❛ heir to the kingdom of the damned 。❜ (
xuffasch) wrote in
capeandcowllogs2011-07-29 10:56 am
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say that you're grateful for the time alone, two years away and i don't miss home;
WHO:
xuffasch & YOU;
WHERE: Various places throughout the city;
WHEN: All day Friday;
WARNINGS: n/a
SUMMARY: A day in the life of Damian Wayne, with interruptions from YOU.
FORMAT: Reply as you like and I will follow; specify time, too!
↬ MID-MORNING;
If you were to ask Damian about things he never did, one of the first he’d list would be sulking. However, Damian is a terrible liar, because sulking is exactly what he’d been doing for the past few days, though he would never admit it. Watching events unfolding and having no control over them is enough to chafe his already irritable nature, but the fact that Grayson isn’t around is what makes it all the worse. Robin is a formidable force, but without Batman he can be a purposeless one.
Which is why he found himself where he was now, lying on his back on the rooftop of the apartment building he and Grayson had been living in for the past few months. The kitten he’d adopted is there, as well, laying across his stomach as he stares up at the sky. Damian’s legs are hanging out over the edge of the building, and though his body is relaxed his expression is fierce and he is hardly off-guard.
Occasionally he’ll shift his position or mutter something under his breath, but for the most part he just lays there, impassive. Unless, of course, someone sees fit to interrupt.
↬ AFTERNOON;
For someone who prides himself on his ability to adapt, Damian tends to be very habitual. Even after arriving in the City, it had taken him no more than a few weeks to set up a few haunts, and one of those was the corner bakery. Famous for their frivolously-decorated cupcakes, the bakers now know Damian by face, and his order of tall black coffee which he paired with different sweets—they swear he was steadily eating his way through the entire menu.
Today, he sits at his usual corner table. There is a single cupcake wrapper left empty one on side, surrounded by five empty cups that once held coffee. Sprawled across the table are various papers—maps, handwritten notes, print-outs and blueprints. Curious about Damian’s scrawl is its mirrored quality, nearly impossible to read without first reflecting it. Also curious is the different scripts and languages he uses. Every so often, he lifts his pen to his mouth and knocks it thoughtfully against his chin. His expression is one of utmost concentration, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t watching everyone else in the place, coming and going.
↬ MIDNIGHT;
Robin sits on the edge of a building—or perhaps “crouches” is more the right term for it. In any case, he surveys the city with a mixed expression of distaste and resignation, until he catches something out of the corner of his eye. It’s at this point that he swoops down into an alleyway, breaking up a robbery before it can occur. He knocks one man over as he touches down, shoving his elbow up under another’s chin. If he’s even more violent than normal, the people he’s attacking certainly aren’t in a position to complain. But someone else might be.
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WHERE: Various places throughout the city;
WHEN: All day Friday;
WARNINGS: n/a
SUMMARY: A day in the life of Damian Wayne, with interruptions from YOU.
FORMAT: Reply as you like and I will follow; specify time, too!
↬ MID-MORNING;
If you were to ask Damian about things he never did, one of the first he’d list would be sulking. However, Damian is a terrible liar, because sulking is exactly what he’d been doing for the past few days, though he would never admit it. Watching events unfolding and having no control over them is enough to chafe his already irritable nature, but the fact that Grayson isn’t around is what makes it all the worse. Robin is a formidable force, but without Batman he can be a purposeless one.
Which is why he found himself where he was now, lying on his back on the rooftop of the apartment building he and Grayson had been living in for the past few months. The kitten he’d adopted is there, as well, laying across his stomach as he stares up at the sky. Damian’s legs are hanging out over the edge of the building, and though his body is relaxed his expression is fierce and he is hardly off-guard.
Occasionally he’ll shift his position or mutter something under his breath, but for the most part he just lays there, impassive. Unless, of course, someone sees fit to interrupt.
↬ AFTERNOON;
For someone who prides himself on his ability to adapt, Damian tends to be very habitual. Even after arriving in the City, it had taken him no more than a few weeks to set up a few haunts, and one of those was the corner bakery. Famous for their frivolously-decorated cupcakes, the bakers now know Damian by face, and his order of tall black coffee which he paired with different sweets—they swear he was steadily eating his way through the entire menu.
