Re: [University: Damian & Misha]
[The angel's words were logical, sensical, and Damian mulled over them obviously. He knew he was not meant to believe people could change. Or, rather, the al Gols did not believe it. The Wainrights, that was Father's credo, that reformation was possible, hence why killing was wrong. Damian did not agree with that entirely, but he did not know if Mother and Grandfather were the best judges of character either. It was a strange thought to have, to realize, as it was nearly sacrilegious, but it popped up, fully formed, as if it had been gestating for some time. Damian wiped at his nose with sleeve.] So, Samson's belief, if it was one, about Delilah changing due to love, was false and... therefore, stupid. [He felt he had proven his point, and smiled. Still, he liked talking; his gaze slipped to the angel's lips.] Do you believe there are inherent aspects to a person? Or is it all mutable? [He looked back up, just in time to espy that smugness.] You do want to be human though, correct? How do you know which parts of you are tied to your angelhood and which are not? ['Angelhood.' Was that a word? He did not care.
He allowed himself the smile that wished to bloom upon his lips at the mention of leather.] I can wear the cowl. [It would terrify everyone. He rather liked that idea.—The information further provided from chapped lips, however, was received with less pleasure.] I will tell them to fuck themselves. [Sasha had been useful for one thing, at least.
After he made his choice about the apartment, he peered at Misha haughtily. This turned to minor petulance in the face of smugness.] No. I enjoy the neon lighting. It is reminiscent of Jersey. [He tutted as he released the boy's hand then, so that he could send the email. He would inspect it when they arrived to sign the lease, he decided, and this seemed sufficient. It only took him a few moments to type out a response and send it off. He then held the phone limply in his palm. He knew he needed to contact others—Father, family—, but he did not wish to. Instead, he took Misha's hand again and slumped somewhat in his chair. This seating was much more comfortable than that of the Narcotics Anonymous meeting.—With his head tipped to his shoulder opposite Misha, he looked to the boy.] You are missing whatever it is you are here to see. [He nodded to the stage.]