...nevermind. She was a monster. A monster who fell off of carts and got woozy when he made up ghost stories. A polarized monster. The idea made him grin, sudden and bright and comfortable. He poked in around her to get a bite of cake himself, careful not to lose a finger along the way.

And then less carefully, devouring, realizing just how long it had been since breakfast, or lunch, or whatever that mid-morning meal had been...

Her heart rate slowed to a somewhat normal pace as Warwick began to made a large amount of headway into the poor unsuspecting slice of sludgecake.

She ferociously attacked the cake, making sure she had her fill, but then as her fork chinked against his, old rules for entertaining again reminded her the guest had had right of way when it came to food. Licking off any precious crumbs she set the fork down beside her and thought for a moment before speaking. Mulling over the richness of the cake she sighed gently.

“So how do you do, that thing you do?” then she realized that even she didn’t fully understand what she meant. Biting her lip, speaking again she said “Um I meant, how do you do that flash, I ought ter learn see and was well wondering about it, if you had any pointers that would be great!"

He blinked up at her, sucking frosting off his spoon while he processed the question. How did he do it? That was rather like asking a swordsman how he fought. Or a scholar how he learned. Perhaps it was even more like asking a bird how it flew: Warwick just did.

That wasn't what she wanted to hear, though, and he knew it. So he slowly removed the fork from his mouth, shrugging up at her and looking perplexed. "Ye make it up as ye go along. Invent a story. Move when ye gotta."

She leaned forward waiting for his response. Eager and holding her breath. Cake still on fork, the waiting was almost killing her.

The response came, the held breath came out in a gentle sigh. Her brow furrowed trying to decipher what he meant. She found a solitary crumb and relished the chocolaty taste.
“I am real sorry to disappoint yer, but I don’t fink I can do it. I can draw in the punters with a gentle conversation, but that story knocked me socks off.”

A candle flicked on in her head. She switched from thoughtful and pensive to loud and slightly scary in an instant. Glee was oozing from every pore, she bounced slightly on the bed almost yelping
“You know Warwick, you actually int seen my talent yet” she draped a lanky arm around his shoulders grin spreading across her face. She started speaking softly “ My fortunes are the best you will ever hear, I, Cassiopeia Armand will not spare the gory details, no. I am honest and you Warwick shall have your epic fortune read by yours truly!”

Before the boy could protest she sprung up and started gathering charts and other paraphernalia.

"...oes, indeed, I'm honest too." It was said with a breath of laughter as she pulled away, both of his eyebrows raised. He still wasn't convinced but -- but maybe he would be, yet? Or perhaps enough false divination had turned all his feelings toward it sour, a hopeless atheist at heart.

Either way, he should probably have bitten his tongue. He just didn't think that hard. "If'n by honest ye mean I don't pick yer pocket while yer watchin' my other hand..."

Raising an eyebrow at the last comment, she turned and started to ready the room for a reading. There had to be some decorum and magic to it, it wasn’t proper without it.

The warm golden light really was magic Cassi pondered as with a resounding tug she pulled the navy blue curtains shut across the tiny window. She lit a large waxy candle in the centre of the ancient chipped table and tossed the spent match aside. Easing herself onto the small creaky chair she motioned for Warwick to sit.

A small chink of light from an unknown crevice illuminated a few precious strands of midnight blue and in the rest of the half light Cassi’s eyes sparkled like newborn stars, full of promise and unknown. Leaning forward she eyed Warwick up, assessing him, a quizzical expression on her face, distant cries of children penetrated the pressing silence.

Her ageing hands caressed an ancient tome and a smile played upon her lips, the voice that tumbled from her mouth was of a husky tone “Do you believe? Can the stars truly show us our hearts desires? Or is a load of chroven droppings? I’ll leave you to decide that m’boy. But, there are some things that I know, that you don’t know I know.”

With a flick of her wrist the dusty book was opened and pages flicked by. Still keeping her gaze upon Warwick, a finger stopped the pages from turning.

“Youth is strange time for many it seems, and also a time for daring acts, is it not? Was it a trick too far, or was it to impress a lady I shall never know. But that arm must have hurt a lot when you landed on it. Is there someone there to pick up the pieces and to kiss it better?

It seems that someone was close to you, matching tattoos, they must have been very dear for such a commitment. Hmm, if I am going to hazard a guess it’s the left shoulder on the back, I have one there too, y’know.

I do wonder if this special someone is at the festival, or are they better than all this?”

She let out a gentle sigh, being alone wasn’t fun especially at a time like this. Bravely she carried on,

“How’er The time ahead shall be different for you, separate ways perhaps, but I think you have chosen the brighter route.”

The book was shut with a resounding thud and curtains yanked open, the last few seconds of sunlight were permitted to filter in.

Warwick sat, watching her in a puzzled and thoughtful sort of way. It hadn't been a terrible little show; most of her statements had been vague enough to apply to anyone. Yes, he'd broken his arm when he was younger, but he was a tumbler -- it was inevitable. And the festival was a time for one to find his own path. Sure, the comment about his brother's tattoo should have set off alarms in the back of his head [and probably would, once it fully registered, likely just before he drifted off to sleep that night], but the rest was easy to dismiss.

His tone was serious, as he blinked across at her, but the words were glib, "Ye need more candles. And some sorta hat, I think..."

That little bugger. How dare he insult her pride and joy, this was her life and it just din’t need more candles. She folded her arms and let out a heavy sigh. Cassi was not impressed and you need not to be a Horoscope reader to work that out.

