[ Monts is thinking that it's kind of fun when she's finally able to get the one-up over him. In these instances him being a priest is sort of a waste.
She rests her cheek in one hand, overacting her contemplation at his melodrama as they approach the entrance of the fortune-telling tent. ]
I thought about it Father Abel, I really did. Fortunately for you, I wasn't able to start my smear campaign so your good image has been maintained.
[ you know, now she wonders what kind of face her other friends would have made if they had found out, but she imagines it would have turned out fine if she also told them she threw the priest into the DVD cases; equivalent exchange and all. ]
[ that face of hers... he's pouting, another quiet and petulant huff exhaled as he holds the flap of the tent aside for her to enter, as if abruptly remembering he is occasionally possessed of manners. ]
Oh, what a relief...! You didn't smear my good name all over God knows where with your slander about choking you like I'm some kind of degenerate...
[ but not too well-mannered, of course.
the interior of the tent is low-lit and ~atmospheric,~ naturally - there's lots of beads and dramatic candlelight. i-it's a little...
creepy....
Abel might be hovering close behind Monts' shoulder. just a bit, for ah. you know. protection in numbers, you see. ]
Y-you're going first, since, you know. You have experience, and ah...
I don't have experience in this sort of setup. It's too theatrical.
[ But she'll take the lead anyways. As they go in further, they're met with a table with a feminine figure who is wearing a thick veil, a velvety robe, and gloved hands. Aside from the atmospheric elements around them from the candles to colored beads, the table itself is rather barren, with only a satiny table cloth to decorate it.
The figure, who is obviously their fortune teller for the evening beckons them to sit on the fancy chairs. They do not speak and instead puts their focus on a deck of cards that they're shuffling out of whimsy. ]
... Oh. Tarot cards? That's more conventional than expected.
[ the creepy atmosphere...? just deepened about tenfold, and Abel is still hovering close to Monts' shoulder as they creep closer. this veiled, vaguely womanly shape is... not assisting to quell his rustled nerves.
Abel's hand might be a little more firm where it's resting at Monts' shoulder, a light wobble in his voice, ]
T... tarot? [ ... ]
Do you think she's, ah... a witch? Do witches use tarot...? W-wait, who uses tarot again? I'm getting sweaty. S-sweaty. What if she uses the cards to suck out our souls or something...?
[ Monts doesn't mind his hand on her shoulder, but she'll be sitting down on the comfy chair so he'll have to separate eventually. His reluctance makes her pause and stares at him for a second.]
... Oh yeah. Isn't this kind of stuff like... Not great in regards to Catholicism?
[ Like Abel, you were the one who suggested it! Their fortune teller is letting them take their sweet time, not minding their shenanigans. They're just going to be humming under their breath as they wait for the two to get ready. ]
Look, we'll be fine. I'll throw a chair, not you if things turn sideways.
[ he has some Regrets??? maybe a few... when he mentioned fortune teller he was kind of picturing one of those automated booths you put a coin in or something, n-not... whatever this is??
he's looking more than a little hesitant, but... once she's promised to go Old Testament on their ass should things go south, he's grudgingly taking a seat beside her. don't mind him if his eyes linger on the unsettling veiled figure, and he may be scooting his chair discreetly closer to Monts... ]
What...? [ .. ] Oh, well. Yes, heretical and all, but what on this island isn't heretical these days? Honestly, I've just given up on any hopes of propriety, so that's the least of my concerns. It isn't like Caterina knows what I'm doing, right~? Our little secret!
[ haha thanks for conspiring to do a heresy with him Monts love ya, ]
...You definitely won't let her eat my soul, right. Because I quite like it just where it is? Promise?
[ The fortune teller shoots Abel a dirty look. Okay, they're just looking in his direction, but body language is indicating they're a bit annoyed with him.
And in an extremely dry tone of voice, Monts reassures him: ]
You'll be fine. At this rate, I'm the one who's dragging your ass to Hell, not our fortune teller here.
--What! You would not. [ ............wow??? betrayed... he's folding his arms over his chest and looking between them - he can't tell which one is more dangerous, anymore, and sinks into his coat some. honestly... not fair, it really isn't fair. a priest can't get any respect, these days. ] W-well, fine then! I'll just sit here and enjoy my heresy in peace and quiet, how about that...?
