FIC: Mardi Gras Crystal Ball Part 1
“Come on Arthur. You’re such a down-in-the-dumpity,” Gwen said, a little more than a little drunk.
“Down-in-the…dumpity?” Arthur asked, maybe equally as more than a little drunk, as he had giggled when he certainly did not ever giggle. Ever.
“Yes, come on. You’re always on about destiny and stuff and junk,” Gwen said, tugging on Arthur’s hand, pulling him towards a purple tent with paper lanterns strung up in front of it. “What’s better for finding you ‘destiny’ than a fortune teller?”
“Fortune tellers are a crock. And I always tell you how I don’t believe in destiny,” Arthur fought Gwen’s pull, and broke away, stumbling back into somebody in too little clothes and a too big mask that made Arthur want to giggle again but he didn’t because he didn’t giggle. “I’m not nearly drunk enough to go into a tent and listen to some old hag prattle on about how there’s money in my future or love or disaster or whatever.”
Gwen rolled her eyes and smacked her lips at him, “Fine. I’ll buy you a drink and then we’ll get our fortune’s read, yeah?”
“If you’re buying,” Arthur conceded, and allowed himself to be lead away from the fortune tent. He glanced back once and saw a pale face with stupidly enormous ears peering out the flap at them curiously before quickly pulling back inside.
He was pulled into one of the numerous bars lining Main Street, all opened and decorated in purples and greens and reds for Mardi Gras. “Oh, look who’s here!” Gwen shouted excitedly and too loudly. She was letting go of Arthur and rushing across the bar to throw herself at a tall, beautiful, alluring and bitchy brunette.
Arthur made his way over to them. “Morgana.”
“Arthur,” Morgana narrowed her eyes at Arthur, her lips pursed, as if she were sizing him up or something.
“What?” Arthur snapped, pulling a face at Morgana.
Morgana sighed and shook her head, “Nothing. You just…smell.”
“I do not!” Arthur barked, discreetly turning away to sniff his armpit. Well. He didn’t smell too bad, anyways. But he had been sweating and dancing and running around all night! “Like you smell like spring roses, anyways!”
“Come now, guys. We’re celebrating, shut up, yeah?” Gwen was back with a tray of shots, her grin wide and too innocent-looking for somebody so sloshed and debauched. Arthur grudgingly took the proffered shot and downed it with the rest of them, then licked the salt off his hand. After a second round Arthur was comfortable enough to sling his arm around Gwen’s waist and pull her warm to his side.
She was laughing at something Morgana was saying, and Arthur thought that was stupid, because Morgana was far from funny. But he wasn’t going to start up again, because it upset Gwen when he and Morgana argued. And he was kinda looking to get laid tonight, so…
He finds himself thinking about getting his fortune told, and the weird face he saw at the tent that was definitely probably not the fortune teller, because it looked too young and not weird enough. “…and then I said, ‘bugger off you ruddy eggplant!’ Didn’t I Arthur?” Gwen was asking, turning her warm smiling face towards Arthur and Arthur wanted to kiss her but he didn’t because Morgana disapproved of all types of PDA. Arthur thought she hadn’t even held hands in public before.
“Er. Yeah, sure, you did,” Arthur said, nodding distractedly. Gwen seemed pleased enough by his answer and passed him another drink, then took two for herself. Gwen could hold her liquor like a sailor, and drank like one, too. But only on special occasions, she reminded him very angrily every time he called her a lush.
And they passed time, laughing and drinking and moving from bar to bar, collecting beads the wholesome way, because there was no way Arthur was letting Gwen or Morgana flash anybody. When Gwen had had enough, she showed it in a very unique way of removing her heels, chucking them at Arthur and announcing that she’d be going home with Morgana. And Arthur’s plans on getting laid were dashed by his evil-stepsister.
He didn’t go home right after Gwen announced she was leaving. Instead he wandered up and down Main Street holding her pumps and avoiding getting beer sloshed all over him and knocking down the stilt walkers. He passes by a fire-breather and leaps out of the way dramatically, and thought that he felt a little too crowded, and headed towards the more deserted parts of the street fair.
He wandered aimlessly a little bit until he found himself in front of the familiar fortune teller’s tent. Nobody was around, but that didn’t stop Arthur from glancing around, over cautious, before ducking into the tent.
