[ michael bradway, homosexual, cis male + he/him ] ･ﾟ: ･ well met, beckham langley. for 26 years, they have believed themselves to be only mortal. they walked beneath silent skies, unaware of the hymn sleeping within their veins. but blood cannot forget its maker forever. the song has answered. the blood of hecate now stirs within them, calling them toward a destiny older than history itself. before the awakening, they lived as book keeper, calling salem, massachusetts home. now, the impossible has found them, and the world they once knew is beginning to unravel like thread. should the fates remember them kindly, their name will be woven alongside their generosity, inquisitiveness, and loyalty. should they falter, history will forever echo with their stubbornness, impatience, and conceit. the old gods have begun to stir. the blood hymn has found another voice. now the world waits to learn whether beckham will become its salvation or its requiem.
🔮 : # history—
Raised in an orphanage for most of his life, Beckham knew early on the importance of standing out amongst a crowd. For him to be chosen by a loving couple, he needed to be interesting and appealing enough. However, he couldn’t quite master the art of drawing attention to himself. As a matter of fact, he unintentionally does the opposite by turning invisible somehow anytime the opportunity to get adopted presents itself to him. People often simply look past him like he’s never there. As if he’s somewhere else entirely.
It was something about himself he learned to accept at a young age. Even in school, barely anybody paid much attention to him. Safe to say, he was never popular. Most people didn’t know his name or realize he was around until a teacher called on him to answer a question. The only bright side to his predicament was that he’s invisible enough not to get picked on or bullied by others. He got through most days unseen. Oftentimes, Beckham wondered if he was actually alive or just a ghost wandering the earth. Unlike most specters, he wasn’t intangible or secreted ectoplasm. He breathed normally and bled when injured just as any human did. Surely there was a better explanation than fate simply dealing him a bad hand. Deep down, Beckham was tired of the metaphysical veil concealing him from the rest of the world.
Unfortunately, Beckham never got to experience the luxury of a loving home. Upon turning eighteen, he had to leave the orphanage and figure out how to survive on his own. Beckham didn’t particularly mind. He got by his entire life independently with little to no support. It was just another hurdle he needed to jump. Which he did, by taking up odd jobs and eventually securing a position at a library in their local university as a book keeper. There, Beckham sat during a lecture involving the Salem Witch Trials. Learning about the burning of innocents simply due to biased prejudices and hearsay awakened something within him.
That’s when his fascination for the mystic arts and occult took place. Using his privileges in the library, he stayed up late at night reading ancient tomes and thick dusty books about witchcraft. Beckham even recited the incantations and practiced his verbal pronunciation on the daily, as though he were of wiccan blood. It was all for fun, of course. Beckham doubted he’d actually be able to set things on fire or move objects with his mind after simply speaking aloud certain words in Latin. In the farthest corners of his head however, Beckham longed for the day when one of the spells he cast finally took effect.
He got his wish after performing a Grecian ritual calling out to the beyond. After weeks of trying, something finally responded to him. The melody playing in his head sounded like a song. No… a hymn? It tugged at his very core, demanding he come to an exact location on the map. Trusting his inner intuition, he packed up his things. While in a huge rush to leave, he accidentally knocked over a tarot deck on the table. Out of the seventy eight, only two cards were faced up. The Chariot, which signifies the importance of staying focused and to follow a clear path. And the Hermit, representing inner light. If that wasn’t a sign, he didn’t know what else to believe. So Beckham got on the next train to New York, where he fully believed the real magic would be.
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zeke looked between the two versions of the man, his head tilting slightly as he took a second to figure out which one had actually spoken. His eyes moved over the illusion before settling on the real one. There was something almost unsettling about seeing the two of them standing there, identical enough that he had to consciously remind himself which one was real. "Huh." Not a sound of confusion, but of subdued wonder. "After all I've learned this week, this being a shock is actually reassuring." Meant that he hadn't fully fallen into the deep end of all that was going on.
He took the offered hand and gave it a firm shake. "Zeke. Ezekiel, technically, but nobody really calls me that unless I'm in trouble." His eyes shifted to the illusion again for a second, wanting to see if anything had changed. "How much focus does keeping that up take?" He moved to where the other had come from. Seeing the dust on the top shelf disturbed, he reached for it before pausing. His eyes dropped briefly toward Beckham before a small grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Need help, or do you want to show the bookshelf who's boss yourself?"
