Re: [In-person: Damian/Misha]
Damian was not the social sort. This behavior was atypical for him, because this was not a typical encounter. He stared at this man, Misha with a beard, watching with a closeness and intensity that most would find bothersome. He did not smile, nor seek to soften in any way the claim that he was bossy. He only lifted his chin, staring down the man with the firearm as he spoke of what he was interested in. His accent was Misha's. Had he come still from Kentucky? Who then would have raised him? He did not appear to be the kind boy who did not know if the angel feathers he shed were proof.—Damian did desire to ask, but even he understood such references to knowledge would incline someone of this make into action.
The lighter was taken with a tut, and Damian lit his own cigarette with fluid practice. He passed the device back to the man. "Are you not one of them?" He asked of this familiar stranger. "A folk who is not meant to be here." Damian's gaze moved over this Misha. He could claim knowledge—'you are an angel.'—but, again, he was fairly certain that would end with a knife to his throat or some such. He was not, however, overly interested in humoring this man, this shade, who would cease to exist come morning light. Damian took a drag on the cigarette. "Are you married?"