Carnaval des Etoiles (Atroxa & Vinaein)

[Atroxa]

Paris was a beautiful city to some, to most perhaps, but not to Vivienne. Once, it had been beautiful to her and full of promise, twice in fact she had seen it as such a place. Not tonight though, and she didn’t think she would ever see it that way again, well if she was successful she really would never see it that way again. Because she would never see it again at all. How she’d ended up on the rooftop of a Parisian whore house nearly finished with an entire bottle of wine (albeit cheap wine) was a long story. She couldn’t stop thinking about it, replaying her life over and over as if searching for something she could fix that would make things better. Vivienne knew that wasn’t going to happen though, every decision she made led her from bad to worse, usually when she didn’t think things could get worse.

Vivienne was beautiful, but half starved like most of her peers, if she were a healthy weight her clothes would be bursting at the seams, really too small for her, but as it was she could remember the last time she had had a full meal… years? She could remember being a child on her uncle’s farm, gathering eggs in her apron, but not the last meal she had had. That life out in the country felt like someone else’s life, not her own. It didn’t matter anymore though. Vivienne managed to get herself to her feet, having managed to get ahold of two bottles of wine and drank them on her own, on an empty stomach. So she was feeling more than a little uneven, but she wanted to be numb. Her long wavy red blonde hair fell in her face and she pushed out of the way as she straightened, pale blue eyes bloodshot, and shuffled carefully to the edge of the roof, leaning on the low stone wall that served as a railing.

Looking down, she saw a dirty, dingy street, scantily clad and half starving women standing here and there in twos or threes. They talked to one another or tried to flag down men who walked by, some stopped and some didn’t. Other men came and went out of the various buildings, including the one she was on top of.

Vivienne sighed harshly and closed her eyes for a moment, her head spinning and her stomach churning, she almost threw up but managed not to. Instead she forced it down and put her hands on the top of the railing and pulled herself up onto it, sitting at first, then carefully standing. Vivienne wobbled for a moment, but regained her balance and looked down again, feeling her heart starting to pound in her chest. Not frantically though, the beats were hard and steady, she was terrified but resolute. The rush of adrenaline was making her shake a little but it made her want to act, her instincts warring with her will as to what that act should be.

She took in a shaky breath, her near threadbare dress whipping around her legs a little in a breeze, looking down. No one noticed her up here, why would they? She was high up enough that she was out of their line of sight, and they all had more important things to notice immediately around them. Vivienne had no distractions, it was just her and her decision and the ground waiting for her. The young woman, as she was still quite young, let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and took another. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so aware of her own lungs, these last few breaths felt suddenly precious to her and she took them slowly, savoring them. This was it, it was going to be over, and she was glad of it. What little family she had never wanted to see her again, she was already dead to them, she had few friends especially as so many of the poorest were dying. A lonely failure, Vivienne didn’t see why anyone would be sad to see her go, and she felt no motivation to stay alive and only continue to suffer.

She took one large breath and held it, looking straight down and willing herself to just take one big step and it would all be over. Just as she’d been looking into the past for the last few hours, she now looked into the future, and saw nothing that made her want to stop. Later, she wouldn’t remember if she regretted finally taking that step on the way down or not. Vivienne lay unconscious and broken in the street, long red hair splayed out around her and her limbs at odd angles, a few drops of blood beginning to trickle from her mouth as she struggled to breathe. She wasn’t dead immediately, but she would die without care that she surely wouldn’t receive, despite the screams that were suddenly filling the poorly lit street as people came to see what had happened.

 

[Vinaein]

Gabriel DuMorne never missed an opportunity to remind himself how much Paris had change.d The City of Love and Beauty, jewel of the evening, center of culture. One could step into Versailles and be transported to a world of splendor and majesty, with lavish balls, opulent feasts, of perfumed nobles and the most beautiful women in all of Europe, or so it was said. Ageless works of art festooned noble walls, with tapestries depicting scenes of history and events of myth and lore. Yes, Gabriel thought, Paris had its reputation. But underneath the allure of the nobility, of the gilded surface, one barely needed to scratch to find something rotted and moldering beneath it.

