I want my money back.

[molotovmartinis]

Who: OPEN
What: cheap Tarot card readings
Where: Aspic, on the edge of the bazaar
When: all day!
Notes: Balthazar's permissions, especially important if your character has any supernatural aspects
Warnings: Balthazar is a creep! But he is also pretending to be someone else so he may be less creepy. Who knows.

Divination is an industry in Baedal: seers and those with farsight are fairly commonplace, and if you're looking for reliable, there are better places to go than Aspic's bazaar.

But if you're looking for cheap, or just for entertainment, then this teeny booth is promising. Many of the props Balthazar is using are real; for example, the tent, table, the chair, the deck of Tarot cards, and the sign with the prices ("past/present/future - ₭2") are all real and exactly as they seem. But the person lounging behind the table is covered with illusions. On the outermost surface, which is a thin glamour, it's a young lady with long red hair and dark eyes. She's wearing a heavy, shapeless black dress made of wool with tights, an overcoat, and a bright yellow scarf.

Beneath that layer is a middle-aged woman with fading red hair and tired eyes, in the same clothing. It's a much stronger illusion, more realistic than the pretty top layer, and has its own scent of bitter tea and harsh soap.

Beneath that layer is Balthazar as he often appears, a businessman in a three piece pinstriped suit, perhaps in his mid to late thirties. And beneath that, of course, is his true self, the rotten face of a demon. Anybody able to see that far in may pick up hints of sulfur. He's sure there are people who can see him as he is; some of them hurry past, some of them don't care. Some of them can only see the aging woman. It doesn't much matter to him. He huddles in the scant protection the tent covers, though of course he's never cold, watching those that pass him by, and tapping his fingers next to the worn deck as he waits.

Comments

[wontturntofoam]

Shrieky liked the Bazaar. He liked the peculiar array of objects and businesses, he liked the fact that no one looked at him strangely when he considered buying skirts, and he liked that he had finally found a location where it was socially acceptable for people to shout at each other. It was exhilarating! He could quite happily spend an entire day wandering through the stalls without really spending any money or making any enemies, and that was good, since he still hadn't figured out what he actually should be doing with his time yet.

He's more or less done by the time he comes upon the small booth, and it's curiosity more than anything else that draws him toward it. He's seen a number of similar businesses, even quizzed the proprietors about the nature of what it was they did, but when it inevitably becomes obvious that he has no intention of paying the prices which they charge, he's generally been chased away in favor of paying customers.

He sidles towards the tent carefully, leaning down to peer at the red haired woman where she's seated.

"Good day." He glances down at the table, and then back up to her, "If I pay you to look into the future for me, would you please explain how it works?"

[molotovmartinis]

The young lady studies him carefully, unsmiling, and pulls a pack of cigarettes from beneath her scarf — some brand with Chinese characters, though her hand obscures most of the label. She says, very dryly, as she takes one out, "Sure. No extra charge."

She lights up with the unhurried ease of a much older woman, then gestures for Shrieky to sit, and pushes the deck of cards at him. Pointedly, though, she won't say a word until payment.

[wontturntofoam]

Shrieky digs into his pocket to retrieve the two shekels before sitting down (as experience has taught him that sitting completely changes how accessible his pockets become), and pushes them across the table towards the woman.

"Thank you." He smiles widely, and glances down to inspect the cards. He's not entirely certain what it is she wants him to do with them, but she's clearly pushed them towards him, and he's almost certainly supposed to do something. He takes the top card and turns it over in his hands, looking at the image emblazoned across it.

[molotovmartinis]

The top card shows a woman seated on a throne, holding a chalice, but the woman gestures for Shrieky to put it back. She gives the deck a quick, careless shuffle, not taking her eyes off him the entire process, then fans the cards out for him with a practiced motion.

"You pick three cards, any three cards from this deck, and you put them —" She hesitates. "— with the pattern side up, so the picture's hidden." Her voice is not unkind. "We'll do one at a time. Past, then present, then future."

[wontturntofoam]

Shrieky doesn't really pay any mind to the woman's eyes staying on him as she shuffles the cards, he's far too interested in what she's doing with her hands. He glances up only as she fans out the cars before him, his expression quietly intrigued.

