bloodprayer | ic contact

[Tate's interest is waning during this brief silence and it's just before he starts looking away to zone out of this conversation that Michael pulls him back in. His head cants to the side and his gaze focuses on Michael, scrutinizing him to see if he's telling a lie but ultimately not being able to call bullshit outright. Well, he could, but instead:]

No shit. This from the porter or something you were born with?

[ Tate shrugs, noncommittal, but he's more and more aware that he needs to double down on being interesting or worthwhile if he wants to keep Tate's attention. He seems interested by the... magic, at least, which he can play up, if he needs to. It's hard to answer his question - his powers were all brand new to him when they were listed one after the other on his arrival, but seeing them felt like they were his own. Like he'd finally scratched an itch and unlocked something in him that was always there. A birthmark that had always been there that he hadn't ever seen. ]

From home.

[ Maybe. He inches forward, looking at Tate, trying to study every reaction he makes. ]

I can make it snow. Hail. Rain. I can make things happen, and I can make people... do things. I don't, but I can. And... sometimes there are, uh... birds?

[Tate watches him with an equally studious look, staring unflinchingly into those baby blue eyes like he expects to see his own reflection inside Michael's pupils. It'd be stranger to hear this if he hadn't already been exposed to a year's worth of porter-met people, cannibals and false Gods. Hail, rain, control of other people? Interesting, but not the most remarkable shit around. Better than what Tate has, to some degree, though.]

Birds?

[Honing in on that, he blinks. Finishes his beer and sits forward to sit the bottle on the shoddy little thing they call a coffee table. He's sitting forward to stand up, going for another beer from the fridge. In the process of that, he glances back at Michael.]

You good on that beer or do you want another?

Um - you decide?

[ Michael's flustered enough by the offer of another beer to lose the intensity in his eyes again, leaning on being overly polite and stupidly not knowing if taking another drink that was offered to him could be considered overstepping. He takes a swig of his beer anyway, polishing it off, even though he hates the taste, and he settles the empty bottle next to Tate's, twisting the neck so their labels align. ]

But, uh - yeah. They... [ Again, he's on the precipice of saying too much, but - he really is desperate. If he knew he were the Antichrist, maybe he wouldn't be so quick to share the signs. He sits at the coffee table, tuckling his knees up beneath it, resting his forearms and elbows on the wood. ]

The... sky turns red. Crows circle above me. My house gets hot. [ A pause. ] That happens here, too. I haven't seen many crows... but it's been sweltering inside my house. Kind of worried Jack'll die. I don't think old people take to heat very well.

Well that's fucking weird.

[Tate says, disappearing behind the fridge door after opening it. He doesn't seem fazed, returning to the couch with two bottles after uncapping them. He holds one out to Michael, but doesn't let go of it easily. Not before first saying one thing:]

Yes or no; you want this beer, right?

[Tate's just - slightly irked by the indecisiveness, realizing in the moment that it's going to get fucking annoying soon. He'll let go of the bottle if Michael answers yes, plopping back down to sip on his own and feed the buzz he has going with a moment of quiet before snickering.]

Don't worry about Jack. Don't think that'll kill him.

[ Michael reaches out for the beer, though his fingers draw back like they've been shocked when Tate doesn't just pass it over to him. He sees Constance in Tate, for a moment. She would correct his behaviour the same way - letting him dangle with his hand out when he didn't say his pleases or thank yous. He swallows and nods, too shy to actually vocalize his yes, and he snatches the bottle, taking a sip.

Still tastes disgusting. He draws his knees up, looking down at the coffee table. ]

Good weird or bad weird? I think it's kind of cool. Scary, but... cool.

I've seen weirder.

[When it comes to dead nurses and a demonic child who eats corpses in the basement to a variety of things here as well? Tate's actually not that concerned. Kid sounds fucked up in more ways than one, but - hey, at least he has magic for an excuse. Tate's fucked up and only a small portion of that can ever truly be blamed on anything other than himself.]

Scary is kind of cool, anyway. I can't do much here myself, but - I've been practicing what I can do.

[He pauses, a moment of concentration behind a blank stare with the rim of his bottle to his lips - and then the lights flicker on cue overhead. After that, he reanimates, brows arched and bottle tipped back for another drink. Maybe this artisan shit Derek buys isn't that bad after all.]

Again. Not much.

[ Michael watches the lights flicker overhead, drawn to them like a kid seeing snow fall for the very first time. This is something else about his father Michael wants to memorize - he got in trouble for wanting to be like Tate back home, but that just means any imitation he does from here on out has to be done in secret. Happy and curious, he taps his knuckles together and scoots forward until the coffee table is pressing tight into his chest. ]

Are you kidding? That was so cool.

[ It's like you're a ghost, or something. He stops himself from saying it, but he could. Michael drops his voice to a hushed whisper, like he's asking something he's not supposed to ask. ]

Can you do anything else?

A few things.

[Tate's become a little bit more open about it while here, likely because it's not uncommon for ImPorts to be weirdos. He mulls over whether or not he should keep talking, running his tongue over his teeth. Oversharing details about himself is something he knows from Derek wouldn't be good, especially for the two of them. But casually shooting the shit with a teen his age... while buzzed? He has trouble deciding where his lines should lay.]

I'll show you next time. I'm kinda buzzed, might not be a good mix right now.

[Last thing he needs to do is get stuck in a wall somehow.]

Whaaat.

[ Michael's hopeful curiosity gives way to visible disappointment, and he slumps down against the table, looking up at Tate from beneath blond hair. He wants to know as much about Tate as possible... he wants to know what he can do, who he lives with, what he tells people about home. He's happy to hear Tate talk about a next time, but he's - impatient. Annoyed, childishly. ]

Fine, be a tease. [ He brings his beer back to his lips, taking a small sip and hating the taste enough to pull another face. Fucking awful. He sets the bottle back down, eyeing Tate. He thinks he knows the answer to what he wants to ask, but... he'll ask anyway, because he doesn't know what Tate will say. ]

Are... your powers new or from home?

Edited 2018-11-30 05:24 (UTC)

[Tate snorts at the tease comment, rolling his eyes. It'll take just a few more awkward conversations between them or piercing, imploring stares from Michael before he starts to suspect maybe something's off but for the time being it's fine. He doesn't need to shut this kid down yet, even if there's a faint vibe of some ungodly attraction. Little does he know that's, well, exactly what it is. Antichrist and all.]

New.

[Is that a lie? It's not like they were really powers back home. Ghosts had abilities, sure, but he doesn't really know if it counts. So he lies, licking at his lip and eyeing Michael over again. That's another thing for down the road, figuring whether or not he can trust this kid.]

My life back home wasn't all that memorable.

ic contact

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject