Cookies. [Jan]

[Tay]

This wouldn't stand.
This wasn't right.
This...this was just downright shameful.

A little white ghost bit her pink lip thoughtfully, assessing this most unfortunate situation she had been placed in.
Her hot chocolate souffle: the souffle she had spent hours perfecting, the souffle she pored over at least thirteen recipe books to find, the souffle that she had waited to rise all night. Yes. That souffle had gone unimaginably, unbearably flat. And that-obviously-just wouldn't do! However, she hadn't anymore cocoa, and there was her dilemma; to chuck it, or to serve it to some poor, unsuspecting soul who doesn't know the difference between a brownie and a brownie cake tomorrow?
The albino decided that there was no way she could do such a vile deed and live with herself afterward. (She was, after all, already living a lie. Her karma did not need to be shit on anymore.) With that thought, she tipped the pan upside-down over the bakery's trash can and tapped the bottom, until the depressed souffle wiggled free and dropped into the dark depths with a satisfying plop.

Eventually, Therese drifted to the store-front to peer out the window, her lips pursing. She had been expecting one of her regulars to drift in and request a telling, as he always did on Wednesday nights, but never had he been so late. The thought of what may have happened to him made her anxious, and she knew that to try and sleep in such a state would be fruitless.
The longer she stayed up, the more the tension mounted, a ball in her stomach twisting ridiculously tight.

She found herself sitting at one of the store's tables, a book in hand. The bakery was dimly lit, and so was the street. The entire place had an eerie quality to it at night, one that was new to Therese and unnerved her greatly.
The albino sniffed, and tucked a lock of white hair behind her ear. Well, this wasn't so bad. It was highly unlikely that any mass murderers were going to wander in, after all, and if a thief happened to come by she would give up the (baked) goods easily. She didn't mind sharing. There was nothing to worry about, after all-

...that didn't explain why she jumped nearly a foot in her seat when the bell above the entrance door chimed. Clutching her book rather theatrically to her chest, she turned with wide eyes to see who had entered. HOLY CRAP, IT WAS-


...not who she was expecting. GREAT.

[Jan]

The day was at an odd time; a time just right, when the setting sun peeked out of the clouds after a good rain. The puddles in the cobblestones were dyed a bright red, the streetlamps glowing dimly, and the last of the citizens finding their homes – a scene that at once warmed and chilled the heart. It filled one with uncertainty, unsure if such a night was ominous or welcoming.
The bell chime ringing over Therese’s door was a rather nice touch.

It heralded the arrival of someone so distinctly foreign that it was hard to imagine him melding in a crowd anywhere. His hair was long and red and writhing, almost with a life of its own; he was intrusively tall to the point where he had to bend down a little to avoid some of the dangly bits from the ceiling. He raised his heavy head to look around like some kind of wolf; his eyes scanned the shop, until falling on a plate of muffins left on Therese’s counter.

Before now the stranger had managed to look intent and mildly threatening, but it was surprising how quickly his expression snapped into something that could only be described as joy. His dark eyes lit up. His lips pulled into a half smile and he came forward (with all the delicacy he could manage – which wasn’t much, knocking his boot against a stool leg once) to bend down and properly appreciate the muffins up close. He blinked, eyes still wide and bright, and took a deep breath of its scent.

The man licked his teeth. It was only then that he noticed her – sitting quietly in her chair, book held up to her chest. One strand of wild red hair fell down his shoulder as he turned to her, a look of mild surprise on his face while the inevitable awkward silence took place.

Then, he smiled. “Ah!” he said as he straightened. His voice was deep and soothing. “A fine evening to you.”

The stranger tilted his head, obviously waiting for a response; when one did not come immediately, he merely went on, observing her with the same pleasant look he’d given the muffins a moment ago. He came a little closer, then stopped to dip his head, causing a low-hanging lamp to jingle. “ – if I’m not too late for your service.”

[Tay]

Just her luck that the very moment she had convinced herself that there were no serial killers that were on the late-night prowl for some delicious baked goods, a serial killer makes his way into her shop to ogle her muffins. Of course.
...hm. That came out wrong.

Therese watched him through wide, crimson eyes, her breath-hopefully not her last-caught in her throat. He did not seem to notice her, which only served to set her further on the edge of a breakdown. He was toying with her. Pretending to be preoccupied with blueberry muffins before whipping around with a saber which would then TAKE OFF HER HEAD-
Oh. Wait no. He wasn't doing that. He was going to draw this out. Even better. He was approaching, slowly, and she watched through what seemed like three miles of water, his hair falling perfectly out of it's place, the last thing she would see before she met her untimely end-

And then. AND THEN.

