Damien slowly counted the stars as they blinked into view. It was an old habit and one might think it rather sentimental until they realized that Damien was the son of Satan and- being the son of Satan- incurably morbid.
Damien watched the stars because he knew that they were dying, dying and most likely dead. The idea of something that dies ten thousand years before you even realized it exist is a fascinating thing to someone who is incurably morbid.
He was waiting for Pip. He wasn't exactly sure why he was waiting for Pip. It would be much, much easier to simply teleport to England, off the sick fucks who had dug up the graves and returned home in time to eat dinner, but for some reason Damien felt it would be appropiate for the boy to exact his own revenge.
If he were to be honest with himself, Damien wasn't exactly sure why he was doing this for Pip anyways.
I never said I hated you. Want me to prove it?
"Feh, sentiment." he grumbled, kicking the snow lightly. The boy was... interesting inded. He had incredible potential, though Damien had to admit he rather liked Pip the way he was now.
Not that he'd ever admit it to anyone but himself. Which is the convinience of privacy, afterall.
However, foolish sentiment or not, if Pip didn't show up soon Damien was considering burning something... or someone. Patience certainly was not one of his virtues.