WHO: damian wayne & others WHEN: early to mid march WHERE: wayne manor, wayne tower, other places not labeled 'wayne' WHAT: a small canon update, drama therein, open and closed starters below. NOTES\WARNINGS: child violence/abuse/death mentions likely, comic book violence, etc.
( the first time damian had met his father, it had been his tenth birthday.
for a child of ten, his memory of that day, of stepping out from behind his mother to hold his blade up to his father, "i imagined you taller", the cave, drake, locked doors - he remembers it with such bright clarity, details permanently etched into the synapses of his brain. it isn't the only memory that he holds close to his chest, and while it's one that comes to the forefront when he thinks of moments that have most effected the twists and turns it took to make damian wayne into the man (boy) he is, it is no longer the one sitting at the forefront of his mind.
one day, that will likely change. one day, he'll be able to move passed recent memory to return to a time when finding the light his father had brought into his world is the memory etched behind his eyelids when he closes his eyes. even better, maybe it will be something brighter, lighter.
but that isn't where he is now.
previous research into the comings and goings of etraya reflect what he's just learned: sometimes, residents may blip out for a moment, returning to the exact spot they had just been albeit with more memory of their homes. damian had been out in nova city in the extremely early hours of the morning before the sun rises, moving between the justice tower and arkham to ensure their residents were not creating larger messes than their mere existence already does - when that same blip managed to hit him.
he's eleven one moment, over half a year into his stay in this cursed city - and the next, he's a few inches shorter, robin uniform littered with blood-stained holes and a deep, unsettling pain settling into his chest.
nova city isn't unfamiliar territory, but it is territory he had not anticipated being in now. he stumbles a step forward, nearly tipping himself off the rooftop he had been trekking across before regaining his balance.
which is when the panic settles in. robin has one foot half off the edge of the building, hands sliding across the front of his tunic in search of wounds that are no longer bleeding, feeling along the numerous rips and tears for something. his breathing isn't steady, nor is his footing - but he isn't tumbling over the edge just yet. )
( rather than send coordinates along in a message, pending receives a picture of a map of nova city with an area circled on that map and several different pathways that could be used to reach that circle mapped out in red. damian assumes the man is clever enough to figure out how a map works.
if he isn't, then robin waiting around for him to show up atop one of the street lights will be significantly more awkward to explain if anyone else shows up than he wants to deal with right now. )
[to be fair to Damian, the "anyone" could've been Pending in another skin. to be fair to Pending, meandering around in places he's not as familiar with as a tall, lanky thing makes his skin itchy, and the want to be smaller, to be able to shrink into shadows, does make him want to curl up into Antigone's shape.
he resists the temptation, reframing the effort as some kind of...mental battle being won - like these oppressively ugly and unfamiliar structures were made this way by Echo explicitly to keep Knife on-edge, to tempt a shifting, a reveal of the flesh they feel truest to. and that can't be abided; petty though it may seem, it's the only bit of control Knife feels so strongly entitled to. Echo has forced them to make a lot of concessions, but they will not relent Knife's face so freely.
so, Pending it is, all scars and little tusks and strips of cloth wrapped in thin layers about his forearms and shins, a sheathed dagger wound and wrapped into a sash at his waist for lack of a useful strip of leather and fastening. this is the guy with weirdly light steps for his size, plodding along through this section of Etraya, stopping at intersections to vet the shapes of nearby buildings with their approximations being uncomfortably flickered into view onto a blank sheet of paper on command (the paper is not necessary, but it feels better).
it's...this building, yes? or the space between it.]
Edited (used "plodding" twice in one tag 100 years jail) 2026-03-05 18:10 (UTC)
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etrayalogs2026-03-04 09:14 pm
➵ closed to current cr.
for a child of ten, his memory of that day, of stepping out from behind his mother to hold his blade up to his father, "i imagined you taller", the cave, drake, locked doors - he remembers it with such bright clarity, details permanently etched into the synapses of his brain. it isn't the only memory that he holds close to his chest, and while it's one that comes to the forefront when he thinks of moments that have most effected the twists and turns it took to make damian wayne into the man (boy) he is, it is no longer the one sitting at the forefront of his mind.
one day, that will likely change. one day, he'll be able to move passed recent memory to return to a time when finding the light his father had brought into his world is the memory etched behind his eyelids when he closes his eyes. even better, maybe it will be something brighter, lighter.
but that isn't where he is now.
previous research into the comings and goings of etraya reflect what he's just learned: sometimes, residents may blip out for a moment, returning to the exact spot they had just been albeit with more memory of their homes. damian had been out in nova city in the extremely early hours of the morning before the sun rises, moving between the justice tower and arkham to ensure their residents were not creating larger messes than their mere existence already does - when that same blip managed to hit him.
he's eleven one moment, over half a year into his stay in this cursed city - and the next, he's a few inches shorter, robin uniform littered with blood-stained holes and a deep, unsettling pain settling into his chest.
nova city isn't unfamiliar territory, but it is territory he had not anticipated being in now. he stumbles a step forward, nearly tipping himself off the rooftop he had been trekking across before regaining his balance.
which is when the panic settles in. robin has one foot half off the edge of the building, hands sliding across the front of his tunic in search of wounds that are no longer bleeding, feeling along the numerous rips and tears for something. his breathing isn't steady, nor is his footing - but he isn't tumbling over the edge just yet. )
➵ pending.
if he isn't, then robin waiting around for him to show up atop one of the street lights will be significantly more awkward to explain if anyone else shows up than he wants to deal with right now. )
no subject
he resists the temptation, reframing the effort as some kind of...mental battle being won - like these oppressively ugly and unfamiliar structures were made this way by Echo explicitly to keep Knife on-edge, to tempt a shifting, a reveal of the flesh they feel truest to. and that can't be abided; petty though it may seem, it's the only bit of control Knife feels so strongly entitled to. Echo has forced them to make a lot of concessions, but they will not relent Knife's face so freely.
so, Pending it is, all scars and little tusks and strips of cloth wrapped in thin layers about his forearms and shins, a sheathed dagger wound and wrapped into a sash at his waist for lack of a useful strip of leather and fastening. this is the guy with weirdly light steps for his size, plodding along through this section of Etraya, stopping at intersections to vet the shapes of nearby buildings with their approximations being uncomfortably flickered into view onto a blank sheet of paper on command (the paper is not necessary, but it feels better).
it's...this building, yes? or the space between it.]