bad luck boy

[mendable]

[ Mika's no stranger to misfortune following him. It comes with being a bad omen, the proof in his disgusting, mismatched eyes. He's known ever since he was little that no matter what he did, bad luck would be all he brought to everyone around him. He doesn't think poorly of anyone for not wanting to be near him; that only makes sense when he's the cause of every bad thing that happens, the well running dry, a fox getting into the henhouse, the dry, rattling cough that had swept through his tiny, backwater village that winter. Avoiding him is just a matter of course, and Mika's used to the way everyone in the tiny town goes out of their way to avoid crossing his path, how even his own parents don't want him to look at them with his ominous gaze.

So when the man from the royal court wandered through, offering to pay a fortune in food and coin to bring Mika back with him, Mika wasn't surprised that his parents and the whole village leapt at the chance to be rid of him. He doesn't blame them; at least this way, he can do some good for his home, even if, as his dad had told him, looming over him while he packed a bundle of his few belongings, the most good he was doing was by not being there anymore.

He hadn't complained. His dad was right, even if he couldn't understand why anyone would pay for him. It wasn't like he was strong or smart or good at anything except causing trouble.

Which is why he's been bundled off, by armed escort no less, to the royal capital. Mika has no idea why. He can't imagine that the royal family would actually want a bad omen anywhere near them, but asking questions of the stern soldiers and the far-too-enthusiastic scholar who'd come with them was beyond what Mika's courage could muster. All he can think is that he's somehow managed to cause misfortune even farther afield than his village, and now he's been sent for to be dealt with.

It certainly feels like he's awaiting judgment, anyway, with the way he's been scrubbed and dressed in clothes that cost more than he's ever seen in his life, made presentable and led to the throne room between two more rows of the unsmiling, stoic royal guard. Every step he takes is a nightmare. He can feel everyone's eyes on him, pressing in around him, his mind going blank with a dull sort of horror as they keep staring. The whispering from the crowd of courtiers is a dull roar in his ears, drowning out his frantic, racing thoughts. One of the guards prods him into taking another step, and then Mika can see the prince — the prince, tall and noble and beautiful, sitting on his throne on the dais, and Mika feels every one of his limbs lock up in startled terror.

Hastily, he ducks his head, trying to get his bangs to fall in his face, praying that the prince hadn't seen him looking, that somehow, some way, he can keep the prince from seeing his gross, creepy eyes. He's shaking, he realizes dimly, his hands clutching at the fine clothes he's in, the fabric bunched up, getting wrinkled, he thinks with dismay. All he wants to do is turn and run before he gives any of his bad luck to the shining, pristine figure of the prince, but he knows he won't make it more than a foot before he's caught. All he can do is stand there, gaze desperately fixed on the floor, hoping that whatever judgment is to be handed out, whatever punishment he's about to be given, will be over soon.

Mika's so lost to the drowning swell of fear that he doesn't even hear the prince speaking to him. ]