The Magician and the Fool
Title: The Magician and the Fool
Recipient: nancybrown
Author: rattyjol
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Martha Jones, Tarot Girl, various minor OCs; background Martha/Mickey
Spoilers and Warnings: vague spoilers up to End of Time & Torchwood s2; no warnings
Summary: Three times Martha had her fortune told, and didn't learn anything at all.
Beta: purpleyedcat, who has no LJ
For the tw_femficfest prompt "Martha meets the Creepy Tarot Girl."
Cairo, Egypt
2032.
I knelt carefully on the threadbare carpet, my eyes fixed on the child -- and yet not a child -- that sat before me. Straggly brown hair hung over an unsmiling face as she shuffled her deck, the breath of the cards the only sound disturbing the heavy air. Shifting in place, I wondered how she could be so still and calm in the oppressive humidity hanging inside the tent. I quietly twisted my wedding ring about my finger, the metal still cool.
Finally, she began to lay her cards out between us, five of them, facedown on the small table. The wood looked ancient, centuries old at least. She flipped the first card.
“Your husband,” she said after a moment. “You’ll let him go soon.” She turned the second card and her eyes flickered upwards. “I see you already have.”
I nodded, touching my ring once more. I’d already accepted that Mickey wouldn’t wake again, though it filled me with a strange sense of peace to know it for sure.
She flipped the next, and I caught a glimpse of a wheel, the painted design rotating slowly on its card. “Your life will come full circle soon.” Another card, and the faintest of smiles touched her lips. “Your Doctor will come back for you.”
Perhaps I should have been surprised at this. He’d popped in and out infrequently when I was younger, though I hadn’t seen him in years. I wondered what he would look like this time.
Now, the final card. “I know you don’t fear Death, Martha Jones, but you won’t meet him again for a long time yet.” Her nimble fingers returned my cards to the deck, and I stood, my knees aching. A soldier’s life had taken her toll on my body.
“Thank you, old friend,” I said, inclining my head to the small form before me. I backed out into the sunshine, with just enough foreknowledge in my grasp to keep my world turning.
New York, New York
2009.
Though I was hyperaware that I was on a mission, as I slid into the cracked leather booth the incense and scented candles began to relax me, and my mind wandered. The two-way comm unit crackled in my ear, snapping me back to the task at hand.
In my head, I quickly ran through the vague information contained in the subject’s UNIT file, mentally bulletpointing the facts for reference. Subject takes the form of a small girl with stunningly accurate predictive powers. Medium: tarot cards. Name unknown. Sightings recorded as far back as the files go, and further. Spotted in cities all across the world, though concentrated in the South Wales/Cardiff area.
My mission was to investigate, under cover of a newly credentialed doctor on holiday from London. It was, strictly speaking, not quite a lie. I was to determine the subject’s threat level and potential as a UNIT asset and then leave as soon as possible.
“As you’re wondering why you’re heading this mission, Martha Jones, I believe it’s because your superiors, knowing you have prior experience in the area, want you to investigate rumors of my immortality.”
I started. That was, in fact, exactly what I had been thinking only moments before.
“I’m not psychic, just very good.” The child leaned forward, her features emerging suddenly from the shadows, and I drew in a breath.
“Don’t I know you?” I asked, but she didn’t reply, instead shuffling her tarot deck and dealing a line of cards on the Formica café table between us. She straightened the one at the end so all five were perfectly even, and then studied the designs intently for a few minutes in silence.
“Well?” I said finally, frowning as I tried to make sense of the cards myself. She quickly swept them off the table and out of sight.
“Knowing one’s future is never much of a good thing,” she replied cryptically, reminding me of the Doctor. I wondered if they’d ever met. “This card, on the other hand,” and she produced a single card from a hidden pocket in her dress. She slid it, face-up, across the tabletop. “Do you remember this?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “You’re wondering if you made the right decision, Martha Jones. Your answer is yes.”
Silence fell in the darkened café. I nodded. “Thank you.”
“Tell your employers whatever you like,” she told me, sliding from the booth. “And say hello to the Captain for me.” Together, she and her bodyguards stepped from the café and vanished into the sleepless city streets.
London, England
2001.
“A fair?” I said, gazing around skeptically. “It’s not much, is it?”
“Oh, come on, Jones, where’s your sense of adventure?” Jamie grinned. “Look, a haunted house, bet there’s tons of cool stuff in there, huh?” She raised her eyebrows and wiggled her fingers at me in mock spook.
