Age: 28-35, depending on setting
Birthday: April 13th
Likes: Coffee, Sleep, Peoples’ Stories, Thoughts of Home
Dislikes: Rude Customers, Being Indoors
Special Features: Fortune Teller
Serin is not by herself a particularly tall or particularly striking young woman, but what she lacks naturally she makes up for by the way she dresses and behaves. As a fortune teller, and a proper gypsy one at that, an awful lot of her advertising happens just by wandering around looking like a fortune teller.
Her clothing is undoubtedly what people notice first upon setting eyes on her. To call it “multi-layered” wouldn’t quite do it justice. It looks like she has decided to wear her entire wardrobe, and all her accessories, all at once – but thankfully, her wardrobe consists mostly of thin pieces of indefinable fabric that all just about manage to avoid clashing with each other. As far as the accessories go, there’s even less coordination than with her clothes. Bits and pieces hang from various places about her person, and in selecting them she seems to have been unable to distinguish a jewellers from a hedgerow – bunches of heather and strange flowers feature as prominently as gold anklets and silver necklaces.
Whilst onlookers could easily devote hours to the study of her clothing, especially when she moves – and, some more subtly than others, they often do – eventually one’s gaze might move on to her actual features. Her long red hair would be striking on its own if Serin were to dress normally. Sadly, that would be her only striking feature if that were to be the case. Five and a half feet tall, of average build and with olive tanned skin, she is only a little unusual looking for an inhabitant of a country so famed for its cloudy skies and torrential downpours.
The way she walks adds to the effect of her clothes – whether this be ‘mystic allure’ or mere base advertising. Somehow she manages to walk with poise, despite the distinctly unalluring hobnail boots that are one area in which she forces her outlandish clothing to concede to practicality. Most observers become so distracted by the rest of her clothing that they never get to the boots. This is probably a good thing.
Serin’s voice is calm and soothing, with an accent as confused as her family tree. It is distinctly a country voice, but to those who pay close attention it also unmistakably contains French and Irish, along with who knows what else.
When you come to talk to Serin, how she acts is very dependent on the situation. Were you a customer, for example, well – customers expect fortune tellers to be reserved, deep, mystical and distant; people who aren’t entirely human but a conduit through which the human and spirit worlds mingle. It’s all an act, though. An act she’s very good at after all these years, since she’s now spent more years as a fortune teller than not, but an act nonetheless. Deep down, she’s a very homely sort – the kind who, given a different upbringing, might be wearing self-knitted roll-neck sweaters and making cups of tea at the very fayres at which she now tells the futures of those with a spiritual inclination and a couple of pounds to spend.
Fate’s Thunder is Serin’s musket. It has been a family heirloom for some time, probably since muskets were a contemporary invention rather than an odd anachronism. It looks particularly odd in the keeping of Serin, whom no-one really imagines to actually be able to use it. Regardless, it seems regularly polished, and who knows whether those pouches at her waist that she claims contain herbs and baubles actually contain powder and shot?