(Untitled)

[felldown7gotup8]

Who: Stephanie Brown and Damian Wayne
When: Sunday afternoon
Where: Suite 34
Summary: What better way to spend a delightful Sunday afternoon...
Rating: PG
Warnings: N/A

Comments

[thebat_brat]

His line of sight shoots to the door when he hears the knock, but it's the voice that causes his eyebrows to shoot up. He'd expected Grayson, newly reanimated, Lili maybe, or possibly Todd. Or not, Todd wouldn't knock. But Stephanie? Well, he should have expected her. Maybe he'd been expecting her since their first conversation.

Not that Drake hadn't kept her busy.

He'd been combing the network punctually, every five minutes or so. There's little else to do, and he's concerned with the Consortium's 'virus.' Especially if it's as bad as the 'last time' Tsunade mentioned.

However, he can't keep seated here... forever. He does have to answer the door. Doesn't he? But that's remarkably different from having a brief audio conversation. Remarkably different when she doesn't remember anything. Mechanically he opens the door, half way, "You shouldn't be mingling, Brown. How do you know I'm not infected

[thebat_brat]

"Sustenance, you mean?" he responds dryly, having taken Steph's brutal remarks in stride, his arms crossed, eyes kept on her.

"And it would be the principle of the matter." He does decide to reach over, and pluck a ring of fruit. It tastes sweet, bright, the opposite of the sawdust and hotglue he's used to. But in the back of his mind he almost thinks it would have been better not to indulge, the next two weeks of dust will only be harder now. "Not that I would expect you to understand."