The din of the regulars was almost enough to muffle the jukebox: an amicable cacophony of laughter and cheerful banter - usually yelled at the top of lungs. To increase vocal volume, simply add liquor, after all. Majda loved it; waves of simple pleasures rode over him, a simple love for the simple things in life; good drink and good company. And it was possible because of the man behind the counter.
Just thinking about him brought an immediate smile to his mouth, entire face glowing...the halo behind his head shining just a little brighter. A blossom of warmth bloomed in his chest, affection coursing through his cold, pale frame. Majda had a perfect view of the tall, handsome blond from his usual choice of corner booth: far back enough he was out of a direct line of sight, but not so far away that the other - should he wish - could not see him and catch his eye.
Dimpling, Majda slowly pulled his black eyes from Raleigh’s face where he stood, surrounded by regulars who weren’t going to leave until the bartender all but forced them to leave, to the lady before him. They were a fond and loyal crowd. There was no separation between Raleigh and the bar for many of them. Majda understood entirely why. They were separate, in Majda’s mind, but the bar would not be what it was without Raleigh. And the bar was good for Raleigh.
The woman seated across the table booth from Majda was engrossed in the cards laid out before her, brow furrowed as her eyes traced over each one again and again. She tried to maintain a calm front, tried to chuckle - albeit uncomfortably - through the reading, but. For every wave of denial rocked towards Majda, three more waves of defeat followed immediately.
He opened his hands, blue-tipped, ring bedecked fingers splaying as he turned his hands palm up. “Remember...” His soft voice lilted with his lower class, English accent. “This is all a potential, here and now. Nothing said here is something you didn’t already know - even if only subconsciously. But nothing is absolute. Nor concrete.” She found the cadence of his voice comforting, her emotions - and eyes - told him.
He continued to dimple at her, head tilting slightly. His long waves of silver-blond hair tumbled freely over his shoulders with the motion. “But...the Tower...” Her voice was hushed, soft, as though speaking too loudly - even surrounded by the din of pleasant drunks - might unleash some sort of terror upon her. Majda gently touched his fingertips to the card, artfully eyelined eyes looking through long pale eyelashes to meet her pale blue eyes.
“The Tower is unavoidable change. Yes. But how that change occurs - how you meet that change...that can be as smooth or as difficult as you wish it to be.” Majda continued to speak softly, soothingly. Few understood the Tower; change was terrifying to most people, mortal and immortal alike, and they read disaster instead of understanding change to be simply that. The bangles covering his wrist clattered gently against each other as he shifted his arm to tap fingers against the other cards. “You have the power to do so.”
