InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "I'd rather be whistlin in dark"

ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇss ᴏғ ᴘʀᴇsᴛɪᴅɪɢɪᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ (cigam) wrote in valarlogs,
@ 2016-02-10 19:18:00

Entry tags:

!complete, garrett hawke, zatanna zatara

Who: Zatanna & Hawke
What: Tea, desserts, and divination in the form of a tarot reading - foreboding things ensue
When: Today?
Where: Zee's Moroccan-inspired abode
Rating/Warnings: Ominous warnings of death
Status: Complete

Tasseomancy, a turn of the cards, gazing into crystals, even divining rods - there were many methods for forecasting the future, techniques and methods for inducing visions of ‘coming soon’ happenings. It was far from an exact science, but something that Zee worked on in her day to day life. That was why she, ever since developing more than a passing interest in divination, began to populate her home with a crystal ball or two, special mirrors, and candles galore - reading smoke and flame, and images projected into oil as a reflective surface, were all surefire ways of practicing. But for today, she’d stick with the cards - it was a tried and true method.

Today was also just something simple (did it ever stay that way?) to get to know another fellow magic user in the OC, one she was going to be godparenting with or whatever the ‘official’ term was. It was barely fifty degrees out so while she normally would have kept a few windows open, maybe the front door, the chill was too much - but it was sunny, at least, her house warm and cozy, with plants vibrant in the windowsills and on her porch. Spring was just around the corner, sort of - funny how time passed so quickly these days.

Because of the weather she was also dressed warmly - typically, she favored breezy boho style or a simple, flower-printed sarong wrap; the first was still possible in the winter, a red velvet dress with a fringe on the sleeves, and just paired with tights beneath. Besides, it was warm in her kitchen anyway because she’d been baking a Turkish dessert - and was currently rolling apricots simmered in red wine and soaked in syrup, then stuffed with buffalo milk (a find from her favorite Middle Eastern market), in ground up pistachios. She didn’t think Hawke had a nut allergy but just in case she had other delish selections too - it’s just that apricots were a thing in Turkey, a festival dedicated in their honor every year. This dessert was meant to be enjoyed in the winter, in remembrance of sunnier days.

They could always use a reminder of sunnier days, figuratively, anyway.

Divination wasn’t much of a thing in Thedas. Magic couldn’t foresee the future, though he had heard some interesting stories about dream mages trying to interpret special visions they received from the Fade - it was never really proven, and wasn’t even considered much of a ‘category’ in their world. A little odd, actually. That sort of skill always seemed like one of those universal hocus-pocus practices but he supposed there was an exception to every rule.

It couldn’t hurt either (famous last words), and he’d never fallen for the con artistry of tarot readers out on the streets looking to make a buc either. But this is the one place where something like that was indeed genuine, and he’d heard of this Zatanna from word of mouth. Mostly when he made some pop up visits to the Inverse-Wisdom abode to pester his ‘boyfriend’ (they snogged against their bloody will once, damnit) and the discussion of who was the chosen fairy godmother came up.

A fitting sweater shirt, a pair of (clean) jeans, properly groomed beard and hair that didn’t look too shaggy was him dressing presentably, and he made his presence known by a couple knocks on the door. Hawke could smell the assortment of spices already; it smelled strangely delectable, even when he didn’t know what the hell it was. Hm.

She went to answer, and when Zatanna opened the door the scent of spices used while baking - and also the usual frankincense and others for her incense - were likely even more prominent, seeping out onto her porch in a perfumed cloud. Generally, her house tended to give off a welcoming aroma anyway - she kept it clean, neat and tidy, and made sure to water (and talk to!) her plants daily. Since it was just her and her niece here, and sometimes Raven was quiet as a ghost and her presence just as ‘in and out,’ it was relatively easy to maintain everything.

“Hello Hawke,” she smiled warmly, and stepped back to invite him inside. “Please, come in.” Honestly, she was surprised it took this long to meet him - she generally liked to chat with other magic users, even if they weren’t planning to join up in the Guild. But overall she just enjoyed learning about all sorts of different methods of doing things - there was more than one way to skin a cat, right?

Awful analogy, but true. “And also come sit - I bake when I have company, usually, or am stressed. But in this case it’s the former.” She led him into the bright kitchen, with colored mosaic tiles on the walls and cabinets painted a light blue with gold knobs. The table was on the small side yet it would seat the two of them comfortably. “You’re not allergic to nuts, are you?”

How very...hm. Bohemian? Definitely homey. Like walking inside a genie lamp with baked goods. “Only if they’re attached to someone?” His shrug was high enough to reach his ears, his token shit-eating grin peering from the shadow of glorious beard. “You’ve a lovely home. Fitting for a Zatanna, which is a name I’ve admittedly never heard of before.”

