Micah wanted to quip that it was his luck that he would never be lucky enough to simply fade. He would probably end up one of the spirits seemingly chained to this earth, or his soul would find itself in another body after a lifetime or two. But he kept such thoughts quiet because it was dark to think so calmly of one's death and afterlife. That, and most considered such talk to be borderline suicidal, which Micah was not, no matter how he came across at times or the tales his body told. He had not asked that vampire to tear out his vein and drink him dry, nor the werewolf to get carried away and try to sever his spine. Micah didn't need to go looking for death as it would happily come to him if he opened himself to it.
Instead of speaking his eyes followed his brother, head cocking to one side almost curiously as Gideon began to clean up. A tiny smile crossed his face and Micah lightly shook his head, speaking as he turned to light one of his brother's cigarettes. "Leave it. The servants need something to do. I'll say that I did it. It's practically expected of me to have tantrums, after all." His eyes closed as he took a deep inhale, holding the smoke in his lungs past the point where a mortal would cough and then slowly exhaling in a stream of grey. Tobacco was an idle comfort and smoking something he did more around the others than ever on his own. Another drag and his gaze was catching on the shard of glass his brother held. The tip of his tongue touched to his lip almost thoughtfully and then he was walking over to Gideon.
"Resigning yourself to your supposed fate doesn't make it better, or acceptable." He met his brother's eyes as he spoke, then turned his attention to the glass, reaching with his free hand to practically pluck it from Gideon's hands. "Careful. We don't need you getting cut or giving me ideas." It was meant to be a bit of a joke, and it might have managed if Micah's mind hadn't already been searching through memories, trying to find some past instance where broken glass had come into play somehow. He looked into his own eyes in the glass, narrowing to a glare, before he took a quick drag from the cigarette and tossed the glass lightly onto the pile of broken bits. "Living in fear is no way to live. Fear is how people are kept in line. Fear drives people to madness. I won't stand for it." Micah returned his gaze to Gideon, stare as serious as his voice. If it weren't for the fit -- okay, more like media circus and familial chaos -- that would be thrown, he would find a way to deal with this Cecily himself once and for all.