Realistic or Modern LOVE, LOSS, REVENGE

[dreaming enthusiast]

"Natalia?" Damien's eyes widen, "You went to her... I told you not to involve yourself with Montesano, Finch!"

He's raising his voice, still uselessly struggling in place. The walls here are way too thin for the two to be having an argument, but that's not what's on Damien's mind at all. There it is again - the treachery at having something he didn't want be done regardless. This time around he feels it for the sergeant as well - not only had she directed Kaden to his apartment, but she'd also talked about Eli. Having his matters discussed like that, without his permission... Combined with Kaden's piercing stare it's like being flayed alive. How much did she tell him? It's a vulnerability Damien didn't offer, exposed against his wishes.

Supposedly, however, this "relationship" doesn't have any boundaries to begin with.

"Have anything you fucking want?" the ex-cop finds it in himself to snarl, "And what is it that you fucking want, Finch?"

"Do you realize how difficult it is to work with you? I keep trying, but you make me so fucking confused." Livid. He wanted to say livid, but there's an unfortunate disconnect between his thoughts and words.

"You call me your partner, then leave me tied up for two hours in a shower house with no way to get back to the city. You invite me to dinner, then after I've actually enjoyed the day you try to have me followed back home. Did it not cross your mind you could have just asked where I live? I mean, evidently not. You keep doing and saying things that make me think you aren't that bad, Kaden. Every time I start stupidly liking you, but then you pull this type of shit," Damien throws his hand out to the side, in a gesture that this is yet another instance of "this type of shit".

That's a lot. A lot that Damien will definitely regret later when the alcohol is no longer doing the talking for him.

But right now it's easier to vent his frustrations with Kaden than it is to explain what happened with his sister.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

"You left me no choice!" Kaden says in response to involving Natalia. The man left him high and dry.

Damien finally summons his signature fighting spirit enough to growl back.
As long as they're fighting, as long as Kaden needs to, he can pin the other man against the wall. Resistance gives him viable excuse, it does.
In the comfort of home, the man isn't wearing many layers. Kaden's hand will bump over a collarbone and he's reminded Damien is human. Real.
His chest lifts subtly at each breath he makes to yell.

This type of shit.

Normal people don't do this. Why does Damien expect normal from him?
Distantly, Kaden knows that's not fair, knows even his hot and cold behavior is difficult to justify. Even in the context of a consigliere and the man he almost had drowned.

He told Damien the origins of his nickname. Damn, he told him. And he didn't even ask, Kaden just told him. The drunkard trying to weasel out of his hold only to be easily put back into place knows more about Kaden's past than almost anyone.

"You like me?" Kaden asks, dumbfounded. There was a lot in that speech to dissect, most of which Finch suspects is to divert his attention from last night.
It's successful, for the moment.
"You would have given me your address willingly?"

Who does this man think he is? Is he truly this suicidal? Letting a crime boss know where you live is not the best course of action. Arguably. Or despite everything Finch has done to him, Damien still trusts him, or wants to.

Never in his life has he known such a complicated, confounding person.

"I can make her apologize, for whatever she did," he says, and winces at the thought. There's a lot of ways to make someone beg for forgiveness.
"If that's what you need I could do it for you. Easily."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

You like me?

The question is said with disbelief. Damien understands it's kind of absurd given everything, but is it really that farfetched? Is he going to get ridiculed over it? Maybe he deserves to. But Kaden says it with a tone like it's a novel concept for him.

"I'm seriously reconsidering it," the ex-cop frowns, yet it's half-hearted at best, more in frustration than anything else. He's frustrated the consigliere isn't raising his voice, arguing back at him - that would have made things easier, "There are parts of you that are worth liking, those that aren't the facade of the Butcher of the Black Dogs." Somehow Damien has enough awareness to think that might be taken the wrong way, so he amends his statement, "Not the one you told me about, not at all... But the one that threatens he can have anything he fucking wants."

"Including my address. Yes, I would have given it to you. Why wouldn't I? Even if I didn't, was the idea of asking really that crazy you didn't even attempt it? At least give me a chance to say 'no', then you can go all crime boss and make me hand it over, or whatever."

Damien is both too drunk and not drunk enough for this, though Finch's suggestion to make Eli "apologize" goes a long way to sober him up slightly.

"No, that's the last thing I need!" he shakes his head fervently, "Listen, what happened between us wasn't unusual - words were exchanged, a slap to the face. Nothing new, we've been hurting each other for years."

Damien looks away. He's talking too much in an attempt to keep things off-topic, but Finch is persistent. He doesn't like discussing his family life. He's never had to, not fully, except for once before when he was once again forced to admit what was going on at home. The situation now is both familiar and incredibly different, and the ex-cop gives Finch a long look.

He sighs, "Can you let me go, please? And close the door. People love eavesdropping around here."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Damien tells the most ludicrous lie Kaden's ever heard and it's that he likes the pedestrian parts of him.
The part that has flour, rather than blow on his counter.

Kaden eyes the man suspiciously, squinting more than narrowing his eyes. He has no experience in a relationship like this, none. No one's ever liked him beyond his abilities to run a gang or hurt someone.
Damien came to him because he was good at what he does. It's not fair to like him for things he can't do. It's not fair to ask him to be what he can't be.

"I don't believe you, but I will take that into consideration and try it next time." Asking for things isn't beneath him per se, but being asked to ask nearly is.
While Kaden is digesting this bizarre information Damien reveals startling parts of his family life. Or rather lack thereof.

"She hit you?"

It couldn't be hard, not when Damien doesn't have any visible bruising. Family is an unknown concept to him, but do siblings regularly hit each other?

Kaden seems to notice his hands on Damien, looking down at them in.
He eases off, as if he's afraid Damien will bolt. When he doesn't, Kaden goes to the door to scoop up the leftovers and shut the entrance.
That cuts off quite a bit of his vision. Damien must have been half drunk and half asleep to justify this level of darkness.

"I'm turning on the lights," he warns and before Damien can argue he's flicked the switches by the door.
Damien can't be expected to have much, not when it was all taken from him. Still, it's no excuse to leave what he does have in such a state.

"I'm going to heat these up and you're going to eat what you can," he informs, walking into the abysmal kitchenette.
This place has to violate some human rights. What kind of twisted place doesn't have a dishwasher? Washer and dryer Kaden can understand, but a dishwasher?
It explains the few dishes in Damien's tiny sink, but it's not overflowing. No, the trash bin is swamped with frozen store bought food packaging, that's where the 'dishes' are.

Finch lives alone, he doesn't entertain guests. He has enough utensils for multiple people. Damien has a few plastic ones that have clearly been used one time too many.

There's a pang in his chest, that starts a whole cascading of pain, like a pebble falling off a cliff side and causing an avalanche. Damien's apartment reminds Kaden of Delilah's. Vaguely, but it's enough.

"Natalia's husband seems nice. He seemed worried about you too. So did the dog." Kaden takes a cup, rinses it under the tap before filling it. It's unlikely Damien has filtered water in his fridge.
This is potable... Probably?

"Drink," he says, holding out the cup.

"You said years? You had difficulties with your sister before your unjust conviction?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Damien has to brace himself against the wall to remain steady when Finch lets go. He nearly asks for help, but by then the capo has walked away. Not to leave, though.

The lights come on and it hurts his eyes. It hurts his pride as well - standing in this place he feels ashamed, but it's not the type of embarrassment he gets at Finch's out-of-pocket comments. It's unfamiliar. Montesano has been here before, and he's never experienced this with her. No, this is strictly related to Kaden, the man that surrounds himself in finary and excess. It's a shame Damien believed he'd forgotten, yet in this small apartment, in the sorry state he's in, with the consigliere able to see it all, the ex-cop can't help feeling like a disappointment. How unfortunate to have this part of his life revealed in such a manner. It's so barely anything it sounds wrong to even call it a life.