"How does it work? How do they know?" He glances back down towards the cards, bringing his hand up to cradle his jaw thoughtfully. It seemed like an important decision if it was going to determine his future. Then again, it wasn't as if he could pick cards which would do anything about his past or his present, so he grabbed his first two fairly quickly. He frowned, considering his third choice as he studied the remaining cards, "Are they ever wrong?"

[mightyfallen]

Magic, of any variety, is something Jack tends to give a wide berth in Baedal, or as wide a berth as one can without being an idiot. Much of the city runs on magic, and he accepts that and uses it as practicality dictates, but he doesn't seek it out, certainly not for mere entertainment.

The exception being divination. That's still forbidden, yes, more expressly than the rest, but if the stories he's found here are to believed, he has what you'd call a family history with that particular sin, and every so often it seems only appropriate that a son of Saul should seek advice from a seer.

Of course, he hadn't planned to do so today. Today, he's just walking by on his usual route to the spice market, but something about this particular booth catches his attention. He stops, puzzled, and turns his head to peer into the booth – which tells him nothing; as far as he can see, it's just a young woman with a deck of Tarot cards. Huh.

"I haven't seen you here before." Not...that the bazaar isn't a constantly changing tapestry of stalls, he just feels like he might have noticed, somehow. "New location?"

[molotovmartinis]

The young lady is smoking with the cynical detachment of a much older woman, studying Jack for an intense, awkward moment before she responds. Beneath her forthright sizing up, Balthazar sits very still, keeping the glow from his eyes. He shouldn't be surprised. Anything is possible here, it seems. And he could be wrong.

But Jack feels... old school.

"Yes." The lady finally, grudgingly answers. "You'll probably never see me again."

It's a strange, almost challenging tone, passive-aggressive maybe. Coiled like a snake.

[mightyfallen]

If Jack were listening to his instincts, he might take that as warning enough. Having never used this particular instinct, however, he's can't quite put his finger on what it is that unnerves him. Something about this woman raises the hairs on the back of his neck, and he's not the type to step away without trying to find out what.

"Then I suppose I should take advantage," he says, stepping into the tent. He takes two shekels from his pocket and places them on the table, then slides them across with two fingers. "A reading, if you please."

[molotovmartinis]

She smiles then, and places her cigarette at the edge of the table, the end accumulating ash which falls away in slow increments. The pack is at her elbow — some obscure brand with Chinese characters on it. The shekels she tucks into the pack before placing her hand on the deck and spreading the cards, face down, before Jack.

"Pick any three, but don't look at them yet. They will be your past, present, and future."

As carefully and slowly as he can, Balthazar inhales. His physical senses are not really any sharper than a human's, but it's psychological, a way of focusing on Jack in a less obvious way. He still can't come to any conclusion. There's just... unease, growing and ebbing fitfully. It's fascinating to him.

[nightwolf]

The Bazaar reminds her of Braavos. Without the constant smell of water and fish, mayhaps, but the crowds are there. The Bazaar feels like the harbor, and the first time she walked through these streets, Arya felt as if she should be calling out her wares and pushing her cart; cockles, clams, mussels for sale!

But she had nothing to sell, and a great deal to learn. Most of the things here were tempting, but she was conserving her money. That wouldn't be a concern for long; as soon as she found herself an appropriate finger-knife, she wouldn't have to worry about gold. Or rather, copper.

Nymeria was with her today, despite (their admittedly very odd) arguments to the contrary. She'd left the direwolf cooped up for too long recently, and Nymeria had threatened to claw down the door if she wasn't allowed out. So Arya had caved, because it was so easy to give in to Nymeria, as it wasn't to anyone else. The wolf stayed close as she walked through the crowds, occasionally growling in the back of her throat when people pressed too close. Which was frequently.

