“What’s happened?” She repeated before her breath caught in her throat. She shook her head, lips parted, while her eyes turned to the ceiling, trying to sift through everything that happened since her return so she could find a way to answer, yet not answer, the question. “Micah, I didn’t go on a Sunday trip to Rome, I got kidnapped. So, obviously I’m going to need a little time to readjust to this life of open windows and prada shoes.”
You know that’s not what I mean. *His voice is somewhere in the middle of sharp and upset, and he gives her a look that manages to be both pleading and frustrated at the same time.*
You know, better than most people, that I know things aren’t going to get better fast. You know I empathise. You know I don’t have a choice. *The fingers of his left hand uncurl from the fist they’d been clenched into and then curl again. She does know, or at least she should. Micah, more than anyone, can understand what she’s going through; his Sight won’t let him even pretend that he doesn’t. He hugged Kai when he and Henry ran to find him in Hogsmede when they heard he was back, and his hands were still shaking days afterwards.*
I mean Nerissa. I mean the fact that you’re back, you’re alive and walking and talking and going to classes, but you’re avoiding one of your best friends. One of our best friends. And I don’t know for sure if it’s hurting you, but I’m pretty sure it’s hurting her, and I want to know why.
*He loses some of his bravado, shoulders slumping a little, and his voice gets soft.*
Please tell me why. I want to fix it, if I can. *He wants to fix something, and if he’s not going to have any success doing so when it comes to his Sight, he might as well try and fix the fissure in his friendship group.*
“I’m telling you, this is the best cocoa you are ever going to taste. Secret recipe. It looks like it’s going to snow and you’ve got to be prepared with something to warm you up. Just try it.” Johanna grinned, holding out a cup of hot cocoa that had, along with the rest of the cups, been spiked with truth potion courtesy of Roxanne. It was time to start getting answers and this was the perfect opportunity. Besides, it was practically impossible to prove something like this was spiked, right? She couldn’t imagine this would put her job or Esme’s business at risk.
*He takes the cup with a brief smile, glancing between it and Johanna.*
Thank you. Is Esme going to come down later, or is it just you today?
You have to talk to me. I don’t understand what’s going on. You’re back, and things should be okay, but you and Nerissa aren’t talking and I don’t understand what’s going on. What’s happened?
When did you get those? Why didn’t you tell me? Who did them? If I rub your arms will they read my fortune?
I got them finished last weekend. And I...you’ve seemed so busy, lately. *Busy with Alex, busy mourning Artemis, busy not talking to Rhea since she returned. Nerissa’s been off for weeks, and he’d talk to her about it if she wasn’t always so preoccupied.*
There’s a tattoo artist who works out of the shop three doors down from Nott Scorpions; Charlie Haversham? She did them for me.
*Smiling wryly* Not any more than they did before. But if I do a proper Reading for you they’ll colour if they apply to what I See. I could show you, but I don’t have my actual tarot cards with me right now.
Nothing, nothing, I promise. Just thought you looked a little … like you might want some company
*Micah deflates, and offers Rhys a wry, apologetic smile.*
Sorry. I suppose I’m just...anticipating the reaction I’ll get from my parents. And taking it out on everyone else. I didn’t mean to.
*Micah likes Rhys, likes that the nice, sweet outside matches everything he’s ever Seen about him; and he likes that Rhys has taken his own curse and not let it turn him into someone bitter and terrible.*
*Not that he’s ever clued Rhys in on the fact he knows, but.*
...that would be nice. I was just going to see Esme; she’s been experimenting, and she promised I could be her taste-tester. *She’s being trying to help him, he knows, make him more like his old self again, which he both appreciates and hates; but he struggles when it comes to saying no to her cupcakes.*
It’s better than them being completely unaware. It starts conversations and gets them researching what they didn’t care about before even if it’s to prove me wrong. Even the ones who don’t look at it beyond thinking it’s fiction, fans are going to memorize and debate every detail and one day it might come in use.
No kidding? You’ll have to introduce me then. I’ve done some reading about her. She’s in my script.
It is. It’s a burden sometimes. Thank you for realizing. So few people appreciate it. It’s my pleasure to do all I can for my fans of course, but it’s nice to be understood.
Does that mean you’re a Seer too?