"I'd say make yourself feel at home, but it sounds like you already intend to do that," he mumbles, leaning his head back against the wall with eyes closed for several moments. He takes the time to attempt to gather his wits - the results are less than favorable, but he eventually follows Kaden into the apartment. The capo has already made his way to the kitchenette.

Pulling out a chair from the small table nearby, Damien sits down with less grace than he'd want.

"You met Kim?" of course Kaden had gone to Montesano's home, today she works afternoons, "The leftovers must be from him, then. He is nice, if a bit much sometimes"

"Thanks," Damien accepts the glass of water and takes a deep gulp. It's ironic how dry his mouth is even though he's been drinking for the last few hours.

Unjust conviction.

That gives him pause.

There's no uncertainty in those words, no question. There'd never been any question from Finch - he'd simply accepted that the ex-convict wasn't guilty from the start, and now he casually reiterates that belief without reservation. Damien stares at him with an expression he can't quite name, before quickly looking down at his hands holding the cup.

"We didn't use to have difficulties," his voice is quiet, uncertain. He should stop, he's going to say too much again. But the memories keep coming and it's a relief to speak into existence what'd been keeping him awake since yesterday, "The opposite, actually. We used to rely on each other, look out for each other. Somewhere along the way that changed, but I don't resent her for it."

"Really, I had no idea Eli hated me until she told our parents I didn't plan on going to law school," that's the actual target of his ire, isn't it? "They weren't supposed to find out, not until I was safely out of the house. I told Eli because I trusted her to keep it a secret, like she'd done for so much."

"They'd threatened to throw both of us out on many occasions - out of everything, that was their favorite manipulation. The whole 'you live under my roof, you follow my rules or you can leave' mentality. That time they actually threw me out. Over something as meaningless as that," Damien spits the words out, squeezing the cup a little too tightly.

He doesn't look up at Kaden. He can't. Not with the way he's shaking, "You know what it's like to find out someone loves you, but only conditionally?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

The mashed potatoes are so rich it's like carving butter out of the Tupperware. Flakes of parsley, fresh parsley give it color but Kaden's not fooled. This is leagues better than a frozen dinner, but make no mistake, this food was made with so much love it's gone evil.

But it will do good for Damien, who's most likely drinking on an empty stomach. A poor and potentially dangerous choice.

He's silent while he listens, the quiet clatter of dishes the only sound aside from Damien's voice. Kaden considers interrupting to tell Damien it's illegal to have underage children removed from a home unless it's deemed unfit for them.
Somehow, that doesn't seem like the right thing to say.

People don't remove their pets from home, much less children. How could anyone throw a child away?

Kaden's able to connect the dots himself, potentially. Did Damien go to live with the Kell family after being rejected?
He side eyes the man, feeling as though he's hearing things he should not be, but feeling special he gets to hear them at all. He's not the kind of person people open up to.

When the microwave beeps is when some more pieces of the puzzle slide into place.

Damien didn't only lose his best friend.
He lost two families. Everything  he worked for gone in a flash, all while trying to prove he was worth it all.
To Kaden, the Montesano family is substantial. To Damien, it's scraps of what he has left.

Sliding a plate of hot food towards Damien feels remarkably insufficient in the current moment.
The jelly like gravy which had concerned Kaden has properly relaxed and melted over the food accordingly. That's one thing that's gone right, but it's still only reheated food.

Is that question rhetorical?

Kaden stands there, staring in a way most people would find uncomfortable.

"Not by a mom, no," he finally settles on, quietly. And mothers are what a boy needs. Fatherless boys become gang members, but motherless boys become psychopathic serial killers. If you can only have one, have the mother. But Damien only got half of each, maybe only a quarter. What does that do to a boy?

Gently, he takes the cup from Damien. If his covered fingers glance across Damien's unintentionally, then that's okay. It is.

"A child is completely dependent on their caregiver. It wasn't fair for them to lord basic necessities over your head to get obedience. Or to pitch you and your sister against one another."

He returns with the cup filled, sets it down quietly.
"It wasn't your fault, Damien. None of it."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Having the cup taken away feels cruel. It leaves Damien defenseless, with no barrier to hold onto, and the gloved finger that brushes against his makes him shiver. In that tiny gesture, it's like another layer of his life has been peeled off without him realizing it, to be revealed in the light.

He's given Kaden a glimpse of his past, yet it's already as though he's learned too much, knows too much without even having to ask for the information. In another life, the Black Dog would have been a great investigator.

Kaden tells him it wasn't his fault, and Damien knows this, logically. His sister and he were both just children, they shouldn't have been forced to live under constant fear and stress. They shouldn't have been forced to deal with the complexes of adults meant to protect them. But the Blumenthal household was middle class. It wasn't violent, not in the way that leaves marks that linger to be remembered or that could later be shown to people as "proof". It was a quiet hell and neither of the siblings ever talked about it.

Kaden doesn't dismiss it. No, instead he gives comfort - this man that barely remembers his mother, this man that was left to be beaten within an inch of his life by someone he probably viewed as a mother.

There's a guilty stinging in the ex-cop's chest. Just like this apartment feels inadequate to the penthouse, Damien's trauma feels inadequate to Finch's.

"It was my fault," his tone comes out in a gasp, insistent, disbelieving, "I learned how to keep them happy very early on, but because of that she-"

The sentence ends prematurely with a strangled noise at the back of his throat. Damien covers his mouth with his palm, but that's not enough. Teeth find flesh. In the heightened emotions of intoxication, the pain of biting down on the back of his hand is the only thing keeping him from crying. He hasn't cried in a long time, he isn't going to start doing so now. That's a face he refuses to show Finch.

He's already done enough self-pitying.

It takes him several moments to calm down enough to let go. There's a shallow bite imprint on his skin that'll be gone within some seconds, but for now its irritated red coloration stands out. Damien rubs at it. He manages to meet Finch's eyes head-on, schooling his expression into one of indifference. Yet, there's gratitude in his eyes - for the food, and for listening to him inanely babble on.

"Sit down," the ex-cop nods his head towards one of the chairs, "Please. Eat with me."

"And tell me what was so urgent you had to go to Natalia to find me."

Cause there has to be a reason. It can't just be because Kaden thought something had happened to him. That'd be too much for Damien to handle.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Kaden takes a step forward when Damien decides the best course of action is to hurt himself. The hands Finch softened Damien's biting into like he's a mad dog.

It's not Kaden's place.

They don't know one another.

Even if Kaden feels like he does, they don't.
He watches Damien chew himself until he can ground himself. It's all Kaden can do.

She what? What could she have done to him in return for doing his best? Was there jealousy? A sense of competition? Between family?

Damien doesn't want anyone forced into an apology. Kaden has to remind himself of that. This man wants Finch to ask permission and respect the answer, to a certain degree.

As if nothing happened, as if Kaden didn't just witness this man crack, Damien invites him to sit.

The way he schools his face into the well-meaning one Kaden is familiar with is disturbing.
There's a subtle glassiness to his eyes in the right lighting, but that's all.
It reminds Kaden of Cade, the way the man wears two expressions at once. Mouth saying one thing, eyes another...

Yes, it's disturbing.

"You only have one plate and I won't be eating out of Tupperware," he informs, taking his familiar spot of sitting across from Damien. They eat together a lot for people who are supposed to be business partners exclusively.

The capo has already had one person slip away without warning.
There was a possibility Damien wouldn't be here either when he looked, or worse.