Hawke still couldn’t really guess what she was making, but he wouldn’t reject the gesture - she said she baked for company, right? He didn’t see a trace of the troublesome teenager that had escaped, though that seemed to be her signature teenage thing. He’d heard she returned safely, thank the Maker. Considering he’d heard someone had actually died in the most recent OC debacle, it’d be tragic if the body count had an extra one tacked on it.

Though he was really surprised more people didn’t die often with how this place seemed determined to fucking kill them. See: spiders. Twice. Breaking everything in sight. Rude. So rude.

“And whatever it is you made smells like something I’d happily put in my face.”

Zatanna laughed, husky and amused. “Thank you, I guess it is fitting for someone with my peculiar name - my sister was Katerina, so apparently she got the less creative end of the stick.” The first child and all - perhaps their parents were playing it cautious when it came to monikers. But both Zatara sisters certainly looked alike, resembling each other with their jet black hair and glittering blue eyes, nearly violet in color - Raven was her mother’s miniature version, something that Zee was grateful for. No one wanted to look like an unfortunate Russian thug.

Kettle on the stove, because she had promised tea, she then offered the plate of apricot desserts. “I’m a vegetarian and I experiment a lot. I also do a lot of Middle Eastern inspired cooking,” she informed Garrett. “For instance, these are stuffed with buffalo milk. Bet you never had it before.”

Nope, that he hadn’t! Hawke couldn’t even remember the last time he had anything apricot related, or even - hell, where the hell did one obtain something obscure like buffalo milk? First time for everything, he supposed, and his tastebuds were never the shy sort. He dug in, curious and fascinated. “It’s lovely, in a very exotic way? Feel blessed you didn’t end up with something entirely bizarre like North West, or Blue Ivy.”

There was a Playboy star that called her spawn Rainbow Aurora too, wasn’t there? According to Bethy anyway, who's guilty pleasure was mocking the more privileged and indulging in horrible celebrity reality shows (The Kardashians was a family time at the Hawke abode). The rich and the famous were an odd bunch.

The dessert wasn’t like anything he ever had before, a different kind of sweet - but good, very good. “So what’s your tool of trade today, hm? Crystal ball, tea leaves? Snake entrails?” Alright, a more morbid means of divination but he had heard that was a thing too. Whatever conjured the mojo.

Milking buffalo wasn’t so much a thing in the States yet - there were a few farmers who seemed to have caught on to the benefits, but India was where it was mostly prevalent. Zee was a fan; the stuff was thick and creamy and worked well for stuffing apricot, though you could use clotted cream too, she supposed. But she was glad her dessert was such a hit. Settling at the table, she responded with a smile best suited for the stage, high wattage, and produced one of her favorite antiques.

“Tarot,” she spoke. “It’s my go-to method, and the first method of divination I ever learned. My father’s friend taught me the tricks of the trade, while we traveled with the circus.” Her particular beautifully illustrated set was vintage, went back to the days of France in the eighteen-hundreds, secret societies of mystics and palm readers.

Carefully, she shuffled and placed them in her chosen spread, one for more general readings. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt a bit. Maybe just a little.” Wink.

Hawke would ask for the recipe later - it seemed something Bela would enjoy, he thought. And Valentine’s Day was around the corner, every convenience store and media advertisement giving them bold reminders of the event. But he promised a home cooked meal for the two of them; he was actually rather skilled in the kitchen, all thanks to the teachings and guidance from the woman who could do no wrong (except in the dreams, where he was blamed for Bethany’s death and only cared about Carver’s safety in the Deep Roads), Mama Hawke.

“Just forewarn me if there’s an accidental pregnancy in my lovelife,” he told her, both of those thick brows skyrocketing. “Or something equally disastrous.” It was a joke. Mostly. He never knew how much thought it was to give into those things anyway. Things were never set in stone, were they? The tides always changed, so forth, but he hoped for good fortune.

Like all people. Maybe he’d learn a trick or two from watching her, perhaps.

“Oh, but you’d be a good father, I think,” Zatanna grinned, hands passing over the spread on the table. It almost seemed to radiate a magic of its own, from her fingertips to the cards which would reveal answers to unasked questions, a kind of a warm, golden glow - she was deeply in the zone, but then began to turn them over, one at a time. And she’d explain as she did so.

The first card featured a man and a woman at a crossroads, a tree, and fruit. “The Lovers,” she said. “It can involve the concept of love itself, but it’s also...more. Deeper. It represents something that speaks to you, something or someone that makes you feel balanced and complete. It involves making a choice. The story on the card is that this man knows that, no matter how much trouble he gets for bringing this woman with him down along the road, he will choose her because she is his future, and she fulfills him. They will traverse this whole new road together.” It was a pretty card - the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge also symbolized the man and woman choosing to “know” each other in every sense of the word.

