Welcome to my Tarot Troop challenge! Test your skills and see if the cards will guide you on the correct path. Let The Star's light guide you in the right direction and you can become a member of the Tarot Troop! But if you're The Hanged Man you mig...
When all the food is situated on their respectful plates, you turn with the dishes in hand only to find World standing behind your chair.
You crook a brow at him, "What are you doing?"
"Am I not allowed to be a gentleman?"
"Yes...I mean no...I-You know I hate it when you ask me questions worded like that."
He chuckles at the pout adorning your face and takes the plates from your hands, setting them on the table. He then twists back towards you and offers his hand.
Smiling, you take it. It's been a while since he's done anything like this. Even when he came home early, it was rare for him to go out of his way with an affectionate gesture, so you're going to enjoy it while you can. And maybe along the way, you can convince him to act like this regularly since he's out for so long.
He leads you to your chair, pulling it out for you and then sliding it back in once you're seated, "Why thank you."
Your hand is lifted to his lips, and he presses tiny kisses across your knuckles, this small action making up your mind about having him do this more often.
"You're welcome. Now, let's eat, shall we?"
"We shall." With your confirmation, he walks around the table, keeping your fingers intertwined in his own even when he begins to eat.
A comfortable silence fills the room, as is normal for when you eat together. Neither of you likes people talking with their mouth full, so you are perfectly fine with waiting to have your conversations until after you're done eating.
And no matter how badly you want to ask, the burning questions you have for him can wait.
Once you're both done, you rise from the table, plates, and silverware in hand. You bring them to the sink, rinsing them off and placing them in the dishwasher quickly.
Turning, you join World at the table again, ready to get business started and not willing to take no for an answer.
"That was delicious as always." He reclines in his chair, using a finger to loosen his tie.
"I'm glad you think so. Though since you found it so good, do you mind if I ask you a question?" You lean forward and lace your fingers together on the tabletop. The question has been lingering in the back of your mind for a few weeks now. And if you didn't ask him about it soon, you might just explode.
"Ah, so dinner has been turned into a business deal?" His trademark coy smirk is back. "Go ahead and ask your question, dear."
"Well, you know you've been staying out later and later. Is everything alright?" You can't keep your internal worry out of your voice.
"Everything is fine. Technical Boy has just been causing a bit of trouble." He waves his hand in the air in a dismissive gesture.
"Ah, I see. Now, how about you try that again without lying." He gives a surprised look at your demanding tone. "I've been married to you long enough to know when you're being untruthful."
"Clever as always. I knew there was a reason why I married you."
"Ha ha, very funny. Now, stop stalling, World."
He gives a sigh, "We're going to war with the Old Gods (First Name)."
Now that wasn't something you were expecting. With wide eyes, all you can muster is a tiny whisper. "What?"
"Wednesday has been pushing for a war. At Ostara's party, he openly attacked us, and we won't stand for that. He wants a war so badly, so now it's what we're going to give him."
"That's so stupid!" You can't help the rage that slips into your tone. Standing, you slam your hands on the table.
Blue eyes are blown wide, shock swirling through them. His mouth opens and closes repeatedly, trying to find the words to reply to your outburst but failing.
And you can't blame him. You've been married to World for over 5 years, and you've never once yelled like you just did. But what can you say? Worry and anger don't make a good mix.
"You can't be serious! There are hundreds of Old Gods and only a handful of new ones. You are outnumbered. And even so, why go to war? There is no point in causing chaos or killing them. They aren't a threat to you, so why not just leave them alone?"
"We would have, but it's too late now. Wednesday struck first, and we aren't going to be seen as weak."
"So that's what this is really about? Your ego?"
"Don't!" He's standing faster than you can blink, fist clenched and pushed into the table as if to keep him from hitting something. "You don't understand my motives, so don't assume you do."
"Then tell me! Instead of keeping me in the dark, tell me!" You're practically pleading at this point, clutching at the fabric covering your chest. Imaginary knives stab at your heart, the fake weapons leaving an unimaginable pain.
"It's because of you."
"What?"
He doesn't answer. Instead, he turns his face from your view.
"World, what do you mean it's because of me?" You reach out and grip his shoulder.
He glances at you from the corner of his eye, and you can see his resolve break slightly. He doesn't like seeing you upset, never has, and you being so desperate for an explanation probably doesn't help.
Deciding to give one more little push, you bring him to you in a hug. Your cheek pressed to his chest, hands clutching at the back of his shirt as if your life depended on it.
"Please?"
He sighs, one more burdened and defeated than you've ever heard from him. Maybe it's from stress or the fact that you're so determined to find out his reasoning, but whatever it is, you want to help him through it.
"Because if I don't go to war, something could happen to you. Wednesday is conniving, and he'll stop at nothing to get what he wants. He's even killed his own. If we don't stop him in his tracks...if he finds out about you, you may be in danger. And I wouldn't forgive myself if that happened."
"And what about you? You could die! I-I can't stand the thought of losing you."
You're pulled back from his chest, and your eyes connect. A sadness pools in his eyes, but his determination seems to dry up the sorrow. His head lowers, and he presses a chaste kiss to your lips, separating long before you wanted him to.
"I'm sorry...I have to do this." And you're shoved away from him.
Slinging his jacket over his shoulder, he marches towards the front door, only stopping to grab his fedora. Despite the tears flowing down your face, the shrieked cries leaving your lips, or the broken sobs wracking your body, he doesn't turn around. And the world crashes around you as he walks out the door. Ironic, isn't it?
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