A roulette wheel, refitted for divination; the ball falling on the signs, one at a time, for the Coin, the Rain, the Liminal Space....
"Step right up, step right up, fortunes told in under five minutes, five dollars for one ball, twelve for three, can't beat that in a city like this!"
The fortune teller's periodic barks drew passing glances but little true attention on the other side of the park from Ki's bench. They were clearly a veteran of the public fortune telling biz, looking lively but not eager, available but not desperate. The roulette wheel was an unusual choice—they idly set it spinning in one direction, then casually sent a ball the other direction, expertly catching it after a circuit only to send it off again—but far from the strangest divinatory contraption in the city. With enough faith and a therapeutic eye, any practice (Ki hesitated to call them "traditions") could hold divinatory power, finding answers for the wayward soul.
Speaking of which, Ki certainly felt like a wayward soul. Their attention returned to the tome—or maybe it was a grimoire? Ki was hardly an expert in librotaxonomy—they'd purchased. It held no less of an ominous air in daylight, the many layers of magical iconography revealed at last. Embossed runes overlaid spot gloss seals that crossed carefully inked sigils and inlaid Latin. The interior was little better, with pages seemingly randomly assigned to be solid ink, Rorschach-like splatters, inscrutable diagrams, or nonsensical text in an array of languages. Finding one in English, Ki briefly read,
... stand well pick nihilize the firmamentous nopales beatific. Mole harrow pole broadside vainly attempt soot to worth quick porridge missile attempt. Make whole prawn battalion juniper loquacious vermin excellent duel old yip a gourd above. Bleach fine error stud gnash tolerance ...
Shutting the book again, Ki turned to their gosig råtta companion. "I should ask for help, huh," they muttered, knowing the answer.
The gosig råtta stared back, silent.