Hibernal 🔮💘 𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓾𝓷𝓮 𝓣𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝓣𝓮𝓷𝓽 💔🔮

[Chele]

The job was less than two weeks away, yet she had so many questions. Much of what she was to do was left vague, but she did know that she was to be protecting the daughter of the villa owner. Amber eyes stared blankly forward while she used a knife to cut away a piece of apple. With the juices clinging to the side of the tool, she lifted it up to pop the apple slice into her mouth. Slowly, she chewed but stopped when there was a door that suddenly appeared in front of her roughly ten feet away. A thin brow rose as others walked past it without even taking notice. Her chewing would continue but far slower than it had initially been. After a few seconds, the door swung open.

Swallowing the bit of apple, she shrugged her shoulders causing red curls to shift and fall down her back. “Why not,” she muttered. The apple was tossed over a fence toward the pigs that snorted and sniffed only to squeal at their small snack. She wiped the sides of the knife on the side of dark brown doeskin pants that covered the outside of her calf then pushed the blade into its sheath that hung on her belt. With a push to her feet, she languidly moved toward the open door and stepped inside. As she did, she heard the door shut behind her with a click. “Huh,” she said without much enthusiasm.

The dusty streets and cheap stone and plaster buildings were out of sight and out of mind. Instead, she stood in a tent. The dirt was even different. Her left booted foot toed at the dirt while her eyes trailed along the top of the tent. “Pretty fancy,” she mused. Sera wasn’t used to the finer things, though whether it was considered something finer wasn’t exactly on her mind. She’d let her gaze dip back down to eye level so it could scan in front of her. “Tell me I lucked out and got magically teleported to a nicer life,” she said quietly. The redhead could be hopeful, but she doubted that she was correct. Taking on a new life didn't seem so bad, all things considered.

No longer having to spend her days playing guard to travelers wouldn't be the worst thing to happen. Maybe a life where heavy concentration wasn't involved. Or just not being a glorified babysitter; wouldn't that be nice? Hands still sticky from the juices of the apple were pushed down the sides of her legs to attempt to rid them of that stickiness. At least she would be doing wash later that day. Unless ...

 

[GremlinSage]

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..."

Cordelia

.

.

If only her smile could curl in the same way the Cheshire cat's did...

For Cordelia, it was a shame. She wouldn't be allowed to keep the neko, nor would it live very long if it stayed with her. Besides, one of these pests might take Aimi just to save her.

Cordelia feigned a quiet, sorrowful hum, giving a slow wave of her hand over the table. The bones slid obediently into place near her fingers.

"Unfortunately, kitten," She murmured, "the likelihood of finding this place again after leaving is... extraordinarily slim."

Cold shadows spilled across the cloth, dimming the scattered shapes until only pale fragments remained visible. Cordelia studied them with a softened expression, almost tender, and far more dangerous.

"The bones are kind to you," she said at last.

A pause.

"They say you will be loved for a very long time." Her gaze lifted to Aimi's face. "Long enough to grow restless." Quieter now, "Long enough to wonder what might have happened if you had stayed somewhere you shouldn't."

The shadows receded with a slow breath, as though the tent itself had exhaled despite the chaos surrounding them.

Her smile returned, indulgent. "But curiosity doesn't always kill the cat," she added softly. "Sometimes... it simply sends her home." Cordelia nudged the bones into stillness with one finger, the sound barely a whisper.

"Go back to the one who is waiting for you, before this place remembers how much it likes you."

With a final cant of her head, Cordelia's smile widened again, "And if you do find this tent again someday..." Green eyes glimmered faintly, "...come in quietly."

 

[MioBrave]

Max takes a deep breath, adjusting the strap of his guitar case on his shoulder. Amber eyes blink up at the massive tent in front of him, then they flick down to the flier in his hand. The Downtown Fair and Festival. Precarious rides. Concessions that are too sweet, too salty, too greasy or some combo of the three. Games which are certainly rigged. All made complete with the addition of a fortune tellers’ tent.

