Re: Manor: Damian/Misha
[Misha found most folks didn't see beauty where he did, and he reckoned that was normal as could be. He saw the world as an outsider mostly. He'd spent ten years living mortal as a child, but the next decade, formative as it was, hadn't been spent in the company of humans any. By the time Misha had decided to flee Heaven, he'd lost his own humanity some. It could be said he found it in New York, excepting for the fact that it never was his any, not really. Misha wasn't human, and he reckoned he loved humanity on account of that. He loved the filthy imperfection of it, and he loved the fragility of it, and he loved the way the boy beside him tipped his chin up sullen.
Damian wanted to be perfect, but Misha reckoned the boy in the red hoodie was perfect just how he was.
When the boy in red went asking after Misha's mother, Misha moved slow. He wasn't running any, but the story was a hard one some, and Misha sat on Damian's bed. Back to the headboard and long legs leading to crossed ankles, Misha talked calm but sad.] She was in a asylum from the time I was born. It's this real bad place in Kentucky. I hear tell they cleaned it up since. She killed herself when I was ten. I was born there, and I was in foster care real near, and I got to see her weekly. She was pretty as a picture. She had real long blonde hair and eyes bright like marbles. My daddy only came on account of her being dead.