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As usual, the room was as quiet as ever, aside from the annoying clock. It looked the same as always, with its worn oaken floor and the white walls made of, well, drywall. Due to the abundance of free time on your hooves, you slid off the chair you were sitting on, hooves hitting the floor, and began pacing. You never liked holding still and doing nothing for no reason. Strangely enough, that’s pretty much what you were paid to do. However, you had a reason; money.
Moving on from your job and remembering your situation, you start trotting laps around the room, in a clockwise circle. The clock still ticked as you paced, much to your annoyance. Why was it so loud and obnoxious?
You eventually give in to anger, and trot to the chair, attempting to lift it up. However, it is bolted to the ground. The clock wins this round.
You sit down on the chair, tired of walking. Then, you decide to give yourself a reason to hold still; if you don’t get off the chair again, and the rest of this plays out as you think, you can get out of it. With that, you begin to wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Eventually, a knock on the door, before it opens. A large, hooded stallion enters the room. “Come with me,” he says. As usual, you oblige. The last times you defied him, things were...interesting.
Walking down the hallway, with the same floor and walls as the previous room, minus the clock, you almost talk to the guard. However, you know that no matter what you ask him, from “Who are you?” to “Where are you from?” to “If Faust is real, then why do Zebras like fried zucchini?” would result in him simply saying “I’m not at liberty to say.”
Although, there was one question that would illicit a different response. “Why am I here?” When asked, he would turn around, and say “You know why, you sick bastard.” However, you didn’t know what you did to deserve this.
Your mental simulation of every possible conversation with him was interrupted when you both arrived at a door. “We’re here,” he said. “Get in there.”
Opening the door, you examine the all-too-familiar courtroom. All those ponies you’ve been accustomed to seeing, scowling at you as usual. However, they weren’t getting what they wanted tonight. I’m out of here, you thought to yourself. Bracing yourself, you bite down on your lower lip as hard as you can.
You wake up to the taste of rust. As usual, your lip was bleeding. Better than...well, all THAT, you think to yourself. You look around, to make sure you were in your room. Sure enough, you were. Magazines lied on the tile floor, and posters covered the sheetrock walls.
Examining one of the posters closely, you see that, like usual, they’re posters of the most gorgeous mare in Ponyville, DJ Pon3. And you mean GORGEOUS! From her blue and light blue mane, to her snow white coat, those beautiful magenta eyes, and who could forget that p-Whoa there, you think to yourself. There’s a time and a place for everything, and I don’t need the cards to figure out that it’s not now.
On the ground were the aforementioned magazines, all related to Tarot Cards, your business. You ran a fortune telling studio called Future’s Seer. While you couldn't see the future, you could predict it. Not that anyone knew that fact.
Rolling out of bed, and landing on all four hooves(you were good at this by now), you make your way to the bathroom. Washing your face of blood, you then apply a tissue to your lip before trotting downstairs. Walking with one hoof to your lip was easy for you at this point, given the fact that you did this often, admittedly. You were getting the hang of it.
So you told yourself as you fell down the stairs again.
After regaining consciousness, post-fall, you stand back up, shaking your head. That smarted.
You see that your lip started bleeding in the time you were unconscious, thankfully. You need as few accidents as possible today.
You make your way to the kitchen, after discarding your tissue. You open the cupboard, and examine the abundance of options. Oatmeal, oatmeal, and oatmeal. So many possibilities, you thought to yourself. My head is about to implode from the sheer amount of choices.
You finally make a decision. It was a hard one, but you prayed it was worth it.
You went with oatmeal.
Preparing it, you begin humming one of DJ Pon3's more famous tunes, Giggle at the Ghosties and Stuff. Losing yourself in the music, you fail to realize that you've been stirring for an entire five minutes. If there were ponies living in that oatmeal mix, you killed them all in a freak hurricane, you monster.
