Realistic or Modern LOVE, LOSS, REVENGE

[dreaming enthusiast]

Damien is left in the quiet of the apartment once more, only Pawl keeping him company. It's a shame he can't pet her yet - that might have distracted him from the rapidly building impulse to eavesdrop.

He rubs at his wrists, hands irregularly soft from the moisturizer. Under normal circumstances, the ex-convict would have no scruples pressing against the front door to try and hear the two gangster's conversation. But these aren't normal circumstances. It would be too big of an invasion of privacy. Over the last days he has learned things about Kaden he wouldn't have expected - shared maybe not fully intentionally, but still in one form or another given. Damien now finds himself hesitant to take. That wouldn't be rewarding in the least.

Nevertheless, he laments the fact that the sound isolation is good enough not to permit any stray words flowing in from outside to be "accidentally" overheard from where he is leaning against the wall, staring at the entrance in anticipation.

It feels like Finch isn't telling him something. There's been no mention of whatever he might have discovered from the Siren. Not that Damien is owed such information, but... he wishes he could be trusted with it. For some reason, the wait is excruciating. His head is getting all muddled again.

The front door opening floods him with relief as Kaden steps in, alone.

"Is everything okay?" Damien's eyes are on him in an instant, searching his face.

There are questions bubbling up under the surface, about Delilah's case and about the odd behavior of the doormen, but any potential interrogation dies on his lips as he takes a proper look at Finch. He seems more like himself, not quite rested, yet not quite as haggard. That's good. However, if the ex-cop started bombarding him with inquiries, would he return to how he was earlier? That's a worry that outweighs Damien's other concerns.

He smiles faintly, voice soft, "You don't look like shit anymore."

Finch is dressed more casually than usual, and Damien muses that the prospect of unwinding would do both men a world of good. Additionally, it could be interesting and the pangs in his chest are telling him he might even enjoy it. Too bad the ex-cop doesn't really remember how to relax.

"What now, we wait for the tailor?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

The soft look in Damien's face makes Kaden's hand grip the doorknob with greater strength than is necessary.
He doesn't know how to answer that question without sullying their relationship and ruining this afternoon together.
Thankfully, Damien let's him off the metaphorical hook.

"You're lavish words concerning my person are going to make me hopelessly egotistical," Kaden says with a small smile. It's equal parts bizarre and worrisome how much better he feels with the door closed, the matter forcefully shoved to the back of his mind.

Dressing Damien is straight forward, easily accomplished and potentially enjoyable.
"That's correct. As forewarning, my tailor, while reliable can be..."

---
"Brilliant," the tailor exclaims and he has a happy voice that fills the room.
"You have a brilliant mid driff, sir. Just gorgeous."

The man is the single most foreboding person Kaden has ever known, and that's saying something considering his surroundings.
Topher has a thick blonde beard to match his thick accent, and when asked where it comes from, his answer changes. Kaden has suspicions it's made up, but the social atypical nature of the man says he either isn't capable of lying or completely incapable of telling a single truth.

He's taller than Kaden, bigger sideways too. When Damien doesn't move the way he likes, he pushes him into position himself like he's a doll.

"Have another mini cupcake," Topher says, giving Damien the frosted treat whether he likes it or not and then snapping at him for moving.
"Believe me, you do not want to go to dinner in a suit that has no breathing room. Oh, but I wish it was a spring gala. Don't mind me saying so, sir, but something pink would really bring the gold out of your skin."

He also says things like that. The most obscure parts of the body have to be commented on, and they sound absurd when they come from a man who appears to be a viking extra on a tv set. Apparently Damien has immaculately lengthed arms as well. Not the width of them, which were particularly diverting when measured, but the length.

It's not indicative of healthy character, but Kaden takes some satisfaction in tormenting Damien like this while he watches safely from the isolation of his couch. He didn't decide as soon as Damien said he looked like shit to do this to him, it was merely coincidental.
Topher is the best thread master that he knows of and he's been in the family for years. Set aside the fact he's not the only tailor in New York, Kaden's choice is purely practical.

But yes, it is entertaining.

"Mr Blumenthal, what do you plan on doing the evening of?" Topher inquires, using a leveler to indicate the exact slope of the man's shoulders
"Relax, please. Will you need a sturdier, more... Breathable fit? Like Master Finch, or is this a more docile event?"

"Have his suit inlaid with the same bullet resistant fiber as my own, Topher," Kaden supplies in place of Damien's answer.
"And add a compartment to keep a weapon. I don't care about the costs."

Topher glances at Damien, but the man knows it's not his place.
"Ah, so it shall be a night to remember, then."

Kaden slides the case of porcelain masks resting on the coffee table closer so he can pull one free.
It's a drama face, the cruel grin glaring at Kaden reminding him far too much of Cade.
He sets it aside.

With the theme being winter, it's more than likely these will be accented ice blue, but right now they're plain and white. Indistinct.

