1.1 Giddy Fortune's Furious Fickle Wheel [Sprout+}

Monday, 08/07/2023. 8:53 PM
The Copper Kettle brew pub

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It has been a slow Monday evening thus far form Sprout. His usual table in the back has received only three visitors - one desperate middle manager sort seeking help with picks for the upcoming Yorkshire Oaks race, and two young ladies each seeking suitable men to marry. Since then, his only visitor has been Carl and Patrice's 19-year old daughter, Zsofia. The attractive girl always offers her best smile to Sprout, but, her parents are quite adamant in discouraging her flirtation with customers ... or, perhaps with the non-Hungarian or wealthy ones - and there are few wealthy patrons who pass through the Kettle's doors.



As Sprout is examining tonight's special, a spectacularly tantalizing bowl of Lecsó and bread, his senses come to alert. Someone important has come into the pub - someone's presence that sets off a choir somewhere deep within Sprout's Fae senses, demanding his attention. Looking up he sees Kebi Abdou stepping through the door.

Kebi's presence has always been a distraction for Sprout, and not solely because she was a beautiful and intelligent woman, but also because there was something about her presence that called out to him. To him, there was something regal about her, and there was a small part of her that always seemed to want to kneel before her. In the months he has known her Miss Abdou has never demanded any form of obedience or supplication from him. She has also never confirmed who - or what - she was. Though, every sensation in Sprout's spirit is confident that she is Fae - an important, powerful, old, or of significant lineage Fae, and not the lesser Fae that are most often seen outside the Hidden World. Whatever she might be, she is the foundation of the makeshift crew that they have hammered together. Kebi had managed to seek each of them out and forged them together to try and work together towards a common end.

Kebi pauses to speak briefly with Patrice at the front door who points back to wear Sprout sits. To Sprout's recollection, Kebi has only visited him here precisely ... once. Tonight.

She wears a black, long-sleeve button-up blouse, black slacks, and short heeled straps. A slender, silver chain with a white tear drop pearl is about her neck. In all, she looks far too well dressed for the likes of the Copper Kettle.

Kebi makes her way towards where Sprout is seated. The early drinkers at the bar pretend to stare elsewhere in the room, but their manage to note Kebi's passing until one of them nearly falls off of his stool at the bar.

Pausing at the edge of Sprout's table, she smiles warmly at him. "Might I have a seat?" she asks him.

Sprout Simon stands out. His boyish blue-gray skin, his unusually symmetrical looks, and a manner of someone always on the game, all of these attract looks and keep the wary watchful. He doesn't hide, but banks on that. He has found that those who seek him out, knowing what he is, expect the unusual, and at m asset proffered to accept it.

Zsofia is like that. By every rule of the fae he knows, he should have bedded the girl, often or once, in trade for a favor. But he had made a promise to Carl, and he kept his word whenever he could. It was a suckers bet, got nothing tantalized his semi-fae senses like the forbidden.

Kebi Abdou had a different angle. She was unearthly but it wasn't obvious why. He sat, leaned back like a gigilo, open shirt teasing to open further. He would play it cool, if only to be defensive. She was no mark to squeeze coins from. Or she was the greatest mark of them all.

"I wonder if anything could give me greater pleasure," he purred as if to imply that in fact there were many things.

Kebi's smile seems to brighten the room - or, at least Sprout's portion of it.

She floats with an unearthly grace into a seat adjacent to Sprout.

"I have asked the others to join us. I am particularly fond of the Lecsó, and thought it might be an opportunity to discuss a matter that has has come to my attention."

She scans the pub with a slow sweep of her eyes. "You are fortunate that the lighting here is so dim, your true nature is not so obvious. I can see why you enjoy relaxing here."

A smiling Patrice backs out of the small kitchen's back door and glides alongside the bar towards the back where they are seated. She has a tray of what appears to be a bowl of Lecsó and some still steaming bread rolls.

"My clients demand certain ambiance. Sometimes I let the regulars see my 'makeup' of I think they need a nudge top trust."

When the Lesco is served, he thanks Patrice with an elaborate gesture, almost a Suni style obessiance.

He watches her, unwilling to ask what is on his mind and thus put himself under her advantage.

Kebi thanks Patrice with a smile and a nod, and then turns to inhale the steam emanating from the oleo. She takes a cloth napkin from the table and unfolds it, gently laying it in her lap.

She lifts a spoon and slowly stirs the contents of the bowl.

"Have you heard tell of a new drug on the street known as Haze?" she asks Sprout.

He settles back in his chair, contemplating her, or rather her aura.

"I have. That is, I have a client who has a cousin battling with the aftermath. I hope your nights are not troubled with such sordid behaviors."

She carries herself like fae, her Glamour unable to shield her power. If Haze is in her path, is it supernatural? "Would you like for me to read you? For you, my fee is only a like favor at your discretion."

