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

[molotovmartinis]

Still chuckling, she scoops the coins off the table with one hand into the other. It's simple sleight of hand: one of them is replaced by another, different coin, similar in size and weight but with whatever once decorated its faces almost worn away. A special coin.

"You have made me laugh, therefore I refund your reading fee," he has her say, holding her hand out, ready to drop the coins into his. Hopefully if Rundas notices at all, she'll take this as a compliment rather than biting her style.

[wontturntofoam]

Shrieky frowns, because a minute ago trying to take back those coins would have resulted in his eyes being fed to goats. On the other hand, he still doesn't have a job, and he's not going to just turn down money. After a very brief period of hesitation, he extends his hand to accept the coins back.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you are unlike anyone else I've encountered here." She's strange. She's really, really strange. "Are you going to be all right in the future? With being tricked?"

[molotovmartinis]

She nods once, to his assessment, then again to answer his question. "This is life. This will happen whether I see it coming or not. I rarely look at my own cards. I don't care. But perhaps I have you to thank."

Leaning back in her seat, she shakes out another cigarette and sets about lighting it, still watching him but laconic about it now.

[wontturntofoam]

He frowns, running his thumb over the coins contemplatively. "It seems like a bad idea, in retrospect. Having your future told."

He edges his seat back, preparing to depart, "Thank you anyway, though. I hope your comeuppance is indefinitely deterred."

[molotovmartinis]

She smiles, slight again and somewhat sardonic, returning to her cigarette.

"Well, thank you. Good luck, guileless man."

[wontturntofoam]

He bobs his head politely, scraping the chair back against the floor, and rising to depart.

"Good luck to you as well. And Goodbye."

And with that said, he wanders back off into the Bazaar.