He's caught between the owl mask and the wolf. The wolf's muzzle is snubby enough not to be unwieldy, snarling and showing off rows of teeth.

But there is something alluring about the soft gaze of the bird. The eye pieces are covered in dark semi transparent glass, making the light reflect off them like stars. The owl eyes specifically sparkle in a charming way.

"Which animal are you going to be, Damien?" Kaden asks.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Why does everyone think they can just manhandle Damien?

Even the damn tailor, moving and positioning his limbs as he pleases. It's been a long time since the ex-cop has gone to an outfitter - realistically, he's only ever gone once or twice with his father - but Damien doesn't remember the process being this... spirited. He gave up a while back trying to fight against the lively bearded man, allowing himself to be treated more or less like a mannequin. There are two mini cupcakes held in each of his hands that he has been graciously given and then promptly barred from tasting, so as not to disrupt Topher's measurements.

Well, suppose Kaden had warned him beforehand. Not that that was enough to prepare Damien, especially not for the obscure compliments that make him more self-conscious than anything else. What even constitutes a "brilliant midriff"?

All the while Finch is just standing there, smugly observing from the couch. That part makes Damien even more self-conscious.

To distract from the fact, he glances at Topher out of the corner of his eye - the imposing "viking" doesn't quite fit the image of a stereotypical tailor, but the expertise with which he attacks (and attack is the right word here) his craft is admirable. If he was also the mind behind the capo's suits, then Damien is sure he'll come out of this with something of quality.

The potential cost of such an acquisition makes him frown after Kaden mentions it.

"How much is this going to cost, exactly?" the ex-convict can't afford it, and he's aware but asks anyway.

One way or another, Damien needs a suit for the gala. He also needs a mask, as Finch reminds him. The ex-cop attempts to lean forward to look over the porcelain selection, yet still being in Topher's clutches, the inspection doesn't go very far. He sighs.

"I couldn't care less, to be honest. You can choose," that's the truth, though Damien would be lying if he didn't say he was curious about Kaden's decision. What animal does he see him as?

"A bit weird that it's a winter masquerade, isn't it? Masks would have been more fitting a month ago, though I guess people like that just enjoy dressing up. Let's hope we won't be walking into an Eyes Wide Shut scenario."

Of course, he can't really imagine that the charity ball is secretly some kind of elitist sex cult, but the anonymity the masks will offer sets him a bit on edge. Sure, it's going to prevent Moore from recognizing him, yet that goes both ways. Will anyone else be taking advantage of having their face concealed?

Damien raises an eyebrow at the drama face Kaden set aside, then at the man himself, "Is that going to be your mask?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

"Well, the tailoring, the materials, the labor... Something like one-two grand," Topher answers after some musing.
Kaden considered interrupting the line of questioning, but lying to Damien about the price at a later date wouldn't have worked.
The man's too smart for it.

At the very least Damien won't be able to insult him by paying for the suit.

Kaden looks more seriously at the display of masks. Only a man like Damien wouldn't care about what kind of face to take to a special event.
His hand hovers over the cat mask and Kaden glances up at the man, before looking at the ram's skull. While the mask is white, the horns are black and made of glass. They curl inwards beautifully.
While he is stubborn, the glass could shatter depending on events.

"Eyes wide shut?" Kaden scowls at the enigmatic sentence. It's another thing to catalog for a Google search at different time.

"I haven't decided," Kaden admits.
"I've always gone with a wolf persona in similar situations. It's comfortable. But I do like the owl. It's the world's most silent flyer. I like that. The smiling one is... Intimidating. That might be worthwhile."

The tailor is obsessed with his new art project but he still finds the time to look at the capo.
Artists are usually the most critical people and Topher is no different.

At the end of the day, it's a trivial decision. That should make it easier, but Kaden still doesn't know.

The tailor wraps his measuring tape around Damien's neck and Kaden's eyes are drawn to the subtle movement of Damien's Adam's apple as he swallows.

"There's no ass masks here, Damien. I may take a while to choose with the most obvious option missing."
Too much enjoyment at Damien's expense has made him facetious.

Finch settles on a mask, but it's neither the cat nor the ram.

"You'll be a fox. The fox spends it's life as both prey and predator. Unjustly hated by many, it nevertheless retains the potential to be whatever it wants, and the skill to make it happen."

Finch holds the mask over his own face.
"And I like the ears."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

"Really, you haven't seen Eyes Wide Shut?" there's genuine surprise in Damien's expression.

For some reason, he'd just assumed Kaden to be the type to find media like that interesting. It came out when Damien was 16 and he remembers sneaking into the local cinema with a group of friends, since at the time seeing an R-rated movie without permission felt like the height of rebellion. It'd been a good film. Weird, but good. Michael hadn't enjoyed it, but Kaden might.

Scratch that. It would be an incredibly awkward movie to watch together.

