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The Farthingdale Landing

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The Gypsy Davey:

The lads had already set up the fortunetelling tent and card stand, and of course my vardo, before I arrived. I’ve been travelling, you see, which is a large part of what I do… well, that and wooing women, of course. We are all of us bound by our stories, and in many ways, although I am a bit of a legend, I am the same as the next guy.

You may think me arrogant. Feel free. Over the past years, and for centuries before that, I have whistled and sung, taken care of the lads and the family, and so now, at least for a little while, I’m content to let them take care of the logistics. I’d lingered too long in a lush forest land with another in a string of beautiful mortal women. Sometimes I think I find them as irresistible as they find me. But when the message came through that we were setting up for the Farthindale Mabon festival, I felt called back onto the road. Our last kiss was something to remember.

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The portal was what I’d expected.

The portal was what I’d expected: they never put these things in the middle of town. It was nice that there was a pub right nearby, though at first I questioned the lads’ decision to place the vardo right next door to it. When I saw the lay of the land, I realised they had chosen the only place that was suitable: outside Farthingdale, there’s nothing but forest and huts and some ruined castle about a quarter mile down a narrow track through thick forest.

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I took a few minutes to inspect the premises.

I took a few minutes to inspect the premises. Good, good— the lads will have to put a rug in that tent, though: don’t want the town ladies to get their dresses all mucky while they’re talking with the fortuneteller or the Aged Sage (that would be me, in a turban).

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The vardo was decently appointed.

The vardo was decently appointed: I like a spartan setup inside, just a bed and a couple of places to sit, perhaps a bookshelf, something to spend time with when I’m not working or supervising. This event goes on for a full fortnight, so it’ll be important to me to have some kind of refuge. Once again, I wished there were a place farther outside of town, but the proximity to the business could only be a good thing.

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I might be too old for this shit. And I’m certainly not dressed for it.

I might be too old for this shit, and I’m certainly not dressed for it, I thought, as I surveyed my tiny kingdom. I’d been to Farthindale before, for this festival, but it’s been years. And sometimes the grind of it all gets to me. I felt my feet itching already. While this was certainly going to be a lucrative job for us, I fancy a trip to the mountains, perhaps, someplace wild and cold. When we pack up here, we’ll look for mountains.

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Then, I realised I was being watched.

Then, I realised I was being watched. Or possibly that there was something for me to watch; these things are never clear to me, even after all these years. Across the green from me, at the sole table outside the pub, sat a woman cradling a mug of what smelled like very grotty coffee. Well. Of course I had to go over, introduce myself, that sort of thing. She wasn’t a looker, but she had the kind of hair that I wanted to put my fists into right away. Best save that for after the introductions, though.

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I always keep my distance, at first, particularly with one who looks so wary.

I always keep my distance, at first, particularly with one who looks so wary. Or possibly weary. Or possibly both. Of course I introduced myself with a smile, though I didn’t do that thing I do. Time for that later, assuming things got off to a good start.

Her name, it seems, is Diane. Or Katrina. I was confused on that detail.

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She looked tired, and cranky.

She looked tired, and cranky. She complained about the coffee. She had the jaded air of someone who’d seen a few tragedies. Still, she looked me over speculatively. She explained she was between jobs, looking for work. I countered that while we only hire family, there would be plenty of market stallholders looking for help in the days to come, and I knew there was an herbalist in town who was looking for pre-festival help, mixing poultices and such.

Her reply was that she didn’t know much about plants and she seemed far more interested in drinking than working, to be honest. I speculated (to myself, of course) that what she really wanted was some sort of position where she would have to do very little and could spend most of her time sleeping, fucking, and drinking. I say fucking only because she continued to appraise me. Her air was almost predatory, and I did wonder a bit what sorts of things she got up to when she was less sleepy.

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It finally occurred to me (I am such a genius) to ask her what she did for a living.

It finally occurred to me (I am such a genius) to ask her what she did for a living.

