“It don’t usually work like that…it don’t work like that…” Emre mumbled, but mostly to himself. Mostly because he was replaying Aurélie screaming ‘Alby Allard’ at him, refusing to elaborate, forcing him to race through an obstacle course of his own mind just to reach her on the precipice. Or the way Madi yelled at him for not ‘defending himself’ for a memory that Emre saw no point in defending. Or tantrumming his way through Tomas’ memory, while Tomas’ swiss cheese brain dozily clocked how lovely it felt, kissing another man once upon a time.
Obviously it worked like that for Cian though. Because Fitahw. Or as Cian called it - foresight. So it had a name.
He breathed slowly, as Cian advised, hands braced on his knees. As the swirling nausea slowly passed, and Emre huffed a laugh at Cian’s comparison. “Bloody hell - I’ve forgotten what being bare legless feels like, haven’t I. Bloody hangover and no kebab shop ‘round the corner? Mate I’m gutted.”
Was Emre answering out of order, or perfectly in tempo to a tune that sucked into itself, then expelled in neat chaos around him? Was that what time was? Not linear but…foresight, as per Cian’s exceptional little wally brain? That was a question far too existential for the likes of Emre, and he shut it down immediately.
“Bismillah,” he said instead before standing up straight. He shifted his balance experimentally from one foot to the next.
Magic, Cian said. With real magic.
“Only you call it foresight,” Emre adjusted. Ironic, considering Emre dubbed attunements as ‘magic’, partially because he couldn’t pronounce ‘attunement’ and partially because he was flippant about attunements. And now, almost two years in, the term ‘magic’ just stuck as the catch-all.
But the island-’magic’ wasn’t what Cian was talking about. His magic was ‘foresight’, as he’d dubbed it, and apparently it was real enough in the outside world, and here when Cian saved Emre’s life multiple times.
Emre remembered: a young mullah gave a lecture about ‘magic’ in Islam, and brushed on the concept of ‘jinn’. Symbolism with shirk, for shaitan, for bhoot, for whatever catch-all worked for modern times. The ensuing discussion in the masjid was lively, and Abu had his own opinions in the car-ride home (which young Emre immediately agreed with); but Abu still poured boiling hot water to ward jinn. Dadi still burned chili to ward again nazar. No one - not even Mum - cut their nails after 6pm. Was it sunnah, or superstition, or magic?
Emre could freeze water now. Emre would never age. Sunnah, superstition, or magic?
“Here’s me warning you to touch no one, and then the fuck does this muppet go and do, yeah?” Emre lightly chastised himself, to reassure Cian. “Soz about barging into your mind, bruv.”
Cian swung back to his feet, and Emre leaned away just as Cian hesitated in touching him. Emre surveyed Cian for a moment - this wasn’t a matter of Cian’s dippy smile, his chirpy wordplay, and slight defensiveness like the confrontation over toothbrushes. Cian looked…tentative. Perhaps almost worried? Like he truly felt the one at fault. The man even apologized for his own mind.
Emre tilted his head back, giving Cian a careless smirk of his own. “Right. Foresight you call it, yeah? You could tell me how that works for you, or -” He extended his hand out - not touching Cian, but offering the option. “I could just see more for myself.”
(tw. death. child death. spousal abuse. DUI)
It’s a hum of hope and longing from Cian and a remarkably good ( if unintentional ) impersonation of Homer Simpson. But Emre seems to be recovering well and quickly to his little jaunt through Cians brain... Which probably was somewhere of a chaotic place to be at the best of times - throw foresight into the mix and it just turned into pandemonium.
“Sorry for taking you on a... uh... trip.”
Lips purse slightly. Emre, had - after all - just witnessed his own death. Or... Potential death. Death that would have occurred if not for the handy nudge of foresight to keep them tangoing away from the reaper for just a little longer. It wasn’t always like that. Not all flashes and instant moments only fleeting seconds ahead of the present. Most of the time it was calmer. He could see further...
...Most of the time Cian had been able to avoid the more traumatic things in life for himself, and for his friends, his family and those who came seeking a glimpse of their destiny.
...Most of the time. But then the Island had caused everything to go wonky.
“Uhm... I honestly don’t know how it works. Or, how it used to work. Ever since I’ve been here it’s been... Um... weird. Glitchy. My... My ma’. She could do it too. That was kinda the basis of the show - fortune telling but - y’know, actually fortune telling. No bullshite.”
He does blink though as Emre seems suddenly keen to go again. Cian honestly can’t imagine why the hell he might want to but -- he honestly has nothing to hide. Truly so. And he has no idea which memory might be plucked from the depths next. But - cats out of bags and all that... There’s something of a squint and he nods - holding out a long arm... Waiting for Emre to touch...
