WorldsAtHerFingertips[Continued from Last Meal] Gillian had retired to the safety of her loft after classes. The day had gone well. Not only had she caught up on her work – most of which she’d already done anyway – her instructors were more than willing to allow her a brief sabbatical to Rebma. Professor Hobbs also agreed to let her go, albeit perhaps a little to eagerly. Ginger snoozed on the window ledge, sated with some fish-head stew sent up by Becca. And after the expenditures of the previous evening, Cybele remained silent through much of the day. Without either distracting her, Gillian found herself with time to revisit her growing Trump deck. She’d laid them out on the bed, placed in their normal progress from The Fool to the World. The Minor Arcanum had been set aside on the right. And the Trump Mandor had provided her showing Baroness Solataire sat the left. Even without Cybele or the Dark Hour, Gillian could now feel the power radiating from the cards. And the power within her. She passed her right hand over them, smiling in delight at the tingle in her fingertips. She slowed down, wondering if there was a difference in the energies, if each card had a signature feel to it. "Time to ask another question, I think," Gillian said aloud to herself as she eyed the trump of the Baroness. "Surely they've all had enough time to attune to me." She gathered them all up, including the Baroness's trump, shuffled purposefully, and concentrated on her question. "Is it a good idea or a bad idea from my point of view to contact the Baroness Solataire?" Gillian laid the trumps out in the Star pattern she'd used the first time she'd performed a reading with them. Gillian laid six cards before her, creating the star with a ‘heart’ at its center. From top to the heart, they came out the Moon, the Hermit, the Tower, the High Priestess, the Fool, and, finally, the World. Each card shimmered under her fingers, their essence eager to emerge. Even without Cybele, she knew she could release them from their Trumps. Dealing with them once freed, however, was something else entirely. As readings went, this appeared positive. The Moon represented her doubts and confusion, with regard to the question. It also revealed unexpected changes in her life, should she press through that confusion. The Hermit represented want she most desired at the moment, revealing a desire to connect with some that could share her burdens. The Tower – always a negative card – represented her fears, namely of disruption and chaos should move forward. However, even with the world falling apart, there could be hidden possibilities within the ruins. The High Priestess represented the positive forces working for her. In this case, her intuition – the best guide for a Will-worker. She had but to listen, and secrets would be revealed. Appropriately, the Fool worked against her; impetuous decisions threatening to unravel her very existence. She needed to draw on her experience, rather than maintain naïve and immature beliefs. And finally, the World revealed a successful conclusion to the venture she set before her. A relationship full of rewards, as well as spiritual growth. In short, the reading indicated caution, but a positive - personal - result from contacting the baroness. Gillian gathered up the trumps again, but kept the trump of the Baroness separate. She considered it a moment, careful not to activate it, then looked over at her sleeping familiar. "Ginger, I'm about to do something potentially reckless and I think I'd like your potential support should things go awry. Wake up and come over and help me. Please." Ginger didn’t open her eyes. She spoke through her paws, “If it involves dragons, the Pattern, or anything else that will injury, maim, or kill me, I suggest you do the following. Place both hands upon your shoulders. Grip firmly, yet gently. With a slow, pushing motion, shove your stupid head up your ass. Then leave it up there until you come to your senses.” Gillian waited, unperturbed. Realizing this advice would go unheeded, she sighed and stretched languidly. After the mandatory, allotted ‘feline time,’ she padded over and gazed up at Gillian. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” "So cynical," Gillian observed, sounding affronted through the hint of a smile. "Don't you believe I have your best interests in mind?" Ginger raised a brow, “Two words. Internal hemorrhaging.” She picked up Ginger and set her in her lap, then scratched behind the cat's ears as she presented the trump of the Baroness. "Can you tell me anything about her?" Gillian asked. "Mandor gave me her trump and said to contact her regarding 'Tom' and that she was his great-granddaughter. Apparently Cybele knew her at one time, too. Based on her reaction, I'm guessing intimately." Ginger examined the Trump, her tail flicking from side to side. “Melantha. Yes, the resemblance is remarkable. But this isn’t her. The hair is wrong. And the eyes.” She looked up at Gillian, “If I had to bet a bowl of fish ball soup, this is Melantha’s daughter. The generation would fit too. Suh. . . uh, ~Tom~ . . . frowned on Melantha and Cybele getting their freak on. Sold Mel off to some Helgram nobleman after he found them in the middle of a beaver hunt. They lost touch after that. Pity too. Mel’s pet daemon was dreamy. He could do this thing with his. . .” Gillian waved the trump. "Focus, please. Do you know if Tom acknowledged his granddaughter?" Ginger pouted then bowed her head, “Yeah. He acknowledged her upside the head a few times, I think. Melantha turned her back on the priesthood and followed the Warrior’s Path, becoming a Hell-maiden. A brutal one, too. Rarely wearing her human-skin. I’m shocked she never devolved into the Primal Cancer, if you want the truth. And when she and Cybele got together. . .” She cringed. ‘Worlds died for their amusement.” Gillian shivered. "And Lord Mandor wants me to contact her daughter. Maybe this is how he wants to make the problem of me _go away_." “It’s the way I’d do it,” Ginger admitted. “Of course, he likes to watch people suffer, so you might be safe for now.” "And that's supposed to be reassuring?" Gillian studied the card in her hand again. "On the other hand, I did just do a trump reading regarding the situation and got the thumbs-up. Ginger, do