It was dark outside, but it’s darker in the tent, lit with only a couple of fake candles. Arthur blinks, his eyes slowly adjusting. He sees dim lights strung up, criss-crossing on the ceiling, and a small table in the middle with a chair on each side. There’s a crystal ball, and Arthur feels as if he’s just walked into a super-clichéd movie set. He hears somebody clear their throat and whirls around to face whoever had just came into the tent.
There’s a boy standing there, zipping up his fly and eyeing Arthur curiously, “Arthur?” He wipes his hands on his jeans, his eyes roving up and down Arthur frame. Arthur doesn’t answer and stares right back, starting at the ratty trainers, the tight, torn jeans and the blue t-shirt and the stupid red scarf. When he makes it to the face he frowns. It was the guy peaking out of the tent earlier. There a flash of recognition in the stranger’s eyes as well. Then he crosses his arms and clears his throat again.
“Well, are you going to sit down?” he asks, eyeing the chair nearest them pointedly.
“Why?” Arthur asks dumbly.
“I can’t very well tell your fortune when you’re standing there like an idiot and gaping. Sit down,” the stranger said, shoving passed Arthur to sit in the bigger chair, lit from below by some ‘mystical mysterious’ lighting rig underneath the table.
Arthur turned and blinked at the…fortune teller? This kid was the fortune teller?
“I’m not a kid. Sit down,” the stranger snapped. Arthur blinked, had he been speaking out loud? He takes a seat like ordered, and stares expectantly at the guy across from him.
“Alright, what’re you here for, then? Love-life, financial troubles? Anything specific?” the guy asks, sprawling ungracefully back in the mock-throne as he picks at a loose thread on his t-shirt.
“Wait. You’re the fortune teller?” Arthur’s voice is embarrassingly pitched an octave too high, and he lowers his voice to his ‘manly’ voice, “I thought they were all-”
“Old saggy ladies with a Russian accent and mustaches?” the fortune teller interrupted, rolling his eyes. “I’ve heard it all before, believe me. So, I don’t think it’s love what you’re having problems with, ‘cause I saw you with that girl earlier and you looked pretty cozy. She was pretty. And judging by your clothes and shoes, I don’t think you’re poor. But you seem a little stupid. Trouble at Uni, then. Want the exam answers or something?”
“You can do that?” Arthur asked, then shook his head, “Hey! I’m not stupid! If you’re going to be insulting then I guess I’ll take myself and my money to another, better fortune teller.”
“I’m telling you, there’s not one better than me, mate,” he insisted.
Arthur arched his brows, “Yeah? Where’s your hat and robe, then? I don’t feel comfortable unless you look the part.”
The guy snorted and reached under the table. He pulled out a comically large purple turban thing with a gaudy fake yellow jewel with orange tassels hanging down in front of his face. Arthur snorted in laughter, and the stranger glared at him, snatching the hat off his head.
“Shut up, give me your hand,” he snapped, holding his hand, palm up, for Arthur. Arthur eyed it suspiciously.
“What, you’re gonna read my palm or something?”
“No, I just need a bit of contact for this to work, kay?”
Arthur rolled his eyes and reached out, sliding his palm against the fortune teller’s. He nearly yanked his hand back when he felt a spark, an honest to goodness electric shock. The guy felt it, too, and his eyes went all wide and surprised, and Arthur noted vaguely they were blue, even in the dark light. The fortune teller gathered his wits together and cleared his throat. “Alright Arthur, let’s do this.”
He extended his hand over the cheesy crystal ball, and Arthur thought it was just some stupid prop for show, but the guy was staring intently into it. Arthur expected him to start chanting in Latin and going on about the ‘fuuuuture’ and its eventual graveness and saying things like, ‘I see change in your fuuuture’ or ‘I see a fortune coming to you…in the fuuuuuture!’ And Arthur would roll his eyes and walk away knowing money was well wasted.
It was a long time, just sitting there. It felt like hours, when in reality it was probably only three minutes as the guy stared into the crystal ball. Then he gasped and jerked away from Arthur, his eyes wide again, and Arthur found himself mimicking the action, hand gripping the edge of the table. The guy went all red in the face for a second, looking away nervously, as if he were embarrassed.
“What is it?” Arthur whispered, because he was still a little more than a little drunk, and he was feeling dramatic.
“It’s…you’re Arthur!” the guy exclaimed, as if it were some kind of grand reveal.
