Logs:A Reading For Sturm

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Cast

Sturm, Marjorie the Shrouded, Wren, Mearcstapa, Saagochque

Setting

The Sparrow's Nest

Log

It's very rare that Marjorie spends much time in public where people are, but as of right now, due to a grievous oversight on the part of staff, no non-Hedge locations for Changelings have been specified. Oops.

Of course, when Marjorie comes out into public, most places just sort of ... clear out... of humans... without the humans really understanding exactly why. They just don't wanna be where they were. It's not great for business, so Marjorie always tips ridiculous amounts whenever she accidentally clears out Lakryss' shop.

Right now, she's sitting at a table which seats up to five, wearing a heavy hooded Eagles sweatshirt with the hood pulled up and shadowing her face. There's a large glass pot of jasmine tea steeping, and a small mug already poured. Marjorie's tiny hands shuffle a black and gold set of tarot cards.

Sturm is a frequent patron of this tea shop, because it's a great place to quietly paint at a corner table while accidentally confusing your delicious mug of hot tea for a cup of dirty paint water.

... but the Jotun doesn't have any paint supplies with her today when she ducks under the doorframe, so she must just be here for tea - until she notices the Winter Queen with her tarot cards. She offers a slight nod - or maybe a bow - it's hard to tell with the giant's perpetually terrible posture and horrible manners.

While Marjorie is shuffling her deck of tarot cards the lights slowly dim. It's much like when a light cloud cover slides to cover the sun and the whole world gets slightly dimmer, except that it's night and this they're electric lights. Maybe the staff adjusted the lights a bit for purposes of ambiance?

A couple of moments later a short woman comes through the door. Her dark skin is wrapped tightly around sharp bones, with almost nothing in the way of muscle beneath, like she's suffering from some kind of wasting disease, but she moves with a casual grace. Her dark eyes don't take long to find Marjorie and she heads toward the table where the the Winter Queen is sitting.

There's a smile on her face, and it's a surprisingly warm expression despite the fact that her presence clearly unsettles what remains of a couple of scattered mortals in the shop. If there were any there still, they definitely start working on finishing up and clearing out at this point. Whatever creeps people out about her doesn't seem to influence the Lost, though.

"Good evening, Marjorie," she says in a distinctly soft voice with an accent that almost nobody will recognize if they haven't either asked her what it is, or been in the area for a really long time. She pauses and sniffs the air before asking, "jasmine tonight? It smells lovely. May I sit?" She's not unaware of Sturm, and she even offers the strange (and very tall) woman a brief smile, but her attention returns to Marjorie.

Firstly, when she rises, Marjorie sets aside her deck of cards; her face stays hidden under the heavy hood of the sweatshirt that's at least four sizes too large for her. It hangs down almost to her knees. She's got leggings on underneath, which become visible when she stands. There's only so much that she can do to not stand out from the crowd, but her outfits help. Sort of.

Okay, maybe she just thinks they do.

There's a small gesture outward to Sturm, perhaps beckoning, with one of her sleeve-covered hands, and then another small gesture to the incoming woman. "Jasmine, of course." It's her favorite, after all. "Please, come join me." This seems to be an open invite, to both tall woman and extremely thin and creepy woman.

Sturm does not smile in response to the other woman's friendly expression - in fact, her face adopts a puzzled frown - but if there's anything the Jotunn does well, it's follow instructions. So she removes her heavy overcoat, revealing (shocking absolutely nobody OOCly) a black tank-top, and cargo pants tucked into workboots. She sinks into a chair at Marjorie's table - taking whichever spot comes closest to providing a clear line of sight to the door, and a wall at her back.

She does not seem to be even remotely comfortable in this setting - or perhaps in general - but she sits quietly.

"Of course," Saagochque replies with a smile. She's dressed in jeans, though they do nothing to flatter her emaciated frame, and a simple undyed linen tunic top, thrown together in a way that gives the impression that she's not particularly concerned about style. She pulls out a chair, reaches into a pocket to pull out a folded slip of paper, and then takes a seat as she puts the paper down in front of her. Before commenting about what it might be for, though, she tells Sturm, "your tattoos are fascinating. Do you mind if I look?"

