Session 33: The Fact That I’m Still At This Party, Mysterious Meetings, Hot Guys with Dumb Names, Giving Shit Away Because I’m Dumb, Cryptic Fortunes, Feeling Useless, Cocktail Weenies

General Summary

[That’s it! I’m done with writing in broken Common. I sound like an idiot and it’s fucking exhausting. And for what? For nothing. I suggest you learn Elvish, asshole.]
Holy shit, do I hate these people. I hate this job. I hate this whole fucking place...
The booze is pretty good, though.
Maybe that’s why this is my…ummm… third? fourth? I don’t know, definitely not my first, shot of the evening. Well that, and the conversation with Grandfather. I usually try not to say that kind of shit out loud – it makes it so much harder to pretend there’s anything funny about the fucking inane pettiness of bullshit jobs like this. I mean, look at this place. Everyone here hates everyone else, but they still drag themselves to these stupid fucking parties four times a year, just so they can spend an evening trying to impress people who are too busy trying to impress other people to notice. And these games Sass has roped us into playing on her behalf? They’re just so fucking childish. Spraying perfume? Keeping some asshole from buying a bottle of wine? Yeah, I’m fucking filled with loathing for everyone here, and that includes myself. This, at least, is giving me a certain clarity of vision. Do the job, Belov, I repeat to myself over and over. Just do the fucking job.
Most of the tasks Sass gave us need to happen during the auction itself. We intend to straight up, no funny business, win the bid for both the journal and the second bottle of wine. And, while everyone else is distracted, Baermek will use his weird new powers to get into Ironcloak’s room and do the perfume thing. Getting the letter to the Pale Lady, however, is better done beforehand, when everyone is still spread out across the casino.
The task turns out to be easier than we expected. Ingoria casts mage hand in a bathroom stall to avoid detection, then uses it to deliver the letter to the Pale Lady, sliding the envelope along the ceiling to keep anyone from spying it as it floats through the air. Surprisingly, it works! I guess everyone is too busy with all the backstabbing and wasting of fortunes to notice a little thing like that.
Our target doesn’t spook when the letter lands in her hand – just turns to study the people around her, obviously trying to figure out where it came from. Fortunately, she doesn’t seem to clock Ingoria, who is doing a decent job of looking casual over at the roulette table. After a few seconds, she tucks the letter away under her cloak and returns to her usual routine – acting like a statue, and making everyone else around her vaguely uncomfortable.
Within minutes of the delivery, however, her whole statue thing is interrupted by one of those creepy masked servants, who approaches her and gestures for her to follow them. Surprisingly, she does, and they both head up to the second floor. Ingoria looks like she’s about to follow, but I shake my head at her – it’ll be too obvious to anyone watching us if we chase after her, no matter how much I’d fucking love to know where they’re going. What do you want to bet it’s got something to do the letter we just delivered?
Unfortunately, there’s nothing to be done about that right now; we just need to finish the job so we can get on to the actual fucking important stuff, like killing Kisha. So, it’s back to working the room, seeking information and allies, and trying to convince myself to give it at least another twenty minutes before I head back to the bar.

