Virgil was one of those people who got think-y when he was under the influence.  Indi could claim some of that, she definitely used it to her advantage when it served her, but she had to admit, looking so deeply beyond the words on the page at this moment was incredibly unpleasant.  Sighing, she looked back at Virgil and shut the book, tossing it lightly onto the table.  “I’m going to guess it has to do with the cards knowing you too well,” she grinned and laced her fingers stretching them in front of her so her shoulders shrugged upward and she squeaked at the sudden pop. 

When she finally opened her eyes and let her arms drop, she saw Virgil sitting up holding the emperor card.  She should have known that would peak his interest.  She raised her eyebrows at him and tilted her head to the side at his question.  It took a moment before it sunk in and Indica giggled.  “Maybe both?” she offered, “the unparalleled animal magnetism will pull you both together.”  She hung onto the vowels much longer than need be. 

She took the card back and carefully tucked it into the deck.  It seemed like they really meant something to Virgil, so she tried not to have a heavy hand.  She leaned forward and put them on the table, and then looked back to him.  “I stand corrected,” she shrugged with a nod.  The Daily Prophet wasn’t exactly known for it’s… scintillatingly deep stories. 

Virgil, however, did.  Though, right now, his thoughts were not exactly about the fate of the world or the latest political scandal.  It was about food.  As if on cue, her stomach started to rumble and Indica couldn’t agree more with his assessment of their current dilemma and what anyone else would say about it.  “Yeh,” she didn’t even really form a full word… 

But, she didn’t need to.  She pushed herself up and stumbled a few steps toward the door before she got her footing.  It was sort of a lazy stroll, filled with swagger, as some of her American friends would say (excluding Annie – Indica did not like her… jealousy).  Glancing over her shoulder and stopped at the door.  “C’mon,” she slurred her words together, “kitchen’s this way…”

She flung her door open – the smoky atmosphere of her living space becoming evident as the rest of the house was not filled with plumes from a half smoked joint.  Even if they weren’t actively going after it right now, Indica was in an amazing place – wondering what her parents had laying around.  “I think Dad brought stuff from the restaurant last night,” she commented happily and finally went into the kitchen, flinging open the ice box.  “Yes!” she squealed and pulled out a take out container of food and one that contained several pastries – a gift from Merlin. 

The éclair was her first choice and  Indica reached straight for it, not even affording Virgil the chance to choose.  She put them on the counter and looked at him as she took a bite. “Whatever you want,” she said with a glorious mouthful. 

Like a cat after the cream, Virgil trailed after his friend in the hopes of something sweet or salty between their teeth.

He had been to the Kemp home before but each time would find that he did not remember it so well as before, possibly owing to the fact that they descended into drifts of Gillyweed almost each time. They had yet to regret it but he had an inkling that some day the memory of smoke and nibbles would coincide with something less agreeable. It was a small, easily neglected inkling.

Virgil pulled himself up on to the kitchen counter as he watched Indi retrieve a box of pastries with delight, offering it up like a treasure. He paused only to watch her bite into an eclair, dazed, and then turned his pale blue eyes to the contents.

"What do you think is the... the probability-" the Slytherin delicately reached for a palmier. "- of a tarot being accurate?" His thoughts from earlier (what now felt an eon ago) were catching up at a glacial pace. "Past. Present. Future. It could be right, couldn't it?"

He smiled dreamily, question marks lining the curvature of his mind like a dance number. "Children playing with Great Unknowns. That's what we are, Indi." Virgil bit into the palmier and chewed loudly. Its sugary pastry crumbled sweetly - tasted like late breakfast in France, when he'd gone to visit Adelaide and her fiancé last summer. Incongruous with their awareness of doldrum homework.

Virgil laid back on the counter, supported by his elbows whilst surveying the pastries.

Eating was meant to be fun time.  It was for stuffing one’s face and enjoying the deliciousness.  It was like her tastebuds were just more awake and alive, so the chocolate and the cream and everything… it made her close her eyes and moan out of pure ecstasy. This was the best éclair she had ever eaten, that much was obvious. 

While his question lingered in the air, Indi chewed slowly and considered.  Virgil got all philosophical when he was smoking and the idea he had… it floated in her head, was intriguing and then it was gone a moment later.  Pursing her lips, Indi swallowed and sighed.  “I mean, I think a lot of it is vague enough that no matter what you can find something to fit.” 