Now the freckled red head just needs to get up the nerve to go in. ‘Come on Maxie. It’s not like you’re directly confessing to the guy. You’re just here for some insight from a complete stranger. Or just a boost of courage. Something like that.’ He takes a deep breath, the flier crumpling in his hand a little as he braces himself.

The flap rustles a hello as he brushes inside. The young man’s eyes go wide as he takes it all in. This is certainly a lot more than he was expecting. A pug sporting denim. Ducks in unnatural colors. Purple smoke and smiling shadows. He nearly stumbles as a woman with rich magenta skin passes by him. ‘What is this place?’

He tentatively steps forwardly, head swiveling as he tries to figure out where to even go in here. He feels rather basic and plain. He isn’t roughed up. No weapons. No magic. No scars or deep backstory. He’s just a plain human in worn jeans, a band tee and a hoodie with far too many tears from the years. Shoot, even his possible questions are basic. He just wants help confessing to the cute barista at the café he often plays at.

 

[Batcat]

Cordelia

.

.

If only her smile could curl in the same way the Cheshire cat's did...

For Cordelia, it was a shame. She wouldn't be allowed to keep the neko, nor would it live very long if it stayed with her. Besides, one of these pests might take Aimi just to save her.

Cordelia feigned a quiet, sorrowful hum, giving a slow wave of her hand over the table. The bones slid obediently into place near her fingers.

"Unfortunately, kitten," She murmured, "the likelihood of finding this place again after leaving is... extraordinarily slim."

Cold shadows spilled across the cloth, dimming the scattered shapes until only pale fragments remained visible. Cordelia studied them with a softened expression, almost tender, and far more dangerous.

"The bones are kind to you," she said at last.

A pause.

"They say you will be loved for a very long time." Her gaze lifted to Aimi's face. "Long enough to grow restless." Quieter now, "Long enough to wonder what might have happened if you had stayed somewhere you shouldn't."

The shadows receded with a slow breath, as though the tent itself had exhaled despite the chaos surrounding them.

Her smile returned, indulgent. "But curiosity doesn't always kill the cat," she added softly. "Sometimes... it simply sends her home." Cordelia nudged the bones into stillness with one finger, the sound barely a whisper.

"Go back to the one who is waiting for you, before this place remembers how much it likes you."

With a final cant of her head, Cordelia's smile widened again, "And if you do find this tent again someday..." Green eyes glimmered faintly, "...come in quietly."

The slender black tail twitches and swishes behind her as Aimi contemplates the words that had been spoken by Cordelia, her lips forming into a soft smile. She knows that it's time to take her leave, most likely while she is still able to, yet she can't bring her legs to move. At least not yet. Instead, she nods slightly. "Thank you. I'll keep an eye out for this place in the future. Even if curiosity were to kill the cat, satisfaction brings it back, after all."

Winking at the woman, Aimi turns and heads for the exit, but before she can turn around fully, her form shifts back into that of a small black house cat. The cat moves to the entrance, pausing only long enough to look back one last time, before scurrying back out into the outside world.

 

[firefly]

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.uch

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.

Brünnhilde

.

.

Ahh yes, what better question to pose to the tent Babushka than one so vague and vulnerable?

"Path of life, child, is no easy answer, yes?" Brünnhilde replied, suddenly noticing the toppled candles and adjusting them. "The life, it go this way, then that way, then over the hill or into pond where you find bunch of little shit fae ducks and then they in cart and eating all of bread and now they in tent and they shit all over table cloth."

As if to punctuate her sentence, one of the culprits nearby gave a (very annoyingly cute) quack! and she thrust herself forward to cover as much of the table with her arms lest the mischief maker attempt to hop onto it. She watched it waddle away with a resentful side-eye.

"But, if it helps with all of this," she said, again making the awful worried expression and gesturing wildly at the girl's face, "Then old Brünnhilde do read for you, ok?"

