The Sempra Deck 0 - The Fool
Jun. 19th, 2011 09:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
teddy_radiatorThe amazing ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mimimanderly has just released her first card of The Sempra Deck, a set of Major Arcana cards forming the Tarot. This was inspired by a casual comment made weeks ago, in which I wrote that I enjoyed writing the occassional SS/MM fic. Someone quipped, "For a moment, I thought you meant Severus Snape/Mimi Manderly. In a heartbeat, I wrote back - "I'll do one!" Little did I know that DMuse had something in mind, and the story wrote itself from start to finish in a few days. I cannot recall a story that has raced through me with such abandon, with very little rewrite or pause - it was as if I were taking dictation. It inspired Mimi to draw the Major Arcana, and I am thrilled to be a part of this project. Each time Mimi posts a new card, I will post another edition of the story, so you can see how the story and the cards meshed together. Here is the first card - 0 The Fool, and here is the story.
This Chapter is rated PG for content. Happy Reading!
The Sempra Deck is dedicated to the real mystic goddess Mimi Manderly; to her beloved SeverusMuse, and to my precious Dahlra. All characters with the exception of Mimi Manderley, Peter and Dahlra belong to JK Rowling. I make no money from this publication.
Chapter One – Gathering the Pieces
It was a lovely installation, Mimi thought, as she looked around the museum. Although small by typical standards, The Salem Institute had a wealth of artifacts. The curators had really gone all out this year to make The Magick Touch an incredible exhibit, showcasing magick in all of its myriad forms, from Mayan rituals to Druidic Magic to Wicca to Aleister Crowley to Voodoo.
The visitor was moved from room to room, reading about not only the history of magic as a historical-medical part of medieval village life, but as a socio-religious movement, leading to the development of the huge Mayan/Incan cultures and the creation of witch-hunting cults like the Inquisitors. Huge glass cases showed various mages and magicians plying their art, from a shaman practicing Native American Sun Magic to old crones stirring cauldrons in true ‘bubble, bubble, toil and trouble’ fashion.
It was informative and executed with fondness for the subject, albeit in a lowest-common-denominator sort of way. The more obvious archetypes seemed to be placed near the beginning of the installation, and only the most intrepid and serious practitioners who braved the exhibit to the end would find accurate, more true-to-life elements of natural magick. Mimi Manderly was about halfway through the entire exhibit, standing before a dark tableau, watching a mannequin warlock enlisting the power of the four elements to do his bidding.
While the subject matter was tastefully done and the mannequin amazingly lifelike, Mimi looked down her nose at some of the props with a smirk. They may have made the displays accurate and very true to life, but she could see the barcodes on the bottoms of the Potions bottles from ten paces.
“The devil’s in the details, folks,” she murmured, shaking her head, her black hair shimmering in the overhead spotlights, making her ebony tresses gleam almost bluish in the glow. Even with these small details somewhat awry, Mimi felt absurdly at home here, surrounded by the implements of magick. She had ever been a practitioner of the art, and she’d come to the Salem Institute as a birthday gift to herself, to revel in the known and the unknown. Perhaps, she thought, she might gain more insight into the art. She allowed herself a private smile. Perhaps she might gain more insight into herself.
The lovely, diminutive woman could easily have been mistaken as part of the exhibition, with her dramatic dark hair and black painted nails. Striking cerulean blue eyes rimmed in kohl shone with intelligence and wit. Her black frock-style coat and slim trousers were relieved only by the grey silk blouse peeking at the neck and wrists.
Many who saw her walking around the exhibit that day thought she was an actress, walking around as a living, breathing part of the installation. They fondly remembered the remarkable looking woman, who would have looked at home as a New Orleans Creole voodoo priestess, an Egyptian Queen, or a Greek Oracle.
More than one man gave her an appraising glance as she wandered from station to station at the exhibition, and although she was peripherally aware of their attentions, she managed to miss the rather severe-looking man standing off to one side in the shadows, carefully watching her graceful promenade throughout the room.
Mimi stopped at a display of antique apothecary boxes, and idly looked at the different ones on show. The large glass case held several of these dark-wood boxes, sitting on different eye levels, lit from above with a single spot.
These boxes, the legend explained, were an essential item for ‘wise women’, and they would have contained everything from divining implements to runes and crystals, potions and unguents, talismans and voodoo dolls. These boxes, while providing a place to store the tools of the trade, had also been used as evidence to the allegations of a witch being in league with ‘Satan’ or worse. In other words, the ‘witch box’ was both tool and smoking gun.