Oh, hell, he knew he would - but if the time ever crossed his path he’d handle it. Assuming it ever would. Babysteps of the figurative variety worked best for Bela. Though Garrett found himself to be most content filling in the role of a godfather, in which he’d probably end up wearing fairy wings and a wand around that little child to make sure she was aware who he was.

Hawke watched her, all while picking at the offered sweets. It was almost like an acquired taste, in a sense, that every bite seemed to have tasted better. There probably wouldn’t be much left after this. “Well, that seems to bode well?” Yes? No? It seemed to represent him and Bela, he guessed? The lady pirate was something of a cynic behind the sass and inappropriate quips; it hid a fear of being a bloody terrible person, but he was convinced she wasn’t. She had to see that for herself - he loved her the way she was, she just had to love herself too.

And forgive herself, eventually.

But at the very least, he was pleased that there wasn’t any sign of her hopping onto an airplane and leaving him with his thumb up his ass any time soon?

Zatanna thought it boded well, and she told him so. “It does,” she assured with a wry smile, and yet turning over the next card made her brow furrow - but the whistling of the kettle demanded attention, so she tended to that quickly, preparing tea. That was brought to the table, along with the appropriate additions - cream, sugar, honey. Whatever else Hawke could want in his cuppa, though Zee tended to really enjoy her Turkish apple tea, and Iraqi lime tea. This was type wasn’t really flavored - it was just a black tea, kind of a blank slate.

“This one, it’s the Tower,” she said. “It’s essentially a flash of truth, kind of like...a big shock. An awakening that is not very pleasant or painless, but the Three of Cups - “ She motioned to the next card, “It is a oneness shared between you and those close to you. A sensitivity and sympathy. I would assume for whatever situation is set to unfold...” The reader would see if she could get a feel for what that might be, by turning over other cards.

Some stereotypes were true, and his was that he fuckin’ loved tea. The Brit always did, even as a child. There was always something soothing about it; like a snooty way of sitting back and slowing down time. Hawke prepared his to his liking, mostly with honey and cream.

“Not pleasant and with actual pain,” he mumbled into his cup. Oh, so there was potentially dreary news in the horizon. Perhaps nothing concrete, since wasn’t time fluid? Future defined by your choices and blahblahblah people decide their own fate? There was truth to that, and truth to events that were inevitable - that’s what he believed, anyway. “That’s so lovely to hear. I won’t end up dirt broke with future business endeavors, will I?”

Zatanna bit her lip when she saw the next card - it was strange, she felt a wave of something sinister wash over her, like a storm rolling in on the horizon and bringing it with knotted black clouds. “Actually, according to the King of Pentacles, this represents success and money, and being at the top of your game in terms of careers. But the Moon...”

It was this next card that sort of concerned her.

“The Moon means an upcoming mental trial. Something exhaustive, emotionally. Yet your mind will be playing tricks on you, so beware. It is usually a card that warns someone of hidden enemies.” But when she turned over the final card, that was what sealed the deal.

Black robes and armor, a scythe, a white rose. The Fool weeps as he realizes that Death has come for him, but Death merely assures him that mourning is natural - you must deal with your loss before accepting anything new; old leaves must fly away from a tree’s branches to make room for the new greenery.

Now, not all of the time, did this card mean an actual death. But in this instance, Zatanna knew it did. “Something is going to end,” she said. “A feeling of being low, of feeling stripped to the bone. But it’s definitely...an ending.”

Hawke paused mid-sip, a single brow curiously poking up - he saw how her teeth clamped down. It never seemed much like a good sign. Especially when she was divining his bloody future. Maker, why did he agree to this again? It all started out fine and well and then something like The Death appears, an illustration of the Grim Reaper himself.

He’d heard the interpretation of that card as an omen for a literal death was rare. Meant something like...rebirth, if he recalled correctly? But that’s not exactly how she interpreted - it sounded more like an end of the line.

“Something,” he repeated, setting his cup down. Garrett wasn’t sure how to take that, but he pensively toyed with his beard, leaning back against his seat. “What do you think that something is? Is that something your cards could elaborate on?”

Oh, blast. He hated cliffhangers.

“A life,” Zee responded honestly, because she just knew. Her fingers curled around her tea cup and she sipped from it; the hot liquid was soothing. “Combined with the other cards, the feeling I get from them - that’s what I see. But it also means...time taken, to come to terms with that loss. Even as something is taken from us, something brand new is created.”

In a sense, it did feel like it would be a profound loss, bringing with it pain and sorrow - but new life was just around the corner, the birth of a baby. That was the circle of life, of creation, and these cards were showing that.

“Do you want some plum brandy to go into that tea?” Her expression was sympathetic, and worried, because she knew how frustrating this was - how she wished the turn of the cards could give concrete, clear answers but tarot was simply a tool for carving a future path.