*****

In an effort to distract myself from the siren call of free booze, I decide to go to talk to the hot guy upstairs – the so-called Golden Emerald. He’s still at the craps table where Ingoria spoke with him earlier, and I can confirm he’s definitely human… and definitely hot. He seems a bit bored with play at the table, which is handy. I’m many things, I think you’ll agree, but I flatter myself that one thing I’m not, is fucking boring.
He watches with a grin as I slink up next to him. “Well hello, love. Don’t believe I’ve seen you at any of our little gatherings before?”
“No, no, this is my first time. It’s… a lot, isn’t it?” I look around, trying to seem a little intimidated by my surroundings. He moves in closer and takes my hand, pulling me toward the table, and his side.
“Well, welcome! It’s always so refreshing to meet new people at one of these events, especially someone as lovely as you.” I don’t think I’ve blushed since I was like 10, but I try to will my blood vessels to cooperate. (They don’t.) “Are you new in town? I hope the terrible news we’ve been hearing out of Novo isn’t responsible for my good fortune tonight?”
I don’t think this guy’s any more sincere than Pergrine was – but I sure like his style better.
“No, no,” I say. “It’s been a long time since I was back home. I just like to travel – you know, see new things, meet new people.” I give him a sad smile. “Uh, so, if you don’t mind, maybe we could talk about something else, hopefully something a bit less depressing?”
“By all means. I’m sorry to have brought it up.” He rubs my upper arm sympathetically. Why am I not surprised this guy’s a toucher?
“How do you like my dress?” I give a little shimmy, setting all the dangly beads to swinging.
“It’s delightful. And, if I’m not mistaken, Houndstooth?”
“It is! Good eye.”
“T always does amazing work, but this, this is truly exceptional. Both the canvas and the artist.”
Hoo boy. Never been called a canvas before.
I stroke my hand down the lapel of his jacket, enjoying the soft nap of the wool. “This is quite beautiful as well.” I look up at him through my lashes. He places his hand over mine and returns my look with a soulful one of his own. It’s really hard to say who’s playing who here, but I’d like to think it’s mutual at this point.
“Thank you,” he says, and his voice is a bit husky, like I’ve just offered to blow him. He looks down at me for a moment longer, then steps to my side so we're once again both facing the table. Neither of us have placed a bet in several rounds, and the other players are looking a bit annoyed with us, but he seems to care about that about as much as I do.
“So, I suppose, seeing as how you're new around here, this must be a little more… well, maybe not confusing – let us say, exciting – for you than it is for the rest of us. So many new faces, so much that is unknown…”
“That’s true,” I fiddle with a couple of chips in my hand, considering where to place my bet. “In hindsight though, I’m not sure if a masquerade was the right place to make my debut. I’m already a bit out of my depth here amongst the sharks; the masks certainly don’t help things.”
“Yes, but the masquerade’s so much more interesting than the normal soirees. Besides, surely you know we all wear masks no matter the occasion – tonight it’s just a bit less metaphorical.” He turns to look at me, consideringly. I place my chips on a random number, before turning to make eye contact with him. “Did your patron not prepare you for what to expect?” he asks.
“My patron?” Blink blink go my eyelashes.
“Oh, forgive me for making assumptions, but, uh, you’re clearly not used to playing this particular game. It seemed likely you’re here on someone else’s behalf.”
“That’s not a bad assumption,” I shrug, watching the croupier sweep up my coins. “Perhaps, I’ve just never been interested in playing this game before.”
He raises an eyebrow at that. “Ah, well, my apologies for the assumption.” He gives me a slight bow, but it’s not like anyone is fooling anyone here.
“Ok,” I tilt my head to the side. “So tell me then, these things which my patron should’ve warned me about.” I pick up his glass where it sits on the edge of the table, and take a sip.
He raises and eyebrow, then chuckles. “Well, your patron should have told you that everyone here hates each other, but that doesn’t stop them from working together if the enticement is strong enough. They should have told you that the masquerades are the most authentic of these occasions. And they definitely should have warned you that attending in Houndstooth would draw significant attention.”
I run a hand from my throat, down my cleavage to my belly, “Well, you don’t wear a dress like this, unless you’re looking to attract a great deal of attention.”
He follows the course of my hand with his eyes. “Fair point.” He looks back up at me slowly, heat in his eyes. “Fair point.”
I lean in closer to him and breathe, “So, tell me, who do you hate?”
His eyes harden slightly and his voice goes flat. “Like I said, all of them.” The look is gone in a heartbeat, replaced by a polite smile. “Some of them I can work with, some, I can’t. That’s all that really matters.” He glances across the room at Pergrine who is glaring at both of us. “My little verdant counterpoint over there, though? I must admit I find him to be particularly grating.”
I cannot hide the disgust in my voice. “He is loathsome.”
He chuckles at the look on my face and leans in to whisper in my ear, “He certainly seems interested in you.” He lingers too long, clearly just as interested in annoying Peregrine as he is in seducing me.
I laugh softly at his game, stroking my hand down side of his face, before I turn back to the table.
“So, what kind of work do you do with these people you hate?” I ask breezily, placing chips down on the same number as before – it can’t lose every time, right?
He waves his hand, “Bit of this, bit of that. I have useful skills, and I’m compensated for them.”
“Useful skills?” I grin. Turning, I let my eyes flick down the length of him and back up to his face. “Good to know.”
