cain-douglas

[cain-douglas]

[cain-douglas]

edgytamagotchi​:

The pain in his hand should be a sign to back down, take a hint, fuck off. Instead it triggers something feral in Jack, that part of himself always simmering just under the surface, ready to throw itself headfirst and spitting with claws out at the first hint of a threat. He pushes further towards the man, bending his own finger even further past the point of comfort, petulant and stubborn as ever. The sting just adds his anger, a cycle of spite. “Some dumb beefy fuck calling me a weeb, ooohh, I’m terrified. Not like I’ve ever heard that one before.” He gets up in the guy’s face. “Just try me, you prick. I can ruin your life.”

Jack pauses at the Artemis Fowl reference. He pulls back a step and glances up at the stranger’s face, brow furrowed, forgetting to be angry for a second. “Wait, what? Like… the guy with fairy powers who solves crime?” He narrows his eyes. “Are– is that supposed to be some kind of fucking gay joke? From the guy who smokes watermelon weed?”

Cain starts to laugh. He can’t help himself. This little...this little weeny is trying to threaten him. He does it with so much conviction and belief. It’s almost kind of cute, like one of those youtube videos where a puppy starts barking at an alligator. “You need to chill the fuck out asshole,” he says idly. The idea hits him in the way most bad ideas do when he’s high. There’s a pool right there. It’s a stroke of absolute genius. He picks the guy up and without any further thought or consideration he pivots and tosses him in. “You clearly haven’t read that book in awhile,” Cain calls into the water. He’s probably having more fun with this than he should but the guy was a total dick and it’s better to feel gleeful and malicious than to be sad about his mom. It’s honestly a welcome distraction.  And the water does look kinda nice...even with that un-showered looking pale turd of a human floating around in it. And it is really hot and Cain’s got nothing to do for the rest of the night but mope so- He wiggles out of his jeans first, then tosses his shirt to the side, and then he dives into the water with the grace of a guy who spent a lot of summers at the public pool. Being high underwater fucking rocks as it turns out and Cain stays below until his lungs start to ache and he can feel his power activating to make up for the slack of not being able to breath. He bobs back up and gulps air, laughing as he remembers something else the guy had said before Cain had thrown. “If I were gonna make a gay joke dude,” he chuckles, floating on his back. “I’d probably just email it to you while I let your dad rail me against my washing machine you fucking loser.”

[cain-douglas]

replicaticns​:

Isaac, like Cain, is going to enjoy this place, even if it fucking kills him. However, he’s more likely to get killed as the waves continue to take him out at the knees and drag him into the salty shallows, or by someone like Cain, than he is from trying to have fun. Isaac can find fun in almost anything, picking at the layers of the mundane until he finds anything to spark his interest.

That something, for him, was pretending to imitate Baywatch as he and two other copies of himself tried their best to jog in slow motion along the beach, though he swiftly realized running was less fun when there wasn’t anything to run from and this wasn’t sexy at all. It was hot and sweaty and really not what he had hoped, but Isaac figured he would keep it up until he found something further down the beach to catch his attention. However, it would take less time than that for one of his clones to trip in the sand, face-planting before Cain and kicking up a storm of sand upon him as he did so.

Suddenly there is sand. It’s coarse and rough and irritating, and it gets everywhere. There’s a grain in his mouth, one up his nose, one in his fucking eye. Cain blinks, blinded for a moment by the pain. He stands with the slow deliberate movements of a man who is about to commit a very thorough murder. Cain recognizes his unwitting assailant immediately. It’s the pale string bean idiot from the riot. What’s worse, is there are two more of the exact same guy as well, all three of them looking sweaty and stupid and like a whole lot of trouble. If he were a more temperate man, a more Damien type of guy, Cain would probably leave it alone. This jackass is clearly a mutant and the limits of his power are yet unknown. It was probably an accident. But there’s sand in his shorts now, grating up against the thin skin of his genitals, and Cain isn’t Damien he’s Cain Fucking DOUGLAS. He stands over the closest one, glowering down at him. “What the fuck are you doing in Miami?”