"The Nakurra want to meet at the Gala."
It's potentially rude to wear gloves at the table, but Finch can't be bothered to take them off. Instead he tests the resilience of the leather by flexing a hand open, closed, open.
"The Yakuza boss has a son that's fanatical about giving back for his father's misdeeds, and making himself a public figure while he does it. I'm sure it drives the old man insane but it will give us time to talk business again since Delilah..."

He looks down at his hand, straining the leather as he clenches it shut.
"Disappeared."

He knows Damien will ask because that's the kind of curious little bastard he is. It also doesn't hurt the man to rid himself of some of the spotlight. They're both uncomfortable being honest with one another, that's comforting.

They each have a knife in each other's back, gently slid in between the ribs like it's an act of love and not a ticking bomb. They can twist whenever they need to, whenever whatever this is evolves past their control and understanding.

Kaden can't help but feel Damien has the sharper knife. It isn't fair.

"I have reason to believe she isn't dead... That she was..." Kaden trails off.
He narrows his eyes, clenching his teeth.

There's something wrong.

He tests the table, finds it wobbles. One leg is shorter than the rest, causing it to teeter.
How infuriating is that?

It's not an extreme difference, not enough to slosh the water from Damien's cup. But it does wobble and it makes an irritating wheezing sound as the materials of the table bend to compensate.

"Did this apartment come furnished or did you buy this personally?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Damien frowns slightly at Kaden's refusal to eat, but of course he's not going to force him to do something he doesn't want. He's going to have to force himself, though. The ex-convict's body doesn't feel like eating - it did several hours ago, but he denied it then, and now as if in retaliation a single look at the plentiful leftovers makes his stomach churn. There's even more food apart from the portion Finch heated up left in the Tupperware. He's going to have to keep it overnight, and he hates doing that.

The plate is not all the way to Damien - he keeps it towards the center of the small table as he picks at it. With some effort, he takes a bite - it's good, hearty, as expected of Kim. But it's not like a slice of pizza or a greasy kebab you get late at night when you've gotten irresponsibly trashed with friends. Not that he'd enjoy such things at the moment. He's simply not in the mood for anything.

"The Gala?" he quirks an eyebrow, "I take it meeting at a public event like that is supposed to signify the Nakurra want to keep things civil. You know this guilt-ridden Yakuza's son?"

Damien shuts himself up with another bite of food before he can get too overzealous asking questions, but latching onto a more digestible topic than the previous one is a relief.

Kaden's not done speaking. The direction of the conversation suddenly goes unpalatable again, as much as the ex-cop's interest has been piqued.

Disappeared. He puts down the fork, looking closely at the Black Dog.

"Furnished," Damien replies simply. The table wobbles under Finch's hand - it's distracting the man, stopping his train of thought. Or maybe he's doing it on purpose.

Damien rises from his place. There are very few things in this apartment, but there are some books. He retrieves a rather thin one at random before walking back to the table and placing it underneath the short leg, leveling it with the others. When he sits back down he places his elbows on the surface to rest his chin on his hands. The food has more or less been forgotten for the moment.

"Reason to believe she's not dead? Beyond not finding a body?"

Missing persons cases are a sad and desperate affair. The first 72 hours- no, the first 48 hours with them are crucial to follow up on leads and work fast. Afterward the chances of locating someone drop significantly, the "bread crumbs" of evidence disappearing fast. Even just finding a body gets difficult, and despite having received images of Delilah dead, here Kaden is claiming she might not be.

The woman is a sore spot for the consigliere, there's no way she wouldn't be. Maybe this is a delusion born out of grief. Or maybe it has something to do with whatever he got from Genevieve that the ex-cop is yet to learn about. Damien's missing facts.

This isn't an interrogation, and he does his best to keep his voice soft to showcase that fact, "What do you believe happened to her instead?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

"It's a good sign for a peaceful meeting, it may even mean an alliance, especially if the son is there. He's pleasant enough but I'm not sure of the boy's resolve," Kaden muses thoughtfully.
"It's a terrible thing the damage a father can do to his son by loving him too much."

In Kaden's opinion few people are cut out for this life, rather it's cut into them and that kid doesn't have a single scar on him. The cuts will have to happen fast and hard if he ever wants to take over his father's clan. If it even still exists by the time he's ready.

And that's when the conversation takes an uncomfortable direction.

Kaden watches Damien with a wary eye as he leaves the table to retrieve a book.
Human ingenuity is displayed at its finest when Damien fixes the mismatched legs.
He didn't ask Finch to focus, he just went out of his way to make him comfortable. Silently and without judgment.
Even if Damien, for one moment, must think Kaden's insane to think Delilah's alive, he does so respectfully

Yes, that knife in his back is truly good and wedged in there.

Kaden's not an animal. He doesn't rip at himself like Damien did.
He does put the second knuckle of his index finger between his teeth. Somewhere distantly he knows this is disgusting. These aren't his workshop gloves, but this terrible pair has seen a lot.

But the leather is soft and giving when he nips.

He's not going to spend an entire day using this man as a distraction, not again.
He's the fucking Butcher. He can do this, he can do anything. This is nothing.

It helps Damien's using a soft voice. It's completely patronizing, but it's nice.

"She...went into hiding? She must be testing me. Again. That's the only logical solution," he manages, renewing his chewing on the leather. Why else would someone abandon the gang they'd built up themselves?

"The poison was a Romeo and Juliette serum. She faked her death." This knowledge should give him comfort, but it doesn't. Kaden feels like he's waiting again, waiting for something bad to happen.
He doesn't know how bad it will be or when it will happen, only that he'll have no choice but to suffer through it.

But it's the waiting. The waiting is the worst part.

"I... needed you to know. It changes the nature of our time at the gala. I will be on duty as well. She must want to see how I'll handle the gang's relationship with the Nakurra concerning the High-Rise problem."

There's something about that that doesn't add up. Like feeling for a sliver imbedded in skin, Kaden probes the tender ache of his mind for an answer.

"If I know she's not dead... Then she knows that I know," he says, emphasizing his point by tapping at the now level table.
Kaden stares at the table, where his finger meets the surface.
His eyes flick up to meet Damien's.

"...She would know about you by now."

"Is there..." He sighs soundlessly. "Is there any possible way Moore can be assassinated on any other night?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

The longer Damien listens, the more the pangs of a headache rattling around in his skull increase.

"Testing you? There's nothing logical about that," the alcohol's effects have evidently not worn off, because a sober Damien would not have allowed himself to speak those words. Especially not with that type of animosity, but talking about his own shitty parents has left him feeling raw. The sadism of this possibly being another test makes the muscles in his jaw feather as it clenches. He's angry, not at Kaden for once, but for him.

What will the man have to suffer through this time around?

Damien runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands to try and release some of the tension, but it doesn't really help.

"Such a mess... You're certain it's this serum and that that's what it does?" he is trying to wrap his head around something not necessarily in his field of expertise, and in the case of poisons - completely outside of his field of expertise. The name of the concoction is enough to let him understand what its properties are supposed to be, though.

It doesn't make any of it make sense. Why would Delilah fake her death? Why would she willingly abandon Kaden at such a turbulent time, when the High-Rise is apparently pushing against the Nakurra and the Black Dogs? Weren't they in the process of negotiations when she vanished? Even if an alliance could be reached now at the gala overseen by Finch, and she can observe... It doesn't fully make sense.

And there are other pieces of the puzzle missing.

"Those photos you got," the ex-cop is thinking out loud, still tugging at a strand of his hair. The memory of the images on Kaden's phone comes to him easily, "Cade received them first, right? From an anonymous number, I suspect. Still, you gotta wonder who took them. It couldn't have been Delilah herself."

He doesn't know where he's going with that, except for implying she had someone help her disappear, which Kaden definitely already knows. The capo makes his own implication by tapping on the table. Damien's jaw clenches once more at his stare, "Thank you... for telling me all this."

He shifts back in the chair with a sigh, crossing his arms.

