Hibernal 🔮💘 𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓾𝓷𝓮 𝓣𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝓣𝓮𝓷𝓽 💔🔮

[Jumbled]

As if Silas needs another reminder of why it’s a bad idea to fraternize with humans, his Valentine’s Day date points at the abomination across the street and says, “Oh, fun!”

Oh, fun.

She would think that, wouldn’t she. She can’t smell the burning spellwork like he can. She can’t see the distortion shimmering at the margins of the pavilion. That’s space-time magic, which is bone-chilling for all the obvious reasons, but this idiot woman darts ahead and gleefully flings herself into the death trap faster than Silas can say, “Well, at least you’re pretty.”

So he shoots a text to his brother—”carnie witches”—and drops him a pin, just in case this goes bad. He’s not sure why. If the tent goes bad then there won’t be anything left of Silas to retrieve.

He puts his phone in airplane mode.

Passing through the doorway feels like a violation, magic rippling across every goddamn one of his molecules and forcing them from the perfectly safe, perfectly mundane street to this other in-between place. He feels ill. His date is nowhere.

As he could have guessed, the inside is much larger and crawling with more people than there are cars on the square outside. Multiple points of entry, he reckons, and looks around for a way to mark the doorway he came through. He’d hate to go to all the trouble of heroically rescuing his companion from the clutches of dark forces only to spirit her away into a black hole.

He laughs when he sees that it’s an unopened fortune cookie he pulls from his pocket and drops on the ground to act as his landmark.

Vedma Rozanov

.

.

Vedma finished her cup of coffee and set the other one belonging to Max on the ground somewhere behind her station, for the faeducks, of course. She began to tidy her shelves when her magical ball shifted from swirling verdant mists to a likeness of the moon. Tilting her head at the depiction, she studied it for merely a moment before she stepped toward the opening of her station, leaning against long, colorful fabrics. A small paper manifested on the table in anticipation of Silas’ arrival.

“Ah,” she watched him drop his trail marker then folded her arms across her chest. “I’ve been waiting long time for you to step in here. Come, Vedma give you better reading than a cookie.”

A waddle of ducks found the wrapped fortune cookie and claimed it as their own, running off as they fought over which one of them got to crinkle the plastic. Meanwhile Vedma waved Silas forward and disappeared into the mouth of her partition.

She walked through, fingers poking and pressing trinkets around on her shelves.

“You’ll smell they’re from all over, yes?” The tent never discriminated, taking people from many times and places before it spit them back out. “Sit,” she paused for a moment, as if sensing a glare from behind her back and raised her finger in the air. “An offer, not command. Miss Vedma doesn’t work in obedience school.”

The paper square flinched and twitched nervously on the velvet surface and Vedma huffed. “You make paper nervous. Be good and sit, boy. Listen to fortune so you can leave and catch back up with ditsy date.”

The moon was still in full view inside of the crystal ball while Vedma finally rounded her table and took a seat. The paper barely rose from the table as it folded itself into a five-point star. She gave Silas the look a mother would give her son when he was being a pain in the ass.

“Hate it all you want, but it’s not going anywhere. It’s part of you,” she said, tapping the center of her chest. “Just as that moon and star is part of the sky. Something bigger.” Vedma waved her hands around the ball and the full moon faded, the image zoomed out until it was nothing more than a small, shining orb hovering over Louisiana. “Cosmic love, yes. Bound by centuries but always apart. You love this moon in a way that will rip you apart and put you back together.” Vedma snatched up the paper star, reaching across the table to shove it into Silas’ hand. “Don’t crumple!” She said before fully backing away, her index finger pointing to him in warning.

“You don’t want to settle, never have. You think you’re a playboy. Lone wolf. You’re wrong. This girl you have now, she is not forever. Most are not, you throw them away.” Vedma nearly gave the same ’People are like dirt’ speech then paused and shifted gears.

“You’re a knight. A knight with a giant steed. You will save your love. Leave lasting impression.” Vedma clicked her teeth twice, as if that meant anything at all.

“Then you know, that is the one.” The cityscape in the ball began to flash with a storm that began to cover the city. "This,” she said, gesturing to the scene. “Has not come to pass. But you must go now. Vedma can say no more, and only one witch can ever truly hold you.”

Twinkle, twinkle little star.

 

[Chele]

Her brow arched but no retort was made.

She watched Sera settle in, hands in lap, elbows on table. A half-smirk intact as though the tent were merely another roadside curiosity.

"Charming," Cordelia murmured softly. "You think this is a profession." Her smile was thin, patient.

"I could give you a very different life," she continued. "But you wouldn't survive it long."

When Sera's hands struck the table, the bones jolted and clattered sharply against one another.

Cordelia stilled.

Fingers moved slowly, deliberately, gathering the disturbed pieces and placing them back where they belonged. "Careful," she said without looking up. "They don't like being startled."

Once the bones were reset, she did not cast them yet. Instead, pushing them toward Sera.

"Again," Coredlia instructed softly. "But this time... mean it." That thin smile she had been wearing spread a little further, eyes locking on the assassin's with a hunger.

Whether Sera touches them or not, Cordelia lets the bones fall herself.

Each one scatters in a jagged pattern; the bent nail landing first, the knuckle bone tipping toward the bent nail, the bird bone points outward and away.

She studies the arrangement in a silence long enough to be uncomfortable.

"Babysitting," she repeats mildly, with a faint hum." "No."

Her gaze lifts, green meeting amber. "You're not hired to protect the princess." A fingertip taps the bent nail. "You're hired to protect everyone else from her."

The knuckle bone rolls slightly closer to Sera's side of the table. "Whether it leads to a fruitful life," Cordelia continues, voice lowering, "depends entirely on how comfortable you are standing between a blade and something that does not fear it."

With that same grin still spreading, her hand drifts towards Sera's wrist again, not restraining, just feeling the pulse. "You won't die on this job," She adds calmly.

"But you will leave it different." Cordelia continued after a beat.

The shadows around the edge of the table deepen faintly.

"And if you fail?" She cants her head slightly, her smile softening. "You won't be the one who pays for it."

The bones are nudged back into a pile, the shadows moving over the deck of cards and fixes up what had moved.

[/div][/div][/div]

"Is it not a profession?" There was genuine curiosity in her tone, when she asked. Her mouth pulled to the side in a half frown, half look of thought.

There would be a slight glimmer in her eyes, when Cordelia mentioned that she could, indeed give her a different life, but doubted she'd last long in it. That caused a low huff of breath to be expelled. "Shame," she muttered. When she was told to move the bones again, it caught her off guard. Enough so that she didn't respond. Thankfully, she didn't have to, as Cordelia took it upon herself to let the bones fall. Where they landed meant absolutely nothing to her. That would be explained, however. To hear that she wasn't babysitting and that she wasn't hired to protect the woman, but instead that she was hired to protect her from everyone else was shock.