By the time she’d dragged me around to every booth, ride, and attraction they had (the kissing booth twice, and I was sure she’d have gone back for more if the fit man behind it hadn’t been replaced by someone else), we were both jittery on cotton candy and shave ice and the sun was nearly halfway down Big Ben.
“Hang on,” I said, as our group trailed towards the exit. (Aaron suddenly decided he’d had too much soda and had run back to the restrooms, leaving us milling about around the last few open booths.)
“What, not you too?” Jamie complained. I shook my head.
“I want to try that one.” I pointed to the one attraction we hadn’t visited, a shabby fortune-teller’s tent on what must have been the grubbiest patch of land in the whole fairground.
Terry looked skeptical. “Really? I never pegged you for a crystal ball sort of girl, Martha.”
I shrugged. “It just looks interesting.” I felt an odd sort of attraction to the place, like if I went inside I’d find something I’d lost. “Be back in a minute.”
I was expecting an old lady in shawls and beads with a cheap crystal ball. Instead, I found a small girl in a plain, dark dress, calmly shuffling a deck of tarot cards.
Uncertainly, I settled myself across the table from her, watching her slender fingers tap across the smooth card backs. Without a word, she dealt a line of cards between us, and I realized I had been holding my breath despite myself.
“Your name?” Her voice sounded far too old to be coming from a little girl’s mouth, and somehow I got the feeling that she was only asking out of convention, and that she already knew everything there was to know about me.
“Martha Jones.” My voice fell flat in the stillness of the tiny tent. Curiously, it looked much less shabby from the inside.
She nodded, turning over the first pair of cards. “You’ll become successful in your ambition to save lives,” she read, consulting the intricate painted designs. “But not in the way you expect.”
“What else do they say?” I asked, strangely eager.
She smiled faintly and flipped the next two cards. “You will learn to carry your home with you across the universe, instead of tethering yourself to it in place.”
Across the universe. It was an unusual metaphor. I wondered at her carefully chosen words. “And the last?”
“Another time, perhaps.” The cards vanished from the table and I found myself standing, the spell broken. Just outside the tent flap, I thought to turn around and thank her, but the tent was already empty.
I returned to my friends. Aaron had come back from his venture to Porta-potty land and I fell into step beside Jamie as we started towards the exit.
“Well?” she asked. “What did the fortune-teller say?”
I thought for a moment, my hands in my pockets to ward off the usual London chill. “Nothing I didn’t already know.”
Recipient: nancybrown
Author: rattyjol
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Martha Jones, Tarot Girl, various minor OCs; background Martha/Mickey
Spoilers and Warnings: vague spoilers up to End of Time & Torchwood s2; no warnings
Summary: Three times Martha had her fortune told, and didn't learn anything at all.
Beta: purpleyedcat, who has no LJ
For the tw_femficfest prompt "Martha meets the Creepy Tarot Girl."
Cairo, Egypt
2032.
I knelt carefully on the threadbare carpet, my eyes fixed on the child -- and yet not a child -- that sat before me. Straggly brown hair hung over an unsmiling face as she shuffled her deck, the breath of the cards the only sound disturbing the heavy air. Shifting in place, I wondered how she could be so still and calm in the oppressive humidity hanging inside the tent. I quietly twisted my wedding ring about my finger, the metal still cool.
Finally, she began to lay her cards out between us, five of them, facedown on the small table. The wood looked ancient, centuries old at least. She flipped the first card.
“Your husband,” she said after a moment. “You’ll let him go soon.” She turned the second card and her eyes flickered upwards. “I see you already have.”
I nodded, touching my ring once more. I’d already accepted that Mickey wouldn’t wake again, though it filled me with a strange sense of peace to know it for sure.
She flipped the next, and I caught a glimpse of a wheel, the painted design rotating slowly on its card. “Your life will come full circle soon.” Another card, and the faintest of smiles touched her lips. “Your Doctor will come back for you.”
Perhaps I should have been surprised at this. He’d popped in and out infrequently when I was younger, though I hadn’t seen him in years. I wondered what he would look like this time.
Now, the final card. “I know you don’t fear Death, Martha Jones, but you won’t meet him again for a long time yet.” Her nimble fingers returned my cards to the deck, and I stood, my knees aching. A soldier’s life had taken her toll on my body.
“Thank you, old friend,” I said, inclining my head to the small form before me. I backed out into the sunshine, with just enough foreknowledge in my grasp to keep my world turning.
New York, New York
2009.
Though I was hyperaware that I was on a mission, as I slid into the cracked leather booth the incense and scented candles began to relax me, and my mind wandered. The two-way comm unit crackled in my ear, snapping me back to the task at hand.