Maybe. I think I might just have gotten cynical. *He smiles sheepishly*
*He turns a little cautious at that, studies Noah warily* ...you’re doing her justice, right? I know she comes off a little...loopy, but that doesn’t make her Sight any less real. ...I think she’d like that, though. I know she was quite fond of Harry Potter; offering another view of his time at Hogwarts might make her happy.
*He smiles briefly* I don’t think lots of people try to understand other peoples’ burdens. Then again, I can’t really help the empathy. *The last part is dry, a personal joke, and his smile widens momentarily.*
*Hesitating for a moment before nodding.* Yes. I started giving prophesies almost a year ago. *Smiling* Though anyone with a real penchant for astrology could tell you what’s wrong with the horoscopes.
*The remark pulls him out of where he’d been staring down a no longer quite as nosey fifth year, and he glances over at Vic before a frown spreads across his face.* …I definitely wasn’t talking to you. I don’t think I know you. *Not that he’d need to know someone to be off put by their staring, but the comment feels necessary anyway.* Did I disturb you? Sorry.
Originally posted by bwipsul
When who were you conversing with? The voices? Is that what children nowadays think is cool? You didn’t disturb me necessarily but… it’s odd. And it’s my job to remark oddities. Sort of.
*His frown deepens, and he gestures at the Fifth year - who also looks somewhat confused now - before replying.* …I was talking to Hamish? What kind of job do you have? *Six months ago, the ‘do you make the rest of them up too?’ would have come out thoughtlessly, with Micah oblivious to how rude it would be; but now, Micah bites back the remark, leaving it at the inquiry about her job.* *He wonders whether it’s something Divination related, if she Reads odd events to find the meaning in them, and visibly perks up at the internal notion.*
*He’d pushed up his sleeves to combat the brief stretch of warm weather they’d been having; only to draw attention with the exposure of his finally completed sleeve.* *His shoulders hunch defensively at the staring.* What?
*The question makes her lift her eyes from the book she is reading. It is a wonder she found some time to read, but she is enjoying the warm weather on a bench regardless.* Who are you talking to? Yourself? Sorry, I did not mean to interrupt.
*The remark pulls him out of where he'd been staring down a no longer quite as nosey fifth year, and he glances over at Vic before a frown spreads across his face.* ...I definitely wasn’t talking to you. I don't think I know you. *Not that he'd need to know someone to be off put by their staring, but the comment feels necessary anyway.* Did I disturb you? Sorry.
Roundabout? I don’t plan on being roundabout. Everyone who sees it will be made aware and they’re going to hold onto it more than a dozen speeches or every redacted book coming back on the shelves. How do you make people care about history? You make it about a personal story, you give it a charismatic face and a little sparkle. You educate by entertaining.
Sorry for the assumption. You don’t believe in horoscopes, kid? Divination has some truth to it. I wouldn’t dismiss it all.
That they do, and anyone who decides to behave the least bit decently will find I’m not averse to signing them or taking a few new ones.
Let me clean these up and pay off the seller and I’ll give you all the horoscopes.
*Idly, picking up a magazine and fiddling with the edges, not really reading it.* Maybe. Lots of people who see it will think its exaggerated, or fabricated all together, and plenty of people will argue it’s just propaganda designed to foster conflict. But for some people it might genuinely make them care. It should certainly foster some interest, make more people interested and make them ask questions.
*He’s a little wary of the idea that entertainment really educates; there’s a reason you stop learning things through songs as you get older. The more complicated something is, the harder it is to learn through repetition and the use of rhythm. He doubts film is much better than songs are. But then he supposes he’s gotten a little cynical, lately.*
Sorry. I’m sure you’re right.
*He cocks his head at Noah, for a moment thinking it’s a joke.* ....they’re just usually very wrong, is all. I think I dismiss Divination far less than most other people; my Great Aunt is Sybil Trelawney, Divination professor at Hogwarts and Renowned Seer. *There’s a flash of pride he can’t quite smother when he talks about Sybil - eccentric though she may be - and his shoulders straighten a little.*
*Thoughtfully* That’s very nice. I imagine even having nice photos of you taken all the time can be a little tough to deal with. It’s nice you’re still willing to sign them for nice people.
*Brightening* Okay. I can tell you which ones are the most wrong and why, if you’d like.
*He'd pushed up his sleeves to combat the brief stretch of warm weather they'd been having; only to draw attention with the exposure of his finally completed sleeve.* *His shoulders hunch defensively at the staring.* What?