Her mouth pulled to the side, as she thought on it, but she wasn't given much time to really let her thoughts wander. Cordelia pulled her back quickly, when she spoke again. Not knowing if the job would led to a life of riches was a disappointment. Though, it was further explained that it depended on how comfortable she was standing between a blade and something that didn't fear it. "Fascinating," she murmured. Her lips parted to speak but instead she sucked in a breath, when her wrist was touched. Amber eyes dipped downward for a brief moment before pulling upward again. She could see Cordelia out of the corner of her eye. Somehow, her pulse had remained steady. Even beats were thrummed against Cordelia's finger pads.

"Well, at least good to know that this job won't kill me, I suppose." Her gaze would be held straight ahead. Cordelia continued, telling her that she would leave different than how she entered. After a pause, there would be one more piece of 'advice'. That if she failed, she wouldn't be the one that paid for it. A relief and yet not at the same time.

"Well, then. Good talk," she said hastily. There was a push up from the seat she had been led to. With a turn on her heels, she would look toward the woman as the shadows repositioned the things on the table. "Just going to walk right back through that door. I have to do wash. Probably wouldn't hurt to scrub my skin raw either, I'd guess." With that, she she would move around Cordelia and back toward the door where she'd entered. It opened as she approached and she stepped back through it. Back to the same spot where she'd been sitting and eating the apple. "Fucking weird ass woman," she grumbled while rubbing her wrist where the woman had pressed her fingers.

 

[jahdeen]

Frazil Narthex

.

.

@jahdeen

"Hey YOU!"

kkkpffffffffss

"Yeah, you." Frazil had found another bag of snacks - some kind of corn nuts, which were neither corn nor nuts - and sat with his feet propped up on the messy desk, leaned back in his chair. He tossed a snack under the mask, somehow, suggesting that perhaps it was not airtight, or perhaps there was some sort of special food-port that allowed him to consume sustenance as a result of highly advanced technology devised by artificial intelligence and vetted over a thousand years of exposition.

"Th' fugger you doin'?" He tossed another snack up into his mask and crunched on it in a loud but muffled way. Purple haze, drifting out from Frazil's part of the tent, began to creep low along the ground and curl towards him in a way that could be as inviting as sinister. "Kneeling down like that. You're way too fuggin' close to Broomhilder's table to be rollin' around on the ground. Lookin' for a sandwich or somethin'? C'mon dude, get over here. Don't be weird, even if you gotta be a pidgeon or whatever."

With finger and thumb, Frazil adjusted the starkly beautiful and elegant flower crown on his head, which lay in stark natural contrast to the very industrial piece of machinery it graced. "Now I know you came to get a fortune told or some lame stuff like that, but lissen here - I'm a fuggin' princess now, so I don't do the fortune thing'nymore. I talk to ducks, I eat snacks, and I tell it like it is. You ain't exactly some... ehh... I dunno, hunky-assed black swordsman or something, but you're gonna get it like it is."

kkkpffffffffss

He tossed another snack up and crunched loudly, at the same time that the machinery was hissing in the mask, which of course made for a wholly regal appearance - like a middle manager consigned to the majesty of a daisy chain that was living its best life. "Yer gonna die. Sorry, dude. It's just how it is. Your freaky little Twilight makeup isn't gonna help you, either, Sparkles. But don't worry - you'll first be spared by a demonic creature that recognizes a necklace you wear. You're gonna be betrayed by a guy you trusted, and you'll have to kill him. He'll come back, though, during an eclipse. That right there's gonna be a bad time, dude, because you're gonna lose an eye and an arm protecting the one you love. And then you'll kill him, again, and have to go on this big ol' campaign or something, waging war against demons or some shit."

The snacks came freely now, tossed up by Frazil's hand one at a time every several words or so. "Mm. But before then. You'll... get captured by these holier-than-thous. Hang out with an elf. Kill a bunch of trolls. Get some cool armor. A Seahorse will take you to safety. And fight your inner darkness." He shakes his head. "You ain't gonna win that fight, homie."

He crumpled up the back of snacks noisily and stuffed it in the drawer of the desk. "But hey - you know what?" He pulled his feet off the desk and thumped them on the ground, then leaned forward. Planting one hand on the surface of the desk and pointing the other straight at Echo, he grunted. "Dance. With her. Like, whenever the opportunity presents itself, even if it's a really in appropriate opportunity. Heh, especially if it's a really inappropriate opportunity. It's gonna be really cute, fer one thing, and for another you'll stop doing weird-boi stuff like kneeling next to a table full of duck poop pretending not to be a pidgeon. And it might just save your life. Maybe."

kkkpffffffffss

Frazil leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. "Alright, get the fuggoudda here, Sp. You're making the ducks uncomfortable with your weird-boi-cough-totally-not-a-pidgeon-cough-wink-nudge energy."

Demonic creature (connection to necklace) - Kill betrayer... twice? Start practicing fighting with one eye and one arm. Demon war (check involvement/connection to Dragon Lords). Crescent Order again? Hope not. Elf. Trolls. Armor. Aquatic horse. Will be losing an inner fight.

Echo snapped his notebook shut and stowed his quill.

This hadn't exactly been the meeting he was expecting, and while his questions about the tellers themselves weren't exactly answered, he was still leaning towards the "divine seers" theory. Evidently, this man--or maybe it was a golem--was well aware of how chaotic and dangerous Echo's life was on a daily or weekly basis. That alone had the young man convinced of Frazil's psychic abilities.

His mind wandered, thinking of her. She was probably still waiting for him back on the ship, wondering where in the world her half-Scalebrood ran off to in the middle of the voyage. He smirked to himself. For once, he'd return without incident, and better yet, unscathed. Well, aside from the stains of mud and possibly duck dung on the knees of his pants. Better than blood--his or someone else's.

He jotted down one last note.

DANCE!!!

Echo stood and clasped his fist on his chest, pounding twice as a sign of respect. "Thank you for your uncanny insights, great fume-breathing golem-seer. May your battles be eased and your victories sweet."

He left the tent with the same efficiency and subtlety as he entered, barring an awkward dance past an inexplicable horde of ducks, who flapped and quacked at his boots.

 

[GremlinSage]

West entered the tent with only the slightest sliver of hesitation. He'd left a wagon-load worth of doubts and negative self-talk in a heap just outside the entryway, ready to be picked up upon departure. His gods had been attempting to persuade him to leave his arsenal of demoralizing weapons of self-destruction and defensive armor behind once and for all, but after carrying it around for nearly three decades, his attempts to lay it all down and just walk away had become a mind fuck just waiting to happen.

As a matter of fact, West felt certain that he'd already laid that shit down at least 42 times in half as many days, yet he kept waking up with more bullshit strapped to his weary soul than he remembered from the night before. His soul was in a sorry state. He didn't have any faith that a fortuneteller could actually help him, but he also didn't imagine they could make things any worse. Or rather, he'd learned from experience that sometimes things needed to get worse before he was able to see the better thing that had been right in front of him all along. Maybe a drop of poison would be the exact medicine that he needed to help him step out of his perpetual state of ennui, punctuated by moments of profound absurdist revelation that kept him going just long enough to get him through to his next fix of sublime truth and chaotic wisdom.

