a lack of foresight

Fortune-telling was not a lucrative business. Even on an island full of its own mysteries and wonders, the prospect of knowing the future, the fate of a person, was largely frowned upon. Not everyone believed in destiny or in luck, and those few that did were not often interested in hearing about someone's take on their future.

Still, Amélie found other benefits to her magic. Through divination, she learned something even better than seeing the future. She learned how to make futures, and what little word of mouth travelled from her jobs extolled her as a frighteningly accurate seer.

When it came to Lochlann, she had both a keen interest to flex her magic as well as milk him for every penny of entertainment he was worth. After their phone call and appointment scheduled, Amélie sought out whatever she safely could about Lochlann. He had quite a reputation to him, though it also meant she could not trust every word of it.

To get the best impression she could, the fortune-teller arrived at his bar an hour earlier than expected. She sat without disguise, without any concealment or subtlety, on a stool right in front of his bar. Amélie had given a rough description of herself to Lochlann beforehand, namely that she had horns, a tail, and tattoos. In retrospect, there were probably more than a couple people on the island fitting that description who'd visit seedy bars late at night.

Oh well.

For the time she was in the Rusted Anchor, as soon as she found the young bartender, she did not remove her eyes from him. Amélie already had one drink emptied out, and tried to grab his attention again.

With the night dying down, she needn't do more than call out, "Another sangria, bartender. I sense good fortune, tonight." She grinned at Lochlann.

@ReD

The woman smiled as Lochlann winked. Amélie could already take a liking to his appearance and confidence, at the very least. Still, she wanted to pry a little more out of who he was. His little foibles, his scrupules, his weaknesses. The more she dug up, the smoother tonight would go.

“I do not believe in luck, mon cher. Nor will you need such,” she grinned and raised the glass of sangria to the bartender. After a brief cheer, she took a long and delicate sip of her new drink. The only moments of uncertainty, as far as Amélie was concerned, were those of the present. Those borne by the questions and tiny interactions she would measure against Lochlann.

“You are a fine young man. So fine to be so young and run an establishment. Is this a family operation?” she opened with her first question. Amélie was not much older than Lochlann, that was true, but considering she struggled to even find so much as a single room to work her magic, a whole bar was something else.

((OOC: Apologies for lateness))

Amélie looked to Lochlann in feigned surprise. She flattered him, “You seem very much in charge, all the same.” In between the rolls of her tongue, in the pause of communication, she continued to observe the young man. As his wrist twisted to his eyes, she followed them. She followed them sighting the clock in the bar. Was he impatient, she wondered.

Her sangria was nearly finished. Amélie was not a slow drinker, nor was she moderate in her consumption. Her cheeks glowed a faint red. Her eyes, however, remained quite lucid. She stared at Lochlann purposefully and fiercely.

“Drinking wine, I’m certain,” she grinned alongside her response. After measuring what she’d tell the man, she gave way just a little more, “I should be studying right now. I’m to graduate after this year, after all.”

“I have nowhere in mind to go, unlike you. Unlike my clients, I cannot foresee my own destiny.”

She accepted his congratulations with a muted smile and a “Thank you.” It was not something Amélie valued as she should, considering her heart oft wandered in the realm of mysticism and, daresay, astrology. To study the cosmos as a natural science seemed entirely contradictory for her, and it was difficult to parse its worth to her.

But it did teach her a studious, clever mind. Amélie continued to pick out what small information she could from Lochlan. Though it did not take a genius to spot a shadow in the young man’s thoughts. Was he being pursued? Or perhaps his future laid out a trap for him?

“Amélie,” she returned her name, “though you might know me as Amethyst from my fliers.” She extended a hand, not to greet, but to inform Lochlann her glass was empty of sangria.

“I’m curious,” she returned the immediate memory of Lochlann’s words. The hint of envy as he cherished freedom, “Tell me what you see in your future. You seem worried your own possibilities are limited.”

Amélie did not expect he’d divulge everything, if even much at all, but any kind of response was valuable.

Amélie allowed her fingers to linger a moment as she took back the glass. After such a familiarity with the cold glass, the small warmth of Lochlann’s was all too welcoming. The cold of her own hand quickly swallowed its heat.

“Amethyst is my business name. So for you, Amélie will do,” she grinned. She then waited to hear his opinion on his own fate, noticing the darkening mood.

The woman calculated that his silence was more obstinate than it was truthful. Something worried him, Amélie was certain. Mirroring that momentary darkness, Amélie’s own grin faded just as Lochlann’s returned. She did not seem pleased, or perhaps Amélie found his answer sobering.

“Of course. Though I wonder how you might take surprises. Many come to me with specific questions in mind, and need only measure the consequences of a ‘yes’ or ‘no’.” Amélie paused to indulge in her sangria once more. Despite her second glass of wine, the fortitude of her demon blood kept her head above water. Yet blood coloured even her olive skin.

“Then again, I do tire of ‘will I get rich?’ or ‘will I marry a beautiful spouse?’. I would be pleased to see you keep me on my toes,” Amélie smiled and leaned over the table invitingly.