[ ok he is actually pretty curious about how this is going to work... Fogtown can either be 100% ridiculous and comical or 100% hideous, and he's on the fence about whether or not it's too late to bow out of their, uh... choice of company.
BE CAREFUL MONTS... ]
So, what do we need to do...? Hold hands? Close our eyes? Count backwards from 100...? Wait, I think that last one's anesthesia.
[ Monts thinks that if even Abuela would have doubts about Father Abel's demeanor as a priest, then it's totally okay to dunk on him. That's how it works, it's law
Before Monts can retort, the Fortune Teller croaks out their words first. ]
Just be open-minded. Ask a question about yourself, to yourself. I'll shuffle and pull three cards. We'll work out an interpretation from there.
[ Fortune Teller shakes their deck of cards at them in lieu of shaking a finger. ]
It's just a simple reading, but the point of this is to illuminate a path forward, not to get the winning lotto numbers. We don't have a lotto here. Yet.
[ Monts on her end is thinking about it and taking it sort of seriously. If this were anywhere else from anyone else, she wouldn't even entertain the idea of getting a reading. Fogtown has played with their minds more than once though so who knows what'll come from this. ]
[ the SHOCK, the HORROR, he looks taken aback and is shooting Monts a deer in headlights look before tentatively sliding his eyes back to the Fortune Teller. th-this is... this is not what he signed up for...... ]
Are you serious...? You're going to make me go first...?! B-but I'm nervous, how on earth are you going to throw me into the lion's den like this, Miss Monts...? I thought we had an understanding~!
[ ...........GOD,
whatever. he can protest all he wants, but he has a feeling he doesn't have much of a say and is just going to be bullied into it anyway. (plus, if it turns out to be less than safe... um, he would rather he was the experimental casualty.)
thus, he's huffing once again, even as he closes his eyes and tries to think of a suitable question. something light-hearted, something that isn't heavy or awkward or embarrassing or personal or-- god, this is incredible hard. harder than he thought. w-what if he thinks the wrong thing at the crucial moment and that's what she picks up on?!?!?! WHAT IF?!?!?!?!
..... ]
U--ugh, I'm giving myself a migraine. Can we just get this over with...? Do I have to say what I'm thinking about out loud...? Ooooh, I'm getting light-headed.
[ Fortune Teller turns their head in Monts' direction. ]
He's very whiny, isn't he?
[ Monts sighs and nods sadly. ]
It's like having a tall child in tow.
[ Their host chortles and turns to look at Abel. ]
No need to talk. You're just going to make it worse for yourself at this rate so I'll just shuffle and you pull three. Same for you girly, after he's done.
[ And the shuffling begins. It's done briskly, but with a sense of deep concentration. ]
[ ...hello??? he’s rubbing at his temple and glowering furiously as he snaps his eyes open, they are conspiring against HIM now?? ]
—Why are you talking about me like I’m not here?! And I am not whiny for your information...! Goodness, whatever happened to common manners? Everyone’s a critic these days...
[ but, his eyes flicker to the table as he’s watching as their hands move to shuffle the tarot cards, intrigue and apprehension warring for control. hmm... he has to choose three, right? Abel’s waiting and watching until they’re done and the cards are splayed out for his perusal.
...
n-no pressure, right... no pressure...
(he might actually begin sweating at this rate,) slender fingers reach and gently pluck three cards from the array. well... here goes nothing?? ]
...If this says anything about suddenly being fired? I blame you and this engagement entirely, for the record.
[ That's the only response he'll get for the time being. When he pulls his three cards, Fortune Teller draws back to spread them out and then flip them upwards. ]
Monts gazes at his cards with some piqued interest now. Without betraying her neutral expression, she asks about them. ]
So...? What does that mean for him?
[ Fortune Teller clasps their fingers together not looking at either of them in their direction. They stare off into the distance before making an assessment. First, they point to The Star. ]
The Star is reversed. You're a suffering man. A man of faith without faith. You let others criticize you and yet here you are, your harshest one.