"No," the answer is sharp, but the ex-cop does his best to keep his tone reasonable, "I can't wait on confronting Moore. His personal life is frustratingly guarded, suspiciously so. This might be my only chance to get to him, and I'm not letting it slip through of my fingers."

Again. However, what does he intend to do in this new situation? Kaden has his own duty to deal with, one that would be made difficult if one of the organizers were to die. There might be a compromise here.

"I could kidnap him, there's always the option of killing him elsewhere. And seeing as you'll be busy, I can do it by myself."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

The implication Delilah isn't working alone makes Kaden's blood chill.
It's obvious, and he can't understand how he could miss it. Kaden takes the finger from his mouth so he can rub at his temple with the palm of his hand.
He doesn't have a headache yet, but it will be hard to avoid. The new development seems to have made Damien just as on edge.

The man's in utter disbelief at the notion this could be a test.

Kaden knows from experience kidnapping and body disposal rank quite high on the spectrum of bad jobs. Mostly from the lower back strain.
But it would make things easier on his end.

"I would appreciate that. If you need men and access to a secondary location I can assist with that."

Kaden stands, pushing the plate of food forward.
Damien's fridge is depressingly sparse, but that gives plenty of space to store the left overs. Silver linings, and all that.

A smarter man would see the potential for this night to go poorly and have Damien be preoccupied for it's duration. Kaden could say his edge is blunting, but he knows he owes Damien after he helped his last target get away.

Speaking of which.

Finch produces a handgun from his coat. If Damien tenses at the sight of the weapon, Kaden unlocks the clip from the gun.
It clatters quietly as he sets it down.
The weapon's exact to Damien's broad specs.

Finch doesn't believe in a flashy weapon; a plain one will shoot just as well as a detailed one.
He does, however, like the personal touch of a few designs.
The markings are subtle and restricted to the grip. Most of them are abstract, but if studied closer one could see the shape of a fox.

"It's a S&W MP." It's more refined than the Ruger, adept at single and double action use. Though it isn't as durable as the Ruger, the accuracy of both weapons is so identical they can't be differentiated in that regard.
There is one key difference and it's that this gun was taken apart and put back together, but not before a tracker was placed inside.

Kaden produces a silencer as well, placing that on the table next to the weapon.

It's not Kaden's first choice, but he can see why the pattern of guns are Damien's first choice.
They're all primarily used in law enforcement.

"Finish your food and stay hydrated," Kaden says, zipping up his jacket.
"Come early the night of the gala. We're going as a couple. Bringing a partner will show good will to the Nakurra."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

It's a relief when Finch agrees to the compromise.

"If everything goes according to plan, I won't need additional manpower," Damien says, not lacking resolve. He's already running through possible scenarios. Unlike with Wight's manor, the ex-cop will be going into this more prepared, and he's going to do everything possible so that things go the way he envisions, the way he'll get everything he wants out of Moore, "But a secondary location may or may not be necessary."

"On that point, we'll have to stay in touch when we eventually separate in the gala," the police radios used on the task force come to mind immediately, but such things are noisy and cumbersome. There are lighter options. Damien grimaces in a fleeting instant of guilt, mumbling, "I'll keep my phone close this time."

Finch takes out a handgun.

Damien doesn't believe it's with the intention to shoot him. Given the situation and the way they've been talking, the conclusion is logical. Disregard the fact it's probably unwise to have his guard down this much around the Black Dog. Well, he can blame his current state on the alcohol. That's at least partially the truth. His muscles still tense involuntarily when the weapon is set down on the table for inspection, but it's with anticipation.

This is his new gun. Fitting all of the sparse criteria requested, with a bonus silencer to boot.

The ex-cop recognizes the model before Kaden says it. He reaches for the gun, puts the clip back in, and gives the familiar weight a test - it's good. Damien allows himself a sigh. After days of walking around unprotected he is finally not defenseless anymore. The release mechanism clicks a second later to disarm the S&W once more, but the man keeps holding onto its grip. Much like his lighter, there are engravings on the material and he runs his fingers over them in interest -this is a utilitarian weapon, pragmatic. For it to be decorated like this, even if in a subtle manner, feels odd - ornamentation doesn't belong on something this unremarkable. It makes the gun seem like a gift rather than a debt repaid. Damien pauses when he notices the fox.

His eyes are on Kaden in an instant. Has he chosen a mask for himself yet?

"A couple?" Damien bristles, even though there's really no reason to - it's been a while since he's had to put on appearances, but playing a role isn't something entirely new. Quite the opposite. He recognizes the purpose of such a charade in the context of the Nakurra meeting, yet the idea of being used as a prop makes him frown. The word 'couple' itself tastes weird in his mouth when he says it back... The notion that it's not an entirely unpleasant sensation makes him shake his head, speeding up the onset of that inevitable headache. Damien's never drinking again, "I understand. I'll be there early."

And that's that.

For all intents and purposes, their present business has been concluded. Kaden has zipped up his jacket, put away the food, and tried to advise the older man on how to take care of himself like he's a child that doesn't know already. As unexpectedly as he came here, the consigliere is gearing up to leave. There's been no mention of the state of the apartment or of its occupant, no snide remarks. Kaden just... listened. He's being likable again.

"... Thank you. For checking in."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Finch has never had someone revolt at the prospect of being with him romantically. This isn't even in sincerity and Damien acts like Kaden's spit in his food.
The capo sighs and prepares to have another fight before Damien gives him whiplash by accepting the proposition.

Well, alright then. There it is.

He nods at Damien's thank you, as unnecessary as it is.
"And uncover the windows. You'll mess with your circadian rhythm living in the dark."

---


The way Markus searches every nook and cranny of the place reminds Cade of a stray dog he saw once. She yipped day and night, looking for her babies.
She never sounded distraught, but she never stopped looking either. It was like something pivotal to the reality of her universe -- like the sky -- was gone and she couldn't comprehend it, let alone accept it.
No grief, just an overwhelming feeling of loss and confusion.

Markus has checked multiple places twice, as if Jackie will suddenly appear there if given enough time.
He's checked places Jackie, and no human being should ever be.

The one place he hasn't checked is exactly where Jackie is, but if someone has to check there then there's a good chance their search is going to end there. And not in a family friendly kind of way either.

"You sure you haven't seen 'im, tweets?" Markus asks again, after checking a literal storage closet. Fuck, it'd be sad if it wasn't kind of hilarious.
It takes him back to grade school when people would hide his shit to get a rise out of him. Baby face Cade hated those punks but now that he's been on both sides he can't necessarily blame them. The game's much more fun on this side.

The mute man on break doesn't need to sip at his beer in lieu of answering but he does so anyway.
The shifty fuck glances at Cade before shaking his head. Real subtle.
For a guy who can't talk he sure has a lot to say.

Unsatisfed, Mark sighs. "I'll fucking kill you, man."

Before this can get physical, Cade steps in. Granted, he's never been thought of as the number one deescalator in the pack, but he's got a plan.
This shit has gone on too long.

"You're looking for Jack?" He asks, real casual like.

Markus is slow to take his eyes off Tweets who remarkably looks more guilty than scared of the giant.

"Oh, Cade fuck off." Markus waves him off and Cade smiles through his teeth, fingernails biting crescent shapes into his skin.
Second in command and people walk all over him like it's nothing. Kade wouldn't put up with that disrespect, why should he?

Then again, Kaden's good in a fist fight.
Cade is... Less than good, if he's being generous.

"...I could show you where he is."

The look on Markus face could be on Wikipedia for the page on cynicism. But it's a siren's call (not to be confused with the whore assassins) to hisears. This is the first lead Markus has gotten.

"It's been days, Cade. You know where Delilah's corpse is too?"

