song_tra_bong | (no subject)

(no subject)

As a rule, Mary Anne doesn't sleep with her head under the pillow. That's useful weapon storage space and sleeping with your face near a knife is just silly.

But when you're trying to avoid that damn ray of light that keeps sneaking in through the blinds and stabbing you in the eye, and you're not inclined to get out of bed and draw the curtains, under the pillow is the best option. The knife has been knocked to the floor in the course of this exercise, and she is muttering insulting things about the sun under her breath.

Any possible discomfort or annoyance this may be causing her bedmate has not been taken into consideration.

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"Cards."

She sits up suddenly, eyes bright and focused. She turns her right hand over and there's a deck of cards resting it it, pulled from nowhere. She starts shuffling quickly.

"I can cast a reading for her--I mean, I know her well enough to read for her without her here. Plus, I think the tarot-ness might factor in somewhere there...Anyway, I should be able to find out something about how she is. And that should be enough of a focus for me to open a door to her."

"Oh. Cool."

Goldy doesn't look quite as enthused as Mary Anne might expect. Her smile is very watery. She swallows, harder than she wanted to be seen.

"What if... she doesn't want us to open a door? Do you not think that might be kind of intrusive to her?"

The cards go still in her hands.

"It very well might. She also might not be able to get back here any other way."

She gestures with the deck, slower and calmer than a few moments ago. Her eyes, however, have lost none of their focus. "If it's alright--and tell me if it's not--I'll cast the cards. Then we'll know more and we can open or close or slam doors at our leisure." She offers a reassuring smile. "If that's okay."

Goldy sits up, legs curled back under her, bringing enough comforter with her to embrace across her chest. She gives the idea some hard thought, then smiles and nods.

"Okay. That sounds good."

Of course, what transpires over the next few minutes could confirm some fears and crush Goldy. It's a risk she's willing to take, for the events could just as easily make her very happy.

"Thank you. Again," she voices pre-emptively.

"You're welcome, gorgeous."

She kisses her lightly on the cheek, then resumes suffling the cards. After a moment, she stops, then smoothes out a section of their bedding heap on the floor.

She cuts the deck twice, taps the top once, then deals.

"Huh."

Goldy squints at the layout, then looks at Mary Anne searchingly.

"Well, Your Majesty, what does it all mean?"

Over all her years, tarot is something that Goldy has never dabbled in, or with. She's almost completely in the dark here.

She sighs. "Okay. We start at the center."

She scoots the Nine of Swords over just enough to reveal the card beneath. Four of Swords. "This is the basis of the situation--her situtation: respite, rest after illness, solitude and exile. Now, it could be any or all of that; we'll know more the further we go."

She taps the Nine. "Immediate influence...misery, concern, despair...suffering. Five of swords--her subconsciouss--conflict, defeat...degredation and dishonor."

"Chariot inverted stands for her recent past." Her teeth dig hard into her lower lip. "Failure. Sudden collapse of plans. To be conquered or overwhelmed."

Goldy's face waxes and wanes through many expressions. Lack of comprehension, incredulity, worry. There's even a flicker of pain. She has no need to cover up her emotions in front of Mary Anne. Not now, at any rate.

Overridingly, she seems tense and concerned.

"This... shit... this really isn't sounding so good," she remarks quietly. "Poor Sweetness..."

"It's gonna get worse before it gets better," she murmurs.

She taps the inverted Five of Cups. "This is her conscious mind, her goal or destiny--" And here she smiles faintly. "Hopeful outlook, return of an old friend, reunion. But the near future,"

her finger slides down to the Five of Wands,

"is struggle and violent strife."

She draws a deep breath. "Time for the sidebar. Bottom card is Death inverted, which means her attitude is one of stagnation and immobility. aI'm betting that's equal parts physical and mental. Her environment and surroundings are influenced by loss, failure and error. Her hopes and fears..."

She spends a moment staring at the Hanged Man. "...are complicated. The highlights are a life in suspension, abandonment, lack of progress, and surrender. The final outcome: debacle, disaster, self destruction."

She glares at the cards a moment longer before sweeping her hand over them. They--and the deck they came from--are gone as she stands up and heads for the dresser.

