ourosangue (ourosangue) wrote in retrofitted, @ 2010-02-17 21:11:00 |
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Entry tags: | devona, rocco |
the balance of two It was definitely not three. The infidelity of three. Nor was it nine. The nine just short of complete, of success. Three reminded him of the three police officers that took his dad to jail; their uniforms were black and they had smacked him in the mouth as he tried to pull his dad away from their grip. Nine reminded him of his nine siblings that ran the streets of his hometown. No, these numbers were condemned when they showed themselves in places he didn't want them too, or didn't expect them. So the three blocks he walked to get to the rumored and much sought after diviner turned his hands clammy. The nine cars parked along the soggy streets on way there didn't help his nerves at all. He was being tailed of course, a few suits roaming at a discreet distance behind him. He wasn't worried but he was uncertain. He didn't enjoy being uncertain. He mentally wiped his numerologist superstitions to the side -- though he wondered if he should considering he was meeting with a shaman -- and turned into the alley that he'd been told about by a few of his clients. Rightly informed, he came upon the pavilion, strewn fabrics between the buildings looking quite out of place and intriguing. He adjusted his suit and carefully called a greeting. "Ola, miss? Anyone home," his tone curled upwards at each words' end, his accent breaking through as it customarily did. "Watch your feet." The call came from somewhere deep inside the rooms that were segragated with rich purples and scarlets, cushions scattered around a still-smoldering fire. A blackened teapot was sitting to the side, between a set of crudely charming clay mugs. Here and there were mostly extinguished piles of sage and incense, left to burn on the ground until they had gone out of their own accord. "Sit anywhere," the strong, knowing tone did not reveal it's origin, the rustling of beads and fabric suggesting a hasty costume change. The colorful bivouac was enamoring in its primitive charm. He chuckled slightly in reply to the offer, something he did often. A habit that was oft an inappropriate affect. If he was nervous, unsure, scared or angry, somehow laughing always escaped him. Humor took well to a majority of the people he had to entertain so he stayed in that state, a cloak of lightheartedness. The sweet smoky odors were welcomed as he took a seat among the downy peacock pillows. The finely tailored suit pulled uncomfortably in his cross legged position but maintained a look of ease despite. "Your home is quite charming," he purred sweetly, touching the end of a stick of sage incense. "I've heard much of you but not about. Many have told me of your--," He paused, thoughtfully. "Your impressive intuition." "Is that so." And suddenly she was there, blonde hair down her shoulders, eyeliner matching the black tank top that looked out of place under the crimson beads strung around her neck. She eyed him appraisingly, drumming her nails on her hip. "Come to have your fortune told you like so many cut-and-dry numbers spread out on a page." The tanned man raised his hands up and smile, shaking his head. "Ah, lamento! I do not find the spiritualistic arts as entertaining as others, though I'm sure you have enough clientele as it is. Many of my own clients speak very highly of you." He sat back in a more relaxed manner, leaning back on his elbow. A wisp of incensed smoke passed across his face. He had half been expecting something a little more frightful for a shaman. He thought maybe she'd be old, cruel, wrinkled. He was happy he had been so very wrong. The woman in front of him now was intriguingly beautiful. She was pale yet not the same common Caucasian that he was used to as a South American. "So please, inform me, is that all you do? Predict other futures? Do your skills travel beyond the personal lives of people? Perhaps you could tell me the future of the stock market here in Vespers," he asked chidingly; he was partly joking but also inquisitive as to her set of skills. She sighed a little and stalked across the room, skirt swaying about her knees. As she settled onto a nearby pillow, hand already lifting the teapot, she motioned towards him vaguely. "Futures are tricky in a world without true time," steam rose, smelling of strong, sweet tea. "Telling what will be is a dangerous and difficult affair. I'd much prefer to make a poison for your enemy, or medicine for your friend, or teach you how to pray and who to pray to. Hell, I'd much rather teach a cripple to dance than tell the future." She offered him the cup, eyes unflinching as she stared. "But if that is not the reason for your visit, then you must have something more practical in mind. Surely you didn't come for a pleasant visit, hm? A man of your... responsibilities does not spend time, he makes it." "Ah, sim sim, I agree. I suppose in a city that is not governed by moments, it is like trying to see through to the other end of a dark tunnel," he mused solemnly. The dark skinned man nodded sardonically, reaching forward politely to take the cup from her. He sipped it nonchalantly and gave a satisfied sigh, as if forgetting her question. "Oh, do not sell yourself short. It is pleasant enough to be in the presence of a woman so lovely. Bellisimo!" He took another sip of the sweet tea, not quite paying attention to its taste but busily taking in his surroundings. Whether he was looking for omens or signs he wasn't sure. Yet he gave an appreciative smile and leaned forward exuberantly. "You are right though. I am not sure if you know of my humble little night club? That is where I've heard talk of you. So I thought perhaps you would be interested in featuring there. You would be a precious commodity and I would not spare no expense should you consider appearing there." "Appearing," she echoed, pouring some tea for herself and sipping it without taking her eyes off him. After a moment she leaned back a bit, satisfied with whatever she saw. "Like a showgirl? Or another facet of entertainment?" She didn't seem offended, only somewhat amused by the proposition, as if he were a child offering her a broken toy. "I would be out of place in your noisy, bustling club, don't you think?" The man shrugged amiably, taking another sip of