Cade sighs, like he's a good boy and this information has been breaking his back and heart with the weight of it.
"Keep this between you and me but Finch he's... Well, guy's going off the handle a little bit."

This kind of insubordinate talk makes everyone clam up and sweat. No one wants to accidentally dig their own grave with some negative water cooler talk.
Even higher ups like Cade and Markus, especially them.

"Jackie got antsy and pushed Finch in front of everyone," Cade says, wincing like it isn't the most delicious office gossip to come through here in a while.

The expression making the otherwise handsome Markus scary and ugly gets worse.
"Jackie would never do that. He's not stupid."

Cade shrugs. He knows he's fucking with fire.
Jack kicked his ass and Markus will too. But those were friendly ass kickings, the kind you do to put someone in their place.
If Cade hits the wrong nerve Markus will put him in his place six feet underground, Finch's rules on in fighting be damned.

Behind them Tweets is packing up, cutting his break early to make for the door.
Guy should get an award for that level of productivity, he's a real champ.

"Finch's got him in his psycho play pen," Cade says, shrugging helplessly.
"He's been too preoccupied to pull fingernails, but I'd say he's going to do it soon."

Being grabbed by this behemoth is as anticipated as it is terrifying. The guy's got bad enough breath Kade should bottle it up for his interrogations. Fuck, he can't breath.

"You're coming with me," Markus spits in his face, gripping Cade by the back of his neck.
"I've had enough of your weasely shit. When it turns out you're a fucking liar I'll do some nail pulling of my own."

Jack's there, right? Kade didn't have him moved.
Cade's positive Jackie's been on Kaden's back burner, rotting away in old sweat and puke for days now.

Now, being half dragged like he doesn't weigh a thing to this guy, Cade can't be sure.

---

Cade has been fucking with fate for a long time now. He's not suicidal, really, but the alternative is that he's stupid.

He knows what everyone thinks. He knows these motherfuckers whisper behind his back on how he doesn't deserve his position.

Lazy, maybe. But he's not stupid.

Death turns another blind eye when Markus unlocks the heavy steel door.
Cade tries not to feel bitter about how he's able to rip it open while still holding onto him, like it's nothing. Like he's nothing.

That iron grip turns to dust when they step inside.

Jackie is sat against the wall, his hands cuffed behind his back. Cade has never been so happy to see him.
Next time he pulls something like this, he's making sure all the bases are covered. Realistically, he can't keep pushing his luck like this.

"Jack!" Markus rushes over to kneel beside his friend, like the stray would have if she ever found her lost puppies.
"I've been looking all over for you."

There's relief on Jack's face, happiness making the edges of his eyes crinkle. Geeze, it's like watching a bad movie play out, the way they look at each other.

The expression is soured when the man looks at the door, finally sees Cade standing there.

"No, no no," the blond starts, shoving Markus back with his shoulder. Big as the other man is, the push barely registers. It's the words that make the gangster pause.
"Get outta here. Fuck off! Before Finch finds out."

Restrained as he is, Jack can't keep Markus from fiddling with his cuffs. Unfortunately, these are police issued and not easily broken or picked unless properly prepared for.

"No one knew where you were," Markus is mumbling away, "I thought you'd left me."

"Never." Jackie's frown softens when he meets Markus' eyes. He bites his lip, tenses. His eyes go to Cade and he can't help but smile.
All the little jabs they made about him sleeping with dudes and they're looking at each other like that? Man, it makes his blood boil.
This was a long time coming. They won't admit it, but it is.

"But you gotta leave me now. Get the fuck out of here," Jack whispers between his teeth.

"Fucking forget it, man. Not without you."

Okay, Cade has seen enough of this Broke Back Mountain ripoff.

The hollow wail of the steel door closing interrupts both men.
Cade steps further in, without a smile. There's no speech, no jokes or quips.

No, Cade's not number one in a fist fight, but he's not a bad shot. Particularly when the target is six feet in front of him.

The contents of Markus' head paint the wall behind him. The guy doesn't seem to notice half his brain is missing, no sound, no nothing. He just flops into Jackie's lap like he's tired from a long day and he's finally home.
Outside of this insulated room, the bullet's thunder is but a small echo.
The proceeding howl of horror interrupted by another bullet isn't heard at all.

"Sorry boys," Cade says when it's over, blowing on the tip of his gun, regardless of how little the puff of smoke is after only two shots.
He's alone, they're dead, he can be as cringy as he likes.

Flipping his gun around his finger like a cowboy occurs to him, but accidentally shooting himself in the dick right now doesn't appeal to him.

No, he's gotten straighten some things out with Tweety. Even if he can't talk, he still has working hands to write.
And Finch isn't going to be happy about the mess in his favorite room either.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

---

It's grotesquely obscene to have a limo of this size and yet only house three passengers.
Four, if one includes the driver, but a divider keeps the two sections of the vehicle separate.

"You didn't even ask me if I wanted to go," Cade says with a sigh into the tinted window.
He's moping, after messing with his supposed 'itchy' collar.
Now he goes to bite his newly lacquered fingernails. There's no colored polish to them, just a clear coat to make them shine but you'd think the substance was made of acid with how deeply Cade despises it.

The manicure did little to manage the rough look of his hands.
Damien's faired much better in that arena. In fact he nearly looks like he belongs in a suit, and with the preparation put into his appearance he's nearly distracting.

"Do you want to go?" Finch asks, scrolling through his phone.
The makeup he's adorned himself with is subtle so not to draw too many looks, but the feeling of cosmetics on his skin give him a confidence only brandishing a gun gives him.
The corset vest hugging his chest likewise boosts his morale. In all aspects the blue, black tux enhances what is already worth noticing on his person.

"No-

"Then I'm so happy you could come regardless," Finch hums, giving Cade an icy smile. It's some of his own medicine for a change.

Cade clears his throat, glances at Damien once before settling on Finch. "If you're punishing me by making me go to a 'save the planet' jerk-off party with your new pet then not only is that super lame it's also really fucking petty."

Kaden rolls his shoulders as if he has no idea what Cade's talking about.
"I'm not punishing you. You'll know when I'm punishing you, Cadence."

The Black Dog reddens at the mention of his full name before looking away.

"I'll be preoccupied with the Nakurra. I want you to be on standby for Damien in case he needs you."

Cade shoots a look at Damien. "What?" He asks, incredulously with a finger pointed at the man in question.
"Him?

"No, a different Damien that is also going to the Gala," Kaden supplies, too pissed to be embarrassed by poor manners. "Damian, with a fucking 'A', as it were."

Cade glowers. The sarcasm is clearly not appreciated. The Dog puts on an appealing face.
"Tell him that's a stupid idea, Dame. You don't want me watching your six."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Damien is dressed up.

It's been a while since he's had to play this kind of role, not that he wasn't mentally prepared for it. When he arrived earlier tonight, he'd even done so bringing products purchased with the express purpose of getting ready for the gala. Those had been shot down fast, deemed not up to par, but instead of allowing Topher - there to make last-minute alterations to guarantee a good fit on the suit - to be in charge of all aesthetic duties concerning his person, the ex-cop had volunteered to follow instructions. Anything not to get treated like a living mannequin again. Still, how tedious. It would have taken him mere minutes to get finished putting his appearance together alone. He begrudgingly obliged the directives given anyway - slicking his hair, lacquering his nails, applying light concealer to hide dark circles. All of it done in front of a too-large mirror.

That was the worst part. When was the last time Damien was forced to stare at a mirror for so long?

At least the end result is a decent disguise. Not to mention it's impressive what correctly tailored clothes can do for a person - in the steel blue tux with its shorter tailcoat jacket dyed grey, the man looks like he might actually belong in the high-end gala he's infiltrating. His parents would have died to see a child of theirs attending such an event.