"Knock yourself out," she grunts - though she shifts in such a way that it'd be easy for Saagocheque to get a solid look. Up close, the bulk of the markings on her icy flesh aren't actually tattoos, but scars - and all of them are runes. Or something very close to them.

"Saagochque, Sturm. Sturm, Saagochque." She remains standing until everyone else settles down in chairs, then asks, "Would either of you care for tea?" All of the proper forms will in fact be observed by Marjorie, goddamnit. She settles back at the table, folding her hands back into her sleeves, until she knows whether or not she ought to serve.

To those who see Mearcstapa's mask, he's a lanky young man covered in freckles that make him look younger than however old he really is, assuredly. However old that is. He's dressed in a pair of grey cargo pants, a black sweater and plain black sneakers, a brown messenger bag slung over his shoulder. A black paracord bracelet is clipped around one wrist.

To those who see his mien, however, his skin is blue-black, and his freckles come in twinkling neon LED green and red, seeming to shift in intensity from time to time. He's really just walking past the Nest when he recognizes Sturm, and a distinct smile comes to his face as he diverts inside.

"Thank you, but no," Saagochque responds to Marjorie. She always declines, but also always follows it up as she does now. "I appreciate the offer, though." She leans over to look more closely at Storm's scars. "Interesting," she says, and for a moment she reaches like she might touch with long, bony fingers -- which have yellowish nails, some of them chipped and broken. Then she stops and draws her hand back. "What do they mean to you?" she asks, in a way that's far more curious than demanding.

"No fuckin' clue," she responds to the pressing question first. The one that almost has her leaning to avoid the bony fingers, that is. "Wouldn't say no to tea, though."

Preoccupied as she is, she notices Mearc way later than he noticed her. Though, really, that's probably not such a surprise. She gives him a nod - keeping her eyes on Saagochque as the deathly thin woman invades her personal space.

Marjorie seems -- if not perfectly at ease around this person, because when does a high-Mantle Winter ever seem perfectly at ease? -- then as reasonably at ease as a person can be around someone. There's definitely a fondness there, a companionable sort of understanding. She is, after all, sitting with this person and offering her tea. In silence, she pours tea for Sturm, not interrupting the conversation between her and the unknown figure, and then gestures to a chair for Mearcstapa.

Mearc offer Marjorie a respectful nod, accepting the offered seat. "Good to see you, Marjorie. Sturm, how're you now?" That question seems to be more than casual formality--it has the tone of an actual check-in, as his green/empty lightless vantablack eyes watch how the stranger is interacting with her.

"Really?" Saagochque asks with the rise of one dark brow. For a few moments she seems to turn that over in her mind, like someone turning a stone in their hands to get a feel for it, and then she files the information away and moves on. "Oh, yes," she says, putting two fingers on the folded piece of paper she had put on the table and sliding it out to the middle. "I went searching for the answer you were looking for," she says. One of her fingers taps the piece of paper, and then she draws her hand back.

"Really." Sturm confirms in a dull voice. She's always a tightly coiled spring these days, but something about her proximity to Marjorie - and this oddball stranger - seems to be making it even worse. "I'll live. Thanks for asking, though."

She turns her heavy-lidded gaze away from Saagochque to grab her cup of tea - though she keeps the strange woman in her peripheral vision as best she can.

One of Majorie's small pale hands emerges from her sleeve and takes the pieces of paper. She does not open it, but pulls it into her sleeve and tucks it away somewhere. Apparently she'll be reading that later. "I am pleased to see you, Mearcstapa. May I offer you some tea?" Her black and gold tarot deck sits unconsulted on the table. "How does the day find you?"

Ch-ching!

