[for Stephanie] bats and birds
Joker's drugs should have worn off hours ago.
It's an uncomfortable realization, to say the least, to know that Jason Todd, of all people, was telling the truth with all his nonsense about pocket dimensions. Even so, there's little denying that the dark world around Damian feels real, from the deep, lush smell of the surrounding jungle to the cool night air. Real or not, though, none of this makes much sense. But then, life in Gotham rarely does, either, does it? His rogues' gallery is comprised of circus freaks and costumed lunatics with too much time on their hands. Interdimensional travel to an island with no immediate escape is surely the next threat to master.
"Tt."
Getting away from the headcase had proven interesting, but Damian's been on his own since before sunset, exploring unfamiliar territory to the best of his ability -- an ability somewhat hindered by a persistent, lingering panic he's trying to ignore. He's been all over the world, but never before beyond it, and with this thoughts still in Gotham -- still with Grayson and the Joker and the recent chaos from which he is only hours removed -- he can't be blamed for his unease. The bizarre circumstances of his arrival aside, he's yet to come across anything that improves upon his first impression of this Tabula Rasa.
The large, concrete building sticking out through the trees is a sight far more welcome than the chicken coop he's just vacated, though, and he decides, immediately, to make this slight nod to civilization his next destination. Only in locating the entrance, however, does he spot a glimpse of familiar blonde hair up on the rooftop.
She's not Grayson or Pennyworth, but Stephanie Brown is at least better company than the Red Hood. It's child's play, joining her on the ledge. Damian's movements are quiet as he treads behind her, stopping only once he's a few feet away.
"You."
It's an uncomfortable realization, to say the least, to know that Jason Todd, of all people, was telling the truth with all his nonsense about pocket dimensions. Even so, there's little denying that the dark world around Damian feels real, from the deep, lush smell of the surrounding jungle to the cool night air. Real or not, though, none of this makes much sense. But then, life in Gotham rarely does, either, does it? His rogues' gallery is comprised of circus freaks and costumed lunatics with too much time on their hands. Interdimensional travel to an island with no immediate escape is surely the next threat to master.
"Tt."
Getting away from the headcase had proven interesting, but Damian's been on his own since before sunset, exploring unfamiliar territory to the best of his ability -- an ability somewhat hindered by a persistent, lingering panic he's trying to ignore. He's been all over the world, but never before beyond it, and with this thoughts still in Gotham -- still with Grayson and the Joker and the recent chaos from which he is only hours removed -- he can't be blamed for his unease. The bizarre circumstances of his arrival aside, he's yet to come across anything that improves upon his first impression of this Tabula Rasa.
The large, concrete building sticking out through the trees is a sight far more welcome than the chicken coop he's just vacated, though, and he decides, immediately, to make this slight nod to civilization his next destination. Only in locating the entrance, however, does he spot a glimpse of familiar blonde hair up on the rooftop.
She's not Grayson or Pennyworth, but Stephanie Brown is at least better company than the Red Hood. It's child's play, joining her on the ledge. Damian's movements are quiet as he treads behind her, stopping only once he's a few feet away.
"You."