunities. Cuz it ain't forever. Now get outta here, before the rest of the birds get you. You're way too proud for all that."

Yasmine paused in front of the entrance that spilled fumes from its tied-back doorway and stared at the strange sight of a creature—no, man?—with a metallic face that strained to breathe. Well, who could breathe with such toxins rolling so freely in the air? The duck seemed indifferent about the violet puffs of smoke that rolled around the perimeter of the strange man’s area. He invited her inside, so Yasmine took confident steps forward into the unknown of this stranger’s magic with her head held high.

She glanced around the ground after his mention of the ducks, and some conversation she may have interrupted, though she wasn’t entirely sure what he meant.

“Gnomes are wild and dangerous, and have a fondness for stealing items right out in front of you. But they certainly aren’t feathered in my world. I suppose not this one either.” There was grass under her boots and it begged her to pull it forward in wild clumps of fresh green blades, so Yasmine helped it along as she stepped, and it cleared some of the misty fog in the process, though it only moved to other areas unaffected by her mana.

She stared at the chair with clear hesitation, not because she didn’t trust him, but because she was a woman that didn’t like to take orders from any man—not even one as frightening as the one before her. His drawn out nonsense about birds made her look away, staring off in any direction other than that ghastly face of his with large black eyes that never blinked. Her jaw muscles clenched as she clamped her teeth together to keep from talking about that damned crow. But she hadn’t missed the second motion he made which caused her to think back to the agreement she’d made with that demon and how he’d one day steal her soul as payment.

“Beats the alternative of being miserable in a place where one cannot escape birds?” Yasmine finally gave in and sat on the chair, her fingers petting the sleeping duck on the table without a second thought. Animals were easy, even if the fairies were better at communicating with them. She supposed he had a point. Perhaps finding some form of happiness regarding her situation would make her life easier in the long run—but she wasn’t going to admit she liked that infernal birdman.

The sayer began to spill Chyronae’s dirty little secrets and Yasmine felt smug realizing how right she’d been about him all along. Stealing from the Goddess? The Great Mother? But it wasn’t Yasmine's place to punish him for that. He would get his own for such crimes.

“I am not riding a horse.”

Kissing cuties was not what she wanted to hear, not that his words didn’t nestle into her mind and stay there as he spoke of the city.

“Accounting house? Perfect.” Well, hopefully it was a helpful suggestion. Yasmine still had no idea. “Tragedy?” Her expression didn’t change, but her tone held the weight of a woman that was worried. Was there nothing she could do, then? Just make the most of it, like he said? Yasmine nodded, sensing the opening to her world forming behind her, its mana calling her back home. She pulled her hand back and from the wooded area where she’d been before, she pulled a parade of flora through the door, gliding along the air until they landed onto both the man’s head and the duck’s— perfectly splendid flower crowns.

“You have my thanks, Silver Faced Man. I hope I do not meet more of you in the Silver City.” Yasmine bowed her head then turned around and walked through the tied-back entrance, stepping back into her world as the rift closed behind her.

 

[tonic]

Vedma Rozanov

.

.

“Alas, I am Vedma, not Britannica, though I can understand your confusion.” The soothsayer arched her brow and her hair began to slowly fall like balloons that were leaking helium. The fish in the bowl began swimming in the opposite direction than they had been, a small whirlpool forming in the center of the bowl as bubbles rose to the surface and fizzled out like a shaken soda can.

“Sometimes cookies get deleted before you can have a byte. Microchips leave crumbs that cause lag. Next thing you know, you’re carrying extra weight and you’re stuck at the bottom of the fishbowl. You have to accept this and stop trying to be what you are not.”

The crystal ball on the table cleared itself of its misty green clouds, revealing a nebula with electric green and pink bursts of colors and shimmering stars all around. There was a flashing sign that said Galactic Grill attached to a suspended building, either a dentist or restaurant, perhaps both. The seer’s orb began to bead up with moisture as condensation dripped down from its exterior making a wet ring around the ball.

“You know how to fly, but when life gets sticky from candied fingers, can you stay afloat from increasing pressure to perform?"

Vedma streaked her hand across the fogged up surface of the crystal ball and the image inside of it changed to a small thumb drive. Her hands turned spectral as she reached into the crystal, then she pulled out the drive, causing the ball to fade to black. There was a dot of blue that transitioned in the standard ROYGBIV fashion, and it moved in a line that bounced off of the internal walls like an old Window’s screen saver.

“We do trade now and then you go.” Vedma smiled and dangled the drive in the air. She couldn’t snatch a freckle from a program that wanted to be human, but she would gladly accept whatever the magenta woman would offer her if it was a fair exchange.

“Use this when all is lost, and not a moment before that. Your spunky friend will know when the time is right.” Vedma stood and held out her hand to the sweet alien. “Now come, you must go find your vessel. Surely the fish have helped it back to the surface.”

The circuits connecting copper dots inside of Zur could not decide if he was being given some divine truth, or if the soothsayer was simply very good at puns. (As for Vega, she mostly seemed distracted, a wondrous sparkle in her eyes as she watched the woman's hair slowly deflate. Zur, of course, was also forced to watch this. He didn't immediately understand its mechanism of action. That annoyed him.)

