Quaerere Fresh air did the old bones good, or so they said.
Agata walked through the forests as they spun through the outskirts of Belorien. She didn't like being here in this heat with all these people unlike herself. The culture shock and awkwardness of it all seemed perplexing at best and nightmarish most days. How those who were more adept to socializing could stand such monotony and clamoring was beyond her. The shore sang sweet songs intended to quell her nervous energy and all it did was irritate her even more.
She smelled salt and fish, finding it nauseating. Why did she listen to such nonsense. Alois was better at keeping her entertained and sane. Her people always had been.
It was always a satisfying day when Dalit left a stranger worried over what their wife or husband was doing behind their back. His pockets would be a bit more full, their day would be a bit more distressing and Dalit was quite content with this thought. Ocean eyes trailed over wanderers and gawkers and sailors and he frowned. There were more people in this streets than what he was used to seeing. There were louder, drunker people.
And it annoyed him.
The frown grew to a considerably thin line as he tossed a glance to the ships, restless on the water. It was quite unlike him to disregard his friends in such a manner but the shipfitter was in a <i>mood</i>. Today was going to be long and involved and he was not looking forward to it.
“Fortunes for fortunes! See what bed your wife warms when you work late! You there, Sir, you look like you wear the perfume of your mistress. Madam, what ails a sweet face?” The calls were all the same, said over miserable lines in the air. Ignorant quells of....folks.
Sweet? Agata thought to herself, realizing she was being haggled and scoffed. Ridiculous.
The sound of the fortune teller bribing and goading passerby was enough to irritate her senses, much like the senseless droning of hornets in springtime. She sighed and walked forward towards his table, slightly away from the docks where the water became muted. The festivities were draining and the smell of various foods nauseated her.
"What sort of fortunes do you deal with, liar?" she said, choosing to cut to the chase. Liars, fortune tellers, and storyweavers all spoke the same language in her eyes and to her ears.
Dalit couldn’t help the grin that spread across his lips as attention was snared and she walked in. He was gossamer fingers and promised whispers in hopes of further lining his pockets but illusion fell to frowns as she spoke. Liar?
Nobody had ever started out with the truth. Fingers folded over themselves, curt in gesture and wounded that they had been seen through so easily and he sat back, gaze steady. “Matters of the heart and mind, luck, futures, secrets. I saw your discontent from the side. It leeches off of you as strong as the salt that clings to the docks.” He smiled fortune teller smiles and motioned for her to take the seat across from him.
She did so, her expression more fitting of one who smelled something rancid than one who would've been skeptical of hearing fortunes and pleasantries. The woman was haughty, her demeanor showing through her discontent with the entire situation: being summoned to Belorien, being around people unlike herself. The diversity and clamour did nothing more than trigger a sense of culture shock and sensory overload for the past few days, so perhaps some foolishness would do her well.
But that's what someone said about going outside and smelling the fresh air, and clearly that did nothing to lighten her mood.
"I am discontent due to being summoned here from Vesaksalka'va," she said, her accent thick as snow. "That much I can tell you."
Sweat lined her brow with the saltwater on her skin. She was hot in her thick clothes, preferring to be bundled up and concealed over wearing lighter clothing. Lighter clothing meant less armor, less protection, less of her living in a fantasy in perpetual sub-zero hell.
Dalit watched as she sat, deeply amused by her expression. If nothing else, watching her would be entertaining. He feigned a concerned ‘mm’ as the woman spoke and he shifted in his seat, hands folding over and around his cards, shuffling idly.
“You say that but I don’t think that is the full reason for your being so upset. Most people would not have the look of death about them for that reason.” He paused mid shuffle, setting the cards down gently. Ocean eyes turned down and he flipped the top one over, studying it before returning his gaze to the one seated across the table. “Of course it might just be the people on the docks,” he commented offhandedly.
”Does the discontented one have a name, by the way? Or should I just call you that?” A playful smirk crossed his features and he flipped the second card, fingers craving something to do as lips rambled.
Agata's expression was less than amused. "Abandon that look, you look like a lecher."
She exhaled and relented. "Agata Vesaksalka." She didn't bother asking the fortune teller for his. "Why do you people insist there is a deeper meaning to my behavior, or anyone else's. We're simple, people."
Dalit managed a soft laugh at that, looking quite pleased with himself at her reaction. He had never been called a lecher because of his smirk and it amused him to no end with her comment. Still grinning, he sat back, composing himself <i>just enough</i> to speak.
“Agata Vesaksalka, it is a pleasure. Much better than discontented one.” Though not nearly as lyrical. He would keep the nickname. He pondered her question for a moment, fingers tapping and eyes over her shoulder. “Call it a feeling.” Dalit stared at her. “You looked much more angry in your steps than what you say.” He shrugged. “And either you are one of the most unpleasant persons to be around in general or I am right.”
Agata looked at Dalit, her expression tightening her wrinkles. "I'm generally unpleasant, but that is due to being goal-driven and not engaging in folly."
Why on earth this chatty fortune teller was getting her to speak was beyond her. Normally she'd be more tight-lipped than this and now, she probably came across as a petulant child. How embarrassing. At least her child self had aspirations, more than she could say for most snot-nosed brats. "Let us get your...deceit over with."
Dalit simply smiled and smiled again as he stared at her. Completely and utterly amusing and yet there was a sad twinge that caught his lips. Certainly one could be goal-driven and still engage in folly. Oh and he was one to criticize.
A soft laugh made its way over lips, curling and beckoning with the ease of practice. “Deceit? I did not think what I do is deceit. I show only what you truly want to see and nothing more.” He shrugged. “It’s not my fault most people are fools that expect the worst from the cards.” He spread them gently across the table, touching corners and backs of each.
