Was trying to sort out a thing or two by using the cowrie shells to divine where to start. Wound up obsessing about the biases of the technique and how they can be used to manipulate the odds in favor of a desired outcome, even when I am trying my best not to consciously do so.
The demonstrator came back and watched me fumble for a bit.
“Caught up in the details, eh?”
“Yea. If the fuzzy borders of This and That answers weren’t bad enough, there’s also the uneven weight distribution of the shells to contend with.”
“Maybe you should have gotten some official Vegas gambling dice.”
“Those would be statistically perfect for the first ten throws, after that, the surface is familiar enough to the touch for the hand to recognize individual dice. Another hundred throws, and the surface will be worn enough to introduce weight bias to the results.”
“Kinda like people, huh. When you first meet them, everyone is on their best behavior and trying to act proper and perfect around each other. But as you work with the same people over and over again, you start seeing the scratches and the dents in their personality. You learn who will give you a straight answer when you need it and who makes the best coffee. You decide you’re going to keep hanging with these folks anyway, because you know them now. They are comfortable. They are your friends.” He smiles a crooked smile. “Tell me, girl. Why are you still jealous of [redacted]’s cards?”
Ow. If he wasn’t… “Because they are the tarot equivalent of the Velveteen Rabbit. And I have nothing that comes close. Not yet.”
“And how did the Velveteen Rabbit lose his sheen?”
“By being loved and carried and used up.”
“Fit the question to the method. Use a different tool to start if necessary, and use the shells to verify as a follow up. Don’t forget, to the shells, you are the outsider. You guys get comfortable with each other.”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
“Don’t thank me yet, girl.” He started chuckling.
“If you mean not for me to thank you because I haven’t encountered the nefarious and underhanded reason why you are suddenly teaching me cowrie shell divination techniques after months of silence, your brother has taught me well, Sir. You’re up to some shit, and involving me as a game piece. I’m no Pawn, Sir. If I’m going to be deployed, it’s going to be as Bitch. And by Bitch, I mean Queen.”
He tips his hat in a very formal bow and leaves. His chuckling remains and dogs me back to the Waking.