The door opens to admit a petite little thing- blonde haired, delicate features, plain clothing. Boring but for her size to outside eyes- armed with rounded brown ears atop her head that look sleek, like they were designed to fold back in water. She pauses, blinking, as the sense of the Wyrd in the establishment washes over her, but any other indication of surprise is kept carefully tucked away as she spots her Queen, a Courtmate, a coworker, and- well. A Saagochque.

Rather than interrupt, not knowing the circumstances of the meeting and unwilling to prove rude before her Queen, Wren drifts through Marjorie's line of sight as she goes to order a cup of tea- something fruity and sweet, with honey- before glancing back towards the small gathering while she waits for her tea, doing her best to skim an idea of whether she can approach politely or not.

"I would appreciate a cup of tea very much." He nods at Marjorie, falling into the formulas of politeness like they're lines of code. "Thank you for offering. It's been a productive few days, so I'm hoping the weekend is a little more relaxing. And yourself?"

That little ritual out of the way, he turns his attention to Saagochque, his smile mild; the other changelings see that the redder freckles on his face dim somewhat, the green standing out more. "I don't think we're acquainted yet. Janus Mearcstapa; people tend to shorten that to Mearc for ease."

Having delivered the note that she was here to bring, Saagochque leans back and observes for a moment, listening to the various comments from the different Lost -- not that she can tell that's what they are, for certain -- and briefly follows Wren with her eyes. When Mearc addresses her she turns to smile at him and says, "I'm Saagochque." She pauses and seems to consider something before she says, "it really has been a long time since someone shortened it into something easier to say. I hadn't really thought about that. Where does that name come from? Mearcstapa, I mean?"

Thankful to have less immediate attention being paid to her, Sturm is able to drink her tea in peace. She notices Wren over the rim of her cup, offering a very small wave to her other companion. Boy howdy, it sure does make it easier to be in social situations when your friends show up, huh?

There's one more seat at the table, and the tiny Winter Queen -- a little taller than Wren, shockingly -- gestures toward one of the chairs. "Wren, you will join us, please." It's a request phrased as a statement, but then, she can see the tiny woman is attempting to get the Winter Queen's eye. She pours a cup of tea for Mearc, and gently places it before him, before presumptively pouring one for Wren, and placing it in front of the empty chair.

"You had come for a reading," Marjorie offers to the person that everybody else doesn't yet know, "But I do not wish to be impolite to the others. Perhaps one of them would prefer."

"Mearcstapa is an Old English term, it's seen in Beowulf, for example. Literally, it means something like 'march stalker', or more figuratively, 'boundary walker'. It's a word used to describe Grendel and other people who transgress. It's not the name I was born with." A pause, as he strings together the syllables and tries to pronounce her name. "Saagochque? I'm not sure I recognize the language of origin there. Would you trade your meaning for mine?"

His gaze flickers to Wren, clearly finding something about her current appearance mildly amusing. "Long time, no see, partner."

Introductions. Curious names. Attention from the stranger, a wave from Sturm- and an invitation couched as a directive. Wren nods as she's summonvited- "Of course- thank you, kindly."- and heads over to the table, smoothing out her blouse before sliding onto the seat saved for her. Little hands close over a cup of jasmine tea, and the petite woman inhales slowly, letting the scented air out in a slow, pleased sigh. "And thank you again."

She doesn't speak up when an offering of a reading is made- as much as she delights in them, she also desires not to be intrusive, and certainly isn't about to claim a reading before a guest.

To Sturm and Mearc, she shares a small smile- sincere, but a touch restrained around a stranger. "Not so long as all that, has it been?"

One thing that comes with being hundreds of years old is a healthy dose of patience. The confidence that there will surely be another night for a reading. "By all means," she says with an unconcerned flip of a hand. "Besides," she continues in her voice, lightly accented and softly spoken, "I might learn something interesting."

She turns back to Mearc and says, "ah, a name earned, rather than given? Mine is a Lenape name, though if it has a particular meaning I was never taught it. It was my grandmother's name as well."

Oh sure, y'all. Just leave woman with absolutely zero social skills to make decisions that could embarrass her.