you think I should contact her? She could—she undoubtedly _does_—have valuable information." Ginger snorted, “Why ask me? Thus far, you’ve done a bang-up job of inviting trouble into our lives without any advice from the Wise One.” The cat padded around her and thumped down on the pillow, tail slashing the air. Gillian gave her a moderately regretful look. “Ah, go for it,"Ginger relented. “Between the two of us, we can keep her from turning your brains to tapioca. Mrmmm… pudding.” "I like custard better." The girl brought the trump to eye level and concentrated on it, willing the portrait to life. It took only a moment for the heat drain from the card, cooling her fingers. The Trump’s surface shimmered like quicksilver, the image becoming transparent. Snow landed upon Gillian’s hand, melting in icy tendrils. Music filled her head – pounding base, tribal beat, and a guttural voice: Because you're mine. I can't stand the things that you do. No, no, no, I ain't lyin'. No. Then, a velvety voice slithered into her skull. ~Mrmmmm. You’re new.~ OOC: The music is Marilyn Manson’s version of ‘I Put a Spell on You.’ Gillian almost cut the contact right there. She forced a smile instead. "Hello. My name is Gillian Talbot. Lord Mandor gave me your trump and suggested I contact you." She paused. "He told me that you and he didn't have the most congenial of relationships, so I wanted to assure you that even though he provided the trump, I'm not contacting you on his account. Um...completely. "Is this a convenient time?" The Trump began to open. Gillian could see a winter-choked forest of pine and birch trees. A raven-haired woman with olive skin danced to the tribal beat, wreathed only in coiling shadows. Charred bodies lay at her feet, hollow eyes staring up at the slate-grey sky from the powdery snow. Crouched to her right was a vulpine monstrosity – all teeth and fur and menace. ~Tanstaafl?~ she called to it. ~Is this a convenient time?~ The daemon adjusted its spectacles and referred to a glowing book. ~Initial testing has concluded, Baroness. It will take me several hours to process the data. You may utilize this time as you wish.~ She stopped dancing and extended her small hand to Gillian; an oily smile curling her lips. ~Very well. I could do with a spot of shopping in Amber.~ Gillian wasn't sure she wanted a Baroness in her bedroom, but the alternative was to continue to give Solataire access to her mind. Baroness in the bedroom seemed the lesser of the two evils. She reached out tentatively and took the Baroness' hand in her own. Solataire gripped her hand and stepped through the shimmering window. As the naked Chaosian stepped into the room, Gillian noticed exactly how ~short~ the woman was, hardly more than five-foot. And yet, she seemed taller, her unsettling presence filling the room. Gillian stood up from her bed and backed over to the wall. The shadows coiling at her feet became restless, sliding up her tiny body in a dark wave. The slushy texture softened into plush, stretch velvet, draping the Baroness in a dark purple dress. A graceful, ballet neckline revealed the moonstone choker glimmering on her throat, and tapering sleeves ended at points over her delicate hands. A living sigh rippled beneath the fabric, then settled into dormancy. She dismissively began to wander about the room, inspecting its every angle and feature. On the bed, Ginger gulped, “Unicorn’s Balls, if you don’t tap that ass, I call first dibs!” "Ginger!" Gillian admonished, her face suddenly bright pink. She quickly walked back to the bed and scooped up her mouthy familiar. “Oh, like you weren’t thinking it?” Ginger muttered. Gillian put a hand over Ginger's mouth and gave Solataire a frantic smile. "I'm so sorry," Gillian continued to the Baroness. "My familiar has...self-control issues. Um...perhaps m'lady is thirsty after her...um...exertions?" Gillian looked around her tower room but there weren't really any refreshments--only a mug partly full with tepid tea and half of a day-old muffin. Solataire brushed away the apology with an acquiescent wave of her hand. “It is a Cait'sidhe. Self-control is not in their nature.” Gillian repressed a sigh. If only _she_ had magical senses that finely attuned, to be able to just _look_ at something and know all about it! Solataire turned from her inspection, a warm smile on her violet lips. “And yes. I could do with some tea. Deiga’s northern climes can be rather chilly this time of year.” When Gillian looked again, she discovered an entire tea set on her night stand. Steam rose from a white pot and a selection of teas were arranged around it. The muffin has disappeared, replaced by some flaky pastries. She inhaled sharply, eyes wide, wondering if that had been a display of Logrus or Magic. Ginger replied in her head. ~Both, I think. I sensed the Logrus, but even hanging spells take a second or two. And this close to the Pattern? She’s either a true Royal, or really, really powerful.~ Gillian's estimation of the woman increased by probably a factor of ten. Solataire sauntered over to the carpet, glancing down at it and then up to the rafter above. A soft breath escaped her, like a curious purr. "A curious, if sloppy, use of Death Magick. Your work?" "Wh-what?" Gillian asked, all of her focus on the baroness. She set Ginger down and walked a few steps toward the worn braided rug covering that unsettling brown stain on the floor she'd noticed when she moved in. "No, not my work. Death Magick? Can you explain further?" Solataire smiled tenderly at Gillian, gesturing to the rug. "Then, I'm not surprised you didn't sense it. Someone pierced the Wake here. It is a basic, but dangerous, spell from the Lore of Death. And from the residual auras, I suspect the spell resulted in the formation of a purgatory." She stared into Gillian's eyes- something ancient stirring behind those deep eyes. She gave an embarrassed laugh. "No. You would not make so crude a mistake. Forgive me." Gillian shook her head slightly, not understanding. Ginger paced around their feet, "I told you this place was haunted." The feline let out a startled howl as someone knocked on the door. "Son of a b%$^h!" A man’s voice boomed from the other side, "It's Malachi, Miss Gillian," he said. "With company." [Continued in Witches Wizards and Wolves] |
