Re: [Gala, Capital: Burden & Damian]
Indeed, Damian was being a shit some. It was as spiteful as it was, perhaps, frivolous—or better said, teasing—, though do not inform Damian of such. The effect it had and the reaction it elicited were both in the man's favor, and, as such, he would declare himself victorious, however dubious his achievement was. (After all, what had he achieved, but a fleeting sense of Burden's interest? It did not matter, he decided, save that it was, at its essence, a victory.) Burden smiled, and Damian could see the unholy pride painted heavily there. He was able to restrain himself from offering any expression in return, but it was a close thing. Once Damian issued the false promise of remaining nearby, he ceased to pay any heed to the man Benjamin Coltan, and, instead, he followed where Burden led.
Nothing was said in the brief interim of companionship, as they traveled as a pair toward the entrance of the museum. Damian remanded the time to replay what had only just occurred to himself and attempt to ascertain if there was further meaning in any of it.—When he and the boy arrived at the coat check, Damian did pass over his ticket, and awaited the retrieval of his outerwear with a thin, resonant sort of patience. It was only per social protocol, of course, that Burden offered to assist Damian into his own clothing that he required no assistance in getting into, and, so, it was only per social protocol that Damian agreed, yes? He turned his back to the boy, chin to shoulder so he might look backwards, and he slid his arms into the sleeves held aloft for him.
There was a moment of consideration, wherein Damian thought of whether or not he ought return the favor. He did not. Instead, he left his coat undone and slipped away from Burden, to head out of doors, and he waited just down the stairs, whether Burden followed immediately or after an interlude to dress himself. Now, however much Damian told himself this was nothing—and, obviously, it was—, too, he recognized he was feeling myriad sensations, especially in the pit of his stomach. (It felt as if something weighty had occurred, whether he wished it to or not.) For once, he had not the attention to spare even to disparage this failing in himself, as he was extracting a cigarette from the pocket of his coat and attempting to light it, all while his mind and nervous system experienced a mild breakdown. Indeed, he fumbled the cigarette and he watched it roll uselessly upon the ground, its few embers whisking away in the night's breeze. This, as much as the continued, remembered sensation of Burden standing too near to him, felt as a betrayal, and Damian stepped upon the cigarette with a hard press of his heel.