a lack of foresight

Alfalfalcon

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Fortune-telling was not a lucrative business. Even on an island full of its own mysteries and wonders, the prospect of knowing the future, the fate of a person, was largely frowned upon. Not everyone believed in destiny or in luck, and those few that did were not often interested in hearing about someone's take on their future.

Still, Amélie found other benefits to her magic. Through divination, she learned something even better than seeing the future. She learned how to make futures, and what little word of mouth travelled from her jobs extolled her as a frighteningly accurate seer.

When it came to Lochlann, she had both a keen interest to flex her magic as well as milk him for every penny of entertainment he was worth. After their phone call and appointment scheduled, Amélie sought out whatever she safely could about Lochlann. He had quite a reputation to him, though it also meant she could not trust every word of it.

To get the best impression she could, the fortune-teller arrived at his bar an hour earlier than expected. She sat without disguise, without any concealment or subtlety, on a stool right in front of his bar. Amélie had given a rough description of herself to Lochlann beforehand, namely that she had horns, a tail, and tattoos. In retrospect, there were probably more than a couple people on the island fitting that description who'd visit seedy bars late at night.

Oh well.

For the time she was in the Rusted Anchor, as soon as she found the young bartender, she did not remove her eyes from him. Amélie already had one drink emptied out, and tried to grab his attention again.

With the night dying down, she needn't do more than call out, "Another sangria, bartender. I sense good fortune, tonight." She grinned at Lochlann.

@ReD
 

ReD

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Lochlann was experienced in working while he was absolutely wasted. Unfortunately, right now, Lochlann was not wasted. He was barely even buzzed. He missed his flask considerably, but he still had not found the damned thing, and it was one thing to drink from his own private flask and another thing to pour himself shots while he was behind the bar.

As it went, Lochlann was a good bar tender. He made drinks quickly and consistently. He smiled and chatted with the regulars, welcomed the newcomers, and offered directions to the folks who were looking for something else to do in the evening. As it went, the anchor bar was winding down. Without a new batch of sailors coming in, the place was expected to be dead, which meant Lochlann didn't have to work the night shift. Someone else would come in, which was perfect, because Lochlann had business tonight.

And his business, he suspected, might be the pretty little number asking him for another glass of sangria. But he couldn't be entirely certain--this was an island filled with magical creatures, after all, but what were the chances he would have two customers with horns, a tail and tattoos?

"Coming right up," he told her, and he flashed a well-practiced smile at her as he filled a cup with the house sangria. He slid it across the bar to her and assessed her features briefly.

"Is that a hint that I'm going to get lucky tonight?" he winked.

If this was the woman he was supposed to meet, she had not warned him she was so beautiful.
 

Alfalfalcon

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The woman smiled as Lochlann winked. Amélie could already take a liking to his appearance and confidence, at the very least. Still, she wanted to pry a little more out of who he was. His little foibles, his scrupules, his weaknesses. The more she dug up, the smoother tonight would go.

“I do not believe in luck, mon cher. Nor will you need such,” she grinned and raised the glass of sangria to the bartender. After a brief cheer, she took a long and delicate sip of her new drink. The only moments of uncertainty, as far as Amélie was concerned, were those of the present. Those borne by the questions and tiny interactions she would measure against Lochlann.

“You are a fine young man. So fine to be so young and run an establishment. Is this a family operation?” she opened with her first question. Amélie was not much older than Lochlann, that was true, but considering she struggled to even find so much as a single room to work her magic, a whole bar was something else.

((OOC: Apologies for lateness))
 

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This had to be her, Lochlann thought, but he doubted himself. He wanted it to be her. It would be easier if it was. For one thing, she smiled back, which was a good sign. Sometimes his teasings were not well received, and while Lochlann would always back off, it was easier to progress forward when he had not already damaged the relationship. Although at this point there was pretty much no relationship in his life that he had not damaged yet.

When she asked if it was a family operation, Lochlann shook his head, and he flashed her an apologetic smile.

"I'm afraid neither is the case, I'm just a lowly employee," he explained. "But they rent the room out upstairs to me, so I get to work all the random shifts in exchange."

He glanced at his wrist watch, only to realize he wasn't wearing one. Was he ever wearing one?

Lochlann ran a hand through his hair. He couldn't remember if he wore a watch or not. He decided to wash his hands at the sink behind the bar instead to keep his hands busy. He glanced up at the wall clock. His shift would be over soon.

"The family operation is back home in the states," he explained. "It's where I'll be going when I'm finished with school here."

if his family didn't kill him first.

"What about you?" he asked. "If you weren't here drinking some of that sangria, what would you be doing?"
 

Alfalfalcon

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Amélie looked to Lochlann in feigned surprise. She flattered him, “You seem very much in charge, all the same.” In between the rolls of her tongue, in the pause of communication, she continued to observe the young man. As his wrist twisted to his eyes, she followed them. She followed them sighting the clock in the bar. Was he impatient, she wondered.

Her sangria was nearly finished. Amélie was not a slow drinker, nor was she moderate in her consumption. Her cheeks glowed a faint red. Her eyes, however, remained quite lucid. She stared at Lochlann purposefully and fiercely.

“Drinking wine, I’m certain,” she grinned alongside her response. After measuring what she’d tell the man, she gave way just a little more, “I should be studying right now. I’m to graduate after this year, after all.”

