(no subject)
Who: Slade Wilson and Dick Grayson
What: Two old enemies chat. Hopefully with less punching this time around.
When: The night of June 4th.
Where: The deck.
Warnings: Noooone?
He was meditating.
It was something he hadn't tried in a while, a technique he'd used often years ago to help speed up the recovery process. His metabolism had changed since then, of course. The jolt of being drugged with truth serums during a jaunt in Gotham, his subsequent death, and revival had done quite a bit to change him. He just hadn't known it then.
Now, it wasn't necessary. His body healed well enough without it, and he'd gotten out of the habit a long time ago. Even so, there were times when the vague sense of peace and stillness it brought were helpful.
Seated in the customary position -- legs crossed, hands on his knees, eye closed -- he breathes, quietly.
In. Out. In. Out.
He wasn't expecting visitors, but they would likely be ignored if they chose to disturb him.
What: Two old enemies chat. Hopefully with less punching this time around.
When: The night of June 4th.
Where: The deck.
Warnings: Noooone?
He was meditating.
It was something he hadn't tried in a while, a technique he'd used often years ago to help speed up the recovery process. His metabolism had changed since then, of course. The jolt of being drugged with truth serums during a jaunt in Gotham, his subsequent death, and revival had done quite a bit to change him. He just hadn't known it then.
Now, it wasn't necessary. His body healed well enough without it, and he'd gotten out of the habit a long time ago. Even so, there were times when the vague sense of peace and stillness it brought were helpful.
Seated in the customary position -- legs crossed, hands on his knees, eye closed -- he breathes, quietly.
In. Out. In. Out.
He wasn't expecting visitors, but they would likely be ignored if they chose to disturb him.