Sit down at my table, put your mind at ease. [OPEN]

The Grand Opening of the Mystic Monkey had happened about a week ago, and Emiliano was already pleased with the results. He had naturally assumed that no one would want to come to his shop, but much to his surprise a few locals had graced him with their presence. Some perused his wares in an appropriate skeptical fashion, some of the women asking for readings on their love lives and then the children... well, he hadn't gotten many kids from the school yet. In truth he was still trying to figure out if his income was going to come from tourists, or from the students at the school nearby. Foresta Academy was it? He wished he knew about such a place when he was younger.

Sighing lightly, The Mystic Monkey was empty. Being placed so far out from the center of the town, Emiliano felt his store got a bit more sunlight than he would have preferred. For that, he had the blinds drawn shut to add more mystery and darkness to the store. Of course, people could still see - but he wanted some things to a be bit more spooky. Spooky was definitely important.

Stepping around his store, Emil started to inspect some of the things that he had set out - one thing in particular that he had forgotten about. "Ah, there you are!" A spectacular dark blue folding hand fan had been laid out among other miscellaneous items. Reaching forward, Emiliano grabbed a hold of it and flicked his wrist - allowing for the fan to snap open and reveal a decorative design of stars. There was no actual rhyme or reason to the design, it seemed the stars had been placed at random. Visually, it would still be appealing to most.

Emil took this opportunity to fan himself, "This always makes me feel like a fine Victorian lady." He said to himself in a light airy tone, moving toward his back room. Someone would show up today, he knew they would. He had to be ready.

Ilya was perfectly aware that he heard things. It was a constant source of frustration, the ambiguity between what was real and what wasn't, what called for him and what was simply his imagination. Was the whistle of his morning kettle a message, or hot air? Was the groaning of heavy steel being lifted to its new home in the sky a plea, or simply gravity? The buzzing of the fly that swirled around his apartment, the soft scratching of drawing paper brushing against his window, the droning of his fridge, which had been unplugged for weeks, its constant sound utterly exhausting. He didn't care if he had to eat takeout the rest of his life, would never have a cold drink in his home again, couldn't have fresh cream with his morning tea. He was tired. And he could go to his brother if he couldn't stand it any longer. He just wanted some peace and quiet.

It was this perpetual madness that had piqued his interest in the Mystic Monkey, if one could call it "piqued" or "interest". It was more like... morbid curiosity. Dwindling sanity. Nearly every day, he passed the storefront, warning that soon it would open for business. Every day, the building practically screamed, some voices that familiar low drone of machinery and modern life, others in the middling whispers that indicated something other, something magic and otherworldly. But they all melded together-- the pleading, the enticing, the shouting. It gave him a headache, one worse than his usual. It was like he had to jog past a jet engine every morning. He had half-considered begging his brother for his own spiral tattoo so that all he had to do in the morning was switch with some mannequin placed on-site. He could take the nausea and dizziness that Daniil had complained about whenever he swapped himself over that roaring any day.

But the morbid curiosity... it was still present. Even more so once the place's grand opening had passed, the crowd that had amassed in its first week dwindling into a more reasonable clientele. Ilya had watched it every morning as he passed, counting down time against his own patience. Though he wouldn't have admitted it, he had even taken to scribbling about it in his sketchbook, drawing impressions of the shop's facade, shadows of the items he witnessed in its window display, scratching some impression of the words that came from within. For each drawing, he marked a notch on the first page that these drawings began. When he got to fifty, he decided, he'd go in.

Fourty-nine had been reached last night. After awaking from a fitful sleep, fifty had come, too.

As the bell rang his entrance, a tinkling just above his ear, Ilya was already regretting it.

He peered about the shop as soon as he ducked into the door, wild curls drooping about his face as though weighed down by his irritable distaste. Immediately he flocked to a table, began touching things: a carefully folded cloth, quiet. A scroll, trapped in a glass bottle, whispering but content. A case, with contents he knew to be a dagger, locked shut. That one was angry. Just from brushing his fingers against the leather container, he recoiled, bristling. An elbow brushed against a display of pendulums, sending them tinkling as they bumped into one another. But then, finally, he set his eyes on something magnificent: A hand mirror, gilded and ornate. It practically sang. The familiar shape of a spiral was clear in it, though not purposeful-- a crack begun in its casing, then wound into the glass of the mirror itself, shrinking into the centre. Ilya sought himself in its reflection, his face split into fragments.

