Leaning back in her chair as she cradled her mug of tea in both hands, Lashette Lorlock had no sooner nestled into her cloak when she heard the soft words of the old man wandering towards her, and her eyebrows rose just a little. She stirred curiously as the old man continued to move throughout the Inn, not straying from his course as he circled the tables. He seemed to avoid the busy center of the Inn, ensuring that his limp would not slow or impede others, and Lashette's smoke-grey eyes followed him as he continued his soft mantra. "Fortunes, fortunes, fortunes."
Clearing her throat gently, the young woman called forth, "Excuse me, teller of fortunes. What does it cost to have one's fortune told?" The soothsayer looked up at the woman with an almost bored gaze as he tiredly responded, "Five copper for an Inn reading." Lashette bowed her head, thinking quickly. She *did* have a few copper left after her shopping spree, so with a quick grin she beckoned to him, tossing her long silken hair over her shoulders as she murmured, "Then come, soothsayer, I wish to buy a fortune."
The old man sighed softly and began to limp in Lashette's direction, finally easing himself into a chair as he rested all his weight on his right leg. Wincing a little in pain, he placed his hands palms down onto the table. "So it is asked, so it shall be done. Five copper please and we may begin. And perhaps a sip of whatever it is you're drinking, purely to remove the road dust from an old man's throat. If you would be so kind, my child?"
Fumbling beneath her long black cloak as she sought a few coins, the young woman offered the seer a shy smile as she pulled out her hand and plopped five coppers upon the table. Sliding them over to the soothsayer, she murmured, "Aye, sire, I can surely do that. A nice hot cup of licorice tea will hit the spot, I think?" As she poured a second cup of tea for the soothsayer, she hesitantly asked, "How do you do this, exactly? Do you use cards, or do you need to see my palm, or...what?" The old man took a sip of the licorice tea before returning his gaze to the woman as he replied, "Your palm is fine, my child. The choice of hands is your own, so simply relax and allow me to read the lines."
From a distance, high above the common room, a figure swathed in a cloak forced herself back to the present as she caught sight of Lashette snuggled at a table, almost lost within the thickening crowd. Gwyn Bridges moved to sit on her knees, peering through the railing as she watched the proceedings. In moments, she realized that she couldn't hear a thing that was being said, so, sneaking fingers up to tug her hood up from where it had begun to slip, she rolled forward and got to her feet. She took a moment to reassure herself that no casual observer would be able to determine her identity, then she ducked her head and started down the staircase.
Lashette leaned forward and extended her right hand, palm up to the soothsayer. Curiosity brightened her smoky eyes as she looked first to her hand then to the old man, then she quietly said, "I hope you're good at what you do, fortune teller. We.. *I* could use all of the good fortunes that you can offer." The old man nodded wearily as he muttered, "I can offer you no better or worse than the fates allow my child. So many desire my services in hopes of changing their fortunes. I am not able to do that, I simply describe your destiny as it is foretold."
The young woman watched him with downcast eyes as she wriggled her fingers a little, feeling a slight sense of both nervousness and excitement as she waited to see what her future, as well as that of her friends, held for them all. The soothsayer peered at the proffered palm and began to study it closely, his eyes watering a bit at the strain. Wiping away the tears, he slowly drew a callused fingertip over the lines of her palm, as if determining their depth, then he looked up at her. Intent upon the reading, neither the seer nor Lashette noticed the hooded figure that settled into a seat just behind Lashette. Folding one leg up beneath her body and leaning forward on her elbows with head bowed, Gwyn attempted to listen in on the words of the fortune teller.
The seer whispered to Lashette, "My child, are you in some sort of danger? You have a small break right here, and it provides your fate with disharmony. Are you currently experiencing trouble in your love life perhaps?" The young woman burst out laughing, shaking her head. Still chuckling as she reached with her left hand to tuck a few stray locks of silken hair behind one ear, she said, "Surely you jest, old man. I don't *have* a love life, and thankful for it." Quickly she glanced down to her lap, smiling faintly as she murmured, "And I am certainly in no trouble, either. What kind of woman do you think I am?"
Mildly annoyed that she was not able to hear the overt conversation, Gwyn peeked up through her lashes to notice Christof tripping his way merrily down the staircase and wandering to the bar. As she turned back to the task at hand, she realized that if she just tucked one part of her hood back behind her ear just so, then she could make out what they were saying, or at least what the girl Lashette said. Catching the young woman's comment about a lack of love life did a modestly admirable job of quelling a bit of the cattish jealousy that had been clawing at Gwyn's breast. Sort of. Well, no.
At the sound of Lashette's laughter, the soothsayer chuffed mildly in annoyance. "I did not say this was the problem, my child, it was a mere question to help us focus upon where the fates are carrying you. Now please dispense with your jocularity and concentrate." Frowning, the young woman gave the soothsayer an odd look before replying, "*I* must concentrate? But...whatever for? I thought *you* were supposed to be telling me my fortune." She shrugged her slim shoulders she looked back at her palm. The old man shook his head with a mild look of annoyance, muttering, "Charlatans and thieves will tell you whatever you wish to hear for a few copper. I am a certified seer. Now if you wish to try and tell me how to do this, you are most welcome. If you want an accurate reading, you will do as I ask."
Before Lashette could respond, a cheerful voice at their sides blurted out, "Lashes, how the hell's it going?" As Gwyn recognized the young bard, Christof, she attempted to look busy, glancing down at the backs of her hands before quickly tucking them away lest her gloves be recognized.
