The awkward tension between you is thankfully broken by Amelie. She nudges Chris and nods in your direction. "Hey, Chris, show them the thing?"
Chris looks confused. "This thing? What thing?"
She holds up her long, slender hands. "You know, with the palms." She smiles politely at the two of you. "Chris knows how to read palms. It's actually really rad."
Chris rolls his eyes as he pulls something out of his pants pocket. "It's not really palm reading. I mean, it is and it isn't. Half of it is palm reading, and half of it is feeling the chakra. It's much more in depth than that phoney carnival stuff. Here, I'll show you." Chris slips on a small quartz gem tied on a cord around his neck. He holds his hands out to you. "Hold out your hands."
You glance at George. He shrugs. You hadn't been hoping to stay very long. But, you hadn't had much luck finding Colby, anyway. Maybe this would be interesting. You hold your rough, meaty hands out to Chris. He grabs your weathered hands with his soft ones. You turns your palms up and grasps your fingers firmly, tracing at the lines in you palm. You resist the urge to squirm at the sensation.
"Hold still..." Chris mutters.
You find yourself leaning in as he stares at your palm intensely, his fingers tracing back and forth across your palm.
Amelie smirks. "Yeah, he can tell you how old you are, if your in good health, and maybe even when you'll-"
"Shhh!" Amelie is shushed by Chris, still staring intently at your palm.
She leans toward George, and mutters quietly. "I've never seen him so intense, before."
There's another moment of silence before Chris leans away, releasing your hand, visibly perplexed.
You chuckle to ease the sudden tension. "What's the verdict?"
Chris sighs and removes the quartz necklace. "I dunno, man. I was getting some weird vibes offa you. Your hands were telling me one thing, but your chi was a whole other thing."
You shift uncomfortably in your seat. "Oh, really? How... how do you mean?"
Chris scratches at his chin. "Well, it's kind of complicated. I don't know if I-"
"I'm back!" Blaine has arrived carrying several bottles of beer in his hands. He hands one to each of you, except for Amelie, who he hands a bottle of water. As Blaine takes his seat, you notice he has a slight paunch that you hadn't noticed before. Strange, he looked very athletic before.
Blaine grins and takes a drink from his beer. You and George do the same. Chris continues to frown, probably still pondering his anomalous reading from you. You wonder if he was able to see that you were somebody else wearing your father's identity. A few days ago, you would have thought Chris' whole "reading" thing to be a load of new age bull crap. But, from what you've experienced recently, you weren't so sure what to think anymore.
Blaine does most of the talking. He explains to you and George the pains he went through to set up this club and keep it running. He reminises with you about old times. You merely nod and agree, which seems to be good enough for him. As he talks, you begin to notice something. His shirt seems to be getting smaller on him. It was almost as if his small paunch was getting bigger, forming more of a gut. An awful thought occurs to you. What if you somehow were causing Blaine to turn into somebody else? But, no, that was ridiculous. You glance back at Blaine. Did he look older? The lines around his mouth seemed more prominant than before, and lines appeared to be forming under his eyes. Not to mention his shirt was beginning to ride up, exposing his softer belly. What if you'd somehow passed on your were-dad affliction to Blaine? But, that was impossible. It didn't even make any sense!
Blaine finally seems to realize something was off. He feels his stomach, looking down wide-eyed. "Holy shit, guys!"
Amelie and Chris, who'd been paying more attention to their drinks and each other looks back at their friend, their expressions freezing in surprise.
Amelie is the firs to snap out of it. "What the hell, Blaine? Is it an allergic reaction?"
"I don't... I don't think so." But he sounds uncertain. His voice also sounds somewhat different, lower and with a bit of gravel.
As you look closer, Blane's tribal tattoo looks to be fading, but a new one, a flaming skull, is forming right under it. You watch as the changes seem to accelerate. His face begins to soften and round out. His facial features begin to shift, becoming someone else's.
George looks at you. "What the hell do we do?"
You glance back toward the door. "We have to get out of here."
Your friend glances back at the changing Blaine. "We can't just leave him can we?"
Amelie is out of her seat and helping Blaine, who's still seated. Apparently she has some sort of first aid training. She's already removed Blaine's shirt and inspecting him for redness or rashes, leaving his still-softening torso exposed. Blaine's once-firm pecs have already melted, like candle wax, making middle-aged moobs. Streaks of grey are appearing in his hair, and a thick, salt-and-pepper mustache is forming over his upper lip.
"Dude," Chris mutters. "Blaine, you look just like your dad!"
"What? What are you..." Blaine trails off, putting a roughened, pudgy hand to his throat, but encountering a second chin instead.
His hairline retreats several inches, as his scalp hair shapes itself into a short buzz. You recognize him now. He looks just like one of your dad's work friends, a man in his mid-forties.
His body hair grows out from Blaine's manicured state. It's not as thick as your own, sitting at about average. Still, it's the final change that seems to cement Blaine as his own dad.
The five of you sit in shock. You and George were better than the others, but still... You all just witnessed a young man in his twenties transform into a portly man in his forties. You glance at the others, wondering just what they'll do, next.
It's then that you notice a 5 o'clock shadow growing in over Chris' jaw, as his hairline begins to steadily retreat.
"Oh, shit..."