In the slums of St. Michel, in the streets and the gutters, Paris was starving. Paris's people were crushed under the boots of those above them. While they danced and feasted, Paris starved. Its lifeblood drained from it by the misery of its inhabits. They hungered for freedom, for justice, for peace, but they mostly hungered for brea. Gabriel glided from Paris's darkened surfaces, seeing beggar and noble scion alike. He took a meal in one household, unknown to most, drinking deep of far more literal lifeblood. Perhaps it was futile, after so long, to hold on to any vestiges of morality in his silent, blackened and unbeating heart, but he had made the attempt to ensure they had at least been one he need not feel guilt over.

If any could have the presence of mind to recall him, he might have looked a side. He was clothed in black and blue, his cloak fastened about his shoulders, a cane in one hand with his hair free, short and black above the smooth, pale features. If one looked closer at his blue eyes, they may even have noticed he never blinked, that his skin might have seemed too moon-pale, his nails perhaps a bit too long, his teeth a touch too sharp. He imagined he was somewhat less pale now after the imbibing of blood, the night air frigid upon his skin, even as he tried to focus on the warmth inside.

He almost forgot Augustus and the Carnival, with the desk and the stacks of paper, each marking the name of a lost soul consigned to the nonexistent mercies of Augustus LaCroix in the the Carnaval de Etoiles. He could almost hear Lavinia cautioning him, Leonidas gently encouraging him, could almost hear the gasps of the crowds and the shouts of the people as they witnessed the wonders of the moonlight circus. There was no reasonable expectation things would be different, but as much as the wold had changed in over five centuries, Augustus still let him experience it for himself. He thought his so-called master made the hopelessness all the sweeter.

He was about to turn and leave the hateful city when he heard the cries. Something, he realized as he looked up, was falling, a plummeting star with hair streaming behind it. He stiffened, hearing the shrieks, the crash of flesh striking unforgiving earth. He looked closer, gliding through the meager crowd to gaze upon the poor wretch. Well, he decided. Their problems were-

He stopped short. He gazed down at the red hair, the carmine trickle from their lips. His mouth opened slightly as he beheld her face, staring at him as it had centuries ago. Engraved in his mind all these many years. No, he thought. It was a trick of LaCroix, it was-

He made to pull away, rush from this spot. He made as if to do something, anything. He thought of...

His hand trembled and he made his choice. "I'm a doctor," he said. It was a simple lie, but he leaned down and took the woman in his arms. He focused on the power within himself. "And none of you shall remember this," he added, a mist crowding the minds of anyone who saw. He apologized internally to the one in his arms, preparing himself.

And in a swish of a cloak, they were gone.

 

[Atroxa]

No protests were given as the strange man scooped up the injured woman and disappeared into the night. Why would anyone speak for her? They could barely speak for themselves, and to do so would be to claim responsibility for her, and no one there would do that. Except for him, apparently. Vivienne only groaned weakly when he initially picked her up, before going limp and not stirring again.

On the outskirts of the city, a complex of tents and wagons had been set up to accommodate the live in staff and the acts and shows of the Carnaval des Etoile. The largest tent was at the center, reaching high above the heads of the crowds that came to see the strange carnival. At the moment though, it was silent. The carnival did run at night, unlike most, but it was so late that there wouldn’t be enough people to bother staying open. And the performers had to rest at some point and there were all sorts of maintenance to do that the audience was never supposed to see or know about.

But for the moment it was time for most of them to rest, not all, there was always work to be done, menial or not, for most though it was. The fortune teller, Lavinia, was one of them, her just-big-enough-for-one wagon dark, still, and silent. It was brightly painted, unlike most of the other wagons, mostly a garish vermillion, but lush greens and warm yellows and bright blues were also woven into patterns that would look like nothing more than decoration to the untrained eye. Anyone who knew better, through knowledge or innate ability, would be able to tell that the designs were actually very functional, and the old witch’s wagon was perhaps the safest place in the entire carnival.

Even as she slept, Lavinia was guarded from all manner of threats, both physical and spiritual, no thief or devil would be able to cross her threshold without serious consequence, or without her knowing. And they’d have to deal with her large, grumpy cat as well. The thing was curled up sleeping around Lavinia’s feet, but one large green eye opened and it’s head turned towards the door, long tufted ears perked. The scruffy looking black cat let out a low growl that made Lavinia sit upright as if it had roared and also look towards the door. Someone was coming.

