Roberta Bryce Wayne / tweaked Nolanverse / barways
This has been one hell of a birthday.
Start with the fact that Bryce turned thirty today, after two days unconscious from a heavy dose of a weaponized panic-inducing hallucinogen. Go on to the part where her best friend from childhood was also dosed with said hallucinogen. Continue to the part where her former mentor showed up at the party, uninvited, and announced his intention to destroy Gotham, after which he set Bryce's ancestral house on fire and dropped a beam on her that ripped open her side and may have broken a rib or two, not to mention ruined a custom Dior cocktail dress.
Brawling with half a dozen ninjas, mobs of terror-crazed citizens of the Narrows, and finally fighting Ra's al Ghul himself and leaving him to die in a monorail crash -- those are just the icing on the birthday cake.
When the flames finally died down, she found Gordon and the Tumbler, told him to get the antidote to a chemist as soon as possible, and drove for home. What was left of home, anyway. The cave under the remains of the manor will work as a parking spot for the moment. From there it was a short, exhausted stumble to the cabins by the elevator, and . . . the bar at the end of the universe.
With the cowl and the suit on, her identity -- hell, even her sex -- is fairly well disguised. She's not sure if that's good or not, here.
She just wants to get out of the suit, sew herself up again, and sleep. Thinking about secret identities right now just makes her head ache.
[OOC: Open forever. Happy Thanksgiving! :D]