I’m interrupted by the croupier pushing a decent-sized stack of coins toward me. Holy shit, I actually won? I give a genuine little giggle as I sweep the gold in front of me. This makes the Green Emerald (damn it, what a stupid name. I’m gonna call him Dave) laugh too, and he slides an arm around my waist. Smooth, Dave.
I can tell from the reactions of the other players, it’s a faux pas to count your winnings right there at the table, but who gives a fuck? Are any of them spitting distance from missing a meal? Yeah, didn’t think so. No, I’m counting this shit up right here, right now. “Do you know what I like about you?” I ask Dave as I quickly flick coins from one pile to another.
“I suppose it could be any number of things,” he says, amused. “But I’m certainly excited to find out.”
“It’s the way you look me in the eyes when you talk.” I point a finger at my cleavage, then whip it up to my eyes. He follows my finger, but a beat too late, and I laugh. “Well, mostly. Unlike some people who couldn’t even tell you if I was wearing a mask or not,” I add nodding my head slightly toward Peregrin.
“You have beautiful eyes, love. It’s no hardship.”
I bite back the obvious response. Honestly, I’m having a little too much fun here. I should probably try to get back on track. “You know, I wonder if you could help me with something?”
He grins amiably, but I can feel his guard go up. “And what would that be?”
“I want to make that asshole’s life just a bit more miserable, if only for tonight. If there’s something he’s after, then I want to make sure he doesn’t get it.”
“Well, there’s definitely one thing he’s after…”
I give an exaggerated shudder, which he seems to appreciate. “I think he’s likely to suffer serious disappointment, if that’s what he’s hoping for.”
“Well, it’s probably more of a small disappointment…”
I smile. God, I hope it doesn’t come to that. I might owe Sass a favor, but certainly not one of that magnitude. “No, I was thinking more of the auction, like keeping him from winning something he really wants. Any ideas what he’s here for?”
“Oh, I might have some ideas, but I admit, I’m very curious… what is it you think he’s looking for?”
I roll my eyes at him, “I think we've already established that I’m new here; I’ve just been unfortunate enough to draw his attention. How the fuck would I know what the little shit wants?”
He studies me for a moment. “Of course, of course. Well, as I understand it, he’s been entirely unsuccessful in obtaining a certain rare vintage, due in no small part to the deliberate actions of some of my associates here.”
“Ah, so I’m part of an already existing game? Perhaps, this'll be easier than I thought.”
“Well, it depends on how much they value the amusement at this point, because this game’s been going on for a while,” he says with a shrug. “The other thing I suspect he’s interested in would be the journal.
Shit. Really? “Now that is an issue,” I say with a little pout.
“Is it?” he asks with interest.
“I like books. What can I say?”
“Of course. There's nothing quite like kicking back on the deck of a beautiful ship, reading a spicy romance novel, is there?” he says, studying me with a bit more intensity than you’d think the subject deserves.
What does he mean? Is he talking about, like, a pirate ship? Is he also a fan?! Shit, there’s more to him than just a nice ass and a certain oily charm! “Oh that sounds wonderful! I’d definitely be into that!” I say with real enthusiasm.
“That explains a lot,” he says with a smirk.
It does? What does it explain? Fuck, I think I missed something here. “So, uh, I’ll definitely be working to block him on the journal…” Something occurs to me. “Wait! What are you planning to bid on? Uh, I didn’t just tip my hand to a competitor, did I?”
“Oh, you definitely tipped your hand, love. Fortunately for you, my interests are less literary, and more, shall we say, active.”
So he’s not a fan? I’m honestly a bit disappointed. “Nothing wrong with…active… interests.” I give him another good ogle. “Perhaps there’s something we could do to help each other out?”
He winks at me. “A tempting offer, to be sure. But I’m not really in the market for anything from the auction this evening. Perhaps we could…” he takes my elbow, I assume to find a broom closet or something, then pauses for a moment. “Huh. You know, actually…”
“Actually?”
“The Eagle is going to go in hard for that hammer tonight. I don’t want the fucking thing, but I wouldn’t mind making it a painfully expensive experience for him.” He considers me for a moment. “Now, I don’t wish to stick my foot in my mouth again, but, given that you’ve already asked for my help, I suspect you may not have the resources at hand to go head to head with him on that?”
“You’re not wrong,” I say wryly.
“But if you were to simply drive up the price…”
“You would help me with the wine?”
“I think that might be possible, dove.”
I don’t think this guy is the type to let himself be pinned down. Maybe I should sweeten the pot? “So, tell me,” I lean in with a smile. “Is one of those room upstairs, yours?”
He gives me a panty-dropping smile “Of course. Would you like to, perhaps, freshen up a bit?” He looks back over his shoulder toward the stairs.
“Ah,” I take the smallest of steps backward. “And miss my first masquerade?”
A flash of annoyance crosses his face. He shrugs and looks around, suddenly disinterested. I grab his hand. “Later,” I whisper. “Afterwards.”
He studies me for a moment, then raises my fingers to his lips – a gesture I’ve read about in books, but not one anyone has ever been fool enough to try on me. It’s a cheesy move, sure, but if a man who looked like this was nibbling on your fingertips? Admit it, you’d be a bit breathless, too.
“I shall look forward to it,” he says, his voice low, and it’s the first time tonight I 100% believe he’s telling the truth.
Damn, it’s a real shame I’m gonna have to stand up poor Dave like this.
I’m about to reluctantly reclaim my hand, when I see another masked servant approach him from behind.
He turns to look over his shoulder, then back at me, and smiles. “Apologies my dear, I have a former appointment. But, I look forward to continuing this conversation soon.” He leans in to whisper once more in my ear. “Hopefully, with far less clothing.”