He smiled.
That tiny gesture snapped her out of her reverie, but she still watched him as though she were in a daze as he spoke. A fine evening, yeah, it's even better now that I know you aren't going to slaughter me. "Ahmm-" A strange mix of 'ah' and 'um' passed her lips, perturbing her almost as much as his immaculate red hair did. "N-no. Not at all." Therese set her book on the table with shaky fingers before standing, anxiously smoothing out her apron over her stomach.

"So-uhm." The very extent of his height hit her all at once, and she had to contain herself from requesting that he sit down, so that they may be at eye-level when the spoke. She realized how incredibly rude that was, but even ruder was the way his height forced her to crane her neck so. It was already making her sore. "Were you looking for a muffin, o-or a telling or...ah, both?" Therese glanced around his arm at the counter, where the muffins sat, before peering back up at the intimidatingly statuesque man's face. Which seemed surprisingly amicable! His pleasant expression helped ease her tension, just a bit.

[Jan]

He raised his eyebrows as the young woman spoke. He gave her a quick size-up, running his eyes up and down at her small figure – taking note of her nervous stance, the way her eyebrows slanted downwards, and how she loathed to meet his eye for too long.

“Good, good,” his voice purred, eyes narrowing as he smiled. He reached in his pocket and procured a handful of golden coins, holding them out over Therese’s hand and plopping them into her palm. They were heavy and there were a lot of them; its quantity suggested that the stranger had grabbed them without bothering to count – and his expression suggested that he didn’t care. “You may not know it, Miss Diodorus, but I’ve heard a lot about you. They say you’re half-fae.” He once again gave her a look up and down. “ – I suppose I’m not disappointed. You’re very beautiful.”
It came out as a casual remark, like how one would note that the flowers on the side of the road were growing well or how nice the weather was. He was indeed no stranger to the phrase and said it to nearly every woman he found to be decently pretty.

Of course he had figured out by now that Therese was more of the close-lipped sort, so he took it upon himself to do most of the talking. He turned halfway from her, wandering through her shop a few paces, as though in idle thought. “You know,” he continued conversationally, “I’m very interested in…fortunes and alignments and – astrology and all that. I may not seem like it but I am. And, from what I understand, you are very well-known for your predictions, is that right?” He grinned at her. “It must be nice to have such a reputation.”
Then he sighed; his voice took on a pitiable tone. “I’m afraid I’ve been let down by every fortune teller I’ve met so far.”

This time, his tone had an odd tinge to it, an ironical twist that only the very observant could pick up. “I could tell,” he said. “…I’m a people person.”

By now he had turned away from her completely, as though to admire the artistic touch she’d put in her little establishment. Still facing away from her, his attitude and voice changed as quick as lightning, changing the atmosphere in an instant. He clapped his hands together. “So! Is this where all the magic happens?”

[Tay]

When he eyed her, as if she were a piece of meat on display, her legs shook and she felt the urge to crumble right back down into her chair. There was absolutely nothing right about this situation--nothing right at all! And she knew that from the moment he had called her beautiful.
He had an peculiar charm to him, lending to an eerily confident demeanor, the likes of which scared the knickers off of poor Therese. The albino watched the back of his hair as he drifted away, transfixed by those ridiculously perfect locks. A man could not be so charismatic, personable, and in possession of such great hair without there being a catch.

When he asked for a telling in his underhanded, wordy way, she found the catch. This man did not believe in her abilities. There was no way he did. His tone told her that much. If he were to catch on to her phony telling, a man like this would surely have the means to ruin her. First her foretelling business would go, next the bakery-
But to back out now-after she had already offered her services-would seem just as suspicious. Besides, the albino had a feeling he would not be so quick to take no as an answer. How could she muster up the courage to refuse him? He towered over her, both physically and in his persona.

Therese was sort of stuck, here. "W-well, I usually do business in the back-" Where no one might see her be mutilated if he wished it so. "-but there's no one out here, s-so, any table will do. Excuse me a moment." She fluttered back behind the counter, her anxiety apparent in the way she instinctively wrung her hands after depositing his payment in the register. She removed her apron and hung it on it's hook much more gingerly than necessary, taking care to draw out (what felt like) her final moments.

In a ditch-effort to save her neck, she rounded the counter once more but made no move to approach him. "S-sir, I'm afraid my reputation may...precede me, and it may build me up to be something I am not." No kidding. "I would be more than willing to give you your money's worth in muffins or something of that sort, for I do not want to disappoint you if my skills are not to-er-your liking."