The man who entered the fortune teller's tent was in his late twenties with shoulder-length auburn hair. He wore purple cleric's robes with an eight-arrowed symbol of chaos embroidered in gold on his chest. He was attractive but distinctly effeminate in his gestures and body language. He carried himself with a contradictory air, one moment bold and the next deeply vulnerable. The part of the sign that read, "No Crying," worried him a little. He had been known to weep openly from time to time, but felt he could probably keep a lid on things long enough to avoid offending the vendors.

He was a man who had been in search of himself long enough to know very well that he was not what he pretended to be, while also knowing that pretending was a vital part of surviving in what often felt to be a cold and uncaring universe. If West were to summarize the ultimate truth he had managed to capture and keep since becoming a man of faith, it would go like this... The whole universe was also pretending, the whole universe was also in search of itself, and he was a finite manifestation of the universe's quest, pretending and searching. The better he got at pretending, the worse he got at searching, and the closer he got to finding what he sought, the worse he got at pretending, so that the only solution to the riddle was to try to fool himself into thinking he wasn't really the universe searching for itself at all. Then, the universe might become comfortable enough with him to let him glimpse its true nature from the corner of his eye. One day he hoped to turn around quick enough to look the universe full in its face like a cosmic mirror and then embrace himself like a brother, or a lover, and he believed this was likely to happen one day, but that would probably also be the day that he died, and he'd started to become accustomed to living at this point, even though it was difficult and involved more hang-overs than he would like. The idea of never waking up again unsettled him just enough to keep his darker demons at bay. Drugs and alcohol helped too.

What he really wanted was a soul mate, one person who had also caught a glimpse of the insane paradox of the universe, who also enjoyed it for the dangerous demon containing puzzle box that it was, and was capable of saying, "I know! I see it too! Yes, I think it is real, and yes, it scares the shit out of me too. Let's fuck with it together and see what happens next!" Most people got annoyed or bored before he ever had a chance to describe any of this, or they'd sit patiently as he tried to explain, only to dismiss him in the end as crazy or overly intellectual.

The odd cleric waited to catch the eye of an unoccupied fortune teller and then approached boldly, his question spilling out of his mouth almost the moment he was in proximity to be heard. "Give it to me straight, Doc. Will my broken heart ever mend and lead me into the arms of my one true love, or am I doomed to keep using wild but meaningless sex as a balm and a band-aid for my suffering until the day that I die?"

Cordelia

.

.

She had been listening long before he finished speaking. By the time he said 'Give it to me straight, Doc...' Cordelia was already smiling. Not warmly. "You're quite exhausting." She murmured, getting to her feet.

Light steps circled him, slow, fingers brushing lightly along the embroidered symbol on his chest. "Broken heart," Cordelia repeated. "Wild but meaningless sex. One true love."

Her hand fell away. "You don't want it straight," Cordelia leaned in closer. "You want it poetic." West was guided to her table, where the bones were gathered by shadows and set in the palm of her hand, before letting them fall again.

The knucklebone landed sideways.

The tooth rolled closest to him.

The cracked bead fractured further on impact.

Cordelia's eyes flicked to that last detail with interest. "Oh," she breathed, gaze lifting. "Not a broken heart." A soft, pale finger tapped the knucklebone. "It's intact, you just keep offering it to people who cannot hold it." She would have loved to add another broken heart to her... collection.

She leaned closer, enough that her breath brushed along his cheek. "You mistake intensity for intimacy. Chaos for compatibility. Revelation for relationship." The tooth was nudged toward him. "You fall in love with recognition, anyone who can look at you and say 'I see the paradox too.'"

Cordelia smiled, letting the shadow crawl up her arm from the tooth. "You don't stay long enough to see if they can survive you." Her eyes sharpened slightly. "You want a soulmate?"

At the question, she gathered one bone, then let it drop deliberately. Pausing, she hummed. "You'll meet someone who understands the puzzle box." A thin smile tugging at her mouth. "And they won't be impressed by it."

The cold air brushed passed them from the shadow sitting along her shoulder and arm. "And that," Cordelia continued, whispering. "is when you'll have to decide whether you want love..." Then, a little lower. "or an audience."

Straightening up again, Cordelia started back toward her seat, fingers wiggling over the bones until they moved on their own back to their places. "As for mending, well, hearts are muscle. They don't shatter, just scar. You are not doomed."

Taking her seat, one leg crossing over the other while the table was covered in that same shadow. "But if you keep calling self-sabotage 'divine chaos,' you might as well be."

"Straight enough for you, cleric?" That last word came with a slight hiss.

 

[bathtub]

Vedma Rozanov

.

.

Vedma finished her cup of coffee and set the other one belonging to Max on the ground somewhere behind her station, for the faeducks, of course. She began to tidy her shelves when her magical ball shifted from swirling verdant mists to a likeness of the moon. Tilting her head at the depiction, she studied it for merely a moment before she stepped toward the opening of her station, leaning against long, colorful fabrics. A small paper manifested on the table in anticipation of Silas’ arrival.

“Ah,” she watched him drop his trail marker then folded her arms across her chest. “I’ve been waiting long time for you to step in here. Come, Vedma give you better reading than a cookie.”

A waddle of ducks found the wrapped fortune cookie and claimed it as their own, running off as they fought over which one of them got to crinkle the plastic. Meanwhile Vedma waved Silas forward and disappeared into the mouth of her partition.

She walked through, fingers poking and pressing trinkets around on her shelves.

“You’ll smell they’re from all over, yes?” The tent never discriminated, taking people from many times and places before it spit them back out. “Sit,” she paused for a moment, as if sensing a glare from behind her back and raised her finger in the air. “An offer, not command. Miss Vedma doesn’t work in obedience school.”

The paper square flinched and twitched nervously on the velvet surface and Vedma huffed. “You make paper nervous. Be good and sit, boy. Listen to fortune so you can leave and catch back up with ditsy date.”

The moon was still in full view inside of the crystal ball while Vedma finally rounded her table and took a seat. The paper barely rose from the table as it folded itself into a five-point star. She gave Silas the look a mother would give her son when he was being a pain in the ass.

“Hate it all you want, but it’s not going anywhere. It’s part of you,” she said, tapping the center of her chest. “Just as that moon and star is part of the sky. Something bigger.” Vedma waved her hands around the ball and the full moon faded, the image zoomed out until it was nothing more than a small, shining orb hovering over Louisiana. “Cosmic love, yes. Bound by centuries but always apart. You love this moon in a way that will rip you apart and put you back together.” Vedma snatched up the paper star, reaching across the table to shove it into Silas’ hand. “Don’t crumple!” She said before fully backing away, her index finger pointing to him in warning.