Rising from her chair, which again was unfortunately not very obvious since she remained at more or less the same height, the teller spread her arms and the small semi circle of misshapen candles on her table burst into flame, casting a host of rather unflattering shadows onto her face. What the customer may not have known is that had the candles been properly maintained, the shadows would have actually been very flattering, but that is neither here nor there for the purposes of this story (although she strongly suspected the metal-headed buffoon of meddling with them and using them in some unsavoury way). One of them, a short, stumpy thing with large lumps of wax melting into the table, flickered out. Shooting a pointed glare between it and the tent entrance, Brünnhilde jumped down from the chair and began to rummage through a storage chest next to her table, mumbling angrily about something to do with drafts and flaps. Before long she was back up on the chair, this time with a crumpled matchbook.

"Come, come, give to me." She said, lighting the candle manually and leaning so much over the table that she was practically laying on it, her short legs hanging over the side (her torso was, as expected, very short so she needed to close the distance extensively). "No, child! Not that!" She grumbled, slapping away the hand that was offered, "The elbow! I must read the weenus."

Said so simply and as a matter of fact, like it were the most obvious thing in the world, the customer might have felt compelled to comply, albeit with much confusion.

What proceeded may not be fit to record in the annals of this event, what with the chanting, involuntary bodily convulsions, and weenus fondling, but at the end of it the teller slunk back into her seat, mopping her brow with the ends of her violet shawl.

"Aye! Please forgive, dear one, Aunt Brü not young matryoshka any more, eh?" She cackled to herself, settling the little bells along her shawl jingling joyfully, "But, the elbow, it speak to Brü. The folds, the stretch, all saying very much."

Brünnhilde sat back in her chair and reached into the front of her dress, rummaging around near her cleavage before pulling out a long smoking pipe with a triumphant grin. While packing and lighting it, she continued, but with a more mumbled and conversational tone as if she were speaking more to herself, "So unsettled, young one, temporarily everywhere, aye aye. Look at those feet! So obvious, never sleeping same place twice. Always running, running, from danger, responsibility, maybe love. Probably bullets."

She paused, lighting her pipe and taking a long pull while sinking further down into her seat and blowing smoke through her nostrils. Soon, she was merely a head poking up from the table. Lazily waving her hand around, mumbling another strange chant under her breath, the smoke swirled and danced above them, painting a picture only the woman could understand. "As to where you go, moushka, hmmm, not where you plan, no? You on path that start sensible, and you end very far away. Very, very far. Like, with bad food and no signal."

A loud pop! proceeded by a burst of candyfloss-coloured cloudburst announced the arrival of a fae duck, the same one as before, on the teller's table. It waddled to the edge, studied the mellowed Brünnhilde for a moment, then jumped foward, landing on the the woman's head. Brünnhilde gave a long-suffering sigh, exhaling a stream of smoke as she did so, as the fae duck ungracefully scrambled down to settle comfortably on the woman's ample bosom.

"And this you do, young one, all because of love, ya?"

A warmth had seeped into her tone now, and she gave the fae duck, now dozing on it's new comfortable perch, an affectionate pat with her free hand.

"Love not drive, no no, it grab wheel. It press gas and hurtle you forward, screaming and wishing you can get off ride and not die. You can't even ask direction because love likes get lost on purpose. Very annoying and inconvenient, no?"

Above the fortune teller's table, the stout head peeked just above it with the haze of smoke swirling above it like a brewing storm.

"Moushka, you cannot get off ride now. And even if you did, love would follow. It run with you. And is okay! You can run with love. You can hold hands with love, too, make falling less lonely, no? But remember," the teller added, wagging a finger at the girl and then making a zig-zag pattern in the air, "Don't run in straight line, ya? Always run this way that way. You confuse fate and then it gets tired and stop chasing. Also, if you see somebody running in straight line, do not trust them. They are too confident and fate will catch them. Or maybe they have the diarrhoea, I don't know."

She let silence fall across the table, just long enough that the customer might have assumed she'd fallen asleep, but with a little jerk of her bosom (which jostled the little fae duck and earned her a disgruntled quack!) she gasped and said, "Oh! One more thing. The weenus, it tell me you are lactose intolerant. Sorry Moushka, very sad. Now leave money here and go! Go, run! And remember, this way that way, ya?"

Brünnhilde dismissed the girl with a lazy wave of her hand, sinking even further down into her chair. One had to wonder, what exactly was in that pipe?