"What does a reading entail that would make it so impolite?" Sturm looks between Marjorie, Saagochque, and the deck of tarot cards. "... and why would it be less polite for you to... uhh. Read me?"

Once all of the tea is poured and the people are greeted, Marjorie settles down to let people discuss -- names and hellos and the whole shebang. "It is, of course, delightful to see you, Wren," the Queen greets, her hands drifting down to her lap.

"Oh! It requires a good deal of my attention, that's all. I was trying to be social." And not being good at it seems to sometimes be a Winter thing. Or perhaps she's pretending to be not the greatest at it. "Because I have spoken with Saagochque many times over the years, and I have never read for any of you. That makes it less impolite."

"Sturm, you could get a reading. Tarot is...a way to get an outside look at a situation. The cards have symbolic meanings, which Marjorie'd help you interpret, in the context of your question." He nudges the giant lady lightly, before turning back to Saagochque.

"Do you take after your grandmother much, beside bearing her name?" His freckles have remained mostly green throughout the conversation.

"I usually find that it helps in achieving some perspective," Saagochque supplies in encouragement to Sturm. Despite her creepiness in general she seems content to be gently encouraging in her actual demeanor, and she follows by not directly paying attention to the tall woman, who doesn't seem to enjoy the scrutiny. "She died when I was very young, and I only barely remember her. I'm afraid I couldn't actually tell you how similar we are. Though she was fully Lenape, and not half like I am, so there's that difference, at least."

"I always learn something interesting when Marjorie reads," Wren murmurs. "Sometimes it's something about the read- sometimes it's just about my presumptions."

"There's something special about a name you choose. Anyone can give you a name. Parents, friends, the press. You're the only person who can choose which one matters." Wren offers, hoping to sound insightful. She smiles brightly when Marjorie welcomes her proper, leaving her grinning as she sips her tea. "Delightful on both sides."

"Mearc has it," Wren confirms for Sturm's benefit. "While I'd love a reading of my own, I think maybe another time?" She pauses, realizing something. "I'm terribly sorry, ma'am. I'm Wren, I think you heard. It's a pleasure." Proper introductions are important.

"Seems like it'd be an incredibly personal thing to have done," she grumbles to no one in particular. "In front of uhh," she gestures to Marjorie, and then to the table. "You, and also the rest of these people." Beat. "... but okay. I could use some perspective."

The giant woman rolls her shoulders and shifts her weight, trying to get comfortable in her chair - a herculean task if the expression on her face is any indication. "So just fuck me up, I guess."

The Winter Queen doesn't say anything about how personal or impersonal it might be: she merely picks up the cards and hands them over to Sturm. "Shuffle," she directs.

And then? She raises both of her hands to the sides of her battered dark-green hoodie and pushes the hood back.

For those who have not seen the Winter Queen unshrouded previously, she is ... terrifyingly beautiful. As beautiful and terrible as the dawn, as the line goes. She's tiny, and uncannily perfect, sculpted out of porcelain with the most delicate of features. The Notary seems to be lit from within, her skin faintly glowing, and text floats just beneath the porcelain surface of her skin, with paragraphs and footnotes, like a legal text, subtly scrolling up her skin, always in motion. Her emerald eyes fix on Sturm, giving her the full weight of her gaze, and she folds her hands, waiting for the cards to come back to her so she can lay out the first one.

A crown of frozen ashes rests gently upon her brow, scattering down to her shoulders and resting there in a subtle grey mantle.

Mearc can't help but look up when Marjorie's hood goes back, his breath catching for a moment. And then he tries to cover up the awkwardness by taking a sip of tea, hiding his face just slightly as all his freckles grow a bit dimmer, before the green ones come back.

From Saagochque's perspective, he might blanch just slightly. And then he gives Sturm a small nod. "This might end up sounding like a very personal callout. Readings sometimes do that. Just no table-flipping here, okay?"