"I told you you wouldn't like it," she muttered, and pulled her hood up a little higher. In some places the crowd thinned, and Nymeria had room to shake herself from tail to toe. It was mid shake that she froze, turning toward something that had caught her eye. The growl started at the same instant her lip curled over very sharp teeth, and she refused to go any farther. It was only seconds before Arya realized the wolf was not with her, but she still had to push people aside to reach Nymeria again. "What is it? Come on, I told you not to attract attention!" As if a pony sized wolf could avoid that.

It wasn't until Arya caught a whiff of something unpleasant - she was never sure anymore if it was something she smelled or something Nymeria smelled - that she looked up. She blinked hard at the woman, young and old and - she closed her eyes, saw through Nymeria's and almost immediately snapped back into herself. She didn't like what she saw any more than Nymeria did, but unlike the wolf, she felt compelled to walk up to the - the thing behind the booth.

Arya nodded to the cards. "What is this?"

[molotovmartinis]

The thing slowly grinds out the cigarette, smiling a corpse's smile, twisted and slimy.

"A game," Balthazar says, spreading the deck over the tabletop in front of Arya. "A diversion. One card tells your past, one your present, one your future."

He ignores the wolf. What could he hope to do against it, if it decided to attack? But wolves don't walk with humans, which means that either they're both wolves, or that the wolf is really a dog at heart. Arya is the one talking for them, so he focuses on her. Without asking her, for it's clear pretending is of no use right now, he nudges one card out of the spread and turns it over: a young man in armor rides a charging horse, sword in hand.

"You see? The Knight of Swords, that is your past. You were daring, you were brave. Impulsive and rash at times, but well-meaning. Your determination could not be shaken. You stood against those who would hurt you and others, a youthful warrior."

[nightwolf]

She wants to bite her lip, but that is a thing Arya Stark did. It's hard, hovering between no one and her real name; she doesn't know what she's allowed to do and what she isn't, so she does nothing, glancing at the card but keeping her attention on the girl-man-thing.

She was impulsive, but she doesn't like to think she isn't brave anymore - and she doesn't like to think he can guess all this from a card. Nymeria snaps, another growl spilling out, and Arya knots her fingers in the wolf's dark fur, at the back of her neck.

Her stomach is unsettled, but she makes herself ask. "That's one card. What are the other two?"

[molotovmartinis]

He had not stopped smiling, but her question — the implicit participation — pleases him, and renews the sheer grotesque force of it. Without looking down, he turns over the next card. A disembodied hand holds a chalice against the backdrop of a peaceful-looking countryside, but the card itself is upside down.

"The Ace of Cups, reversed. This represents your present. Here I see rejection, fear, and confusion. A loss of faith. You've been forsaken, you are empty and you despair. What grief you feel, lay hidden inside you. Dead like ashes, yet even the coldest wind could revive its fire. You are deeply injured. You have sacrificed so much."

[toldastory]

One thing that Martha really did love about Baedal was the bazaar. The bazaar reminded her of places that she couldn't reach anymore, and it made her feel a familiar sense of possible adventure and the slight (but safe) bit of danger. It wasn't quite Nestin 6 or that place that the Doctor had said was the inspiration for Mos Esley, but it was interesting and fun.

She had a bag over her arm, one that was too small for the amount of things that she'd shoved into it, but it didn't appear to be in danger of spilling. Passing the booth, Martha simply had a 'hell why not moment, and decided to pause and consider having her cards read.

[molotovmartinis]

Caught in the middle of taking out a cigarette, the woman behind the table hurriedly finishes lighting up, and gives Martha a slightly sheepish smile before turning her head to let the smoke out somewhere not in Martha's face.

"Hello," she says, but politely refrains from the hard sell. People who stop by impulse generally don't need it. It is, after all, only two shekels.

[toldastory]

Once upon Martha would have possibly lectured about the cigarette, but at the moment she was feeling rather live and let live about people's decisions and she appreciated the way that the smoke wasn't blown in her face.

"Hello," the word was spoken with a smile before she moved to sit down. "How does this work?"

[molotovmartinis]

Reaching out, the woman spreads the deck on the table in a neat fan, face down.

"You pick any three cards without looking at them, and they will stand for your past, present, and future. The most basic Tarot reading you can get, more or less, which is why it's priced so low."

