enough with the lies tell me one
more time my blood your line is this you inside
W
hen the dark fell, the Night Court came alive. That is how it had always been. A celebration of both life and night was appealing in its way. Salome hadn't exactly been to the inner court in some time. Not since she had lived among her tribe had she a reason to come back. Why tonight? Perhaps... she was feeling nostalgic. Perhaps -
she needed to feed.
No, said the part of her brain housing her humanity. No, tonight she would set up a little shop. She would read her cards, ply her trade to those who wanted to pay for it. Perhaps she would hear some good rumors spreading that she could later take advantage of. Locations for rare herbs, for instance. She would drop them off at Gareth's proverbial doorstep. She would help - in her small way. So she set up.
The tarot cards spread across the simple wooden box she had found lingering the markets. Pulling it to a corner, she sat down behind it. There was little wind in the summer night, so the cards did not sprawl across or fly away. She was thankful for that. The hooded figure that was the bat sat with her head bowed, not really wishing to interact with mortals but having no coin to do anything else for now. She needed coin to live.
due to being a vampire, she can only thread during the night
Ira returns from the woods that evening with a basketful of minks. He does not enjoy this aspect of trapping; the procuring of the animal itself, or the way he travels to the markets to sell the skins. He has heard the nobles in Terrastella enjoy mink skin coats; just in the last several months, the price at market skyrocketed. And anyways, Ira is accustomed to the contrite that surfaces when he first pawns off the skins: he marvels the beauty of them, the sleek shining of the fur. Not so beautiful as when they were alive, Ira knows.
Then, Ira stops at the butcher. He gladly buys the meat Ira harvested, to be sold to the wild companion’s of citizens. “Bondin’ with’a horse dunnit mean a wolf won’t still eat meat,” the butcher tells him, jovially, and hands over the appropriate number of signos. Ira leaves the shop, and intends to return to his cottage on the edge of Denocte—
He tells himself he only feels restless, tonight, and uniquely so. He tells himself there must be something in the air, blowing in from the sea.
(He does not acknowledge the restlessness stems from the too-loud emptiness of his home; the way it is filled by the empty places his father once occupied).
Ira does not know what draws him to her, at the edge of the markets. She does not have a proper shop; only a wooden box, with a number of cards on display. In his life, Ira has seen stranger things on the markets. Nevertheless, apprehension creeps up his spine, like the ghost of a touch. “Hello,” he says, kindly enough. “Are you a tarot reader?” he gestures, then, towards the cards. Ira doesn't even notice the blood, still smeared on his face. Ira doesn't even notice the twigs and brambles and thorns still entangled in his long mane.
enough with the lies tell me one
more time my blood your line is this you inside
T
he one to approach her first... she smells him before she sees him. Salome daren't lift her eyes, knowing the temptation of blood to be a dangerous thing for her. "I am" she utters to the fellow Court member "do you want your fortune told?" She does not speak to him directly, but to her cards.
But she cannot help but remark. "You have some blood... on you" Salome utters "I... can smell it" for dramatics, or perhaps to be convincing, the bat wrinkles her nose. "I am afraid I am not good around blood. The sight makes me faint... Could you, perhaps, wash it off?" It is a tall order to give someone she had just met in passing, but hopes the man is understandable in it.
She does not know if she can control herself if she glances at the crimson smear.
due to being a vampire, she can only thread during the night
Ira finds himself wondering if he believes in fortunes; he might have spent more time pondering the nature of them if not for how quickly she adds: You have some blood… on you.
He is first embarrassed and then surprised. Ira, with his hair falling disheveled into his eyes, quickly rubs his cheek into his shoulder. The blood is removed from his face; but he cannot help the curiosity (unsettling though it is) that piques at the oddity of her request. She mentions first the smell, and then the sight; Ira does not know which bothered her more.
“I apologize,” he says, sheepishly, rather than continue wondering. “But yes,” he adds. “I think I would like my fortune told, if it is not too much to ask.” Ira is not looking at her cards, however; no, his eyes are heavy on her face.
In the woods, he thinks, there are certain creatures that always evoke the same response. A primordial trepidation, that reaches beyond rhyme or reason. A snake, no matter how harmless, still slithers. A raven in a winter-bare copse of trees ca-cawing might strike a cord of fear. A vulture circling a bright sky means death in every language. A coyote at night singing is an old-testament kind of terrible.
So too, are her eyes. And the feeling she leaves him with.
enough with the lies tell me one
more time my blood your line is this you inside
T
hankfully the stranger rubs it off. But... It's still there, and if she was much more thirsty than she actually was... She would have leaped at him, pinned him and slithered her tongue over the bloody mess... It brought her no comfort to know it still remained there, mocking her. She is thankful that the reading keeps her eyes on the cards.
"I do a simple four card fortune" Salome goes on quietly, gesturing to the stack with her nose "for the most accurate reading, I suggest you shuffle the deck yourself. Your energy will release itself into the cards." She does not bring up the blood again, but is aware of the man watching her. As per usual, some are suspicious. Some are wary... She gives off that intimidating vibe.
That smell of a predator. It is in a person's nature to pluck prey and predator out. To make them aware of danger, of threat. Salome is not so bold to attack someone in the city. Without her elder master, she is a minion without a lord. She extends a slender leg, pushing the cards to him. Waiting to see what he'd do, but not looking at him. She is once more thankful for her hood, how it obscures the vision.
due to being a vampire, she can only thread during the night
I do a simple four card fortune, she says. Ira has never believed in ghouls or witches; but a part of him, curious and childish, wishes to ask if she is one. For the most accurate reading, I suggest you shuffle the deck yourself. She extends the cards to him with a push of her leg; Ira raises them with his telekinesis and shuffles the deck deftly, as one does when they have spent their childhood playing card games on ships and in the streets.
“There you go,” Ira says, as he sets the shuffled deck back on her makeshift table. He attempts to convey a sense of gratitude; but remains, instead, unnerved. He realizes he cannot see her face and, perhaps, that is a prominent reason for why he feels so unsettled.
Then again, in a court of magicians and dreamers, he has grown accustomed to not always seeing a man—or woman’s—face. He settles his nerves with a deeper breath, reminding himself he is here by choice, not because he has been coerced. And, besides, he has always wanted his fortune told; with recent events, it seems even more applicable to his life.
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