Today, he sits at his usual corner table. There is a single cupcake wrapper left empty one on side, surrounded by five empty cups that once held coffee. Sprawled across the table are various papers—maps, handwritten notes, print-outs and blueprints. Curious about Damian’s scrawl is its mirrored quality, nearly impossible to read without first reflecting it. Also curious is the different scripts and languages he uses. Every so often, he lifts his pen to his mouth and knocks it thoughtfully against his chin. His expression is one of utmost concentration, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t watching everyone else in the place, coming and going.
↬ MIDNIGHT;
Robin sits on the edge of a building—or perhaps “crouches” is more the right term for it. In any case, he surveys the city with a mixed expression of distaste and resignation, until he catches something out of the corner of his eye. It’s at this point that he swoops down into an alleyway, breaking up a robbery before it can occur. He knocks one man over as he touches down, shoving his elbow up under another’s chin. If he’s even more violent than normal, the people he’s attacking certainly aren’t in a position to complain. But someone else might be.
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She leans against the table behind her, setting her coffee down on it. Reaching up, she removes her sunglasses so she can get a better look at him. She hadn't bothered with the Waynes since helping Batman save the boy and their butler but old curiosity is creeping back up. What did that zombie-like Batman want with him in the first place?
"Thought you were going to be on a plane somewhere. It didn't work out?" half-amused she is but the other half is interested to know because of Nill.
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But this woman didn't need to know any of that, so Damian just lets out a huffy sigh. "Tt. My plans were a bit derailed, but I still plan on going eventually."
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While he's not very welcoming, he's slightly different from what she can recalls on the Network. A good day after all?
"Still going to take Nill?" she masks any hint of genuine concern in her tone; with the recent headlining news of places being blown up and the fact Nill had been one of the many kidnapped weeks ago, she can't help the feeling it's better for the young girl to stay close to adults she's familiar with in the City. At least until whatever was going on is put to rest.
It's not even a feeling, it's common sense to her.
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Sitting at the corner table, on a long-legged chair perfect in a modernly designed placed like this, Damian swings his legs, his feet never quite touching the floor. He’s dressed like a little man: collared shirt and slacks, but with a loose hoodie on top to provide his trademark security blanket. It’s a strange image he creates, as he steeples his fingers and gives Kate a long look.
“You seem to have adapted fairly well,” he says blandly, wondering at that. He’s impressed, vaguely, by any civilian who doesn’t dissolve into hysteria.
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For a child, his speech patterns are very adult-like. Private tutors don't necessarily teach that in this day and age, do they? She knows next to nothing about Bruce Wayne's son who seemingly entered from nowhere. Or maybe Bruce had explained how a ten year old boy suddenly entered his life and she just hadn't caught wind of it yet. She's not been in contact with family aside from Bette back home.
"What good does panicking do?"
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"People will complain about anything." Maybe it's wrong to say that to a ten year old but this one seems different. There's no guilt in talking to him the way she would others and in all honesty, talking down to kids is rarely a smart move.
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He decides that this woman isn't entirely useless, if she can keep up with him in conversation. Perhaps he did underestimate the Kanes...
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"Did your father teach you that?"
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"My mother, actually." Most people had mothers, he reasoned. It wasn't as if mentioning her was giving anything away, but thinking of Talia still made Damian dully sad, in a way.
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It's her first thought, having not heard of who the mother in question was. There were some crude jokes back home about how it was "no surprise" Bruce had a young child running around.
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She opts for dropping the topic. Maybe it hit a sore spot with her.
"Still intending to prove me wrong, by the way?" She hasn't forgotten him saying he could dig up information on the Kanes if he wanted to.
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But Damian just gives Kate a smug look and lifts his chin. "Of course. I rarely alter my course of action once it is decided."
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"What have you got so far, Damian?" she asks, waiting for an answer that may make her amuse her even more.
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"The Kanes. One of the oldest families in Gotham, second in wealth and influence only to the Waynes. Colonel Kane has been married twice; first wife and one daughter killed overseas over a decade ago. One surviving daughter, Katherine."
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It's the sudden cocky attitude this boy has, treating it as such: merely information. Not people who still mean something to others. To her.
"Yeah? Did your father tell you that?"
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"He doesn't tell me anything," Damian snaps, with more force than he intends. "I find out what I need to know on my own."
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She exhales, the coffee on table long forgotten. "You were serious about this." If it isn't for the fact it's unnerving information on her, she would be impressed.
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"Why not?"
She's curious, so she'll bite. There's something she can't put her finger on with Damian Wayne.
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"It isn't what I was born to do," he says slowly. "I have a specific purpose, and I don't waste time doing things that don't contribute to it."
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