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It's a relatively quiet night at Penny Dreadful--there's a live music performance tonight, and a drink special, but there's a quiet in the air, as if the whole bar is somehow holding its breath. Phaedra's in a side room, a small parlor that's been set up for tarot readings and seances, dressed in black, with a dark veil over her face, thin enough that her piercing blue eyes are still just barely visible behind it. She's between readings at the moment, idly shuffling her deck.
Simon... does not look particularly pleased to be here. Yet here he is--called by fate, or perhaps just curiosity. He's rather over dressed, in an expensive tailored suit that emphasizes the dark, brooding mood he radiates. Hair slicked back, and dark framed glasses perched on his nose.
He pauses at the bar to get himself a drink, leaning against it as he looks around. He doesn't hide the fact he's staring at the tits of the waitresses who pass by, dressed in their skimpy burlesque costumes. But overall he... doesn't look impressed by the place.
After he collects his drink, Simon moves through the crowd in search of a table. But as luck would have it, he finds himself wandering past the doorway of Phaedra's side room. But he doesn't seem to immediately recognize her with the veil over her face.
She turns to look at him, and there's a bit of a smile. "Simon Dubois, right outside my parlor. This must be my lucky day." When she's working, she tries to put on this dreamy, soft voice. But she's not much of an actress or performer, not really.
Simon pauses mid-step, about to wander past--but does a double-take as he hears his name. He looks through the doorway, brows creasing briefly until it sinks in who she is. Then he just scowls.
After a second or two, he turns and steps through the doorway. "Mm... is it?" he asks airily. "What was your name again?"
"Lucky. Uncertain yet whether that's good or bad luck." She watches him quietly. "Phaedra. My name is Phaedra. Will you sit for a reading? Or even just to talk? My job is to entertain our guests, and you seem...disappointed."
"This place is... woefully tacky," he replies, then takes a sip of his drink as he considers her. "Yes... Phaedra. You're not half naked like most of the staff here." It's hard to tell if it's a criticism or a compliment. Yet, there he goes, settling down at the table opposite her.
She glances down at her dress. "It was a condition I set on working here, that I wouldn't dress like one of the dancers. Not that there's anything wrong with the dancers, of course. It's just not to my personal taste."
"Hm." His chin lifts faintly in acknowledgement before he looks over the deck of cards laid out in front of her. "What is it you'd like to talk to me about?"
"I hadn't planned that far ahead. Though I should probably apologize for our last meeting. That was...intense."
He arches a brow. "Are you truly sorry?"
She pauses a moment to think. "I'm not sure I said anything that was untrue, but I used my words as a bludgeon, and that wasn't kind. I let my temper take over. Again."
"It sounds like you are not truly sorry, but that you are scared to be seen as someone unkind." He downs another sip. "You often let your temper get the best of you?"
"It's my one worst vice." She smiles, setting her deck down on the table between them.
- Dark Passenger whispers: Phaedra is not human. Her greatest fear is sinking slowly into her inner darkness and becoming a complete monster. What she wants the most is to find a group of people who deserve everything she is willing to expend for them.
"I see." He considers he quietly for a moment, then rolls a shoulder. "Certainly wouldn't guess you are capable of much darkness, looking at you."
Her head tilts to one side slightly. "Looks are often deceiving, Mr. Dubois."
"So they are. In any case, I don't accept your apology. And you shouldn't be afraid of using words as weapons."
"Even if I piss off people who would be better as potential allies? I won't insult you with the idea that you'd ever consider me a friend, I think that'd be...really unlikely."
He chuckles coldly. "Incredibly unlikely. You want me as an ally, though? Why?"
"I want you as a potential ally. I don't know you well enough to actually...things, not yet." She pauses, then gestures at her cards. "Cut the deck, Mr. Dubois?"
Simon hesitates, eyeing the deck with distaste--or distrust? But after a moment he reaches out and cuts it in two.
- Auspex shows: The steady pulse of a heartbeat in the darkness. Softly pumping, so weak--the heartbeat of a mortal. Yet the darkness is hungry and it... radiates from him, forming a massive maw of void that looks like it could swallow him whole at any instant.
- He's swallowed, devoured--but he doesn't fight back. Doesn't resist. He just lets himself drift away with the void, watches his life pass by him in a blur. Unfeeling, unafraid, uncaring... apathetic.