[cain-douglas]

electricks​:

Hana lifts her head at the complaint that leaves the male’s mouth, his words winding through the evening air to join the cloud of vape he’d just exhaled like some sort of obnoxiously-chemical-scented frat boy with a sweaty backwards snapback and greasy hair. Only he isn’t that – he’s tall, gruff, and reeks of danger like a full moon out in the swamps. She holds his gaze for a number of heartbeats, blinks, and responds with a curt “fuck you, Thomas the Tank Engine.” As much as she’d like to have the good sense to leave it at that, his apparent desire to comment on her actions hooks into her skin as a splinter would. She continues, words heated, scowling as he draws closer. “Families don’t mean shit. You can’t use them as a get-out-of-trouble card. So either you back off and go crying about it to your boss or you stop acting like a limp dick and help me.”  

Her assumptions make his question unsuspicious. Had she thought about it a little harder, she may have questioned why he’d called the unfortunate soul this guy rather than use his name. Instead, she continues down the rabbit hole of believing he’s been sent by her client to help her. “This and that. He kept his trap shut for some time before he finally started sharing. Said something about a new mutant gang rocking up. They paid a full year’s rent upfront in cash for the building he owns. Made him sign a non-disclosure over it but–” she smiles, pleased with herself “–who’s going to honour a piece of fucking paper during a good old fashioned interrogation, huh?” 

Leaning idly against the side of the car, she watches as he takes in the sight of her handiwork. She notes that he doesn’t answer her question, the money she’d been promised beginning to drift steadily out of sight. “Shit, I should at least get half, it’s not like I didn’t do the job.” Hana fights her case with a frown, expression shifting at his request. “Do I look like a fucking girl scout?” Her gaze travels over the car interior and then drops to her feet, contemplating her shoelaces. It’s a swiftly denied possibility, too fond of her sneakers to give up the laces. There’s a long pause before she moves, chirping an unloving “fine” at him as she reaches around her back to undo the clasp on her bralette, slipping her arms through the straps and yanking it out from under her shirt. “Here,” she says with a mocking grin, holding the hot pink lace out for him. “Will that do?”

“If you looked like a girl scout I’d already have cleared out your fucking thin mints. So no,” Cain snaps back, unable to help himself. The attitude on this kid! It’s starting to feel like it’s just a thing for interrogators to be snotty little shits. There must be something about the job that pulls the assholes right out of the woodwork. Cain’s opens his mouth to drop that hot take on her when he’s got to stop and shut the fuck up because something wildly horrible is happening and he is way too high to deal with it.

He’s made a huge mistake. Cain watches, caught somewhere between bemusement and horror as the girl GIRL can’t be more than what? nineteen? twenty? what the hell? WHAT THE HELL? starts taking her bra off. He’s a strong man. He’s weathered mutant life and Hornnsbury and 38 Chicago winters without complaint. But he can’t help the full body flinch that overtakes him when she holds it his way like he’s supposed to do something with it. Cain looks up to the stars which are no more visible in Miami than they were in Chicago. “Yeah no you can keep that on. I ain’t going near that. I’m not about to try and even start to unpack all of that. Like, even the logic is so fucking dumb.” He massages at his temple, looking hard to the left of the girlpersonSHES YOUNG ENOUGH TO BE MY KIDA GIJS. “You think some cotton polyester blend lace is gonna have enough tensile strength to keep a buoyant as fuck  bloated corpse at the bottom of the ocean? Who the fuck taught you physics?” He glares at the ground for a moment before returning his attention to the most nonthreatening thing on the beach right now, the crispy corpse of the unluckiest guy in Miami, well, the unluckiest guy in Miami who isn’t Cain. “Did this guy have shoes or did you burn those to a crisp too?”