Startled by the cheerful greeting, Lashette looked up, then uttered a muffled groan, narrowing her eyes at the bard icily. Pointedly she said, "Good evening, Mr. Kennedy. I fare well, thank you. It's nice to see that you still do as well. If you'd care to join us, you may. Just...be quiet, if you can." Christof winced slightly as he realized that Lashette was evidently not in a super mood, nor even a *little* happy to see him, and the soothsayer sighed quite loudly, vocalizing his annoyance as he gazed at Christof with a stern look before looking back to Lashette. "When your companion quiets his fidgeting we will resume. And you must concentrate!"
Christof quietly set down two of the three beer he carried, and looked over his shoulder. "Im... sorry. I'll behave," he murmured apologetically. "Uh, mind if I watch?" Although he felt pretty sure the seer wasn't a threat, he *did* feel a little obligated to look out for Lashette. After all, he was part of the reason she was in trouble, thanks to a mishap on a boat.
As Lashette kicked out a chair for Chris to sit on, she scowled at him darkly and muttered beneath her breath, "How the hell do you think I am, you twit? After you kicked me out... Anyway, I'm having my fortune told." She turned back to the soothsayer with a sigh and looked at her palm yet again, and Christof's expression became that of a kid who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Um, yeah. After the reading I need to talk to you about that," he said, taking a drink of his beer.
"Now then, as I was saying," the seer said, scowling at Christof in a paternal fashion before resuming his study of Lashette's hand. "As I was saying, it appears you are currently experiencing some strife in your life. Perhaps it was being thrown out of your home by your friend there?" Lashette plunked her chin onto her balled up fist, placing her elbow on the table as she made a moue of distaste at the soothsayer. Darkly she muttered, "You just heard that, soothsayer. If this is the best you can do, I think I may just ask for my coppers back." She pulled her hand away for a moment to grasp one of the beers Chris had bought, nodding to him coolly by way of thanks, then she took a long swallow and set it down before offering the old man her hand again.
It's a party, mused the cloaked Gwyn to herself. All they needed were her husband, a few spiral dancers and a partridge in a pear tree to make the evening complete. When the server returned with her hot cider, she received a silver piece for her efforts. It was a stingy tip but things had been tight about the Bridges' household as of late. Now able to hide behind the mug, she watched the trio in a tad bit more comfort, sipping her cider and inwardly smirking at Lashette's retort as she turned her attention more to the fortune teller, wondering about him. She didn�t recognize him, but that was nothing new--most everyone here was a stranger, nowadays. Christof slid a look to the seer too. �Lousy old man ain' helping me outta trouble with her any,� he inwardly muttered, though he was still trying to keep a lid on things. Okay, so he *may* have over reacted the other night when hard times got rougher, but he wasn't really *that* big of a pain, was he? He sighed and took another drink of his beer. Women.
The soothsayer eyed Lashette at her rude comment and interruption, but the old man ignored both as he resumed his peering. "My apologies, my child, I did not realize you were in such a foul mood. Now then, you are in some form of trouble and you have recently been on a journey. And you will soon be taking another one." The young woman nodded slowly, looking at the soothsayer with a little more interest as she inclined her cornsilk head to him. "Nay, I keep telling you, I'm in no trouble, but I have been on a journey, and...sure, I'm taking another one." Mentally she wondered about the journey, not having made up her mind yet just *what* she was going to do, but...perhaps there was some truth to what the old man said.
At the seer�s words, Christof looked over his shoulder for anyone the seer might be working with, one of those rough looking sorts that tended to lurk in the dozens of dark corners in the inn. He looked back to the old man, narrowing his eyes slightly. Surely this guy wasn't a hit man... he'd be laughed out of the game.
The soothsayer nodded sagely without looking up. "You have also recently gotten some shocking news. News that has changed the way you look at someone or something?" Biting her lower lip hard as she concentrated on not looking at Christof, Lashette whispers, "You could say that, I suppose. About more than one person, really." Finally she slipped a level look to Christof, her grey eyes dark and brooding. "What do you think, friend of mine? Both men, and women it seems. The old guy seems to know what he's talking about."
"I'm unconvinced. If he's so good," said Christof, with another look over his shoulder, "then he wouldn't be so vague. Let's hear some details." He shrugged, never one to trust in the mystics and mind readers. Sure, they existed, but he was certain at least half of them were frauds. Behind the trio, Gwyn mentally murmured, �Excellent maneuvering, Chris. Let's hear some details, indeed. Pretty little Lashette, in trouble?� Her hands tightened about her mug, but not to the degree that its thick clay form was threatened by the pressure.
The soothsayer, interrupted yet again, glared at Lashette as he intoned, "You are also soon to be experiencing a dramatic change in the way you view things, the fates are vague as to whether or not this will be beneficial or not." He grabbed Lashette's hand again, not roughly, but as an old man in the heat of rage well might and glared at it, his bottom lip stiff with either embarrassment or derision. "Not only do you have poor choice in companions, these companions very well could bring great misfortune and calamity about you." Lashette stirred in her chair a little uneasily, calmly replying, "That's certainly an interesting view of things. Aye, you are right on that account. Well, not all of it, just the first part." She turned and flashed Christof a fairly merry grin with a "See? I'm not the only one who noticed this!" look, then she looked to her palm.
Christof` put up his hands and rolled his eyes. For someone whose job it was to talk to people all the time, the old coot certainly wasn't the most sociable sort. He checked the door idly, lifting his mug, then he twisted his head to the cloaked figure behind Lashes, eyes narrowing. The figure had just moved slightly, made a noise he only heard a touch of... could that be the one working with the old man? Was this a setup? Realizing that she'd attracted his attention, Gwyn instantly reverted to moodily drinking from her cup and looking toward the entrance, casually giving her hood another tug. The only thing that kept her from letting loose another snicker was the way that she had come so dangerously close to meeting Christof's gaze.
CONTINUED
