st_artandstoke | No deal

Entry tags:

No deal

Jag twirled a flame between his fingers as he stalked through the hotel corridor to the suite he shared with Emma. He should've known better than to expect much from the bloody Fae, but he'd had to get out of this place if he could, and once he was out there, he'd had to hear out that offer of a deal, no matter how he felt about the Fae. He fucking hated how much he'd hoped, too, for a few precious seconds. He still felt whiplash from that rollercoaster of emotions, and he didn't know what to do with himself.

So he was headed back to his room to roll up a joint, and he'd smoke it by the fireplace. It wasn't long before he was lying on his back in the common room, smoking up, a fire crackling wood beside him, and fuck if it was summer. In a flimsy tank top and a pair of swim shorts, he'd survive. He was used to being too hot in summer anyway.

He was never giving up his fire.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Goblin Market was Too Much. Emma had had to come back to the inn for a break from the sensory overload and need to watch everything she said so carefully to avoid getting herself into any kind of fairy trouble she couldn't get out of easily. Her whole body relaxed like a sigh as she shut the door to the suite behind her, and a soft smile warmed her eyes to see Jag there in front of the fire. But only a moment before the smell of pot and the lines of tension in his body turned relief into concern.

"I didn't expect you would come back here until you had to," she said softly, an opening if he wanted to talk about what was bothering him, as she joined him on the floor, sitting with her legs pulled up to her chest.

"I wasn't sure I even wanted to set foot out there," Jag answered, distantly, then turned his head towards her as she settled beside him. As usual, he wanted to reach out to her, curl around her, feel her hand through his hair, the regular urge only bolstered by the pot.

"I don't like the Fae," he added, and held the joint out to her in offer. It had gone out, but he'd light it with a thought if she pulled on it.

She shook her head at the offer. Sharing the occasional joint was okay, but the trip to Faerie had left Emma the wrong kind of keyed up for a toke to be helpful right then. Besides, Jag was upset.

"It is kind of like walking the knife's edge, just talking to them." Except Curnen, passed through her head, but she kept it to herself.

"They're shitheads who haven't got the first clue how to be decent to people," Jag replied, happy to relinquish the joint to the ashtray beside him, for now. Curnen might be, technically, Fae, but she wasn't a Fae as far as he was concerned. "But they've got some talented shitheads, too."

He grabbed a black box from the floor beside him, and pushed up into a sitting position, legs crossed. "It's for you," he told her, with a small smile, and handed her the tarot deck.

Matte black was broken up by slick lines that caught and glowed in the firelight as she took the box, but Emma only glanced at it before looking up at Jag and mirroring his smile. She wanted to look at what had to be a tarot deck, but it would wait.

"You..." Whatever she'd been about to say, and there were so many things lurking just behind her teeth, she told herself they could wait too, or were things he'd disagree with anyway. "Thanks," and then, "I didn't get you anything?"

Jag smiled, and then chuckled, like he'd lost a battle to hold back his very, very fond amusement. "You weren't meant to, now, were you? I saw it and... it was too pretty not to get it, if the price was fair. Now please open it and tell me you like it."

This was better by far than the thoughts that had been chasing each other in his head. About what had felt like fair value, but wasn't a price he could bring himself to pay. About what he was passing up on. Better to focus on what he had. On the small smile on Emma's lips. Better by far.

Well, if he was going to touch on one of the things Emma hadn't said, she had to go ahead, didn't she? What had he given in exchange for the tarot cards? Would they agree on whether they were worth it?

"Was it? A fair price," she asked, opening the box to read It is only in darkness that we see the stars on the inside of the lid.

She took out a deck of cards the same matte black of the box and petal soft, trailed her fingers over the back of the top card, tracing the design – still black, but shiny – and then fanned the cards out in front of her. Another sweep of her hand turned them face up and took her breath away. Hints of red. Warm golds. Whites that glowed like marble from within. All against deepest, darkest black. She drew out the Fool, her gaze darting to the Knight of Wands just for a second before trying to take in all the details of the card at the heart of the tarot.

"It's beautiful." And before she could think long enough to stop herself, she leaned over and kissed Jag's cheek in thanks.

Jag ducked his head on the small, touched smile that brightened his expression at that kiss. This was worth focusing on.

"Good," he said, quietly, then looked up again. "And yes, it was fair. Art for art. I performed for it."

That had led to the other offer, but he wasn't thinking about that.

Focusing on the new deck helped not to dwell on the heated blush Emma could feel spreading across her face when it hit her what she'd done. The cards really were beautiful. And a chance for Jag to perform. especially for a new audience, would have been worth trading for, not just with.

"That's okay then. I feel like you go the better end of the deal."

Part of her wanted to pore over each card in turn, picking out all the little details she knew were there. And part wanted to go ahead and shuffle them, see how they felt in her hands as they got to know each other. But throwing the cards right then would've been a bad idea, since the unexpected gift hadn't driven away the concern and wanting to know what was bothering Jag, when something obviously was. If she was going to pry, the tarot wasn't the way.

"Absolutely," Jag confirmed, the smile lingering on his lips as he watched her. "Go on, then, have a look through it."

He wanted to make sure it was a good choice, and watching her study the cards would give him his answer, he was certain. It didn't hurt how good she looked when she was blushing.

With the cards fanned out the way they were, it was muscle memory to pick more cards out to join the Fool – Strength, Hermit, Temperance, Moon, Four of Swords, Queen of Cups, Seven and Knight of Wands, and the not Happy Squirrel extra, in this deck called Anant – a flick of a finger sliding each out of the fan into a row above, and then scooping the remaining cards back into a neat stack so she could focus on these few first.