Damien's eyes study the consigliere as he keeps inspecting the array of masks, spoiled for choice. Like with most things, he's being so deliberate about this decision, for both himself and Damien. Does the disguise really mean that much to Kaden - the way he chooses to present himself in front of others? While at one point the ex-convict could have related to such concerns, now the matter seems meaningless.

Nevertheless, he wants to know the other man's assessment.

The "insult" that comes from Finch is delightfully casual. It reminds the ex-cop of the way he used to banter with colleagues, of the way Montesano still speaks to him sometime.

He huffs and forces an eye roll, but it can't quite conceal his grin, "Hilarious, Kaden. How long did it take you to come up with that one?"

Unlike what he'd just claimed, soon enough Finch produces a mask forward, and the visage of a fox stands in front of the gangster's own. Damien's smile dies down gradually as he purses his lips, listening closely to the explanation behind the selection. It's the closest thing to a compliment he has heard from Kaden, and it's directed toward an inanimate piece of porcelain of all things.

"That was quite the analysis. The ears are nice," Damien's voice is low, accepting, "Fine, I'll be a fox then."

He shrugs his shoulders once Topher removes the measuring tape from around his neck, but swallowing doesn't become any more comfortable. As he'd claimed earlier, the ex-convict doesn't particularly care what he is given to wear. However, the reasoning behind the choice will probably stick with him for some time. He eyes the three pieces Kaden had pondered for himself.

"The wolf suits you," the connection there is instant. And it would match with the fox, "But the owl is nice. It's not just a silent bird, it signifies wisdom - keen-eyed, intuitive, a bit of a mystery if not outright ominous. A solitary hunter... At the end of the day, choose whatever draws you in."

Damien ignores the sneering mask.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

So it's a movie, then. Kaden has never particularly had the interest, but being caught out of the loop is never an enjoyable experience.
He will have to read a synopsis, or perhaps even watch the movie itself if Damien appreciates it.

Finch feels a childish sense of pride and playfulness his jab is taken well and thrown back. The imagery of one dog performing a play bow for another comes to mind and he knows such thoughts of whimsy don't often go unpunished.
"Since the Moonlit," he says casually, "I've been waiting for an appropriate moment to tell you the unfortunate news regarding your appearance."

Kaden listens thoughtfully to Damien's analysis. Everything he says is right about the bird, and he can't understand why an intelligent man like this wouldn't want to choose his own mask. He clearly knows what he wants, unlike Kaden.
"That is not helpful."

The behemoth of a man slams his hands together, interrupting the two. "Well, that outta do it."

Topher shoos Damien aside like he's a flock of birds so he can start shoveling all his gear away.
"It's been a pleasure using your body as a canvas, Mr Blumenthal. I shall have your suit done in time for the Gala."

He takes one of Damien's mini cupcakes and stuffs it into his own mouth so he can shake the ex-convict's hand. And it is truly a shake, as if Topher wants to rattle the arm off and take it with him.

He offers his meat hook of a hand to Kaden and he politely shakes his head.

"Right," the man says, unfazed and wiping crumbs from his beard.
"Ta-ta."

Finch aids in holding the door open as the man leaves. As a last thought Topher adds, "you can pull off all three masks, sir. Up until the last minute, you can choose something else for yourself."

Kaden nods, thanking the man for his patience and flexibility.

There's a silence and relief to be alone once more.
That task is now done. Kaden can feel some satisfaction it's checked off the mountain of to-dos in his life.

Pawl peeks her head out, surveying the area. When she confirms the interloper is gone, she approaches to give both men an earful.

"Like I said, he's quite..."

Again, there's really no words.

"But he is right. You do have a brilliant mid driff."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

"Yeah, uh, thanks. It was a pleasure," Damien's voice is wobbly as he gets jostled about by the bearded mountain of a man. His own grip isn't weak by any means, but the tailor feels fully capable of dislocating his shoulder if he really wanted to. Maybe even if he didn't, given how he went into the handshake with wild abandon. Was he always just a clothier?

When the man with the strange accent makes his exit at last and Pawl makes her appearance, Damien can commiserate with her relief at the apartment becoming significantly less crowded.

Still, all things considered, Topher was nice. Definitely a strange bird, but he's not the first strange bird the ex-cop has had to interact with recently.

Speaking of... he takes a peek at Kaden. The two are finally alone and Damien is glad for it, but suddenly he doesn't know what to do with himself. He crosses his arms over his chest, rooting himself in place.

"So-" before he can ask what comes next or if he should maybe leave, Kaden stuns him into shocked silence. His arms tighten.

He keeps doing that - just saying shit out of pocket. Worst of all, Damien keeps being taken aback, losing composure even though he knows Finch is pulling his leg. It hasn't been 10 minutes since he insulted him last and this feels like another jab, but Damien still gets flustered over it.