[ Monts is silent, no longer feeling like she can make a snide remark. There's a bite to this and she holds her breath for Abel's reaction. ]
[ ah. and there it is, that Feeling he so dislikes. it’s not a fun Feeling. it’s the one he gets when he’s swallowing something particularly bitter, and he makes a face as if that’s precisely what he’s doing, nudging habitually at his glasses and exhaling through his nose in displeasure.
but he doesn’t flinch or falter— ]
Well, the suffering part is decidedly correct, I can assure you.
[ the petulant grumble escapes him with a side-long glance toward Monts. for no particular reason. he isn’t insinuating anything, just in case she wonders. ]
This is terribly cryptic. I mean, that’s why all of this gets a bad rap, you know...? Even I could wave my arms around and say a bunch of mumbo jumbo with pretty cards. Honestly...! [ and now he’s leaning in, peering at the others he’s pulled discerningly. ] —Say, um. ...Unless one of these says I’m certain to have some rich, newly divorced supermodel fall madly in love with me, eh? I might be convinced to take this more seriously if you throw me a bone, here.
[ Fortune Teller isn't irritated by Abel. If anything, they seem to be in their own trance as they continue to stare past the two. ]
Can't forgive yourself, can you? All you can do is walk farther, forward, as even what's precious is left behind. Well. Anyway.
[ They take a look back down at the table. ]
Hanged Man. Upright too. Well, that means there's some sense in your head somewhere. The upright meaning includes sacrifice, but I'd advise you not to go to extremes, especially since its other meaning is uncertainty and lack of direction. Repentance shouldn't be done blindly, not when there are others who will help you on your path.
And since you're asking about romance, fine. When upright, The Hanged Man means there's no romantic pressure. Probably better than saying no romance for you outright.
[ They scoff cause seriously, it's Father Abel. Monts is lost in thought thinking about how this relates to him cause this might be closer to the truth than he's willing to give her. ]
sometimes he permits himself to forget the things this island can do. dig at. uncover, and toy with. the friendships he’s made here are precious, and some of the memories he has alongside its residents are some of his most treasured to date. it fosters complacency, doesn’t it? he’s guilty of that, and... he can’t deny it.
but there’s also moments like this one, where he remembers there’s a cost, a balance, to everything. he can feel the weight of Monts’ gaze at his side - whether it’s on him, or his cards, he isn’t sure. either way, he’s quickly schooling his face where the obfuscating idiocy had mildly slipped— ]
[ and he’s lightly resting his hands on the last and pushing it back toward the deck, ]
The only sacrifice I’m contemplating is forgoing any more of this... kind drivel. Please, save your breath; with such a glowing picture you’re painting, what’s a man to do with himself...? I can’t handle all this flattery~!
[ Abel shoots Monts a withering look. light. genial, if exasperated. ]
I think we were better off with the clowns, personally. Can we go now...? I’d like to romance another funnel cake, if you don’t mind. Surely you don’t want to listen to any more of this nonsense, Miss Monts...?
[ She was about to ask about his last card, but it's Fortune Teller that lightly slaps Abel's hand away impatiently. ]
Settle down you beanpole. You should be grateful that Judgement is upright! This is the path forward you dolt.
[ With another 'hrmph' Fortune Teller leans back into their chair with crossed arms. ]
It is self-evaluation with awakening, not just old conclusions. Renew yourself in all ways including the future you see for yourself. Had this been reversed, you would be stuck with your pitiful perception of your being.
Just because all those years have passed doesn't mean it's too late. It just means you'll suffer more if the reversed Star is any indication.
[ The Fortune Teller's overall card reading for the priest has been oddly fruitful for Monts. She's barely remarked this whole time if only to really take in her companion's reactions to the cards and it's... It's telling.
They're so different, yet the same in some uncomfortable ways. ]
... You know that could have been worse Father Abel. Pretty generous reading if you ask me.