Never would Beckham imagine he’d be able to achieve such miraculous feats of sorcery in under a night. Before, he could barely cause the lights to flicker in his apartment after casting a spell. Even then, he had to double check whether that was a result of a power outage from a storm or him simply forgetting to pay the electricity bill. He’d never thought all it’d take was one strange yet incredibly fascinating dream to awaken a slumbering power deep within him. “I’ve heard the others began manifesting interesting abilities themselves. I didn’t want to be left behind, so I started practicing.” He explained, admittedly proud of his work. The illusion was an exact copy of himself, albeit immobile and silent.
A soft but audible yelp escaped him at the firm handshake. “Wow, that’s some grip.” He mused, unsure whether to be intimidated or turned on by the small feat of almost otherworldly physical strength. “Pleased to meet you, Zeke. You have a very lovely name.” Beckham remarked with his signature smile and friendly disposition. “Doesn’t take much focus, actually. I got the idea after researching Indian jadoowallahs a few nights ago, and he just kind of… manifested into existence.” A grateful nod was then given at the other man’s offer to help. “By all means! I’m not quite sure I’m ready to practice levitation just yet. Seems to be out of my level of expertise.” Besides, who didn’t want to watch a tall handsome fellow perform an act of chivalry?
"You're welcome! Nobody should walk around on an empty stomach you know? Besides they are too good not to share with people." Caleb beamed and practically vibrated when Beckham called him his pal. Caleb loved making new friends and he seemed to be running into so many people lately that he just felt so connected with. "Let's be pals! I promise to share my food with you!"
Caleb canted his head into Beckham's touch at the corner of his mouth, not at all a stranger from physical touch, and never one to shy away from it. It was just a ways of being friendly after all. "I'm Caleb and yep yep I am a firefighter." Caleb flexed his arms with a laugh making the biceps bulge to emphasize that he could carry anyone out of a burning building if he needed to. "Yeah you think I'm cute? You're dashing yourself Beckham!"
Without a second thought he hooked his arm with Beckham's arm so they could walk together. "Let's go together!"
Already, he could feel himself naturally gravitating towards Caleb the more time they spent together. The blonde possessed an infectious smile and magnetic personality. But there was also something else. A force Beckham wasn’t able to fully explain. One thing was certain, he felt safe by Caleb’s side. “I’d love to be pals!” He replied way too eagerly, resulting in a small blush tainting his cheeks. “I don’t have many friends here in the city. O-or in general.” Beckham admitted with a nervous chuckle.
Watching Caleb flex his bulging bicep, he suddenly felt like a magpie attracted to a shiny treasure. It was a crime not to look for at least a solid minute. Every inch of him was magnificent, akin to those male models in the underwear section of department stores where Beckham first had his gay awakening. “I think you’re drop dead gorgeous, if I’m being honest. I’m surprised you aren’t followed by an entourage and paparazzi.” Beckham finally managed to avert his gaze after a while and focus back on the trail. Staring was rude, after all. He bashfully smiled at the compliment. “I like to take care of myself. Great for when cute guys are talking to me.”
Arm latched around Caleb, they continued straight ahead. “So are you originally from here? I came all the way from up north in Massachusetts. I still don’t know what came over me.”
The library in this house contained books Beckham never even heard of before. They looked so much older than the ones at the university, written in languages he’d need several decades to decipher properly. He spent most of the last few days there, absorbing any information available that may provide answers to his countless questions. Very little has been revealed to him thus far, but Beckham was determined to uncover what seemed to be relentlessly kept a secret.