“You don’t want to settle, never have. You think you’re a playboy. Lone wolf. You’re wrong. This girl you have now, she is not forever. Most are not, you throw them away.” Vedma nearly gave the same ’People are like dirt’ speech then paused and shifted gears.

“You’re a knight. A knight with a giant steed. You will save your love. Leave lasting impression.” Vedma clicked her teeth twice, as if that meant anything at all.

“Then you know, that is the one.” The cityscape in the ball began to flash with a storm that began to cover the city. "This,” she said, gesturing to the scene. “Has not come to pass. But you must go now. Vedma can say no more, and only one witch can ever truly hold you.”

Twinkle, twinkle little star.

Silas was still getting his bearings, patting his pockets to be sure he hadn’t been fleeced on his way through the portal and casting his attention around for his date, when the clownery began. A woman stuck her riotously coppery head out of her booth—the place was full of ‘em—and beckoned him to follow her inside. She didn’t wait to see if he agreed. Simultaneously, a herd of wild water birds scurried across the floor and stole his cookie!

Acutely feeling the lack of any workable alternatives, Silas followed the witch, stepping wide of the bird droppings. She lingered just inside her hut, fussing over her tchotchkes.

“You’ll smell they’re from all over, yes?” said the woman, Vedma, knowingly. Feeling suddenly naked, Silas scowled. But he also did note, beneath the pungent odor of magic, that he could detect a bouquet of foreign flora and fauna wafting from the shelves.

“Cute trick,” he said dismissively. “I’m not here for a reading. I just want to find—”

“Sit,” Vedma cut in, like Silas wasn’t even talking. Irritation sparked in his chest and he started to leave, but the witch smoothed it over without even looking back to confirm his offense. There was zero doubt in Silas’s mind that she’d done it on purpose. He took a few more shuffling steps into the booth, then stopped. He folded his arms and did not sit, only stared obstinately down his nose at her.

She asked him to sit again and gestured at the table, where Silas noticed the little square of folding paper twitching around on the witch’s table. It wasn’t a particularly fearsome display of power, nor was the moon floating in her crystal ball, but the mention of his date got his attention. After a hesitation that was purely for Silas’s own sake, so he could go on pretending he had any choice, he sat. The paper immediately started to fold itself.

She did something with her hands and the image in the crystal shifted, a star-spangled kaleidoscope of bullshit. The words cosmic love stood out as particularly hilarious, and he almost even laughed, looking down at his little paper star, but Vedma snapped her teeth at him and he swallowed nervously instead. He wished the witch would just stop talking, because it seemed that bleak, inescapable prophecies always started out with some witch talking about them. But he was too paranoid to interrupt again, so he let her finish.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he said as he stood up, relieved. He put the star in his pocket, where it almost certainly crumpled. “Witches aren’t my type, and even if they were? They’re immune to the bite.” Silas didn’t need a seer bent out of shape with him, though, so he reached for his wallet, fished out a twenty, and set it in the center of the table where the little origami star had been before.

“Thank you, Miss Vedma,” he said as he left, because it was polite, and he was scared. As Silas swept back the partition and stepped out, he just caught the blonde bounce of curls exiting the way he’d come in. Probably. He held his breath and followed.

 

[West of Avarice]

Cordelia

.

.

She had been listening long before he finished speaking. By the time he said 'Give it to me straight, Doc...' Cordelia was already smiling. Not warmly. "You're quite exhausting." She murmured, getting to her feet.

Light steps circled him, slow, fingers brushing lightly along the embroidered symbol on his chest. "Broken heart," Cordelia repeated. "Wild but meaningless sex. One true love."

Her hand fell away. "You don't want it straight," Cordelia leaned in closer. "You want it poetic." West was guided to her table, where the bones were gathered by shadows and set in the palm of her hand, before letting them fall again.

The knucklebone landed sideways.

The tooth rolled closest to him.

The cracked bead fractured further on impact.

Cordelia's eyes flicked to that last detail with interest. "Oh," she breathed, gaze lifting. "Not a broken heart." A soft, pale finger tapped the knucklebone. "It's intact, you just keep offering it to people who cannot hold it." She would have loved to add another broken heart to her... collection.

She leaned closer, enough that her breath brushed along his cheek. "You mistake intensity for intimacy. Chaos for compatibility. Revelation for relationship." The tooth was nudged toward him. "You fall in love with recognition, anyone who can look at you and say 'I see the paradox too.'"

Cordelia smiled, letting the shadow crawl up her arm from the tooth. "You don't stay long enough to see if they can survive you." Her eyes sharpened slightly. "You want a soulmate?"

At the question, she gathered one bone, then let it drop deliberately. Pausing, she hummed. "You'll meet someone who understands the puzzle box." A thin smile tugging at her mouth. "And they won't be impressed by it."

The cold air brushed passed them from the shadow sitting along her shoulder and arm. "And that," Cordelia continued, whispering. "is when you'll have to decide whether you want love..." Then, a little lower. "or an audience."

Straightening up again, Cordelia started back toward her seat, fingers wiggling over the bones until they moved on their own back to their places. "As for mending, well, hearts are muscle. They don't shatter, just scar. You are not doomed."

Taking her seat, one leg crossing over the other while the table was covered in that same shadow. "But if you keep calling self-sabotage 'divine chaos,' you might as well be."

"Straight enough for you, cleric?" That last word came with a slight hiss.

It was a wild-eyed womanish creature that locked eyes with West and then approached him. He liked the look of her immediately. Her bone-chilling smile and arachnid-like touch made him giddy with terror, like something from one of his best preserved childhood nightmares. The cleric knew better than to feel disappointed that she opened their dialogue by calling him exhausting. Low-hanging fruit was most easily plucked, and he suspected that she was just warming up.

Her next observation was much more potent, even if it was to call out his obvious playful bullshit. West didn't prefer anything straight. Twisted, bent, queer, and quirky, those were the words he would have chosen for himself. Her choice of the word "poetic" delighted him. West couldn't suppress the light skip in his step as she led him to her table, where the shadows moved with animated deliberation, placing the oracle bones in her hand. Though West would have loved to ask a dozen questions about the shadows, the bones, and their dark mistress, he bit his tongue and allowed her to practice her art without interruption.

It was only after her cast that the sinister depth of her talent became apparent. She had heard his thoughts as plainly as if he had spoken them aloud, and that was unsettling enough without her insistence on penetrating him with one sharp thorn of honest criticism after another. His smile stayed frozen on his face, but any warmth behind it drained away quickly. Everything she said was accurate. Painful and accurate. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, but then, she'd given him exactly what he had asked for.

She told him just what he was, a pathetic pretender who gave away his heart cheaply to all the wrong people, specifically because the right ones scared him so much worse than the wrong ones did. He found it easier to subject himself to assholes and abusers precisely because he knew they could survive him. West had never actually believed that he deserved intimacy, compatibility, or relationship. The other stuff allowed him to hide behind his performance. He enjoyed being the masochistic holy man perpetually crucifying himself upon the altar of his own self-righteous delusions. That fellow had a thick skin and seldom failed to draw an audience.