Kebi seems almost about to giggle. "No such sordid behaviors, no." Her words escape forth, a burbling warmth infused within them.

For a moment she ponders Sprout's offer before she gives a slight shake of her head. "No, but, thank you." Then, she seems to reconsider. "What sort of reading do you offer?"

He looks at the soup, and says, "I offer to read the charms and interpret the signs, although that task only has the magic we each bring to the table. I also have a tarot, a gift and my most cherished possession. For only a select few, those who's need is great, will I perform such a reading. This tarot possesses it's own magic, although to my clients it would look the same as any deck. But I have a third service, one I do not discuss lightly. I can read the history of an object. This is true magic, and thus it is only performed to those who already know the truth of the hidden world."

After listening with interest, Kebi nods. "Interesting. Particularly your ability to read an object." She smiles. "I may have some other uses for such a particular skill."

She glances at the center of the table where a deck of cards might be set if he were to lay out the tarot, then to Sprout. Her interest has been piqued. "Of course I know of your prognostication ability, but never have ti taken advantage of it. I have no great need, but wondered if you might be able to tell something of my future - or, of my past - through the tarot or some other act?"

He pulls the deck from the seat beside him, wrapped in satin cloth. With some practiced reverence, he carefully reveals the deck. He solid it several times and then smooths the cards in a fan shape on the clean table between them. "Choose three but did not touch, please. The first will be your past, the second your present, and the third your future. Concentrate on the problem that you came to me to discuss. Hold that in your mind, then pick the three that call to you."

Kebi's eyes examine every move Sprout makes with his hands as he carefully unwraps the deck.

She sets her spoon down in the bowl and softly taps a finger as she examines the fanned cards for a few moments, her eyes narrowed slightly in concentration and thought.

With her right index finger she slides three cards in order from the fanned deck (still face down) - the first to her left before her, the second directly in front of her, and the third to her right.

Kebi looks to Sprout.

"Ah, sorry. I cannot help you now. I asked you not to touch." He slides the cards back into his wrapping, and puts them away. "The magic is fickle. I will need to attune to them again. Apologies, lady."

He tastes his soup once more.

"That is fickle magic indeed, if such a delicate touch is enough to disrupt it."

Yanric smiles. His entrance unnoticed as the pair worked the cards, he sits down at the booth. He motions to Zsofia, a gesture that indicates he too would like some bread and Lecsó.

"I don’t know how you two can eat this stuff with a smile on your faces. Dreadful, truly. But I’m famished, so needs must I suppose. Are we expecting the others?"

"Oh? I am sorry. Allow me to make it up to you in some way," she says in response to Sprout's comment. Something in her expression tells Sprout that the oversight may not have been entirely accidental for some reason.

Kebi smiles up at Yanric. "Just ask Mrs. Nemek, and I am certain she will find something more amenable to such a tender palette as yours.

"And, yes, our two Detective associates should be joining us soon."

The big Irishman enters the building removing his sunglasses slipping them into the inner pocket of the company supplied suit jacket. As he does this he eyes the interior, those accustomed to such a look would recognize it as one of a predatorily nature. Seeming to spy the group he heads over, his heals never quite touching the floor as he walks, his gait as if one who might be ready to spring and pounce at any moment. Arriving at the table about the same time as the waitress and noticing folks are eating he says, "Steak Tartare, 4 eggs, 2 cups blood, blend thoroughly... thank you." Spying the Dhampir he grumbles deep in his throat then positions himself next to him spinning the chair around to sit in it backwards. To the lady he respectfully nods before he sits and says, "Eddie will join us as soon as he can find a place to park the car, he can be a bit finicky about company property." He then opens his jacket and crouches down onto the chair.

Kebi nods towards McGregor, acknowledging his presence.

The waitress, Zsofia, blinks and quickly retrieves a pad and pencil just in time for him the large detective to have completed his order. Mouthing the order to herself she nods her head as she stares at her pad, scribbling his order onto it. Before departing, she does spare a glance and a smile back towards Sprout before spinning on her heels and headed around the bar to the kitchen in back.

"Ah, I wouldn’t want to put the girl through any trouble. And besides, my tastes aren’t as picky as... he waits for the Detective to sit, ensuring he hears "... others."

Turning to the Detective, breaking some bread in his hands, he says:

"Ah, Detective. It’s good to see you, as always." His tone gives no indication as to sincerity of his words.

Not looking at the Dhamfir Patrick responds to the initial quip with one of his own, "Well I do not imagine many share in your particular tastes, while what I ordered is enjoyed by many and I would doubt the waitress will do more than turn that order over to the quite capable chefs of this establishment, so no bother to her at all."

To his final statement Patrick replies, "Yeah well, I cannot say the feeling is mutual but with the good," he nods to the lady, "you do have to expect some bad."