She waited a few moments before deciding on the most appropriate course of action. Unusually silent she got up purposefully scraping the chair’s legs along the floor, snatching her hat from her bed she rammed it on Warwick’s head making sure it went down past his eyes.

“Is this enough hat for you?!” She erupted.

Cassi was rewarded with a thoroughly startled yelp, Warwick floundering with the brim of the hat to drag it off -- and the look he gave her was a hundred percent wounded puppy, like he didn't understand why she'd done that. Perhaps he didn't, there was a distant sort of naivety to his expression. Yes, he knew grifting and scamming, but the real world was in some ways a different story, and women were a mystery.

"...I'm...I'm serious." And he was, now, fingers in his hair to work it up again. "How are ye going te sell that?"

The yelp scared the living daylights out of Cassi, and the hurt look he gave her pulled at her maternal heartstrings. Maybe she toed the line with a little too much gusto…
It hadn’t been so long since she was that young or had it? A voice broke her revere.

Cassi’s face became lined with worry, selling? Now that was definitely not her forte, she shrugged her shoulders and replied with a quiet “dunno”. It was her turn to give Warwick a taste of the puppy dog eyes and in a very girly little voice she added “Nev’r bin that much good at sellin’.”

"...that's what I'm saying." He looked relieved, endlessly so; perhaps her sudden shift in mood should have worried him, but it certainly didn't. Warwick shifted his hat in his hands, shrugging, eyebrows raised at Cassi.

"If ye can't sell yerself, ye can't fund yerself, right? Who wants teh get their fortune read from someone who smiles the whole time?" He hesitated, though, trying to avoid a repeat -- "Not that ye don't have a lovely smile, but. Oes. Supposed te glower and stare dreamily off inte the distance..."

A blush couldn’t help making itself known at the little compliment that was sandwiched in there. She attempted a “dreamy” face, but she was sure it looked more like a crazy old lady and when a nearby mirror showed her startling appearance, Cassi couldn’t help but snorting at her comical appearance. There was no way she could do this. Ever.

She supposed all hope was lost and that her livelihood would go down the drain thanks to this man’s frank statements about her. She had to stop herself from holding her head in her hands and sobbing, and then a rare thought passed through her mind.

Maybe? Perhaps? Oh darn it, it could work?

With a sharp intake of breath Cassi steeled herself for the question she was about to ask
“ Well if it’s the flash that’s the problem and yer seem ter be the master of the old flash then maybe you can teach me a few of yer tricks. Y’know ter get the mood all perfikt like, or maybe we can form a sorta loose partner ship? You can brin’ in the punter’s like, and then I read their fortunes and we share the profits?”

She teetered on the edge of the bed awaiting his reply to her delicate proposition.

"Well, I mean, I brought some in already but then ye ran off, so I don't really know if it'll still work..." She though she looked silly, perhaps, but -- well, he thought the dreamy expression was brilliant. Sure, it looked goofy, but it made things look harder and more serious, and wasn't that the whole point? It had lit up his own face, halfway excited.

"There was a chip in our camp, an' she used te tell fortunes. Of course, she had --" Er, actually, no, best not mention that the girl had had an hourglass figure and had mostly just swathed herself in sweeping lengths of semi-transparent fabric. He didn't think Cassi would quite go for that, "A...really nice....kint."

An eye brow of confusion couldn’t help being raised. She allowed herself a few moments to gather her thoughts and to rethink the battle/business plan, and wasn’t gunna be easy.

Cassi paused to give her bottom lip a bit of a gnawing, boys were a difficult species to decipher even after they had been given cake. A sigh of hopeless despair escaped and then Cassi spoke “A kint? Mine is good as any other chip’s, ‘ave ye got any other bright ideas then?”

Impatience was emanating from every pore, but intuition told her a quick fix wasn’t the solution. “ Maybe a lick of paint couldn’t go amiss? See if I could think of any ideas I would ‘ave done em by now.”

She got to her feet and busied her self with long overdue dishes, mind lost in thought, face as stony as a lousy gravel "beach".

Warwick considered Cassi as she moved about, his expression skeptical behind her back; women younger than she had thought 'just a little paint' could fix them up, to somewhat disastrous results. He had enough sense not to voice the disastrous comment, though. Instead he made a dismissive noise and shove the last bite of cake into his mouth, sagging where he sat on her bed.

Sure, he wanted to help, but he wasn't sure he wanted to tie himself to someone so...so moody, just now, or maybe he just wasn't sure he wanted to be tied. After a moment he licked his lips and pushed himself up to stand, over next to her to slide the dish in, leaning against the wall. "How about I teach ye some tricks, instead, an' ye can choose te do with'em as ye like."

Both eyebrows raised, he offered her a sudden, not-quite-real grin. A show grin. Warwick pointed to the dish. "Pay me in cake?"

A slight tingling in Cassi’s mouth started, her lips made their journey up her cheeks and the crows feet at the corner of her eyes formed. A smile had broken across her face, maybe it was the dawning of a new era or was it the prospect of funds for precious food, it may be forever a mystery only solvable by Cassi.

Elation spread through her body, but instead of allowing it to escape in the usual manner Cassi for once contained herself, after all she didn’t want to scare the young ‘un. She finished her washing up, dried her hands on a handy tea towel and proffered a squeaky clean hand.

Returning the eerie grin, one eye brow raised, “Cake it is then?”