The old woman let out a rough sigh and got out of the bed built into the back of the wagon, grumbling as she pulled on a shawl against the chill and her shoes, before shuffling towards the door. Why someone had to come in the middle of the night she didn’t know, so it’d better be good.

 

[Vinaein]

Gabriel DuMorne glided through the night with a dying woman in his arms, his thoughts wrestling with that of the past. He tried not to stare down into that bloody face, tried to avoid the sight of her even as he could not resist. He could only guess at the manner of this woman's life that had led her to choose this manner of death-and who would care? In Paris, people starved and died in the streets, they perished of consumption and despair all the time. Bodies were collected and discarded, it meant nothing. Perhaps by this act she had attempted to wrest just the slightest touch of agency from callous fate. If her life could not be her own, perhaps her death might be.

But that was mere assumption. Gabriel was cognizant he should have known better than to romanticize death and suicide by now. There was no poetry in it, regardless of what Augustus might say. There was little romanticism in the cessation of heartbeat, and Gabriel wondered briefly at the morality of his actions. He wondered if he was stealing her choice from her, robbing her of her manner of death. A brief guilt filled him, gone like a whispering shadow. He could not allow her death, it was suddenly vital to him that she live.

He reached the carnival in short order, seeing the tents and wagons, the plume of smoke around the bonfire that performers danced about, the ring of music reaching his ears from fiddles and harps. The tents, striped with whites and a variety of colors, greeted him as he passed into the maze of performers, seeing those he knew about. Leonidas, the strongman, was lifting a bar fit with metal balls at either end that appeared more as boulders. His exertions were barely that, his arms working as he gave a brief nod to Gabriel, not even caring to question the woman in his arms.

Gabriel glided to the wagon, recognizing Lavinia's sanctum. Small, unassuming, but he could feel the power within as he arrived. He glanced sidelong at the great tent not far off, perceiving the vast tent. He could almost see the amusement on Augustus's face, his wry words at the woman within his arms. He banished the rignmaster as he arrived at the fortuneteller's door. He knew better than to barge in, or to kick at the door. He knew Lavinia would know he was there.

He prepared for the door to open, the words on his tongue ready to be unleashed: I need your help.

 

[Atroxa]

Lavinia reached the door after a shuffle from her bed, needing a minute to loosen back up after laying still for so long. She wasn’t young as she used to be, after all, in fact she didn’t even know how old she was anymore, but didn’t figure it really mattered. People just saw a harmless, if gruff, old woman and underestimated her, which tended to suit her just fine. Everyone in the carnival knew otherwise, and showed her respect or gave her a wide berth, even Augustus. That also suited the old Romani woman just fine.

The door could be opened in halves, the top half and lower half were actually two separate pieces, but they were latched together so they opened as a single door this time. Lavinia glanced over her visitors, taking in the state of the girl quickly and letting out a grunt, “Get her in then,” she said, not even having to be told her help was needed. She was more curious about what had happened, and why Gabriel suddenly felt so different. The man had a very distinct aura, and it was different now, she could only guess because of the girl, but why? Why would he be so affected by a stranger’s misery? How much of that had he seen, and caused, in his long life?

“Lay her down,” Lavinia instructed him, moving out of the way to let him further into the wagon so he could get to the back. “Move, Kralis!” she barked at the black cat, who had tried to go back to sleep, but got up with an arched stretch and jumped off the bed onto a nearby cabinet. Lavinia waved a hand and two oil lamps came to life, filling the wagon with a warm but soft light, which allowed her to see well enough to start gathering a few things. “What happened?” she asked Gabriel, if he was asking her for help then he owed her an explanation.

 

[Vinaein]

Gabriel knew he wouldn't need to wait long and he was not disappointed. The fortune teller had never let him down before and she had ways about her that few others understood. Not even Gabriel, old as he was, understood her. Whenever he believed himself to be older than her and more learned, Lavinia could keenly surprise him that there was much he didn't know. The old woman was intimidating, even worrisome. Augustus himself seemed to tolerate her at times, while not lifting a hand against her. That, one could surmise, spoke well of the strange power she wielded.

He didn't hesitate when Lavinia gave the order, bringing in this woman he had found as memories rushed through him. He remembered riding alongside armies once upon a time, armor upon his back, the snort of the destrier beneath him, with the ring of steel in his ears. He remembered laughter and heat of the sun above, of blood and sweat filling his nose. He remembered savoring life, with drink and meat and love, before the Carnival and Augustus LaCroix who seemed to delight in profaning the very symbol he took his name from.