[ Silently, their host sweeps the cards into their hands and begins to shuffle again. ]
[ ...finding his hand swatted away and his request to forgo the remainder of the reading RUDELY and summarily ignored, Abel is grumbling to himself as he sits back in his chair, even if inwardly... the disconcerting feeling that's settled somewhere vague in his insides has grown. still, most of it doesn't make it to his face as he folds his arms over his chest and makes a good show of looking petulant and put-out.
he absorbs the last card, quietly wondering to himself if there is any validity in the tarot's - albeit vague - foretelling. 'just because all those years have passed doesn't mean it's too late.' ...ha. is that so...? what a bittersweet pang, even if he doesn't believe any of this to be real at all.
can't dny it's ironic, though. the 'Star'? is it him looking for signs where there aren't any? the 'Star of Istvan' immediately comes to mind, his all-too-precious redheaded friend; the prospect of 'suffering' is rather grim if it is in any way in relation to her. (would he care otherwise...?) --ah, it's really pitiful, for him to put any weight at all in the mindgames this sometimes-dreadful place could pull; he's fixing at his glasses before settling a dull stare at Monts. ]
Miss Monts, might I suggest you avoid tempting your fate with this OBVIOUS charlatan?? This is simply hogwash and this person is clearly going to ask for an arm and a leg in payment for their, ...'services.' Maybe literally?
[ he leans in a bit, whispering far too loudly, ]
Y-you don't suppose I'm already doomed, do you? What if she eats me, after all...? --I like my appendages where they are, c-cmon, maybe we should just go...
[ ...he doesn't want Monts to pick her cards.
just in case there is validity in any of this, he thinks-- it... wouldn't be right, for him to hear it. ]
[ His huffiness bounces off Monts as she keeps her eyes on the shuffled deck. The Fortune Teller quietly spreads it out on the table and pays no heed to the priest. ]
Choose your three now. We don't have all day.
...
[ Her hand reaches out to take three cards in no particular order. Fortune Teller gives a low hum before turning them over. ]
... Quite the cards you've chosen girl. I bet you'll have some interesting thoughts on these.
[ Monts stares at her cards. A reversed Tower. Upright Death. And lastly a reversed card of Temperance. ]
"The Tower..." [ Monts' attitude is hard to make out right now. Her expression is in between something akin to being troubled and calm resignation. Fortune Teller is rubbing their chin with one hand, amusement emitting from their person. ]
Aye, that's usually a troublesome one... You've been through the wringer haven't you girly?
[ his well-meaning warning goes unheeded. maybe Monts doesn’t mind; maybe she’s invested in hearing a portent the cards might reveal. either way, he finds himself softly exhaling and sitting back in his chair as the cards are selected and turned.
...Abel has very little experience with tarot; he’s exchanging a glance from the Teller to Monts, and back again. through the wringer; well, considering what he knows about her life, that doesn’t seem too far off the mark. her expression, though... ]
When this is reversed, that means you have delayed a crisis, but don't be surprised for another one to loom on the horizon. I can tell by your face. You can play it cool and calm all you want; your heart is still weak.
The heart is the foundation of every living, feeling, and thinking being; a tower in itself. If your tower has faulty foundations, it will fall.
... I see.
[ Unlike Abel, Monts doesn't fight against the Fortune Teller's reading. In a way, it's not they're telling her anything new, but more like putting those words, she had in her mind this whole time into reality. Monts decides to move on, pointing at the grim reaper with its scythes. ]
What about Death?
Ah, that one. It evades you doesn't it? [ Fortune Teller laughs at their own joke. Gotta hand it to this island, it sure does conjure up beings that know too much about those that inhabit its shores. ]
Well, at least it's not literal; very misunderstood you see. People see it and think it is the end. But if things are to be new, something must die! Upright, means transformation, release. The Tower may spell another disaster, but you are in the middle of Death itself!
[ Monts hasn't looked at Abel this whole time, but her hands are in her lap, gripping at her dress. It's like she doesn't believe it, but can't argue against it. ]
[ ...she already knows, whatever it is that’s looming in the horizon for her. is that it...? whatever the Teller has told her doesn’t seem a shock or something unexpected. that feeling that had settled in his chest earlier coils a little bit deeper for it, and he finds himself gently reaching out to rest one of his hands to lightly sit atop one of her own. seeing some distress in her posture, in her eyes, is...
...
...is she okay? he doesn’t want to ask what all of this might insinuate for her. if she’s going through something - if she needs help... would she open up? ask? he doesn’t think so. she seems the type to try and grin and bear it. ]
[ She freezes when Abel rests his hand on top of hers. Though she doesn't open up to hold his hand, her fingers loosen their grip as she regains her calm. ]
We're almost done, right? What's Temperance mean for me?
[ Fortune Teller shifts so that they're leaning forward and something about their presence has encompassed the whole of the tent they're sitting in. Monts' mark stirs on her neck. ]
Poor thing. You would have wanted this one upright, I'll tell you that for free.