She sounds pragmatic about it, a somewhat different approach than the one Balthazar used for Shrieky, Arya, or Jack. Martha hasn't really been on his radar so far, and she seems to be perfectly human — with people like her, he steps a little more delicately, keeps more of his personality under wraps, at least at first.

[bodilesswarrior]

It's not Barbara's first trip to Aspic, but the last wasn't to appreciate the Bazaar; she'd made a note to come back, though, and study it properly.

Since she's arrived, she's focused on learning her new environment, and Bazaars are a great way to do that - they attract people from all corners of the city, offer insight into just what can be bought and sold.

Which is, from what she can see, pretty much everything. She wonders, as she manoeuvres through the masses, just how much regulation there is on this place.

Really, she only stops by the stall to give herself a break; she hates trying to navigate through crowds, and her hands are starting to ache. Travelling every day does have its disadvantages, she supposes wryly.

She offers the young woman behind the booth a faint smile. "How's business doing?"

[molotovmartinis]

There's a bland element to the young woman's smile as she plays with an unlit cigarette, rolling it across the back of her knuckles with practiced ease.

"Not bad," she says, cautiously friendly. But she doesn't try to push her services on Barbara. Her little booth almost completely lacks any occult mystique, partially because that's really not impressive in Baedal, but also to cultivate the kind of standoffish honesty that may attract people who would be put off by Hollywood stereotype fortune teller trappings. Refusing to do the hard sell is part of that. "Fucking cold, though."

[bodilesswarrior]

Barbara notes both, but doesn't consider it overly strange; a bit sad, maybe.

Her smile deepens with sincere sympathy. "I can imagine. Even moving around it gets in your bones." It reminds her of Gotham's winters, crisp and harsh and unrelenting.

"You been working this place long?"

[molotovmartinis]

She shakes her head. "Today, and today only." With her free hand, she wiggles her fingers to denote 'mysticism', and says, deadpan, "Could it be fate?"

Without waiting for an answer, though, she continues while putting the cigarette back in the pack. "Well, probably not, but you can get out of the wind for a while if you want."

From the pocket of her coat, she pulls out a flask and takes a lady-like sip.

[controlledvariable]

Stehp comes to the bazaar because it's easier to disappear into a crowd here, which is something she's grateful for when she's sporting a few fresh bruises and scratches on her face (it's been a rough week). The bright lights of the grocery stores would make her stand out, and if she saw someone she knows, they'd ask questions. So the bazaar it is, at least for today.

Balthazar's booth is one of the first things that actually draw her attention, mostly because it surprises her that someone would run a fortune telling booth in a city like Baedal. She's a little tempted to go get a reading, just out of curiosity, but she's also really skeptical. It results in her standing nearby and looking indecisive for a few moments.

[molotovmartinis]

Balthazar lets her stand there for two seconds, letting a truly impressive amount of smoke out of the woman's mouth while she puts out the cigarette. He can tell just by looking at her that she hasn't kept the coin close. A shame, but not a big deal.

"Don't stand in the wind," she calls, leaning back in her seat and shuffling the deck idly. "Come, let me con you out of two shekels."

[controlledvariable]

That comment makes her laugh, helping her make the decision and she steps into the tent, "At least you're honest."

She digs two shekels out of her pocket, puts them on the table within reach of the woman, before sitting down. "How do I play?"

Like it's a game, rather than something that might actually work. It's not that she doesn't believe in magic, she just... doesn't believe in a random tarot reader's ability to tell the future.

[molotovmartinis]

"I am always honest, except when I am not." She declares airily, and places the deck on the table before Stephanie, spreading them out into a fan. The cards seem a little old and worn, the design on the back muted black and copper.

"In this game, you pick any three cards without looking at them, and then I tell you how they apply to your past, present, and future. Of course, the cards know nothing of any of that; they are just cards, with meanings and archetypes ascribed to them, meanings and archetypes that apply to all of us at one point or another. Its use is then not in divination, but as a mirror. A perspective. A way of looking at where you came from, who you are now, and where you're going."

The woman gestures, mock-grandly. "Pick. It's more interesting than a self-help book."