Mimi had often admired old or unusual boxes; she had several at home. There was something about a box that had always intrigued her. The sheer wonder of what it contained was sometimes enough for her to buy one at a yard sale or antique store. More often than not, she was disappointed at the contents, but that hardly seemed the point. It was the anticipation, the wonder of what might lie within, that was often as important as the box itself.
As she passed by the museum’s gift shop, she noticed that there was a display of ‘witch boxes’ for sale, and several looked like the ones in the exhibit. The jaded cynic in Mimi scoffed. These were obviously cheaply made and mass produced; the carvings were clumsily done and the patterns held none of the even texture prevalent in a piece that had been handmade with skill. Typical. Sucker people in by showing them the real goods, then get them to buy cheap copies. Even as she snorted silently, her eyes were drawn time and time again to one particular box near the back.
This box was different from the cookie-cutter copies. For one thing, it was much less ornate, more simply carved, but the carvings were precise and even. The wood was darker, smoother; it reminded Mimi of something that had been worn down with the lanolin of a person’s own hands, rather than by modern sanding methods.
It had a lovely silver clasp, and was a little smaller than the others. It was only about six inches long by four inches wide, and only about four inches tall. A leather handle on top was held in place with what appeared to be handmade brass studs. Something about it called to Mimi. Hell, everything about it called to her.
Without thinking, she lifted the box and took it to the cash register. For such a small item, it was surprisingly heavy; there was obviously something inside. She turned the box over to check the price, and finding none, she looked around for another, but this was the only box of its kind left.
“Must be popular,” she muttered to herself, and before knew it, Mimi was taking the box up to the checkout.
The young girl at the cash register was about eighteen and looked for all the world like part of the exhibit as well, if the exhibit had included a section on the ‘bad goth teenager look’. Acne scored her puffy cheeks, and the little ring in her nose was already tarnished. Black lipstick threw into relief her less than white teeth. Her hair, dyed a dull black, was stringy with obvious hair extensions. Sheesh.
She looked at the wooden box with a small frown, turning it over with pudgy hands tipped with chipped green-polished nails.
“Funny, I don’t remember seeing these. We must have just gotten them in.” She gave Mimi a smile. “I’ll just ask the manager about it. Won’t be a sec.”
She was, in fact, gone three minutes. Mimi gazed around the museum’s rather tacky gift shop. It was strange that she had honed in on one of the few really classy-looking items on offer. Most of the stuff looked like something out of a joke shop or beach town souvenir stand. The Witch Box stood out in Mimi’s mind, and she was beginning to wonder if the box was going to cost her much more than the rest of this dime-store tat put together. She decided she didn’t care; it had called to her.
The young cashier finally returned, a frown of slight puzzlement on her round face. “Excuse me, ma’am, is your name Mimi?”
With a start, Mimi answered, “Well, yes it is, but – “
The young girl relaxed visibly. “Thank goodness! I was afraid I had the wrong person!” Confidentially, she added, “You don’t look like a Mimi, you know.”
“Really?” It was Mimi’s turn to frown. She gave a little shrug.
“Sooo, what do I – “
“The Manager wanted me to tell you that a friend of yours knew you were coming today and wanted you to have this as a gift.”
Mimi was stunned. “What do you mean, a gift?”
The girl looked uncertain for a moment. “Well, a gift is something you give to someone, you know, like a surprise – “
“I know what a gift is!” Mimi said, a little waspishly. At the girl’s rather alarmed expression, Mimi softened her tone. “Sorry, I’m just a little confused. You say someone bought this especially for me to pick up here? Today?”
Somewhat mollified, the cashier nodded with a little shrug. “Well, that’s what my manager said. Thank goodness you saw it! It was accidentally put on display. It was supposed to be waiting for you at the Help Desk.”
Baffled, Mimi finally replied, “I’m sorry, I’m just amazed one of my friends did this. I can’t imagine who would have done it.” She frowned. “Did they leave a note or any identification?” A shake of the medusa-like hair extensions was her only reply. Mimi huffed, bewildered. “Are you sure it was meant for me?”
