InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Don't call me Squeakyboy."

Destiny (minds_eye) wrote in age_of_miracles,
@ 2008-10-11 23:35:00

Who: Irene Adler and Mystique
When: Sunday October 12, late morning.
Where: Irene's fortune telling shop in Westchester
What: A meeting after many years.
Rating: Probably no higher than PG-13

It was a rather lazy Sunday morning. Irene had expected that, and she expected that it would be a trend. On Friday and Saturday, she'd had a good number of people stop in to at least have a look around. Several of Saturday's crowd had chosen to have their palms read. She gave most of them partial truths. One thing she had definitely had been the young man with sweaty palms proposing to his girlfriend who worked in a shop not that far from Irene's. She told him he was going to have a momentous day, and she was sure he would. Whether the girl had accepted or rejected him, well. It was momentous either way.

She straightened the sign on the door and slowly made her way the shelves of old books on divination and the two chairs and the table that made up her work space. The chairs had the same dark red upholstery, but the client's chair had a much lower back. She made her way past the counter with the antique cash register--that had cost a pretty penny indeed--and into the back room. She poured herself a cup of tea and shuffled through the stack of CDs she had decided to use for ambient music. Her fingers lingered on one and she smiled slightly. This one would do nicely if the customer she was now expecting walked through the door. She slipped it into the player and waited.

(Post a new comment)

lady_blue
2008-10-12 12:32 am UTC (link)

Every few weeks, Mystique went into Westchester for brunch. It had been years since this particular trend started, and even now she couldn't say what it was that kept her doing it. Masochism, perhaps, wandering so close to Charles and his students, occasionally seeing one from the other side of the block. A constant reminder of what she was fighting ... for? Against? Something.

Regardless of reason, Lucas Bordon paid for his omlette and coffee with exact change, as he always did, and set out to wander the area. He was an unassuming face, useful for setting people at ease and not being noticed. Either a software designer or an English teacher, depending on what people assumed about him, and how Mystique felt at the moment. He liked books, he liked curios, wandered into the same antique store every time to see if they had any pocket watches or matchboxes.

Half way down a block, he paused. The fourth store in had been empty the last time he'd passed it, had been a knitting store once upon a very long time ago. Now it seemed to be home to a psychic, or so the remarkably tasteful advertising proclaimed.

Fresh blood. He smiled faintly, and wandered in. One never knew what one would -

The pause was barely perceptible, long training ensured that. Only the slightest widening of his eyes, a slight lull in his gait, and in his pockets, hands were clenched until knuckles were white. He moved in and away from the doorway, eyes glued to the woman seated calmly in her chair - how else would she be? - looking exactly the same as she had the last time -

Mystique swallowed, took one breath, and made a slow circuit of the shop. Elegant, tasteful, evocative, perfect, exactly as it would have been, if -

By the time he - she - reached the woman and her table, she had hemself once more under control. The faint smile on her lips was Luke`s, his walk back to normal, his breathing easy. The air of mild, sardonic scepticism when he spoke, though, belonged to an entirely different man, from a very long time ago.

"I can't say I normally put much stuff into this fate-and-Destiny nonsense." She held out one hand, palm up across the table. "But something about this place makes me think that maybe you know more about it than most people. So, how about it? Is there anything interesting in my palm?"

Irene.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

minds_eye
2008-10-12 12:45 am UTC (link)

The song began to play just as the door opened. It was a slow, instrumental version of "Red Roses for a Blue Lady;" the version with the words would have been pushing things a bit much. But instrumentals were always tasteful. Especially when there was a violin involved.

She opened her eyes and gazed across the table at the man who sat there. She'd chosen to wear the contacts that were closest to her original eye color. That was one of the few regrets she had about being a mutant: Raven had never seen her eyes with any other color but white, and Irene had felt, as a girl, that her eyes were her best feature.

"Let me see..." Irene reached for the offered hand and closed her eyes for a moment. Raven. Her pulse wouldn't speed at the touch if it was someone else. Opening her eyes again, she gazed down at the palm, delicately tracing a fingertip over the lines. "You've had a very interesting life...and longer than many..."