Whereas some had a 'resting bitch face', Jayce had a 'resting polite face', one that left his eyes open with a polite smile, usually worn when he had no knowledge or clue of what was going on. He could tell there was more in the air than was told. How else would Plague know this was the correct kind of place, without knowing the difference between the correct and incorrect.
The smile stayed as he sat down, rolling up both his sleeves to his elbows, exposing his tattoos to the air. Something about the fresh air felt cool to his constricted skin. While no expert on these occult matters, even he could feel the air suddenly had a different feeling to it, a power, an energy he couldn't explain or put his finger on; an instinct. He stretched his arms across the table, palms facing up as the young lady put her palms over his, close enough that he could feel her heat but no actually touch him. He looked at her, matching her gaze. He could feel her bend her fingers slightly, as her fingertips just gently brushed the creases in his palm. The polite smile stayed on his face.
"Anything?" He meant to say so in a joking tone, but it came out in nothing but a croaked whisper.
She continued to trace whatever patterns she saw in his hands, still not breaking his gaze.
"Blood...so much bloodshed, betrayal, and pain in the history of those ancient eyes you do not show."
Jayce could feel his eye twitch and feel his lips terse up, refusing to move from her touch; light as feather, it felt like chains. He could feel his back muscle tense as the realization came across. This wasn't the correct kind of mysticism shop, this was a real one. The mystics cheery smile had faded as well, replaced by a sad one.
"So much anger in you, like a tea kettle that was boiling centuries ago, now passed on. " She gave a small pause. "Some of it is even yours, even though it is not yours to own." His polite smile was gone, replacing by a look of solemness. "You will burn and be burned, a mighty king of flowers, reigning over a kingdom that you do not even realize yet exists."
Jayce was in the moment, locked in his head, Plague at his side completely forgotten. He could feel it in his chest, a plethora of chaos mixed with beauty. He attempted to speak, but no sound came out, only the moving of his lips: how?
"Fratricide, Kingkiller, they called him, the first of your family. Your soul is in chaos, bound by chains of duty, torn apart by your desire to be known by your name, not your surname."
He swallowed, feeling like a boulder was going down his throat. He closed his eyes, finally breaking contact with her, pulling his arms back to his side, head bowed. "Thank you," he said. He rubbed his hands together, trying to get rid of that tingly feeling on them, like a layer of skin he just couldn't rip off. He stood from his chair, as did the mystic rising with him. She looked at Plague, giving a slightly happier smile to them than the one she just had. "Take care of this one, cherie."
Jayce turned to Plague, a smile painted across his face, twitching lips and sad eyes, trying not to betray what he felt. "Where to next?"