- A tarot card turns over, blood mingles with that void, flowing out from the artwork to pool over the table. The art shows a figure that looks very much like Simon, but with pitch black eyes and a too-wide, gleaming smile, holding a bloodied knife. At his feet is a broken corpse.
- Phaedra sees herself, as if staring into a mirror. Behind her a shadowed figure stands, wielding a bitter grudge in the form of that same bloodied knife, hovering inches from her throat. But it appears to be hovering with indecision. Maybe even... fear.
- She sees Simon standing before her, that darkness radiating from him again--but no puppet strings tied around him.
She picks up the deck, her pale gaze lingering on Simon, moving slowly for a moment, as if swimming through syrup as that vision washes over her. As it passes, there's a quiet little nod to herself. "Do you have a question you're seeking answers to, tonight?"
"No," he replies with sincerity, either knowing whatever answers she would see or not caring--but based on her visions, more likely the former. He downs the rest of his drink and flits his hand. "Let's see what you can do."
She nods, laying three cards out in front of herself. Flipping over the first, there's a hesitation, then a nod. "The Tower always is a disaster. It's about a complete shake-up at the least, and utter catastophe from which you never come back at the worst. This is a moment in your past when everything changed, when it all went upside down. It's left its marks on you, and you will never again be the man you were before it. Ruination. This is where your current story begins, Mr. Dubois. This is the seed of your own darkness."
Simon stares down at the cards, nose wrinkling faintly... But he doesn't look remotely surprised. Just faintly annoyed. He leans back in his chair, legs crossing at the knee. "Mm."
She flips the second card. "Hanged man, reversed. I have a friend who's a Norse polytheist, who's told me the story of Odin hanging himself from the World Tree in order to gain wisdom. But the reversal here is...an indication that the sacrifice you gave, it was meaningless, hollow. And I'm not sure you give a fuck. You've set yourself at a distance from all you feel, closed your self up like a book or a fan or a box. It's a foregone conclusion, or it feels like that to you."
Simon still says nothing. Just watching her quietly, intent yet detached. He's putting a fine effort into looking bored with the reading. Like it's not effecting him at all, like he's just waiting for it to be over...
But the Mekhet sees past that mask. He doesn't appear angry by her read. If anything, he looks impressed. And maybe nervous at being seen.
She turns over the final card, and seems surprised to see it. "The Star is about hope. I wasn't expecting anything like this, in this reading--frankly, I was braced for the Nine or Three of Swords or the Five of Cups. But there's something here about renewal, about a new beginning, about the idea that this isn't all you get. That the black hole, your darkness, isn't the end of the story."
Simon's own surprise breaks through his mask clear as day. He blink-blinks, then looks down at the card like it's a live venomous snake, head tilting just slightly away from it. "...Hm. Interesting."
She quietly picks up the cards, tucks them back into her deck. "That seemed to hit home with you. You don't want to believe in hope, huh? It's easier accepting, not fighting the uphill battle. Letting it all happen to you, instead of happening yourself back."
"You find yourself terribly clever, don't you?" he replies in a low voice and that sharp, cutting gaze of his.
"Honestly, no, I find myself stupid and behind everyone else most of the time. But when it comes to the occluded arts, I have a lot of knowledge." She shrugs, meeting that gaze quietly.
His eyes narrow briefly at her, before he looks back down to stare at the deck of cards, looking thoughtful. "Enlightening to know you can use words as a knife as well as a hammer, at least."
"That sounds almost like a compliment."
"It is. It is important to appreciate the skills of others, no matter how much you may dislike them as a person."
She nods. "You make me feel small a lot of the time. Like...I should be unworthy of your notice, and should feel bad about wasting your time. I think that's probably a skill you've cultivated."
His lips quirk faintly. "Most people are unworthy of my notice, it's true." He looks around then, searching for any sign of a bar or drinks that could be served in the room.
There are no drinks in this room--most people bring them in to the room. "I think I have gotten your attention, for better or for worse."
His lips purse at not having booze at his fingertips, but instead turns his attention back upon her. "You have. I think you may very well have genuine skill as a Seer. That, or you are very good at sleight of hand and cold reading--which is almost equally as useful."
"More appreciating the skills of others." She nods, not indicating which is correct.