Goldy is left staring at the flattened area of blankets where the cards had previously laid.

"Fucking hell..."

Her jaw is rigid, outlining a deathly pale complexion. Her knuckles are whiter though, the comforter now clenched in tight fists is the only thing preventing her nails from cutting through the skin of her palms.

"So, essentially, something horrible happened to her, leaving her physically and mentally fucked up. And... she can't get back here?"

"That would be the short version, near as I can tell."

Mary Anne rifles through the drawers, grabbing articles of clothing and heaping them on top of the dresser until she has enough to make an outfit. Then she starts getting dressed, strapping on a knife or two in between layers. She fishes her hunting knife out from underneath the bed, then crosses back over to the closet.

"So, I was thinking..."

She pulls her gun down from the shelf, tucking it into the back of her jeans. This is followed by a wide leather belt with two curved sheathes hanging from it; she straps it on, settling the knives comfortably on her hips.

"...we stop by your room for clean clothes and more weapons, then what say you to a little road trip?"

Goldy looks up and finally lets go of the comforter that's been clamped to her torso all this time. It peels away, exposing her breasts and more as she gets to her feet.

The emotion that showed on her face before has been somehow blocked or focused or beaten back. In its place is a scarily business-like demeanor: a face that is stony and dark of expression—though perversely still quite ashen in tone—and blue eyes that are as hard and cold as ice. It's a look that portends remorseless killing. A lot of it, if necessary.

"I say yes."

Beat.

"If... you're sure she wants out."

Mary Anne knows that look.

She pulls her jacket from the closet, shrugging it on as she answers, "I'm sure of very little, gorgeous. But whether or not she ends up leaving that place, I think we're overdue for a visit. And we know that there's a reunion in her destiny; think we ought to play into destiny's hand for once."

Goldy nods her head in muted agreement, and starts hunting around for her own clothes. They are spread rather haphazardly around the room, in various states of drapery and crumpledness, but eventually she homes in on underwear and yanks them on.

"Could you tell how long has passed for her?" she quizzes, while battling her way into heavily-creased jeans.

"I can try." She leans back against the wall, eyes directed at the ceiling but vaguely out of focus.

the reading has layers how much change how long how much time recent past is how you follow it back and back deeper and farther and darker the curve in the road

Eventually, she blinks and focuses back in on Goldy. "A year, give or take."

"For fuck's sake!"

Her grimacing face disappears into a mock turtleneck, and quickly reappears through the neck hole.

"That long?"

Goldy doesn't really do guilt. Not officially. So, as hard as that passage of time is to swallow, she doesn't blame herself for letting Miho go in the first place, or for not checking up on her before now. She's fucking upset about whatever has happened, because she had a certain amount of trust that Miho could take care of herself. And she intends to set things right however she can. But she doesn't feel responsible for it. Not really. Not yet.

She stoops to pick up her boots and socks—no need to put them on for the short trip back to her room—and snags her bra from where it's hanging on the barrel of a rifle propped at the end of the bed.

"Well. There's nothing we can do about that, except get her home."

After a scan around the room, she seems to be ready to leave.

"Alright. Um... you might want to leave the jacket behind, honey buns. Her city is in Southern California, if that's where she is."

She rolls her eyes and slips the jacket off, tossing it over her shoulder.

"You'd think magic tarot-ness would come with a weather forecast. Next stop, your room?"

"Yep. Clothes, new contacts, artillery, and... ooh, might as well load up with those grenades you gave me."

She offers a half-smile and a shrug, and starts making for the door.

"Actually," she adds over her shoulder with a little wrinkle of her nose. "Do you think it's such an emergency that we can't jump in my shower first? I'd hate to show up all bed-skanky, and smelling of... you."

Perhaps a chuckle would normally escape her at this point. But not today. She's blank.

"That would be a bit of a slap in the face, after a year of not seeing me," she reasons, fairly.

She nods.

"Cleanliness is godliness, or at least high up on the politeness scale. We've got time."

They head out into the hall and she locks the door behind her. Then, it's off to Goldy's room for final preparations. This trip is long overdue.

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