pxntomime:
The door opened immediately after he called out to her. Almost as if she were waiting right by it.
“Good evening, Mister Snicket.” Mary scanned the man’s features and raised a brow. While already curious about what he’d seen–what other reason would she have asked him in the first place?–what she had assumed to be worry ridden across his face made her urge him inside the room and gestured towards the sofa without sparing any more pleasantries. She promptly closed the door behind him.
She poured him a cup of tea as not to seem too crass. Setting it in front of him, she looked him dead in the eye. “Awful convenient how things have worked in both our favor. I’m eager to work with you, Mister Snicket.” Though there was a hint of some form of joy in her tone, her features held very little emotion.
Finally taking a seat, Mary stuck her hand out expectantly. “I’d like my photographs back.” Ever so abrupt in speech, she nearly forgot to add, “please.”
She’d given him plenty of them–more than she was comfortable with sharing with another person (she hated for people to know there was something she held dear to her heart)–but with it being a necessity she had no choice but to fold.
“What did you see?”
It should have been surprising, but somehow he kind of expected her to be so eager. This had the potential to be very good for both of them. In greeting the raven’s lips quirked into a half smile, holding that position for as long as he deemed polite before falling back into a more somber expression. There was a moment of hesitation, and then he finally stepped into her home.
“Good evening, Ma’am.” A glance is spared to the room he stepped into, but hardly anymore than that as he moved to seat himself on the sofa he was directed to. Another faint smile accompanied his word of thanks as he accepted her tea, taking a sip before setting it down on the table again.
“It does seem that things of this nature have a habit of falling into place, doesn’t it? Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd little waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don't always like.” The words tumbled from his mouth in a faint muttering, before he even seemed to realize he had spoken them. Not wanting to be misinterpreted at rude or unhappy with the situation he quickly amended his statement. “But of course I am always happy to have you to work with.”
Snicket began to gently remove each photograph from his notebook at his companion’s request, taking one last lingering glance at each before handing them over. The future was a tricky thing, and at times it was hard to discuss with those who were involved in it.
“Right then. Before we begin I should tell you just a bit about how my ability works.” The man grabbed a pen, drawing several parallel lines, and one solid dot above them into his notebook. “If what we call the present is represented by this marble here, our future exists in these tracks. As the marble rolls itself down the track, at any moment a bump or gust of wind could blow it onto another track. That is to say, anything I tell you could be subject to change at anytime. Setting aside the fact I can only see a single outcome in a field of many, just the action of me telling you could be the branching point that causes the path to sway. Not to mention that focusing too hard on the future can cause you to lose sight of the present.”
He sighed, placing the pen back in his pocket before fixing her with an expectant gaze.
“Would you still like to hear it?”