*****

Several minutes, and a glass of ice water later, I cross paths with Baermek. He fills me in on the what he’s been doing while I’ve been hard at work interrogating suspicious persons.
First, he spent some time talking to the Eagle, who says he’s not interested in the hammer, as the price will be far too high. We’re both pretty sure that’s a bullshit though – I suspect Dave’s intelligence on the matter is pretty solid. The Eagle did express to Baermek a strong interest in finding out who's selling the hammer, though. It’s obviously been stashed away in a private collection for a very long time – everyone else had thought it lost forever – and he very much wants to know whose.
After his conversation with the Eagle, Baermek then went upstairs and spoke with the Bear for a while. The kid says these parties have been very uncomfortable lately due to the family drama, but nevertheless, he seemed very excited for the auction tonight. Apparently, there’s some other rare vintage on the block which he has a great deal of interest in. He also told Baermek that Dave is actually called “Martin” and that he’s an information broker of sorts, a direct competitor to…
God fucking damn it! That’s what he meant about reading on a boat! Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck. You’re such a goddamn smooth operator, Belov. Shit, I hope word doesn’t get back to Sass that I leaked our connection (although it serves her right for giving us this stupid fucking job in the first place).
Shit.
Ok, so Martin-not-Dave is a broker, and he’s done some work for Bethalin Harkensen. The Eagle doesn’t like him (apparently it’s mutual). Also, he probably thinks I’m an enormous dumbass.
Fuck me.
I’m still kicking myself for being a complete moron, when Grandfather wanders over. He tells me that he spoke briefly with the Cuckoo, who was trying to pump him for information about automatons. (Yeah, good luck trying to get anything out of Grandfather that he doesn’t want to share, asshole). He also gave Grandfather his card, with his address on it, when Grandfather expressed an interest in continuing their shop talk. They spent the rest of time talking about the yacht that will be auctioned. Apparently that’s his primary interest tonight.
Has it been 20 minutes? It’s definitely been 20 minutes.
I’m at the bar, when yet another mysterious lady – this one all in white – shows up really impressively late. She takes up a position in the ballroom and, just like the Pale Lady, speaks to no one. I wonder who came up with the whole bit first, and if they’re not seriously pissed off at the other one for stealing their whole schtick. This even paler lady is called the “White Maiden” and it appears that she’s also a semi-regular attendee. Grandfather tries to talk to her, but just gets the cold shoulder, which makes him grumble in an amusing way. And, hey, would you look at that?! She, too, gets an invite upstairs to that same room The Pale Lady and The Green Emerald were summoned to.
Seriously, what the fuck is that about?
Honestly, though, who cares about any of this bullshit anyway? I want to get my fortune told before the auction starts and everything goes to complete shit, but the damn cat’s been busy all goddamn evening. I thought I saw my opportunity when the last guy left, but Grandfather managed to weasel his way in there before me. Asshole. So, I’ve been stuck watching from across the room, like a creeper, as Grandfather speaks to her. He really doesn’t seem to like what she’s saying – he’s frowning even more than usual. Shit, why didn’t I stay at the Academy long enough to learn how to read lips?! Short-sighted as always, Belov.
As soon as his butt leaves the chair, I practically sprint across the room to her table, just managing to slide into the seat before some chubby little gnome in a burgundy velvet suit gets there.
“Sharp suit,” I say as he grumbles and walks away.
“Good evening, my dear. Might I interest you in little bit of entertainment?” the tabaxi asks me.
“Sure,” I say with a casual shrug, like I didn’t just bolt across the room. “I enjoy being entertained.”
“I have my cards here,” she taps the deck. “...and they would ask of you what question you desire answered.”
“Ok, I’ve been thinking about that all evening,” I say, suddenly feeling little bit hesitant. “Since I first heard you were here.”
“And what have you resolved?”
“Will I be forgiven?” I ask softly.
She studies me for a moment. “There needs to be a bit more detail for the cards to give an accurate reading. Whose forgiveness is it that you seek? If you are modest about this, perhaps you can just whisper in my ear.”
I think for a moment then lead forward.