Damien's skin crawls and he crosses his arms, keeping an impassive expression. The faint reflection in the tinted limo window shifts in his periphery, goading him to take a peek. He won't. He's had more than enough of that already.

Instead, the ex-cop keeps himself occupied gazing at the other two car passengers, both dressed up as well.

In Kaden's case, that's nothing new, though his appearance is even more striking than usual. There's a certain regalness to him, with a dash of vanity. Finch does seem to really enjoy dressing up. Will he be indulging his bad habits this evening?

On the other hand, Cade seems to definitively not enjoy dressing up, and the ex-convict takes solace in the shared discomfort, even if their reasons for it are probably different.

Yet the presence of the tattooed man sets Damien on edge. Somewhere between nursing a hangover and researching the gala location yesterday, the ex-cop's thoughts had fleeted back to Kaden's visit, replaying it. He'd said... a lot, but one specific thing bothered him - the idea that, if Delilah is alive, someone had helped her. Cade had been the first to receive the photos. And he'd sent them off so recklessly to Kaden. However, based on the way the two Black Dogs converse now, and despite the mention of punishment, there's trust between them. Cade- Cadence is the capo's second in command, he got him Pawl, and he checked up on him at a low point - he delivered Finch's groceries, before grabbing a Pepsi that apparently no one ever asks for.

Not that any of this stops the man from reeking of trouble. Damien fidgets with his wristwatch and so does the reflection in the corner of his eye. He's being paranoid.

"You keep calling me that. Dame. Is that my very own fun mobster nickname, then?" it doesn't bother him much, he's been called worse (the earlier instance of "pet" being one such example). The fact that Cade thinks it bothers him is what's actually annoying, though this time it's said not with mockery, but with the tone he'd used to call Damien "brother", "I'm flattered, SK."

He doesn't want Cade watching his back. He doesn't want anyone watching his back, considering what transpired at Wight's mansion. Confronting Moore is something the ex-cop needs to do on his own, the most he'll need is a secondary location. But the Black Dog sticking around, at least for a little while, means he potentially gets to ask questions.

"No, I agree with Finch," Damien doesn't think for long before answering, "Hopefully you won't be needed, but one can never know. And you did save me once before. Thank you for which."

His eyes turn to Kaden, brows furrowing, "That being said, you aren't going to be negotiating with the Nakurra alone, are you?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Cade rolls his jaw, glaring at Damien. His teeth nearly make an audible click, or maybe that is his jaw. It's difficult to determine.

"You are so very welcome," Cade spits in reply to Damien's meager gratitude.

"I'll have Dogs placed throughout the Gala. I won't be unprotected, but Cade is better used elsewhere."
And Kaden doesn't want him at the table, not when negotiates take place.

As if to display Cade's amazing self control and patience, the man goes after his collar again. The main victim is the bowtie hugging his neck.
Tying the elegant design is much harder than untying it, so Cade is either very terrible with his hands or he tears the fabric on purpose. Finch genuinely can't tell.

"We'll use these to stay in contact," Kaden informs, holding out an open palm housing three small comms units.
Cade reaches over and plucks one from his hand shamelessly. Kaden suppresses a shiver at the touch.

Damien allows him to drop the bud into his hand.

Cade pulls out his phone, tapping the screen rapidly.
Kaden's prepared for the matter to be settled when his own phone buzzes.

Do u have an inoperable tumor?

Finch looks up at Cade, who's still staring at his screen, biting his fingernail.

Not that I know of.

The tattooed gangster snorts. Kaden considers himself to be a fast texter, but Cade might as well be a teenage girl for how fast the messages roll in.

Your running two jobs on one night in the same place

It's a delicate situation and your putting it in jeopardy and idk why

This guy is dragging you down

Cade tosses the scraps of his tie aside, unbuttoning his dress shirt.
The man unbuttons his outer coat as well, for a business casual look that Kaden is sure is meant to annoy him.

"My safe word is 'pineapples'," Cade informs, sticking the bud into his ear. He taps it once.
"Or, 'Cade I'm a little bitch and I need your help'. Either one is fine."

If he has something on you i could help???

Idk why you won't talk to me

Finch sighs, taps the edge of his phone with a thumb.
The three dots indicating a message is being written float under the messages for quite some time.
Then suddenly,

Do u want to fuck him?

Kaden looks at Damien out the corner of his eye. The man almost looks unrecognizable in his tailored suit. His hair is done, his face is clear. There's always been a pleasantness to his appearance, but it's made more obvious now.

No.

I owe him.

Cade makes an audible sigh, pocketing his device.

"So what's left for you after this, brother?" Cade asks casually.
The man leans forward, not to intimidate but so he can play with the car's interior controls. Quite possibly by mistake, Cade turns the heated feature of Damien's seat on. Cranking it up all the way in a car that's already a pleasant temperature might be done with more intention.

"You get the bad guy and then what? Go home?

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Damien accepts the comms unit, inserting it snuggly into his ear. The device is simple, much smaller and more convenient than police radios, and it's a relief to have an easy way to communicate between the three. Wonder what the range on these is.

The tap on the bud Cade had unceremoniously plucked away makes him frown momentarily.

"'Pineapples'," the ex-cop tests out the safeword, because of course there is a safeword. What, are they walking into a BDSM event? Eyes Wide Shut comes to mind again, "Understood."

He intends not to use it, of course, or any other creative variants of asking for help till the end of the night, which so far is shaping up to be... interesting...

Kaden and Cade are both on their phones, texting. The shorter man specifically reminds Damien of Sujin with how fast his fingers are typing away, and he has to wonder how Kim and Nat can ever stand this type of behavior. That thought makes him feel incredibly old, but he can't help it - it's just plain rude. Not that the ex-convict has the most model manners, but he's been saying a lot of 'thank you' and 'please' recently.

Worse than that, it's obvious the two are texting each other, probably about Damien himself. A brief look Finch throws him confirms that suspicion. Do they think they're being subtle? Or is this a purposeful insult?

Damien frowns, but he can't look off to the side because that means staring at the window. He has to remind himself he's the least trusted person in the limo. And that includes the driver.

Finally, Cade graces him with some attention, and it's not exactly appreciated it. His contact with the tattooed gangster has been limited so far, but overall leaning on the agreeable side, even if he questioned Damien's motives up in Finch's apartment. This evening, Cade feels antagonistic. Or maybe that's just Damien's paranoia speaking.

"I'll cross that bridge when I get there," the ex-convict answers dismissively. It's not that he's guarded, he's just... genuinely never thought that far. In fact, he avoids such ponderings, that kind of future feeling impossibly distant, blurry. He doesn't know what's left after this, because he doesn't know if he'll ever get there. Damien shrugs his shoulders, "Who knows, maybe I'll retire somewhere warmer, in the tropics."

Cade is turning the temperature up on his seat. Yeah, he's being antagonistic. If Damien had even the first idea about the technology of the limo's interior controls, he'd simply reach over and turn the additional heating off, but modern technology isn't exactly his forte. Instead, he uses the opportunity to change seats, moving crosser to Cade from where he's seated across the two men.

"But as I'm sure you know, there aren't many options for ex-cops," he leans forward to meet the second-in-command's gaze head-on, "I'm curious. Where'd you serve on the force, Cade? And what landed you with the Black Dogs?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

"Florida." Cade nods, "that's where the has-beens and the crazies go. If they have the money."

This does bring up something to consider.
Finch usually plans ahead, as much as he can. This is the first time in a long while he's had to perform without prep.
Damien's been making it up as he goes along this entire time. What will he do after this?
Cade has a point; traveling takes money.
What kind of job will Damien be able to get? Will he even be able to leave the country if that's what he wishes with a criminal record?