[cain-douglas]

American Gods (2017-…)

[cain-douglas]

[cain-douglas]

TASK: WORDBUILDING LOCATION 2: EVERGLADES NATIONAL PARK

Known as the largest subtropical biome in the United States, the Everglades are home to countless species ranging from the manatee to the Florida panther. Millions visit the Everglades every year to boat, fish and marvel at the wildlife. As the wetland is home to a number of carnivorous species it’s the #1 place to go for body disposal.  It’s also served as a refuge for many mutants unable to live peacefully in a human society (re: mutants with visible physical mutations). Go deep enough into the marshes and islands and you may stumble upon the home of one of these glade mutants.

image credits: pixabay.com, canva.com

[cain-douglas]

Watch out for the new @kittcrusaders calendar shot by @brandinrackley coming out soon featuring myself amongst others in the industry posing with these adorable kittens and cats that you can actually adopt and find homes for. 

Money from the calendars go to this great @kittcrusaders charity, a non-profit animal rescue organization serving sunny Los Angeles California rescuing cats and kittens giving them a second chance at a happy life 🐱❤️🙌🏾 

[cain-douglas]

TASK: WORLDBUILDING LOCATION 1: THE MIAMI-DADE PUBLIC LIBRARY 

What started in 1897 as a reading room in Lemon City has since expanded to 50 locations stretching across the entire city. If you’re looking to check out a book, cd, or movie, use the free wifi, or just curl up on a couch somewhere quiet, the Miami-Dade Library System is here for you as the number one promotor of literacy in the county.  For the mutants of Miami, the library has historically served as an important hub of communication. While it’s fallen out of favor with some of the mutants of Miami for being relatively old school and analogue in a digital age, the stacks of the Miami-Dade Public library have often been used as a way for the mutants of the city to covertly exchange messages coded and hidden among the books. Libraries are still considered neutral ground among the mutants of Miami and can serve as a place for rival gangs to parlay, you know, as long as they make sure to keep their voices down for the other patrons. photocredits: miami-dade public library website, morguefile.com, canva.com

[cain-douglas]

edgytamagotchi​:

Jack’s about to say what kind of asshole would feel loved while being mugged, but that is how he met his last ex, so. Maybe not so much ground to stand on there. He glares daggers in the stranger’s direction anyway and opens his mouth to throw out some other cutting remark, but whatever response he has dies on his lips as he catches a familiar… scent. A very particular combination of aromas. Watermelon and weed.

For a moment he goes scary-still, tense as a house cat sensing an approaching earthquake as everything slots into place in his mind. Then, without warning, he surges forward, grabbing the other man by the front of the shirt. “You,” he hisses. “Asshole.” 

Jack’s only ever seen the man’s back before, hunched away from him and oblivious to his burning stare, but now that he knows who he’s looking at the resemblance is obvious. Jack’s spent a good amount of his time in Miami with his forehead pressed up against the back window of his apartment, craning awkwardly for a view into his neighbor’s place. Looking for a face to assign his loathing, a glimpse of the man who’s relegated him to a life of stifling, sweaty apartment air. 

This man is the reason Jack’s been so hell-bent on fixing his A/C in the first place, the reason he’s out tonight trying to find some relief in the breeze-less, dead Miami night. With his windows closed Jack’s apartment might as well be an oven, set to the perfect temperature to bake one 6-foot tall, very irritable man to a very sweaty crisp. The humidity is the worst part, flattening his hair and pressing it to his forehead until he looks more like a teenager in need of a ProActiv subscription and a shower than a dangerous mutant gang member. It’s like drowning out of water, an impossible atmosphere for sleep or focus.

With his windows open however, comes that overwhelming, faintly-nauseating smell. Watermelon and weed, sickly sweet and deeply earthy and all too much, too distracting, coming from the apartment next door. It’s like the guy has a knack for knowing when Jack needs to focus the most just so he can throw him off at the crucial moment, pulling him back into the useless physical world at the worst times. It doesn’t matter if they’ve never actually met; to Jack the rivalry is real and personal.