He remembered his deal, the banishment of his very soul from any hints of daylight as he stepped into the wagon. Lavinia's cat watched him as if amused at the events, prompting Gabriel to throw a glare at his erstwhile feline rival, the cat simply staring as Lavinia asked her next question. "I don't know," Gabriel admitted. "I was in Paris," he continued "I saw...well. I heard it more like. I went to investigate. I think the woman jumped. Few paid attention as I took her, Lavinia, just..." he struggled with the words. "Save her," he said in a voice that sounded like a strangled plea. He had killed without care, had served the Carnaval de Etoille for centuries now.

"Save her. Please."

 

[Atroxa]

Lavinia listened as Gabriel answered her, pausing to glance at the unconscious girl now laying on her bed, before going back to what she was doing. She’d grabbed a few different tins and jars and bottles, as well as a bundle of dried herbs hanging with several others from her roof. Kralis jumped back onto the bed, his one green eye giving Gabriel a reproachful look, before curling up against the woman’s legs. It was hard to say if he was trying to be affectionate, or just trying to go back to sleep.

Gabriel’s plea made the old witch pause again, looking at him, her brows arched curiously at him. Her dark brown eyes glanced to the woman he was begging for and back, as if trying to figure something out, but she’d have to do that later. “Well what do you think I’m trying to do here?” she asked him back, perhaps not the most compassionate response to his desperate plea, but she followed it up with, “I’ll do my best, Gabriel, that’s all I can promise you.” Her tone was a little more empathetic, but still no nonsense.

Lavinia was indeed powerful and knowledgeable, she was perhaps one of the most magically powerful humans in the world, but she was still human. And she had absolutely no control over Death, when he came for someone, there was next to nothing she could do about it. So holding him off was the key. The old Romani woman could feel the younger, injured one’s energy fading away. “She’s clearly hit her head, which is bad enough if she jumped from any height, but she might also have internal injuries, things we can’t see,” Lavinia said as she began pouring the bottles of liquid into an iron bellied pot she had on a wood burning stove, it’s pipe letting out the roof, “Get this fire going for me.”

She moved carefully out of his way, since the wagon was meant for one person so it was a pretty tight space, and towards her patient. While Gabriel did worked on the fire, (the wood, kindling, and flint all nearby) she went over to the unconscious girl and began looking her over gently, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. “Poor thing’s near starved,” she said with a rough sigh before she began undoing the laces of her tattered dress, “Don’t be fussy Gabriel, I’ll need you to help me get this off of her, it’s filthy and it’ll just get in my way.”

 

[Vinaein]

Gabriel knew Lavinia had her own way of doing things that sometimes lacked for a tactful tongue. The old follower of the carnival bit his own, accepting the old woman's snappish tone, even appearing chastened. Lavinia's wagon was her own sanctum, her own domain and her own kingdom. Even Augustus gave her a wide berth there, without pressing her overmuch. He had come to depend on the fortuneteller perhaps more than even he realized. She was also one of Gabriel's few friends within the carnival, someone he relied on more than he could say. The gentleness of her next words set him to ease, the vampire only managing a nod and "Thank you," his voice raw now as she worked.

The next words, however, came as no surprise. "She threw herself off a building. It would be shocking if she was uninjured," he said. Well, the woman was nothing if not thorough. People rarely jumped from such great heights for their health, Gabriel thought. Sometimes he forgot how fragile humans could be. The acrobats sometimes fell from far greater heights....the oldest and strongest of them should shatter upon the hard ground, but be none the worse for the wear within a few short hours or minutes, depending on their own level of power. Such was the way of the Carnaval de Etoiles.

The vampire crouched by the fire, working the kindling as he set the wood there, taking the flint with perhaps a touch of instinctive wincing. Fire was a purifying force, something powerful and cleansing. Creatures like him were known to fear it, Gabriel thought. He orked the flint, letting the kindling spark, the dry wood catching flame to become a blaze. The golden glow illuminated the wagon, a soft crackling noise emanating from it before he turned to the women. "Most in Paris are starved," he said, too late to act uncaring or callous now. He shifted closer, undoing the lace of the dirty dress, noting it seemed designed to show off as much of the wearer's body as possible. "There," he said quietly. "Can you treat her now, Lavinia?"