"Indeed. The question I now need the answer for is whether you will use your skills against me, or if you can be bought."
She seems a little bit startled by him saying that outright like that. "I'm confused, are those the only two paths forward you see?"
"It is generally how things go," says the pessimist bluntly.
"I see. Well, I'm far too young and inexperienced to argue with that, I suppose."
He gives her a sharp, suspicious look before his hand lifts, fingers curling against his chin thoughtfully. "If you cut the deck yourself, and looked into your own future, what would you want the cards to show you?"
That question deserves a moment of consideration. "Wow, that's a really hard question. A reward for sustained effort. A homecoming for one who was lost. Internal work and self-discovery. Growing out of inexperience."
"A reward?" He arches a brow, intrigued. "What would you deem to be a suitable reward for your hard work?" A beat pause. "Do you often feel underappreciated? That others around you don't deserve what you give them?"
"It's not...about...appreciation. It's about the world not working neatly. It doesn't always tie neatly up with a bow. You can give your whole life to something. A cause, a group of people, a purpose. And that doesn't always matter, in the end. The cause is meaningless, the group is rotten to the core, your work never pays off. So why do you keep doing it? What makes continued effort worth it?"
A pause.
"Right, probably not something you sympathize with, is it? I'm talking to myself there, more than you."
"I wouldn't ask the questions if I didn't want to know the answers," he replies with a dismissive flit of his hand. "You sound disenchanted. Have you suffered through so many disappointments so early in your life?"
"Yes." Curt, with a bit of a nod. "If I dealt my own cards, would you read them for me, Mr. Dubois?"
His head tilts. "I can't promise to read them as dramatically as you, but yes."
She quietly shuffles, and then cuts the deck, before handing the cards to Simon. She watches his hands, to see how he handles the cards.
It's clear he has enough Occult knowledge to know how to handle the cards, but no real practiced skill. He handles them as little as possible and lays out three cards, face down. He glances up to eye her a moment, pushes his glasses up his nose, then turns over the first card to reveal... the Knight of Pentacles.
Simon considers the card for a moment. The interpretation doesn't come as quickly to him as it might to her--he doesn't know the cards as intimately as she does.
"If I recall correctly, the Knight of Pentacles indicates hard work and purpose. A commitment and focus on a single task. This Knight sits steadfast on his steed, but his gaze it always focused forward--to the point he misses everything else around him." He glances up to watch her intently. "And runs the risk of being so very focused on his role that he looses track of what he is working for. Perhaps looses track of why it's worth it in the first place, hm?"
Her dark-painted lips curl upwards behind the veil. "Hm. Devotion, dedication. Single-mindedness."
He lifts his chin, then reaches for the second card to turn over.
Strength.
He squints at the card a moment, fingers curling underneath his chin. "Interesting. This card suggest a duality to your life. Purity, shrouded in white, a halo of infinity to call to a strong sense of spirituality and potential--paired with the lion, who symbolizes anger, rage, and violence." His lips twitch with amusement. "You often feel you have your hands clamped desperately around the mouth of your beast, don't you? You fear that darkness inside yourself, that you will become only the monstrous lion."
"Are you reading me or the card, there? Either way, interesting."
He considers her for a few seconds, but doesn't seem bothered by being incorrect. Sometimes you had to make yourself look foolish to find out what is a lie, and what is truth.
He turns over the last card: The Hermit.
"Hmm... Wisdom, knowledge, enlighten. It suggests that you will be seeking out guidance from someone with more experience, and that you should embrace their knowledge. But also a warning for you to trust your own intuition, to listen to your inner voice. And a warning that sometimes you must turn away from the outside world and tend to yourself."
"Well. Most people I know have more experience than me, so I could seek out guidance from almost everyone, for that to be accurate." She nods, and looks up to make eye contact. "When did you start learning about tarot?"
He shrugs, sliding the cards back into the deck, then sets it on the other side of the table in front of her. "Around a year ago."
"I do not claim to be an expert though, as I said. The subtle nuisances and interconnections of the cards are mostly lost on me."
"No, I can tell you're not an expert. I'm just curious why it was something you chose to dabble with in the first place. You hold a healthy skepticism about others reading the cards, and you do it...mm, without any theatrics."
"Do you deny that most self proclaimed tarot readers are nothing but scams?"
