I struggled for a little while to pick a character or two for this; I have a few ideas but picking someone to make them work kept changing the ideas. So... I hope this works now that I've picked one.
Hallucination Madame Sosotris's parlour was shadowy; the aged-darkened curtains were partially drawn and only a single ray of afternoon sunlight, soft and golden, managed to reach through and illuminate the dust drifting around. It struck floorboards in a pool of light and was deftly avoided by someone dressed in blacks and greys who definitely hadn't come for a reading. Barely audible footsteps crept across the floor, each step taking seconds as each foot was set down with excruciating care to avoid any telltale creaks. Finally, at a small wooden table on which sat a vase of Paysdumort lilies shedding dull orange pollen like a mourner weeping at a graveside and a wooden box slightly larger than a deck of cards the figure opened the box and removed a single card from the tarot deck inside. Turning the card face up revealed that it was Martok, Prince of Hallucinations and the near-invisible figure shuddered just a touch. Then, producing a fine pen and a bottle of India Ink, they carefully added a moustache to the face of Martok and then waved the card silently around to encourage the ink to dry. Satisfied, after nearly two minutes of waiting, that the ink would not smudge the card was replaced, the box closed, and the shadowy figure stealthily retreated from Madame Sosotris's dwelling.
Hours later Madame Sosotris returned home from visiting her friend Greta in the north of the Unreal City where the industrial chimneys reached to the skies and belched clouds of black and green smoke. She flung open the curtains and sat down in her favourite chair, a sagging, overstuffed armchair covered in cat hair (though Madame Sosotris had never owned a cat and no animals dared to come inside no matter how cold or wet it was outside) and pulled her boots off. They were black leather, hard-wearing, and rather more fashionable than might be expected for someone of Madame Sosotris's age. Her socks had holes in and her calluses poked through; more than one casual viewer had assumed they beheld the feet of an ogress.
Naturally, as soon as she was comfortable there was a knock at the door and she sighed heavily, wishing that she could remember to scry the future before sitting down so as to guarantee she wouldn't be disturbed. Feeling just a touch lazy she opened her third eye to the swirling mists and diverging lines of fate to see what would happen if she ignored the caller and, to her surprise, found that the mists thickened and the lines converged worryingly. "A guaranteed future?" she murmured. "That would be bad." Unwillingly, but sure that she did not want a future that could not be changed, she got up and answered the door, opening it just in time to catch her caller turning away. "You rang?" she said, tartly. "I knocked," said the middle-aged man turning back. He had a military bearing to his shoulders and back, but a pot-belly and the red-veined eyes of an habitual drinker. "You can't tell the difference?" If Madame Sosotris weren't so worried about the consequences of not greeting this guest she'd have slammed the door in his face and gone back to her comfortable chair, but instead she gestured to her ears. "The spirits sometimes change the things I hear," she lied. "Come in, and tell me what I can do for you."
The first card she turned, despite the shuffling and the cutting and the randomisation of the deck, was Martok, Prince of Hallucination. "Moustachioed," said Madame Sosotris examining the card, turning it this way and that to catch the best of the dying evening light. She even lit the lamp at the table to look at it more closely. "Is that good?" asked the guest. He looked uncomfortable, as many did when Madame Sosotris started inspecting the future. "It's new," said Madame Sosotris. "But it seems... it seems your hallucinations will come in disguise." "I don't have hallucinations!" "Yet," said Madame Sosotris primly. "This is the future we're looking at, don't forget." "I don't want hallucinations!" "Then don't travel to the Echo," said Madame Sosotris, completely failing to notice that her guest had made no mention of the Echo himself. "But... how? How! You can't possibly have know-- I'm not going to the Echo! No-one goes to the Echo!" "Then you'll be fine, won't you?" Outside the window, pressed up against the wall and hidden in shadows one more, the black-and-grey dressed figure smiled tightly. Not many people went to the Echo but this was confirmation, at last, of someone who did.
3 comments:
I struggled for a little while to pick a character or two for this; I have a few ideas but picking someone to make them work kept changing the ideas. So... I hope this works now that I've picked one.