Almost without noticing, Emma rubbed the back of a finger over Anant. She'd known decks that had grown soft with age and use. Mémé's cards had felt almost like cloth after a lifetime of readings, but this wasn't that, and yet the cards were so so soft. "Feathers and fire," she said softly, picking up the Knight of Wands and showing it to Jag. "That's going to be interesting to figure out." She'd noticed the overlap with the aces too, flame-wreathed sword and the wand a feather quill, but overall the deck didn't feel like one that associated swords with fire and wands with air the way some did.

"Reckon that's a good match," Jag remarked with a half smile. In the flames of the fireplace, a bird danced briefly in an echo of the tattoo on his inner arm. "Interesting how?"

It felt like way too long since Emma had rambled at him about the tarot, and he... well, he missed it, even if he didn't understand it the way she did. She'd always been patient with him.

Okay, so with Jag in mind, fire and feathers for the Knight wasn't so odd.

At least Jag knew what he was getting into, inviting her to ramble about the tarot, unlike most people. "So you know how each of the minors is associated with one of the four elements: cups for water, pentacles or coins earth... in most decks, including this one from what I can tell, wands are fire, and swords air. There are some decks that reverse fire and air, but I only have a couple of those.

"So when feathers... and wings and things that have them, show up in the minor arcana, it's usually as a symbol for air." There was a LWB, or in this case a Little Black Book in the box with the cards. Maybe she'd read it later, to see if the designer explained some of their reasons why, but not until she'd spent more time with the cards themselves. What she made of them was more important than what the artist intended when it came to her readings. "And flames, pretty obviously, are fire. But this isn't the only card in the deck with an overlap. There's more going on here with the symbolism than just the obvious. Now I'm curious." In a good way, her tone and the reflected firelight in her eyes when she glanced over at him showed.

Yeah, acquiring the deck had been a good move. Jag couldn't help the small smile playing on his lips, from the animation in her. "I'm glad you like it," he said, smile stretching a little, because he couldn't help it. "What's air tend to stand for again?"

More rambling, please, was the gist of his question.

"Air is the mind. Thoughts and words and communication. Messages. Logic. And anxiety and fear, since those are a type of overthinking." Emma bit at the corner of her lip, mostly keeping the self-deprecation off her soft smile. "Sabine's very Queen of Swords. I'm more cups, so for me, air or swords are usually how I protect myself from feeling too much or too strongly. Focus on the rational, head protecting heart. That kind of thing."

Both literal and symbolic fire, on the other hand, wasn't something she'd embodied much, or really had in her life. Until Pyro. Until Jag. "Then there's fire... passion and will and the spark of creativity. If air is an idea, fire is what puts it in motion. It ties back into the court cards too. Pages are messengers, air. Knights are the ones who go out and fight, action, fire. So the Knight of Wands is fire of fire."

An armed figured took shape in the fire, swinging a sword at the surrounding flames before disappearing back into them. Feathers and fire still sounded like a good match - or maybe not good, but appropriate, at least in his case. He was definitely glad he'd got the deck. "What about Queen and King?"

"Queens nurture and nourish, and embody feminine intuition - water. And kings are the stand your ground, deeply rooted, 'I am a rock' types - earth." But the explanation came almost by rote, falling back on familiar patter as her focus, still on the Knight of Wands tried to go distant, even though she'd been working not to read anything in the cards yet.

"Is this the only deal you made?" she asked, hesitantly, as she tried to make sense of the quick glimpse of vision.

Jag looked down at his hands, a glance and he was meeting Emma's eyes again, with a small, self-conscious smile and a shrug. "Yeah. There was... Sometimes prices are too high?"

Which he should have expected, because bloody fairies.

That she could believe. Most fairies would try to get the better of any mortals they dealt with. Regardless of what they were offering.

"Do I even want to ask?" Which was probably as much 'do you want to talk about it?' as recognizing the dangers in her curiosity.

Turned out Jag couldn't keep holding her gaze, in the end, and he wrapped his arms around a bent knee, turning to the fire. "This one wanker said they'd send me home in exchange for my fire."

He didn't know where the shame came from. From considering it, or from turning it down? His eyes burned, and he rubbed his fingers over them, swallowing back the tears building a lump in his throat.

Home.

Emma hadn't even considered that the fae might be able to under whatever magic in the inn had brought and kept them here.

She scooted closer and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, wanting to ease the hurt whatever little bit she could. As much as she wanted Jag to be able to go home, not at the cost of his fire. She couldn't imagine losing his fire not breaking him even worse than being trapped here was doing.

It started her thinking, though. The fairy had made an offer, so they might be open to negotiations, a counteroffer, one that wouldn't be so devastating.

Jag leaned sideways against her, then gave in and turned to wrap himself around her more. With that brief flare of hope and the impossible choice that he'd been offered, he couldn't help but close his eyes and imagine that it was his Emma holding him. He craved the simplicity of her embrace, rather than the complications tangled in his friendship with this one.

Emma held him, her thoughts mirroring his without her knowing. She didn't say anything; words wouldn't help here, not as much as simply being there. She sat there, curled around him, and made a decision.

If it was in her power to get Jag home, she would do it. Herself too, if possible, but definitely him, even though losing him would hurt, especially if she remained stuck at the inn.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

No deal

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject