Re: quicklog: micah & elena & npcs
The dimmed lights, the candles flickering on the table, Micah saw it all for what it was meant for: comfort. People let their guard down when they were comfortable, and he had done that more than once himself, but not here. He'd stay, he'd listen, he might even participate a little. But he wasn't going to let his guard down - not yet. There were too many opportunities for words to come back to harm him later on, and for now, even as he traveled the doors and saw worlds that weren't his, he was cautious and careful. He had learned his lesson once, after all.
He listened to the stories as they were told, glancing now and then towards the leader of the meeting, subdued in colour and attitude, and as one talked about hospital visits and the like, Micah rose to his feet, carefully skirting the shadows of the room to get a cup of coffee. No cream, no sugar, black and hot, and when he sat again, it was a little closer, one leg crossed over the other. When things quieted and faces turned a little to see who was going to speak next, Micah cleared his throat, face turned down towards his coffee.
"I'm Michael," he started, the Irish brogue impossible to hide, identifying in a way he hadn't quite learned to conceal. But he continued on, a few words to offer as discomfort bubbled up with the question he was asking himself of what in the hell was he doing there. "Some things happened a couple years back. A party. Everyone was fucked up." He paused, swallowing the words down thick and bitter against his tongue. "And I hurt someone at that party. I didn't mean to, and I wouldn't have had I not been messed up. And apparently I'm rather horrid at apologising even when I'm sincerely sorry. I've got to live with what I did, that mistake, and it's painted me a different person than I ever meant to be." It was truth that rang in his words, even as he said them, and after a moment of silence, he cleared his throat again and took a sip of coffee, done for the moment.