[ Fortune Teller sounds much more menacing compared to the lighthearted voice they had sported at the beginning of their visit. They point at Monts with one gloved finger. ]
Excess. Imbalance. If given the chance you'll fall into the one extreme you've been trying to avoid this whole time. You're an all-or-nothing woman and with an attitude like that, the crisis from the Tower will define your fate. Think carefully, girl.
Priest. Or Father, as you're called.
[ The finger points to Father Abel next.]
This one's a complicated one. The parts that make up the sum are causing an imbalance. Prayers are all fine and good but tread carefully, you hear?
[ ...he’s drawing to his feet, and his hand shifts with the gesture, coming to fall on Monts’ shoulder instead of lingering at her hand. ]
—We’re going, now.
[ gentle, but brokering no argument. whether or not he needs the Teller’s warning, there’s uncharacteristic sobriety and some unreadable neutrality on his face. it isn’t his place to hear the details of Monts’ fate; her struggles and her nature are private parts of her he's sure she wouldn’t appreciate being laid out and exposed without her prompting.
this island has a way of being cruel and prying and catches one off their guard. and while he cannot begrudge her curiosity, he will not invite any more an invasion than this. ]
Come. Do you want something to drink...? It won’t be as good as yours, but... we can make due.
[ ...come on, Monts. he isn’t sure about her, but he thinks he’ll be glad to be rid of this tent that’s become abruptly suffocating, somehow. maybe a moment to... digest... is in order. ]
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no subject
She rests her cheek in one hand, overacting her contemplation at his melodrama as they approach the entrance of the fortune-telling tent. ]
I thought about it Father Abel, I really did. Fortunately for you, I wasn't able to start my smear campaign so your good image has been maintained.
[ you know, now she wonders what kind of face her other friends would have made if they had found out, but she imagines it would have turned out fine if she also told them she threw the priest into the DVD cases; equivalent exchange and all. ]
no subject
Oh, what a relief...! You didn't smear my good name all over God knows where with your slander about choking you like I'm some kind of degenerate...
[ but not too well-mannered, of course.
the interior of the tent is low-lit and ~atmospheric,~ naturally - there's lots of beads and dramatic candlelight. i-it's a little...
creepy....
Abel might be hovering close behind Monts' shoulder. just a bit, for ah. you know. protection in numbers, you see. ]
Y-you're going first, since, you know. You have experience, and ah...
[ GUINEA PIG, ]
no subject
[ But she'll take the lead anyways. As they go in further, they're met with a table with a feminine figure who is wearing a thick veil, a velvety robe, and gloved hands. Aside from the atmospheric elements around them from the candles to colored beads, the table itself is rather barren, with only a satiny table cloth to decorate it.
The figure, who is obviously their fortune teller for the evening beckons them to sit on the fancy chairs. They do not speak and instead puts their focus on a deck of cards that they're shuffling out of whimsy. ]
... Oh. Tarot cards? That's more conventional than expected.
no subject
Abel's hand might be a little more firm where it's resting at Monts' shoulder, a light wobble in his voice, ]
T... tarot? [ ... ]
Do you think she's, ah... a witch? Do witches use tarot...? W-wait, who uses tarot again? I'm getting sweaty. S-sweaty. What if she uses the cards to suck out our souls or something...?
[ ... ]
--Wait, can she... can she do that.
no subject
... Oh yeah. Isn't this kind of stuff like... Not great in regards to Catholicism?
[ Like Abel, you were the one who suggested it! Their fortune teller is letting them take their sweet time, not minding their shenanigans. They're just going to be humming under their breath as they wait for the two to get ready. ]
Look, we'll be fine. I'll throw a chair, not you if things turn sideways.
no subject
he's looking more than a little hesitant, but... once she's promised to go Old Testament on their ass should things go south, he's grudgingly taking a seat beside her. don't mind him if his eyes linger on the unsettling veiled figure, and he may be scooting his chair discreetly closer to Monts... ]
What...? [ .. ] Oh, well. Yes, heretical and all, but what on this island isn't heretical these days? Honestly, I've just given up on any hopes of propriety, so that's the least of my concerns. It isn't like Caterina knows what I'm doing, right~? Our little secret!