"I don't know what that means, and I don't think I want to know," he finally musters a response after staying silent for a bit too long, "But sleep deprivation makes you very funny, I see."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Kaden's comment seems to have an extreme effect on the man. It feels like their previous banter, but with a different flavor. Finch can't be sure why, but he likes stunning Damien into silence.

In all honesty, Kaden doesn't know what it means either but Topher seemed so adamant about it.

"I'm glad you think so," he says with a gentle nod. "But I'll have you know I've been funny this whole time. I just don't believe in being frivolous on the clock."

Standing here, looking at this man he's known less than a week he can't help but think he might actually be passed out on his couch dreaming this. It is a distinct possibility. He would never behave so absurdly usually.

Maybe he can blame it all on the magic of sleep deprivation.

But if this isn't a dream, then Damien is currently wondering what to do with himself while Finch has been staring at him wondering if he's a figment of his mind or not.

The agreed upon parameters of Damien's stay have been met.

Social etiquette dictates the man should excuse himself.

"What does a detective do when he's cold?" Kaden blurts out.
A second later the cogs of his mind break through the rust and he feels a certain level of shame and confusion.
He has been saying and doing a lot of things this afternoon, and he knows he's probably not going to stop. Likewise, he knows he'll probably regret it when he has the faculties to do so.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Damien exhales in some relief after there is no further clarification on the comment. Good. He doesn't trust himself to handle any further teasing.

"My bad for not noticing. Guess I haven't known you long enough," he hums back, glancing at Kaden. While his tone is joking, he knows that to be the undeniable truth.

Damien should leave. He probably should have excused himself along with Topher, yet here he is, being stupid and thinking twice about wanting to go home. Well, it's not like he actually has anything waiting back for him in that blank, tiny apartment, but there is his evening routine. As meager as it might be.

Instead of sticking to it, however, here he is feeling both very uncomfortable and very comfortable in Finch's penthouse. It's a confusing sensation.

His mind finally settles on excusing himself when Kaden blurts out yet another unexpected thing. It takes Damien a second to realize that's not a genuine question. No, it's the start of a joke. The tint on his face from earlier is still present, but now he's smiling. He's been smiling a lot this today, hasn't he?

"Oh, I have to hear the end of this one," his words are laced with eager amusement, one eyebrow raised in mock question, "I don't know, Kaden. What does a detective do when he's cold?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Kaden rarely feels this level of self disgust. It's impressive, really.
Damien's smile is somewhat less delightful when it's at his expense.
But backing out now would be worse then if he hadn't said anything at all. Finch, the Butcher has to follow this home.

"...He goes undercover."

The punchline is said quietly, and not without some sound of defeat.

Is making himself a fool really a better alternative to being alone with his thoughts? It bothers Finch that he can't answer that question as well as he can determine the behavior of a chilly police officer.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

The quiet "punchline" hangs in the air for several moments, before the silence is broken through by laughter.

It doesn't immediately register with Damien that the sound is coming from himself. It's not too loud or overly exuberant, but it's sincere and it's light and it makes him smile with his teeth. Makes him feel several years younger.

The man is laughing not because the joke was necessarily funny, but because it happened in the first place.

"Wow," eventually, Damien calms down enough to speak, traces of a chuckle in his voice, "I'm not sure about your future in stand-up, but with some work... maybe. Everything's possible. Just gotta work on your delivery."

The man's cheeks hurt and his sight seems clearer as he looks at Finch, visibly embarrassed by his own attempt at humor - it's reassuring to know Kaden can look sheepish too. Endearing even.

But the shower hasn't washed away the dark circles.

It's with some regret that Damien sighs and rubs the side of his neck, "Listen, I should go. And you should catch up on some sleep."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Kaden's eyes widen to take in Damien laughing. It's the first time he's heard it, first time he's seen the man smile like this and he's smiling because of something Kaden said.
It's a light, happy noise and he can't imagine not wanting to hear it again. He smiles in despite of himself.

Unfortunately, he actually isn't all that funny.

"Wait-" Kaden moves in front of the door. Pawl makes uncomfortable eye contact with him, sitting on Damien's shoes and judging his life choices.
"It's getting late and I haven't fed you."

That's a weird way of phrasing that.

"You could stay for dinner. I'll eat with you."

As apposed to just sitting there, watching the man eat instead.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Damien stops in his tracks, his only exit blocked off by the capo. And after he'd finally gathered up the resolve to leave...

"It is getting late, Kaden," Finch just asked him to stay for dinner. Sure, it was worded in the most bizarre way possible, but the request was made nevertheless. The ex-cop knows he should simply refuse, and while part of him is screaming at him to get out of this weird ass situation, another part desperately doesn't want him to go.

He frowns. Constantly opposing himself is starting to get annoying.

"I'll stay," Damien sighs, then adds in as serious a tone as he can manage, "Only for a quick bite. Then I need to go"

For his own mental well-being, he needs to go.