“So, Agata, oh discontented one, why did you sit at my table? Certainly you can’t see me as pleasant company.”
"No, I do not," Agata said. "However, I've had...associates say I need to socialise, at distasteful as it sounds."
She crossed her arms, growing more and more irritated by this whole situation. Why did she insist on coming here. The heat was making her more of a grouch than usual, she usually had more regality than this. Yes, once she went to her room at the chambers, she'd relax in cold stone. What she'd give to be home.
"To be truthful, I heard rumors about a swindling fortune teller. Not that that gives one much but I've the fortune to not be bothered with robbery."
She had the good sense the light gave her not to bring too much.
Dalit gave an indignant look as she spoke, sitting up straight-backed and narrowed eyes. Swindling? A frown creased his lips in annoyance and he tapped against the cards as though in hopes they would help him respond to that.
They stared up at him in silence and he scowled back. Pieces of paper.
Just as heartless as he at times. “Perhaps, then, I am not the person you want to speak to. I no more swindle those than a ship survives on land. It is not my fault people are so willing to empty their pockets for words they already whisper to themselves.” He managed a relaxed posture, hands gesturing something in the air, if only to get away from the cards for a few seconds.
“It is not every day a woman of such grace sits at my table and insults me. Sits at my table at all, really. Humor me will you.” He smiled. “Pick three cards.”
Grace? Clearly you're as daft as the Westerners, she sneered to herself. She did as told though, not expecting a braggart and a scoundrel to have a sense of decorum.
She at least touched them, if not somewhat harshly, her nails and weathered skin pressing into the paper like a dull knife into rock.
Fortune teller took notice of her touch and he winced as though it was his hand that she was pressing into. He wanted to tell her to ease off but at least she was humoring him. Were he to say anything, she would no doubt withdraw. They were each drawn and cared for by hand.
He fretted over them.
“Pull the first card, do not hesitate. Lay it on top of the others, face down.” His tone was checked and rechecked. It was bitter suddenly, with how she touched the cards but he would remain looking humored.
Agata looked at the cards with about as much interest as one would with melting snow, her brows concentrated in an effort to look as bored and irritated as she possibly could be. She pushed one end of her lip inward, not biting her cheek and placed it. It was an illustration of swords, and a part of her hoped it mentioned power in some nonsense of fate.
There were five. She never cared for the number. The chattering around them from sailors and the cries of gulls provided sound between the rather awkward pair. Sweat lined her brow, jawline, and throat, her skin flushed red as if the sun was flailing her with heat. Her eyes seemed in another place altogether, going through the motions.
Dalit was silent as the card was pulled and he gave a soft laugh upon viewing it, amused so suddenly. The chuckle was quickly stifled and replaced with gentle smiles and keen glances. “My, my, what an interesting card to pull first. I don’t think I’ve ever see that one so eager to show itself. Seems as conflicted as you, dear lady.”
Fingers shuffled the remaining cards, more thoughtful in motion than for any actual purpose. “That has many meanings, depending on how you read it. What is there? Power. Sacrifice, surrender.” He nodded. “Pull a second one. I suppose we’ll be doing this backwards then, if that’s what they want.”
She did as told, pulling another of a man on a throne, regal yet cross, as if angry at his subjects. She didn't need to be told that he was a king, but of what, she wasn't certain. There didn't seem to be a theme or item, no chalices or the like.
Dalit gave a slight glance to the card, brows raised as a smirk ran across lips. “How interesting. I think these cards know you very well. A powerful one, this. Fourth key, the Emperor. It’s stable, strong, egotistical.” He paused in thought for a moment. “But it’s worrisome as this person is hard to change and the fear of growing stagnant is strong.”
He leaned back, fingers tapping on on the table. “I think you’ve managed to describe the situation quite well. Corruption, going after something greater than perceived rights. There’s a great obstacle in your way.” He tapped the spread cards. “One more.”
The card she drew was with a sense of apprehension. She was almost nervous of it being something pertaining to femininity. Why on earth the heat and this man were making her react emotionally and honestly was a little bit unnerving to her but she did what she could to shake it off. She never was a feminine woman nor one who desired to be a mother. She cared more about the notion of legacy, the concept of self over all else.
It was a man with ten coins. Wealth, perhaps, which she found a little odd as she was born into wealth from the get-go.
“Hm, what a quite interesting mix. Wealth and stability are what will meet you in the end but this is also a reminder of the importance of family. Egotistical, reaching for too much with a strong barrier and yet you will succeed. There is a great power waiting for you but it will be difficult to get to. Though...well worth it, in the end.”
Dalit sat back, eyeing the other across the table with an odd look across his features. This one would be one to watch out for. He smiled faintly, looking quite pleased with himself. “You seem unnerved, my lady.”
Agata looked at the cards and then at Dalit. Family. That never meant much to her either. Few things did: killing, controlling. Asserting power was the most important thing in the world to her, more so than being a mother, a wife, a respectable person. She'd rather be a tyrant than a peasant at the end of the day.
"That was actually not too much of a painful experience," she whispered in a dulled tone. "It is nice to hear that frivolity sides with me, at the least."
The fortune teller laughed softly at that, sweeping the cards up and tucking them into a neat pile between them. “Well, that was just for the time being. Fate can be a nasty thing, change on you as quick as wind. But there’s no point in thinking that right now, I assume. This particular...setting was very precise. Normally the cards are not as kind. They must like you.” He leaned in, elbows resting and chin held. “Quite an interesting one. Anything else you need to confirm?”
She looked at Dalit and said, "Yes. You're not getting paid."
With that, she rose and took her leave, the heat making her wander with a sense of purpose: back to her cool room from the blasted heat.
He openly laughed, narrow eyed and lion smile. “You have given me far more than what is weighted in coin. I will remember you, Discontented One. We will be seeing each other again!”