In my head, I quickly ran through the vague information contained in the subject’s UNIT file, mentally bulletpointing the facts for reference. Subject takes the form of a small girl with stunningly accurate predictive powers. Medium: tarot cards. Name unknown. Sightings recorded as far back as the files go, and further. Spotted in cities all across the world, though concentrated in the South Wales/Cardiff area.
My mission was to investigate, under cover of a newly credentialed doctor on holiday from London. It was, strictly speaking, not quite a lie. I was to determine the subject’s threat level and potential as a UNIT asset and then leave as soon as possible.
“As you’re wondering why you’re heading this mission, Martha Jones, I believe it’s because your superiors, knowing you have prior experience in the area, want you to investigate rumors of my immortality.”
I started. That was, in fact, exactly what I had been thinking only moments before.
“I’m not psychic, just very good.” The child leaned forward, her features emerging suddenly from the shadows, and I drew in a breath.
“Don’t I know you?” I asked, but she didn’t reply, instead shuffling her tarot deck and dealing a line of cards on the Formica café table between us. She straightened the one at the end so all five were perfectly even, and then studied the designs intently for a few minutes in silence.
“Well?” I said finally, frowning as I tried to make sense of the cards myself. She quickly swept them off the table and out of sight.
“Knowing one’s future is never much of a good thing,” she replied cryptically, reminding me of the Doctor. I wondered if they’d ever met. “This card, on the other hand,” and she produced a single card from a hidden pocket in her dress. She slid it, face-up, across the tabletop. “Do you remember this?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “You’re wondering if you made the right decision, Martha Jones. Your answer is yes.”
Silence fell in the darkened café. I nodded. “Thank you.”
“Tell your employers whatever you like,” she told me, sliding from the booth. “And say hello to the Captain for me.” Together, she and her bodyguards stepped from the café and vanished into the sleepless city streets.
London, England
2001.
“A fair?” I said, gazing around skeptically. “It’s not much, is it?”
“Oh, come on, Jones, where’s your sense of adventure?” Jamie grinned. “Look, a haunted house, bet there’s tons of cool stuff in there, huh?” She raised her eyebrows and wiggled her fingers at me in mock spook.
By the time she’d dragged me around to every booth, ride, and attraction they had (the kissing booth twice, and I was sure she’d have gone back for more if the fit man behind it hadn’t been replaced by someone else), we were both jittery on cotton candy and shave ice and the sun was nearly halfway down Big Ben.
“Hang on,” I said, as our group trailed towards the exit. (Aaron suddenly decided he’d had too much soda and had run back to the restrooms, leaving us milling about around the last few open booths.)
“What, not you too?” Jamie complained. I shook my head.
“I want to try that one.” I pointed to the one attraction we hadn’t visited, a shabby fortune-teller’s tent on what must have been the grubbiest patch of land in the whole fairground.
Terry looked skeptical. “Really? I never pegged you for a crystal ball sort of girl, Martha.”
I shrugged. “It just looks interesting.” I felt an odd sort of attraction to the place, like if I went inside I’d find something I’d lost. “Be back in a minute.”
I was expecting an old lady in shawls and beads with a cheap crystal ball. Instead, I found a small girl in a plain, dark dress, calmly shuffling a deck of tarot cards.
Uncertainly, I settled myself across the table from her, watching her slender fingers tap across the smooth card backs. Without a word, she dealt a line of cards between us, and I realized I had been holding my breath despite myself.
“Your name?” Her voice sounded far too old to be coming from a little girl’s mouth, and somehow I got the feeling that she was only asking out of convention, and that she already knew everything there was to know about me.
“Martha Jones.” My voice fell flat in the stillness of the tiny tent. Curiously, it looked much less shabby from the inside.
She nodded, turning over the first pair of cards. “You’ll become successful in your ambition to save lives,” she read, consulting the intricate painted designs. “But not in the way you expect.”
“What else do they say?” I asked, strangely eager.
She smiled faintly and flipped the next two cards. “You will learn to carry your home with you across the universe, instead of tethering yourself to it in place.”
Across the universe. It was an unusual metaphor. I wondered at her carefully chosen words. “And the last?”
“Another time, perhaps.” The cards vanished from the table and I found myself standing, the spell broken. Just outside the tent flap, I thought to turn around and thank her, but the tent was already empty.
I returned to my friends. Aaron had come back from his venture to Porta-potty land and I fell into step beside Jamie as we started towards the exit.
“Well?” she asked. “What did the fortune-teller say?”
I thought for a moment, my hands in my pockets to ward off the usual London chill. “Nothing I didn’t already know.”