 

[Atroxa]

“If you don’t stop rushing me, Gabriel,” the old witch growled at him threateningly, “she’ll not die in the next five minutes, get the dress off her while I work. I can’t just snap my fingers you know.” Lavinia got up and left him to undress her patient while she worked on what she’d started, muttering under her breath the whole time. “Wake me up in the middle of the night and act so pushy…” Kralis got up and followed her, jumping up along a few odds and ends to end up perched near the small stove, either for warmth or perhaps to lend aid to his mistress as she worked. He was her familiar after all, not just a cat, though he was certainly still one.

Unlike the others at the circus who had magical abilities through their contracts with Augustus, Lavinia couldn’t make things instantly happen. Magic was, in essence, about energy, and while those bound to the demon had access to his infernal power more or less on demand to aid in healing, strength, ability, etc, Lavinia had to do everything herself. But those in the circus couldn’t do anything for anyone else, that was the nature of that power, it was a selfish power. Lavinia could do things they couldn’t even dream of, but it would cost her, so she only did big things when she had to.

She worked quickly over the pot, adding herbs and odd bits like a feather, and a copper coin, her mutterings changed from obviously disgruntled ones about Gabriel to something else. Her eyes, now a little cloudy with age most days, were sharp and focused on her work and her mutterings seemed more purposeful, and no longer in French. Kralis’s one green eye was also fixed on Lavinia’s long wooden spoon she was using to methodically and constantly stir the contents. As she stirred and muttered, the air seemed to become charged and thick, like static on a cold, dry winter day, Kralis’s fur even began to stand on end a bit, though he didn’t move or even blink.

Then she pulled the spoon out abruptly and grabbed a ladle instead, scooping some of the potion up and pouring it into a wooden cup instead and grabbing a smaller spoon, returning to Gabriel. “Prop her up so I can get this in her, and no, this isn’t going to heal her, it’s part of the process, don’t rush me and just do what I tell you,” Lavinia told him preemptively, glaring at him a little. The unconscious woman looked even more malnourished with her clothes off, but Lavinia could tell she was still a beauty, possibly a great one once she was clean and healthy. Something about her kept nagging at the back of Lavinia’s mind, or more accurately, something about her and Gabriel, when she looked at them individually the sensation wasn’t as prominent, but when she looked at the two of them together, there was an invisible but tangible aura around them.

 

[Vinaein]

Even Augustus could be wary against Lavinia. Gabriel, for all his worry, fell noticeably silent at the fortuneteller's clear exasperation with him. Upon her order, he began to remove the dirty dress, sliding it carefully from the woman's body without her spine and brain getting a workout. It necessitated almost surgically removing the dress and discarding the rags after, leaving the woman lying there in repose as Gabriel studied her face. He did not look at her malnourished figure any more than he had to, Lavinia busying herself near to them.

He could remember, centuries aside, staring at a similar face beside him in the dim torchlight. He could remember the eyes upon his, the gentle smile, the cupping of fingertipts to his cheek, a musical voice murmuring his name in loving tenderness just as he'd whispered it back. The memories threatened to overpower him, bear him to the floor while he tried to also ignore Kralis. The cat had never been overly fond of him, he reflected. But he didn't care to intrude upon Lavinia's own sanctum or personal affects.

He kept his eyes on the woman, imploring silently for answers. Who was she? How had she come to live in such conditions? What had driven her to take her own life in such a manner? Would she despise him for stealing the manner of her death from her? The thought made his lips twist upward, the assistant manager of the Circus pondering the irony of it. "Who are you...?" He whispered it now, demanding the answer even as he knew it was futile. "Just who-..." he stopped himself, trying to will the calm that would not come before Lavinia returned.

"I'm not rushing you..." he rasped it as he propped the woman up, helping her to take the contents of the spoon, so that she did not choke. "...You understand I might be a touch on the cautious side at the moment, Lavinia," he added as he held the woman up. He softened. "Just...tell me what I must do to help," he said quietly. "I'll do whatever is needed, I promise it..." Now this was a change to the usually cool and aloof Gabriel, one Lavinia would surely notice....

