Demons (Damirae)

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Maths was a bore.

As if Damian hadn't been able to answer these meagre questions at the age of four. Still, at least work allowed for a wandering mind (which, in Damian's case, was a sore pain). Tapping his pen on the desk, the billionaire's son mulled over the idea of asking for harder work for a ripe three seconds before dismissing it: what sort of a fool would he look like, asking for more work?-not that anything this mediocre Miss gave him would be anywhere along the lines of challenging. Before the age of six, Damian had bested his tutors in most academic studies- mathematics included.

At the desk besides his, Rachel Roth passed a bored eye over her worksheet. Damian had little knowledge of her tutelage before coming to Earth, however what he did know came from observations and prior knowledge of the teaching methods employed in Trigon's realm (the benefits of being an Al Ghul). Having spent only a few years in Trigon's realm -wherein she would have learnt her magical and physical combat skills- one would expect them to be less than exemplary, however, Damian reckoned that her trainers had utilised the ancient art of runelore to speed up the process. After all, the aim was to have Raven (as the link to Earth) as well trained in the shortest time possible so that the moment she was powerful enough to open a portal -capable of giving passage to Trigon- it would be done. Something akin to memory runes, probably were used. They would have ingrained each move and syllable in to her brain and body, essentially enhancing muscle-memory. Damian had noticed that when Raven fought, particularly physical combat, she had an odd accuracy to each move. In a fight, if she performed a head-section side kick, then did it once more later on, she moved in a jarringly exact manner.

Well, it seemed the likeliest outcome.

From what she'd exhibited so far in lessons, memory runes had been used for information also- academics, with a great deal of emphasis on languages. That did make sense though: Raven was to be the bridge between humanity and Trigon (to an extent, Hell) and you can't conquer a planet if you can't communicate to its people. Through communication, you can crush all manner of hope and any aspiring rebellion. Damian would know, having also been raised with the purpose of world domination.

Making sure that she wouldn't catch him staring at her, Damian looked down to his sheet, the numbers blurring as his thoughts faded off the work. He snuck a glance at her, adjusting the collar of his shirt. Her eyes narrowed as she looked up at the clock, almost sparking with irritation as she pressed her lips together, waiting for the time to go by. From the corner of his eye, Damian saw her tuck her hair behind her ear. In the whole class of blondes, brunettes and a few dip-dyes, Raven stood out like a brilliant violet dazzling in a meadow of plain daisies, glowing with the essence of her magical nature. How could those fawning, giggling creatures gawping at Damian ever compare?

'(Ya rabi) يا ربي What am I doing?', Damian shook his head, willing his mind to stay off the demoness. He still hadn't figured it out yet. What they were. Damian and Raven had sworn to figure things out together, but they hadn't spoken about it and hung in this constant limbo. A benefit of being an empath was that Raven knew how to detect emotion, she knew from the start that this was physical and emotional attraction that had the potential to develop in to something much deeper. The problem was in finding a name for them. 'Lovers' sounded far too serious and old school; 'boyfriend and girlfriend' felt somewhat  juvenile and Damian and Raven didn't really do boyfriend and girlfriend things...the relationship wasn't like that, there was too much unspoken understanding; 'friends' was a sticky one...yes, they could be called friends, but friends didn't kiss and have sex, so no...

All the words in the English language and not one to describe them, other than 'complicated'. Then again, weren't most relationships. Damian was in a bit of a pickle to say in the least, and in third period maths of all places.