[PRP] Over a Morning Cup (Damien/Uru)

[Bloodlust Dante]

PhiferWolf

It was laughable how that name was supposed to mean one thing, but instead it means so much more to the monster hellhound. He wanted to let out a low chuckle, a rumbling laugh and square pine colored eyes at Uru and tell him what was on his mind, but for now 'Damien' was going to keep it to himself.

The monster could feel the cool counter against his hip, looking on in vague amusement when the boil decided to approach with intent. The brush up of scruffle fur against his leg was not far behind and he took a leg to hold it close. "Yer like a broken record, ya know that?" the drawl was softer, amusement still lingering in his voice. "So ah guess ah hav' ta be as well." making the fortitude to get right in his face. "Yer always welcome 'ere."  

[PhiferWolf]

Bloodlust Dante

His eyes narrowed on the boil. Something was off. He wasn't like he was before; kind, caring, generous, concerned, and ... something was off. He smelled like Damien but he did not smell like him nor did he talk like him. There was a drawl and a sense of belligerence. In fact, if he was himself, he could almost feel the smug anger that rolled off of him. Was it anger? He didn't know.

Breathing through his nose, he backed up, giving the monster his space. "Are you okay with that?..."  

[Bloodlust Dante]

PhiferWolf

The few steps back was met with his steps forward, refusing to keep the distance between them. Damien continued his fanged smile. "If ah wasn't, best believe ye'd already be out that door by now." he rasped, moving across him to head back into the bedroom, grabbing a shirt to don, slipping it on to make himself at least a tiny bit more presentable.  

[PhiferWolf]

Bloodlust Dante

Uru looked to the monster hound for some sort of reference, some sort of affirmation, but with the words that spilled from his maw, he felt like he was just being tolerated. Tolerated. Another sensation he certainly did not like. The demon nodded to himself, affirming this following actions.

"Fine." He spoke, looking the boy up and down. Damien and yet... "I'm gonna... go think." The way the boil spoke was with a tone of uncertainty, still he turned toward the door, taking his time putting on his socks and shirt, slipping on his shoes and his jacket again. Giving a quick glance back inside, he opened the door and left.

His guitar nestled in a corner, his book and glasses on a nearby stand and shelf. And by the door, a small notebook.