"Straight enough for you, cleric?" She said, clearly deriding his chosen profession.

"Yes, and poetic as well. You're very good," West said softly from behind the mask of his painted-on smile. "Probably too good. Thank you. It sounds like I have a lot of work to do." He struggled to honor the rules posted on the sign outside as he retrieved a goodly sum of coins from his purse and laid down his payment with a trembling hand. "I wanted to tell you. The god of chaos that I honor has three faces, and one of them is the dark goddess Ani. She is the destroyer of all things that have outlasted their usefulness. You seem to me like a perfect incarnation of her essence. Everything you strip away from me, I surrender willingly, so that my fruitless endeavors may one day become compost for a better bloom."

Having said all of that, he did manage to scrape together enough jovial resilience to offer her a half-hearted, genuine smile in spite of himself. He bowed his head in respect without ostentation and walked away from the fortuneteller's table, hurt but not beyond mending.

 

[Wintersprings]

Ravenna was cursing her friends, how they managed to talk her into standing in line for a fortune teller was beyond her. She wasn't superstitious per se but she had a hard time believing that someone could gather her fate from just the simplest touch of her palm. However, this was their way of cheering her up. Her and her ex boyfriend got into a massive fight the other day and he dumped her. She believes she did no wrong, merely pointing out that he could try harder in taking the initiative on planning dates, showing affection in and out of the bedroom but according to him, that was asking too much and stormed out of her apartment.

He later texted her saying he was breaking up with her. It was always the same issue when it came to her relationships, the second she spoke up about needing more, they ran for the hills. Was it something she was doing or was she just dating men incapable of having adult relationships?

Stepping inside the tent, she was met with the heavy scent of incents and low blue and purple lighting. She ran her fingers across the circle table that sat in the middle of the room, her gaze dancing around the room as she took in the different cards and jarred items on the shelves. She could hear movement in the back of the tent, moving her head in a way to try and peek around the partially closed curtain. "Uhm.. hello?" Ravenna called out, her heart suddenly beating wickedly in her chest.

Why was she nervous all of the sudden?

Turning around after a few moments, she was about to walk out of the tent, knowing this whole thing was a bad idea before the decorations above the curtain clattered together, causing her to turn around and face the person walking out. The two eyed each other for a moment, walking around the table like hunter and pray before they ended up back where they started. "Come, sit." They told her, gesturing to the open seat in front of them as they took one of their own, their hands laying flatly on top of the table.

Ravenna hesitated for a moment, her thoughts reeling.

This is a stupid idea, just say it was an accident and leave.

Before the girl could open her mouth, the teller shook their head. "You did not end up in my tent by mistake. Now please, sit."

Ravenna stared with wide eyes, how did they know she was just about to say that? That was enough of a pull for her to start moving, pulling out the chair and taking a seat in front of them. The air in the tent shifted, suddenly feeling heavier but also lighter at the same time if possible. She felt tingling pricks along her skin and when she went to ask why, she chose not to, instead sitting up a bit straighter. The teller did not push for her to speak, waiting patiently for her to start speaking instead. Sighing, she ran a hand through her wavy locks before clasping her hands together in her lap.

"I'd like to know if there's something... wrong with me, I guess..." Ravenna started, huffing as she struggled to find the right words. "Am I ever going to find someone who doesn't make dating or loving them feel like a chore?" She finally got out, her shoulders slumping slightly as she chewed on her bottom lip, waiting for the teller to say something.

 

[MioBrave]

Ravenna was cursing her friends, how they managed to talk her into standing in line for a fortune teller was beyond her. She wasn't superstitious per se but she had a hard time believing that someone could gather her fate from just the simplest touch of her palm. However, this was their way of cheering her up. Her and her ex boyfriend got into a massive fight the other day and he dumped her. She believes she did no wrong, merely pointing out that he could try harder in taking the initiative on planning dates, showing affection in and out of the bedroom but according to him, that was asking too much and stormed out of her apartment.

He later texted her saying he was breaking up with her. It was always the same issue when it came to her relationships, the second she spoke up about needing more, they ran for the hills. Was it something she was doing or was she just dating men incapable of having adult relationships?

Stepping inside the tent, she was met with the heavy scent of incents and low blue and purple lighting. She ran her fingers across the circle table that sat in the middle of the room, her gaze dancing around the room as she took in the different cards and jarred items on the shelves. She could hear movement in the back of the tent, moving her head in a way to try and peek around the partially closed curtain. "Uhm.. hello?" Ravenna called out, her heart suddenly beating wickedly in her chest.

Why was she nervous all of the sudden?

Turning around after a few moments, she was about to walk out of the tent, knowing this whole thing was a bad idea before the decorations above the curtain clattered together, causing her to turn around and face the person walking out. The two eyed each other for a moment, walking around the table like hunter and pray before they ended up back where they started. "Come, sit." They told her, gesturing to the open seat in front of them as they took one of their own, their hands laying flatly on top of the table.

Ravenna hesitated for a moment, her thoughts reeling.

This is a stupid idea, just say it was an accident and leave.

Before the girl could open her mouth, the teller shook their head. "You did not end up in my tent by mistake. Now please, sit."

Ravenna stared with wide eyes, how did they know she was just about to say that? That was enough of a pull for her to start moving, pulling out the chair and taking a seat in front of them. The air in the tent shifted, suddenly feeling heavier but also lighter at the same time if possible. She felt tingling pricks along her skin and when she went to ask why, she chose not to, instead sitting up a bit straighter. The teller did not push for her to speak, waiting patiently for her to start speaking instead. Sighing, she ran a hand through her wavy locks before clasping her hands together in her lap.

"I'd like to know if there's something... wrong with me, I guess..." Ravenna started, huffing as she struggled to find the right words. "Am I ever going to find someone who doesn't make dating or loving them feel like a chore?" She finally got out, her shoulders slumping slightly as she chewed on her bottom lip, waiting for the teller to say something.

Auracle

.

.

Auracle raises a brow, leaning on the table in the tapestry section and watching the new comer. She responded to the tent's voice, which isn't unusual, but then she kept talking. Now she's sat in midair like she's the only one in here. The fae pushes himself up, approaching Ravenna and doing a small circle around her. Seems she truly can't see him. A grin curls onto his face. Maybe he should pop that bubble.

"Now... Just who are you talking to?" His smooth voice sounds. He casts a dimmer light, right in the center in front of her. For her, it appears inside the scrying orb on the 'table' in front of her. It pops rather aggressively, then whatever illusion she's in fades quickly like shadows dispelled by the light. Her imaginary chair included. Despite not enjoying touching others, Auracle does decide to catch her before she can hit the floor with an arm around her shoulders from behind. The way he glides and leads her to her table, it's almost as if he paused her fall rather than stopped it. The feeling is further enforced when the frazzled woman is dropped unceremoniously into the chair in his partition of the tent.