The girl shrugged. “You’re Mimi, aren’t you? That’s sort of an unusual name around these parts. I don’t know, ma’am, I’m just telling you what the manager said. Anyway,” she smiled, and placed the box in a paper bag and recited her closing speech, “here you go. I hope you enjoy it, and thank you for shopping with the Museum!”
As if in a trance, Mimi took the bag, and with a murmured ‘thanks’, walked out of the building. It was only after she was standing on the sidewalk outside the museum that she remembered that she’d only seen half the exhibit before she spotted the box and left. It also occurred to her to wonder why she hadn’t had a word with the manager to inquire more about the person who had gifted the box to her.
Shaking her head at her own impulsiveness and susceptibility, Mimi continued walking to the hotel. From the second floor of the museum, the sheer curtains at the window were separated by a large, slender hand, and its owner watched the dark-haired woman stroll away, holding the bag carefully.
Back in her hotel room, Mimi grabbed a bottle of spring water from the mini-bar and sat down on the bed, thinking back to the strange incident at the museum. Who on earth would have sent her this box? She tried to remember everyone she’d told about coming to Salem, but she dismissed each of them one by one, knowing none of them were the type to do something so - so unpredictable.
Her eye kept drifting back to the paper bag on the bed beside her. She could feel the pleasant anticipation of waiting to open the box to discover its contents. Usually, she could content herself with imagining the treasure within, the hidden discoveries yet to find.
This box was different. The beauty and simplicity of it had seduced her before she even gave a thought to what lay inside. It had heretofore been its own reward. Suddenly, she wanted find out what was inside more than anything else in the world.
Mimi took the box out of the paper bag and studied the clasp. It had an ornate little silver lock. She had no key to it.
“Shit,” she said, under her breath, and dialed the museum's phone number, handily provided on the paper bag. No answer. Mimi looked at her watch. Five Forty-seven. The museum closed at Five Thirty on Saturdays. It would not open again until the following Tuesday.
And she was due to return home tomorrow.
She sighed. She would just have to call the museum on Tuesday, and hope they still had the key.
mimimanderly has just released her first card of The Sempra Deck, a set of Major Arcana cards forming the Tarot. This was inspired by a casual comment made weeks ago, in which I wrote that I enjoyed writing the occassional SS/MM fic. Someone quipped, "For a moment, I thought you meant Severus Snape/Mimi Manderly. In a heartbeat, I wrote back - "I'll do one!" Little did I know that DMuse had something in mind, and the story wrote itself from start to finish in a few days. I cannot recall a story that has raced through me with such abandon, with very little rewrite or pause - it was as if I were taking dictation. It inspired Mimi to draw the Major Arcana, and I am thrilled to be a part of this project. Each time Mimi posts a new card, I will post another edition of the story, so you can see how the story and the cards meshed together. Here is the first card - 0 The Fool, and here is the story.
This Chapter is rated PG for content. Happy Reading!
The Sempra Deck is dedicated to the real mystic goddess Mimi Manderly; to her beloved SeverusMuse, and to my precious Dahlra. All characters with the exception of Mimi Manderley, Peter and Dahlra belong to JK Rowling. I make no money from this publication.
Chapter One – Gathering the Pieces
It was a lovely installation, Mimi thought, as she looked around the museum. Although small by typical standards, The Salem Institute had a wealth of artifacts. The curators had really gone all out this year to make The Magick Touch an incredible exhibit, showcasing magick in all of its myriad forms, from Mayan rituals to Druidic Magic to Wicca to Aleister Crowley to Voodoo.
The visitor was moved from room to room, reading about not only the history of magic as a historical-medical part of medieval village life, but as a socio-religious movement, leading to the development of the huge Mayan/Incan cultures and the creation of witch-hunting cults like the Inquisitors. Huge glass cases showed various mages and magicians plying their art, from a shaman practicing Native American Sun Magic to old crones stirring cauldrons in true ‘bubble, bubble, toil and trouble’ fashion.
It was informative and executed with fondness for the subject, albeit in a lowest-common-denominator sort of way. The more obvious archetypes seemed to be placed near the beginning of the installation, and only the most intrepid and serious practitioners who braved the exhibit to the end would find accurate, more true-to-life elements of natural magick. Mimi Manderly was about halfway through the entire exhibit, standing before a dark tableau, watching a mannequin warlock enlisting the power of the four elements to do his bidding.