Jack’s meager survival skills kick back in and he lets the man go a moment after grabbing him, but he doesn’t back up. So the guy’s half-mountain, fine. Doesn’t give him an excuse to be the shittiest neighbor ever. “You’re the guy in apartment 301, aren’t you?” It’s not a question. He jabs him in the chest with one accusatory finger. “The smoker who doesn’t give a fuck about basic fucking apartment etiquette. It’s you.” Jack doesn’t care how unhinged he sounds. He’s had a tiring, shitty day, and was all ready to take it all out on the first unlucky asshole to cross his path anyway. The fact it happens to be this particular asshole is just a special gift from the universe.

The little guy grabs him. Cain’s not expecting it. The guy is a bean pole, the same height but a third of Cain’s size. It’s like being grabbed by a very tall toddler for how threatened Cain feels by it but still, it’s a surprise. Cain stares at the guy as he continues to rant, jabbing now at his chest with one sharp little rat claw finger. It takes a second for what he’s saying to penetrate all the weed, but when it does, Cain can’t hide the raw twist of emotion that slides across his face. It all falls into place. The fact this guy knows where he lives and what he apparently smells like. The greasy, unwashed look to him. The weeby look of his vape. Cain reaches up and grabs the finger needling at his chest. Very slowly and deliberately he bends it backwards, not far enough to break it but just far enough to let this motherfucker know that he could. “You,” Cain growls low in his throat. “Don’t get to lecture me on apartment etiquette when you’re blasting your fucking bullshit anime music all the time.” He takes another long drag from his vape and blows it in one continuous cloud into the guy’s face. “Close your fucking window if you don’t like the way my shit smells you overgrown Artemis Fowl looking dick. “

[cain-douglas]

electricks​:

Acrylic decorated fingertips are already calling forth enough voltage to take a man of his height out as the stranger approaches. She keeps her wariness tucked away, hidden from sight. He’s taller than the body in the trunk, broader too – the thought is pushed aside quickly, trying to steer her panic away, electricity fading. Surprise is what quells it for good. She hasn’t tasted fear in some time, chemical-flavoured on her tongue, her pulse flickering like a jump-started car. 

“I don’t–” Her smile falters at his offer, dropping from her lips, unable to get the forced laugh in the back of her throat to catch. All she does instead is exhale, soundless and dry-mouthed. The certainty in his voice tells her that he knows the secret currently jammed into the back of the vehicle, that he isn’t just bluffing. It’s easy to jump to the conclusion that he’s been sent here by her client. “Listen, I did the job, ok? I have the information I was asked to get. He just– he started crying and talking about his family and it pissed me off and I got carried away.” She kicks at a hubcap with the tip of her sneaker, residue frustration at the dead man remaining. Her voice drops to a low, miserable grumble. “Didn’t mean to fucking kill him, though.” 

Moving to the rear, she presses down and feels the trunk open, allowing mechanisms to lift the door and expose the pallid flesh within, lit by a faint electric light that casts gaunt shadows over the scene. “He’s heavier now that he’s dead and all stiffened up,” she points out, stepping aside to allow the man beside her take a look and do whatever he needs to do. “Do you know if I’m still going to get paid?”

“Yiiiiiiiikes,” Cain drawls, taking one last hit from his vape before he tucks it into the safety of his pocket. Okay, so maybe not such a scared kid then, maybe more like that kid from The Bad Seed if the kid from The Bad Seed had a set of truly terrifying acrylics on. “You know you were definitely more sympathetic before you started telling what the fuck actually happened to this guy. Maybe like...chill it out on the talking about murdering a guy for wanting to reunite with his family and shit man. S’not a great story to tell when you’re looking for help getting rid of a body.” He sidles up to the car anyway because he’s not about to go back on his offer to help, especially when it seems like this kid thinks Cain is someone he most definitely isn’t. Cain’s not great at espionage but he figures the worst she can do to him is almost kill him if she finds out that he’s not who he says he is. “That all depends on what you found out from this guy before you decided he was better off as barbeque?”  He pops the trunk, nose wrinkling when he sees the work she’s done on the guy. Dangerous power on her then. If she caught him on a bad day she might even have enough juice going to kill him. “You got something to tie him with? You’re gonna wanna weigh him down.”