"No, I don't." She tilts her head to one side. "Though even the scam artists need a handle on the basics. Is that why you learned?"
"No." He leans back into his chair again, eyeing her. "I had cause to become interested in the tools of fate."
She goes pretty still, allowing herself to be observed as she thinks. "There's a reason it hit you so hard, the words I threw at you the first time we met."
"Quite."
And as if on cue, with a dramatic sense of timing--he's been in the club for about an hour by now--Phaedra can hear a soft, keening, inhuman whine coming from him. He doesn't seem surprised or bothered, or even reacts much, just watches her.
Hmm, that hungry darkness sure makes sense, now. That crying seems to be coming from... the back of his head? She has heard rumors before of people who are semi-possessed by a dark entity that constantly hungers, but can whisper secrets to it's vessel.
Her eyebrows raise, and she stands. "I'll go to the bar and grab you some chicken wings or something." Surprised, perhaps, but not totally caught off-guard; she clearly knows how to deal with this whining.
His own eyebrows raise, mirroring her. "...Nothing messy," he warns, then adds, "Fetch me a whiskey as well."
She curtsies, before heading out of the room, leaving Simon alone with her tarot cards.
He watches her go, then turns back to the deck of cards. His lips purse, then he reaches out to touch the deck.
- Using psychometry reveals Phaedra is a vampire, and Simon has a brief glimpse of the moment the cards were handed to Phaedra, and he has the immediate sense that the one who gave them to her is no longer alive. There's a heaviness that settles into the pit of his heart, a deep grief, the loss of someone loved.
Phaedra returns with a whiskey (her choice of brand shows she is not a whiskey drinker, but there aren't any bad selections here) and a cheese plate that includes nuts, dried fruit, and strips of sliced bell pepper as well as cheeses. "I figured this might be one of the neatest options. Everything is just about bite-sized, can be finger-fooded."
He has his hand drawn back when she returns, sitting patiently with his hands crossed over his knee. The whining has continued, and only grown larger.
It's perhaps telling that he reaches for the drink first, taking a sip while eyeing the plate. "Thoughtful of you," he replies, then picks up a bit of bell pepper while his other hand sweeps aside the hair on the back of his head, feeding the mouth hidden there. There's the sound of ravenous, sickening chewing.
"Sometimes I am." She pulls the deck closer to herself again quietly, before looking thoughtful. "Is it weird if I want to go and look at it?"
"Yes," he replies plainly. He continues feeding the mouth, bits of nuts and cheese now.
"Would it offend you, personally, if I did?"
"Not particularly, no."
She stands, moving around the table to watch that mouth chew. "So, you're cursed, then."
Defying all sense of physics, anatomy, and reality, the small mouth only has... void beyond the small mishapen black teeth. Staring into the darkness as it swallows down bite after bite is... unnerving, to say the least.
And in some ways, too familiar after accidentally communing with the void-god-thing the Nereids worship. But she remains behind him for a moment longer before returning to her seat.
Simon pulls out a handkerchief to wipe his hands with, then smooths his hair back into place, covering the mouth as it closes up and goes quiet. "Yes, I am," he finally replies, then picks up the drink again.
What she doesn't do is immediately offer sympathy, false or otherwise. "And that's why you grew an interest in tarot, and why my comment about being a pawn of fate hurt. Okay, that all makes sense."
"Indeed." He eyes the plate, then picks up a bit of nut to pop into his (normal) mouth, chewing a moment as he regards her. "And you are a vampire."
"Kindred is a more polite term, in mixed company. But, yes, I am." No point in prevaricating at this point.
He nods faintly. "Does your talent with the cards come from your abilities as undead? Or merely a learned skill?"
"You say that as though those are the only two options." She lets out a little bit of a laugh. "That's kind of a habit you have. It's like knowing someone has a tub of ice cream in their freezer and asking 'is it chocolate? Or is it vanilla?' There's a lot of other ways the flavors can go, including combinations."
"...Fair." He gulps down the rest of his whiskey, then sets the glass aside and pushes up to his feet. "This was a surprisingly interesting conversation, but it's time I move on. Goodnight, Ms. Phaedra."
"Good night, Mr. Dubois. I'll look forward to seeing you here again." She nods.
He perks a brow at her, giving her an uncertain look--but he doesn't linger. He turns to make his way out of the room, then out of the club.
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