Chapter 10

To TheAngelicPyro: I'm glad you liked the different POV and the plot_twist, I'm always one for the element of surprise.

To Guest: Well, I debated doing what you guessed would happen, but decided against it. Hope you still like this chapter tho. FYI I'm also looking forward to the 1st of May. You probably shouldn't XD (jk). I'm glad you liked the plot twist though, I knew Damien was gonna be something like that from the start.

To TheUnitedWritersVXN (TGNAT): I love the insult "cockbites", it really roles off of the tongue.

To Hegemone (ee-YA-mo-ne): Everything is tainted, life is sin and we're all bound for the lake of fire. I can see how you would've liked to have it wholly from Max's perspective, but I thought this would've been the best way to convey this part of the story without Damien just explaining it all. Glad you liked the plot-twist tho.

To NothingButABoy: I too think it's getting better and better, and that's only with a little bit of bias. I really look forward to writing the whole camp part of the story. I can't say for certain if y'all are gonna like reading it tho.

To Blue Feather Pegasus: As an expert on myself I can say that your concerns aren't founded on nothing, but I don't like making things too easy for anyone :)

To Guest: They kinda do but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

To Hi there: Your wish is my command

The car seats were soft, and kinda bouncy. Hell, it felt more comfortable than his own bed. If he decided to lie down he'd probably fall back to sleep. The back seats also had speakers, through which he could hear the quiet chanting of 'Oh Fortuna'. Max had been getting dressed when Damien knocked on the door. He'd been expecting to be called immediately, but he decided to have a chat with those 2.

Max tried to hear what they were saying but Damien had been whispering by the time he was close enough. It must've been something good because the woman said; "Goodbye" to him and didn't sound like a drowned, half-dead cat, followed by the bastard himself saying; "Yeah" which was more positive interaction Max had with the man than in the last 6 months.

Maybe Damien had told them that he was being taken to a concentration-camp to labour under the hard gaze of Dolph himself. That would make them happy.

Instead Walter had told him that they were going into the city to this fancy-ass tailor to get him fitted for a monkey-suit. Or something to that effect at least. Both men had begun to ask him questions; "What food did he like?", "What were his hobbies?", "How did he find school?", "Was adjusting to the world of sightlessness going well?". You know, the usual small talk.

Max answered simply. They probably didn't want to listen to his life story. Walter never let a silence settle, always asking questions to pass the time.

It wasn't annoying.

"We're here." Damien said, getting out first and opening Max's door. He followed the voice and felt his feet hit pavement. Max unfolded his cane and tapped the ground with it, checking for anything he might trip over. There was nothing.

He could tell they were in a busy place. There were dozens of voices all mixed together, forming a single unintelligible blur of noise.

"Would you mind taking my hand, Max, it's a very busy street."

"I'll be fine." Max said, not thinking he needed to have his hand held like a little kid. He began to think a little differently after a couple of minutes of walking. People were everywhere. More than a couple of times his cane smacked into somebody's ankles, throwing off his sense of direction. At least the other person always apologised. He knew it was because he was blind, or a child. Probably both.

He could also hear Damien behind him, talking with Walter who was apparently having no difficulties at all. He was off in his own world for minute, focusing on the path in front of him and ignoring everything else around him.

"Max!" He heard Damien's voice say, but before he could reply he felt his mid-section grabbed from behind and he was raised in the air. He kicked and thrashed, thinking he was being taken by some random by-stander. Maybe this was the plan those 2 had agreed to with Damien, have him snatched while out in the busy city.

He heard a loud "Ow!" before he realized it was Damien's hands that lifted him. He stopped thrashing and fisted his hoodie instead. It was only then that he noticed that he was heaving and breathless. He felt his feet touch solid ground again. He clutched the handle of his cane so tight it was hurting his hand.

"You nearly walked into incoming traffic, Max! Didn't you hear me call you?"

Damien sounded angry, by instinct Max backed away but was blocked off by a solid, cold wall. Where was he? Was there a way out? A weapon? He had his cane, but he knew Damien's hands were big and strong and that he'd crush the plastic with no issue.

"I, I, I," Max stuttered, words jumbling themselves in his mouth. "Fuck off!" It was all so confusing! The noise, the crowd, the man-handling. He thrust his fist out and felt it 'pat' against something a lot sturdier than himself. He then felt something warm softly drape itself over his fist.

"Max." It was Damien again, this time sounding a lot calmer than before. "Are you okay?"