 

[Atroxa]

Lavinia didn’t seem to notice that Gabriel was in an odd emotional state, or if she did, she gave no indication. In truth, she did, she was far too observant not to have noticed. Gabriel had been here longer than almost anyone, and she’d counted him as a friend and ally since she and her granddaughter, Leora, had arrived. Lavinia was gruff and sometimes irritable but she was never cruel or malicious, not everyone in the carnival liked her but nearly everyone had come to her for help at some point or another, for problems big and small. She didn’t always help for free, mind you, because everything cost something, but if she could help, she did.

Sometimes though, fate brought something to her, and she was compelled to do all she could. Keeping this young woman alive was important, though she didn’t know why. Finding out who she was, however, was secondary, since if she didn’t survive it wouldn’t really matter either way. So she spooned the contents of the cup into her mouth while Gabriel kept her propped up, glancing at him when he said he’d do anything to help. “Will you now?” she asked him rhetorically, an arch to her silver brows.

“Lay her back down and stay close then, thankfully for her, you are immortal and I can use you to keep her alive,” Lavinia told him, one gnarled hand splaying over the young woman’s thin belly. “Oh yes, she did a lot of damage,” the old woman said, closing her eyes then opening them, looking at Gabriel. “Put one of your hands on her forehead there,” she told him, directing him if need be, “and give me your other arm. Keep your hand there and do not pull away from my hand.” Her right hand gripped his forearm, her fingers surprisingly strong. “This will probably not feel very good, but you’ll survive. It won’t feel good for her either, but what I just gave her will help keep her under,” Lavinia told him, sounding mostly matter of fact.

Lavinia’s eyes closed and went silent, Kralis jumped down from his perch and back onto the bed, curling up against the unconscious woman’s hip, essentially laying in the middle of the three of them. He looked like he was falling asleep, but his head stayed upright, his one eye closed. The first thing Gabriel would notice that seemed a little strange was an unpleasant prickling feeling under Lavinia’s palm against his skin, slowly spreading out and increasing. It spread out beyond her hand, tingling uncomfortable in a way similar to when a limb falls asleep. The sensation would grow until it encompassed his entire arm, like he’d plunged it into a vat of ice.

The young woman on the bed shifted, her brow furrowing and trying to turn her head away from Gabriel’s hand. “Don’t let her move away,” Lavinia told him, even though her eyes were closed, her hand pressed down a little as well, keeping her down. Gabriel’s other arm, starting with his hand where it touched her forehead and spreading up, would also begin to tingle and almost-burn with that strange unpleasant numbing sensation. The girl shifted again, fidgeting and twitching, but not fighting overly hard.

 

[Vinaein]

Staring at this woman, Gabriel was transported back centuries. He could recall the pound of hooves as men in armor clamored around him. He could recall the blistering heat of a sun baking him in armor, like he was a well-dressed roast of pork. Sensations he had not felt in so long, he reflected with a twinge of bitter reflection. But there had been sweetness as well; the kiss of wine upon his tongue. Sweet, yet not as sweet as the lips of one who so resembled the woman before him. He could still recall the gleaming eyes and laughing face, the caress of soft fingers to skin that had been so warm then before her lips had covered his. It had been so long, so long indeed...

"I said I would, old one!" He snapped it at Lavinia, in tire with her testing, with any speak that could approach 'riddles.' His lips pulled away from his teeth, the gesture as impulsive as it was impotent. he relaxed immediately, urging to obey Lavinia's instructions. "Use me however you must, Lavinia. I'll answer to Augustus for it later," he added with a brief tinge of revulsion to his voice. He lay the woman down, hand to her head while he offered his arm. The fist was clenched, Gabriel ready for what might be next.

He shot Kralis a look, as if the cat was intruding upon a sacred place. The cat seems languid, even playful as Gabriel looked upon him, his lips pursing as he muttered to himself in an older language. It was then he felt Lavinia, the sensation searing against his flesh. He hold on, suddenly feeling like a corpse who had forgotten it was dead. The grip on the limb even tightened while Lavinia worked, Gabriel's brow furrowing. "What..." he began before the woman shifted beneath his hand.

He held her firmly, without effort as he held on against what Lavinia would offer. He took his deepest breaths while he held on. "Are you almost done?" He had questions that felt as though they could not wait. "What are you doing now, fortuneteller? What do your cards show you?"