He shakes his head and sighs, rounding the brightly lit table to his side decorated in plants and sun catchers. "I swear. I don't know if everyone's getting bird flu from the fae duck droppings, or if the tent is just screwing with people. So many keep just walking in here and talking to themselves as if there's only one room and one teller in the tent.." He weaves through the hanging suncatchers, trying to find the right one. Eventually he reaches out a hand to hold one gently. "Indigo.. Deep introspection, a serious atmosphere and an old color of royalty. Some red for extreme emotions. A tad pink for love. Then blue for trust and open communication."

He releases the sparkling crystal and stretches, as if listing all those colors had been strenuous. He pulls his feet up into the air, sitting criss cross and just floating there. His head tilts with a vague grin as he stares at Ravenna again. "You're stuck in quite a common cycle. You know what you want, and you communicate it. Unfortunately, if you don't communicate from the start, then things can get messy rather quickly. " He tilts his head from side to side, thinking for a moment. "Frazil could tell you; love is like junk food at times. We see something we like, something new with flavor notes that appeal to us. With no regards to the nutrition label, we buy it and dive right in. Not everything we try tastes good though, does it? And, eating the same flavor all the time can burn you out entirely."

His head spares a glance down as a small fae duck comes waddling proudly into the partition, a corndog held in its bill like a grand prize from the fare. "From my point of view.. You keep picking up the same kinds of snacks and expecting them to taste different. You don't even realize that you're burnt out of their flavor." He lifts his gaze back up to the young woman. "You haven't taken any time to read the nutrition label or really get to know them." The thought feels incomplete, like it should be followed by some advice. Instead, he just waits and lets it all sink in.

 

[VIPERFISH]

Rourke had no idea how the hell they were going to get this thing home.

When Nadia'd asked him to win her something at the ball toss game, he'd greatly underestimated his own abilities. Not his strength, or anything, because of course not, but his hand-eye coordination.

Turns out that the stacked milk bottles were purposely easy to hit. The hard part was actually knocking them down, 'cause they were glued together. Or at least that was the impression he got, since when he hit them with the ball, they'd all just sort of stuck together when they went flying off the stand and through the fabric at the back of the tent.

"What the fuck," the guy running the game had said beneath his breath, because clearly he hadn't anticipated having a werewolf at his booth.

"Hey, watch the language, there's fuckin' kids here," Rourke had shot back, puffing on his cigarette, jerking his thumb at his baby sister, who was practically having a conniption fit in excitement next to him. "Now, what'd we win?"

What had he won? A Carebear practically as tall as the nine year old that was now carrying it excitedly next to him, which he had no idea how he was going to fit into the backseat of his Jaguar.

"Wish Bear's my favorite," Nadia was saying, as if he didn't know that. "Hey, we should go back and try and get Grumpy Bear for you."

"Eh?" He asked, glancing down at her. "Why Grumpy Bear?"

"Cause he reminds me of you!"

He huffed good-naturedly. "Man, but you know Funshine Bear's my favorite, kiddo."

"Yeah, but Grumpy is blue like I'm gonna paint your nails tomorrow, duh."

Rourke sipped loudly on his soda as he considered it, and then shrugged. Couldn't argue with that logic.

"Whaddya wanna do next?" He asked, glancing at her. "Probably gotta head out soon, it's gettin kinda late." And if I win any more prizes we're gonna need to get a tow truck.

"But I still got ride tickets," Nadia whined, and she gave him that look he couldn't resist. "We can't just waste em!"

Rourke looked at her, and then heaved a sigh. "Yeah," he said. "Guess we can't. Only, I don't think Wish Bear is allowed on the rides, so what are we gonna do about that?"

What were they gonna do about that? Turns out the solution was that he was going to stand there holding a giant stuffed animal like a dipshit while Nadia got to have all the fun.

"Hey, hold up," he said, leaning down to talk to her conspiratorially before she got in line to ride what passed, barely, for a rollercoaster. "Wish Bear and me are gonna go get another soda. If I ain't back by the time you're done, ride it again, okay? An' if any weirdoes try to talk to you—"

"Turn into a wolf and bite their face off," she answered, nodding sagely.

Rourke's eyebrows shot into his bleach-blonde bangs at that one. Shit, he admired her gumption, but that would be a mess to cover up, and... "What— nah, nah, I mean, that one's a last resort. Start small. Like that side kick to the knee we practiced. Y'ain't gotta kill a dude, just snap his leg in two. Easier to explain away to the cops."

"Ohhhh," she said, and then winked at him. "Right. Got it."

He reached over and ruffled her hair. "Okay. Me n' Wish Bear are going to get a soda. Stay around here. Don't talk to strangers."

"Bring me a cotton candy!" She yelled after him.

Finding the soda was the easy part. Finding the cotton candy? Not so easy. Felt like they'd passed a dozen little stands of it during their time at the funfair, but now? It was like they'd gone extinct. He couldn't even smell the distinct aroma of burnt sugar that indicated one was nearby.

"Goddammit," he muttered beneath his breath. But he couldn't let her down. There was bound to be cotton candy somewhere.

At long last, halfway across the faire, he found a stall selling it in bags, and after purchasing one and an additional soda, he made his way back toward the rides.

But then something caught his eye. He hadn't even noticed it when he'd walked past it before, but now the fortune tent stood out to him.

Now, Rourke Volkov wasn't superstitious or nothin. He wasn't the sort of guy who believed in fortunes at all. But that line at the rollercoaster had been long as hell, and he knew Nadia had enough ride tickets to go on the thing at least four times and would have a fit if she didn't spend em all, so he had a few minutes to kill.

"What do you think?" He asked Wish Bear, balanced precariously under his arm.

Those plastic eyes held nothing but silent judgment.

"Whatever," he snorted, proceeding inside. If nothing else, going into a tent carrying a giant stuffed animal was less embarrassing than standing outside a ride full of little kids holding a giant stuffed animal, and that was reason enough to do it.

... Place was bigger on the inside, he realized, upon stepping in. Interesting.

"Yeah, all right," he muttered beneath his breath, and then cast around for an open table before plunking down in front of the first one he saw.

"Hey," he said, grinning. "What's my fortune?"

 

[GremlinSage]

Cordelia

.

.

Cordelia doesn't look up immediately, she knows hes there. The tent shifts subtly around him, canvas sighing as if recognizing familiar teeth beneath human skin. Her fingers lazily idle within the bones while he sits, while the ridiculous pastel bear settles into view beside him.

Now she lifts her gaze, one brow arched with a cant of her head. "Brought protection, I see." Cordelia murmurs with a growing smile, eyes glancing from Rourke to Wish Bear and back again.

"How thoughtful."

Straightening up, she gestures vaguely toward the chair as if he had asked permission long ago and she'd only just remembered to grant it. When he asks for his fortune, a quiet laugh follows.