The man turns back to walk into the apartment, shrugging off the coat he'd put on less than a minute ago.

"Tell me where you keep your utensils. I'll set the table."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

The building stress making Kaden's shoulders hard and aching is snapped for the time being.

He feels like a child that's gotten his way after a tantrum. It's not a proud moment.

It doesn't stop him from making dinner, rather than ordering in. Partially for the time, and partially because Kaden can't just stand there. He has to move, he has to do something. It's coming to an end and when it does he won't know what to do. He still doesn't know what to do.
The easy friendliness they had before has all but evaporated. Instead there's an intense awkwardness as Kaden struggles to find something to say.

But really, what can he? They have nothing in common. The task of setting the table doesn't last nearly long enough.

This is what being pitied feels like, Kaden realizes. It's awful, made worse by the fact he's too weak to reject it.
This man in his home is being socially pressured to hang out with a crime boss. A needy one that physically barred him from leaving. What kind of undiagnosed issues make a man like this?

This is it. He can never see Damien again, not after this disaster.

There was comfort in being vulnerable in front of someone who couldn't stab him in the back, but this level of transparency is just too much and at the same time, a layer too little.
He wants to tell Damien, he nearly does. He wants to so bad it makes his chest hurt.

But if he says it out loud it will be real.

Kaden's making lazy man pizza. The dough is flour, Greek yogurt, leavening, a smidge of olive oil and a pinch of salt. Kneading the dough isn't to develop it, so much as it is just to properly mix the ingredients. At one point he's rougher with the dough than is strictly necessary. Feeling it rip between his hands is empty satisfaction.
He wants to rip something real.

Some slices of sausage and some grated cheese later and it's in the oven.

And Kaden's caught without something to do.

He rests his back against the oven, gnawing a stubborn hangnail on his thumb.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Setting the table in someone else's home feels strange, but Damien tackles the task with efficiency anyway, not accounting for the fact that no matter how fast he is the meal can't begin without the food actually being served. And, of course, Kaden has decided to prepare something himself, leaving Damien to linger while observing the capo alongside Pawl, who is doubtlessly awaiting her own dinner portion. He can relate.

The ex-cop watches Kaden cook with curiosity from where he's leaning on the counter. He didn't get the chance last time when the consigliere was making post-emotional breakdown brownies. Thinking back, he never got to taste them either. The possibility of being granted a re-do is surprising, and not at all unwelcome.

As a person that knows little about preparing food beyond the most basic rules, observing someone else in the kitchen is fascinating, especially when that someone is skilled at what they're doing. Which Kaden definitely is - the familiar way the man goes about the kitchen, carried by muscle memory and intuition despite the permeating tension is mesmerizing. It's with a tiny bit of embarrassment Damien realizes he likes watching his hands.

He doesn't know exactly why he stayed. It wasn't a logical decision and now he's suffering for not thinking things through by having to bear the discomfort of it all. Silence hangs in the air, and the ex-cop can't decide if Finch is simply laser-focused on kneading the dough, or if the palpable awkwardness has gotten to him. Most likely the latter is true.

The one mercy of Kaden being quiet is that Damien doesn't feel like his heart is going to explode any longer. He's more in control now, a bit more level-headed.

It's what allows him to speak up once the homemade pizza goes in and Kaden starts biting at his nail.

"You look good at this," Damien nods towards the oven, "I have a... friend that's similar, in terms of hobby at least. Where'd you learn to cook?"

The ex-convict hasn't had to engage in small talk for some time, so it's difficult to gauge that he might be asking too many questions in succession. He just knows he's interested to hear the answers.

"Do you enjoy it, Finch? Do you have a favorite thing to make?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Kaden wonders vaguely who this friend is. Damien only has so many, but perhaps given his charisma he's already made more. Typical.

"Myself," he says, distorted by his finger. He taught himself.

The questions are disarming and polite.
There is strangeness to their quality, as if Kaden's a small woodland animal that can be soothed and distracted by the timber of a soft voice.

What a mistake this was. He shouldn't have even answered the door to this man in the state he was, and now they're having dinner.

And Damien is speaking to him so patiently and softly. It's not fair, and it's not right.

"I make these little balls made from oats, honey, peanut butter and protein powder. They're easy to eat. Sometimes I drizzle dark chocolate on them."

He's ripped away more than the dead skin, a tiny spot of red sprouting from his fingertip and seeping into his nailbed.
The pain is pleasantly distracting.

"What do you plan to do with Moore?" Kaden asks, pulling his hand away from his mouth.
"How have you rationalized what he did to you? You're going to see him soon... How... How are you going to do that?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

"Those sound like an oddly simple recipe. Don't know why I thought it'd be something fancier," Damien muses. He's quickly learning to expect the unexpected with the Black Dog, "It's impressive, that you're self-taught."

The ex-cop almost brings up the mother Kaden had mentioned that night while sitting on the floor eating brownies, but decides against it at the last moment.