[cain-douglas]

closed @replicaticns

He’s going to try to enjoy this place even if it fucking kills him. It very well might. In the daytime Miami air is nothing but heatstroke soup and Cain, after living a life in windswept air of Chicago, is ill-prepared for it. He’s degraded himself into wearing board shorts already and bought some awful drink with a slice of pineapple on it because he needs something cold to sip on. Now he’s laying out on a beach chair and trying access his inner Shae or Luca. There’s got to be something enjoyable about this shit. He just needs to find it.  But something won’t let him relax. It’s a sixth sense he’s developed over years of dealing with Raemers. He can feel that something stupid and annoying is about to happen. He just can’t tell what. 

[cain-douglas]

In the light of day the beaches and islands of Miami are nothing but a dogpile of people with their asses out, doing insufferable shit like boogie boarding or whatever the fuck kinda hippy sport beach volleyball is supposed to be. At night it’s different. Most everyone has gone home and there’s nothing but relatively cool air by Miami standards and the light of the moon on the ocean. Cain can vibe with that shit. That’s exactly what he’s doing when he pulls his bike over onto some random island. It’s a clear night. He’s got a couple of grams to kill and this is as good a place as any to do it.  The beach here is completely empty, removed enough from the city that there’s no sound but the soft lapping of the waves against the shore. It’s peaceful and as he treks across the sand Cain is hit with the sudden urge to take his shoes off. He doesn’t of course. He’s not an animal. And it’s a good thing he leaves them on, seeing as he might need them either for kicking some ass or running the fuck away very soon. There’s a car here, headlights cutting yellow triangles into the gloom. Cain’s downwind and as the breeze picks up he smells it. There’s a very nuanced difference between the smell of cooking meat and burnt human flesh and one of the many great perks of Cain’s job is he gets to know that nuance very well.  He stares at the girl and she is just a girl, smiling at him and doing a very poor job of acting like there’s not some dead guy in her trunk and okay, maybe it’s not the most pc thing in the world but Cain does have kind of a soft spot for pretty girls in trouble. It probably comes from being raised by his mother, who back then was nothing more than a pretty girl in trouble herself. But Cain’s not a psychologist and he’s never really seen the point in introspection when there’s work to be done. “You want help carrying that down to the water?” Cain asks, gesturing vaguely towards her trunk. “No offense or anything if you wanna do it yourself that’s fine. Independent women and all that,” he finishes, throwing up a power fist to let her know he’s a true ally.   

[ 001. 10APR. 11:54PM. VIRGINIA KEY. / OPEN ]

It’s not the first time she’s had someone die on her. Something tells her it isn’t going to be the last, either. Hana stares lovelessly at the lifeless lump of a man in the trunk. The car’s stolen, because of course it fucking is, and she’s far from certain she’s going to have as much luck dragging him out as she did getting him in. But hey, all in a day’s work, right? 

She plans to leave him out for the gulls to pick at and, hopefully, if she read the tidal forecast correctly which she didn’t because she forgot to check it, for the sea to wash his body away before day breaks. His name is already forgotten; she’d made sure to strip him of his wallet and phone beforehand ( again, not her first rodeo ). Much like the shit he had managed to get himself into with a local gang after seeing something he shouldn’t have, killing him had been accidental. She’d gotten a little too carried away and, sure, ok, that was on her – but electricity didn’t always play nice.

