A/N: Peculiarly only Sam and Lara in this one while Jacob enjoys his day off.
Howling2themoon: Thanks for taking your time to comment again!^^
A. L205: You're right, Chrome has issues sometimes and the parts of the first chapter must have been difficult for the software. Unfortunately, this chapter might be even worse to translate.^^' And thank you! Lara is interesting to write about. Although, mostly it's Jacob who steals the attention. :D
E is to Err
"Four-fifty," she states.
"But the offer was three pounds!"
She tries, really tries, to fight a smile on her face like she has been reprimanded by her ostentatious boss on more than one occasion, "The happy hour ended ten minutes ago," she replies matter a fact. She holds back the sigh that threatens to make itself heard because she already knows that this conversation will be a pain in the ass.
Well, at least she has learned to work with irritating people. That pretty much covers everyone she knows apart from Sam and Roth. Even those two can still become too much for her at times, but she has grown fond of them anyway.
"I'm not paying that."
"It's still four-fifty. Will I call my manager now or after an argument," she retorts her mask slipping with her interest in the conversation. She has an inventory to complete, and a couple is looking for a free table amidst the uncleaned ones. Move the glasses, not that hard.
Her disinterested staring eventually gets her the money but not without a slur that she ignores with experience.
The motion of the train wrenches her from her thoughts. She hopes that all the volunteering she has done in the Petrie museum will finally pay her a path to the British Museum, and maybe, bring enough money to quit at the pub. Maybe Dr. Whitman could recommend her, but she is just another student in the class, no matter how hard she tries.
"Earth to Lara," Sam calls from the other side of the table.
"Sorry," she offers with a slowly forming smile. She shouldn't be thinking about work on holiday – or a get-away as Sam calls them.
They have developed a working system of one of them staying awake while the other naps after they had nearly lost their bags in Italy. This time it has been her turn to sleep as – according to Sam – the next few nights were for partying.
Bulgaria is not their most extravagant destination but, amidst her studies, she hasn't had the time to gather enough income to travel to the other side of the planet. And she is determined to pay for these herself. She is so sick and tired of Uncle Atlas who still keeps tabs on her finance despite her being off age. And even so, she is not going to use her inheritance money for a trip to Sofia's most known nightclubs and the New Year's Eve festival. She is saving the money for something more important: to the moment when she'll make some great scientific discovery and leave her mark in history.
And so, her thoughts are back on the story of the Sun Queen.
"Lunch?" Sam asks her, folding the assortment of maps and guides into a neat pile, and Lara can see the amusement on her friend's face at her gloominess.
"Sure." She isn't the planner; Sam likes it all the more. She would prefer some predictability though, but they've managed so many trips already that she has resigned to Sam's enthusiasm.
Two sandwiches and a bottle of iced tea for Sam and spring water for her, Sam is showing her the long list of places they are supposed to visit in the next three days. Lara isn't fully sure why they'll be spending so much time in bars after having practically lived in one for the last three months to pay this trip, her rent, and the new gearbox for her motorbike.
"We both deserve some fun," Sam states at her weary expression. "Plus, you need a redemption since Kyle."
"It wasn't a relationship," she argues back but can hear how her guardedness seeps through her casualness. But it hadn't really been. Her relationships rarely work out. Not that she'd even want one. It would weigh her down too much.
"Anyway," Sam pushes forward not giving an inch to her lack of enthusiasm, "the one with the fancy cellar is closest to the town's New Year's festival. We can make it to both tonight. Some culture for you, some fun for me."
"Yeah," she nods, thankful that, Sam at least, withstands her.
"That's one big tent."
Lara glances in the direction Sam is looking at but doesn't stop in the crowd to avoid any more people bumping into her.
"Oh, it must be a fortune teller!" Sam realizes and before she has the time to say what Lara can already guess she is going to say.
"No."
"What? It'll be fun. We can ask the best place to spend the night."
"Sam, no. It's just a guff."
"Lara, come on. For fun. And look where we are, maybe you get some ideas for your essay."
"From a fake seer? We don't know enough Bulgarian, and if they do speak English, then it's just for tourists."
"Okay, then you can count the historical inaccuracies," Sam offers and is already staring at her with such confidence that she knows she'll end up giving in anyway.
Lara hates starting an argument.
Sam nearly drags Lara's unenthusiastic legs – cute, little arse – as Sam has learned to call her when she gets too stubborn and the American woman gets too annoyed at her – to the tent.
She almost calls it when they have to wait for forty minutes to get a slot from one of the three fortune tellers, but Sam only notes that it must mean that it has to be good. There is one that is promised to be able to speak English, which to Lara, is a clear sign that no, it won't be.
Sitting on the damp late December grass in her best jeans and eating peanuts is maybe her favorite part of the festival, even if she doesn't want to admit it to herself. She must be getting old for preferring the peace and quiet, and the great Lara Croft never gets old, nor conformist.
"My grandmother visited one in her youth, you know. Back in Japan. And the palm reader had managed to guess correctly the time she met my grandfather and the number of children they had."
"So, you believe in this stuff?"
"It might work. You never know. But we can write down what we get and laugh it out when we're old."
"They are all phonies."
"Some of them might actually be right," Sam offers while swaying on her spot with the music coming from the main festival area.
"I don't believe in myths," Lara states with more force than she intends, making Sam soften her face.