Instead, Finch is the one to blindside him when the topic turns to work. It's not really 'work', though, is it? Damien is pursuing Michael's killers willingly, without any regrets, but rather than doing it of his own volition, sometimes it feels more like a duty. A promise.

Damien grimaces. No, he hasn't rationalized what Moore potentially did to Kell and him. He has spent the last days planning his approach to and inside of the gala, but actually sitting down to fully take in the revelation - there's been no time, between researching and compiling the information. Or maybe that's just an excuse. Regardless, the end result is that he's forced to rationalize things now.

"Tom was like a father to Mike and me, what with mine being a kind of an ass and his being dead," Damien speaks with the same intonation he used to run Kaden through the summary of the documentation earlier. His gaze has a detached quality, "I need to ask him some things when I see him. He definitely conspired with someone from the High-Rise and I need to know who. Potentially find out if he keeps documentation to implicate him in such illegal dealings. After that is done, I'm going to kill him."

If there is an elaborate way he intends to carry out the execution, like the one he'd planned for Genevieve, he doesn't say.

Now that more serious matters have been touched, he eyes up Kaden, "I don't know what's happening with your search for Delilah, but the sergeant is still offering help if you need it. The same goes for me."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Damien's eyes have a ghostly, lost appearance to them. He's here, but not really.
Kaden has felt like that for a while now, like he's watching himself in third person. Is it evil for feeling better knowing Damien's psyche is screwed like his own?
He feels less alone, less like a freak.

Everyone else is pretending everything is okay, including himself.
This is a thin crack in Damien's exterior proving it's not.
And at the last minute, he extends an olive branch to Kaden. When they're talking about Damien, he makes it about him instead. Is that the man's compassion or an attempt at deflection?

There's so much anger for a man he doesn't even know. He wants to grab Moore, shake the hell out of him and ask him how he could do this. How? What was he thinking? Was it worth it?

"I don't know if it can be helped," Kaden says, and even admitting that is too much.
He covers his eyes with a hand, rubbing them until he sees purple spots.

"Do you know why they call me the Butcher?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Damien's brows furrow. What does the capo mean he doesn't know if it can be helped? Has he hit a dead end, or has he found something that's proving to be too much? The mere mention has the consigliere looking exhausted. Damien's finger's itch.

He taps them along the countertop at Finch's question, leaning further forward. The Butcher.

Last time he asked he was met only with snark. Now the idea of an honest explanation seems more than tempting.

"I got an answer from one of your men," Damien closes his eyes, trying to connect a face to a name he'd heard only once, "Jackie, I believe. He mentioned some kind of bloodbath, a police ambush. Don't know how reliable his account is."

Which is to say he won't believe it until it's confirmed by the subject in question himself. Damien's eyes open to hold Kaden's, unwavering.

"I want to hear the reason behind that moniker from you."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Kaden sighs, releasing a small groan at the name.
Jackie.

Fucking Jackie.

Why did the moron have to test him like that, in front of everyone? Even Cade who only has two braincells to rub together knows not to push him in public.

It's another thing to deal with.

And Markus. He'll have to deal with fucking Markus. The entire Pyramid of leadership is crumbling under his feet. Cade's the only strong one left.

But one thing at a time.

"It was a year or so after our second meeting. Maybe less," Kaden begins and as much as Damien is trying to catch his eyes, he can't look.

Kaden takes a deep breath. It's just words. They're just sounds. They don't mean anything.
"I'd gone to a lift location but no one was there. No one who was supposed to be. I got pinched. Or so I thought."

Kaden crosses his arms over his chest, fingers biting into his biceps. The thumb he was chewing on aches.
It helps, a little.

"I believe that's somewhat in line with the 'legend'. I can see where the confusion would come from. I've never tried to disprove the rumors, for obvious reasons-" he does look at Damien, pointedly. "I will have you castrated if you repeat what I'm about to say outside of this kitchen. Mark my words."

He hesitates, swallowing down his nerves.
They're meaningless words. It helps that it's Damien, and no one else. Part of him is waiting for Damien to turn on him and bite. If that is the reason he's here, cozying up to Kaden then he can't blame him. He'd be impressed.

"After an hour of questioning they began beating me. It didn't matter what they did I wouldn't give her away, but I was... I was scared, Damien. They weren't real cops."

He would've been twenty, maybe twenty-one at the time.

"I kept thinking she'd come in and save me, until I realized she'd planned it. To test me because she liked me. If I'd broken I don't know what she would have done with me."

It's a cold, chilling thought that he hasn't considered since that night. It tastes different in the current context.

"Afterwards when they hosed me down I was in so many pieces they said I looked like meat. Like I'd been butchered."

He lets that hang to catch his breath.
It's as pathetic a way to gain a nickname as Kaden can think of. He'd been proud of the trial at the time, considering it a rite of passage.

And he accused Damien of being naive.

