Positions of authority often attract those who would make use of them, for good or for ill.
[Michael isn't lumping himself in among those types of people, of course. He didn't seek to be leader of Heaven, he was created to serve as such. Those times are well past him anyway.
He tilts his head. Wanda's clever, though she does sometimes fall to emotion as humans are wont to do.]
About Josselyn? Threats of violence against her, a few curses. What one might expect after—
[Michael stops short. A complex sequence of expressions pass over his face: dread, chagrin, flat resignation. As if summoned by talk of the scrying bowl, there's something small and many-legged crawling around on the back of his tongue. Keeping his mouth shut isn't really an option without abruptly ending their discussion, though he briefly considers it.
He parts his lips and, in no great hurry, a jumping spider crawls out from the corner of his mouth. It pauses, turns a few degrees clockwise, then makes its way down to the middle of his chin, where it pauses again to consider its next move.
It's hard to be discreet or dignified about mouth-birthing a live arachnid, but Michael tries. He reaches up and scoops it away, careful not to crush the spider as he traps it in a closed fist.]
Let it be known that some rituals are not without consequences.
[He's very much hoping his condition is related to his recent offering to the Old Gods, at any rate—and that it's temporary.]
no subject
[Michael isn't lumping himself in among those types of people, of course. He didn't seek to be leader of Heaven, he was created to serve as such. Those times are well past him anyway.
He tilts his head. Wanda's clever, though she does sometimes fall to emotion as humans are wont to do.]
About Josselyn? Threats of violence against her, a few curses. What one might expect after—
[Michael stops short. A complex sequence of expressions pass over his face: dread, chagrin, flat resignation. As if summoned by talk of the scrying bowl, there's something small and many-legged crawling around on the back of his tongue. Keeping his mouth shut isn't really an option without abruptly ending their discussion, though he briefly considers it.
He parts his lips and, in no great hurry, a jumping spider crawls out from the corner of his mouth. It pauses, turns a few degrees clockwise, then makes its way down to the middle of his chin, where it pauses again to consider its next move.
It's hard to be discreet or dignified about mouth-birthing a live arachnid, but Michael tries. He reaches up and scoops it away, careful not to crush the spider as he traps it in a closed fist.]
Let it be known that some rituals are not without consequences.
[He's very much hoping his condition is related to his recent offering to the Old Gods, at any rate—and that it's temporary.]