Virginia Key is dark but even away from the road with her headlights cut the motion of someone moving across the sand is unmistakable, moonlight catching at their silhouette. Hana slams the car trunk shut, concealing her little problem, and attempts to portray an air of casual idleness as she leans against scratched paintwork, the red of the car looking black in the night’s gloom. Mascara-clumped lashes narrowed, she eyes the figure enjoying a late stroll along the shoreline and tenses as their path abruptly turns away from the inky glistening expanse of water and shifts in her direction. Hana braces herself. Please don’t be a cop, please don’t be a cop, please don’t be a cop. “You’re looking a little lost, baby. Sure hope you don’t run into any unsavoury types out here tonight. You never know who might be lurking.” She waits with bated breath for them to draw close enough to see their face.

[cain-douglas]

chaotic-luca‌:

Let’s go to the beach, beach! || Cain & Luca

Luca snorted. She wasn’t sure why she was always so attached to the cooler and more “stand-offish” people. Maybe because none of them seemed interested in her, which she found just well. And most of them were such fun to annoy, it was her favourite past time to annoy those dumb idiots. She loved it, which was why she smiled mischievous at Cain. “Well thank you for those geography classes, they are much appreciated. Do you know where the closest Starbucks is? ORRR we could go fight some alligators! We’re Florida men now, we should do some dumb shit!”

Cain straightens up at the mention of gators. It’s a little known fact among the Family that Cain loves wildlife observation. As a scrawny poor kid the Lincoln Park Zoo had been one of the only places he could get into for free where he wouldn’t have to worry about some bigger, meaner kid cornering him and kicking his ass. The Lincoln Park Zoo is stuck back home, in the city where Cain isn’t, but maybe a new set of animals to gawp at won’t be so bad. “Gator watching doesn’t actually sound like a bad idea. Everglades is only like what, half an hour out from here? We could get one of those fuckin boats with the fan propellers on the back like a couple of fuckin hicks.” 

[cain-douglas]

tierneysinclair‌:

Tierney’s first act of business in Miami had been to find a place for his bikes. His second act of business had been to find a new bar. Nothing fancy, Tierney didn’t like having to dress up to go out drinking, but he wasn’t going to settle for a total hole in the wall sort of place either. It had taken him a while, but when he’d found it he’d been perfectly content to become a regular. What he hadn’t expected to find was a drinking buddy. He didn’t know jack about the guy, outside of what he liked to drink. Which is just fine by him.

It’s easy enough to smirk at him as he takes up a sport next to him at the bar. He waves the bartender over and orders the first thing that comes to mind, shoving it to Cain and taking a long drink. “You’re going to have to split the bill if you want anything stronger. Do I look like a top shelf liquor man to you?”

“Nah,” Cain says honestly, tossing back the drink in one long gulp. He looms over the seat nearest Tierney looking equal parts annoying and scary until the person there coughs and pays their tab and leaves.  “You look like the kinda guy who likes to get drunk on dogshit swill if it’ll save him a couple bucks,” Cain says honestly, folding himself into the seat and knocking at the bar until the bartender wanders back over. “I’ve got the second round,” Cain says, ordering something slightly less terrible tasting. Nights with T aren’t really the sloppy wasted kind of nights and if he’s going to be stuck sipping on something for most of the night it’s not going to be something that came in a plastic bottle.  “So, how the fuck are you doing?”

[cain-douglas]

WHERE: Bar near Cain’s apartment WHO: closed @tierneysinclair It’s weird to have found a drinking buddy in this shit hole of a city so fast but Cain’s not about to look a providence horse in the mouth or whatever. Tierney is an okay guy, not too friendly, not too unfriendly. He pays for half the tab. He listens to Cain grumble about work and doesn’t ask him questions about all the many details he’s got to leave out. Plus, he’s from Chicago and he hates Miami just about as much as Cain does, which is what really sealed the deal on their tentative acquaintanceship.He doesn’t trust the man. He doesn’t trust most people who aren’t Damien or his mama. But he likes him well enough to withstand and maybe even enjoy his company for a few hours every couple of weeks. 