"I see, I see." She picks up the cards and begins to shuffle them. "This would be a question for the crowns then." She lays out nine cards in front of me. "Choose one."
I hesitate for a moment then tap on card in the upper left.
She flips it over revealing a picture of a sly looking man, snatching away a bouquet of flowers. Behind him stretches a long, whipping tail. She looks up me for moment, then says, “So this card, it is The Liar. It represents love at its most treacherous. I speak not of the love that moves mountains; this is the love that rips the heart in two, and causes lovers to leap to their death. Obsession. Doomed love.” She gathers the card up with others, shuffling them back into the deck. “This card is your guide through the reading. It is the lens through which you should see that which is presented.”
No, it’s the fucking lens through which I see life.
God, I should just get up and walk away. This is nothing more than hand waving and a cold read, right? There are more important things to do. The mission, right?
But, I stay. Of course, I stay.
“Now I will lay out the tapestry,” she continues. “The tapestry is an arrangement of cards that allows us to see that which has brought you to this place, where you are now, and what may be in the future. The top row shows positive outcomes that may happen. The bottom row shows possible negative outcomes. And the middle outcomes are more… uncertain.
“As I draw the cards we will go from past to future. Some of the cards may be in positions of power – they will be the strongest indicators for your reading. Others may not be as relevant.” She pauses and says thoughtfully, “Although I did just do a reading for a gentleman where almost every card was in a position of power. Odd…”
I turn to look over my shoulder at Grandfather, who is disappearing through the doorway to the ballroom. What the fuck did she tell him?
I look back at her as she studies the first card in tableau. It shows a strange fish-headed man with backward hands. He is leaning against a statue of a woman pouring water out of a jug. At the bottom of the card it says “The Rakshasa.”
“So, this is a partial match – not as strong as a true match perhaps, but not irrelevant, either. It is also misaligned – this is generally a negative card, but it is here in a positive position.
“So, the Rakshasa. This is the card of dominance and mind control. The creature standing before a statue indicates an exterior force imposing itself upon another. This could be a literal imposition, but more often it indicates mental domination. But it is also misaligned, so this is not the literal meaning of it. The misalignment means that this this control – it can be cast off in the face of new circumstances, new information.”
Just because it could be cast off, doesn’t mean it has.
She moves on immediately to the next card in the tableau. It’s a picture of an owl holding a threaded needle, head cocked to the side as it looks at the viewer. The thread from the needle winds loosely around its body. “The Owl. It’s not in a position of power, so it's not a particularly important card in this reading, but it represents the natural order – the weak get culled, the strong survive, the herd improves, yes? It is just the natural order of things.”
The weak are culled, the strong survive. True. But, I’m not so sure this improves the herd.
“Third card,” she says, pointing at one that shows a screaming dragon holding a cracked, bloody egg. “The Tyrant. This is a true match.” She flicks her eyes up at me, catching the brief narrowing of my eyes.
“This is an unpleasant card in an unpleasant position in your past. The tyrant indicates a ruler or or person in power, who is was a blight upon those he oversees. He is someone whose control is toxic to those that they should be caring for. The Dragon might indicate a monarch, overseer, head of household, or father – but whoever this person is, they do harm to those whom they hold sway over, whether they realize it, or not.
She frowns. “The cards reflect a very dark place in your life.”
It’s not lost on me that the tyrant is a man. What isn’t clear, is which man it’s referring to – there are a number of possibilities. Father, Grandfather… others. Just a wealth of choices, really. What can I say? I’ve lived a charmed life.
I chuckle under my breath, but she ignores it, moving on immediately to the next card. I wonder if she has a quota she’s got to get through tonight. “Now we consider the present, and we have this in the positive position. It is The Sickness.” She indicates a card showing an emaciated man against a sickly green sky. In one hand he holds dice, in the other, a bunch of spring onions. He does not look happy about this situation. “It’s not a true match, but an opposite match, so it’s in the strongest position, but misaligned.
“The Sickness, it represents plague, pestilence, famine, disease – that sort of thing. But that is also perhaps interpreting it too literally. Looked at another way, it could also indicate a corruption of the soul.
“However, this is a bad card in a good position. Mm-hmm. So with the misalignment it either represents great health, or perhaps it indicates a chance to stop the the pestilence, corruption… whatever the negative thing is.”