Apologizing, you toss the oatmeal in the microwave, hoping to put them out of their misery, before you retrieved some sweet, delicious orange juice. Nothing tops off a morning like some fresh OJ.
Shaking it up, and pouring it in a glass, you then awaited the oatmeal's cooking. Your wait wasn't long, for the microwave beeped after a short time. You pulled out the-HOT! HOT!
The oatmeal was incredibly hot. You run your hooves under water, cursing the fact that you no longer have access to the wonders of telekinesis.
...No, I can't even go there, you thought to yourself, furiously shaking your head to clear your thoughts, before turning off the sink.
You retrieve a paper towel, before getting the oatmeal for real, this time more carefully, with the heat lowered via the paper towel. You place the oatmeal on the table, next to your juice.
Sitting down, you pick up your spoon, and consume your first bite of oatmeal. Apples and cinnamon. Tasty.
You take a sip of orange juice to cool your mouth off, before repeating the process. Eat, drink. Eat, drink. Repeat until both your oatmeal and juice were gone.
Putting your bowl and cup away, vowing to wash them later along with the many others, you stop by your storage room to retrieve supplies. You pack your rather large saddlebags with your equipment; a tent, stakes, and a turban, which you wore immediately, to hide your condition.
You trot back to the front door, before opening it. The cool breeze entered your somewhat stuffy home, cooling you off. Felt good, as always.
You walked outside, closing the door behind you, as you made your way to Mane Street. On the way there, you nearly ran into some familiar fillies. Specifically, the Cutie Mark Crusaders.
"Howdy, Mr. Seer!" the yellow filly with the bow, Applebloom, greeted.
"Hello," you said, speaking in your voice you almost always used in public; a more soothing and wiser-sounding one.
"Hey, can we get our fortunes told later?" the orange pegasus filly, Scootaloo, asked.
"But of course!" you said, chuckling.
"Thirty bits, right?" the white unicorn filly, Sweetie Belle, asked.
"For you all, ten." You always liked giving discounts, considering the fact that you didn't really need the money. You weren't a hungry pony, and you always paid your rent on time.
"Really? Thanks!" Sweetie Belle said.
"I just aim to please," you reply, smiling. "I must take my leave, now. Farewell," you said, trotting off, waving to them.
"Goodbye!" the Crusaders said in near-perfect unison.
You smiled, shaking your head. They reminded you of yourself when you were a colt, before...No, not here, you thought to yourself.
You shook your head more vigorously, clearing your mind yet again. The less you think about it, the better. In fact, there's better things to think about, like...your family! Yeah, that's a good idea.
You start thinking about your brother, High Card. His coat was orange like your mane, and he had a red mane. Your parents, you don't remember as well. High Card never liked talking about them, likely on the grounds that they didn't seem to talk to him much, either.
Realizing that you are out of thoughts, family-wise, you move on to an even better subject; DJ Pon3. You almost think about her perfect flank, but you remember you're in public, the worst place to get...excited.
However, you had to remember those interviews. She was rather blunt, and seemed rather uninterested, strangely. Was she getting sick of the stage life? Or was she not all that great?
You then remember this is your idol you're talking about, so she's perfect and that's final.
Finally reaching your usual location, you set up your tent. The process was lengthy, but doable. By the time you set up the tent, the Crusaders could be seen in the distance.
"Right on time," you mutter to yourself, smirking. You put up the final piece of your tent, a poster saying The Seer has arrived, before making your way inside, and setting up the table and chair, as well as pulling out one of your decks of cards. It was my favorite design, the Phoenix Tarot.
Sitting down, you relax, right as the Crusaders enter. "Hello, Mr. Seer!" they said, again in near-perfect unison.
"Welcome to the Seer's Domain," I greeted. "How may I be of assistance today?"
"One reading, please!" Scootaloo says, tossing you ten bits. You catch them with your bit pouch, before setting the bag down.
"Understood. Now, come closer," you say, arranging the cards into the Coltic Cross formation.