Saagochque laughs in clear delight at the turn of phrase that Sturm uses. For a woman with such a disturbing appearance, her laugh is uncannily beautiful. "I love that," she says to Sturm. "I may have to borrow that phrase. 'Just fuck me up'. I love the way that language evolves." She sits back to watch the proceedings, with literally no reaction to Marjorie's unshrouding. Like this is old hat, and she has seen the Winter Queen unveiled many times before. Or maybe it's just because she can't see the woman's mien. "I do enjoy a good table flip. For emphasis," she says to Mearc with a grin, though she doesn't look she she has enough muscle on her to even flip a table.

Wren doesn't comment on Sturm's remarks. They're not wrong, after all. And when the hood goes up? Wren somehow manages to avoid visibly reacting.

DOES she react? Of fucking course she does, because she's not a machine and Marjorie isn't just beautiful, she's MAGICbeautiful, but nothing short of magic is going to catch Wren letting slip anything as vulnerable as a reaction to that particular exposure. She actually adores how the Queen contrasts- they're both small, but her average appearance dissolves into utter unnoticeability with that sort of visage nearby, which is just the way Wren likes it.

Saagochque's response is... unusual, certainly, and leaves Wren smiling politely at her enthusiasm, especially when she encourages Mearc rather than dissemble away from the idea of a table flipping.

Okay, okay, so as it turns out, coming paired with magical little animal bits has the side effects of completely bypassing special "nothing to see here" tricks! Still, Wren does her best to keep her cool, no matter the way her ears perk up and swivel towards the Queen expectantly.

Sturm reaches out for the tarot deck, holding them in her large, rough hands for a long moment - as if she's terribly afraid of ruining the Winter Queen's cards. Already looking down at the deck, she further averts her eyes from Marjorie - missing the queen's Face Reveal - at the mention of the Table Flipping Incident.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll try to keep my shit together." She rumbles, begining to carefully shuffle the cards. "... and I'm glad you think it's funny, 'cause I can't shake the feeling that I'm about to bite a curb..."

She goes to hand the deck of cards back to the Winter Queen, visibly pausing when she looks up to see her unshrouded face for the first time. Though her neverending scowl stays in place through the entire interaction, she averts her eyes again when the cards are safely in someone else's hands.

One at a time, she lays out three cards. The first card in the center of the spread she turns face-up. "The Heart of the Matter. What is the main issue at hand? This card explains the focal point of the reading and is usually a major influence on the events at hand." A pause. "The Empress. The symbol of the feminine principle, a representation of the nurturing, fertile, providing female, or the expectation that a woman behave in such a way. Perhaps a mother figure, or again, the expectation thereof."

Another card, this one laid at a ninety-degree angle to the first one, and on top of it. "Challenge. What are the forces which oppose you in resolving your issue or problem? What must you overcome to successfully do so?" A pause. "The Two of Wands. The transformation of vision and ambition into planning and progress. Starting to move into a way forward. Beholding the material in which one may make one's designs come true, and yet, no progress is made. In context, it means you have to get off your backside and do the thing, whatever the thing is." Unusual bluntness from the Winter Queen, but a) the season's almost over and b) this is one of her own Courtiers; she's a little more direct.

"Unconscious. How do you feel, truly, about the matter? What are some possible hidden emotions which may be affecting you?" Another card laid out at the feet of the first card. "Six of Pentacles Reversed." Marjorie flicks the gaze of her emerald eyes up to Sturm, then back down again. "Others find themselves in a time of need, but there is unwillingness to lend support to those that need it the most. Alternatively, perhaps you have been giving, but reflect on your intentions and why you have been giving. What are you trying to gain by your actions, whether that is in withholding what others need or giving what you give?"

Mearc settles in, watching the cards hit the table, Marjorie's hands instead of her face primarily. But there is a brief look at Saagochque. "Have you not been properly introduced to meme culture and tiktok yet? The evolution of language is accelerating, and it is glorious and horrifying."

Saagochque sits back to listen to the reading, lounging comfortably in her chair. And still. When Mearc speaks to her she looks over, tilts her head, and asks, "tiktok?" Clearly the answer is no.

