tarot cards may show the way

[faciliheir]

Who: Freddie, her anxiety, and YOU
What: runaway corpse bride
Where: outside vista way/joffrey's
When: night/day after election

A. Vista Way

[it’s late at night-- or early in the morning, depending on how you see it. the window to the apartment Freddie shares with Ariel and Basil opens, and… a rope made from bedsheets is tossed from the window, and a figure starts to descend.

it’s been quite a while since she’s done this, which is why she underestimates the amount of length needed to safely reach the ground, and how to position it properly so her weight doesn’t snap the rope. which it does, while she is still quite a ways away from the ground, which she hits with an undignified thump.

at least it wasn’t too high of a fall, so all Freddie has is a bruised hip and a bruised dignity.]

B. Joffrey's Coffee Shop

[Freddie is sitting at a table in the coffee shop, sitting crossed legged on a chair as she shuffles the deck of cards she’s holding. a small purple gem sits on the other end of the table, and an iced latte with a visible layer of sugar on the bottom sits at her side. slowly and with great purpose, she places three cards in front of her.

ace of swords, reversed. four of pentacles, upright. two of swords.

she grimaces and shuffles again, placing another three cards.

nine of swords. the world, reversed. two of swords.

shuffling, harder. three more cards.

temperance, reversed. the hanged man. two of swords.

she makes a loud, frustrated noise and grabs the two of swords, violently tearing it up into a pile of confetti. struggling to control herself, she shuffles the deck again and again before taking another card…

two of swords.

she throws the entire deck in front of her and puts her head into her hands. She glares… at the gem.] I don’t need this right now! [she wanted answers. but she doesn’t like what she’s been given.]

Comments

[faciliheir]

... Seriously? I can almost respect your craft, but what kinda chump doesn't even sign their work?

[itsthecount]

I have absolutely no connection to the equally handsome and talented Jerry Mander in any way, shape, or form.

[...]

Now, then. You’re positive you didn’t break your ribs.

[faciliheir]

Nope, still very much intact. Sorry to, I don't know, foil your scheme to open a human barbecue joint? Whatever you've got going on now.

[itsthecount]

No. I just enjoy the cracking sound. It’s quite soothing.

Whatever I’ve got going on n- I’ll tell you what I have going on now, it’s misery. Misery and woe and self-pity.

[faciliheir]

For yourself or others.

[itsthecount]

Myself! I currently possess the sort of misery that cannot be solved by drowning oneself in grain alcohol and wine with heavily indulgent names. For you see, I’m in what one might call a “funk” - here meaning depressive state, and not the sort of mood James Brown’s music inflicts on others.

The long and short of it is that I’m going to go throw tomatoes at City Hall.

[faciliheir]

[long pause]

Can I come with?

[itsthecount]

...I’ll allow it. Do not attempt to consume the tomatoes, and do not make annoying noises.

[faciliheir]

[JUMPS UP]

Define "annoying noises." [and "consume"]

[itsthecount]

Any sort of beeps, bleps, or variants on “it’s a small world”’s theme song.

[faciliheir]

I'll try my very best to refrain.

[beat]

Damn, now it's stuck in my head, though. Thanks.

[itsthecount]

Tasteless, child. Tasteless.