On his tippy toes, he desperately attempted to reach for a book on the top shelf. Unsuccessful even after a long period of trying, he heard somebody talking on the other side and decided to investigate. Beckham couldn’t help but chuckle a bit when he noticed a fellow house resident speaking to his illusion sitting at one of the tables. He cleared his throat to capture the stranger’s attention. “I'm sorry, but he isn’t real.” The mage in training claimed with a polite smile. “I’ve learned to create a copy of myself a few days back. But I could never figure out how to make him move or talk. At least not yet.” Extending his arm, he offered a hand to shake. “I’m Beckham, by the way. The genuine article, too.”
location: brownstone house
closed starter for: @followthatstormbronte
It wasn't the first time Beckham shared a living space with strangers. In fact, he spent most of his whole life in a cramped room with multiple boys up until the age of eighteen. Though only fairly recent, he was fortunate enough to afford his own tiny apartment. Now, he was to hand over that small semblance of privacy once more as his quest to find the truth resumed. A small price to pay, in his opinion. Especially when he was in a house filled with such decadent men.
Being part of the few who were last to arrive, he wandered around to find just about every room already occupied. Beckham was ready to call it a day and take the couch when particularly one of the current residents caught his attention. A tall and handsome brunette, with eyes that shamed even the clearest of blue skies. Seeing a bed beside him currently vacant, he mustered up the courage to approach and knock on the door. “Hey.” Beckham flashed a polite smile and awaited permission before entering. “Mind if I stay with you? I promise I’m neat and organized. You wouldn’t even know I’m here.” He assured him, squeezing one of the straps of his backpack nervously.
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Caleb happily handed over one of his hotdogs to the other with a bright smile and nod of his head. Enthusiastic to have a new friend. "Yeah? You do!? You don't think it's crazy? I mean wherever I decided to go in the city I just end up back here." Not that Caleb didn't like the park he was quite content to wander the green space that seemed to stretch further than he expected. "Are you looking for someone or something specific? Or are you just wandering till you find it?"
Wiping his hand on his pants he held it out for the other man to take. "Caleb! My name is Caleb, but I guess I don't mind being called Goldilocks if you want? In the fire house they call me Fridge because I can empty a fridge so at least yours is kinda nicer than that." he said with a laugh. "What about you? What's your name? Um. Mr. Handsome. Guy." Caleb laughed and shrugged his shoulders. He was never good at making up nickname anyway.
"We can do left or right I guess. Or through the middle. Hmm I don't think it really matters do you?"
Almost immediately, Beckham beamed when offered one of the several hotdogs in the stranger’s hands. It looked so damn juicy too, and with the right amount of condiments. “Thanks so much!” He took a bite and felt his eyes roll back in sheer bliss. If memory serves, Beckham hadn’t eaten since he got on the bus. The insistent melody playing in his head outweighed just about any human need or impulse. Beckham practically forgot he was starving until now. “Gosh, you really are a pal.” He mused, giddily chomping away. Folks were so much nicer here than in his hometown.
Beckham did a little dance after finishing his hotdog. It was just the energy boost he needed to continue on his quest. He was grateful to have met the tall handsome blonde along the way. Perhaps the universe was looking out for him after all. “Nice to meet you. I’m Beckham.” He laughed at the nickname supposedly given to Caleb by his coworkers. “Oh, really? So you’re a firefighter, I assume?” That certainly explained his impressive physique and burly stature. “And don’t worry, I think you’re a lot cuter than a fridge.” He smiled bashfully and used a thumb to gently wipe the ketchup stain on the corner of Caleb’s lips.
“I actually think we should go straight…” Beckham couldn’t explain the sensation entirely, but the hymn was pulling him towards that direction. “Come with me?”
There it was again. The hymn. Tugging at the strings of his very core towards a direction he had no idea even existed. Beckham wasn’t sure what awaited him should he decide to follow. In fact, he was still fairly certain somebody slipped some sort of recreational drug into his tumbler earlier as a prank. That would be a far easier explanation than a possible otherworldly being answering the call he made to the great beyond. Part of him wished he never read aloud the damn spell. He’s heard stories of people who made contact with eldritch entities. However, they usually involved unconventional methods like sensory deprivation tanks or human sacrifices. Not a generic looking spell from a dusty book.
He decided to ignore it at first, going about his day as usual and filing away some documents. But the longer he pretended not to hear the melody inside his head, the louder the calling seemed to get. No matter how many menial tasks he took on during his shift to distract himself, the hymn remained ever so present. Playing an almost haunting yet inviting tune Beckham found difficult to ignore with each passing second. Eventually, he let out a sigh so loud even a typical unseen nobody like himself attracted the attention of several passersby. The throbbing curiosity inside his head must be satiated like a relentless itch needing a good scratching. Only in this case, Beckham had to drop everything and blindly follow whatever is beckoning for him to come.