Wren settles back to listen, mostly to the reading, partly to the side conversation, watching Sturm mostly to try to keep pace with her reactions.

Sturm is contemplative as she listens to Marjorie's explanations - though she scrunches her face in confusion at The Empress's meaning. Already on the back foot with trying to understand what advice the cards are giving her, she nearly misses the second.

"... but I have been doing the thing, right?" She mutters under her breath - as if willing the cards to make more sense to her. The giant reaches for her cup of jasmine tea, letting it warm her hands as she contemplates the rest of Marjorie's words. Her frown grows deeper as the Winter Queen finishes explaining the final card. She takes a deep breath and opens her mouth as if to speak only to pause, shut it, and grumble instead. "... please don't think I'm stupid or ungrateful when I say this, but... I don't think I get it."

The Queen's expression remains totally calm. "I can only read what is in front of me," she admits, shaking her head slightly. "Perhaps if it does not make sense in this moment, it will in the future."

"Past -- What attitudes, feelings or beliefs in past events have shaped your current situation?"

"The Ten of Cups." Marjorie's brow wrinkles up as she sets the card down. "Emotional fulfillment and happiness due to a deep sense of unity with the world around you. This may be as simple as feeling that one fits in the role that one had in life, or as deep as feeling harmony and joy which results from one's friends, family and loved ones." A pause. "Wherever you were before, you fit, and that much was certain. You understood it."

Above the center card she lays another. "Conscious. How are you viewing the situation? What are some assumptions, beliefs, or convictions which you have about the subject of your reading?" And then she lays down a very recognizable card and speaks its name. "Death." She clarifies: "The cycle comes to a close, and a radical transformation which requires a part of oneself to be sacrificed to be able to continue on to the next stage of one's life is taking place. With loss, something new can begin. Death carries a scythe to reap the harvest, the rewards of one's work, not just to destroy. Your assumptions do not serve you, and what you believed no longer serves you. You must discard it."

"Future." Here she completes the center cross of the reading. "What are some influences coming int he future what will affect how you perceive this situation? What is a developing concern?" Another Major Arcana card. "The Lovers."

"A union of harmony and strength, full of trust, confidence, and strength. This coming relationship -- which is not necessarily romantic -- is one which represents a deep connection, whether romantic, familial, or platonic. It can also represent a deep inner harmony between two aspects of one's being."

Mearc shifts his chair closer to Saagochque, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Tiktok is a platform where people can upload short videos with music, usually funny ones. It's a spiritual successor to Vine, which featured only videos of a length of exactly six seconds. It's a method by which modern youth culture is spreading. What I really find amazing about it is how it globalizes slang terms; someone who makes a video involving a hyperspecific turn of phrase from somewhere like Montana may be watched all over the world, and soon people in...for example, Australia, are using that same turn of phrase. Here, if you want to watch some, I have the app on my phone."

He is trying to offer the illusion of privacy for Sturm with her reading, but there are definite moments when he glances at the cards, his eyes lingering thoughtfully on both Death and the Lovers for a moment.

Saagochque leans over to look at Mearc's phone, then shifts to pull one out of her own pocket. For some reason she still has a Droid 2, who the hell still has a Droid 2? But that's what she has. Complete with the slide out keyboard. At least it's a smartphone? And she doesn't seem to really struggle with things like pulling up the app store to search for TikTok,, though she runs into some trouble by spelling it Tick Tock.

All the while, she's paying as much attention to the reading as anything else.

Wren's focus drifts more fully to Sturm as the reading continues, letting Mearc weave that little illusion and engage Saagochque. She's studying the cards as well, building her own ideas what it might all mean.

And keeping them fully to herself.

Sturm shrugs - perceiving the Queen's answer as something of a non-response to her very real confusion - but she's generally not one to complain at the best of times, let alone in this one.