“I have nowhere in mind to go, unlike you. Unlike my clients, I cannot foresee my own destiny.”
 

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Lochlann's laugh at her response about drinking wine was genuine, and so was the smile that flickered onto his face, though neither were long lasting. Lochlann had the face of someone who liked to smile--he looked considerably more handsome when he did--but he was not in the habit of doing so frequently.

Or of being in charge. He had a feeling he'd be losing what little bit of power he had here, especially after his last bender. His future was uncertain.

"Oh!" Lochlann said, thinking about her impending graduation. "Congratulations in advance."

He was surprised he survived high school, but he'd scraped by. College was another mystery. He had no idea how the hell he was going to get through. The classes were rigorous, and while Lochlann didn't exactly mind the challenge, he didn't really care either. Would he graduate and eventually go home to work on the farm and live? Or would his family kill him first?

He supposed that was one of the reasons he had a fortune teller.

"I think it's better not having something lined out for you," Lochlann responded after a moment, thinking about his words. "If you have nowhere in mind, then you have nothing but possibilities. You get to go wherever you want, with no one to stop you but yourself."

He managed to keep the longing out of his voice, but not out of his face.

"I'm Lochlann, by the way," he introduced himself, but he had a feeling she already knew who he was.
 

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She accepted his congratulations with a muted smile and a “Thank you.” It was not something Amélie valued as she should, considering her heart oft wandered in the realm of mysticism and, daresay, astrology. To study the cosmos as a natural science seemed entirely contradictory for her, and it was difficult to parse its worth to her.

But it did teach her a studious, clever mind. Amélie continued to pick out what small information she could from Lochlan. Though it did not take a genius to spot a shadow in the young man’s thoughts. Was he being pursued? Or perhaps his future laid out a trap for him?

“Amélie,” she returned her name, “though you might know me as Amethyst from my fliers.” She extended a hand, not to greet, but to inform Lochlann her glass was empty of sangria.

“I’m curious,” she returned the immediate memory of Lochlann’s words. The hint of envy as he cherished freedom, “Tell me what you see in your future. You seem worried your own possibilities are limited.”

Amélie did not expect he’d divulge everything, if even much at all, but any kind of response was valuable.
 

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He repeated both her names back to her with a smile.

So she was who he hoped she was. Lochlann took the sangria glass from her and his fingers grazed hers for a moment. He felt sparks dance along his fingers and he wondered if she felt them, too. He refilled her glass and pressed them stem back into her hand just so he had a chance to touch her again.

"Which name would you prefer I called you?" he asked. He was still smiling, but her question made his smile falter.

What did he see in his future?

Lochlann didn't think he had one. He felt like he was never supposed to live this long, that he was just biding his time until someone found out he'd made a mistake. Whatever hope he'd had for a future Addy died twice: once when he drowned a woman and the second time when he'd almost drowned her brother.

His family would literally kill him if they found out, and they were his future. Lochlann was going back to that farm once he left here, and it was only a matter of time before it was up.

"I don't know," he said instead, and he made the smile return. "That's why I called you, after all. I can't see anything."

He thought about Guin, though, and then he brushed that thought away. Why did her face come to mind when he thought about the future? Was it because he never got over the idea that she'd be the one to kill him?
 

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Amélie allowed her fingers to linger a moment as she took back the glass. After such a familiarity with the cold glass, the small warmth of Lochlann’s was all too welcoming. The cold of her own hand quickly swallowed its heat.

“Amethyst is my business name. So for you, Amélie will do,” she grinned. She then waited to hear his opinion on his own fate, noticing the darkening mood.

The woman calculated that his silence was more obstinate than it was truthful. Something worried him, Amélie was certain. Mirroring that momentary darkness, Amélie’s own grin faded just as Lochlann’s returned. She did not seem pleased, or perhaps Amélie found his answer sobering.

“Of course. Though I wonder how you might take surprises. Many come to me with specific questions in mind, and need only measure the consequences of a ‘yes’ or ‘no’.” Amélie paused to indulge in her sangria once more. Despite her second glass of wine, the fortitude of her demon blood kept her head above water. Yet blood coloured even her olive skin.

“Then again, I do tire of ‘will I get rich?’ or ‘will I marry a beautiful spouse?’. I would be pleased to see you keep me on my toes,” Amélie smiled and leaned over the table invitingly.
 

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"Amélie, then," Lochlann said, saying her name both to memorize it and to enjoy the taste of it on his lips. For all the women in his life, Lochlann never called one by anyone's name other than her own.

Lochlann considered this. He wasn't sure if he had so much as a specific yes or no question so much as he did concerns about the future. On one hand, it was specific: did he have a future?

He considered this.

He never thought that he might, so he supposed worst case scenario she would just confirm what he already suspected.

Lochlann looked like he was in deep contemplation for a moment before he cracked a smile.

"Alright, what about this one: will I marry a beautiful rich spouse?" Lochlann joked. He poured her another glass of Sangria and then he poured one for himself, too, and slid both the cups over the bar. He walked around the wooden ledge to come sit on the seat across from her.

He swallowed.

"This is probably a stupid question, but since we're talking about surprises..." Lochlann looked down at his glass, a little embarrassed, and then he lifted his eyes to meet hers. "Does this hurt?"
 

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