Re: [Capital: Damian & Misha]
Damian did not have as much power as a malakhim or dominion, as far as 'power' meant supernatural and otherworldly ability. In fact, he had none. But, he would do whatever was within his power for Misha, whether it meant flattening the world for the boy or something else. And he would not even feel bad about it.
The intense blue-spark gaze did not perturb the man. If anything, he liked it. He did not preen, per se. But, it felt normal to him. Strong. (He would not realize it was familiar to him, in as much as, it was how Mother looked at people. How others had, growing up.) He himself often stared, still largely oblivious (or uncaring as) to the cultural preferences of such. And, aside from all of that, he did enjoy the angel's attention.—If he had been asked, however, he would have agreed, that it did feel as if the present was more... present now, likely an affect from the memories. And he was holding onto all the tighter, as well.—Damian was clearly pleased by the compliment given to him. He did, indeed, know well that those things made the angel feel better. He liked the fingers upon his lips, too, and he kissed fingertips of white. "You make me feel better as well. Doing this. Being with me." That was just as honest. "You are also skilled at not seeing clearly what you see clearly for others. This being an example."
The man's nose remained wrinkled as Misha laughed and he laughed too. "Shut up." He kissed the angel's chin, as it was near. He nodded, before he caught the dawn of realization in the boy's voice. He waited for the explanation. "Okay," he said agreeably, of being shown, and it was much better than 'fine.' Then, he thought a moment. "But, that still leaves you with what you will do, when you are around and others know you are there. No?"
Petulance and questions were left with the shadows of wings on the sidewalk.
In the room, as Misha held the cherub child, Damian squared off with the boy with the eyes of flame. He recognized what the boy was, as he thought all who had read the stories would. But, it did not matter overly much, save that he had never meat a jinn. He did not catalogue all of the relevant information or details, however, as he ought have. Instead, he introduced himself, and the child called himself Lion. Damian looked at him for a long moment, watching small arms cross over small chest. "Lion." He nodded, as if he would allow it, as if it fit the tiny boy child. "Fine."—Then, his hand was taken. Lion's hand was warm against his own, like sand after a day in the sun, but he did not resist the small grip. He went. He tutted at the order to sit. He recognized the archaicity of the demand, the ancient groan of the sounds. But, he would not have listened if he did not wish to. Fortunately for the child, he did wish to. So, he sat. He sat with his feet upon the floor and his spine erect.—He followed fiery gaze to the front of the room and he waited, confused by his own anticipation.