Cade tsks when his antics bring Damien closer.
"You sure are a squirrel-y little fuck," he mutters under his breath.

The man gives Damien a shark tooth smile. He twins Damien and leans forward.
Kaden keeps his sigh to himself. Both of the men have a bark that's worse than their bite and it's equally annoying and amusing to see them posturing.

"We don't have to get friendly," Cade says, letting his grin drop.
"I was a lot like you except I was actually a successful cop. Now I'm a successful Mafia boss and that's pretty much all you need to know. After tonight you're through with the Black Dogs and you never have to see us again so I really don't see the point."

Cade breaks his gaze to glance at Finch before looking at Damien.
"Right?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Damien's eyebrow quirks up in curiosity.

Cade had called himself a mafia boss. Unless the Black Dogs have some kind of atypical structure to their hierarchy, that's not exactly what the tattooed man is - he's second in command.

"Mafia underboss," the ex-cop amends quietly, keeping his tone and expression indifferent. Damien doesn't know what's gotten into him, to allow himself to be more petty than usual. Somehow Cade has managed to push his buttons, just a little bit. Not because the man implied he's a has-been or crazy. No, it's because he implied he hadn't been a successful cop, and that makes him angry. Not that it isn't the truth - he'd tried so hard to climb up the ranks, to make something of himself, only to land in prison within 2 years of being on the force. A failure through and through.

Still, Cade claims the two are alike, or at least used to be. Has he been put behind bars? Has he wanted revenge? Has he gotten it?

If he doesn't want to answer, Damien won't push. Not now, anyway. He has to set aside the bad habit of trying to look into people that are inconsequential to him. Especially since, apparently, any relations he has with the Black Dogs will be over soon.

Damien leans back, briefly breaking eye contact with the shorter gangster. His gaze fleets over to Kaden - this man that's become a constant fixture in his recent life, whom he's shared too much with and heard too much from. Technically, if all goes well tonight, the two won't have reason to see each other again. Finch hasn't wanted help with his investigation since the first lead he got from Montesano, and what Damien set out to do will be finished in a way - Michael's killer might have escaped, but the man that ordered him dead will pay twofold.

That goal is what keeps Damien moving forward, yet the idea that its completion means an end to this bizarre partnership gives him pause. He grimaces at the pangs in his chest.

"Right," Damien looks back at Cade, nodding his head. After a moment of silence, he adds, "Though I wouldn't mind offering further help against the High-Rise. And then your boss can shoo me away if he wants."

"But firstly, let's actually get through the gala."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Inexplicably, Kaden feels the heaviness in his chest lighten at the thought of Damien's continued support.
He doesn't show it beyond a thoughtful glance, because such a realization isn't healthy.
Cade's suspicious glaring is proof enough of that. His second understands the reality of the situation, that things should end here.

But would it really be so terrible?
Cade was a cop. He fits in fine with the Black Dogs.

"Right, right," Cade offers in surrender.
"Remember; 'pineapples' so I can ignore you. I can't wait to go to your funeral knowing I coulda changed the outcome."

"Cade," Kaden warns.

"It's just a joke, Iceman. Relax. I fully support Dami and his mission to get Moore." Cade pauses, stiffens.
"Fuck. I can't believe it took me this long. Moore. Damien can't get enough blood and vengeance. He needs Moore."

He slaps his hands together, delighted.
"Dami, when you're about to kill him tell him Moore money equals Moore problems."

Kaden scowls at Cade. "Did you take anything?"

"No, I'm always this funny. Thanks though."

Cade pulls free his mask, a rabbit's, and slides it over his face. It only covers the upper half of his face. For a man who's eyes always hide the thoughts behind them, actually wearing something that covers his eyes is somehow less disturbing.

Not by much, but still.

"What's up doc, right?" Cade says with a smirk, feeling up the stock of one ear.
"It's Bugs Bunny."

In the end, Kaden chose the wolf.

He feels at home in it. Right now he needs all the comfort he can get.
It's unfortunate most of his makeup won't be appreciated, but it can't be helped. He has a permanent snarl now. That has to count for something.

"Looks badass, Kaden. I told you you looked good in it."

The limo rolls to a stop. Kaden takes a small breath, bracing for the door to open.
The overwhelming sounds of people rush in, nearly as suffocating as the cold air that steals his breath.
Cade steps out first, tips the help. He's talking to the man as well, as if they're friends, but Kaden can't hear.

There's more people here than he thought there'd be.

Inside it isn't any better.

The Gala is a fancy and high brow affair, as predicted.
A smattering of black suits are dotted with the bright reds and golds women are allowed to wear.
It's elaborately decorated, with blue and gold dressed Christmas trees and a live orchestra. The edges of the stage have fluff framing the performers, fake snow to really bring in the holiday cheer.

If Kaden was a better man he'd get on a high horse to sneer down on these people.
There's something about these events that feels pandering, cheap. It's an excuse to party, but still feel good about themselves.
But there isn't a tall enough horse in the history of the species for Finch to ever be above these people. At least they're putting their money to some good use.
That's worth more than anything he's ever done for anyone else. Ever.

"Walk with me, don't leave my side until I've established you're my partner or until you must go," Kaden says behind his mask. With the comms working it should be as if his voice is in Damien's ear. Easily heard over the chattering of voices and clinking of cups, but not deafening.

Cade looks at Kaden at the word 'partner', or perhaps he's looking past him to the elaborate ice sculpture depicting the endangered polar bears. That is why they're here, after all, to donate to species at risk.
It's difficult to tell with the mask exactly what Cade might be looking at though.

"I'll be by the bar. Maybe I'll get myself a partner. I'll mute myself so you can't hear my flirting," Cade says, striking past Damien and cutting through the crowds.
Ah, he was looking at him.

The bar, while it is serving free drinks, seems completely unnecessary as the sharply dressed help offer glasses of white wine.
Kaden takes a cup before sheepishly realizing if he wants a sip he'll have to dunk his muzzle into it or take the mask off.

Right, maybe the owl would have been a better choice.

"Do you see anyone that could be Moore?" He asks, surveying the crowd.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Damien's eyes follow Cade closely as his form disappears into the mass of bodies, bunny ears signaling his position before the crowd overwhelms them, closing back in on the path he'd cut out for himself. The Black Dog might have taken his trouble away with him for the time being, but the ex-cop still feels on edge.

That's bad. Currently, he should be thinking about nothing but Moore. Nothing Moore. Damien cracks a smile. At least Cade has a sense of humor, questionable as it might be. Maybe it'll serve him well in getting a partner.

In the meanwhile, Damien turns his attention to his own "partner" for the evening, looking out at Kaden from behind the visage of a fox that'd been chosen for him.

"So, in the end you decided on the wolf," the man hums, no particular emotion behind his words. Just an observation. He briefly clinks the consigliere's glass with his own.

As suggested, Damien is sticking close to Kaden, playing the role he was assigned. Naturally, he'd accepted a drink from the staff, not that he intends to partake tonight. Partially because the mask makes it inconvenient, but primarily because that's a bad idea, given his most recent experience with alcohol. The memory gives him a stomachache. Yet everyone else is carrying around the wine - it enhances the appearance of wealth, to have something like this in one's hand while you converse with "business associates" and "network partners". How pretentious.

The ex-cop's eyes sweep over the charity event's attendants, all dressed decadently in this luxurious space. It's a cynical thought, but how much money had it taken to organize this thing? How many of the people here were already thinking about the tax write-off their gracious donations would bring? Still, most are probably attending with good intentions.

Among these, Moore is nowhere to be seen.

"Nothing so far, we should walk for a bit," Damien's quiet voice transmits over the comms unit before he takes a step forward, "That way you can look for the Nakurra. Though I assume you have some kind of meeting time with them."