Fortunately, things begin to take shape for her as the reading moves forward. This draw is something she can deal with, even if she doesn't like it. She adopts somewhat of a defensive posture as she begins to recognize the applications of what Marjorie is saying - leaning back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest, and scowling. Her frown deepens (if that's even possible at this point) when the second card is revealed - though probably due in part to her initial reaction to it's name, rather than it's meaning.

... and when the final card is read, a little snort escapes her nose - the almost-derisive kind she's very much known for by now - and she shakes her head. "I don't like that." Her shoulders slump as she hunkers down even further in her defensive posture.

"When you do not like it, that usually means it is what you need to hear." Marjorie turns another card, adding, "I read the cards, I do not try to tell you what they mean. You will understand them, or you will not. It is not up to me." A vague shrug, and she turns her brilliant emerald eyes back to the cards.

"Querent." She pauses. "How are you approaching the problem? How are your beliefs, fears and perceptions of yourself affecting how this situation plays out?" The card snaps against the table. "Ace of Cups."

"As with other ace cards, the ace of cups symbolizes new beginnings. It is the start of a feeling of emotional fulfillment. It represents the joy of giving, and getting in return. This may be something that you accept or reject about yourself, but this quality is central to the issue."

Another card turned, and she does not pause, or give Sturm time to take a breath or consider. "Environment. What is the climate that is surrounding this situation? This will be the playing field from which you will have to operate." Snap. Another card. "Nine of Wands." Beat. "You are close to achieving a victory after a time of battle and hard work. You have spent time pursuing what you believe to be right, though this was difficult and draining. You are reaching a point of exhaustion, but there is only a small way to go before your ultimate goal."

"Hopes and Fears. What are your expectations of this situation? What to you hope, or fear, the most regarding this reading?" Another card snaps into place onto the table. "Three of Wands. Represents the transformation of dreams into concrete plans and preparation for action. You may be excited about the outcome of an upcoming event or afraid, or both."

"Final Outcome." Here she pauses before turning up the last card. "Ace of Wands." Another pause. "The suit of wands is always the first step in the act of creation. It is the burning fire of intention, desire and passion which ignites the spark of an idea. Thus, this card represents the powerful forced of your will guiding your way like a torch into the world, on a journey to make these desires come to reality."

She looks up from the cards, blinks slowly, once. "You get what you give."

When Mearc sees Saagochque's phone, he physically recoils, his red freckles returning with a vengeance. The words that come out of his mouth, on impulse, are "oh sweetheart, no." He lifts a hand to cover his mouth, then leans in. "The phone you have there is well over a decade old. They stopped pushing security updates for it in 2011. That means that any new vulnerabilities that have been found in that phone aren't being patched automatically, and you may be vulnerable to digital attacks. I...strongly recommend upgrading to something a bit more recent, because that will keep your data safer. And if you do create a tiktok account, be sure the password you use isn't the same as any of your other passwords, so if it is compromised by any means, they can't get into any other accounts you have using that same email."

Marjorie beats Saagochque to pointing out that usually the readings you don't want to hear are the ones you need to, so she keeps quiet on that and continues to listen from the sidelines.

She stops listening quite so closely to the reading when Mearc recoils from her phone, and she looks down at it and then back up. "Really?" she asks, with a bit of an edge in her soft voice that hasn't been there the rest of the time. "I appreciate you telling me this, but I'm curious why none of the other people I spend time around has thought it worth pointing out." Someone might be getting a chewing out later, but it's not Mearc. "Do you have any recommendations for replacements?"

Wren keeps a close eye on Sturm's reactions to all those interesting cards, especially that last one, a vibrant blazing catalyst of change.

At Saagochque's question, though, she leans towards the pair momentarily. "I like the phones OnePlus puts out. They've got the muscle of the big brands, but explicitly avoid the name tax. And besides, the slightly different design and smaller production rate means it's less worthwhile for scallywags to put the effort into finding OnePlus specific loopholes. Ultimately, though, I'd go with whatever Mearc says- hard security is really more his game than mine."