"I know, darling. But this is not that serious. – Do you wanna go?"
She thinks about it and she wants to say no, but it's Sam, and she knows that Sam is eager to hear what the wise woman has to say, it's for her family after all. Lara shakes her head and musters a smile, "But you'll take that tandem bungee-jump with me if it all proves incorrect."
"Deal."
When they are finally called to the smaller, dim room, an old woman – perhaps in her sixties – is waiting for them on the other side of a small table.
The inaccuracies are there from the start.
Lara doesn't know much about Bulgarian fortune telling but she does remember that Elisabeth talking about the history of divination loudly outside the lecture hall a year back. And with all the other pointless stuff, she can remember that Bulgarian divination is usually done with beans or by picking up items from water. The star charts and the cards that she sees are not it – nor are they anything else she has seen before either; it's not purely Tarot or astrology. At least they aren't looking into chicken livers as she hates guts and everything else bloody.
She sits on the flimsy folding chair on the side, letting Sam take the stage. Lara squeezes her bag on her lap, posture disinterested as she watches Sam choose stars and cards.
Sam is promised a job with lots of traveling, friends, and glory. She could have said all those by herself after spending five minutes with her. However, what she wouldn't have predicted and hates the fortune teller for even mentioning is the subject of sacrifice and betrayal. Sam glances at her with enough fear that Lara can guess that her friend believes in this a bit more than a little after all. But they gloss over those themes quickly at Sam's dismissal to know more. Furthermore, Sam should wear something floral tomorrow and focus on men from more humble backgrounds with interests in mechanics – or electronics in the modern age. It goes on and on and Lara lets most of it pass by, uncertain whether to be amused with Sam and the situation, or demand their money back.
However, the torture is not over after the first twenty minutes as Sam grabs her arm when they are getting up, "And then my friend."
"Sam…"
But Sam doesn't relent and sits Lara in front of the age-old woman.
"What can the stars bring you tonight?" the lady asks shuffling the cards and clearing the star chart out of extra tokens.
"Is she going to be a world-famous archeologist?" Sam replies from the side way too eagerly.
After a held-back sigh, Lara's refusal eventually gives way for a resigned nod. Better to get this over with.
"When were you born?"
This time she lets air slowly out of her lungs but gives the date of her birthday anyway and watches the wise woman put a token on one star.
"Pick a card."
She flips the topmost card over and looks at the old-fashioned picture of a peacock.
"Vibrant, flamboyant," the woman lists with a few nods, "It can also symbolize immortality. Maybe a timeless finding. I think your friend might be very close in her prediction."
Lara stares at the card with empty eyes, her brain ceasing to function at the word immortality attached to her career. She would be ready to walk out on the spot if her brain could get the message to her legs.
Sam seems to sense this as the young woman puts a supporting hand on her arm, trying to push through the situation, "Love-life?"
"Profession is a good place to start."
By some unknown force that is probably just her brains on autopilot, Lara manages to turn another card. This time she gets a cross.
"Faith," the fortune teller notes with warm surprise, "Someone very religious. Maybe a priest or a man of the church."
The ongoing stupefaction is enough to re-start her brain at the stupidity. If she hadn't thought this to be waste of time before sitting down, she would put all her possessions on the line of the fact now.
"Are you religious?" the woman has the nerve to ask, making Sam guffaw from the side with a timid sorry that tries to be sympathetic towards her friend.
"No."
"Oh, but you never know where life will take you," the soothsayer tells unfazed and picks part of the deck away at the result, "Age?"
She flips another card with very little interest only to get a Greek lyre.
"Old, very old. Almost ancient. It's rare to get this card here."
"Maybe he is that mummy from the Egypt exhibit," Lara mutters heedlessly only to force Sam to fight harder against her laughter. Still, she doesn't want to appear too rude and nods at the woman to continue with a hint of apology on her face. At least she can be civil when being robbed of her money and dignity.
It doesn't get any better.
At the end of the twenty-minute session she is left with a senile vicar who lives in cold captivity – probably trapped in a municipal house without a heater, and who – apparently – has been married twice, or then it's a polyamorous marriage. (The cards aren't that precise to tell about a person they haven't seen, she was warned.) And the man has a child. With all the resentment she has felt towards Ana in her youth, she is never going to be anyone's stepmother. Plus, she hates kids.
Worse than that, the card signaling death comes up more than once surprising even the fortune teller and making Sam look at her with worry. She hates changes, hates death, and has tried her whole life to escape everything related to it.
And to top it all off, she has enough peacocks to start farming them. In addition to her career, they come up in her past, in her future, and with the supposed love of her life. The stars are exceptionally strong with the pattern, she is told.
She has absolutely nothing to say to that.
She does get a figure for great, understanding love, something that she craves deep down, and it would be nice for it to be true. But since every other prediction is there only to mock her, it feels like the card is simply there to jam the knife in her gut a bit deeper. "The stars will know their path regardless of your fears," she was comforted, but she had only wanted to rebut how she doesn't want her life dictated for her nor a man who believes in that nonsense.
The next few hours are spent by Sam apologizing profusely and offering her any drink she wants from the nightclub to correct for her mistake. "We'll laugh it out one day," Sam promises many times over.
She can only hope that the next year brings some stability, something positive, in her life.
Tonight, she'll drink her head full and make this an evening that never happened.