_{( Remy’s hanging out in what passes for one of the classier taverns, leaning back in a wooden chair as his hair falls over his eyes. He’s eyeing the communicator a little devilishly, and, as ever, he’s shuffling a deck of cards. And though the process is constant, he eventually pulls out exactly the card he meant to: the Ace of Diamonds. )}

Diamonds are called Coins, sometimes. If it was gonna be an element, it’d be Earth. Has ta do with the physical, your body an’ your wealth. People who do work like that, too—merchants, traders.

Sometimes it jus’ means you’re an achiever. Y’like gettin’ things done.

_{( He nods, solemnly, before replacing the card in the deck and continuing with his shuffling. He pulls out the Ace of Clubs, next. )}

Clubs’re different. Called Wands, in the old days. They’re Fire, willpower. People who do hard work, wit’ their hands. If you’re someone who likes destruction, that’s your suit. But that’s no so bad. The world needs breakin’ down an’ buldin’ up.

_{( Another nod, another tilt of his head. The next card is the Ace of Hearts. )}

Hearts’re special, some people think. Used ta be called Cups. They gotta do with Water, with emotion. People who do things spir’tually.

Hearts’re socializers. They like other people, more than things.

_{( He kisses the card lightly before shuffling it back in, pulling out the last. The Ace of Spades. )}

Now, Spades. Also called Swords, sometimes. They’re Air, freedom. But wit’ that comes unpredictability. If you’re a Spade, y’like havin’ authority. But that comes wit’ responsibility, an’ consequences.

Spades’re explorers. They like the unknown, seekin’ out what they might be ‘fraid of o’ what might bring ‘em joy.

_{( That card goes back into the deck, too. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Remy smiles at the communicator once more. )}

So, here’s a question. Which’re you?

[ Em doesn't very much enjoy talking or, in general, socializing. Not that she's anti social, it's just that she is very shy and social situations get her anxious and apprensive and she never really knows what to say. She's a quiet person outside her group of friends and she prefers a book to going out, but this time, it's clearly a very different situation she has found herself in. Her voice is quivering, a extremely faint French accent slipping in some syllables and words, but far from the cartoonish exaggeration that the French tend to speak English in. ]

This is a mistake. [ A long pause to suck in some air into her lungs, a shiver audible through her breathing. ] I cannot be here. Not alone-- not without them. Please, my children. I-- I can't leave them with him. Don't do this, please, someone. Take me back. They're alone with him.

[ There is a longer pause now, where she's just breathing. There's a sound which makes it look like she's slumping down on the floor or leaning back, and her voice comes a little muffled as she keeps herself together, possibly a hand over her mouth. ]

You can't do this to them.