Max thought. Was he okay? He was just grabbed by Damien because…he almost walked into traffic. Okay, that was definitely a plus, not being roadkill. Now he was up against a wall, literally, with having just punched Damien and telling him to fuck off. Less good but the man seemed to be taking it well.

"I, yeah, I'm fine." He lowered his fist, but Damien kept his hand on top of his. He guessed that he wasn't going to be able to get away with "I'll be fine" now. He resigned himself to holding hands with the man.

Max would never admit to it so long as he lived, but he felt a lot more confidant in the crowd and the noise with the knowledge that Damien was right there beside him. The man's hand was rough-skinned, with callouses he and there, but it was warm, and he didn't grip very hard too. That was probably by choice. Damien could probably crush his hand to mush if he felt like it.

Soon after they were all inside. Max assumed that this was the tailor. When Damien let go of his hand and walked away, saying "I'll be back in a minute or two" he was left alone with Walter, who shuffled up next to him.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, his voice curious.

Max clenched his hands together, his face heating and his palms getting clammy. "Fine." He wasn't lying, he was fine. On a physical level at least, all thanks to Damien.

"I heard what happened. It must've been scary."

Scary? The only scary part was when he was suddenly lifted from the ground. That and angry Damien. Beyond that, he never even knew he was in danger of being run over. He was too focused on making sure he didn't trip or bump into anything.

"No, not really. Damien was pissed though." He snickered a little. He didn't know why, it wasn't funny then and it wasn't funny now. His voice alone nearly made him piss himself. With the man he lived with he had to learn to expect a belting before he got scared. Even then it was the pain that got him, not the man. But Damien was an entirely different creature, he was what struck fear, not any threat.

"I should think so." Walter said matter-of-factly. "He's a very protective man, Damien is. When we first started seeing each other he wouldn't let go of my hand until I was home. I appreciated the sentiment, but I was born in the dark, I know my way around." He laughed, a small, fond laugh that Max could tell was only used for the other man. "I also heard what you said." He didn't laugh then.

"Yeah." Max lowered his head, a bit ashamed of what he said. "Sorry." It was barely a mutter, but Walter still heard it.

"It's fine, your heart must've been racing, hm? Besides, Dame's Irish, he's far from a stranger to cursing, even from children." He laughed again. Not a 'ha-ha' laugh, this one was a 'you-would-not-believe-what-I-have-had-to-put-up-with' laugh. "When I first brought him home he called our cat an 'effing rodent' when she scratched him, and he didn't say 'effing'." Max laughed himself, imagining the scene. "And salt on the wound, he said it in front of my father, who was a reverend." Max laughed harder this time, picturing Damien sweat under the gaze of a clergyman.

"So I'm guessing you were a goody-2-shoes growing up, huh?" Max thought of David then, and the story he told about being a rebel as a child. He still didn't believe it.

Walter chuckled. "I guess I was."

Damien came back and took them both into a different room. Max could smell a headache inducing amount of incense, cologne and candles. He disliked the room immediately, along with the nasal voice of the woman who spoke.

"Ah, Walter sir, so good to see you again!" Max heard Walter exclaim, "Oh!" in surprise and the sound of 2 kisses, probably to his cheeks.

"It's, it's good to see you too, Gwyneth." Walter sounded about as genuine as a 4-year-old caught with his hand in the cookie-jar, but this pungent-smelling "Gwyneth" didn't seem to notice.

"This is the one to be measured, yes?" She asked, taking a few steps closer to Max.

"He is." Damien answered simply. "Quick as you can, Gwyneth, we have places to be."

"We do?" Max wasn't told about any other plans today. The opera wasn't until tomorrow. Did they plan more things to surprise him? If so, then Damien just ruined the element of surprise.

"Oh yes, oh yes, as quick as possible as per usual." Max felt a meaty hand clamp down on his shoulder. He stumbled in the direction he was pulled, barely able to stay on his feet. "Whoa!"

"Easy, Gwyn." Damien's hand took the place of Gwyneth's sausages. The cane-strap around his wrist was undone. He'd forgotten about to be honest. "Could you raise your arms, my boy, the measuring will go faster without the red hoodie."