None of this proved she was psychic. That trick with the paper and the folding and the gravity -- well, there were about fifty two ways to micro-engineer an ornithopter. He'd been forced to watch Vega attempt and fail at least 6 of them. (She'd given up after discovering how long it took for an eyebrow to grow back.) The nebula inside the crystal ball also did little to impress him -- he tended to look much the same on his home console. He assumed her crystal was lined with an OLED display. How terribly outdated. He started to verbalize a scoff, which would come out as an electric squeal, which would almost certainly cause his wearer to rip him from her ear with no regard for either of their dignity. However...

He doubted that this red-headed Russian riddle-speaker been to Ovania-9. Maybe she had. Tourists loved it, after all. But to be the kind of person that would choose to explore Alleyway 428-C long enough to find that the Grill... Well, let's say she was a bit overdressed to be that kind of person. So why, then, did the sign so perfectly read "G lacti Gril ", with all of the right letters busted and darkened, and that mysterious dark stain on the brick facade in the shape of a walrus, and damn it if he didn't recognize a swirl of blue hair inside those windows. This is why, the next time Vedma spoke, both Zur and his wearer listened very closely, and very silently.

You know how to fly...

He did.

...life gets sticky from candied fingers...

It did.

...can you stay afloat?

Zur, without a display, had no facial expressions for Vedma to read. Vega, for her part, chewed on her lips and scrunched her eyes, cherry skin furrowing in a way that expressed some sort of bone-deep discomfort. The silence stretched and grew and pounded against her eardrums when the sleek black plastic of the thumb drive began to glisten in the light of the crystal ball. Ancient USB-A connector. RGB gamer lights. A tiny scratch in the plastic next to the loop where a handy strap might go. There seemed to be kind of wide eyed wonder, hope, desperation, terror, "what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck," going on between the two travelers. And, somehow, Zur could not summon a single shred of sarcasm.

Vega did not speak when the drive was placed in her palm. She stared at it, closed her fingers around it as if to hide it from all angles, and rose to her feet robotically. She opened her mouth as if to say something to the psychic, produced no sound, and then stared for suspiciously long time. Finally, she slung the strap of her bag off of her shoulder and unzipped it; the smell that escaped was strange even in the jumble of incense and smoke that filled the booth. A bit sour. Earthy. She needed something more air-tight for her stash.

Regardless, she began rummaging. The bag looked as if it had been packed by a petulant child "running away from home" with all of their favorite toys. One after another, she would find something from the bag and set it on the low table, nearly frantically. A strangely shaped gem with a glowing core. Two coins, both of them marked with the visage of a grinning woman with plumage on her antennae. A battered comic book, cover art depicting shapely Orion fleeing from a four-armed beast. (Neither of them seemed adequately clothed for running.) A weird looking cigarette. Two neon orange packets with Choco-Licorice written with far too much flourish. A copy of Schlaut's Guide to Cirilian Sea Life, the cover of which protrayed a fish much like the ones dancing in Vedma's bowl. Finally, a handful of trinkets so small that to list them would be a fool's errand. One of them seemed to be a tiny glass unicorn.

By the time she was done, Vega's bag was flat with near emptiness, and she still was only giving that same shell-shocked silence. It was Zur that spoke for her.

<... Commensurate value<. >

The two of them left slowly, quietly, but Vega couldn't help but turn for one last look at Vedma. She couldn't smile, but she offered a strange salute -- smallest finger straight, the other two bent to form an angular C shape along with her thumb. It didn't need to be reciprocated or understood, but it seemed to mean something very special.

The night felt different after they walked out of the tent. Brighter, and darker, and more alien. The two didn't know what to say to each other as they made their way back to the ship; sure enough, there it sat in the grass, glistening with river water and still just as rusty. Vega realized that the drive was still clenched in her fist, digging painfully into her palm. She let go. The two of them stared at it.

"Zur?"

< Captain. >

"That thing she said - "

< Don't. I'm not discussing the philosophy of human life with you again. You keep trying to tie it back to Superlative Shatter Sisters. >

"No, not that. Do we... can we... Are we going to tell him now? About the Oasis thing?"

There was a long silence. So long did it stretch that Vega began to activate the pod doors for boarding, pulling herself into the cramped starshooter. Her fingers were working away at firing up the command deck. The only sounds that followed were the beeps and buzzes of the ship coming back to life, and the clicks of a wire disconnecting from a small port at the base of the alien's skull. She fed the wire into the center console, and soon a pixelated face filled the screen, just enough to make out shaggy hair and dark, tired eyes. Its head seemed too heavy for its shoulders, slumped forth into a staticky shadow.

< No, we're not. >

Vega buried her face in her palm as the ship began to rock and Zur pulled them up into the sky. Her other hand was thumbing the synthetic cork of a smoky blue bottle. The flash drive had been clipped to a polymer cord around her neck for the time being. Its track of LEDs blitzed and shifted; bright, colorful, alluring, forever in a cycle -- fated never to escape its pre-determined pattern.

Vega began to drink.

- fin -​