The Black Pot

"I had my own astrologer," Cesare says, to no-one in particular. "We all had."

He chews his lower lip. "But then Behaim - Lorenz Behaim, from Nuremberg - had always been more than a hireling, not someone who prattles idle for good coin. He wasn't someone who would lie to me to save his hide, or secure his well-paid appointment." Cesare's hands need something to do, so he winds up his wristwatch. Once that is done, he continues to twist a cufflink.

"Behaim was my tutor when I was a boy, and a person like that honours truth. Good Messer Behaim... well. He was brutally honest with me. And so I continued to pay him. I made certain he was on a handsome retainer, enough to furnish his library with the best and most sought-after books. But after a while I... stopped listening to him. My birth chart, he'd said, predicted a meteoric rise, followed by a sharp descent. Twenty-six was critical, he'd said."

Cesare shrugs. His eyes are turned inward. He doesn't see the dingy-yet-cheerful cafe. He sees the Adria, smoke rising from Forlì.

"Time rolled around, Fortuna spun her wheel, and I survived my twenty-sixth year. Not only that; it turned out to be a good one. But I did not forget about the birth chart. Maestro Behaim continued to send weekly predictions, suggestions, cautioning me against this move or that, depending on the day. I couldn't bear to tell him that I'd stopped reading his reports years ago."

Miquel insinuates himself, gently twirling locks in Cesare's nape. So bitter, caro. There were other predictions, too, weren't there. And you proved them wrong. Did not a great many misfortunes not befall you?

Didn't... not befall me? Cesare scrunches up his face in an attempt to sound out the double negative.

Mmm. Forget it, Miquel laughs kindly.

Death sits in the darkest corner of the cafe, nursing a zombie*. He is intrigued, fascinated even, by peoples ability to complicate an existence which, from his point of view, is momentary. But no one wants to hear this, so he is content to stay silent and listen. Perhaps he will learn something new. There is a soft rustling at his feet and a bone-white nose with brittle grey whiskers pokes out from under his robe. "SQUEAK!" it says. "YES, YES, OF COURSE. GO RIGHT AHEAD." The Death of Rats nods and, holding a small scythe in it's mouth, scurries off to the kitchen.

*It's not what you think. You're disgusting.

Jack hasn't come into the café in a few months, trying to avoid run-ins with— a certain person— but he chances it. New year, might as well take a risk instead of staying away out of fear.

He listens to the topic and puts up his hands. "Ohhh no, no no. I'm not telling. Especially if I was in the right universe and knew what was coming up, no. Spoilers. I'm not telling you anything that's coming up, assuming I do know anything. See, if I knew something and told you, you'd be influenced by it. It could change the timeline. A National Lottery number, for instance, that isn't harmless. Someone wins the lottery who wasn't supposed to win it, and I don't mean that in any kind of fate sense, don't believe in fate myself— but as far as the timeline's concerned, they hadn't won it. It gets changed. Maybe they go on to do things they never were going to do, or don't do the things they should have, and along comes a paradox. You get a paradox, paradox destabilises the timeline, and next thing we know, there's no more universe. Except we don't know it because there's no more universe.

"Now, none of us is in our own universe, so what we might know about the future timelines in our own universes may or may not hold true here since— well, it's not our own universe. But we still should be very careful about revealing any definitive knowledge. And since predictions we make could be influenced by knowledge of future events... gotta be careful with those, too.

"So. That leaves some really out there, hopefully benign predictions. Let's see..." He shifts back more in his chair and ponders. "Not the end of the world. I don't have any problem telling you that, because really, it's idiotic how people go standing around proclaiming the end is near. Not even close. If anything's coming up, though, please let it be an end to this era's version of fake tanning. It looks ridiculous. Either get sun-damaged the old-fashioned way or go with your natural pigment level, but don't go orange or look way darker than your skin's able to get. Some people just plain burn, no tanning, but then they go spraying brown stuff on them and it looks like what it is. Fake. When someone comes up with the technology to pleasingly alter your skin tone, then do it, but not yet. I'm not saying I don't think anyone should get any, shall we say, modifications. I thought about them myself before. Not any more, though."

Back when he was mortal and had to worry about aging, he'd wondered if he might get a little maintenance done. It wasn't something expensive or exotic or something to turn your nose at in that time, like it is in this century. Didn't really earn comments since it was widespread and didn't create unnatural looks like these hacking and injecting and implanting techniques.

"That's more wishful thinking than prediction. Go out like that Crazy Frog ringtone, please. Hmmm... I predict... Really amazing coffee will grow less niche. I don't mean Starbucks coffee, I mean the fantastic organic brews that are prepared right without scalding, fair-trade produced, so awesome for everyone, workers and tastebuds. The coffee revolution will of course be spearheaded by King Ianto, long may he reign. And the food here at the Black Pot won't get any more edible if the cook remains in place. It'll continue to be the kind of thing you wouldn't feed a weevil." He raises his hands and waggles his fingers. "Oooo, diiiire waaaarnings. Gives you chills, doesn't it?"

I don't so much not believe in Destiny as I do refuse to acknowledge it. I don't like being bossed around, not by anyone and certainly not by abstract concepts. Abstract concepts like Fate and Destiny have about as much authority over me as Good Sense and Propriety do.

Still, none of that means that a smart bloke can't sometimes pretty clearly see the shape of things to come. Wouldn't be here if I didn't. Still, there's a difference between Destiny and being able to accurately follow things through to their logical conclusion.

All of this rambling does, believe it or not, lead us on to our topic of discussion. What predictions would you make about this new year we're all facing? What do you see coming? End of the world? Critical shortage of sausages? And if anyone's got the numbers for the National Lottery, pass 'em on to the hostile waitress, yeah?

The tag for this month is predictions, and please claim your characters here.