Red? Max didn't remember owning a red hoodie. He had five, four blue and one grey, but he hardly wore the grey one, at least, he used to. He couldn't tell what colour he wore anymore and wasn't bothered enough to ask someone about it. But where did this one come from? Logically, it must've been one of those 2, probably the woman. She wasn't as much of a bitch as she used to be. Maybe she was finally realizing what a cunt she'd been and was trying to make herself feel less guilty by buying him things. Well, she'd hafta try harder than that, the pair of them would hafta buy him a pair of working eyes to make up for blinding him, and he doubted they would, even if something like that was possible.

"Sure." He said, lifting his arms above his head. The hoodie came off easily, but more importantly, Max realized how fucking cold it was without it. His thin T-shirt wasn't cutting it at all.

"And if you could just step onto the stool in front of you." Damien said, guiding him forward a bit more. He lifted a foot and felt it kick against something. He guessed it must be the stool. He tried to get onto it in one big step, and he half succeeded, one foot got on top, but the second he tried to step up again the stool tilted and fell out from under him. He threw his arms out to try and grab onto something, and felt his fingers slip away from something fleshy that tried to catch him.

"Shit!" Max shouted, expecting the ground to meet him any second now and give him a new headache. But that didn't happen. For the second time that day he found himself caught by Damien's hands.

"Careful." The man said, holding Max mid-air for a minute before placing him on the stool. Max's face was hot the entire time. He muttered a mouse-like "Thanks" under his breath but other than that didn't acknowledge the incident.

"Right!" Gwyneth declared, breaking the silence. For about 10 minutes the woman was wrapping a strip of fabric around Max, around his waist, his chest, his neck, his arms and legs, and then the length of everything as well. He immediately asked for his hoodie when he stepped down and was happy to be warm again.

"Your cane." Damien said, putting the handle of the stick into Max's hand. He redid the strap himself and listened to the rest of them talk. Gwyneth said something about a "Perfect fit!" and Damien wanted to go about seeing it first.

"That's a nice lookin' one." Damien commented a moment later.

"Yeah, looks great." Max said with a smirk. He heard Walter snort behind him and Damien let out a stifled chuckle. Gwyneth was not as quick.

"Why thank you, this one was made in Italy by-" She paused. "Very funny." Max's smirk widened, very proud of himself.

"Yes well, might as well try it on, make sure it fits and all that." The woman said.

Max's blood went cold. Would he hafta strip down in front of these people? Well, Walter was fine, and Damien too he supposed, but this woman was not going to see him in his underwear. He still had some dignity after all. His mood must've showed because Damien's next words saved him.

"Yes, you're right. Would you mind giving us the room, Gwyn?"

"Oh yes, yes yes, I'll leave you to it." Max heard the woman's footsteps creak on the floorboards and a door shut closed.

"Off with the hoodie again, Max." Damien said. Max sighed, undoing the cane's strap and pulling off the hoodie again. At least he was allowed to do it himself this time.

"Are you okay with taking off the tee too? I want to make sure it fits perfectly."

Max fisted the fabric of his T-shirt. It would only be Damien seeing him after all, so after a minute of silence he agreed and pulled it over his head too. He crossed his arms over his chest. It really was cold after all.

"The shirt first, Max."

Max felt something soft draped over his shoulders. His wrist was then grasped by Damien, and his hand was lead through the arm of the shirt. Then the other, and then it was buttoned up. It was a little tight, he wouldn't be able to wave his arms around wildly, that was for sure. At least it was soft.

"Now the overcoat." Damien did the same thing with the coat, but this was only really tight around the middle. "And now the pants, if it's okay?"

Albeit reluctantly, Max nodded, kicked off his sneakers and undid his jeans and let them fall. Good thing his boxers were big, it would've been too embarrassing if he was still in tighty-whities or some shit like that. The pants were snug, but not tight, and didn't itch like he thought they would.

"There's a belt too but we'll leave that for now. As well as the dickie-bow."

A dickie-bow? Max cringed at the thought. They seemed like something only super-nerds would wear, or old college professors (who still counted as super-nerds but with a helping of dork in there as well).

"In any case, how does it fit?" Damien asked.

Max took a few steps and moved his arms back and forth, getting a good feel for how constrictive the suit was. Not as much as he thought, when everything was tucked in the proper place he felt like he could walk normally. Hell, it was warm to boot. "It's fine, I guess."

Damien chuckled. "That's good. You look very dapper, Max, all you need is a half-decent haircut and you'll get through the opera's bouncers."

Max laughed, picturing a large, musclebound man in a suit throwing someone who dared to underdress for the opera to the sidewalk. Then he imagined a sign saying "YOU MUST BE AT LEAST THIS FANCY" with a picture of the queen.