Looking in the mirror is a younger, even skinnier version of Cian. Around 19-20ish. He’s putting the finishing touches to his ‘costume’ ( which was, by all intents, just Cians normal clothes at this point ). Skinny pleather pants, a black silk shirt, hanging open from the midriff. His neck and chest heavy with silver chains, beads, gems which all portrayed something ‘mystical’ or ‘occultish’. A waistcoat over the top, glimmering with delicate embroidery ( something his ma had made for him ). Bangles and rings - hair long and wild. Looking like some kind of crazed wizard-druid.
There’s a deep breath accompanied by a gentle hand on his shoulder. Turning to see his little ma. Small but strikingly beautiful. Dark hair, bright blue eyes - shining with a kindly, loving glance.
“Let it be your guide mo mhac.“
A soft but strong voice in his ear. Certain and true.
Cian turns and hugs her tenderly, plants a kiss on the top of her teeny head...
He’s in a tent. Equally as mystical in it’s decor as Cian. Velvet in purples and blues, rich fabrics, hanging tapestries. All there to give the impression to their clientelle that this is a ‘genuine’ fortune to be told... If only they knew. There’s a woman in front of him. Young and nervous looking... Probably around the same age as Cian himself. But he smiles... Turns on the charm, puts her at ease. Watches as she softens to the potential slightly before turning the first card...
It doesn’t really matter.
Which cards appear.
It doesn’t matter at all because he breathes slow... Clears and quiets his thoughts. Relaxes and allows the future to stroll through his mind and he... Sees.
--A funeral. A man standing by a grave. Bottle in hand. Yelling at the sky, at the ground, at the headstone. Smashing the bottle and scattering glass to the wind... Liquor dripping down the marble which has not one... But two names on it... She’s dead. And so is the child she doesn’t know she’s carrying.
--In a car, Cian observing like a backseat passenger. He can feel the breeze through an open window. There are raised voices. She’s crying. Sobbing. Begging for him to stop, just stop please! Pull over and they’ll talk. He bellows back, inintelligable. Anger smearing the words across Cians mind like the slap that follows. The loud man loses control, the car veers, there’s a tree... then darkness.
--They’re here, at the fayre. Wandering stalls, laughing. He’s rowdy, sipping from a hipflask between partaking in games. Winning small prizes. A pink bunny that he shoves in her hands before stalking to claim his next prize. She smiles nervously but follows.
--She’s leaving the tent, only a few minutes into the future beyond this. He shouts, Wasting his money on that kind of nonsense. He want’s to go to the shooting stall, show her what kind of man he is...
He looks down at the cards, the display before him laid out with precision. And he tells her. That she will one day have a child and be a wonderful mother. That she will face hard times ahead. That there will be trials but if she’s strong, she will survive and she will be happy. He spins the reading and the vision together into a mixture of the truth - his brain feeling like a shaken can of soda. Buzzing and bubbling with the aftermath of foresight. The girl looks happy. She smiles, genuine and joyful... Only flickering in her joy as she moves to leave the tent, dropping some money into a small bowl to one side to pay for his services.
Cian slipping out of the back of the tent - spotting his ma and she clearly sees something in him, in his sense of urgency. Nods and lets him on his way. Foresight does guide him. To the back of the booth the guy leans against. swigging from that hip flask. Eyeing the crowd like the predator he is. It’s only a matter of moments until a rowdier bunch of people pass and his opportunity presents... Slipping forward and relieving the drunk of the keys to his vehicle with one quick slight of hand...
...He waits. He watches. An hour later as they go to leave. The girl clutching the pink bunny to her chest as he yells at her over his ‘lost keys’. He raises his hand, but thinks twice when Cians little ma and a couple of the acrobats close in - his ma taking the girl to one side, providing comfort and more of those kind, soft words. They call her parents. Her pa comes to collect her...
Cian goes back to the tent and looks at the small amount of coin there. Not much for today... But foresight gives him the satisfaction. Shows him...
...That from that day, she didn’t return to him. Her parents help her. She does have struggles, but her daughter is born... Grows... They are... Happy.
As the memory fades, there’s less of a startle back to reality this time. A less brutal breaking of contact. Cian blinking as his vision adjusts. He’s been looking at the future, from the past and... To be honest the whole thing was a bit of a mindfuck all round.
A few deep breaths and he’s blinking at Emre.
“Stole more than just your toothbrush in my time, huh?”
There’s a little sadness in his voice. He never means to deceive with foresight. And in this case, it hadn’t been the girl who had acted to change her future, it had very much been Cian’s intervention, which was something rarer than it was common. But perhaps that was the memory which surfaced because it was... Cian who acted. Showed more about him than about anyone else...
“It’s not really my place to interfere but... Y’know. Sometimes. I think shoving a stick in the wheel of fate could be a good thing...? Right?”
