I Want to see Your Animal Side

This blog is no longer active, and will be deleted in the nearish future. Micah can now be found over on @misfitpuzzlepieces. All threads will be moved there, along with anything else.

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Verses -- for plotting

Micah leans against a tree, watching the wind ruffle the leaves. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks, fading into the night. He smirks faintly at nothing in particular, the shadows stretching long across the empty park path. A loose newspaper flutters past, catching on a fence post a few inches from his tree, and he lets it go with a lazy flick of his wrist.

Somewhere nearby, the soft crunch of footsteps echoes across the gravel. Micah tilts his head, listening. The breeze shifts, carrying scents of damp grass and distant exhaust fumes. He exhales slowly, letting the quiet stretch, the kind of silence that makes the night feel just a little too aware of itself.

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The bar wasn’t crowded, but it was noisy—exactly the kind of place Micah liked to haunt. Low lighting, cheap drinks, and secrets bleeding off the walls like bad wallpaper.

Micah leaned against the stone wall, hidden in the shadow of a crumbling warehouse on the edge of town. Smoke curled lazily from the cigarette between his fingers — chewed at the end, purely for habit. His coat flapped in the chill wind like a banner no one wanted to claim.

When the footsteps neared, he didn’t bother to flinch. He just sighed like the universe had once again failed to surprise him. How intensely boring. “You’re either incredibly bad at tailing someone… or incredibly bold about not caring if I see you.”

Micah twirled the coin between his fingers—slow, deliberate, all mischief and calculation. “You can say no, of course. People always think they can. But eventually, everyone asks themselves the same thing.”

He leaned in, tone almost conspiratorial. "‘What if he’s right?’”

A pause.

The demon sat in a circle of his own design, fingers stained with ash and something older. Candles flickered in time with his breathing — too steady for someone normal, too casual for someone innocent.

Micah didn’t look up right away. He just kept humming under his breath, something low and ancient. Whatever was in the air felt like the moment before a lightning strike.

Then he smiled.

“There’s a prophecy. I know, I know — I hate them, too. But this one’s interesting. See, most people think it’s about a war. Big, flashy. Horsemen, trumpets, you know the drill.”

He finally looked up, eyes gleaming. “But they’re wrong. It’s about a decision. One very stupid, very human decision. One person tips the whole scale.”

Micah was leaned back in the chair like it owed him rent, legs kicked up on a table that wasn’t his. “Don’t worry, I didn’t touch anything important. Unless your definition of important includes your liquor, your spell book, or whatever the hell that was under the bed.”