While the subject matter was tastefully done and the mannequin amazingly lifelike, Mimi looked down her nose at some of the props with a smirk. They may have made the displays accurate and very true to life, but she could see the barcodes on the bottoms of the Potions bottles from ten paces.
“The devil’s in the details, folks,” she murmured, shaking her head, her black hair shimmering in the overhead spotlights, making her ebony tresses gleam almost bluish in the glow. Even with these small details somewhat awry, Mimi felt absurdly at home here, surrounded by the implements of magick. She had ever been a practitioner of the art, and she’d come to the Salem Institute as a birthday gift to herself, to revel in the known and the unknown. Perhaps, she thought, she might gain more insight into the art. She allowed herself a private smile. Perhaps she might gain more insight into herself.
The lovely, diminutive woman could easily have been mistaken as part of the exhibition, with her dramatic dark hair and black painted nails. Striking cerulean blue eyes rimmed in kohl shone with intelligence and wit. Her black frock-style coat and slim trousers were relieved only by the grey silk blouse peeking at the neck and wrists.
Many who saw her walking around the exhibit that day thought she was an actress, walking around as a living, breathing part of the installation. They fondly remembered the remarkable looking woman, who would have looked at home as a New Orleans Creole voodoo priestess, an Egyptian Queen, or a Greek Oracle.
More than one man gave her an appraising glance as she wandered from station to station at the exhibition, and although she was peripherally aware of their attentions, she managed to miss the rather severe-looking man standing off to one side in the shadows, carefully watching her graceful promenade throughout the room.
Mimi stopped at a display of antique apothecary boxes, and idly looked at the different ones on show. The large glass case held several of these dark-wood boxes, sitting on different eye levels, lit from above with a single spot.
These boxes, the legend explained, were an essential item for ‘wise women’, and they would have contained everything from divining implements to runes and crystals, potions and unguents, talismans and voodoo dolls. These boxes, while providing a place to store the tools of the trade, had also been used as evidence to the allegations of a witch being in league with ‘Satan’ or worse. In other words, the ‘witch box’ was both tool and smoking gun.
Mimi had often admired old or unusual boxes; she had several at home. There was something about a box that had always intrigued her. The sheer wonder of what it contained was sometimes enough for her to buy one at a yard sale or antique store. More often than not, she was disappointed at the contents, but that hardly seemed the point. It was the anticipation, the wonder of what might lie within, that was often as important as the box itself.
As she passed by the museum’s gift shop, she noticed that there was a display of ‘witch boxes’ for sale, and several looked like the ones in the exhibit. The jaded cynic in Mimi scoffed. These were obviously cheaply made and mass produced; the carvings were clumsily done and the patterns held none of the even texture prevalent in a piece that had been handmade with skill. Typical. Sucker people in by showing them the real goods, then get them to buy cheap copies. Even as she snorted silently, her eyes were drawn time and time again to one particular box near the back.
This box was different from the cookie-cutter copies. For one thing, it was much less ornate, more simply carved, but the carvings were precise and even. The wood was darker, smoother; it reminded Mimi of something that had been worn down with the lanolin of a person’s own hands, rather than by modern sanding methods.
It had a lovely silver clasp, and was a little smaller than the others. It was only about six inches long by four inches wide, and only about four inches tall. A leather handle on top was held in place with what appeared to be handmade brass studs. Something about it called to Mimi. Hell, everything about it called to her.
Without thinking, she lifted the box and took it to the cash register. For such a small item, it was surprisingly heavy; there was obviously something inside. She turned the box over to check the price, and finding none, she looked around for another, but this was the only box of its kind left.
“Must be popular,” she muttered to herself, and before knew it, Mimi was taking the box up to the checkout.
The young girl at the cash register was about eighteen and looked for all the world like part of the exhibit as well, if the exhibit had included a section on the ‘bad goth teenager look’. Acne scored her puffy cheeks, and the little ring in her nose was already tarnished. Black lipstick threw into relief her less than white teeth. Her hair, dyed a dull black, was stringy with obvious hair extensions. Sheesh.
She looked at the wooden box with a small frown, turning it over with pudgy hands tipped with chipped green-polished nails.
“Funny, I don’t remember seeing these. We must have just gotten them in.” She gave Mimi a smile. “I’ll just ask the manager about it. Won’t be a sec.”