Great health, huh? Well, it’s true, that I’m rarely sick. Dead? Yes, occasionally. But rarely sick.
She frowns as she studies the next card in the reading, the one that lies at the center of the tableau. “And then we have, here in the center, The Twins. This… I do not like this card. This is, uh… so when you do a reading, there are some cards, they are good, they are order. And there are other cards – they are negative, they are chaotic, right? But then there are cards which have neither of these attributes.
“It is impossible to have a true match with an Unaligned card. But this card? It is unaligned in all ways – both the card itself, and its position here at the center of tapestry. Now, normally, I would ignore the position, but given that it is this card…” She trails off for moment before resuming. “So, The Twins represents a duality of purpose or identity, which could simply represent physical duplication. Or it could be spiritual or mental right? It can reflect indecision, as a person or group, waivers between very different options. Or it could indicate divided loyalties. But that is not what concerns me.
“This card, in this position, has the potential to mean that the entire spread -- that the tapestry as a whole -- could have a hidden, or even reversed meaning. It brings uncertainty to the whole thing.”
I stare down at the card which shows two frogs standing facing each other against a setting (or is it rising?) sun. They wear identical high-waited short pants, white shirts, blue bow ties and glasses. The one on the right holds a blade behind its back.
Which little froggie am I supposed to be, do you think? Both, right? The answer is always both.
The next card is a familiar one. “And here you are making an appearance in your own reading,” she says bemused. “So this is again The Liar card, right? But it is auspicious, because it is your subject card. It is also a partial match, so it indicates that this negative presence, this obsession, this this uh, this love or whatever it is – is still with you.
Tell me something I don’t know, Cat lady.
She looks up at me and smiles, like maybe she hears my thoughts. I mean, it’s possible. There were people at Academy who could…
“Let us look to your future,” she interrupts that train of thought. “So we have here another opposite match. This is the Tangled Briar. It is usually not a good card, but it’s in a good position here, right?” The card she is pointing at shows a skeleton sitting inside a frame holding a scepter and gazing downward. From above and below, wicked, thorny vines reach out to wrap around the frame.
“So the Tangled Briar – this indicates an object, or maybe a person, from long ago that will somehow have great influence over your situation. The object or person in question is one that maybe you thought was lost, or killed, or otherwise gone. But it is misaligned, right? So this is not the whole story – it is a bad card, but it is in a good position. So that means that this past, this thorny past entwined around you, that you see framing your life – this past brings not just pain, but also hope for the future.”
Hope? Right.
The next card shows a man from the neck down. He wears a brown cloak with gold embroidery of a serpent on it, and in his clawed hands he holds a bottle half-filled with an unpleasant green potion.
“The Snakebite. This is a partial match. So, although this is a very bad card, it is in a position of uncertainty. Maybe it will be relevant, but maybe not.” She rocks her hand back and forth. “But the snake bite, it is poison, right? It is a vile, poisonous thing, right? It it could take many forms, maybe physical, maybe not. It can also represent the death of ideas or the death of freedom. Or, perhaps, it shows friends turning against each other – the poisoning of minds.”
I may either be bitten by a snake, or not bitten by a snake, and if I am bitten by the snake it is a bad thing. Great, very informative.
“And then finally, we have The Joke.” This card shows the figure of a green, I don’t know, ogre or something, with two heads – one laughing, the other scowling. Straddling both heads is the tiny figure of a man really rocking out on a lute. “Again, this is a partial match and misaligned. So, this represents a terror that must be overcome, but not through physical means. Rather, it can be defeated through trickery or artifice. It can indicate the value of humor in finding your way past difficult tasks or or people. But, of course, it's misaligned…”
She trails off again, frowning. “I have strong misgivings about this reading. This card and The Twin… the whole thing feels… hostile.”
Great! Even a deck of cards hates me!
“What does the last card mean then?” I ask, just ready to be done.
“It means that, whatever the joke is, it’s on you.”
I burst out laughing. Of course it does. Of course it does! My god. “This,” I say, waving my hand over the entire tapestry, “this tells me nothing.”
“I am sorry,” she says, looking at me with something I sure as hell hope isn’t pity.
I take one last look at cards on table, with all their nonsense, before getting up and heading back into the bullshit, still laughing.