“It’s more about asking questions, I think,” she shrugged and took another large bite.  She continued to talk as she chewed, “And you look for the answer in the cards, so like… yeah, it’s going to be accurate because you’re going to find something that makes it that way.  Same as most divination methods that don’t rely on sight,” she added.

She didn’t have sight, she wasn’t naturally gifted with that (which was fine, it seemed like an awfully big responsibility).  “D’ya think,” she said between chews, a hunk of éclair in her cheek, “that’s the whole thing?  Just looking for things in the methods?  No skill at all?”

He considered another palmier but chose, on judgement of consistency alone, a profiterole instead.

"There's a term for that." Virgil plucked the pastry up and held it to the light as you would observe a crystal ball, ensuring the clarity of its make for the grave commitment of foresight. "Confirmation bias. We see what we want to see, based on preconceptions. Subconscious preconceptions even."

That sounded rather dull when he said it out loud. He sat up on the kitchen counter and stuffed the profiterole into his mouth, eyelids lowering in appreciation of the sweet cream. Not too sweet. You couldn't await the future the way you could look forward to something delicious.

You see the profiterole, you associate it with a past experience of it (or something similar), you anticipate the profiterole, you acquire it bar any obstacles, you taste it. A smooth and clear progression of intent.  Divination, in comparison, was more like vaguely understanding that a dessert of sorts lay in store for you... and then being hit in the face by a pie when you least expect it.

Virgil smiled at his own thoughts. It took him a moment to realise that Indi had asked a question through the mash of her eclair.

"I think there must be some skill. Instinct. The art of divination, not the science." He slipped off the counter and wandered towards the icebox, searching for a drink. Orange juice. "Like dancing. Maybe you need to have a feel for it." They had been at it for nearly seven years now so he hoped that they already did.

"We should play music and draw the deck again." Virgil turned around with the carton of juice, placing it next to Indi as he ambled around to fetch glasses. "Something old."

The éclair was gone.  This was like a tragedy that couldn’t quite ever be fixed.  At least, it felt that way in the moment.  Her face fell and she looked at her empty hands and mourned the loss of her snack, even as she was chewing the last bit. 

But then, out of the corner of her eye, Indica saw the box and heard herself squeaking in delight before she actually realized that she was doing it.  Her hand went in the box and it didn’t even matter what she grabbed.  He said something about confirmation bias and Indica shrugged.  Didn’t mean much to her, the vocabulary wasn’t her strong suit, but that sounded like what she wanted to get to. 

Besides, she could worry about biting into her next pastry: a pain au chocolat that could have made anyone’s mouth water.  If only it were warm… she might have been slightly happier, but that would be a lot of work for it… so she just bit into it.  That was fine.  Better than fine, she decided as buttery pastry and chocolate were in her mouth. 

Her mouth was full again and Indica nodded.  “I like art,” she commented thoughtfully, swallowing a mouthful.  “Finger-paints especially,” she laughed, reaching one hand out forward and stretched her fingers out, then curled them, repeatedly, as though she were a cat.  As if on cue, Bubbles strolled up and meowed at both of them with his slightly flat face. 

Indi broke out into a wide grin and bent down to scratch her cross-eyed cat’s face.  He leaned into her hand and Indi cooed at him for a moment.  “I like to dance too,” she commented with a laugh.  While Virgil had philosophy on his side, Indi had just about anything else and the suggestion for some old music… she shot up and Bubbles darted away. 

“I got exactly what you’re lookin’ for,” Indi slurred and sauntered out of the kitchen, pastry in hand and went to the record player in the den.  She looked at the record in it already and grimaced.  Whale sounds.  Mum must have used it last.  Resting her chocolate treat on the side of the table, Indi leaned down and took the sleeve with the happy looking whale on the front and slipped the record in.  No one needed that.  It wasn’t meditation hour, after all. 

Instead, Indica grabbed one of her dad’s old records – a wrock album from the 70s.  Indi loved it, thought it was way cooler than most of the music that was coming out currently.  “I’ve got The Dementors,” she called out and stood to put the record on the player.  “You should go get the cards,” she added, thinking about how far away they were in her room… it was like a million mile hike and she couldn’t even consider walking back there. 

“Pleeeeeeeease?” she called out in a (semi)mock-whine as she handled the record carefully and put it into the player.