He absolutely had to have it. Closing his eyes, listening closely, the other sounds that echoed through the dim shop melted into the background. He let the singular voice wash over him, picked up the tune and hummed alongside it. He would have walked out with it then and there, and almost did, had his better mind not suddenly sprung forward in his brief clarity. No. This was a shop. Goods and services were bought here. It was not a charity.

So he ducked around displays and glass cases, seeking the register in the back. He crept silently, ducking through the store as if he were hiding from something, though the purpose of this caution not even he knew. When he finally found the register, there was no one behind it, so he sighed, arms falling loose to his sides, head tilting back in resignation. Fine then. Maybe he would steal it. But he would look first.

And look he did. It only took a glance. He was not the kind of man who was attuned to his visual surroundings, eyes usually low to the ground, or smothered in his hair, or poring over drawings, or entirely closed if he could afford it. Wooden beads, fluttering in the air conditioning. It was a Mystic shop, wasn't it? And hadn't the sign said something about fortune telling? Pah, he couldn't pretend to remember. 

Cautiously, he approached the back room, holding the hand mirror close to his chest, clutching the gilt wood with trembling fingers. "H-hello?" he hesitated, parting the beads with his shoulder, side-stepping into the room. This room was strange, almost crackling. Ilya tilted his head, listening closely, not concerned with the man occupying the room. He closed his eyes, his muscles becoming loose, fingers brushing across the back of the mirror. He stood there for a long moment, letting the sound wash over him

But then with a jolt, he stood straighter than he had before, shoulders stiff, eyes fluttering wide. A soft, "Oh," escaped his lips, his grip on the mirror growing tight once again. He peered around the room, eyes wide, taking in the plain sights before finally settling on the shop's proprietor. He parted his lips, then closed them. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "You have an interesting place here. Very... loud. And quiet in the wrong places." His voice was a low, rumbling bass that carried through the room, even in his mumbling. Ilya looked about, eyes wandering to the ceiling, head tilting left and right with curiosity. "You... you're the owner? Correct? Or have I made a mistake?"

Emil heard the customer as soon as he had come into the door, debating whether or not he should go out and greet them. He thought on this for a few minutes as he fanned himself with the starry night sky that he had been carrying around. "Maybe, they'll come to me." He murmured to himself thoughtfully. He was never really too worried about his merchandise, or anything else in the store for that matter. Sure, he had a "smile, you're on camera" sign hanging somewhere in the store - but it wasn't like there was actually any camera, why would he be one when he could just buy more collectors items of the latest spooky thing instead?

Taking a seat at the table he had set up for readings, Emil's chair was placed a fraction of a seat higher than the one that his guest would sit at. It wasn't on purpose, in truth more random than anything else.

"H-hello?"

Peering up from his careful observation of his hand fan, the fan itself started to gradually change from that of a night sky to a cloudy summer sky. Emil noticed this quickly, snapping the fan shut with an abrupt flick of his wrist. "Yes? I've been waiting for you." Emil smiled easily at the man, at his uncertainty and the seeming doubt in his eyes. He was able to tell within seconds that this man had some kind of power, although what it was? He had no clue. It was clear though with the way he was reacting to his room, either that or they had an insane asylum on the island that he did't know about. "Thank you, it took some time to find those... things." Emiliano's eyes fluttered down to the mirror that was in the customer's hands, eyeing the product in a curious manner. Where had he gotten that again?

"I am the owner of this fine establishment. I trust that you've come for a reading then?" he asked then with a curious tilt of his head. He had been so bored today, it was almost mid-day and he had strongly considered closing the shop up and going to the town center to see if he could reel in some big fish.

Now, with examining the man in front of him - it wasn't quite clear if he was a big fish or not, but Emil was loath to let any person leave his shop without getting a reading first. He would do anything to speak to spirits and deities given the opportunity, and here one was - presented on a fine dish right in front of him. He couldn't let it turn away.

Ilya tilted his head in curiosity, one hand slipping from the grooves of gilt, down to the smooth handle. His shoulders fell, his head tilting to one side. "Oh, a reading? What do you read?" His eyes wandered everywhere around the room except to Emiliano, taking in the table, the chairs, the candles, even the fan in his hand. It was the fan that piqued his interest in particular, finally forcing him to step into the room, taking long strides on twiggy legs.

