PSYCHIC READINGS BY RITCHIE SIMPSON

[gazeatchaos]

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[scalpedsociety]

[Slides over the money.]

I am feeling rather generous...

[middlefingers]

[ You've made him so happy, Aramat! This dude is beaming. Happy as he is to receive the money, he still crumples it up and stuffs it into his pocket as if it were a rumpled napkin. ]

That's a given. You have a beautiful aura.

Would you prefer a palm reading or tea leaves?

[scalpedsociety]

Why thank you. Tea leaves please.

[She doesn't know this person that makes his intentions to get drunk obvious.]

[middlefingers]

Right on.

[ He'll turn his attention now to an opaque... pretty general looking styrofoam cup. Tilting the lip of the cup towards him, he swivels it around, a heavily furrowed brow looking into the haze...

...of clumpy coffee grounds and what is probably backwash. ]

You're waiting somewhere. A bus station. There's a darkness around.

[scalpedsociety]

[Disgusting, if she knew what was going on. But for now, she's merely curious about what her 'fortune' would be.]

A bus station? I don't usually take the bus.

[middlefingers]

Well, it could be a metaphor. Buses take people places. They can signify new beginnings or a journey.

[ He sits up in his seat slightly, more on point. Gotta reel this one back in. ]

Does any of that seem familiar?

[scalpedsociety]

You do have a point... but where am I going, where am I thinking of going.

[She shakes her head.]

It's just so much to think about.

[selfmadman]

Being psychic, you should know I'm not giving you the alcohol up front.

[middlefingers]

[ Wow.

Asshole.

Time to get cryptic on this Gregory Peck-looking-ass. ]

You're afraid of what you'd find out anyway.

Maybe you're on your way to the liquor store yourself. It's almost that time to go home to your empty house.

[hellraizer]

I'll pay you only in alcohol instead, take it or leave it.

[middlefingers]

Depends on what you've got.

[hellraizer]

[John hoists a heavy backpack filled with various bottles of liquor and plops it with a thud between them, causing the glasses to rattle and clink inside.]

Reckon you'll find something you like that's worth 20 quid.

[middlefingers]

Shit, man.

[ It doesn't take much to peg this guy as unemployed and unapologetic. ]

Fine.

[ He starts rummaging through the bag curiously. First he selects a colorful bottle of Indian beer assessing it with some approval. The next thing he grabs is much more eager and held onto tight.

Sweet, sweet whiskey. ]

What do you wanna know? Future? Love? Employment opportunity?

[hellraizer]

Employment opportunity, you're funny.

[Especially considering that every single bottle within the backpack was stolen. Once the selection is made John quickly zips the sack closed again and sets it onto the ground between his feet as he sits.]

Why not start with the easy one? Tell me about my future.

[middlefingers]

Alright. Future guy. Usually it's the sad, middle-aged people barking up that tree, but sure.

[ He places the selected bottles beneath his seat between his feet and his saddlebag, the strap wound loosely around his legs. He's learned the hard way about stuff walking off.

Squinting hard at the other guy like he's hard on the eyes, Ritchie pushes the chair across from him forward with a nudge of his toe and gestures with a long arm that it would be beneficial to sit. He'd also feel less like he was presided over by some king he didn't vote for. ]

You're going to successfully make it back with your haul and the people that you're going back to are going to be very happy about it. If you haven't slept with all of them by now, the one holding out on you is going to be very inclined to change their mind if you bring them back something extra that takes a little more of your time. Not flowers or anything predictable-- coffee.

[ Shit. Not big here. ]

Tea.

[hellraizer]

[John is sitting, looking to Ritchie with skeptical eyes. He's seen fortune tellers before, some that were full of crap and some with a real gift. This was definitely the former.]

If I haven't slept with all of them. That's not your first, but it is your most egregious mistake. And you were right the first time, I hate tea.

How about you tell my future another way? Humor me a little.

[John lights a cigarette, leaning back in his chair. After taking a drag he holds it alongside his face, allowing the wisps to rise and curl with the wind.]

Tell me what you see in the smoke.

[worn_wings]

[ Why is this happening? Alcohol was involved. Too much, probably, which doesn't have to be that much when you drink the kind of shit he does, backyard moonshine brewed out of spite and self-hatred.

Also, the goading of his friends. What's the point of those again, when they get you into this kind of stupid shit?

At least it's not his money. If it was he sure as shit wouldn't be wasting it here. ]

Let's get this over with.

[middlefingers]

Hello.

[ It's an uneasy tone that seems to taper off the longer he gets a look at this guy. If surly happened to walk out of a dictionary and manifest a body... this is probably it.

But he'll pocket that money real quick. ]

What's your poison? Future? Unanswered worries from your past? Talk to the dead?

[worn_wings]

[ No shock there, this doesn't seem like a money-back guarantee kind of place. Daryl sits across the table, his expression flat and hard to read. ]

The dead got nothin to say, [ he sneers, leaning in to rest his elbows on the table. ] So what's my future like?

sorry >_> he's...such a dick.

[middlefingers]

[ No part of him says that physical contact with this guy is a good idea. He doesn't want to get anywhere close for a palm reading. He'll just...fiddle with the idea of an aura reading. Sure. That's enough distance.

Drawing in a deep breath and curling his hand into what he can remember of some combined mudras, he is fresh to assess this man's "future". ]

You're angry. Your future is unique in the sense that it's completely uncharted because you're stuck in that anger. It's like a tar pit. Keep going as you are and you'll sink. Release it?

[ He turns over his palms in a muted "ta-da" display. With no context, Ritchie can't say this guy is destined for much in the field of success. ]

Then you've got some options.

never apologize for that

[worn_wings]

[ It's probably a good move, or rather, a good move to avoid. He's not the touchy-feely type.

He snortys, clearly unimpressed. ]

Maybe I'm just pissed about wastin' money.

[middlefingers]

[ It's probably a comment he should let go.

But that would be too easy. ]

Well, it smells like you've had a pretty good evening otherwise.

[ Drinks help a lot. He... can't really talk with a couple under his belt himself. But what the guy doesn't know won't kill him. ]

Hang on, hang on. I'm getting the vibe that maybe-- maybe you don't think you have much of a future at all. That-- that is truly dark, man.

[worn_wings]

You're kinda shitty at this.

[ He's torn between glaring and rolling his eyes. At the best of times, he wouldn't believe in this kinda thing, but come on. ]

Bet people pay more for better bullshit.

[wolfofdunwall]

[ It's best not to think about what'd drawn him here. what combination of enhanced sleeplessness and guilt and absence, what plague of remembering.

He offers a costly bottle of spiced rum that he may or may not have nicked after seeing the sign. Also a pair of thick copper coins.

And he watches, arms crossed. ]

[middlefingers]

[ Ritchie can tell from the bottle the shit this guy happens to be offering is some Quality Shit. He accepts, turning the rum over and surveying it with wide eyes that seem to stretch their education in appraisal. The coins earn their share of curiosities as well and he eagerly squirrels them away. Traveling across Europe for a good portion of his Master's program has brought him into proximity of many different currencies. He'll appraise them later. ]

Top shelf. Alright, man. You're cool.

[ After tucking it away he can't help but get a cop vibe from this guy. His gut tells him it's not quite right-- perhaps it's the pervasive sense of sadness an restraint. ]

You're hung up on something. A mystery. Maybe a case. It's a heavy weight on your shoulders and the best thing you can think to do is move forward... but it's killing you a bit.