South Park isn't so much a park as it is a pit. That's what everyone told him when he went looking for it, but Jamie's spent time there anyway. He's spent enough time there that now there's white flowers growing around the well called Judas's Kiss. He's heard the rumors about an appropriate sacrifice bringing luck and he's tempted to see if he can make it work.
Not making a sacrifice. But granting luck.
He's been somewhat cautious using contracts here, uncertain as to the kind of attention it might bring him, if any at all. Usually that kind of magic requires a specific target and circumstances, like most fae magic, but he could probably find ways to make it work. Or he can just tell people that it's the well giving luck when really it's him. If he feels like giving out a little bit of luck in the first place.
Jamie crouches down, touching the paperwhites coming up and blooming.
"You don't even look like you belong here," he says to the flowers.
For the past few weeks, South Park has been dealing with something of an unseasonable warmth; the down is always pretty humid, but in the park more than ever, Michael's shirts stick to his skin and his hair gets weighed down with sweat. There's playground equipment scattered around here and there, old and dilapidated and forgotten. A few rusted swings that don't work, a see-saw where the -saw has broken off and lays abandoned on the ground. The place is a mess, and Michael's usually here alone - if the heat doesn't drive people off, the tetanus risk usually does - but Jamie's becoming a familiar face.
Michael hasn't been sleeping in his dorm for about a month and a half now; he crashes where he shouldn't, and an old climbing structure in South Park filled with spiderwebs and ants has been his go to. Michael's been watching Jamie from there since he first came looking for the well, and today, on a whim, he's decided to not just silently stalk him from a distance and watch him loiter around Judas' Kiss. He's decided to confront him. Maybe get him to leave. Maybe force him to stay.
He's in one of his basic tanks, paired with fucked up black skinny jeans all ripped at the knees and combat boots that crunch over gravel when he walks. He watches Jamie for-- a while, standing close, just waiting to be seen, and when Jamie says you don't look like you belong here, that's when he speaks up.
"Neither do you." He walks a little closer, his hands behind his back, one arm bent and grabbing the other. "You shouldn't keep hanging out here. You're probably gonna get shivved, dude."
Jamie is downright boyish as Michael approaches. He looks up at the comment, and for a moment it seems like he's trying to decide what to do with the boy standing near him.
"Haven't been shivved yet," he points out as he stands up. His eyes are the kind of blue that invites people to drown. "Are you going to change my luck?"
He wonders if this is the person that's been watching him. He feels it now and then, when he's in the park, especially if he's on his own. Hard to shake that kind of feeling after the paranoia sets in.
Michael's joking, obviously. He looks pretty harmless - straight white teeth when he smiles, bright blue eyes that border on grey. He brushes his fingers back through the curls of his hair, shaking them out so he can see a little better, and he steps forward, kneeling down to look at the flowers.
"These -" -- and he picks one, standing back up, rolling the stem in his fingers. "- are new. I've been living here for a while. These are the first flowers I've seen in months."
Jamie leans against the side of the well while Michael examines the flowers.
"They are new," he agrees. He doesn't take credit for them; he's been hiding himself from humans for so long that showing his hand here feels like a bad idea. Just because he's run into other different people in no way makes him safe.
"They're paperwhites. Part of the narcissus family, like daffodils."
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⛧ Action
Not making a sacrifice. But granting luck.
He's been somewhat cautious using contracts here, uncertain as to the kind of attention it might bring him, if any at all. Usually that kind of magic requires a specific target and circumstances, like most fae magic, but he could probably find ways to make it work. Or he can just tell people that it's the well giving luck when really it's him. If he feels like giving out a little bit of luck in the first place.
Jamie crouches down, touching the paperwhites coming up and blooming.
"You don't even look like you belong here," he says to the flowers.
no subject
Michael hasn't been sleeping in his dorm for about a month and a half now; he crashes where he shouldn't, and an old climbing structure in South Park filled with spiderwebs and ants has been his go to. Michael's been watching Jamie from there since he first came looking for the well, and today, on a whim, he's decided to not just silently stalk him from a distance and watch him loiter around Judas' Kiss. He's decided to confront him. Maybe get him to leave. Maybe force him to stay.
He's in one of his basic tanks, paired with fucked up black skinny jeans all ripped at the knees and combat boots that crunch over gravel when he walks. He watches Jamie for-- a while, standing close, just waiting to be seen, and when Jamie says you don't look like you belong here, that's when he speaks up.
"Neither do you." He walks a little closer, his hands behind his back, one arm bent and grabbing the other. "You shouldn't keep hanging out here. You're probably gonna get shivved, dude."
no subject
"Haven't been shivved yet," he points out as he stands up. His eyes are the kind of blue that invites people to drown. "Are you going to change my luck?"
He wonders if this is the person that's been watching him. He feels it now and then, when he's in the park, especially if he's on his own. Hard to shake that kind of feeling after the paranoia sets in.
no subject
Michael's joking, obviously. He looks pretty harmless - straight white teeth when he smiles, bright blue eyes that border on grey. He brushes his fingers back through the curls of his hair, shaking them out so he can see a little better, and he steps forward, kneeling down to look at the flowers.
"These -" -- and he picks one, standing back up, rolling the stem in his fingers. "- are new. I've been living here for a while. These are the first flowers I've seen in months."
no subject
"They are new," he agrees. He doesn't take credit for them; he's been hiding himself from humans for so long that showing his hand here feels like a bad idea. Just because he's run into other different people in no way makes him safe.
"They're paperwhites. Part of the narcissus family, like daffodils."