He held out one hand to grab it before his sense got the better of him, letting his fingers trail midair before quickly bringing them to his chin. He hummed, listening closely, turning his head and leaning forward to get ever closer. It seemed to whisper, a slight trill accenting its words. Strange. His eyes fluttered shut again, trying to make out the words... but it was futile. Not a language he could understand if it was one at all. Portugese, maybe? Spanish? Fingers tapping his lips, Ilya could only guess. He only spoke English and Russian, though the words of latter often slipped his mind these days.

Oh. Yeah. He definitely looked crazy.

Not that he wasn't-- he readily accepted he was an eccentric fellow. And the noise-- the incredible noise!-- that this place had been torturing him with the past weeks... He was allowed to look a little crazy. But now that some sort of clarity had overcome his mind, washing over all the crackling and buzzing and whispers, he was suddenly overcome with anxiety, fingers twitching, eyes wide.

"O-oh! Pardon me, I... I wasn't thinking," he corrected, back shooting straight, hands tight to his chest once again. Finally he looked at Emil's face, awash with apology, but he could only maintain the eye contact for a short moment before his gaze dropped to the floor, observing his shoes. The man was almost his height, a little shorter. Slight heels meant even in shoes, their height was approximate. Interesting."Ah..." he hesitated, putting one hand over his mouth. Chewing on a lip, he decided. His hand shot out, held slightly downward, ready to shake. "Ilya Volkov. Architect. I'd like... whatever this reading is. Crystal ball, tarot, yes?" He had been to plenty of magic shops before in plenty of different cities. They always called to him, annoyed him into stepping through their doors. They were usually shams. He hated them. But this crackling... it was intriguing. He wanted to witness this man's tools.

"Or is it palms? You don't seem the bone type," Ilya continued, pursing his lips to one side. Short fingernails tapped on the mirror's backside. "Oh, yes! And I'd like to purchase this. When we're done. With this... reading." He tapped the back of the mirror with his thumb, still keeping it close to his chest. Held beside his heart, the song seemed to melt into his skin, reverberate through his bones. It helped quiet the unending noise of this place.

From where he sat, Emil pulled out his tarot cards from a small drawer that was attached to the table. He side-eyed the man carefully as he entered into the room coming forward for his fan only to stop short. It was apparent to Emiliano that he noticed something about that object, something that Emil himself couldn't notice or didn't. Madam Hazel had always been on point with him about pointing out the person's that had more of a connection to things that he did and as he sat, watching this gentleman it was made quite clear. "Touch anything in the store, that's what it's there for." Emiliano glanced up toward the man once more, offering him a mischievous smirk - trying to gauge his reaction.

The customer introduced himself then, "Ah, it's a pleasure, sir Ilya." Emiliano reached out, grabbing a hold of the man's hand to give a gentle shake. He had nothing to prove, he deemed that the handshake was not what was important. The use of his first name though, was intended to create a familiarity with each other. "You may call me Emiliano." He replied.

Waving his hand out toward the seat across the table from him, Emil beckoned for the man to sit. "We will be doing this through tarot, unless you have objections I am capable of doing other readings. Once we've finished I will happily take payment for, that, as well." Emil eyed the mirror in Ilya's hands once more. Didn't a sailor sell that to him? He squinted at it for a moment before shaking his head, it didn't matter, it would be out of his shop shortly enough. "With the reading and your item today, the total will come out to..." Emil listed out a number for the currency of the island that if one were to be aware of American currency, equate it to roughly fifty dollars.

With his tarot cards already in hand, Emiliano waited until Ilya was seated to offer his cards to the man. "You need to shuffle them for me, if you don't mind. In the mean time, you may voice your concern or question to me or you must focus on it while you shuffle. Whatever is the most comfortable."

The room had already been set for this and Emil could already hear a quiet hum from the man, now if it was the spirit or the man himself, he couldn't quite tell. Something in him told him that this would be good practice.

Nodding vigorously, Ilya's gaze followed Emil's hand to the chair, staring at it for a long moment before finally sliding into it. "Emiliano... alright," he muttered, letting the mirror slide into his lap before folding his hands on the table. He held his legs still to keep the thing flat, resisting the strong impulse to shake a knee. Instead, he knit his fingers together, squeezing away his need to fidget.

In a futile attempt to block out the perpetual droning noise, Ilya decided to focus on his other senses instead, feeling the texture of the table, deeply inhaling the subtle scent of dust and wax. It wasn't as unpleasant as most of the mystic shops he had been to, though he attributed that to being newly-opened. Not nearly as dim, either. And clean. Though the aged objects that cluttered the shelves of the main room outside clearly had their own auras, and the building was certainly not brand new, its architecture indicating construction sometime in the early 1900s, perhaps paired with a renovation in the '80s... Well. Ilya didn't know what he'd expected. This wasn't a total departure, nor was it totally adherent. It just was.

Ilya realised he was spacing out when he picked up Emiliano's sentence halfway through, cards being held out to him. Despite not having heard the first half of his sentence, Ilya already knew what to do. But, taking the cards into his hands, he neglected to shuffle them, first running his thumbs over the plasticine ink. His fingers buzzed, but the cards were silent, and Ilya frowned slightly. It wasn't like he had expected any different. Most fortune tellers, legitimate or not, insisted it was their own gift that did the telling. But having the appropriate tools was only a benefit, Ilya knew. And then again, could he truly determine whether something was magic or not? Sure, his ears and intuition led him to strange things, but there was very little to prove that those things actually held any power. With a sigh, lost in thought, he finally shuffled the cards between his hands. It was professional, practised-- as younger men, he and Daniil both had developed a moderate fascination with card tricks. Preforming your best shuffle was half of the illusion.

Suddenly realising he was supposed to say something, Ilya twitched, eyes going wide. He collected the cards in a neat pile, handing them back to Emiliano. "Ah. Yes. A question, right. I want to know... how long I should stay on this island? Tomorrow? Forever? There are so many... options." Though he didn't have any particular interest in the answer, he was interested in witnessing Emil's methodology. Was he mysterious? Showy? Ornate? Did he consult some outside force, or rely on the cards and his own intuition? Lifting his hands from the table, Ilya set them to rest on his lap, feeling the mirror hum through its back.

Emiliano continued to watch Ilya carefully, considering every movement as he debating on what the person in front of him really wanted. There was a few things that came to mind, that he just had an empty day and was filling it with something randomly entertaining for the time being. He appeared to be twitchy and didn't really want and or need to pay attention to what he was saying, was there something else bothering him?

Emiliano's eyes darted down to his cards, watching as Ilya shuffled them and offered them back. As he did so, a gentle thrum started to emit from the cards, the electric feel of it dancing into Emil's fingers and spreading throughout his body. The humming continued on, more fervently now and he started to speak. "Very well, I will present a three card spread to you to help narrow it down."

Carefully, Emil pulled the first card, a soft whisper echoing into the room as he did so. He couldn't help but feel a small tingle of delight in his toes as the whisper spoke to him about the current situation for the man. Hearing the whispers of the earth was always a joy, the thought of being able to practice with hearing it more was enough to propel him forward with the reading, he did all that he could to contain a smile that was trying to escape. He laid the card down horizontally face down, the voice could easily be recognized as soft and feminine in a way. "This first card represents the current situation, or opportunity that you have in front of you." Emil began to explain, turning the card over still in its horizontal position. What was revealed was the Ace of Pentacles.

Emiliano considered it carefully, all the while listening to the soft voice that echoed through the room - choosing to speak when the voice stopped as well. "The Ace of pentacles tells me that you've come to the island through a new project of some kind, there was a material thing that brought you here." He looked up at Ilya briefly, considering any sort of expression that man might have before explaining the card for a little while longer. He didn't spend too long on the first card, instead drawing from the deck in a slow and practiced manner, he guessed that this man would be more likely to listen to him if he showed his knowledge rather than his showmanship. He had to be a good judge of these things. Laying the next card on top of the first one, vertically - he revealed it face up. Nine of Swords.

Emil looked up toward Ilya once more, the echo of the soft feminine voice entering through the room once more. It graced him with vague information of Ilya's dealings with his mental health and how it would serve as an obstacle. The amount of time between what was told to him and when he spoke, was rather short in question. "The Nine of Swords shows us of our inward struggle, this is the challenge we face. It speaks of sleepless nights and as you can see," Emiliano leaned forward to point out the detail in the card. "The man stays up in bed at night, anguished over the things he has on his mind."