[Jan]

His voice rumbled in what could only be pity. He lowered his tone; it seemed to deepen and flow like dark water over stone. “Oh, don’t be nervous, Miss Diodorus. Please.” Indeed, he seemed to show surprise at her reaction. He could see that her anxiety was severe, with little to trigger it…there was a name for women like these – a doe, he believed. If there was ever anyone who fit such a fawn-like personality, it was she.

“…Perhaps some introductions are in order first.” He figured that his sudden appearance might have startled her, after all. When she did not approach him from behind the counter, he took a step or two forward.

His intent seemed benign. His dark eyes were carefully flat; if there was any poison hidden behind his snake-like smile, it was well concealed. Jahel’s hand extended towards her. His gaze looked at her curiously, as though he could not fathom for the life of him why she had any reason to act this way. Indeed, in his mind, he could hardly remember doing anything to warrant such a reaction…if it wasn’t his appearance alone.

“I am a knight,” he purred. “Who just so happens to be a little curious about your trade. Don’t be frightened; I don’t intend to harm you or anything.” He smiled at her. “If you are as unsure of fortune-telling as you say, perhaps you can compensate with a…spare pastry or two, if I’m unsatisfied.” His heavy shoulders lifted. “That’s all. But I’m sure that won’t be the case.”

With his hand still held out, Jahel waited patiently as Therese made up her mind. “…Come now,” he said, his voice as svelte as dark satin, and added a small cluck of his tongue as though in mild disappointment at her hesitation.

[Tay]

Was it really shocking that she should be tense? She already had an inclination towards being unusually anxious without any influence, but a man foot and a half taller than she, armed with such a demanding presence and a fierce countenance, is bound to draw out a little more than a few shivers from her end.
It helped in the slightest when he introduced himself as a knight, but the albino still had reason to be uneasy: law enforcement did not exactly have the best track-record with magical races-not to mention half-breeds-and she had built a career off the misconception that she was one of those races. Therese had nearly fallen to a hate crime several times before, and it was an awful experience...and those people were just random drunks or hooligans off the street! There was something to be said about what a man trained specifically for combat might do if he held any ill-will towards her.

Not...that she had any choice to object. He was a knight: his desires would be met whether she complied or not, most likely. It would probably be best if she simply were to meet him halfway.
A few seconds after he stopped speaking, the albino shakily slipped her hand into his. "R-right, okay. Fine then, that sounds...that sounds fair." Her handshake was firm, but only to sate him, and in a moment she retracted.

Another moment of hesitation followed, which Therese spent looking at something over her shoulder. Take him to the backroom, or conduct their business in the open? The latter seemed like a better investment on her end, but-on the off chance that he really was seeking guidance-that seemed like a breach of his privacy, something she would not allow with any other customer.

"Follow me." Therese's hand jerkily motioned for him to follow, and off she went, back into the recesses of the bakery.
And that was that.

When they reached the telling room, she paused in the doorway, which was cloaked by blue velvet drapes. "First, I usually ask if-er-there is anything in particular you would like to know. It's...not necessary, but I find that it helps to give the telling more...structure." Right. That.

[Jan]

She let go of his hand immediately, much to his disappointment.

But he let it slide and followed her, dipping his head to enter the back door; she halted there and, in a light and hesitant voice that Jahel was beginning to recognize as uniquely hers, asked if he had anything in particular to ask.

He answered that he supposed he did.

Jahel stepped inside before her, looking about the darkly lit room. He reached out to brush a decorative fabric between his thumb and his forefinger, admiring its pattern; with no readily apparent reason he smiled, and let the tapestry fall back down idly. “Hmn,” he said, “well.”
Exhaling as though suddenly tired, Jahel slumped down on a chair. He lifted one elbow on the table before him, and looked up at Therese, his smile fading into a small turn of the lips. “I suppose it has something to do with you, Therese.”

He let her come closer before continuing, pausing only once to scratch leisurely at a spot behind his ear. “You see,” he continued (his itch apparently moving down to just below his jaw), “I have a son. He goes down to the market on occasion; learns, on the side, to be a good shot by an old gunslinger named – Alaric, I believe it was. Now I trusted him, and maybe you wouldn’t believe it - Ms. Diodorus - but he mentioned you often. Said you saved his daughter, told him what herbs he needed to cure her and on what day the stars aligned, something like that, which was all well and good, of course, and I commend you for that if his money didn’t do the job well enough. Unfortunately…he was sentenced three days later.” He paused. “For treason.”
Jahel’s eyes were focused on her. “I would have done it,” he said. “I would have shot him. I almost did. You know why? Because there’s a law against fraternizing, and our god above knows he did plenty of that.” His expression darkened; that pseudo-suavity on his face vanished in a heartbeat. “But he left. Ran off somewhere.”