She was, in fact, gone three minutes. Mimi gazed around the museum’s rather tacky gift shop. It was strange that she had honed in on one of the few really classy-looking items on offer. Most of the stuff looked like something out of a joke shop or beach town souvenir stand. The Witch Box stood out in Mimi’s mind, and she was beginning to wonder if the box was going to cost her much more than the rest of this dime-store tat put together. She decided she didn’t care; it had called to her.
The young cashier finally returned, a frown of slight puzzlement on her round face. “Excuse me, ma’am, is your name Mimi?”
With a start, Mimi answered, “Well, yes it is, but – “
The young girl relaxed visibly. “Thank goodness! I was afraid I had the wrong person!” Confidentially, she added, “You don’t look like a Mimi, you know.”
“Really?” It was Mimi’s turn to frown. She gave a little shrug.
“Sooo, what do I – “
“The Manager wanted me to tell you that a friend of yours knew you were coming today and wanted you to have this as a gift.”
Mimi was stunned. “What do you mean, a gift?”
The girl looked uncertain for a moment. “Well, a gift is something you give to someone, you know, like a surprise – “
“I know what a gift is!” Mimi said, a little waspishly. At the girl’s rather alarmed expression, Mimi softened her tone. “Sorry, I’m just a little confused. You say someone bought this especially for me to pick up here? Today?”
Somewhat mollified, the cashier nodded with a little shrug. “Well, that’s what my manager said. Thank goodness you saw it! It was accidentally put on display. It was supposed to be waiting for you at the Help Desk.”
Baffled, Mimi finally replied, “I’m sorry, I’m just amazed one of my friends did this. I can’t imagine who would have done it.” She frowned. “Did they leave a note or any identification?” A shake of the medusa-like hair extensions was her only reply. Mimi huffed, bewildered. “Are you sure it was meant for me?”
The girl shrugged. “You’re Mimi, aren’t you? That’s sort of an unusual name around these parts. I don’t know, ma’am, I’m just telling you what the manager said. Anyway,” she smiled, and placed the box in a paper bag and recited her closing speech, “here you go. I hope you enjoy it, and thank you for shopping with the Museum!”
As if in a trance, Mimi took the bag, and with a murmured ‘thanks’, walked out of the building. It was only after she was standing on the sidewalk outside the museum that she remembered that she’d only seen half the exhibit before she spotted the box and left. It also occurred to her to wonder why she hadn’t had a word with the manager to inquire more about the person who had gifted the box to her.
Shaking her head at her own impulsiveness and susceptibility, Mimi continued walking to the hotel. From the second floor of the museum, the sheer curtains at the window were separated by a large, slender hand, and its owner watched the dark-haired woman stroll away, holding the bag carefully.
Back in her hotel room, Mimi grabbed a bottle of spring water from the mini-bar and sat down on the bed, thinking back to the strange incident at the museum. Who on earth would have sent her this box? She tried to remember everyone she’d told about coming to Salem, but she dismissed each of them one by one, knowing none of them were the type to do something so - so unpredictable.
Her eye kept drifting back to the paper bag on the bed beside her. She could feel the pleasant anticipation of waiting to open the box to discover its contents. Usually, she could content herself with imagining the treasure within, the hidden discoveries yet to find.
This box was different. The beauty and simplicity of it had seduced her before she even gave a thought to what lay inside. It had heretofore been its own reward. Suddenly, she wanted find out what was inside more than anything else in the world.
Mimi took the box out of the paper bag and studied the clasp. It had an ornate little silver lock. She had no key to it.
“Shit,” she said, under her breath, and dialed the museum's phone number, handily provided on the paper bag. No answer. Mimi looked at her watch. Five Forty-seven. The museum closed at Five Thirty on Saturdays. It would not open again until the following Tuesday.
And she was due to return home tomorrow.
She sighed. She would just have to call the museum on Tuesday, and hope they still had the key.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-06-20 02:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-20 02:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-20 02:30 am (UTC)I can't wait for the next installment!
no subject
Date: 2011-06-20 02:36 am (UTC)As for the physical description - I'm afraid I made Mimi do an Identification Kit for me, so I had an idea of her vital stats and dress preferences, so I had a little help on that part. The rest was completely DMuse and SMuse driving me like men driving a dog-sled team!
no subject
Date: 2011-06-20 10:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-20 03:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-20 03:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-19 05:26 am (UTC)Now I am wondering pleasantly what it would be like to be a main character in a story! Hee.