etrayalogs | ( closed ) bred, born, and raised to kick your ass

( he watches as damian zips off — as he steadies himself on a railing above. quiet. contemplative. then, after a moment, he makes his way over to that workstation. slowly. steps not as heavy as they could be.

standing there in front of the table, he looks down. spots something. a notebook. the gotham project. he can't help but wonder...

reaching out, he opens it. flips through a few of the pages and... his words are there. all of them. from the past two years that he's been this. that he's been the batman. blue eyes scan the pages carefully as he slowly turns them, making sure they're things he's written, even if so many times, they all bleed together.

looking up to damian above, he closes the book. )

Problematic ones.

( since he doesn't exactly keep track of unknown thugs and criminals who are just out to rip a store off or vandalize gotham city bank with their graffiti. )

( bruce settles (or, stands, but settles by his standards) at his table, and damian keeps the grapple hooked into the rail above. holds onto the grapple gun with both hands as he drops himself down until he's hanging just over the table, boots on either side of the wire to grip it as his hands release the gun and hold onto the wire above it, too. less like a bird, or a bat. more like a spider, maybe.

damian looks comfortable like that regardless, even as he's releasing the wire with one hand to reach toward the closed book. )

I wouldn't ask about the lower-level miscreants.

( damian dangles himself there above the table — reaches out for the notebook — and bruce just pulls it back with the tips of gloved fingers. quiet. blue eyes staring to him through the thick greasepaint and the cowl. )

Who are you asking about then?

( if damian has someone in particular in mind. )

The rest. Obviously.

( he's not sure how much detail he should be giving to bruce - not one this young. but damian also figures - he's asking bruce for information, he needs to give some to get any. )

Deathstroke, Deadshot, Joker, Hugo Strange, Penguin, Riddler, Zsasz, Hush, Black Mask, Bane, Scarecrow, Two-Face. ( and with the hand he had been extending towards bruce's book raising to press his index finger against the cowl, ) Man-Bat.

( some of those names ring familiar. others... not so much. )

Man-Bat.

( that's said a little more in disbelief than confirmation and he takes the book off the table with him, crossing over to inspect the rest of the workspace. )

Joker's in Arkham. ( he leads with that. ) Penguin's making money off drops while under Falcone. ( a beat. ) Riddler's who I'm dealing with now.

( rude. he wanted that book. but bruce moves away, and damian stays where he's at, scowling. )

Riddler is a nuisance. Falcone and Penguin continue to have a working relationship until Falcone begins a massive war against Penguin. Falcone gets released from Blackgate, Penguin is released by Joker when he releases the rest of the prisoners. ( the scowl deepens, voice getting a little more of an edge to it. ) I would recommend paralyzing Joker as soon as you're given the opportunity. He has led to Gotham's downfall, and your own, on countless occasions. The others are nuisances, irritants, who try to crawl out of the gutter to cause havoc and mayhem when possible. Joker will break you.

( it may not seem as if he's listening but, like always, he is. looking over the various things that have been placed about his workspace, back turned to damian. he can't help but let his gaze drop — looking down to the book he holds in his hand. )

Joker's not the one who put Alfred in the hospital.

( the words are soft. difficult for him to say and he slowly walks away from the table, setting the book down before he does. )

I'll clarify.

( legs cross, holding onto the grapple gun with his calves so damian can free both hands. )

They'll all break you. Falcone, too. They'll find your weak spots and dig into them to destroy you. But you're strong, and Batman always gets back up. Alfred will recover. Riddler will go to Arkham, break out, then come back to do it all over again.

( hands reach for the book once more. bruce has put it down within reach, clearly that means damian can have it. )

When Joker breaks you, he will break pieces you cannot mend. He'll leave a gaping wound as large as the one from that night in Crime Alley, and nothing will ever manage to stifle the bleeding.

( if damian opens the book, he'll find the entries to all be handwritten by bruce. one of them reading:

I'll take on the city's criminals alone so I won't put anyone else at risk. I'll need a disguise. I'll have to hide my face to people from recognizing me. A mask? And I'll need protection, like a bulletproof vest that covers my whole body. Made out of strong material-something highly durable. But, it'll have to be flexible, so I can fight while I'm wearing it. Wayne Industries?

he lingers near the spot where his car — the batmobile — would be. it's not there, but. the space for it is. hm. even while he mulls that over, again, he listens to what damian says. pushes down his own fears about what might happen to alfred. )

Like I said. Joker's in Arkham. Riddler's my priority right now.

