The Devil Child Appears
Who: Damien and Blaine
What: Arrival!
When: Friday Afternoon
Where: Just outside of town, near the Anderson cabin...
Rating: PG-13 in case of language
Status: Closed, Incomplete
He remembered the explosion. He remembered that split second's terror of realizing that he couldn't diffuse the bomb that, if his mother had her way, would wipe him from ever existing.
But obviously she'd failed, because he was alive--bleeding and concussed-- but alive, in some godforsaken forest somewhere, with no sign of Grayson and no way to contact him. That didn't bother Damien though, Grayson was a big boy and could take care of himself. For now, Damien had to concentrate on keeping himself alive in case any of his mother's soldiers had follow him to...wherever he ended up.
Stranding meant nothing to an agent of the Shadows; they hunted their prey to the end of the Earth if the score was personal enough.
And being the traitor son of Talia al Ghul was about as personal as it got.
Stepping into a small clearing, the bitter undertone of burning pine wafted by him, and masked eyes narrowed--someone had started an open fire a few yards ahead.
"Damn. Downwind." If he wasn't careful, whoever made the fire could tell he was coming. Wincing and pulling his hand away from a broad bloodstain at his side, Damien finally allowed himself to stop and attend his wounds. No use leading a trail of blood back to wherever he ended up camping. It took a moment to secure the emergency gauze and bandages; the sudden pain sharpened his senses, though the concussion left the edges of his vision blurry and over-bright.
Taking a deep breath and trying not to grit his teeth so much, he slipped deep into the underbrush and followed a soft black billow of smoke until the exterior of a rather impressive cabin came into view. There was only one person outside gathering kindling-- a tall man, about Timothy Drake's age with dark hair. He was distracted, humming something mindless. He didn't look like a threat but, better safe than sorry. Best to slip by unnoticed. Damien palmed the knife at his belt and prepared to slip by, just around the edge of the clearing--
Until the world went suddenly wonky, sliding sickeningly to the left, causing him to break his cover and stumble, blade still at the ready. Injured or not, there was no way he was going down without a fight.
"One step and you die."
What: Arrival!
When: Friday Afternoon
Where: Just outside of town, near the Anderson cabin...
Rating: PG-13 in case of language
Status: Closed, Incomplete
He remembered the explosion. He remembered that split second's terror of realizing that he couldn't diffuse the bomb that, if his mother had her way, would wipe him from ever existing.
But obviously she'd failed, because he was alive--bleeding and concussed-- but alive, in some godforsaken forest somewhere, with no sign of Grayson and no way to contact him. That didn't bother Damien though, Grayson was a big boy and could take care of himself. For now, Damien had to concentrate on keeping himself alive in case any of his mother's soldiers had follow him to...wherever he ended up.
Stranding meant nothing to an agent of the Shadows; they hunted their prey to the end of the Earth if the score was personal enough.
And being the traitor son of Talia al Ghul was about as personal as it got.
Stepping into a small clearing, the bitter undertone of burning pine wafted by him, and masked eyes narrowed--someone had started an open fire a few yards ahead.
"Damn. Downwind." If he wasn't careful, whoever made the fire could tell he was coming. Wincing and pulling his hand away from a broad bloodstain at his side, Damien finally allowed himself to stop and attend his wounds. No use leading a trail of blood back to wherever he ended up camping. It took a moment to secure the emergency gauze and bandages; the sudden pain sharpened his senses, though the concussion left the edges of his vision blurry and over-bright.
Taking a deep breath and trying not to grit his teeth so much, he slipped deep into the underbrush and followed a soft black billow of smoke until the exterior of a rather impressive cabin came into view. There was only one person outside gathering kindling-- a tall man, about Timothy Drake's age with dark hair. He was distracted, humming something mindless. He didn't look like a threat but, better safe than sorry. Best to slip by unnoticed. Damien palmed the knife at his belt and prepared to slip by, just around the edge of the clearing--
Until the world went suddenly wonky, sliding sickeningly to the left, causing him to break his cover and stumble, blade still at the ready. Injured or not, there was no way he was going down without a fight.
"One step and you die."