And so he did. Excusing himself early from work wasn’t an issue. Beckham never called out, as he didn’t have anything else to do during the day and money was tight. His boss was rather surprised he decided to finally use some paid time off, but ultimately agreed. He immediately rushed back to his apartment and tried to salvage whatever cash was stored in mason jars or underneath couch cushions. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t find much. Most of his pay check went to rent and bills. Barely anything was left for groceries, let alone a savings account. Luckily, he had enough to at least get on a bus headed south. That seemed to be the direction the hymn was pulling him towards.
Whilst seated on the bus, Beckham couldn’t help but wonder if he was making an idiotic decision. Was he really going to drop everything and follow a mysterious summons urging him to follow? A deep breath as he attempted to quell the storm of thoughts ravaging his brain. He remembered the tarot cards that fell face up moments prior. The Hermit insisted he trust his gut. Abide by his innermost instincts and not listen to the opinions of others. A trait Beckham developed over the years as he relied solely on himself. Then the Chariot assured him he was headed in the right direction. Simply continue on the path and he’ll get there eventually. He glanced at the deck bulging from his right pocket. He’s never taken them very seriously before. Now they’re serving as his single guide to the unknown. He need only have faith. Or so he hoped, at least.
Beckham settled on his seat and reclined a bit to catch some sleep. The hymn was a lot less insistent now. As if he’s satisfied its needs for the time being. A small smile graced his face. Heavy eyelids finally fell to a close as he drifted off to a peaceful slumber. Visions of strange objects appeared in his dreams. Goblets, rods, blades, coins. Then there were figures. A crowned couple. A man suited in magnificent armor. Even a dark hooded figure wielding a long harvesting scythe. The deck was speaking to him again, giving him a glimpse of what’s to come. He awoke suddenly by a gentle nudge on his shoulder by the bus driver. Apparently, he’s arrived in New York City.
"Well shit. I'll be." It wasn't like Caleb was some country bumpkin hick, he had lived in Sacramento for a long time now, he was used to navigating cities, though New York City was not like any he had ever been to before. Despite that, every twist, wrong turn and slight distraction ended him up just where he was supposed to be. Or it would be if you asked him. A flower shop where he smelled the most beautiful roses, stopped to pet a sweet little dog he was sure he would run into again and become best friends with, helped an old lady cross the street, stopped at not 1 but three hotdog stands and got two hotdogs from each one because he had to compare them all obviously. All this to say, he had ended up on the fringe of the park, the only really significant greenspace in the city.
He looked up and down, across the skyline that broke atop the trees. It was like an oasis in the concrete. "You know. I wanted to come her but I didn't know I wanted to come here, but I really feel like I needed to be here." he said out loud as he held three and a half hotdogs in his hands turning to the person next to him. "Wanna have a hotdog and go for a walk? I don't know what I am looking for but I am sure we can find it. Probably. Maybe it's ducks."
The city was noisy, far more than the one Beckham grew up in. There were so many people and cars, he could get lost here simply from turning the wrong corner. Luckily, modern technology and his own arcane intuition prevented such a disaster from occurring. He found Central Park easily enough. A large spread of lush greenery away from the concrete maze of buildings and skyscrapers. It was a lot quieter there. Serene, even. Beckham decided to go for a tranquil stroll along the various trails before continuing his search.
He didn't miss the tall burly blonde who suddenly struck up a conversation with him. Still getting used to people noticing him, he flashed an awkward smile before responding. "Believe me, I know what you mean." Beckham laughed and nodded at the offer for a hot dog. He'd never turn down a fat sausage, especially from a handsome stranger. Would he live to regret those words? Possibly, but no harm done in making a friend in the mean time. But just to be sure... he swiftly dug into the contents of his pockets and fished out a single card. The Ace of Wands. How ironic. As if he needed another reason to succumb to his lust. "Do you happen to have a name? Or will Goldilocks suffice?" He teased, grinning playfully.
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