“I’m a fairy godmother,” she replied.

Well, that was a first. A coffee-addicted, cranky, not-a-morning-person, fairy godmother.

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She obliged me by showing off her wand a bit.

She obliged me by showing off her wand a bit. No pun intended, and if she’s got that kind of wand, we’ll have to renegotiate our budding relationship. It was impressive. She told me she could make it rain as well, and I asked her nicely not to.

I whipped the grey silk scarf out of my coat and twisted it into my fortuneteller’s turban. Women love a guy in a turban. “Why don’t we go and read your fortune?” I suggested. It wasn’t just an excuse to get her into the dark tent: I was actually curious.

She said sure, but advised me to skip the bit about the tall, dark stranger.

“Madam,” I said, “am the tall, dark stranger.” I made her laugh.

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Of course, I cannot reveal what took place at the fortunetelling table.

Of course, I cannot reveal what took place at the fortunetelling table; that would break client confidentiality. But we did speak of her future, hazy though it might be, and of her next fairy godmothering placement.

I asked her to meet me for a drink later, in the possibly misnamed “Fair Maid” pub.

Her reply was teasing. “If the drink is better than this so-called coffee,” she said, “Perhaps I might.”

I laughed, because from the smell of that coffee, it would be hard to find anything worse. I think she will meet me for a drink. Perhaps I’ll enjoy being so near the pub just outside of town. I think the pub just outside of town is where all the good stuff happens. More accurately, for the next fortnight it’ll be the pub where the Gypsy Davey makes all the good stuff happen.

Style Cards:

The Gypsy Davey:
Body: Slink
Head: Catwa, Justin
Hair: No Match, Yes!
Ears: Mandala: Steking Ears, Season 5
Skin: 7 Deadly s{K}ins, Judas, Smoked (Omega and Slink appliers, all available at the 7 Deadly s{K}ins Main Store!)
Clothes: LUXE Paris, Leather Jacket, Shirt, Tie & Pant (Available at the Spoonful Of Sugar Event!) The Spoonful of Sugar event is a charity event to benefit Doctors Without Borders, an amazing charity that sends doctors all over the world to change and improve people’s lives.
Shoes: FATEstep, Anthony Boots v2

Diane/Katrina:
Hair: Analog Dog, Tantrum
Skin: Body & Soul, Lady Farah
Eyes: IKON, Sunrise Eyes
Shape: Atea, Marla Middle Aged Female Avatar (modded)
Dress: Floor Candy, Ava
Character Concept, Story & Dialogue: Nathaniel Ballard

Environment:
Town: Death Row Designs, Andolys—Belle’s Town
Stone Wall: Stormwood, Cobblestone Wall Kit
Tree Gate: Sweet Revolutions, Sylvan Tree Gate
Fortunetelling Tent: Ison, Fortune Tent (Purple)
Curtain: Maxi Gossamer, Shimmer Bead Curtain
Fortunetelling Sign: Sways, Fortunetelling Display Board
Fortunetelling Table: Magic Happens by Monavie, Magick Reading Table (Available at the Spoonful Of Sugar Event!) The Spoonful of Sugar event is a charity event to benefit Doctors Without Borders, an amazing charity that sends doctors all over the world to change and improve people’s lives.
Vardo: Trompe Loeill, Tiena Caravan, Sylvan
Tarot Stand and Fortunetelling Machine: Kei’s, Rustic Tarot Stand; Kei’s, Fortune Teller Machine
Forest: Studio Skye, Enchanted Woods
Pub: Death Row Designs, Dangarnan Tavern 1
Pub Sign: Lost Junction, Port Town Signs, The Fair Maid

Spiffy photos taken with the indispensible aid of my LumiPro. The Gypsy Davey never takes a two-week gig in the middle of nowhere for a raucous Mabon Festival without it!

skinlogodiap   final-poster-for-sos

 

One thought on “The Farthingdale Landing

  1. Pingback: The Farthingdale Landing | wickedwylds

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