tea in a unconsciously timed rhythm. "If you would like, I am not particular, so much as you performing something," he said, dragging a hand through umber curls. Yes, the woman in his club would prove to be quite lucrative and broaden his time demographic considerably. He shifted in his seat, balancing the tea in one hand while the other tugged at his suit jacket. "You would not have to worry much about becoming ill in my club. It is simple and everything is compartmentalized in a sick-free way. I would most likely have you somewhere quiet, similar to your home here, perhaps even just serving clients one-on-one or a few at time with the right price." "An interesting offer," she brushed her hair out of her face with slender fingers, the tips stained from some project she'd been dabbling with earlier. "The problem there becomes that this business that I have is less about profit and more about serving the will of the gods. Just arriving here and knowing of it is a show of willingness, proof of substance, as it were. If I were to take you up on your offer, then anyone with an inkling could come and use my services if they felt so inclined. I choose my clients very specifically, and this would not be a luxury I would be afforded in your club." Another sip of her tea, thoughtfully. "I would also no longer have access to my garden, which has been many careful years in the making. Do you see my dillema?" He leaned his elbows on his knees, placing the empty tea cup in front of him. "I see, I see, yes I would not want you to upset the balance between your dieties." His thumb and index stroked the corners of his mouth in sympathetic thought. He grinned, a finger in the air as a stroke of thoughts lit his face. "As I said before, you're being there would be of utmost value. If need be I could keep your existence there silent and those that were drawn could be drawn there. As for your garden I would be more than happy to provide you one even bigger. Perhaps even transfer this one? Money is as fleeting as time so I do not try and grip it as tight as others." "It's risky business, keeping a shaman," she warned with a little smile. "If the gods were to grow angry with one of my clients, the club would suffer. Are you certain that you could handle the risk?" He stroked the rim of the teacup softly, the texture relaxing under his fingers. He thought for a moment of her question, attempting to look torn. He was not. The Brazilian, while perhaps superstitious at times, did not fear this woman's gods. He feared numbers occasionally and patterns less than often but he didn't fear all-powerful entities. "Should we instill a hush policy on your presence at my club and, as you said, let you choose your own clients then I would trust your intuition. I would trust you." As a precaution he would do as she would suggest, if it only ended up keeping her satisfied. "I'll need to think on this," she mused. "Your offer is tempting, but there are many angles to consider, and one such as myself is not easily bought. How would you plan to compensate me for such a life-changing move, I wonder?" Her smirk was gentle and teasing as she stood again, slowly, leaning over to lift a still-burning bundle of sage. "Contracts in my time were very serious, and the exchange must be equal for me to do so in clear conscience," the strings of smoke obscured her upturned lips. "Otherwise, how can I know I have not sold myself into slavery?" The man tilted his head and gave a short vexed hum of consideration. "Perhaps you should inform me what you would consider fair recompense? As I stand right now I am willing to let you work on your own terms, undisturbed and to your choosing." He cracked his knuckles and seemed to lock upon the woman's collarbone, an absent stare as he thought. "I would also provide you with your own domicile on my property along with a private garden or gardens. All food and goods I would be willing to provide. What else would you need?" His question was said in concern but with the slightest undertone of sarcasm. "And you would gain much income from my endeavors, would you not?" she asked, moving the bundle through the air in a peculiar pattern. "What you offer me, essentially, is everything I have here, but with you as a patron and filter. In times where I would be in need, here, I would be provided for under your employ. Am I correct? Yet I sacrifice my freedom to some extent. This is why I would like more time to think. I understand that your offer is generous, but I have never served anyone other than the gods before, and so am reluctant. Surely you understand." He watched her intently, enchanted and mesmerized temporarily by the sweet pendulum. The smoke mad soft wisps that made her skin seem even more opalescent, pale. The ballad of scents in her home was relaxing but alarming in a foreign way. His distraction only lasted a moment before he grinned, a set of white flashing cheerfully. "Oh no no, amor, do not think of serving under me. You will just be associated with my club and in close proximity to it, if anything. But I understand, please take your time--or take your thoughts as I should say, I suppose." "You are most kind." The sage dropped into the smoldering fire and instantly flames that had not been there a second before rose to consume it. The smoke grew thicker, almost cloying, and she moved her hand through it as if to grasp the dark curls. She withdrew her now soot-touched hand and studied the pattern with a thoughtful frown. "Return here in two days and you will have your answer," she said without looking at him. "Until then, avoid the gambling tables." Her eyes flashed upwards and met his as the mischevious smirk returned. "If you believe in predictions, that is." A thin smirk fell across his face but he nodded agreeably. He wasn't desperate for her that he needed her answer speedily so he graciously bowed out of the race persuasion. His face expressed surprise for a moment before he gave a sheepish grin. "Coincidentally, I am due for a short vacation from work. So I will oblige." He pushed himself up smoothly and fixed his coat, maintaining an air of ease and dignity. "I look forward to seeing you again, Devona." He gave a glistening final smile, raised the peacock-hued fabrics from the tent opening and let them drop behind him. The embers crackled and the smoke over the fire curled, twisted and then steadied.