#detekid

a darker shade of magic //  accepting !

         ❛  that … ❜  the  sentence  trails  away  with  scanlan  looking  significantly  put-off.  he  considers  the  words  with  a  couple  of  thoughtful  scratches  at  the  stubble  currently  taking  up  residence  on  his  face.  it’s  sound  advice.  though,  for  whatever  reason,  scanlan  doesn’t  seem  particularly  keen  on  listening  to  it.

         maybe  it’s  because  it’s  coming  from  someone  he’s  got  at  least  five  decades  on.  or,  and  this  is   the  more  likely  culprit,  perhaps  he’s  still  rocking  his  post-death  hangover  something  fierce,  with  all  the  moodiness  and  bitterness  that  might  entail.  because,  sure  you  can  say  you  don’t  fear  death  but  until  you  stare  her  right  in  the  face,  you’re  just  talking. 

coraline sentence starters, ( open ): @detekid​

It’s easy to pre-plan readings on slow days. One glance at his short line and Molly knows the gist of his client’s fortunes before they’ve taken a seat across from him. He sticks to the wands for the studious young half-elf woman with the severe writer’s bump and the ink in her nail beds. She sits across from him with a wrinkle cleaving her brow, her robes’ sleeves pushed up—a scholar of some sort, he figures—so he feeds her something uplifting, reverses only one of her cards to keep her keen in her research, sharp in her studies. She clasps his hands after and thanks him with misty eyes and a voice wispy with relief. Molly smiles at her, sympathetically, and slips the tip she passes him back into her pocket as she leaves.

For the older human man that steps in after in nice, but worn clothes that smell of flour, his hands dry and clean, Molly decides on the pentacles. The man is contemplative, fingers stroking his coarse goatee, something heavy behind his gaze. Trouble at his shop, maybe, something personal and close to home. He doesn’t say much, but flips Molly a silver along with his two copper, which he snatches out of the air with practiced ease. This tip he keeps. It disappears into a coat sleeve.

For the young boy that steps up—couldn’t be any older than Toya—he’s already decided: major arcana, all right-side up. Kids are always a fun read. They deserve the delight of mysticism of the cards, the potential of an adventurous path unfolding out before them. So Molly grins up at him as he approaches on the coattails of the baker, shuffling his cards and expertly laying his prime choices at the top of his deck.

“Good afternoon, dear! Come on, sit, sit!” His clothes are nice, neat, Molly notes, cutting the deck and fanning the cards with a flourish. Glasses must mean he’s a reader, maybe a tinkerer, definitely a thinker. He sets the deck down and presents himself with a flick of his wrists and a bow even though he’s seated.

“I’m Mollymauk Tealeaf, diviner of the unknowable, and I will be your guide through this spiritual lesson. And the spirits are eager—they’ve already told me they see something wonderful in you—”

“You are in terrible danger.“

Molly’s smile doesn’t freeze, exactly, but it drops from his eyes, “Uh.”

It punches a laugh out of him, hands lowering to his knees as he straightens. The boy, he’s just now noticed, hasn’t bothered sitting down. Molly leans in and sweeps the street for Crownsguard and seeing the two on the corners in their usual stations, sits back again with a quirked brow. A kid’s just a kid, and yet the hair on the back of his neck prickles uncomfortably.

“Hey, I thought I was the fortune teller, kid,” he returns, easy breezy. Lifts his tail, lets it curl—a sign of amusement, though he feels anything but as he leans over to whisper playfully. “Are you my busking competition, because I can tell you—just a bit of industry advice here—starting with the dramatics is not good uh,” he wiggles his fingers, casts about for words. “Form. People will be able to tell you’re a little wet behind the ears.”