“Er…yeah,” Arthur nodded, feeling confused. He looked down at his shirt to check for a nametag, then, remembering he had never told this guy that his name was Arthur. “How’d you know my name?”
The guy waved his hand in a vague gesture between them, “Because I’m Merlin,” he said, bouncing excitedly in his seat.
Arthur rolled his eyes, “You’re barmy is what you are. If you think I’m paying for this-”
“Shut up!” Merlin snapped, “Listen, listen! You’re Arthur, like Arthur with the sword Excalibur and a douche father and I’m Merlin. M-E-R-L-I-N, like the sorcerer. I was your servant, when you were a prince and a king. We fought a dragon together. And that dragon is a right dick. You united all of Albion, and I helped. With magic and stuff. And then you died, and I was like, ‘sleep until it’s time’ and then here you are. And and… God, I should have known.”
“Uh…” Arthur was a little overwhelmed. He was almost 99% sure that this guy was having him on and his name was probably something normal like Tom and that he was just having a bit of fun with him, but he remembered the genuine surprise on Merlin/Tom’s face, and the spark he felt that could very probably be magic.
“Arthur, Arthur, don’t you remember?” Merlin/Tom asked.
“…no. You’re bonkers, I’m leaving,” Arthur stood up, but was stopped in an awkward crouch as Merlin/Tom reached out and snagged his hand with surprising speed. He pulled him down so Arthur’s chin was almost on the table while his arse was still in the air.
“I’m not bonkers. I’m the real deal Merlin. And…Jesus, I do sound crazy, ‘specially to a drunk. Okay, okay,” Merlin/Tom scrambled up out of his seat, letting Arthur go, “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back,” and he scrambled out of the tent. Arthur knew he should take this chance to run out while he could, but instead he leant forwards to peer into the crystal ball. He knew he wouldn’t see anything, it was just a gut feeling, and he wasn’t too disappointed when nothing happened. He was going to lift it up to see what was under it, but then Merlin/Tom came back in, garnishing a pencil and a piece of paper.
“Hi. Back,” he slams the pencil and paper down on the table, then carefully tears the paper in half. He writes his name, and then his number and address down on the paper. “So, you’re a little drunk and I think maybe springing this on you was a bit crazy. But if you write yours down, and I give you mine, we can call each other or whatever tomorrow and we can meet up and talk, okay?”
Arthur eyed the piece of paper,
‘Merlin, 555-3439, 30989 Old Village Aprts #178’
“Is this your crazy way of asking me on a date? Because I’ve got…”
“No! It’s just…well maybe it’s kind of a date, but more like a, uh…meet-up. You can bring Gwen, too! If you want.”
“How’d you know about Gwen? How’d you know her name?” Arthur asked, a little creeped out now.
“Because she’s Guinevere, married off to Lancelot and all that. And I know about Morgana, and how she was all evil and stuff,” Merlin said excitedly.
Well, certainly sounded like he knew Morgana. She really was evil. He wrote down his name and number, but not his address. “O…kay. This is all a little weird, but here.” He knew he probably shouldn’t have given this dude his number. He’d probably stalk him and kidnap him and try to eat his innards. But then again he was drunk and intrigued and so he shrugged and pocketed Merlin’s number. They stood there awkwardly for a little while more, Merlin looking like he wanted to say more or reach out to Arthur or something, but he finally just stepped back, shaking his head.
“Call me when you’re sober,” he said, then turned away.
Arthur furrowed his brows, then shrugged and made his way out of the tent, pulling out his cellular to call a cab. He went back to the crowded part of Main Street to wait for his cab. And since it was mardi gras, it took forever for the cab to get there. It took him home, and it wasn’t until Arthur was paying the disgruntled cabby (all cabbies were disgruntled, of course. Arthur wasn’t being a prat) that he realized he hadn’t paid Merlin. Which was odd, because the whole point of being a fortune teller was to swindle people out of their money and Merlin hadn’t even brought up payment. Or Tom. Whoever he really was, the weirdo. He pulled the slip of paper out of his pocket and read it over once more as he went into his room.
Arthur didn’t think on it anymore and just kicked his shoes off when he entered his flat, then collapsed face down on his bed, practically asleep and snoring before he hit the sheets, and still clutching Merlin’s number in his hand.
He dreamed of swords and dragons and neckerchiefs all shoved into a purple tent that night.
(Part 2)