Emil bit his tongue before he was tempted to offer a joke about how the swords behind the man didn't mean literal death, instead he tried to remain methodical and careful in this reading. For some reason, he felt as though this was less about Ilya and more about himself. The voice of the earth was still as tight lipped as ever when it came to him though, Emil briefly ruminated on the fact that he would have to find more people not associated with any sort of deity.

With a curt nod in Emiliano's direction, Ilya's gaze fell back to his lap the moment his hands were empty. The cards didn't matter. They were nothing, as far as Ilya was concerned, simply sorry inscriptions on the corpses of dead trees. He was familiar with the arcana; felt no need to watch the table or the mystic's hands, his body growing more and more weary under the weight of gravity.

But then a new sound entered the room, whispers that crescendoed in his ears; sent a shiver down his spine. Oh. So that's what Emiliano was doing? Speaking to the Earth itself? Her voice was the only one who came clearly to him, out of all the accursed voices he heard. He had spent the summer nights of his childhood in the hills, ears pressed to rocks, patiently awaiting her whispers. She called for him in his dreams. Groaned under his bare feet. And considering the words that began to pour from Emiliano's mouth, this particular auditory experience definitely wasn't a delusion. So he was doing some magic, then. But was Her voice the only one he heard?

Curiosity piqued, Ilya managed to pull his eyes away from his hands, observing the card as it was flipped. The man's hands were steady as he listened closely, his words only picking back up as soon as the whispering ended. So he was definitely hearing it, then. Closing his eyes, Ilya strained his ears, waiting for the voice to resume its muttering. He didn't have half the mind to pay attention to whatever the fortune teller was saying. Like he even needed to.

Inhaling deeply through his nose, Ilya waited patiently and was quickly rewarded. An imperceptible smile crossed his lips. It felt good to hear her voice. It had been quite a while. He was so surrounded by the loudness of... things. Sometimes it was hard to see this island as anything but an obstacle.

This time when Emiliano's voice picked up the whispers' trailing ends, Ilya listened, head bowed. With a sigh, he shook his head. "She shares too many secrets.... and I thought we were friends." Picking his head up, he blinked, eyes skating over the cards. Lifting a careful hand from his lap, he placed it over the Nine of Swords with a slight shake of his head. "I don't need the last one... but set it down, and let's listen. I think I already know her answer..." His newest sigh was deep, reverberating through his core. Was he frustrated? Exhausted? Not even Ilya knew. Focused. Perhaps that was it. It was becoming so difficult to decrypt his own feelings, these days. Moire and more, words poured from his mouth as if he were releasing old blood pooled under his tongue. He could practically feel it, warm, sticky...

Oh, but he was too preoccupied with false senses again. He had said he was going to listen, so listen he would. Just had to refocus. Focus. Do it in spite of the noise... heavens above, this shop must have been cursed. And if it wasn't, Ilya would be the first to commit such an act. It was sending him spiralling.

Emiliano continued to watch Ilya as he absorbed the information and appeared to be listening to something. He paused, could he hear the earth too? It wasn't completely impossible, he had come across a few people more in tune with the world than himself.

Soon enough, Emiliano's questions were answered. He blinked dumbly for a moment, what a joke. This man came here to screw with him. He had taken the time to tone himself down, take this man seriously considering his disheveled appearance and obvious lunacy. Gritting his teeth, Emiliano set his deck of cards down - the room instantly going silent. Ilya had invited him to listen, but there was nothing to listen too if he wasn't performing.

In turn, Emiliano found his body growing hot - whether it was through his frustration with the situation or the fact that the temperature control in this room was poorly managed, Emil wasn't quite sure. One thing he did know, he had made a mistake. Grabbing a hold of his hand fan, Emil flipped it open with a rather dramatic flick of his wrist this time - fanning himself rapidly for a few seconds. Any time now, this man would understand. If he didn't, who was he to tell him? He's a customer, be nice. He told himself in rapid succession.

"If you're satisfied with my reading, I will collect payment now for the mirror and for my reading." Emiliano watched the man expectantly as he used his other hand to grab the two cards he had already placed out, swiftly and deftly returning them to the deck. He had saved the theatrics from this reading for a purpose, there was something ticking around in Ilya's mind and he had assumed it would be a more interesting reading if he balanced the energy in the room. That was one of the first lessons he had received from Madam Hazel back in NOLA. Entertain the tourists, advice the residents. He had been right in assuming that the man was a resident of the island. He hadn't even gotten the chance to ask the earth his own question. Emiliano let out a deep sigh, what a waste.