"I lived with Wight for a while after that. She makes tonics and lotions just as healing as her venom is deadly. I hardly have a scar on my body and it's like it never even fucking happened."

At the time he'd been so relieved to erase the evidence. Now he feels cheated. He was hurt and he has nothing but words to prove it happened. Even to himself, he has nothing that couldn't just be a bad dream with how much head trauma he sustained.
Some of what he's saying could be incorrect and he'd have no way of knowing.

He can't remember the way the person who loved him the most hurt him the worst.

"And Delilah, she-" he spits, chewing at his lip.
"All that loyalty, and for what? I've been chasing my tail looking for her and she-"

Kaden slams his hands to his face, drags them up to rake through his hair.

"And I'm scared again," he says, pulling at the strands.
"I'm still strong. I'm still the Butcher but I... I'm so tired right now, Damien. I'm tired."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Damien's eyebrow raises at the threat - he would have expected to get menaced with death, not castration. Regardless, he signals to Kaden that his lips are sealed, and it's the truth. The ex-cop has no reason to take what he's about to be given to anyone else. No, it'll stay between the two, and whoever few others might be aware of the tale. It doesn't sound like the Butcher shares this story with many. Damien's curiosity heightens even further. It's another fact about Finch to add to his ongoing investigation into the man.

However, it doesn't take long for interest to be replaced by utter horror.

Damien remembers Finch from their second meeting, at the Moonlit Wolf so many years ago - in the policeman's eyes, he'd been just a kid. Hell, the cop had almost asked to see his ID when the two shared drinks, the only thing that ultimately stopped him being that he was supposed to be lowkey.

It's the image of that same kid that now enters his mind unbidden, getting beaten within an inch of his life. He winces at the grotesque imagery, yet can do little to banish it. The story is way too vivid.

He knows the violence Kaden is talking about because an unfortunate reality of being on the force is recognizing that some of your comrades are there for all the wrong reasons. To have power for the sake of power, not to help others. It's a disgusting fact you have to accept in order to combat, and you combat it every day.

What Damien does not know - what he cannot accept - is putting someone you care about through hell, leaving them all alone just to fucking test them, whatever that's supposed to mean. And he wants to believe Delilah genuinely cared for Kaden because the alternative is way too cruel.

Her actions speak otherwise.

Damien feels his fists clench, nails digging into flesh. He is angry, unfathomably so. It's obvious how much Finch cares for the woman, the way he's been scrambling to find her. Damien can't decide if the loyalty is impressive or depressing. Probably a little bit of both. Though the scars have healed, the trauma persists and now she's hurting him again, even from beyond the grave.

Her Butcher.

Damien had ridiculed that moniker when Kaden had proclaimed it with pride some days ago in the car. And now he says it again as if it's something to want to hold onto. Damien can't comprehend how a man like Finch can stand it, this private mockery. When others call him the Butcher, with respect and fear in their eyes, is he forced to go back to the time he got it? To revisit the fear?

"I'm sorry," the words are barely more than a whisper.

Damien is standing on the other side of the counter now, a few feet away from Kaden. He doesn't remember moving, but now that he is here he catches himself reaching out. The ex-cop's hand stops midway. He doesn't know how to comfort Kaden - instinct tells him to hold him, yet that's more likely to distress the man than anything else. Damien is drawing a blank, any words coming to his mind feeling inadequate.

"You are still strong, but... it's okay to feel tired. And scared. There's no shame in that," he means what he's saying, yet it doesn't seem like it's enough. Frustratingly, Damien doesn't know what else to do, except to stand in place in case Finch needs someone to lean on, "This will come to pass, Kaden."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Finch has never told anyone that before. He's left his flank open to this man, and it's not as awful as he expected it to be. It is predominantly awful, like waiting to be struck. The waiting is often so much worse than the following pain.

But there is no, 'buck up' from Damien. Just this silence and Kaden's mind runs rampant about what the man must think of him.

Weakling.

Undeserving.

Pathetic.

And the softest words grace Finch's ears, like a balm to a flaming wound.
This is the strike. It hits him so much harder than anticipated, and not where Kaden fortified.

Finch's bottom lip trembles before he covers his mouth with a hand.

No one's ever been sorry.

He's never deserved sorry.

Damien reaches for him and Kaden flinches away. The man still comforts him, like he's five years old. He accepts Kaden for what he is, and it can't be true.

Damien's past was laid bare for everyone to see. Now that Kaden's shown a part of himself to the man consensually he can't imagine the violation the cop experienced having his relationships tarnished and stripped bare. Everyone he knew thinking such horrible things about him.

This is the man who took care of Kaden when he couldn't even defend himself against a rageful driver. Then there'd been clear benefits to doing so, but still... Damien stepped right in-between him and danger without question.

Now he's here for Finch again, in a different way. A quieter, harder way.
It can't be real, it can't be genuine.

