[Central Park] Between The Zero And The One (Open)

Theresa looks at the cards, well and truly. They paint a picture, a strange one that seems to transcend time, space, and dimensions. Her eyebrows knit together, trying to parse it all out, but... it is confusing. Very much so. It is the only time Scott has seen her emote, hinting at a depth of emotions he cannot perceive in her. There is no real way for her to impart all of this on this man and have it be... cohesive. So, instead, she tells him what she can. Somehow, she knows that telling him all of this would not do him well, nor would it answer his question. Not really.  

"This is the Knight of Swords," she begins, pointing a card. It shows an owl, swooping down for an attack, a sword in his claws. "It represents the overall situation. It is one of action. You know already know what you want, you have always known," she says, then taps one of the three cards she has placed under it. It shows a rose, wilted and dying, and five pentacles above it. "Five of Pentacles. You are going through great hardship, however, and it gives you pause. Rightfully so. There is worry, so much that it chokes you to inaction. The exact opposite of what you want, the exact opposite of who you are at your core," she says, keeping her emotions completely in check. Theresa points to the third card. Another bleak card, this one upside down. It shows a tree being struck by lightening, collapsing as it burns. "The Tower, reversed. You are undergoing a significant personal transformation and upheaval. There is a crisis looming along the horizon, and you are struggling as much as you can to try and avoid its manifestation. But..." This one seems more hopeful- a butterfly rising over a bramble of six thorny wands. "This child will come to pass, Scott, no matter what choices you make. It is out of your hands, entirely."

Theresa can feel the weight of it all settling in her heart. "Take what joy you are given when you can. There will be very little of it."

Theresa is quiet as he gives his assessment and response. She will keep it to herself she saw the babe herself, heard their cries, knows their suffering like her own. There was more, so much more, but it is better he deal with this on his terms, not hers. 

"I read my own frequently," Theresa says, voice somewhat distant. "I had while you and Remy spoke. There is some finesse to it, because I cannot use these abilities for purely selfish gain. There will be terrible karmic backlash, seven-fold," she tells him, willing to explain this and so much more. Her heart aches for him. terribly so. 

"I wanted to see what my relationship with someone I have met recently might blossom into. I wanted to see who we are as people, our struggles, and the nature of what I feel for him," Theresa says, then looks away, perhaps bashfully. "The answer I was given was one you hope for when you have a silly school girl crush. In many ways, it was unexpected... It left me with more questions, more confusion. He has so much on his shoulders. I don't want to add to that. Our last real discussion, I had... overwhelmed him. I've had these feelings for others before, never have them been reciprocated," she says, tone even. 

"I am an adult, and can remain professional," Theresa says, the very picture of formality and coldness. She has done this before, she will do it again. "You are lucky to have love, to give it, to have it given back, to have the manifestation of that love one day made manifest."

What she had intended to be a simple afternoon sunbathing and people watching took a rather curious turn of events. A fortune teller took her place at one of the chess tables down the way. Brunette, roughly her age, air of a professor. Ivy league? This much was not out of the ordinary, the intelligentsia were no stranger to eccentric hobbies. What was, however, was who joined her. A glimpse of his face was all she needed, Gambit. One of Xavier’s more skilled fighters, though no Logan or his titular replacement. Those two were quite entertaining.

He seemed troubled, lost, nothing new for Charles’ rabble. But, something hit him the moment he touched her cards. Superstition? He seemed like the type. But, it felt like more. And this teller, she hid her emotions remarkably well. Tension, longing, the moment the first card is layed. He’s seeing something that is beyond mere telling, something real. The faintest hint of longing seeps through the teller’s mask, deep, personal, as she carries on the reading. A slip of pity. A hint of the unexpected. His discomfort grows at what he sees. Resolution, hope.

More longing slips from her mask. His reading resonated with something personal. Someone else, a man recognizes Gambit, not just any man. Cyclops. Their reunion joyous, but bittersweet and uncomfortable. A schism? It mattered little to her, they were not a group she encountered often in her work. However, she was interested in seeing his reaction to the reading he too sought. Nerves, uncertainty plaguing him. Surprise, mild, she said something unexpected but not that he was unaccustomed to.

Confusion, upon the teller's face. The cards he drew were strange to her, the combination, the implication? Whatever it was, it was heavy. But, again, it was something he was accustomed to. Oddly enough, he seemed to be giving her advice? Strange. Nonetheless, the reading he sought was over, he tipped her and left to digest the message, or whatever else was on his mind. Perhaps she could pay this teller a visit? Something had been weighing on her mind, plus she’d rather enjoy seeing what the fuss was about.

As Cyclops made his exit, a woman sitting on a bench in full sun, head tilted to the sky, would uncross her legs, stand, and begin her approach as casual as anyone enjoying a midday stroll through a park. ”Pardon me, do you do readings on other people?” A woman would ask, polite, curious. A well manicured hand gracing the back of the opposing chair. Her words implying the reading was not for herself and her life, per se. ”There is someone I have not seen in eighteen years, I would like to know their journey.”

The voice belonged to a woman of Chinese descent, straight black hair and skin tanned from the sun. Her face was cool, but not quite cold. Not emotionless, but as calm and controlled as a windless night. A hint of burgundy upon her lips. A jade silk blouse of chinese design with golden buttons. A crimson sash tied about her waist, excess hanging from her right hip. Black capris ending at the bottom third of her calf. Jade cloth tai-chi shoes with black accents and a golden emblem upon the heel. 命 There she would stand until she got a reply from the fortune teller, curiosity behind her cool facade. If yes she would sit and listen to the teller’s instructions, keen eyes watching always.