Damon had been too busy with his usual morning activities to go downstairs before now. Something new had been added to his repertoire: fantasizing about gutting Simms like a deer. That asshole was on Damon's last nerve, something which was odd given how outwardly zen he was about most things. He knew that if he ever got a clear chance at it, he'd do something irrevocable without blinking. It had been a long time since he'd killed, and it was fun to think about. So there was that.
He was freshly showered and dressed in faded jeans, a blue thermal shirt and shoes as he made his way down to the kitchen from his room on the second floor. Once inside the door, he saw that one of the newbs was hovering inside, looking shell-shocked. This one was interesting. Damon had spent a while watching her, enjoying the sight of the numerous tats all over her body. All over. Maybe she was into pain, a fine quality in a woman.
"Morning," he said, nodding and then making his way to the fridge to see what he could come up with for a meal.