Jahel straightened in his seat. “So naturally I thought of the fortune-teller he loved so much.” He tilted his head, raised his eyebrows. “If you could, Ms. Diodorus, give your best fortune as to where that conniving rat might be, I would be most grateful.” His eyes narrowed - “Don’t let me down like the others.” - and his smile suddenly became like a wolf's.

Then: “...Oh – and perhaps you could tell me what my lucky number is for tomorrow after you’re done.”

[Tay]

The albino entered the room, but she did not dare sit. As he moved on with his story, she made herself busy by idly rearranging some items on the shelves, though in the dim light it was fairly useless. She often did this: she found it difficult to contain her composure with a customer while listening to their stories if she forced herself to make eye-contact. Some of her patrons' stories moved her to tears despite this measure, and she predicted that Jahel's story would bring about the same reaction.

She soon found she was gravely mistaken.

Upon the mention of treason, the slender digits that had been moving swiftly in the dark froze, curled around an empty, curved bottle, whose sole purpose as an aesthetic was about to be challenged. There was no way she could fight off a knight, even with a cracked bottle--besides, he probably had a dozen weapons on his person anyway. It was quite clear that fighting her way out of this was not a feasible solution. When had it ever been? Have you seen the girl, with her tiny wrists and those pathetic eyes? She would not last a minute in any brawl, let alone one wherein a trained fighter was involved.
The only plausible way to wiggle out of this was reason. At the end of his story, however, she found that even the most logical of talking points may not help her wiggle out of this one. The odds were stacked in his favor: he was a knight, it was his son, there was treason involved, she was known as a half-fairy-

Crap.

"I did my best to help her-his daughter, I mean." Therese slowly turned, her fingers shaking as they pulled her hair over her shoulders. The room suddenly felt unusually stuffy, hot even, and she could feel the prickles of sweat beading on the nape of her neck. "Bu-but, I didn't...I must confess that I did not do it through fortune-telling." Perhaps there was a way to weasel her way out of this without revealing herself as a fraud. "I found the answer to your granddaughter's illness in a book, sir. No magic was involved there."
She was unsure of whether it would be wise to take a seat: it seemed like a rookie mistake to do so, so she did not dare. Instead, the young woman stayed stock-still where she was, keeping her chin level and her gaze on the space between his eyes, a trick that...well, a trick that had never worked out well in the past, but was worth a shot now, she supposed.

"But I cannot find your son." Therese's fingers lingered on the shelves behind the small of her back, tracing over the smooth wood to occupy themselves. "I am not experienced in-er-tracking of that nature, a-and I may only foretell anything concerning the people in this very room...which he certainly is not...in. I am very sorry for wasting your time, and for your loss, sir."

[Jan]

He stared at her, as though confused. As she went on, the more his expression turned to confusion, then to disbelief, then, it seemed, to a sort of patronizing entertainment. “No, no, no,” he said, with a short laugh, shaking his head. “I’m afraid you misunderstood me. My son? A daughter? My son is only six years old, Miss Diodorus. The man I’m talking about was only his teacher. Alaric. It is not my son I’m looking for – but Alaric.” He narrowed his eyes. “You remember him, don’t you? He’d blonde hair, brown eyes, and had an unusual habit of pushing up his glasses.”

Jahel searched her face. Her anxiety was clearly getting the best of her. “I thought I’d made it clear by now,” he said, his voice lowering, the humor in his face disappearing. “I’m not looking for so much a fortune as information.” His eyes narrowed. “This Alaric idolized you ever since you saved his daughter. I was certain he would come here after he fled…perhaps for another fortune on how he would save his miserable life.” He snorted. “But if you value yours, you will tell me where he is or where you have seen him last. I’ve no wish to lay harm on a pretty young lady such as yourself, you understand, but – well, it is only my job.”

“Oh,” he said, as though a thought had come to him: “and may I mention that he left his young daughter behind as he fled. The faster you can tell me where Alaric has gone, the better it is for you and her.”

Jahel waited, but she did not answer immediately. He could feel Therese’s fear coming off of her in droves – she was no use to him now, her voice caught up in insecurity and sniveling cowardice. He lifted his lip, impatient, and in no mood to coddle; his voice rose and sharpened. “Stand up straight!” he commanded. “Honestly. I’ve not all night. Raise your head.” Jahel’s eyes bored into her face. “Look at me.”