"Straight to fate." Cordelia purrs, "I appreciate efficiency." The shadows that kept her table cold and covered lifted the pile of bones into her hands, spreading apart like the red sea as those same bones spill from between her fingers, striking the table hard.

The knucklebone lands closest to him, followed by the bent nail, then the small tooth rulls outward and away from the pile.

Cordelia stills with a quiet 'Ah'.

"You worry about the wrong dangers." She says after a moment, smiling at Rourke. One finger nudges the knucklebone. "You think the threat is from strangers," Tapping the bent nail, "From monsters."

"It rarely does."

Her attention drifts briefly toward the tent entrance, a distant echo of carnivoal noise spilling in. "You will keep her safe," Cordelia says simply. A fact. "But one day," she continues softly, "she won't need you too."

The tooth spins slightly beneath her touch. "And that," Cordelia adds with a strange kindness in her tone, "will hurt worse than anything you've ever fought."

She let the silence linger, a Cheshire cat's smile on her pale cold features, gathering the bones again to end the reading.

"You don't need fortune tellers," she says, leaning back. "You already know when something matters." Her gaze drops once more to the oversized bear tucked beneath his arm. "Though..." Cordelia adds dryly, "the universe finds you far less intimidating than you believe."

"Your sister is about to pretend she isn't scared on the second drop." Cordelia leans in, "Last rides should never be taken alone."

Cordelia cackles, the bones swept off to the side as the shadows take hold before wrapping around her arm. "Enjoy your evening."

 

[GremlinSage]

Cordelia

.

.

The bones rattle once on their own.

Tarot cards slide back into neat stacks, one by one.

The faeducks run in circles.

Tables begin to empty as the teller's start to take their leave.

"I do hope everyone had a wonderful time. Do tell your friends to join you, next year."

The shadows begin at the corners. They creep across the ground, climbing table legs, swallowing candlelight whole. The tent walls darken as though ink seeps through the fabric from the outside.

One by one, the lights vanish.

One by one, the ducks disappear mid-circle.

The entrance begins to fold shut without moving.

Cordelia is the last thing visible, her Cheshire cat smile suspended briefly in the dim lighting left behind.

"Until February."

The darkness engulfs her smile.

Moments later, passersby walk through empty space where no tent has ever stood.

 

[VIPERFISH]

One day, she won't need you to.

Rourke sucked in a breath. Shit. He'd had his ass beat and had it hurt less than hearing what had just been said to him. His first instinct had been to get a bit pissed off, admittedly, but then, well... What was he gonna do? It was probably true. And it wasn't like he'd said anything about Nadia, but the fortune teller knew about her.

Probably shouldn't be surprised. Hell, the magic floating bones should have been his tip off that this wasn't just some charlatan.

... Not that you needed magic powers to realize that kids grew up. Didn't mean it didn't hurt, though.

"Well, I..." He'd started, trying, failing, to disguise how the fortune had hit him, before he paused, shaking his head. "... Nah, yeah, you know, I think you're right." He stood from the chair. "Thanks, lady. I gotta go."

When he stepped out of the tent, there was the strangest sensation, then, and as he walked away, he glanced back, only to see that it was...

Gone.

... What woulda happened if he had been in there...? He decided he wasn't gonna worry about that. He had other things to think about.

"Come on," he muttered, looking down at Wish Bear. "Me n' you? We got someplace to be."

Nadia was just getting off the coaster when he made it back. Seeing that made his heart twist in his chest, and he wondered if she had already used the last of her tickets... But then she immediately sprinted toward the end of the line again, and he heaved a sigh of relief.

Thank fuck.

"Hey," he said, slipping silently in line behind her, handing her the bag of cotton candy, and realizing with a delay that he had set his soda on the floor in the tent. Shit! Well, that was a dime wasted. Whatever. "How many tickets you got left?"

She paused in tearing open the bag to jam her hand into her pockets, and retrieved a pair of colorful tickets. "Two!" She said, grinning. "We don't gotta go yet, do we? I wanna ride it a couple more times!"

Rourke took an exaggerated moment to consider it, rubbing his chin. "Hmm... Now, howsabout one more time, but it's you and me?"

"Really?" She gasped, but then stopped, thinking. "... But what about Wish Bear?

He grinned, steering her forward in the line. "Yeah, well, y'know, I think they'll make an exception to the rule this one time, when they see how strong our sibling bond is."

Failing that? In his experience, any badly-paid teenage ride operator would look the other way on about anything if you slipped them a crisp $20.

And so, the three of them— him, her, and the big stuffed animal crammed into its own seat in the car behind them— boarded the rollercoaster for the last ride of the night. And when she held onto him for dear life and shrieked on the second drop, well... That made the ten incredibly frustrating minutes spent cramming Wish Bear into the back seat of his Jaguar and ensuring he could still see out of the rearview when they left the faire worth it.

 

[fenrisulfr]

Brünnhilde

.

.

The tail wagged, the fae ducks quacked, and the squat woman in the violet shawl ceased giggling at whatever the smoke haze swirling overhead was showing to her and shivered.

There it was again. A draft; pulled in by a newcomer, raking at their clothes and hair and sweat, betraying all those feelings they try to push down, down where nobody could see them, taking their thoughts by the hand and leading them gleefully to her.

And oh my, what an ugly thought just now.

Brünnhilde pulled her shawl tighter, warding off the draft. After taking a long pull on her smoking pipe, she quietly considered the young man through the smoke haze, plump and mellow on her little chair with the dozing duckling on her bosom. She murmured down to it, "The boy can't be too bad, little kachňátko, your little shit duck friends be liking him, no?"

And that, they seemed to do; a handful of them congregating around the young man's feet and taking turns to jump and catch a beak-ful of bushy tail. They weren't very successful, clumsily falling over each other and creating quite the ruckus. When one of them decided to try and cheat by using their wings, a small, fluffy fight broke out around the man's shoes.

"Aye aye aye! What noise you make! Is this mystic tent, or zoo!?" Brünnhilde scolded, rapping the end of her smoking pipe sharply against the table, "Go! Go, you fae hooligans!"

Then, she scowled, and the effect of her extremely arched eyebrows curving in that particular way did the trick, dispersing the hooligans with only the duck version of grumbling as protest.

"Sorry? For what, dear one? Come. Come sit with old Brü." She called, waving him over, "We no have couple in tent now since last time was too much PDA. And also fighting-" She shook her head sadly and made another sign across her chest, "So much passive aggression..."

After momentarily staring into the middle distance with a far away look, the teller quickly clapped her hands and shimmied, setting the bells along her shawl a-jingling and fae duck at her breast a-flappin'. With the bad vibes properly dealt with, she opened her arms and smiled at her new patron, as if he should feel reassured.

"Look how fate bring us gift! It bring you magic lady, and it bring me good boy, eh?" She cackled loudly and wiped a tear from her face, "I kid, I kid! But only about good boy. Fate bring you, young man, it bring you for reason, no?"