*****

Honestly, I feel like I’ve been pretty much useless tonight – Ingoria delivered the letter to the Pale Lady, Baermek will be dealing with the perfume, and the others have got the auction under control. My only real contribution is to meet Baermek upstairs, and give him a little spell to make it easier for him to break into the room.
We find a corner of the patio where no one can see me cast. A quick wave of the hand, a couple of words muttered under my breath, and the task is done.
I am an important and indispensable member of this team.
But that leaves me with nothing to do but watch a bunch of assholes try to out asshole each other, and wait for the auction to start. I head back downstairs, taking a seat at an empty table, and signal for another drink.
Unfortunately, this downtime gives me time to think, and – I know it’s stupid – but I can’t stop thinking about that ridiculous fucking “fortune.”
I’ve always assumed fortune telling was a con. It’s an easy thing to watch a person’s reactions, to ask them leading questions, to understand what drove them to seek you out – and then just tell them what they want to hear. Add in some cards with weird, ambiguous artwork that can easily be interpreted however you want and, well, that makes the job even easier.
But the things I believe? There’s been a bit of a… a shift… these last few months. I mean, I never saw much reason to believe in any gods before, and here I am, a fucking priest to a god who's so far up my ass, he’s criticizing the lack of fiber in my diet.
Point being, I really don’t feel like I can rule anything out anymore. This fortune – it was vague and hand-wavey, sure, but, I'll be honest -- I don’t think it was complete bullshit. I think it’s possible that that mysterious fucking tabaxi woman has a power I don’t understand. She saw… things. She understood. She understood… me. I can’t help picturing the cards in my head – tyrant, liar, the tangled briar, a little froggie holding a knife…
"Crocodile tears, Alyona? Do we have regrets over letting our curiosity get the better of us?" I am holding my breath. Please, please, please don't..."
He draws the knife down the side of my face, following the course of the tears. It's nothing compared to the pain in my back, but it's my motherfucking face. I scream.
"Get the fuck off me you pyscho!" I start bucking under him, oblivious to the pain at this point. He rides it out, laughing delightedly.
I signal for another drink.
The past, the present, the future – one tapestry, inescapable – lies and reversals and changing alignments. I am wound up in the thorny briars, I hold the bottle of poison to my lips. I am lied to. I am the liar. I clutch on to hopeful interpretations – things could change, I could escape… but the joke’s on me, right?
Everyone laugh.
I look across the room and see the little fucker in green, strutting around, his braying laughter rising above all other voices. Our job is to keep him from getting the wine. Ok, yeah, maybe we win the auction. Maybe the hot guy in green helps me out. Or maybe we fuck this up, and our debt to Sass remains on the books, interest compounded by failure.
No. No more fucking debts.
I get up and smooth my dress. Grabbing the whiskey off the server’s tray as they approach the table, I down it, not even feeling the burn anymore.
He looks up at me as I approach, and a self-satisfied smirk spreads across his face.
“I knew you’d come back,” he says, smoothing his hair, and looking around to make sure everyone sees me leaving with him.
“How clever you are” I say, giving him my hand, and the Liar’s smile.

