Re: [Outside the Masquerade]
Daddy. Damian would have spat at such a word. Lucifer, such as he was named, was a father only in chromosomal donation, and this was coming from Damian, who had been taught to put much stock in blood. But, he had learned these past months, that blood indeed meant very little, and it in no way indebted loyalty or worth. Lucifer was not fit to be called a father. He stacked beside Misha's foster father in Damian's mind, and that man, in spite of all of his evil, had had moments, yes? They were not worth what they had wrought, no, but they had existed and that would remain true. What had Lucifer done? He had walked out on the boy again. He could, in Damian's estimation, go fuck himself.
Damian hugged Misha, yes, and he kissed Misha, attempting to give comfort enacting this familiar ritual. He nuzzled his nose to the crook of Misha's chin, before lifting his own, so that Misha might kiss there. His eyes had slid closed, Damian's, and they opened now as fingers gathered at the angel's nape in bejeweled entanglement. "The party?" Damian offered the uncertain body language of a shrug. "It was fine. I had desired to see you."