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.”