Childermass is back. It's hard to say if he ever left with any certainty - the man has a way of going near invisible when he doesn't want to be noticed. But today he can be noticed in Stigmata, for those who choose to look.
He's got his Cartes de Marseilles out, and he's shuffling, a small tumbler of gin currently untouched in front of him.
Ilde doesn't remember his coming in, and she isn't sure if he was there or not when she arrived - but that, she acknowledges to herself, could have as much to do with the cocktail on the bar in front of her as with anything else. (The phrase 'cheap date' springs to mind.)
People-watching is one thing, but it's a bit less subtle when there's no one else in the room, and when she catches herself too closely following the way he shuffles the cards - she looks away, shaking her head, and finishes her drink.
"I can read you, if you want," he said, unprompted and quiet. He's amused, but then Childermass always sounds amused. He's tall and dark and not-quite-respectable (not terribly handsome, for the twist of a face he has), and dressed for the beginning of the 19th century.
Then again, he wouldn't offer if he weren't in the mood to be taken up on it.
"Read me...?" She doesn't quite understand at first - the motion was what caught her eye, she wasn't paying very much attention to what the cards were, and isn't terribly familiar with the concept in the first place - but her incomprehension clears after a moment into slight dubiousness. (Little fairy doesn't believe in magic, does she.) "Oh. Well- how does that work?"
"You ask a question. The cards answer it." His smile is crooked. "Sometimes more useful than others, but generally true enough." She'd be forgiven for not recognizing them, even if she were more familiar. The deck is yellowed and tattered, the symbols drawn on the backs of receipts and scraps of old letters that have been cut into the right shape and size. It's a tattered, unimpressive thing, especially from a distance.
Intrigued despite herself, Ilde slides from her seat to one closer to him at the bar (bringing both drink and purse along with her). "Do I have to tell you what the question is?"
"No. I'd recommend against it, actually." Childermass isn't prone to misreading when he knows the question, at least not intentionally, but he usually finds the results better if he doesn't know - unless he's reading for himself.
"And it probably shouldn't be something like 'Where did I lose such and such' or 'what day will such and such happen?' The answers are generally a bit oblique for that."
He glances over at her. There was something strange that he hadn't placed quite yet.
Probably it can't hurt to try, she thinks, resting her thumb against the edge of her glass while she debates with herself. It's one of those arguments she consistently loses (and/or wins?); curiosity always gets her further than almost anything, and an opportunity missed will nag at her if she lets it be. Why should she? How could it possibly be any more strange than anything else going on here at the moment?
"I think I'd like," she decides, too inquisitive to pass it up.
He smiles again, which is not terrible reassuring given his smile, but shuffles the cards back together. After a moment, he sets out the deck. "Think of your question, clearly. Then cut."
Question. Question. She'd better make it a good one, if this is any good; it doesn't make sense to try something half-arsed. (It is a good way to end up with the result you expect, through every fault of your own.)
Ilde takes a sip from her glass, thinks firmly and clearly what am I, and cuts the deck.
He nods, once. He's not a magician himself, not exactly yet, but this he can do for the Raven King only knew what reason.
He turns up the first card, la Reine de Coupes. He studies it for a moment. "Do you know anything about these cards?" he asks, before going farther. He wasn't much for presentation, but he could offer her some interpretation if she needs it.
"Not really anything at all," she admits, folding one hand over the other on the bar as she leans a little, automatically, to look at it. (Even if she doesn't really understand what it means.)
He taps a long finger on the card. "This is you. The one asking. The queen of cups is associated with water - adaptability. She fits in quietly wherever she goes, but she knows and sees a great deal." There's also an undercurrent of madness, artistic instability, and manipulation to it, but he's still reading her and doesn't say as much yet.
...well. That's a little bit disconcerting (though not half so much as it would've been if he'd said the rest); Ilde feels foolish a moment later, biting the inside of her cheek and nodding. Maybe she'll find a book later. "I see."
People who need to ask if they're right are amateurs (or, at least, they're not John Childermass). Instead, he turns up a second card, laying it in a cross over the first.