*****

“Oh…yeah…” he pants. His breath smells like shrimp. “Bet… you’re glad… you made… the right choice… now… aren’t you…bitch?”
It’s everything I can do not to yawn. I’ll give him credit, he has more staying power than I expected, but I’ve pretty much done everything I can to drag things out, and it’s not going to last much longer. Fuck. I need to keep him in this room for at least another half hour to make sure he misses the auction. Somehow I doubt he’s a big fan of pillow talk.
I roll over so I’m on top, and he reaches up and wrings my tits like he’s trying to open a stubborn jar. I’m trying to slow shit down, but the asshole just keeps bucking against me.
“You like that, don’t you?” he squeaks, movements getting frantic. With each thrust I find myself chanting in my head Fuck you, Sass! Fuck you, Sass! Fuck you, Sass!
“Oh… yeah… Peregrine… Tumbledown… owns… this…” and then he lets out this kinda high-pitched gurgly moan thing and collapses, the cocktail weenie he’s been inflicting on me barely noticeable in its departure.
I look down at him, and he’s just lying there, head fallen to the side, eyes closed, breathing hard – I’m not sure he even remembers there’s anyone else in room, which, honestly, is fine. I don’t think I could handle whatever his idea of sweet nothings are, and the thought of him trying to get me off…
No.
Hesitantly I climb off him, hoping I’ll be lucky enough that he’ll just fall asleep, and I can wait out the auction without having to interact with him any further.
Ok, ok, I know you’ve got questions. Like why didn’t you just kill him when you got up to the room? Yeah, you’re right. That seems like the reasonable thing to do, doesn’t it? But you know something – it turns out I’m not actually a total fucking idiot. Ok, ok, not all the time, asshole. The only fucking thing I want right now is to kill Kisha – and knocking off some asshole who has enough pull to get invited to stupid parties like this – that will cause complications. For fuck’s sake, we just dealt with one fucking murder investigation – I don’t want this guy’s heirs trying to hunt me down (even if it’s only to thank me) while we plan our assault on Kisha’s base.
Yes, I will bear emotional scars from that… whatever it was… probably for the rest of my life, but once we’re free and clear with Sass, I don’t want anything else to come between me and seeing Kisha’s intestines again.
I’ll kill him next time we’re in town, ok?
The room has an attached bath (of course) but unfortunately the washbasin is behind the door, and I don’t want to take my eyes off the little shit. Fine. I use his shirt to clean up and pull my dress back on with a grimace, promising myself I will use all the hot water the Lightkeepers can magic up when we get back there. Two hours in the tub, bare minimum.
I hear him start to shift around on the bed. Shit. I guess he’s recovered from his masterful claiming of me. He sits up and looks around the room, his eyes passing right over me as if I’m not there. Oh, he’s one of those. Well, as long as he doesn’t try to leave the room…
He starts getting dressed, pausing as he puts on his now damp shirt, to look at me with disgust. Ha! Made you acknowledge me, didn’t I, asshole? I smile and sit down in the uncomfortable desk chair.
“Where ya going hot stuff?” I ask him with a wry smile. “We’re nowhere near done.”
He tuns back to me with a sneer. “Couldn’t get enough, huh? Or are you expecting payment? Sorry bitch, but I got news for you. Peregrin Tumbledown never…”
I hit him with Fast Friends.
“...never would leave a woman wanting!” he says warmly, his sneer turning into a sunny smile.
He starts stripping again as he walks toward me, which is not exactly the effect I was hoping for. Shit, even the weenie seems to be affected by the spell – because I refuse to believe anything but magic would be getting him up again this soon.
(I hope to fucking god I’m not giving dudes boners every time I use the damn spell!)
The weenie stalks toward me. This is bad. Bad, bad, bad!
I look around frantically. I cannot… cannot!... do this shit again. If only I had my gear… My eyes catch on the robes which are hanging on the back of door… ah, perfect.
“I’ve got an idea, cutie,” I say, desperation in my voice. “Why don’t you go lie on the bed?”
“Oh you have the best ideas, my blue-skinned goddess!” he says enthusiastically and climbs up, posing in what I can only assume he thinks is an enticing manner.
I’m not gonna lie – it’s with great effort that I’m keeping both those hors d'oeuvres, and roughly a gallon of whiskey, from coming back up.
I cross over to the robes and pull the belts from each one, then turn back to him with a smile. His eyes light up. “I’m usually the one who does the tying up, heh heh, but nothing wrong with turning the tables occasionally, I say! It’ll be a little adventure for both of us, won’t it?”
“Yes,” my smile widens to a grin. “I’ve wanted to do this, since the moment I first saw you.”
He flings his arms out toward the posts on the headboard, and I waste no time in securing him as tightly as the belts will allow. He gives a tug at each one. “You know your way around a knot, don't you, Sweetcheeks. Now why don’t you take that silly dress back off?”
“Not yet,” I say. “Let’s make this last.”

*****

Sorry, but I'm going to have to take a raincheck. Believe me, I wish tonight had gone differently. See you around, Dave.

Report Date

16 Apr 2024