[ This is the real him. Caped, cowled, still as a statue with the patient of a hunter. Poised, not with a calm stillness, but the sense of something explosive contained within, ready to be set free at a moment's notice. The night was always more comfortably his. ]
[ Dry, ]
Astute of you.
[ It's another smokescreen: Bruce isn't sure what this memory means, what they're meant to be doing here. Then, there's a shadow leaping from the window, the arc of a familiar whip. Ah. ]
[ Steve had asked him once if he'd loved anyone. He said no, and it wasn't a lie. But Selina came the closest. ]
[ The him in the memory rises to the bait. The chase is on. ]
no subject
[ Dry, ]
Astute of you.
[ It's another smokescreen: Bruce isn't sure what this memory means, what they're meant to be doing here. Then, there's a shadow leaping from the window, the arc of a familiar whip. Ah. ]
[ Steve had asked him once if he'd loved anyone. He said no, and it wasn't a lie. But Selina came the closest. ]
[ The him in the memory rises to the bait. The chase is on. ]