It is ridiculous.
Absolutely ludicrous. There is no chance of him becoming any more fond of the current situation, nor having any less of a desire to cut this man down where he stands for his transgression. Yet, of course, due to his father’s ways he is unfortunately limited to going barely beyond his current choice of action.
His tone colored with anger, confusion, and absolute frustration.
“Father! Get this vermin off of me!” Attempting again to get the man’s attention for aid. For if he chose to lash out, he wondered if he would be able to pay attention enough — or rather, want to — not to break a few bones in the process.
“Who do you think you are! Get your hands off of me! Stop your ridiculous blathering. I am not cute!”
Because what was worse was that while this man was touching him so familiarly, he was cooing at him like some slobbering, incapable little child. And why did he keep calling him by his father’s name?
His current form was terrible and he hated himself for it. But the vice grip on the man’s left wrist, while his own left hand was preoccupied with distancing the man’s face from his own as he seemed so keen on getting a closer look at him (as if he was some specimen!) was at least enough to keep him at bay. Damian couldn’t help but question, when he was not practically glowing with his current range of emotions, why was he wearing that symbol..? He had never seen him before! So just who was he supposed to be?
Finally turning around, he was not in the least bit assured that his father was still standing a few feet away, wearing a quietly puzzled expression, seeming to try and possibly understand the unknown man’s purpose there. But why could he not do that after he had helped remove him..!