[ Claude has, for his part, managed to successfully avoid most of the festivities; after the past few months, he's in no mood for them and, moreover, doesn't feel as though anything he gets into will be particularly safe. And so he's simply strolling through the festival, letting his jaw get the mother of all workouts from gnawing on a particularly hard caramel apple as he eyes people escaping from the various tents.
There are several reasons why someone would look displeased after leaving a fortune teller's tent. One being that they simply got a bad fortune, which is dispiriting enough, another being that the fortune teller managed an accurate enough cold reading of their victim to give them the heebie jeebies.
This fellow's attitude seems to be a little too severe for either of those to be the case as he wanders right into Claude's little hiding spot, and Claude watches him with bright, curious eyes. ]
Bad fortune? I haven't bothered, myself. I don't need a fortune teller to tell me that.
[Vincent is itching to leave for a few reasons, but the fortuneteller being the final straw is but part of it. There's a pause as he hears Claude, then peers down at him with mild curiosity.
Then he looks away, scowling.]
I was not expecting anything pleasant, nor did I precisely consent to partaking.
Oh, absolutely not. Going into any of these little stalls sounds dreadful. There's gotta be a catch -- there's always a catch, even if it's separating an honest man from his hard-earned coin.
[ Okay, the honest bit is... debatable. But they were hard-earned! ]
So I thought I'd just spectate instead. How'd they coerce you into going in there? [ He peers around the corner, towards the tents. ] ...and what'd they say?
[ Hey, just because he doesn't want to go in himself doesn't mean he's not curious! ]
I don't make a habit of getting physical with small old women. That's how I was coerced.
[Mostly she was pushing and encouraging and go on, dear, don't fuss like he was still a young man but either way, the point still stands; he was more or less dragged inside.]
...Something about my heart. Troubling, but I can't recall specifics.
Which either means my memory is terrible, or there is a reason I can't remember. It would be the latter, for the record.
The grannies will trick you, you know. You think they're all small and defenseless until you learn that they've got a grip of steel. Best to wriggle your way out of their grasp before they can pinch you too hard.
[ He went to school with nuns. He'd learned, after some time, to not pay due respect and to simply flee, lest his ears become sore from being tugged on as much as they were sore from having to listen to all of their chatter. ]
But it's almost certainly the latter. Which doesn't bode particularly well, knowing this place. [ He squints at the guy, assessing. ] Do you feel any different? No more homicidal, I hope?
[ It's a grim thing to jump to but, well -- just look at this place! It's been murder-central for the past few months! ]
2!
There are several reasons why someone would look displeased after leaving a fortune teller's tent. One being that they simply got a bad fortune, which is dispiriting enough, another being that the fortune teller managed an accurate enough cold reading of their victim to give them the heebie jeebies.
This fellow's attitude seems to be a little too severe for either of those to be the case as he wanders right into Claude's little hiding spot, and Claude watches him with bright, curious eyes. ]
Bad fortune? I haven't bothered, myself. I don't need a fortune teller to tell me that.
no subject
Then he looks away, scowling.]
I was not expecting anything pleasant, nor did I precisely consent to partaking.
Not going to have your turn?
no subject
Oh, absolutely not. Going into any of these little stalls sounds dreadful. There's gotta be a catch -- there's always a catch, even if it's separating an honest man from his hard-earned coin.
[ Okay, the honest bit is... debatable. But they were hard-earned! ]
So I thought I'd just spectate instead. How'd they coerce you into going in there? [ He peers around the corner, towards the tents. ] ...and what'd they say?
[ Hey, just because he doesn't want to go in himself doesn't mean he's not curious! ]
no subject
[Mostly she was pushing and encouraging and go on, dear, don't fuss like he was still a young man but either way, the point still stands; he was more or less dragged inside.]
...Something about my heart. Troubling, but I can't recall specifics.
Which either means my memory is terrible, or there is a reason I can't remember. It would be the latter, for the record.
no subject
[ He went to school with nuns. He'd learned, after some time, to not pay due respect and to simply flee, lest his ears become sore from being tugged on as much as they were sore from having to listen to all of their chatter. ]
But it's almost certainly the latter. Which doesn't bode particularly well, knowing this place. [ He squints at the guy, assessing. ] Do you feel any different? No more homicidal, I hope?
[ It's a grim thing to jump to but, well -- just look at this place! It's been murder-central for the past few months! ]