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.

She's the kind of girl who looks for love in all the loney places

[controlledvariable]

Who: Stephanie Brown and Megan Gwynn
What: Steph in mom mode
Where: Megan's apartment
When: Early afternoon sometime in the week after Steph's conversation with Jae
Notes: None.
Warnings: sexual assault, rape culture, victim blaming, drug use, disordered eating (copy/pasted from Megan's earlier log in case any of them come up)

( the kind who comes to poker, pockets stuffed with kings and aces )

I told her once I wasn’t good at anything.

[controlledvariable]

Who: Stephanie Brown and Ilde Decima
What: First meetings!
Where: Howl Barrow, the river nearby
When: Night! Sometime this week.
Notes: SORRY FOR SPAMMING THE LOG COMMUNITY I DO WHAT I WANT THOR ETC
Warnings: Violence

( She told me survival is a talent. )

(no subject)

[thedominatrix]

Who: Irene Adler and Charles Xavier
What: Two cheats play a guessing game.
Where: Queequeg's, Mog Hill.
When: Misdi evening.
Warnings: TBA. Irene's existence, maybe?

Irene Adler loves to play games. It's a fact of her existence. Without games, things get boring and people get lax; she likes to keep herself sharp at all times.

Of course, that doesn't mean she can't cheat. Not that she views searching out information on the mystery man (not such a mystery anymore) she's promised to meet as cheating, because that would imply there are actually any rules. He seemed confident, anyway, which to Irene suggests that he knows something she doesn't. In a way, looking him up is only leveling the playing field.

His name is Charles Xavier and he has been known to wear a fetching (read: eyebrow-raising) Kevlar get-up. He spends a lot of time chatting to one particular friend, can give first aid advice and is apparently active in the xenian community- curious, because he looks human. (This isn't something she's ever had to take into account before, she has to admit). Perhaps it's to do with his job and his interests, or perhaps he's one of their number. Right now, it's impossible to tell. She knows that he's clever and wants to challenge her, and that she's taken a shine to him. It's enough.

She arrives at Queequeg's reasonably early, all in black- black pencil dress with capped sleeves, black coat that conceals all but an inch of the dress in question, spiky black heels, sheer black seamed stockings (it is cold outside), black leather gloves- she looks, as ever, predatory. Her make up is precise and dramatic and her hair is twisted into an elegant updo, and she's apparently checking her lipstick in a compact- while actually using it to search the faces for the one that she wants without anybody wondering what she's staring out. Without, in short, giving herself away.

It's packed enough to slow her down; she doesn't see him just yet. Still, that's fine. She's confident. Heaven knows what he's got up his sleeve- but it's not enough to beat the fact that she has, essentially, already tied him to his face. Already won, really.

In her opinion, at least.