"So we'll buy this one, will we?" Walter asked, clapping his hands together. No doubt he found this whole thing as tedious as Max did. Neither of them would be able to tell if they were actually wearing black-tie standard suits or looked like pimps, complete with a purple pin-stripe suit studded with diamonds. Max saw that somewhere, but he couldn't remember what from. That was gonna be annoying.

"We will." Damien answered snappily. And that was that. They bought the suit and left.

"Lord, I can't stand the smell of that place." Walter said as soon as the car's engine revved.

"I know sure." Damien replied.

"Still, she has good suits. You do like it, right Max?"

Max nodded. Then he realized that Walter wouldn't know that. "Yeah, it's great."

After Max was taken to a barber for a haircut, they all went out to lunch, Damien and Walter's treat of course, and they dropped him home afterwards. Damien walked him to the door, and when it opened he heard the raspy voice of the woman greet them. Max didn't pay attention to her, he just said "See ya tomorrow" to Damien and went straight to his room.

His suit was in a box, and he left the box at the foot of his bed. He lay down and smiled, really looking forward to the next day.

Max was ready when he was picked up, freshly showered and dressed in his new suit, this time with a dickie-bow around his neck, courtesy of Damien. He never saw a flash, but he knew pictures were taken. When they stepped out of the car Max really felt the cold.

"What time is it?" He asked.

"About quarter to 7." Damien answered.

Already? Max hadn't expected it to be that late already. In the noisy street again, he decided to take Damien's hand when offered. He heard someone say something about tickets, and then they were out of the cold and into a place where the amount of voices was almost headache inducing.

"We're in the second row." Damien said. "But if anyone needs the loo I'd say go now, we don't want to be getting up and around in the middle of the performance."

Max shook his head, but heard Walter say he was going to 'pop off' to 'the loo'. He chuckled to himself. He'd been learning these odd English and Irish terms from the two. When Damien said he was only having 'a bit of craic' he wasn't talking about cocaine, apparently it was Irish for 'a bit of fun'. Also, 'I will yeah' meant 'no'. Walter was one to curse with 'ponce', 'blighter' and used 'bloody' as if it were a spice. Though he often gasped when he remembered Max was present. Damien was quite the potty-mouth though, much to Max's entertainment. He used 'feck' or 'fuck' every second sentence, and unlike when the man he lived with cursed, Damien made him laugh. His accent was certainly a help with that.

A bit later, when they were all seated, the crowd quieted. There was a quiet tapping sound, and the singing began. It was a woman, high and throaty. She started quiet, singing out in a language he couldn't understand. But he didn't need to understand it. He just sat back in his seat and listened. His shoulders relaxed, a tense knot he didn't know he had loosening. His eye-lids fluttered closed. It didn't make things any darker, but it made listening easier.

The sunglasses on his nose were beginning to itch a bit so he took them off and placed them on his lap. He rubbed the indentation they left on the bridge between his eyes. The woman's pitch rose very high, her voice hitting him in the ears like a megaphone.

A minute later, she began to quiet. Then another woman began, singing faster, but a little deeper. She sounded angry, and violins accompanied her mood. She began to get very fast, belting out words far and loud, but they all flowed together like knots tied into a string. She kept a pitch for many seconds, letting the vowel travel to every corner of the world. Now she sounded panicked, then everything went loud, violins, trumpets, and other instruments rising to match the temperature of her voice!

Max swallowed, a feeling in his gut stirring as the instruments and the woman's voice lowered. But she began again, slow and clear.

Max didn't know how long he had been sitting there. Minutes? Hours? Days? He couldn't tell. He only counted a dozen or more singers, men and women all taking turns to breathe out their deep, bone shaking songs, helped by the orchestra beside them. When the singer was angry, the trumpets and horns roared, when they were sad, the violins cried, and when they were happy, the flutes sang.

He had his eyes closed still, not sure if he was asleep or awake, dwindling in that state of semi-consciousness that wasn't entirely aware of everything happening. It was only when everything went quiet, and he felt a hand on his that he was brought back to the real world. He opened his eyes, expecting to see someone and was confused for a second before remembering that he was blind.

"It's over now." Walter whispered, helping Max up from his seat. "What did you think of it?" He asked, sounding very excited.

"It was…" Beautiful? Wonderful? Fucking awesome? "really, really great!" Walter breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm very happy to hear that, Max, I really am."