december catch-all

[beknight]

Who: bruce wayne (beknight) & various others.
What: various things.
When: intro log event + after.
Where: around wyver.
Warning(s): none yet, will add if needed.

Comments

JACK.

[beknight]

[ ooc: from here ]

Better?

[ He mouths it slowly, then just tilts his chin up a little to make it a question of how well it's working. His equipment is for his own use, he doesn't know how well it's going to work on someone with more sensitive hearing. ]

[personalwar]

Yeah, it's good enough.

[ 76 can put up with some discomfort, and he doubts there will be any lasting damage from having to listen to these things screech. There are probably easier ways to make some silver, but beggars can't be choosers, and he'd lost most of his money while captured.

He glances to Alan, then motions at the plugs in his ears. ] Where'd you get these?

JUSTICE.

[beknight]

[ ooc: from here ]

[ He explains. The proper use of the stove, the microwave, any food-related — since that's what people are after first. Water feels intuitive, but a lot of this technology can be used without those primitive means. ]

Well?

[ A friendly question, this entire station is a lot to handle, especially from before the printing press. Edmund had managed well enough, but Edmund was a special case. ]

[whatisright]

[Justice listens quietly, perpetual frown deepening in thought. He doesn’t actually need to know most of these things, since he doesn’t eat, but he’s fascinated anyway.]

Mortals invented all of this? [Justice shakes his head, murmuring to himself.] Your kind will never cease to amaze me. I take it these things were standard where you come from?

HARRY.

[beknight]

[ After that first flight (and the second, he's still thinking about the fallout of both), he comes up several more times, both eager to get a handle on the fine manoeuvring involved with the ship, as well as to test just how versatile he can be with the other pilot. ]

[ Bruce isn't surprised to see a certain someone outside this ship, but Harry too has his own kind of magnetism. He's smiling amiably as he approaches, ]

Have you flown down yet?

[etiquette]

[harry's never really surprised to see bruce and his many talents at these sort of things either. he couldn't suppress his own warm smile if he tried, and if he'd had any hesitations to flying this with anyone else, they're gone now.

harry shakes his head, a hand still in his suit pocket as he steps towards the other man.]

I like a few careful observations where I can afford them. Not yet, though I wouldn't be opposed to giving it a go.

I take it you've already made at least one round?

AMATERASU.

[beknight]

Look who it is.

[ He's been slowly seeing her more and more clearly over the past few months — she's obviously no ordinary wolf, nor is she a shapeshifter. But something else, something transcendental — there's not many who've approached the category, for Bruce. He lives in a world where everything is classifiable, and a wonder isn't one if it can be understood in components. ]

[ But there are those rare, extraordinary things that defy explanation and don't ask him for immediate dissection, and Amaterasu is firmly in that category. He's already pleased to see her, with the subtle curve of his mouth visible in a rare, true smile. ]

Are you taking the boat?

[illuminating]

[His strange friend is found at the docks, alternating between pacing and practically abrupt sitting while she watches people prepare to take off. Maybe he sees her before she notices him, staring apprehensively out to the sea where others have already made their way. She keeps emitting those not fully fledged whines, the hum-groaning build up in the chest, quivering black lips, but never gaining much pitch.

The open side of her ear swings toward him first when he speaks to her, then face follows, and tightened mouth goes slack with gladness, her amber eyes bright. Let her thinking be honest, even if she can't say it, Bruce, she had not been intending to go by boat, but the group split in different directions, and who knows what's out there?

But the fact is paws don't do so well at holding oars, and no one had been very keen on letting her add weight to their rowboat. What can she do? She's leaning against his legs now in part greeting, and—head hanging—partly to pout.]

BUCKY.

[beknight]

[ He misses Olympia, like a prickle at the back of his mind. Bruce had spoken to several of the dojo masters there, all who offered fair exchange — and in return for one or two sitting in, they'd been happy to leave him to himself. Wyver wasn't so different in that respect, but these streets weren't as well-known to him. It takes a little time to weed out where he should or shouldn't go — it never helps that they're not so fond of the refugees from Olympia. ]

[ So this place is out of the way, deliberately a little harder to find than others — with its own arena. The time he chooses is early in the morning, before the sun rises. The last factor he has to consider is how close he is, physically, to Diana. The bond is strongest when they're next to each other, and while he has no illusions about his level of skill, he knows that in a real, brutal fight, a supersoldier will win over a human. So it might be cheating, but the edge is something they both need to have. ]

[ The room has candles, water bottles, towels. Bruce is in a tank top and dark-coloured pants, one that exposes the burns and scars on his shoulders, arms, and what's visible on his back. He makes no secret of his own damage — he's only lucky there's nothing overt about him to suggest his consciousness is sewn on to something monstrous. Not like that arm, which tells anyone who looks at it. ]

[ He's meditating when he hears Bucky enter. Without opening an eye, ]

Glad you could make it.