Edited 2024-04-17 21:30 (UTC)

Edward. Last name of either Nygma, Nashton, Tierney, or Nigma. With an "I". Has gone by Mockingbird and Enigma as well. A strategist, ex-employee of Wayne Enterprises. He's assisted the GCPD during investigations while detained in Arkham Asylum. He has a daughter, Quinn Nash, who also answers to Enigma. However, Riddler considers her less intelligent than himself and has tried to kill her.

( don't mind him, he likes some light reading. damian will flip through a few pages, holding it in front of his face. )

He's an egotistical, narcissistic bottom-feeder. His inability to leave a crime scene without leaving behind a puzzle or riddle to solve will ultimately lead to his defeat.

Edited 2024-04-17 21:52 (UTC)

( listening, he only glances over to damian out of the corner of his eye for a second. catches him flipping through his book. hm. )

He's been writing to me. Leaving me cards with riddles at each murder.

( writing to the batman, he means. )

Bruce Wayne was his latest target. ( a beat. ) Alfred was the one to suffer for that.

He recognizes your wit. The GCPD can't keep up with him, Batman can.

( his weight shifts, legs still holding onto the grapple gun as damian intentionally causes the wire to swing, until he has enough leeway he can bend his legs over his head into a flip and land on his feet, without removing his hands from the book.

flips the page once he's up on his feet. )

Many of Gotham's Rogues will develop an unhealthy obsession with Batman.

Alfred will be fine.

( another page turned and another entry found. this one, a little more recent.

Thursday, October 31st. The city streets are crowded for the holiday. Even with the rain. Hidden in the chaos is the element waiting to strike like snakes. But I'm there too. Watching. Two years of nights have turned me into a nocturnal animal. I must choose my targets carefully. It's a big city. I can't be everywhere. But they don't know where I am. We have a signal now. For when I'm needed. But when that light hits the sky, it's not just a call. It's a warning. To them. Fear... is a tool. They think I'm hiding in the shadows. But I am the shadows. I wish I could say I'm making a difference, but I don't know. Murder, robberies, assault. Two years later, they're all up. And now this. The city's eating itself. Maybe it's beyond saving. But I have to try. Push myself. These nights all roll together in a rush, behind the mask. Sometimes in the morning, I have to force myself to remember everything that happened.

again, he just barely looks over to damian there. hears what he has to say. yet doesn't seem to entirely believe it. )

You don't know that.

( the words are soft, bruce staring over to the elevator where he almost expects to see alfred. )

We're not from the same Gotham.

( damian's quiet, for a moment. the notebook gets shoved into the back of his belt before he makes his way over to bruce. moves to stand in front of him. not beside him, not behind, but right in his line of sight. )

I have battled gods. I've been to Death's door. Looked into the depths of the universe. There are things I've seen that I know you won't consider being real until you have witnessed it with your own eyes. You don't have to believe me, but I want you to hear the certainty in my words when I tell you no matter what world it is, what differences there may be, Pennyworth will not allow himself to breathe his last breath while you are still so easily defeated.

( damian's not wrong. bruce feels defeated. to some extent. having not been able to be there for him — to get to him in time or see the writing on the wall of bruce wayne being the riddler's next target... he should have known. should have figured it out quicker. now alfred lays in a hospital from a bomb. meant for him. it's his fault he's there.

his gaze just barely lifts to meet damian's. drops a moment later. )

I hope you're right.

( again, the words are soft. somber. )

You'll discover soon enough, Father: I am always right.

( or close enough anyway. bruce only looks at him for a moment, and damian won't force more eye contact onto him. instead, he takes the book out. waves it around for a moment, before he opens it and drops down onto the ground to continue sifting through it.

regardless of how useless the notes are here, they're useful for other purposes: getting a good gauge of bruce is currently, what's doing through his head, what thoughts plague him.

knowing one's mind space is plenty useful. )

( damian drops down and bruce watches him. the ego on this kid... )

You're just going to sit there like that?

( he is his father's child, after all. and he does look plenty comfortable right where he is. )

Yes. Is that a problem?

( his chin tips up, and damian - raises an eyebrow. )

Depends. How long are you planning to sit there?

( it's not like he's just going to stand around doing nothing, kiddo. )

( there's plenty of things for bruce to turn his attention to in here. his work table, what's left on it, the early beginnings of his cave. damian doesn't get up yet, but he is pressing his lips together.

clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. )

»Tt«. Do you have something else we should be doing instead?

( we, not I. this is a team-up now. )

( ... )

Fine.

( to damian sitting there, he means.

turning, he starts to walk towards the elevator, cape following along after him as he does. it's just the two of them here — supposedly — yet he still doesn't feel the need to remove his cowl. as familiar as this all is, it's still not gotham. )

I'm going to look around a bit. Don't touch anything. Stay put.