"Why?" He parrot's the same question Damien had back to him.

"Why are you..?" There's no words for the way the man has made Finch feel, and if there are they aren't big enough. Damien has cracked him open with a few words. He's destroyed him with nothing.

"I know I..." And he has to stop because his voice breaks for one terrible moment.

"I know I hurt you. I would have killed you if you'd done the same thing to me," he says, pushing it out as quickly as he can.

"I understand if you want to hurt me back. I'll let you, if that's what you want."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Damien grimaces at the offer to hurt Kaden.

The suggestion irks him, this willingness to be physically harmed as a form of recompense, as if it'll change or mend anything. It's a shallow proposal, and the idea that he would be yet another cop to beat up Finch leaves a disgusting aftertaste in his mouth.

Worse is the fact that he had seriously considered revenge that day when he was left alone in the shower house. He'd thought about using the capo as a replacement for the Siren. Damien tries to summon back the rage that had brought on such musings originally, but, irritatingly, he can't.

Not after today. Not after Kaden has bared himself like this, his voice breaking. It's another unexpected side to the man.

Damien clenches his jaw.

"I probably should," he says, tone stern yet lacking the amount of bite intended, "But it seems you've already been hurt more than anything I can do to you."

He doesn't want to hurt Kaden, especially if it's something the gangster wants. Not even after he claims he would have killed him if the roles were reversed. There are specific people on Damien's hitlist, and Finch is not one of them, despite everything. Yet.

"Plus, we already agreed - you owe me. And that's much more satisfying."

Damien takes several steps back, putting a more acceptable distance between himself and Kaden. Everything has been so overwhelming since he walked into the penthouse. Not all of it unpleasant - most of it not unpleasant, actually - but it feels like the ex-cop is reaching his emotional limit.

His glance falls on the oven, "You sure you haven't burned that?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

To say Kaden doesn't get Damien would be an understatement. Finch doesn't roll over for a lot of people and the man seems repulsed by it.

The capo isn't sure why getting his help is more satisfying than getting revenge, but he understands nothing and it shouldn't come as a surprise this also illudes him.

"Oh-" Kaden rushes to the oven, pulling the door open to save the pizza.
It's a little singed ontop, but still more then edible.

It doesn't take long for the food to cool to adequate temperatures, and it's nice to use the dinning room. It's practically been abandoned since Finch moved in.

He slices off a morsel. "I think we've had a productive day."

The bites have to be small or else he'll give his stomach a rude awakening, but he finally has an appetite. At least in comparison to before when all food was ash.
There's a comfort in knowing Damien would hurt and or kill him if he steps on his toes again. That's a symptom of a having a relationship Kaden can understand and work around.

Of course, it's worrisome he's only comfortable in a relationship when death is involved, but it's not the time for self analysis.

Damien is using his hands to eat pizza. It's not unheard of.
Did he wash his hands before?

His eyelids have gotten heavy and Kaden's head droops once or twice.
The days have finally caught up with him. He props an elbow on the table - very unmannerly of him - and rests his chin in his hand. He blinks languidly at the man sitting across from him, drinking water rather than wine.

Kaden even has sparkling wine, but the man won't have it. It's commendable, for a man who poisons himself regularly with cigarettes.

"Do you smoke after sex?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

It's a relief when the two men finally sit down at the dining table to have dinner. Ignoring the fact that this feels way too intimate for comfort, the atmosphere of homeliness around the act is calming, carrying with it a sense of normalcy. Well, except for the way Finch is eating his food.

Of course he eats pizza with a knife and fork. Damien has to consciously stop himself from staring at the capo like he's an alien. To each their own, he supposes. But tackling such a meal with utensils seems like sacrilege, like it ruins the taste. Which is a shame, cause the pizza is damn good.

"This is good," Damien mentions off-handedly, redundantly, since it's pretty easy to infer even without the comment as he goes for another piece, "Hmm, yeah, today's been... productive. And tiring."

He eyes the subtle way Kaden's head drops - that's a good sign. Hopefully, he'll be able to sleep tonight. Then his gaze finds the fork and knife again.

The ex-cop swallows down his next bite and his judgment with a sip of water.

Why do people keep offering him alcohol? More importantly, why does he keep turning it down? He's been free for weeks and has technically had access to drinks for longer, back at the halfway house. Yet, the moment never feels quite right to let down his guard. It's been so long since he's had even a light wine that he doesn't know how fast alcohol might get to his head. So he keeps putting the moment off, begrudgingly drinking water.

He nearly chokes on the beverage at what Kaden says next.

In between his brief coughing fit, he peeks at the consigliere. What in the hell kind of question is that?! Is Kaden drunk??? He doesn't look it.

Damien's way too sober for this.

"I really don't think that's any of your business," he answers in a rush, drawing a bit into himself, embarrassed both at the inquiry and his answer, "Also, that's kind of a media stereotype. What even possessed you to ask that?!"