[rzhavyy]

[Bucky's dressed casually when he arrives, a jacket and the gloves to hide his arm. He's less concerned about it here than he was before the storm, as he's not a wanted criminal here. It does make him recognizable, obvious, marks what he is in obvious terms, however, which he isn't always comfortable broadcasting. That bright metal is a label of something unequivocally dangerous.

He takes a few minutes to scope out the building first, out of old habits, but then he's slipping through the front door with a nod of his head at the greeting. The early hour didn't particularly bother him. His sleep still tended to be fractured, coming in few hour stretches more nights than not. It was almost a relief to have something to do when he woke at four in the morning.

He takes in the space, and the other man, including the scars-- not that he has much room to talk, with the way the metal arm he bears has made a bit of a mess of the flesh around it. He slips out of the jacket and the gloves and sets them off to the side. He's dressed similarly; tank top and loose pants. In a real fight he prefers not to have anything restraining his left shoulder. He can fight despite it, it's just less comfortable.]

Wouldn't miss it.

[Alan was interesting. A fact, but also something he was still trying to understand the shape of. This, sparring, was both a question and an answer.]

MATT.

[beknight]

The boat's this way.

[ He's at his usual distance from Matt, close enough to be heard without interfering with his perception, far enough away that Matt's movement isn't impeded. Bruce doesn't think powers — he simply assumes Matt is extremely well-adapted to being blind. He's seen the way the man boxes, after all. ]

[ That and he's also not that inclined to ponder deeply when it comes to metahumans. Having two friends who cover the spectrum on godlike is enough for him, thanks. ]

[ghettobatman]

[It's nice not to be treated like he's made of glass, but he's also surprised Alan isn't angry at him for his little disappearing act. He's more used to being told off. Still, he isn't going to apologize or address it himself, because he's Matt, so he simply takes the kind gesture at face value, nods at the other man, and follows his voice]

At least they didn't eject us this time.

[said kind of dryly, but he's obviously joking]

EGGSY.

[beknight]

[ The jungle route is safer, relatively speaking, he's rather had enough of getting lost in the woods or spending the night with a few skulls. But the water's better — his assessment of others is quick and accurate, and they're getting some money out of the dead sea serpents. ]

[ He's just waiting for another person to join him, and waves Eggsy over. With a mischievous smirk, ]

After you.

[tailorable]

[ Eggsy grins in return. ]

Don't tell me you rowed at uni.

[ added casually over his shoulder as he drops his backpack in the boat and then hopes in. He could see Alan being an ivy league lad, y'know. ]

wyver - training

[apricitous]

[ As Diana had... well, other concerns at the moment, Clark had accepted a coffee-time offer from Bruce to get started on training right away. That was why he was here in his newly-bought light clothes, glasses left behind as he follows Bruce to their training spot. ]

How were we going to start this? I'm assuming with the basics?

[beknight]

The absolute basics.

[ It's just after dawn. This room faces the sun, but the windows let in only some light, this dojo overlooks some of the city, including his and Diana's quarters. Bruce himself came early to warm up, he's nursing some bruises from the session he had with one of the local masters. It's a good ache. ]

[ He has a stick with him, which he twirls idly, then points to the middle of the floor. ]

Stand over there.

CLARK + ANA.

[beknight]

[ Late afternoon, he's leading the way through the market, enjoying a little browsing until they select something appropriate for Ana. Her place in Wyver is more well concealed than his, in as high of a place as he has. He doesn't expect to be fooling Clark with the route, so he just mentions to keep an eye out for anyone following. ]

[ Once at the door, he knocks, a deliberate one that announces him specifically. ]

It's me.

[nanamari]

[ She likes high places with clear sightlines, and Alan is generally polite enough to let himself be seen when he decides to visit her. She leaves the door unlocked for him so she can finish what she's doing. ]

Let yourself in, Alan! [ She's got a chipped serving plate balanced across her arm, in the process of moving it to the table. It's laden with kofta and flat bread. The table - a couple of overturned crates with cloth over them - is already set with three places and a pot of chai.

