Re: [Capital: Damian & Misha]
Misha, he never did feel powerful. The boy didn't feel powerless neither, but he didn't feel like he was real strong. He did feel like he could get Damian to do a whole lot of things, and that just made him smug some. It didn't go to his head any, not in a bad way, and he wouldn't never cause Damian to do a thing big or deliberate, but he was confident 'nough in himself to know the effect he had on the dark boy he had his arms wound 'round.
"You are meant to tell you this on account of you like being right," Misha said, which reinforced both Damian's words and the boy's smugness, but he liked feeding that self-satisfied look on the other boy's face. There was something luminous in making Damian reckon he had the upper hand, that his strength was something real tangible and without question, and Misha liked seeing it on the angles of the other boy's cheeks. And, he listened. Misha, he put more stock in what Damian said than he did in any words that came out of other mouths, age aside, and his pale gaze was real fixed and intent in the soft night. "How do you do it?" he finally asked, after all that. "You said helping is messy for you. How do you do it, and how do you know you're doing it right?" When it came to talking for his kind and how they did things, Misha didn't need to simmer over it. "We ain't seen. We know, using our Grace, who's low 'nough they need something or they'll fall past standing. I can see it in folks, even without trying." He did hesitate himself just a spell here, but real brief, and then he touched his lips real light to Damian's jaw.
It wasn't like 'fore, when he'd deliberately tried to show the other boy too much of what he could do. This was just a spark, the tiniest little bit of glow 'gainst skin. It wasn't a seen thing, but it was a tiny, tiny bit of buoy. It was, in the press of lips, the feeling that things weren't bad as they felt the second earlier. It wasn't even suggesting or drugging or anything like that. It was a rope, could be said, and just 'nough of it to get to feet again. And it was an answer to that question 'bout the spark, wordless.
"Fighting is brave, even when you can't win," Misha could agree with that, but he added a caveat with a smile: "But, fighting, it ain't always physical, and it ain't always war." The ritual, that Misha didn't question even some. Religion of any kind, it was something created by folks, and it was strong and meaningful. "If I was caught somewhere, you'd rather I do that than wait to see if you came and got me free?" It was a real soft turn to the topic, and he kissed Damian's cheek real slow when the boy asked 'bout killing a man out of curiosity. "You were a scared boy, learning, and trying to figure your place in a world that said killing folks was what was done." He pulled back, and he looked at the other boy adoring.
Which led to them standing, and it might seem like it was abrupt, but it wasn't any. It was a continuation, on account of it explained something 'bout everything going on in Misha's head, and he reckoned it might make Damian feel better too. Now, he didn't take into account any that Damian might be fussed by children, and he didn't even reckon the anxiety in the grip of the fingers held in his to have a thing to do with uncertainty 'bout what they were walking into. Misha, he was trusting, and he knew real well Damian could destroy this place if he wished. He just counted on Damian not wishing to. He trusted the other boy with his secrets, and he reckoned this was trusting him with the secrets of others.
The old woman walked on, and she pushed open big old double doors. Misha, he leaned over and kissed Damian's temple, and his smile was bright and unworried. "They're real loud," he warned, as if that was the only thing that needed warning 'bout.