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 Doesn’t take a psychic (Clara)

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Quinn King
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Birthday : 1989-11-11
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PostSubject: Doesn’t take a psychic (Clara)   Mon Jan 22, 2018 3:33 am

Well he didn’t miss this, Quinn thought to himself as he jogged through the city. The snow was only an inch or so deep, and luckily for once the plows and city workers had placed salt appropriately. Not that it’d be working right now regardless. Looking again at his phone the temperature would remain solid, 3. Disgusting, yet now wasn’t the time to slack.

His time in Europe had softened him to temperature, at least the parts he had been in. Now being back home, things just get worse than they had when he left. The city of Cincinnati was still waking up, as he navigated the streets, running past the two stadiums and then the freedom museum. His breath cascades in clouds in front of him as the tips of his scarf followed a rhythmic flow.

His return to dueling had worked out so far, and he had two more tournaments scheduled soon. It wouldn’t be until middle of next year that he would have to worry to much about securing himself again as the American champion, a prospect that was a little nerve wracking if he was honest, which had led to this run.

4 miles in the cold was all he could stand as he stopped and walked the rest of the way to Starbucks. Removing his hat, the cold air frosted over any perspiration as quickly as it came in contact with it. The inside however was warm, and walking to the back he’d place his jacket over a chair, along with his hat and scarf. He presently wore black sweat pants that fit snug against his legs, he wore two shirts under the jacket he had discarded, the only one visible was a soft gray that laid form fitting given the heat under his jacket and exertion, though even in the building the cold air began its penetration.

Getting in line his eyes would scan the menu, even though he already knew what he wanted. His eyes moving past a brunette with a pixie cut he’d spy the pastries and sandwiches, the ultimate test.......savory or sweet
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Mimosa Harrington
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Birthday : 2013-08-13
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PostSubject: Re: Doesn’t take a psychic (Clara)   Mon Jan 22, 2018 10:06 pm

Now that Mimosa was in school, Clara had finally had a few moments to breathe. While Kit fully intended to see the move to England through sometime by the end of the year, Clara had no wish to go live in that miserable pond of a country. Of course, if it was only Kit with whom the witch had to argue, she would have argued until she was blue in the face. Sadly her future in England kept solidifying every day. One could hardly fight fate.

Which wasn't to say Clara wouldn't try. She wouldn't be Clara if she didn't try to go against her own gifts and find a path leading elsewhere. Or, failing that, forge one herself. So after waving Mimosa off for the summer to Paris (something she still wasn't sure was a good idea but had been overruled by the child herself), the first thing the witch had scheduled was a hair appointment. It had felt good shedding off the access waves and curls, like she'd had ten years removed from her age.

Then she had taken out her real paraphernalia as a psychic. No longer encumbered by playing mom or pseudo wife, Clara had donned her "professional" attire and gone for a walk, hoping the path would reveal itself. It did, but only to the ice cream cart by the public beaches where she'd gotten a cone and started chatting with the vendor.

He had originally been from Ohio, and when all else failed, the witch grasped at the only bit of information she could use. Obviously she had to go to Ohio. Some might say the trip was more wish fulfillment than looking for a sign but Clara was not bothered by those people. After a hot shower and being back into regular jeans, a crop top that left the butterfly stud on her navel in full view and her trusty boots, the psychic had booked her flight.

And now here she was, in a Starbucks in Cincinnati, relishing the warmth of the establishment just as she had the chill outside. It never snowed in Carmel for obvious reasons so watching it here was a luxury she was going to indulge in as much as she liked.

Her view of the snow was interrupted rather rudely when a runner entered, bringing with him a wave of anxious, tightly wound energy that was about as hard for the middle aged psychic to ignore as if he would have walked in naked and dancing a jig. Still it was nothing unusual, people brought all sorts of vibes with them, and left with them too. Plus not everyone wanted to be tapped on he shoulder and told they had a mysterious aura about them.

Okay well some did, but those were paying customers, and Clara was not running a charity.

Yet as the young man settled down a few tables away, it rally was hard to ignore his presence. Clara tried for a good five minutes before grudgingly tearing her eyes away from the snowy window and gating up from her comfortable sofa in the corner. Walking the few short paces to the blonde (shelter? College kid? Why was her gift never actually useful?), the witch tapped the table to catch is attention before smiling brightly at him.

"Hey, if you let me sit here, I'll do you a solid in like, five minutes," she offered, not waiting for an invite before sliding into place opposite him. "And I suggest no snacks, it would undo all the running you just did." That beings said, had he already ordered a treat, Clara would shamelessly reach for a bite.

"Hey I didn't run," she's manage defensively after a mouthful.

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