It's a cage of swords, the Huit d'Epées.
"Obstacles now, in the present. It's a card about silence, about being trapped." His voice is even, low and certainly not warm, but instructive. "Censorship, I suppose, more precisely. Being frozen because any word or action could move you enough to be cut."
The truth is probably, mostly, that he's reading her because he wants to know more, but he's being honest as Childermass ever is.
Half-regretting having started, she reasons with herself- she did start, and now that she has, best finish it out. There's nothing worse (isn't there?) than leaving something undone, however uncomfortable it has abruptly become.
"'Censorship'," she repeats; it strikes her as an interesting choice of word for the description that follows it, but perhaps that assessment is a privilege in and of itself. "And stillness."
He's got his Cartes de Marseilles out, and he's shuffling, a small tumbler of gin currently untouched in front of him.
He may not be watching Ilde, but he noticed her.
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Ilde doesn't remember his coming in, and she isn't sure if he was there or not when she arrived - but that, she acknowledges to herself, could have as much to do with the cocktail on the bar in front of her as with anything else. (The phrase 'cheap date' springs to mind.)
People-watching is one thing, but it's a bit less subtle when there's no one else in the room, and when she catches herself too closely following the way he shuffles the cards - she looks away, shaking her head, and finishes her drink.
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Then again, he wouldn't offer if he weren't in the mood to be taken up on it.
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"Read me...?" She doesn't quite understand at first - the motion was what caught her eye, she wasn't paying very much attention to what the cards were, and isn't terribly familiar with the concept in the first place - but her incomprehension clears after a moment into slight dubiousness. (Little fairy doesn't believe in magic, does she.) "Oh. Well- how does that work?"
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Intrigued despite herself, Ilde slides from her seat to one closer to him at the bar (bringing both drink and purse along with her). "Do I have to tell you what the question is?"
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"And it probably shouldn't be something like 'Where did I lose such and such' or 'what day will such and such happen?' The answers are generally a bit oblique for that."
He glances over at her. There was something strange that he hadn't placed quite yet.
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Probably it can't hurt to try, she thinks, resting her thumb against the edge of her glass while she debates with herself. It's one of those arguments she consistently loses (and/or wins?); curiosity always gets her further than almost anything, and an opportunity missed will nag at her if she lets it be. Why should she? How could it possibly be any more strange than anything else going on here at the moment?
"I think I'd like," she decides, too inquisitive to pass it up.
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Question. Question. She'd better make it a good one, if this is any good; it doesn't make sense to try something half-arsed. (It is a good way to end up with the result you expect, through every fault of your own.)
Ilde takes a sip from her glass, thinks firmly and clearly what am I, and cuts the deck.
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He turns up the first card, la Reine de Coupes. He studies it for a moment. "Do you know anything about these cards?" he asks, before going farther. He wasn't much for presentation, but he could offer her some interpretation if she needs it.
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"Not really anything at all," she admits, folding one hand over the other on the bar as she leans a little, automatically, to look at it. (Even if she doesn't really understand what it means.)
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...well. That's a little bit disconcerting (though not half so much as it would've been if he'd said the rest); Ilde feels foolish a moment later, biting the inside of her cheek and nodding. Maybe she'll find a book later. "I see."
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It's a cage of swords, the Huit d'Epées.
"Obstacles now, in the present. It's a card about silence, about being trapped." His voice is even, low and certainly not warm, but instructive. "Censorship, I suppose, more precisely. Being frozen because any word or action could move you enough to be cut."
The truth is probably, mostly, that he's reading her because he wants to know more, but he's being honest as Childermass ever is.
Reply
Half-regretting having started, she reasons with herself- she did start, and now that she has, best finish it out. There's nothing worse (isn't there?) than leaving something undone, however uncomfortable it has abruptly become.
"'Censorship'," she repeats; it strikes her as an interesting choice of word for the description that follows it, but perhaps that assessment is a privilege in and of itself. "And stillness."
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