"And as to your question on why? Off the top of my head, incompetence and exploitation are the first thoughts that come to mind. I hesitate to ascribe malfeasance where simple ignorance makes more sense, but I'd still take a look at the comfort level your compatriots have with technology. If they're as savvy as my partner... I'd question their lack of helpful advice. If they're not? They probably didn't know any better."

Sturm doesn't move from the figurative turtleshell she's adopted for the rest of the reading - simply watching Marjorie continue to deal out cards that feel more and more relevant with a sullen gaze, a furrowed brow, and an unmoving, heavy scowl.

She doesn't come out of her defensive posture until she's satisfied that Marjorie isn't going to keep slapping her in the face with Fuckor, and when she does it's only to grab her mug of tea - which has tragically begun to grow cold - and to blink at how she could've possibly missed the absurdity of the other conversation at the table before turning back in on it.

"I don't like that," she reiterates - more for herself than the Winter Queen. Though, she does look up. "What the fu- err. I know you keep saying that it's for me to figure out - or not figure out - but what am I supposed to do with that?"

The Winter Queen looks dead across the table, stares Sturm right in the eyes, and says:

"Your best."

And then she starts to pick up the cards in silence.

Mearc nods at Wren's suggestion, and names a couple other phones that might be suitable, balancing security with an interface that's simple enough to use. Then he reaches into his bag for a business card to offer Saagochque. "Wren and I take security very seriously. If you have a home computer you want upgraded with good antivirus software, for example, we can help with that. And I will vouch for Signal as a messaging app above the SMS messenger that comes with the phone until I'm blue in the face, because Signal messages are encrypted. I might sound paranoid, but...it's important to tend to these things, because otherwise you're vulnerable."

"Thank you both." Saagochque says to the two offering her advice on security. "I'll take those suggestions into account. I don't tend to give it much thought, since I don't use the phone much. I'm more of a face to face kind of person." This is probably readily apparently to anyone who isn't hundreds of years old, given that her phone is about the same age in phone years.

As the reading finishes and Marjorie starts packing up her things, Saagochque pushes back her chair and gets up. "I'll have to come by another night for that reading, since I do have some other things to get done tonight, but this has been a pleasure, and an educational one at that. I hope that you can make good use of the information I brought you." She pauses then and adds, cryptically, "also, stay safe this weekend." Then she says to the others, looking around the table, "it was nice to meet you all, but if you'll excuse me..."

"Of course, ma'am. Your company was lovely, and I hope your weekend, too, sees you well on the other side." It's less cryptic from Wren and more a simple nicety returned. She also doesn't add to Mearc's pitch- pressing a sale just tends to sour its memory. A confident salesman can let one walk away and know it's more likely to settle itself without further input- at least with someone who's clearly not a mark themselves.

"Is anyone else going to be sticking around? I wasn't going to head home just yet."

Sturm frowns even further at Marjorie's answer - and continues to look sullen and distant even as Saagochque says her thank yous and goodbyes. Aside from some minor grumping, she says nothing further until Wren poses her question. "Probably. Only place I gotta be hasn't texted yet, so I'm in limbo until then."

She pauses and flips her hoodie back into place, then cleans up the rest of the cards and slides them into her pocket. Her face hidden from view, Marjorie seems to relax a little bit, and she reaches out until her hand hovers by Sturm's shoulder, a little bit of reassurance. It can be real damn awkward when the cards just flay your fucking issues open and lay them out on the table in front of strangers.

Good thing she doesn't know that just happened in front of the not-Prince of the vampires in this city, amirite?

Awwwwkward.

Anyway, Marjorie unfolds from her chair and tucks her hands into her oversized pockets. "You will have to come by another night, yes. I am certain that information will be of great use." Her head bobs slightly toward each of the others at the table. "Thank you all for your company. I should go home." Instead, she walks toward the bathroom, steps inside, and closes the door. She never comes back out.

When Saagochque departs it's not that she turns invisible or anything. She just wanders off, like one does. The thing is that somehow nobody pays attention to it when she goes, for one reason or another, and then she's gone and it's too late to think about it any more. Because Obfuscate.