[ Damian, for all his self-confidence in being able to come across as a normal young mobster boy, is terrible at it; rather than letting his eyes dart in fear at Peko's stare, he stares right back at her out of the corner of his eye; and he can't even fake being mildly concerned that he's still cornered, and that one of his might-be opponents has a sword up and knows how to use it.

His glance flicks back to Kuzuryuu, appraising the newcomer. Damian doesn't have a guess on how powerful the boss may be compared to his bodyguard; there's no telling if he's a meta or not, so he has to keep his guard up.

--or tries. The question catches him by surprise, unexpected. He frowns, ruffled, but tips his chin up, cool and haughty, licking the split in his lip before he answers. ]

My father taught me a trick or two on dealing with thugs. Doesn't mean I'm gonna show my cards unless I gotta. Besides, I couldn't have taken them all out.

[ A shrug, casual. He's ten, he can handle one or two guys, maybe. But not all of them.

(Keep the cover. He knows he should be retreating back to the club by now, should be making off with the info he has, but Damian's arrogant, and always overreaches.) ]

So you're, what, with no family? Sure, Gotham's got a good thing going, but loners don't last long here, you know.

[ Find out his game. What's his angle - drugs? Weapons? Flesh trade? Does he work with anybody else? Who are his contacts? ]