Which is how Cain finds himself in a tiny bar a short walk from his apartment, scanning the patrons until he spots a familiar face in the crowd. “T,” he says, shouldering his way through a group to throw himself into the seat beside the other man. “Buy me something fucking strong.”

[cain-douglas]

deimosmeansdread‌:

Derek had guessed he’d eventually die by drowning. It made the most sense; underwater was one of the only places he couldn’t use his powers, and it was unlikely anyone with dangerous intentions would be getting close enough to take him out otherwise. The bathtub part is a surprise, though.

He gives up after a moment, the familiar strength of Cain’s hand on his throat more than he knows he can fight against. He’d be wasting precious oxygen struggling, when he knows the only way to make it out of this is to wait for the guy to come to his senses, and remember that inter-gang homicide is generally frowned upon by their boss. When he eventually lets up, Derek comes up gasping, scrabbling against the tile with all the desperation he’d pent-up trying to stay calm. He heaves his body half up and over the edge of the tub, spitting up water onto the floor. When he’s done, he glowers up at Cain from his crouch.

Cain’s words hurt worse than any punch he could throw at Derek. He grits his teeth, feeling the first of his resolve start to waver, the sore spots on his body beginning to command attention. Of course he’d known he fucked up, but how it was going to be taken by the rest of the gang, well– he’d hoped they’d have understood. That he was doing it for them, and the rest had been a big mistake.

A million snappy retorts come to mind while Cain waits for his answer, clearly fuming, but what Derek says instead is, “I know I’m part of a family.” Feeling suddenly exhausted, he slides back into the tub like it’s a bath, pushing wet hair out of his eyes. For the first time since the fight started, he looks at Cain directly, ignoring his question– there’s something else he’s got to get clear first. “Do you really think he’d kick me out? Over–” he gestures vaguely ahead of him, then adds, almost too low to hear, “Over an accident?”

Cain feels it when the fight goes out of Park. The satisfaction he gets from it is honestly kind of threatening. It’s the same feeling he gets from watching those videos of women cutting up kinetic sand on the internet. It’s a weird calm interest that he knows he could and should probably exit away from pretty soon but just after one more video, one more dunk of Derek’s precious little head into the water. He’s got to force his fingers to uncurl from Park’s hair one by one and then he just lets the other man gasp and half flop over the side of the tub like a sad little fish. He doubts Park’s going to be much of a threat to him, powers or not. You don’t come back from basically being dead without it taking a lot out of you, even if it takes a good chunk out of Cain too. 

Besides, Park’s finally dropping the weird bratty attitude he likes to wear like a spikey little coat. He just looks sad and exhausted and like any of the dozens of other kids Cain would have welcomed into the Family with open if guarded, arms.  “Then fucking act like it shit head,” Cain tells Park, and he jabs him in the side of the chest where he knows a hole recently used to be for good measure. That last thought he had strayed dangerously close to kind and Cain’s not looking to be anywhere close to kind to Park after all the shit he’s pulled today. “Or we’re all going to start conveniently forgetting that you’re supposed to be one of us.” It’s clear his comment about Damien hit home. Park looks suddenly clearly and openly vulnerable in a way he really hasn’t ever before. If Cain were a smart man, he’d take Park by the hair and push him back into the water until he stopped struggling. Occasional fits of sadness and self-reflection don’t make Park any less of a liability, just a slightly more sympathetic one. But Cain’s never been very smart or capable of thinking that far ahead. He leans back against the wet tiles and glares balefully at Park. “Call your fuck up what you want Park it’s still a fuck up. You didn’t just fucking trip fall over and set a warehouse on fire. As for Damien, I guess that’ll depend on if you got anything useful out of your little adventure Park.”  He’s fully certain that Park’s not a threat now and he’s pretty tired of being wet so he stands and steps out of the tub, grabbing Park’s very last clean towel from the wrack. “So tell me Park, before I get the urge to drown you again. Did you actually get anything useful out of whoever you were torturing in there?”