July 18th - [Original - The Imperial Guard] - Divination
Prompt: The best possible fortune.
“I’m going to tell you something. But you can’t tell Dad, and you can’t laugh, okay?”
The question took Damian by surprise, but as always, he recovered quickly. “I never laugh at such serious matters, Amara,” he informed her, who was staring him down with narrowed eyes.
“You always do,” Amara protested, but she checked to make sure no one was in the hallway, and she closed the door. “All right, so… you know the woman who does those psychic readings on Caldwell Street?”
“What, you mean the drunk?” Damian asked cheerfully.
“Fine,” she huffed, “I won’t tell you.”
“No, no, I didn’t mean the drunk,” he amended, somehow forcing the smile off of his face. “Go on.”
She looked dubious, but continued. “Well, she’s teaching me palmistry.”
“… and that is?”
“Palm-reading, idiot,” Amara snapped. “She says that she’s getting more business and could use an assistant to help her with things, so she’s teaching me some of the basics.”
Ah, Damian thought, that’s a problem. He would inform Victor about that later. But for the time being, he simply widened his smile. “So you can read palms now?”
“Not yet,” she admitted; if her skin were lighter, Damian would have seen her blush. “But I know which one is the life line. Here, hold out your hand.” Dutifully, Damian did so, and Amara pulled it closer and inspected it. “See, look.” She pointed to the crease circling his thumb. “It goes all the way down to the wrist.”
He leaned closer, his interest somewhat piqued. “What does that mean?”
“That’s a good thing,” she said, tracing it with one finger. “It means you’re going to live a really long time.”
Damian looked up at her, blinking several times, before bursting into raucous laughter.
“Damian!” Amara let go of his hand like a hot poker, glaring at him. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!”
“S-S-Sorry,” he managed between heaving giggles, clutching his stomach. “But come on! You know that’s incredibly wrong, right? Of course I’m not going to live a long time!”
“Yes you are,” she said, her tone quickly turning dangerous. “Madame Hilda says when your life line is long, you live a long time. She wouldn’t have lied.”
“Well then, she’s the one who’s wrong,” Damian said patiently, as if talking to someone much younger than thirteen. “I’m your bodyguard, right? So my job is to die for you. So to say that I’m going to have a long life is ridiculous.”
“So get better at your job!” She grabbed a cushion from the sofa and hurling it at him. “If you can’t protect someone without dying, I’d say you pretty much suck, don’t you?”
“Your Highness,” he said, putting extra emphasis on the title, “that’s an overly naïve assessment. If you’re going to be a ruler, you have to consider these things realistically.”
“And what if I’m not going to be a ruler?” Amara declared, standing up. “I’m going to work for Madame Hilda, so you can just do whatever the hell you want.” She strode out of the room and barked, “And you do have a long life line!” before slamming the door behind her.
Damian remained where he was, crosslegged on the floor as he watched the portraits on the wall vibrate. Definitely need to talk to Victor about this, he sighed, clambering to his feet and moving towards the door himself. But he paused, lifting his hand to inspect the line that curved around his thumb, dipping so low that it nearly connected with the lines of his wrist.
“Ridiculous,” he repeated faintly.
“I’m going to tell you something. But you can’t tell Dad, and you can’t laugh, okay?”
The question took Damian by surprise, but as always, he recovered quickly. “I never laugh at such serious matters, Amara,” he informed her, who was staring him down with narrowed eyes.
“You always do,” Amara protested, but she checked to make sure no one was in the hallway, and she closed the door. “All right, so… you know the woman who does those psychic readings on Caldwell Street?”
“What, you mean the drunk?” Damian asked cheerfully.
“Fine,” she huffed, “I won’t tell you.”
“No, no, I didn’t mean the drunk,” he amended, somehow forcing the smile off of his face. “Go on.”
She looked dubious, but continued. “Well, she’s teaching me palmistry.”
“… and that is?”
“Palm-reading, idiot,” Amara snapped. “She says that she’s getting more business and could use an assistant to help her with things, so she’s teaching me some of the basics.”
Ah, Damian thought, that’s a problem. He would inform Victor about that later. But for the time being, he simply widened his smile. “So you can read palms now?”
“Not yet,” she admitted; if her skin were lighter, Damian would have seen her blush. “But I know which one is the life line. Here, hold out your hand.” Dutifully, Damian did so, and Amara pulled it closer and inspected it. “See, look.” She pointed to the crease circling his thumb. “It goes all the way down to the wrist.”
He leaned closer, his interest somewhat piqued. “What does that mean?”
“That’s a good thing,” she said, tracing it with one finger. “It means you’re going to live a really long time.”
Damian looked up at her, blinking several times, before bursting into raucous laughter.
“Damian!” Amara let go of his hand like a hot poker, glaring at him. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!”
“S-S-Sorry,” he managed between heaving giggles, clutching his stomach. “But come on! You know that’s incredibly wrong, right? Of course I’m not going to live a long time!”
“Yes you are,” she said, her tone quickly turning dangerous. “Madame Hilda says when your life line is long, you live a long time. She wouldn’t have lied.”
“Well then, she’s the one who’s wrong,” Damian said patiently, as if talking to someone much younger than thirteen. “I’m your bodyguard, right? So my job is to die for you. So to say that I’m going to have a long life is ridiculous.”
“So get better at your job!” She grabbed a cushion from the sofa and hurling it at him. “If you can’t protect someone without dying, I’d say you pretty much suck, don’t you?”
“Your Highness,” he said, putting extra emphasis on the title, “that’s an overly naïve assessment. If you’re going to be a ruler, you have to consider these things realistically.”
“And what if I’m not going to be a ruler?” Amara declared, standing up. “I’m going to work for Madame Hilda, so you can just do whatever the hell you want.” She strode out of the room and barked, “And you do have a long life line!” before slamming the door behind her.
Damian remained where he was, crosslegged on the floor as he watched the portraits on the wall vibrate. Definitely need to talk to Victor about this, he sighed, clambering to his feet and moving towards the door himself. But he paused, lifting his hand to inspect the line that curved around his thumb, dipping so low that it nearly connected with the lines of his wrist.
“Ridiculous,” he repeated faintly.