Hallucination
Madame Sosotris's parlour was shadowy; the aged-darkened curtains were partially drawn and only a single ray of afternoon sunlight, soft and golden, managed to reach through and illuminate the dust drifting around. It struck floorboards in a pool of light and was deftly avoided by someone dressed in blacks and greys who definitely hadn't come for a reading. Barely audible footsteps crept across the floor, each step taking seconds as each foot was set down with excruciating care to avoid any telltale creaks. Finally, at a small wooden table on which sat a vase of Paysdumort lilies shedding dull orange pollen like a mourner weeping at a graveside and a wooden box slightly larger than a deck of cards the figure opened the box and removed a single card from the tarot deck inside.
Turning the card face up revealed that it was Martok, Prince of Hallucinations and the near-invisible figure shuddered just a touch. Then, producing a fine pen and a bottle of India Ink, they carefully added a moustache to the face of Martok and then waved the card silently around to encourage the ink to dry. Satisfied, after nearly two minutes of waiting, that the ink would not smudge the card was replaced, the box closed, and the shadowy figure stealthily retreated from Madame Sosotris's dwelling.
Hours later Madame Sosotris returned home from visiting her friend Greta in the north of the Unreal City where the industrial chimneys reached to the skies and belched clouds of black and green smoke. She flung open the curtains and sat down in her favourite chair, a sagging, overstuffed armchair covered in cat hair (though Madame Sosotris had never owned a cat and no animals dared to come inside no matter how cold or wet it was outside) and pulled her boots off. They were black leather, hard-wearing, and rather more fashionable than might be expected for someone of Madame Sosotris's age. Her socks had holes in and her calluses poked through; more than one casual viewer had assumed they beheld the feet of an ogress.
Naturally, as soon as she was comfortable there was a knock at the door and she sighed heavily, wishing that she could remember to scry the future before sitting down so as to guarantee she wouldn't be disturbed. Feeling just a touch lazy she opened her third eye to the swirling mists and diverging lines of fate to see what would happen if she ignored the caller and, to her surprise, found that the mists thickened and the lines converged worryingly.
"A guaranteed future?" she murmured. "That would be bad."
Unwillingly, but sure that she did not want a future that could not be changed, she got up and answered the door, opening it just in time to catch her caller turning away.
"You rang?" she said, tartly.
"I knocked," said the middle-aged man turning back. He had a military bearing to his shoulders and back, but a pot-belly and the red-veined eyes of an habitual drinker. "You can't tell the difference?"
If Madame Sosotris weren't so worried about the consequences of not greeting this guest she'd have slammed the door in his face and gone back to her comfortable chair, but instead she gestured to her ears. "The spirits sometimes change the things I hear," she lied. "Come in, and tell me what I can do for you."
The first card she turned, despite the shuffling and the cutting and the randomisation of the deck, was Martok, Prince of Hallucination.
"Moustachioed," said Madame Sosotris examining the card, turning it this way and that to catch the best of the dying evening light. She even lit the lamp at the table to look at it more closely.
"Is that good?" asked the guest. He looked uncomfortable, as many did when Madame Sosotris started inspecting the future.
"It's new," said Madame Sosotris. "But it seems... it seems your hallucinations will come in disguise."
"I don't have hallucinations!"
"Yet," said Madame Sosotris primly. "This is the future we're looking at, don't forget."
"I don't want hallucinations!"
"Then don't travel to the Echo," said Madame Sosotris, completely failing to notice that her guest had made no mention of the Echo himself.
"But... how? How! You can't possibly have know-- I'm not going to the Echo! No-one goes to the Echo!"
"Then you'll be fine, won't you?"
Outside the window, pressed up against the wall and hidden in shadows one more, the black-and-grey dressed figure smiled tightly. Not many people went to the Echo but this was confirmation, at last, of someone who did.
Greg - hah, well, I haven't read it yet but I'm sure you've done a fine job with whoever you ended up choosing to work with.
... and indeed you did. Not at all sure who the mystery figure is, but I am deeply intrigued and look forwarding to discovering more in the future.
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