Re: Capital: Misha/Damian/Jason
"I ain't tough. That's the funniest thing anyone ever did say. I reckon we're kin, kind of, in some real weird and temporary way." Misha was, as stated before, real new to the concept of families. He didn't know what to expect from Damian 'round his brother, but he found he wasn't real surprised by this. He had enough experience with Damian being ornery, and he reckoned the boy was maybe embarrassed some. Not necessarily by the situation any, not specific, but by the boy in pink. Misha knew being into boys was one thing, but being into real out boys, that was a whole 'nother thing entirely, and no way there was any hiding what Misha was. He could hide the wings and the insanity plenty, and he could even hide not being sure Damian was real a whole lot, but he couldn't be what he wasn't. That's the thing that had been getting Misha in trouble since young, and it was the one thing Misha couldn't seem to do lick 'bout. Course, maybe there was an element of paranoia to it, seeing as that medicine was still swirling doubts 'round the boy's veins. But paranoia, it wouldn't be paranoia any if he came hand in hand with logic.
His fingers flexed 'gainst Damian's when the boy stamped his phone to nothing, and Misha nodded real agreeable when Damian said he was going to get himself a drink. He didn't ask for a thing for himself, though he did lean closer some to Damian for just a real small bit, a reassuring lean of shoulders and real lanky body.
Jason, he got one more look, and this one hovered longer. There was something 'bout the boy, and Misha was having a real hard time not reaching for his Grace to see what it was.
Misha let go of Damian's fingers, and he went on to find someplace with enough room for all of them to sit. He chose a couch and chair, cornered up against each other and empty save for some old water stains on the table in front of them. And Misha, he sat himself down on the couch. He crossed his legs up on the cushion, like he was a whole lot younger than his already young years, and he didn't pay a whole lot of attention to Dorian Gray coming to a close. Instead, he scanned the room with pale blue, looking for someone with a guitar he might convince to be real generous. That barstool under lights was going to become vacant real soon, and Misha reckoned singing might make him feel less of the worry that had come on real fast.