[ haha thanks for conspiring to do a heresy with him Monts love ya, ]
...You definitely won't let her eat my soul, right. Because I quite like it just where it is? Promise?
no subject
And in an extremely dry tone of voice, Monts reassures him: ]
You'll be fine. At this rate, I'm the one who's dragging your ass to Hell, not our fortune teller here.
no subject
[ ok he is actually pretty curious about how this is going to work... Fogtown can either be 100% ridiculous and comical or 100% hideous, and he's on the fence about whether or not it's too late to bow out of their, uh... choice of company.
BE CAREFUL MONTS... ]
So, what do we need to do...? Hold hands? Close our eyes? Count backwards from 100...? Wait, I think that last one's anesthesia.
no subject
Before Monts can retort, the Fortune Teller croaks out their words first. ]
Just be open-minded. Ask a question about yourself, to yourself. I'll shuffle and pull three cards. We'll work out an interpretation from there.
[ Fortune Teller shakes their deck of cards at them in lieu of shaking a finger. ]
It's just a simple reading, but the point of this is to illuminate a path forward, not to get the winning lotto numbers. We don't have a lotto here. Yet.
[ Monts on her end is thinking about it and taking it sort of seriously. If this were anywhere else from anyone else, she wouldn't even entertain the idea of getting a reading. Fogtown has played with their minds more than once though so who knows what'll come from this. ]
... Father Abel you can go first.
no subject
[ the SHOCK, the HORROR, he looks taken aback and is shooting Monts a deer in headlights look before tentatively sliding his eyes back to the Fortune Teller. th-this is... this is not what he signed up for...... ]
Are you serious...? You're going to make me go first...?! B-but I'm nervous, how on earth are you going to throw me into the lion's den like this, Miss Monts...? I thought we had an understanding~!
[ ...........GOD,
whatever. he can protest all he wants, but he has a feeling he doesn't have much of a say and is just going to be bullied into it anyway. (plus, if it turns out to be less than safe... um, he would rather he was the experimental casualty.)
thus, he's huffing once again, even as he closes his eyes and tries to think of a suitable question. something light-hearted, something that isn't heavy or awkward or embarrassing or personal or-- god, this is incredible hard. harder than he thought. w-what if he thinks the wrong thing at the crucial moment and that's what she picks up on?!?!?! WHAT IF?!?!?!?!
..... ]
U--ugh, I'm giving myself a migraine. Can we just get this over with...? Do I have to say what I'm thinking about out loud...? Ooooh, I'm getting light-headed.
no subject
...
[ Fortune Teller turns their head in Monts' direction. ]
He's very whiny, isn't he?
[ Monts sighs and nods sadly. ]
It's like having a tall child in tow.
[ Their host chortles and turns to look at Abel. ]
No need to talk. You're just going to make it worse for yourself at this rate so I'll just shuffle and you pull three. Same for you girly, after he's done.
[ And the shuffling begins. It's done briskly, but with a sense of deep concentration. ]
no subject
—Why are you talking about me like I’m not here?! And I am not whiny for your information...! Goodness, whatever happened to common manners? Everyone’s a critic these days...
[ but, his eyes flicker to the table as he’s watching as their hands move to shuffle the tarot cards, intrigue and apprehension warring for control. hmm... he has to choose three, right? Abel’s waiting and watching until they’re done and the cards are splayed out for his perusal.
...
n-no pressure, right... no pressure...
(he might actually begin sweating at this rate,) slender fingers reach and gently pluck three cards from the array. well... here goes nothing?? ]
...If this says anything about suddenly being fired? I blame you and this engagement entirely, for the record.
no subject
[ That's the only response he'll get for the time being. When he pulls his three cards, Fortune Teller draws back to spread them out and then flip them upwards. ]
... Hm. I see, I see...
[ First is The Star. Second is The Hanged Man. And finally, Judgement.
Monts gazes at his cards with some piqued interest now. Without betraying her neutral expression, she asks about them. ]
So...? What does that mean for him?
[ Fortune Teller clasps their fingers together not looking at either of them in their direction. They stare off into the distance before making an assessment. First, they point to The Star. ]
The Star is reversed. You're a suffering man. A man of faith without faith. You let others criticize you and yet here you are, your harshest one.
