UN: ScielCandide | Video

[cache_coeur]

[The camera is fixed on a table, upon which sits a neat stack of cards –– black with gold foil in the shape of a sun and moon bisecting each other. The user’s hands pass over the deck and spreads it wide into an arc. Her hands are tanned, with two rings on her ring finger and one on her index finger, and she has so many colourful braided bracelets that some wind around her palm.

Her voice is pleasant, playful, French, a little theatrical:]

Bonsoir, mes amies!

Tonight and tonight only, I will tell your fortune with a single card. Tell me your name, and if you would like to hear about love, money, health or the soul.

If it moves you, you must repay me with an amusing anecdote about yourself.

Ready to play?

Comments

Omg my html crimes I’m sorry

[cache_coeur]

Mm, terrible isn’t it?

[Despite the humour on her voice, she feels her mood sink a little. But it’s fine. Normal.]

We have no choice but to make the best of it.

Crimes against computeranity!

[repaintress]

If only it were possible to tell what the best was.

Even your cards would fail on that account.

[ Everything has a cost. ]

[cache_coeur]

Well, I wouldn’t expect them to. The cards are meant to guide, not foretell something immutable.

[She sure wishes they could sometimes, though.]

But we do our best, hmm?

[repaintress]

An immutable future would be a terrible thing.

[ That is a recent discovery. ]

You do enjoy that phrase, don't you?

[ One's best is often not sufficient. ]

[cache_coeur]

[She’s shrugging on her side of the camera, flippant.]

Schoolteacher. I say the same things all the time, it’s just habit.

[repaintress]

[ Flippant or avoidant? Clea is uncertain. Sciel is an impossible woman to read and that is, in and of itself, unnerving. ]

That does explain the patience. I am a terrible teacher.

[cache_coeur]

[:)]

I love teaching, so it works in my favour. Do you ever teach?

[repaintress]

[ >:( ]

No. It's best to spare the world of that infliction.

Watching my younger siblings learn the basics of life was frustrating enough.

[cache_coeur]

[Amused:] Did you enjoy them more as they got older, or are you always so many steps ahead?

[repaintress]

[ What tense is she to use? There is no rule as there is for gender - 'ils if only one male' -for the dead and the living. ]

There was some pleasure when they began to develop their own talents and to do things I could not.

[ And frustration in equal measure for her own ineptitude. ]

[cache_coeur]

When you saw them become people with their own thoughts and interests, not just wriggling little things.

[She loves kids.]

Were you envious?

[repaintress]

Moronic wriggling, loud little things.

[ The memory of her little sister's screeching is enough to give her a headache. At least older people's screaming didn't make Clea regret having ears.

Clea does not love kids. ]

Of course. I always envy artistic talents that surpass my own. It spurs me not to accept mediocrity.

[cache_coeur]

[Her wince is mostly sympathetic; kids can be loud. They’re not stupid, though.]

Difficult, in a family setting. What kind of arts did they do?

[Past tense for both, she supposes.]

[repaintress]

My brother had a talent for music. It flowed not only from his hands but from his mind; he composed as others draw air, and each of his performances was unique in a way that somehow always suited the piece at hand.

[ Her own musical ability is technical - the ability to sing or play what is put in front of her, not create herself - and a great deal of that ability had been acquired so he'd have an accompaniment. ]

My sister writes, though I've seen little of her work. She's quite private with it.

[ As is her right. Given how Maman and Papa are acting, her sister is likely correct to keep her works to herself. ]

[cache_coeur]

[Beautiful and tragic. She has a great many thoughts, but none feel worth putting to words, especially not here, and likely not to Clea herself, either. Sciel just nods, keeps it lighthearted.]

How do you know she's any good, then?

[repaintress]

Her speech betrays her facility for words - when she does speak up for herself, she does so eloquently, and she enjoys word play. I also remember when she was too young to hide. Even as a child, her sentences surpassed mine or his in complexity and depth at the same age.

[ She pays attention. Speaking of. ]

I am being rude.

[ Sciel asks a lot of questions. She does not volunteer information about herself. It is different than Verso's evasive lying - Clea does not have the impression Sciel is trying to keep herself hidden or direct Clea's attention elsewhere. That does not mean Clea has not noticed that Sciel has managed to not be the topic of conversation. ]

What of you? What made you turn to the cards for guidance?

[cache_coeur]

[She wonders, idly, if that was a problem in a family with a feud with other artists.

Breezily:] Rude? The thought hadn't crossed my mind at all.

I don't know if there's any particular reason, to be honest. I was a bit of an anxious child at times so maybe it was just about having some sort of answer about the future, or guidance, even if I was alone. Now it's just habit.

[repaintress]

You assume the best of people, do you not?

[ It takes time for Clea to unwrap what makes the woman so unnerving, because it is not one characteristic. It is a combination - the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. ]

When did you begin?

[cache_coeur]

[There's a little bit of a laugh on her breath.]

When you try to see the best, you tend to get a better result, in my experience.

[She pauses to think back, let's see...]

I must have been... twelve, maybe thirteen?

[repaintress]

Is that so? That seems rather naive. You leave yourself open for others to take advantage.

[ If your expectations are low, people don't disappoint you. ]

A confusing age. It's understandable you wanted guidance.

[cache_coeur]

[Teasing:]

Do you know something I don't, Clea?

[Still unbothered, though.]

Very confusing. I was close with my family, and loved my friends dearly, but there are some questions you can't ask anyone.

[repaintress]

Yes. Wine.

[ Deadpan, clearly playing in to the teasing. ]

The consequences of misjudging someone can be dire. A cautious approach minimizes damage.

[ Twelve and thirteen were such odd ages. She'd felt so grown, but looking back, she'd been anything but. Clea wonders if her 60 year old self will think the same of her now. She wonders if she will have a 60 year old self. ]

Quite true. Do you not fear someone may be listening?

[ Through the cards themselves. ]

Do you suppose ghosts are good at keeping secrets?

[cache_coeur]

That you do.

[She just laughs the rest of it off. Whatever, Clea. She isn't going to consider living her life in such a cynical or suspicious way.]

Never crossed my mind, honestly. It's fortunetelling with cards, there's no individual with a personality of their own or conscious thought sitting somewhere invisible feeding me answers.

[repaintress]

How can you be so certain? Perhaps there is an entire afterlife market in secrets. Yours would command a high price since you give the impression of having none.

[ Teasing aside... ]

Have you told fortunes with anything else?

[cache_coeur]

No, never. I’ve done my fair share of things others would consider a little silly, but I’m just so partial to the cards.