Wait, wait. Wait. A life. Zatanna was interpreting that the end involved a life - that someone close to him would die and…what? Yes, he did look quite alarmed, and those mossy eyes tightened a bit, and yes, he actually would like some plum brandy. If she offered him piss disguised as whiskey he’d drink that too.

“That’s the most vague and infuriating thing I’ve ever heard,” Hawke growled a sigh. “Is that it? I don’t get a hint of who?” Was it anyone from his family? Friends? Isabela? He needed a direction, something to hone all this nervous energy and concern towards and if there was a way he could stop it. It was just a possibility, wasn’t it? Not something set in stone that he couldn’t do a damn thing towards.

She wished she could tell him more, but that was the annoying part about divination. It was kind of like the most awful ‘to be continued’ there ever was. “The future is never certain,” Zee reminded him, as she stood up to twist the cap off the crystal decanter of plum brandy, țuică, and poured a splash or two (okay, more than two) into each of their teacups.

“I could not tell who exactly - just that it seems to be someone who would potentially be close to you. But consider it a warning, Hawke, not a certainty. Like I said, hardly anything ever is.”

Except death. And taxes. However, she wasn’t going to say for sure one way or the other - and now she felt awful that he had such a negative perception of having his tarot hand read.

Potentially was a keyword he didn’t care to toy with. But now armed with spike tea, Hawke took a tentative sip “You know,” he began, after a minute and a sigh through his nose. “One of my earliest dreams was of my sister. Getting slammed into the ground over and over by an ogre.” He could still hear it sometimes. Mother’s cries, the sound of his sister’s bones cracking at every impact - in the end she wasn’t all that recognizable, soaked in blood and lifeless.

Because of their unfortunate circumstances of Ferelden being ravaged by the Blight, they had no choice but to leave her corpse behind. No proper funeral. No place to pay respects. Just a prayer uttered before they had to flee.

“Things tend to mirror in all the wrong ways. I’d been paranoid about something happening to her because of all this, and this doesn’t exactly comfort me.” Well, it wasn’t Zee’s fault, he knew that - he’d been curious, she obliged. Neither could control what the cards foretold. “Think if I buy everyone I care about a helmet and a set of knee pads, we could avoid a catastrophe?”

Hawke was joking.

Mostly.

“Perhaps,” Zatanna allowed, with a comforting pat on the hand once she reached across the small table. “That sounds terrible, about your sister. I’m so very sorry. It may not help, but I do understand - I had no way of knowing about my sister’s death here, no one told me. We’d lost touch and now we’ll never be able to get back that time. So if it soothes you to get that helmet and knee pads, I say by all means.”

She drank her own spiked tea quickly, the brandy in it kicking the hot beverage more than a little kick. A sweet one, kind of pungent at the end as it went down. “And I am here for whatever else you need to - however I can help.” Not like she’d read Hawke’s fortune then drop him on his ass - no, she was going to stick it out. Be there. Since they were connected now, in a few ways.

There wasn’t much anyone could do, was there? Besides wait. Hawke’s patience was sometimes infinite (with as much people’s bullshit he took care of for them, he needed it to be), but it dwindled with this - because what was he supposed to do? Twiddle his thumbs? Play a riveting game of bingo up until someone croaked?

Bethany made the most sense. And the thought was dreadful, like anvils sinking in his stomach. Instinct made him want to put her in his damn pocket and never let her go. Track her phone at all times, make sure she was armed and had her seatbelt in every vehicle she rode in and he’d nag her to look both ways before crossing the street. No accepting drinks from strangers, no going anywhere with strangers…

Ugh, Andraste’s twat, he gulped back the remainder of his drink. He didn’t even feel the bite. “I’ll gladly let you know,” Garrett promised. “But thank you. I’d rather know than to be caught completed blindsighted, even if it’s not the best thing to expect.”

In that sense, Zee actually was glad that she’d read the cards for Garrett - it might not be the best thing to have heard, but perhaps a little warning was indeed better than none? She just worried that the Moon would be most accurate - his mind would be playing tricks on him, he’d be second guessing and...

Well, there was no sense in her beginning to second guess as well.

“I’ll keep looking,” she vowed. “I’ll consult other forms of divination. And if I see anything else, I will let you know.”

There was a ghost of an appreciative smile. Nothing big, nothing that’d make those charming indentations of his cheek apparent. “You’re not obligated, but thank you, regardless. If there’s anything more to know, the better.”

Who knows - maybe the poor sod that’d walk towards the light at the end of the tunnel would be Gamlen. Sounded/ a little cruel but, ah, Hawke wouldn’t mourn too much. He was an uncle, ‘close’ to him. Made sense?

Regardless, he could only hope.