Brünnhilde got to work, scooting closer to the table and rearranging her misshapen candles until they were just right. Then, pausing briefly to dust a duck feather from the table, she lit the candles.

"Please, value client," she said, somewhat formally, "Bear me moment, ya?"

Cupping her hands around her mouth, Brünnhilde gave a short, shrill war cry that carried throughout the tent, accompanying it with another shimmy and jingling of bells. From this way and that, a small troupe of ducks emerged, waddling with intent towards her table. Many of them were the same that welcomed the new patron, one in particular holding what looked like a small tuft of tail-fur in its beak.

"Quick, quick! And no shit on the table cloth!"

And with that, the teller whipped of her shawl, and in a surprising display of both agility and flexibility, climbed onto the table and hung the ends of it onto two small hooks suspended over the table while the fluffy flock flapped one-by-one onto the table and settled behind it. A small adjustment to the candles was all it took to create was was essentially a little theatre.

After a short series of fierce whispering, a burst of sparks, the slight smell of burning, and one indignant duck quack later, she emerged, beaming, and pulled up a chair next to Dillon.

"Begin!" she announced, clapping twice.

What proceeded could only be described as the greatest shadow puppet show ever produced, complete with props, sound effects, and one musical number. Brünnhilde, for one, was enraptured; gasping, sighing, and also crying at one point. She turned to him afterwards, wiping a tear.

"Dear boy, what a show fate give us, eh? Twist and turn make heart go jumping! So beautiful, no? So many drama, and action, and love." She nodded at him knowingly, as if all of this had been very clear in the performance. Patting his arm amiably, she nodded towards the empty canvas of her shawl, the candles flickering gently behind it and showing the shadowy performers in various states of exhaustion, "Fate tells other things through little ducks, too, young volk."

Brünnhilde left him to think about this and waddled to her side of the table, taking down the shawl and scattering a handful of colourful snacks over the table. She watched the fae ducks nibble at them for a while, gaudily-ringed fingers steepled under her chin, before helping herself to one of the snacks and resting back in her chair.

"Young volk. Young wolf. Lone wolf. Come in from nature to big, bad city," she said, considering him again across the table, "Hard to be seen in place like that, ya? So big, many people but no soul, many sounds, too, but if you howl they file noise complaint."

She huffed, and shook her head, as though it were a common and unfortunate incident she'd heard of many times.

"Listen, young volk, in countryside you are wolf! Strong and brave and noble. But in city, you must become another," she said, lowering her chin and looking at him with sudden solemness, "In city, you must become pigeon."

The fae ducks collectively stopped their nibbling and looked at her. She nodded sombrely in return.

"Yes. Pigeon; annoying, everywhere, and no shame!" The teller thrusted her finger into the air and proceeded fiercely, "No wait for perfect mate or right pack to find you, be bold, and loiter! Enter shared spaces! Eat crumbs! Go where you think you not wanted! Look little diseased but friendly! Do not ask permission, young one, pigeon no ask! Pigeon flies, pigeon lands, pigeon steals french fry!"

Brünnhilde paused, breathing hard, and lowered her hands onto the table. There was a strange clarity in her eyes, then. Strange, because there almost never was any clarity in her eyes at the best of times.

"Listen to old Brü, young wolf. In countryside you survive by wild instinct, but in city, you must survive by audacity. Wolf say, 'Where is pack?' but pigeon say, 'Where is sandwich?'"

The first thing that Dillon noticed was the fairy ducks swarming his feet—he panicked briefly, desperately trying to make sure that he didn't hurt any of the little fluff balls with his footfalls. Still, he couldn't help but grin as they attempted to chomp down on his tail, which swung back and forth above them as they scrambled around.

"H-Hey! Watch it, you little...!"

At first the wagging was truly natural and uncontrolled, but when he realized the game the ducklings were playing, he played along, lowering and swinging his tail like a fly-fishing rod or a cat's toy until Brünnhilde shooed them away. He laughed and scratched his head nervously, ears folding back down, as though he had done something wrong. Maybe riling them up with his tail on purpose wasn't the best idea...

"Oh, uh, I see," was Dillon's fairly lame reply when told of the previous... misadventures with love related things. Maybe avoiding that was for the best...

Dillon listened to the crone intently and followed her when asked. He smiled when she said how fate had brought and bit his tongue hard when Brünnhilde made her little "good boy" joke, nearly hard enough to make it bleed. His store of patience and benefit-of-the-doubt to give was running out fast, but luckily for both of them he was still riding the cuteness high from the playing ducks, so instead of snarling or storming out he closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath in and out of his nose.

"I was hoping fate, or whatever runs this weird thing we call reality, did bring me here," he said with strained tone, barely holding back a growl. "But, honestly, I'm not so sure..."

He put aside his annoyance, however, and watched as Brünnhilde got to work, going from an obliging but narrow-eyed smirk, to a baffled head-tilt, to open-mouthed gawking as she somehow managed to turn a cluttered table and her own cowl into a magic-fueled puppet show. Dillon could not follow much in the way of the story or anything—it simply added to the general fog of over-stimulation he was already living in—but he did follow Brünnhilde's reactions, which couldn't help but rub off on the maybe a bit too pack-oriented Dillon, who wound up audibly choking down a lump in his throat at the emotional (yet still incomprehensible) ending of the show as Brünnhilde wiped her eyes.

"Th-That was... oddly intense," he muttered, somewhat uncertainly. "But I don't see how it relates to me..."

Then, out came the ducklings and the snacks. Dillon smiled and watched them peck at the scattered treats, and casting a supreme side-eye at Brünnhilde as she picked up some of them too (only looking judgy for just a moment, though: after a bit of consideration he had to admit that they did look oddly tasty).

Then, there it was. Brünnhilde's advice came out... and it did not go well, at least at first. His ears lowered to his head, his tail drooped and an audible whine of frustration escaped Dillon's lips as she finished her sermon.

"But I'm NOT a pigeon," Dillon protested, somewhat desperately. "I AM a wolf—"

But as he spoke, something clicked. Dillon's ears stood straight up and he stared ahead, like he was indeed a wolf and had just caught sight of a doe that had been eluding him for days.

That wasn't her point, of course it wasn't. She wasn't asking him to change who he was at his core, but how he was acting. It was hard to live not because this place was not livable, but because Dillon wasn't living, or even really trying to live, Dillon realized. He was hiding. That was the feeling that was killing him: just hunkering down, hoping everything would change around him when he was the one who needed to change, at least in his mindset.

"I... think I get it now, actually. Annoying, everywhere, and no shame," Dillon repeated, chuckling and wagging his tail again. "That's an attitude I've been scared of chasing this whole time. I don't know if it will work, but... At least now I know the path I need to try and follow."

Dillon gave his goodbyes to Brünnhilde (and the ducklings!) before heading out. He was late to class after all—and Dillon wanted to make sure he could be there in time to butt into conversations where previously he had kept his headphones in.