( fine, he says, but doesn't mean.

stay put, he says, knowing well that damian will take that to mean please, touch whatever you want. damian looks up to bruce over the edge of his notebook. quirks up the corners of his mouth. )

Of course. I'll stay right here, on the ground, and not touch a single thing.

( said the liar. )

( he knows. despite the little time they’ve known one another here… he knows.

still, he pulls the gate of the elevators shut, eyes damian there on the floor through the thick greasepaint beneath his cowl, and presses the button to take him up through the secret passage the elevator hides within. slow and quiet, bruce just staring to the closed gate.

the place he ends up is the locked room that belongs to his deceased parents. standing there at the double doors. taking a moment. quiet. thinking to the things damian had said about alfred. about how joker and others like him will become a burden to him over the years and take so much from him until he’s almost left with nothing.

he unlocks the doors. steps in. stands there in silence. it’s an exact replica of thomas and martha’s room. a room he hasn’t personally been inside for a number of years now. it hurts to be in here. contains so many memories that are more like torn photographs now, ripped along the edges. colours faded. washed out. nearly forgotten in some ways.

slowly, he removes his cowl, lets his hair fall every which way, a breath so soft on his lips as blue eyes stare to the floor — to the rug there he remembers sitting on as a boy. a short-lived childhood that he fears damian, too, has had the unfortunate experience of. if one at all. cowl there in hand, held by the tips of his fingers, he slowly makes his way to the bed. hesitates almost. then gently seats himself at the foot of it and lets everything he’s feeling and carrying sink into him until he feels as if he can’t move.

his head tips down, a sigh just barely there on lips, and he lets his eyes fall shut as he sits there. holding the cowl. cape enveloped around him as a protective shield. a blanket of vengeance that practically seeps into his bones. he wishes alfred was here. could tell him the things he needs to hear and what to do. it’s not that he doesn’t know it’s just… he doesn’t know if he can.

so he sits there. just needing a moment to. a moment to sit with these burdens, these concerns, these guilts nestled so deeply within him. not so much for his own sake but more for damian’s. )

Edited 2024-04-18 14:19 (UTC)

( bruce walks off, and damian's certain he knows better than to assume damian does plan on leaving all of his things alone. there's no need to pretend otherwise: damian has already been snooping through his start-up cave. he's reading bruce's journal, the gotham project. memorizing every line, every detail this younger version of his father has been noting about his first two years of being the batman.

damian has been robin for roughly three years. he'd been training to become part of the league since shortly after his birth. his experience laps bruce's several times over. it explains his hesitance, when they had been sparring. or, more accurately, when damian had been sparring, and bruce had been trying to fight him off without causing damage. the taser had been clever, and damian meant to offer his compliments on the forethought.

figures now, that bruce would likely not appreciate him mentioning it again. there's too many pages to memorize them all now, so he settles for skimming over most of it, looking for familiar names, familiar locations. reads over important paragraphs twice to ensure he doesn't forget.

then closes the notebook.

doesn't put it back on the work desk, but instead grips his grapple gun, pulling on it so it starts bringing him back up and uses wire to attach it to the underside of the staircase in a shadowy corner where it's unlikely that those not looking to snoop in batman's things would look for it.

then pulls the grapple loose, carrying it in hand over to the elevator shaft. he doesn't call the elevator down, no. that'd be too easy. instead, he's rehooking the grapple gun onto his belt and grins as he pulls open the gate and leaps into the elevator shaft. grabs hold of wire and other easy-to-nab bits and pieces to climb his way up. stretching, see? it's important to make sure he doesn't let himself go, especially here. things may be quiet currently, but it won't stay that way. it's a great upper-body workout. the elevator doesn't move down to greet him, so it's only the clank clank of his batarangs shoving into creases, his boots pressing against the inside of the elevator shaft, to warn bruce that damian's on his way back up.

it's a tall building. it takes him time. a few short breaks. so he doesn't exhaust muscle. but damian makes it. he pries open the gate on the floor he's certain bruce has stopped at because that's where the elevator is, and stretches his arms out over his head.

walks through the open area up to what had been locked doors and lets himself on into where bruce has - sat himself down, cowl off.

tilts his head with a small scowl. )

Father.

( father. he's still not used to being addressed like that.

he lifts his head, just barely. looks over to damian there with eyes that carry a number of burdens within them. he blinks. slow. lets it all sink back into the depths of everything that he is and licks over his lips. cowl held there at his knee by the tips of his fingers. )

Are you finished snooping around?

( because he knows that's what he'd been up to — what he left him to do while he just... took this moment for himself. because it's not as if he's really let himself do that since he's arrived here. distractions, confusion, attempts to make sense of things he never thought he'd have to make sense of... you know. all things bruce would rather focus— fixate on than everything that he's trying to ignore that he's feeling. )

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