Flipping the card you set off to the side, you reveal that it is the Six of Swords. "This card, the Six of Swords, or Science, represents the general mood of the atmosphere."
"Ain't science fake?" Applebloom asked. Great, this debate again.
"I beleive they can coexist," you explain to them. "However, we are going off-topic. This card represents trusting in intelligence and setting off into the unknown." You then move on to the next card, at the center of the cross, flipping it over. "This card, the Ace of Pentacles, represents the obstacle in your way. In your case, a good thing happening."
"But that wouldn't get in the way," Sweetie Belle argued.
"It might seem good at first," you explain, "but end up going badly." You proceed to the next card, at the top of the cross. "This card represents your goal, or the best you can achieve without drastic change." You flip it, revealing it. "Here, it is the Queen of Swords. It represents a pony with both keen logic and natural intuition, giving them uncanny powers of perception and insight. In other words, a smart pony who sees many things."
"Just like you, Seer!" Scootaloo says.
"Ah, you're making me blush," you say, breaking character to some extent. You then flip the card at the bottom of the cross. "This represents the general mood. Here, it is the Knight of Cups. In this case, it is a forced sense of hope blended with gentle kindness."
You move on to the card at the left of the cross, flipping it. "This represents a passing influence, or something to be released. Here, it is a time of prosperity or profit. So you won't be having many more successes," you explain.
"We haven't been having ANY successes!" Scootaloo complained.
"Well, the fact that you have been able to keep trying is a success, wouldn't you say?" you say, smiling. Their nods show that they understand what you're talking about. You flip the card at the right of the cross. It was the Empress. "This represents an approaching influence, or something to be embraced. Here, it's creativity, productivity, and the foundation of civilization. In other words, you'll be creating something."
"Like our cutie marks?" Applebloom asked, grinning.
"I cannot say," you explain, frowning. They join you in your frowning, and soon enough you have a foursome dedicated to the art of frowning, for a moment.
You then break up the ensemble of frowners, and move on to the card at the base of the staff, flipping it. "Here is your role or attitude. This card, the Seven of Pentacles reversed, represents impatience and a lack of effort."
"We put in lots of effort!" Sweetie Belle countered.
"Not in the necessary areas," you reply calmly, flipping the card at the bottom of the staff. "This is the environment and ponies you are interacting with. In your case, the Fool, reversed, which is an obsession with someone or something, such as your cutie marks." You briefly appreciate the irony, considering how obsessed you are with DJ Pon3.
You flipped the next card over at the second-from-top part of the staff. It was the King of Swords. "This represents your hopes, ethics, or an unexpected element that will come into play. Here, a mature leader of unwavering ethics and indisputable authority."
"What?" Applebloom asked.
You fail to hold back your groan. "A good, wise leader," you explain.
They nod, thankfully showing that they understand.
You flip the final card at the top of the staff, the Three of Swords, reversed. "Now, this represents the outcome that will happen should you continue on this path. Here, it is an unsettling truth that needs to be faced."
You place the cards into a pile, and shuffle them back into the deck. "That is the answer, Crusaders."
"That's it?" Scootaloo complained. "We paid to be told something bad would happen?"
You nod. "I understand it may be frustrating, yet this is all I can see," I tried to explain. "Besides, it doesn't necessarily mean that it's bad, just some painful event that must ha-"
The sentence was never finished, for the tent rustled as they left.
You sighed in aggravation. While you liked them, that didn't mean they weren't a pain in the flank.
Then, another customer entered. One whom was wearing a cloak, shrouding most of them. They resembled a mare, however, and had a lock of silver and baby blue hair hanging out, which she quickly hid once she noticed you staring at it. You couldn't help yourself, considering that it seemed well groomed and familiar.
"Welcome to the Seer's Domain," you greet. "How may I help you?"
Bits were hoofed to you, as the stranger spoke.
"Trixie wishes to redeem herself."