Magical tattoos being applied in a rather different way to traditional muggle ones, Micah has the sleeve of Tarot cards done over two weekends, with Strength, The Sun, The Empress and the shoulder piece (top right) being done on the first, and the rest done on the second, all inked carefully down his left arm with the exception of The Moon, which sits squarely between his shoulder blades.
He has joked to several people who have asked that they’re just late teenage rebellion, a tribute to his Seer heritage that also disappoints both his parents; but the ink for each card was mixed with a special kind of experimental focus potion he begged Kai Zhao make for him months ago, which triggers with a word and tap of his wand, and they are carefully charmed to react to his Sight when he Reads peoples’ fortunes, appropriate cards colouring during a Reading; with the exception of the Moon card, which heats up.
All the card are interconnected and bordered by vines and little flowers, designed in a similar style to the shoulder piece, which bloom and wilt depending on Micah’s mood; a last tribute to the element he loves so much but has lost almost all of his connection to.
Card meanings and unique features below:
Strength: Power, energy, action, courage, magnanimity; also complete success and honours.
Where traditionally the woman leads or subdues a lion, Micah’s tattoo features a wolf, in tribute to the vision of the Leicester massacre that still plagues some of his worst nightmares. He likes to associate the woman in the card with Norah, and when the card colours on a Reading the hair and eyes match Norah’s. It sits on the inside of his wrist, over his pulse and the major veins and arteries there.
The Sun: Material happiness, fortunate marriage, contentment.
This card is one of the only ones unaltered, and sits half hidden on the inside of his bicep. He left it to be done last, erred over whether to switch the design for the Ace of Cups instead; but in the end stuck with his original choice, deciding that even if it didn’t relate back to his parents any more, he could keep it as an eventual wish for himself.
The Hermit: Prudence, circumspection; also and especially treason, dissimulation, roguery, corruption.
This card sits on the outside of his bicep, just above his elbow. Where the Hermit is usually depicted as an old man, in this tattoo it is instead an old woman, drawn to look at least a little bit like Sybil Trelawney. Despite the less favourable meanings that can be attributed to the card, Micah wished to frame her as a Sage - another, older name for the card - while also keeping her there as a warning to be careful, both in who he shares his Sight with and how he acts on the things he Sees.
Death: End, mortality, destruction, corruption.
A far more bleak warning than The Hermit, Death is inked at the crease of Micah’s elbow, hidden whenever his arm isn’t straight, and just above Strength. The only colour that comes into this card is blue and purple and red, dark as the meaning that comes with it; but he felt it was necessary, important to keep himself and those who might ask for a Reading to know that it is always a possibility. He is acutely aware that he is not the bubbly, naive fifteen year old he was any more, and is desperate never to become that naive again.
Wheel of Fortune: Destiny, fortune, success, elevation, luck, felicity.
Everyone can use a little bit of luck. This tattoo sits between The Sun and The Hermit, on the front of his arm, and has the most colours to it when a Reading calls for it.
The Empress: Fruitfulness, action, initiative, length of days; the unknown, clandestine; also difficulty, doubt, ignorance.
He talked to Marlo Cintra at length when tweaking the design of this one. When she is in colour, the Empress’ hair is golden blonde, and her eyes are very clearly blue. The smile on her face is nearly a smirk; and, he thinks at least, she looks very like Evie. This card is the most obvious, on the outside of his forearm, and since having it inked he’s taken to holding his arm, palm pressed to this card in particular, for comfort.
The Tower: Misery, distress, indigence, adversity, calamity, disgrace, deception, ruin. It is a card in particular of unforeseen catastrophe.
Inked on the side of his forearm, on the side usually facing behind him, between Strength and The Empress; because the women those particular, heartening cards act as tribute to have both been touched by the kind of thing The Tower card divines. Henry drew this one for him, and he was very pleased with the result.
On his back, The Moon: Hidden enemies, danger, calumny, darkness, terror, deception, occult forces, error.
Though he can’t know the true meaning of this tattoo reacting when he does a Reading for someone, he didn’t feel comfortable having it in an obvious place, in case the person whose fortune he Reads is familiar with tarot cards. Besides; Henry said it looked cool as Heck, dramatic black ink on his back bordered by vines and leaves and lilies.