Damien's eyes sweep over the venue as he peruses it - the hotel's interior has that signature art-deco architecture, with its sharply defined geometric designs and concrete pillars like monoliths. The ceiling rises high up above, allowing for excessively large Christmas trees to be placed. It's like stepping into the 1920s.

The ex-convict surprises himself with how calm he's feeling. Maybe it has something to do with the mask - it's surprisingly comfortable to have one's face covered. Or maybe it has something to do with the fact he's actually going into this at least somewhat prepared, unlike Medusa's Little Shop of Horrors.

"So," Damien starts slowly, eyes still shifting around in inspection, "If this is all supposed to be a... "test" for you... do you think she's watching from somewhere?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

If the wine glass wasn't enough to make him self conscious, Kaden quirks a face under his mask at Damien's comment.
The wolf's served him well in his life so far. Of course he went with the wolf. He was never going to change, not really...

"Yes, we'll be having dinner," he says, following Damien around.
There's an ice statue of a tiger. There's something truly depressing about such a large animal being endangered. Depressing like the sea otter, but also telling of the world. Even a big cat like that just can't cut it anymore.

"I was thinking that too..." Kaden says, swirling his useless cup.
Damien's voice is soft in his ear. He hears a pitch in it he wouldn't have heard otherwise, like when you listen to a beloved song with headphones for the first time. It's almost grounding.
"Most likely. Or some of my Dogs are plants."

They're easily distinguished. Black dog masks are intermixed between the party goers, clashing with the white.
It's odd looking and knowing none of them are Jackie and Markus. It's always a hollow feeling when someone leaves, like a piece of furniture in a house is gone and now there's nowhere to sit.

"Actually I..." Whatever he meant to say dies in his throat.

It's no secret gangs are primarily made up of men. While the Black Dogs have more women in their ranks than most, they're not winning any equality awards. A women is exceptionally rare in their field.
So when a women wearing a silver, sparkling dress passes through the crowd wearing a black dog mask, Kaden's attention is piqued.

Finch sets his glass at the icy foot of the tiger, sets off into the crowd.
Shoulders and bare backs touch him, scrape against him.
He keeps the silver dress in his focus.

It sparkles in the ballroom, lights overhead making it flash.
Kaden feels like a moth to the flame.
A women he bumps into gasps, spraying wine down her partner's front.
Kaden mumbles an apology, but he doesn't stop.

If he can just get to her, see her face again...

The silver woman clocks his approach, eyes darting across the party. She turns away, tries to lose herself in the crowd.
Kaden doubles down on his efforts, feels the desperation cinching his throat shut.

He can't call out, he has no voice.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Damien listens to Finch talk as the two wander around, to his confirmation that Delilah is likely observing. The space is filled with ice sculptures, the air around them purposefully kept colder to prevent melting. The capo elects to stop in front of one of the art pieces, a tiger. Not one roaring with its mouth open, but sculpted to look more benign, though its form still demands respect. In between the large cat's front legs, the ex-cop catches sight of something - a rather extravagant peacock mask.

While the disguise itself stands out, the woman it belongs to is eye-catching enough - short and plump with bronze skin, dressed in green and gold, she talks in such a commanding and confident tone that she's managed to captivate a small audience of people around her. Damien can't hear what's being said, but her entourage is hanging onto her every word. Probably because she's one of the organizers - Jasmine Simons, a very successful defense attorney. It can't be anyone other than her. The ex-cop has watched several videos of the lawyer working a courtroom, and the silhouette she cuts is unmistakable, as is her demeanor. Jones tells a joke and whether it is funny or not, everyone around her laughs. Except for one - a second woman stood behind her, taller, with dark straight hair and a delicate dove mask. Damien's eyes narrow.

That can't be-

It's with a startle that he realizes the pleasant rumble of Kaden's voice in his ear is gone. The man hadn't even finished his last thought. Damien turns to look where the consigliere had been a second ago, only to find the space empty. No, instead Finch's broad back disappears off into the crowd.

"Kaden?"

No answer comes over the comms, no matter how many times Damien repeats his name - so much for "don't leave my side". Still, the ex-cop follows, maneuvering around the guests the capo had unceremoniously brushed shoulders with several seconds ago. Exasperation turns into worry in his mouth.

Damien grimaces - something's wrong. That inkling is immediately confirmed when the man, as if in a daze, bumps into a woman and she spills her drink all over another attendant - thank god it's not red wine. At this point the ex-cop is powerwalking to catch up to Finch, brusquely throwing a second apology in the couple's direction.

Eyes are being drawn to the small commotion, some staring down noses in disdain, others whispering in interest at this small upheaval of the social order.

"Kaden!"

Damien reaches out, grabbing onto Finch at last. It's just the sleeve. Regardless, that's enough - the ex-cop tugs back at the fabric, against the drive carrying the Black Dog forward, and goes to stand in front of him. He can't see Finch's face with the wolf's snout in the way, but his eyes are visible - surprised, desperately searching, holding onto something Damien didn't see. He's in distress, like the night they crashed the Mercedes. Was it Delilah?

"Calm down," Damien urges in a whisper, "People are staring."

He tugs at the sleeve once more. They should move away from this attention, this corner of the ballroom, "What did you see? Tell me or I can't help you."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

There's a tug at his wrist and Kaden's arm is yanked back so a body can come in between him and his target.
The capo's chest rapidly falls and rises. His first instinct is to strike fast and hard at the obstacle in his way.

The narrowed focus of his thinking is interrupted by the fox mask in front of him, the eyes behind them.
The ears are nice. They're rounded, rather than sharp. It was a good choice.

It takes him a concerning amount of time to link the fox with Damien.
This is Damien.

Damien touched him again. He looks down at where they're connected, the man's fingers are clenched into the fabric of his sleeve.

The reprieve turns into ice cold paranoia. Finch eyes the masks staring at him, intentions hidden from him. It feels like everyone's staring at them, thoughts unknown. Likewise, his glare is hidden from them, but it's of little consequences or defense.
How many are the Nakurra? How many are his own men seeing this?

Like a glimpse from a dream Kaden sees the woman in the silver dress take off her mask so she can play peekaboo with the baby in her partner's arms. The child squeals seeing the face of their mother, reaching out chubby hands in a bid to be held.

A blonde, years younger than Delilah.

The lack of muscle tone should have been a good enough indication he had the wrong woman.

Finch feels his shoulders droop, head following.

He can't do this. Not here.
A mantra plays in his head, a repeated, hold it together hold it together hold it together...

Buck up, as Cade said.

Just get through tonight. He just has to get through tonight.

"I thought I... I thought I saw someone." It's no secret who, what is his entire fucking personality based on besides this woman?
Who else would he be prancing around for?

"I'm sorry," he says, quietly. If they weren't connected via the comms Finch doubts Damien would have heard at all.
A new fear stabs at him; can Cade hear all this? Is the sound system advanced enough to pick up the pace of his breath?
Can he hear the tone in Damien's voice?

Damien talks to everyone like this. If given the opportunity he'd be like this with Cade, but the Black Dog doesn't know that.

He said he'd mute himself, not them.

Damien pulls him from the edge again, metaphorically while also leading him away from the focal of everyone's criticism.
Kaden can't trust himself to choose a direction to walk in. The guidance is... Well, it's necessary, even if it is humiliating.

Kaden finds himself gripping Damien's sleeve with his other hand.

"What if..." He's glad the wolf mask is covering his face. It's much needed privacy when he's flayed open for Damien to see once again.

He bites at his lip bitterly. Damien has his own worries tonight, his own objectives. Finch's not only come as second priority if even that, but tedious and repetitive at this point.
Kaden can't help himself. He needs to speak before he drowns.

His grip on Damien's sleeve tightens uselessly.

"What if she's not coming back?"