[ Monts is silent, no longer feeling like she can make a snide remark. There's a bite to this and she holds her breath for Abel's reaction. ]
no subject
but he doesn’t flinch or falter— ]
Well, the suffering part is decidedly correct, I can assure you.
[ the petulant grumble escapes him with a side-long glance toward Monts. for no particular reason. he isn’t insinuating anything, just in case she wonders. ]
This is terribly cryptic. I mean, that’s why all of this gets a bad rap, you know...? Even I could wave my arms around and say a bunch of mumbo jumbo with pretty cards. Honestly...! [ and now he’s leaning in, peering at the others he’s pulled discerningly. ] —Say, um. ...Unless one of these says I’m certain to have some rich, newly divorced supermodel fall madly in love with me, eh? I might be convinced to take this more seriously if you throw me a bone, here.
no subject
Can't forgive yourself, can you? All you can do is walk farther, forward, as even what's precious is left behind. Well. Anyway.
[ They take a look back down at the table. ]
Hanged Man. Upright too. Well, that means there's some sense in your head somewhere. The upright meaning includes sacrifice, but I'd advise you not to go to extremes, especially since its other meaning is uncertainty and lack of direction. Repentance shouldn't be done blindly, not when there are others who will help you on your path.
And since you're asking about romance, fine. When upright, The Hanged Man means there's no romantic pressure. Probably better than saying no romance for you outright.
[ They scoff cause seriously, it's Father Abel. Monts is lost in thought thinking about how this relates to him cause this might be closer to the truth than he's willing to give her. ]
1/2
sometimes he permits himself to forget the things this island can do. dig at. uncover, and toy with. the friendships he’s made here are precious, and some of the memories he has alongside its residents are some of his most treasured to date. it fosters complacency, doesn’t it? he’s guilty of that, and... he can’t deny it.
but there’s also moments like this one, where he remembers there’s a cost, a balance, to everything. he can feel the weight of Monts’ gaze at his side - whether it’s on him, or his cards, he isn’t sure. either way, he’s quickly schooling his face where the obfuscating idiocy had mildly slipped— ]
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The only sacrifice I’m contemplating is forgoing any more of this... kind drivel. Please, save your breath; with such a glowing picture you’re painting, what’s a man to do with himself...? I can’t handle all this flattery~!
[ Abel shoots Monts a withering look. light. genial, if exasperated. ]
I think we were better off with the clowns, personally. Can we go now...? I’d like to romance another funnel cake, if you don’t mind. Surely you don’t want to listen to any more of this nonsense, Miss Monts...?
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Settle down you beanpole. You should be grateful that Judgement is upright! This is the path forward you dolt.
[ With another 'hrmph' Fortune Teller leans back into their chair with crossed arms. ]
It is self-evaluation with awakening, not just old conclusions. Renew yourself in all ways including the future you see for yourself. Had this been reversed, you would be stuck with your pitiful perception of your being.
Just because all those years have passed doesn't mean it's too late. It just means you'll suffer more if the reversed Star is any indication.
[ The Fortune Teller's overall card reading for the priest has been oddly fruitful for Monts. She's barely remarked this whole time if only to really take in her companion's reactions to the cards and it's... It's telling.
They're so different, yet the same in some uncomfortable ways. ]
... You know that could have been worse Father Abel. Pretty generous reading if you ask me.
[ Silently, their host sweeps the cards into their hands and begins to shuffle again. ]
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he absorbs the last card, quietly wondering to himself if there is any validity in the tarot's - albeit vague - foretelling. 'just because all those years have passed doesn't mean it's too late.' ...ha. is that so...? what a bittersweet pang, even if he doesn't believe any of this to be real at all.
can't dny it's ironic, though. the 'Star'? is it him looking for signs where there aren't any? the 'Star of Istvan' immediately comes to mind, his all-too-precious redheaded friend; the prospect of 'suffering' is rather grim if it is in any way in relation to her. (would he care otherwise...?) --ah, it's really pitiful, for him to put any weight at all in the mindgames this sometimes-dreadful place could pull; he's fixing at his glasses before settling a dull stare at Monts. ]
Miss Monts, might I suggest you avoid tempting your fate with this OBVIOUS charlatan?? This is simply hogwash and this person is clearly going to ask for an arm and a leg in payment for their, ...'services.' Maybe literally?