*He whips around, ready to lose it on the kid, the final straw of sarcasm that would be a tipping point–that he’d already admittedly reached at the newspaper stand, but seeing just that, a kid and one who oozed innocence and already looked apologetic and was offering a olive branch as lame as it was, he lets out a puff of breath and just nods then replies delayed when he doesn’t sound about to kill.*
I haven’t made a movie in a few years but it hasn’t been that long and this next one is going to be big. What did you come up for? Do you want an autograph or were you just going to snap a picture of the meltdown?
*Gently, like talking to a particularly pissy cat.* I’m sure it will be. I’m sure a lot of people will go and see it, and in a roundabout way it might foster some awareness of what happened. I think those magazines are stupid, anyway. Not that the Prophet is much better, but. *He shrugs*
*He frowns at the questions* ...I was just going to look through the horoscopes. They’re always good for a laugh.
Why would I want a picture of you mid-meltdown? You know they sell pictures of you that are actually nice, right? I imagine they’re nicer to own than one of you mid shout, or throwing around magazines.
“This is ridiculous!” He flung two of the magazines in his hand through the air, then started ripping up newspapers, heedless of what his temper tantrum looked like as he started quoting several different headlines. “Noah Sharpe Back in Rehab? Irresponsible Star Skips His Own Shoot: Trouble on the Set of Forgotten Wars Already? Noah Sharpe Kidnapping Hoax on page eight Co-Star Denyse Lapis opens up about Sharpe’s shocking history manipulating the press. Former Heartthrob, former, Flakes on Flop Film. Noah Sharpe Spotted in Rio Drinking His Weight in Tequila…..Noah Sharpe wishes! I spent two weeks trapped in a basement and nobody cared?! It’s just normal for me to disappear?! This is bullshit!”
I don’t think the public tantrum helps the argument none of those articles are true. Just so you’re aware.
*After a moment, because Noah seems pretty torn up about it specifically* But the ‘former’ heartthrob bit is just mean. You’re still very much a heartthrob. Or at least as far as I can tell. I don’t know what would make you ‘former’ other than like, old age, or some terrible deforming scar all across your face. And you’ve not had either of those happen to you. Have you?
There’s nothing I want, other than to make sure you’re okay. You don’t look so hot right now. Did you See something difficult, or is it, uh, personal? *voice gentle and kind like her eyes, still red from when she cried earlier upon hearing of the murders* You don’t have to tell me details, but you’re making me worry. You can just call me Raquel on unofficial business.
I didn’t See anything. *It comes out raw, miserable.* I See everything except, apparently, the things that are actually avoidable, that I could actually deal with.
*Muttering* The Sight is bullshit.
*Reluctantly* You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine. You look, um. Upset. Though. Did something happen?
“Hey, kid.” Raquel waved her hand in front of his face, grim expression softening in an attempt to reach him. “You’re Seora’s son, Micah.” She’s probably shouldn’t mention that Seora sent her a patronus asking her to keep an eye out for him.
*He blinks at the hand waving in his face, and then at the person connected to the hand, and stares at her blankly for a moment.*
I’m Micah. Is there something you wanted, Auror Parrela?
His family didn’t celebrate Christmas. Micah's family didn’t celebrate Christmas, despite how he loved taking part in giving presents, despite how much he adored the colours and the weather and the jovial spirit. His father had attended family Christmas parties once or twice, when he was a child and Micah's great grandmother was still alive to invite him. But over the years, and after three generations of Korean marriages into families that fluctuated between something like Taoism and strict atheism, it had fallen out of practice to put up a tree and hand out presents as a family. Only Micah felt the cruel edge to what was happening coming about now, at a time supposed to be about family. Only Micah had felt the extra, unpleasant kick when his parents had sat him down, and told him, gently, that they were separating, and if thing did not improve over the next six months, would file for divorce. No one needed the Sight to have seen it coming. Their marriage had started falling apart when Micah was five, and his first vision had been caused by him running into his mother's arms after she returned from a particularly unpleasant investigation. Micah didn’t need his Sight to know it was his fault. That if he'd been normal, things would have been fine. He'd apparated back to Hogsmede right after they'd told him, ignoring their half hearted protests, and had spent the last couple of days curled up in his dorm room; before he finally convinced himself to get up and out of school. Wandering Hogsmede didn’t seem to be helping, much, though; especially with the unusual way everyone seems to be acting, and the nagging thought that the patronuses his mother had sent and he'd ignored had been something other than a string of progressively more pleading requests for him to return home.