[ he leans in a bit, whispering far too loudly, ]
Y-you don't suppose I'm already doomed, do you? What if she eats me, after all...? --I like my appendages where they are, c-cmon, maybe we should just go...
[ ...he doesn't want Monts to pick her cards.
just in case there is validity in any of this, he thinks-- it... wouldn't be right, for him to hear it. ]
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Choose your three now. We don't have all day.
...
[ Her hand reaches out to take three cards in no particular order. Fortune Teller gives a low hum before turning them over. ]
... Quite the cards you've chosen girl. I bet you'll have some interesting thoughts on these.
[ Monts stares at her cards. A reversed Tower. Upright Death. And lastly a reversed card of Temperance. ]
"The Tower..." [ Monts' attitude is hard to make out right now. Her expression is in between something akin to being troubled and calm resignation. Fortune Teller is rubbing their chin with one hand, amusement emitting from their person. ]
Aye, that's usually a troublesome one... You've been through the wringer haven't you girly?
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...Abel has very little experience with tarot; he’s exchanging a glance from the Teller to Monts, and back again. through the wringer; well, considering what he knows about her life, that doesn’t seem too far off the mark. her expression, though... ]
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When this is reversed, that means you have delayed a crisis, but don't be surprised for another one to loom on the horizon. I can tell by your face. You can play it cool and calm all you want; your heart is still weak.
The heart is the foundation of every living, feeling, and thinking being; a tower in itself. If your tower has faulty foundations, it will fall.
... I see.
[ Unlike Abel, Monts doesn't fight against the Fortune Teller's reading. In a way, it's not they're telling her anything new, but more like putting those words, she had in her mind this whole time into reality. Monts decides to move on, pointing at the grim reaper with its scythes. ]
What about Death?
Ah, that one. It evades you doesn't it? [ Fortune Teller laughs at their own joke. Gotta hand it to this island, it sure does conjure up beings that know too much about those that inhabit its shores. ]
Well, at least it's not literal; very misunderstood you see. People see it and think it is the end. But if things are to be new, something must die! Upright, means transformation, release. The Tower may spell another disaster, but you are in the middle of Death itself!
[ Monts hasn't looked at Abel this whole time, but her hands are in her lap, gripping at her dress. It's like she doesn't believe it, but can't argue against it. ]
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...
...is she okay? he doesn’t want to ask what all of this might insinuate for her. if she’s going through something - if she needs help... would she open up? ask? he doesn’t think so. she seems the type to try and grin and bear it. ]
Miss Monts...?
[ a quiet but earnest inquiry.
is she alright...? ]
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We're almost done, right? What's Temperance mean for me?
[ Fortune Teller shifts so that they're leaning forward and something about their presence has encompassed the whole of the tent they're sitting in. Monts' mark stirs on her neck. ]
Poor thing. You would have wanted this one upright, I'll tell you that for free.
[ Fortune Teller sounds much more menacing compared to the lighthearted voice they had sported at the beginning of their visit. They point at Monts with one gloved finger. ]
Excess. Imbalance. If given the chance you'll fall into the one extreme you've been trying to avoid this whole time. You're an all-or-nothing woman and with an attitude like that, the crisis from the Tower will define your fate. Think carefully, girl.
Priest. Or Father, as you're called.
[ The finger points to Father Abel next.]
This one's a complicated one. The parts that make up the sum are causing an imbalance. Prayers are all fine and good but tread carefully, you hear?
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—We’re going, now.
[ gentle, but brokering no argument. whether or not he needs the Teller’s warning, there’s uncharacteristic sobriety and some unreadable neutrality on his face. it isn’t his place to hear the details of Monts’ fate; her struggles and her nature are private parts of her he's sure she wouldn’t appreciate being laid out and exposed without her prompting.
this island has a way of being cruel and prying and catches one off their guard. and while he cannot begrudge her curiosity, he will not invite any more an invasion than this. ]
Come. Do you want something to drink...? It won’t be as good as yours, but... we can make due.
[ ...come on, Monts. he isn’t sure about her, but he thinks he’ll be glad to be rid of this tent that’s become abruptly suffocating, somehow. maybe a moment to... digest... is in order. ]
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