The apartment is otherwise sparse. Anything that would be too large to move at a moment's notice is something she fully expects to leave behind.

Once she sets everything down, she comes over to greet them.

She looks from Clark to Alan, and raises an eyebrow at Alan, but she doesn't otherwise comment. She doesn't need to say aloud that he certainly has a type. ] It's good to see you again, Clark. Come and sit down. How are you settling in?

Post-Meeting Walk

[apricitous]

[ After the meeting with Jessica, Clark puts his shoes on and gestures for Bruce to lead. He's not... angry. He's disappointed. Bruce might be familiar with that one.

Once they're a little ways away from the house, he says-]

Thank you for coming.

[ And there is enough Midwestern passive aggression in that particular phrase to choke a camel, let alone tip off a detective of Bruce's caliber. ]

[beknight]

[ Hn. Evenly, ]

You don't have to walk me back.

[ Extremely familiar. This smells like a Talk, and he doesn't have to guess at the reason why. Clark had levelled enough looks at him. ]

DIANA.

[beknight]

[ Their regular training routine needs a new location. She picks one out of the few options he offers her, a place with shade, and fresh air. Fewer people in the morning — Bruce doesn't like them being the object of spectacle at all. ]

[ He has a few punching bags. Spares in a row, three busted ones and a broken set of sticks at the side, he'll replace him. His new strength takes getting used to. Bruce hears her approach, his acknowledgement of her presence is some of the vigilance easing, a half-glance at her, and then slowing down what he was doing until he comes to a complete stop. ]

No abnormalities, [ he says, quietly. ]

[wondie]

( Wyver doesn't offer them the privacy that Olympia once had, yet Diana can't say the idea of training in open air is off-putting. this is how she's used to training, the sun beating on her skin and the air clinging to the sweat her efforts earn. she's a little behind Bruce today, though when it comes down to it? when it is just the two of them, he is always there. he drops his flair for dramatics to be her constant. she appreciates knowing she can trust him to be there.

she watches him work, dark brows lined together as she considers the vigorous way he works. no abnormalities? well, with his adoption of her abilities, she believes him... she's not sure she agrees with that report entirely, though. )

Good, ( she says, though what she doesn't say is she also intends to decide that for herself. )

SAND.

[beknight]

[ The local vigilante crowd is... interesting. Bruce knew enough of Olympia, but never roamed its streets as the Bat or otherwise. Wyver's closer to what he knows, enjoys. The buildings are more treacherous, there's more shadows to keep him concealed even as he wears a plain, unremarkable full-face mask and dark colours, with just the belt and grapple hook. He intervenes now and then, if he's abroad during the night, but otherwise he keeps to watching. Others, from these many other worlds — the people about their ordinary lives. ]

[ Watching means following, sometimes, if someone of interest pops up. That's Sand, through the streets, being shadowed. ]

[granularity]

[ Sand's heading back to Olympia proper within the week, now that the all call is clear and apparently, Superman is back among the living. He's thinking to himself that he needs to shoot a message to Bruce about that, maybe try and mend the batpride fence a little over inter-team communication since he'd found out through SEEING the guy at the market as opposed to anything so much as a message... when he notices he's being followed.

Unsurprising, he supposes, but he can't say he's a fan. He starts circling his route a little, feeling out a good alley to confront his new friend in, waiting until the right moment...

Before rising from the earth behind him, the dust as obscuring as any sleep gas might be, his mask shining and unnerving in the low light. His voice, when he speaks, is modulated from his usual by the mask itself. But there's also something to playing the Sandman, being the boogieman that evil men should fear, something that reaches to the hindbrain and taps it on the shoulder in the dark. ]

Can I help you with something?

DUTCH.

[beknight]

[ ooc: from here ]

[ He's there, in the corner, nursing a drink. Bruce is not disguised — not to her eyes, even if the grey in his hair is more pronounced, the colour scheme made to blend him in with this crowd. No gloves indoors, and he's not above some bloody knuckles. But they're not bandaged, almost healed. ]

I took the liberty, [ he says, of her drink, when she slides into the seat at the same table. They're past worrying about poison, maybe. ]

[motivation]

[ his knuckles are bloodied and bruised, dutch sports a bruise on one cheek and a bandage on one shoulder. the dangers of earning her keep in wyver by fighting. she still won, though. ]

Better be good. [ the drink, if he's taking the liberty of ordering for her. she's mostly teasing.

a beat in which she lifts the drink to her mouth and takes a swallow. if he wanted to poison her, he could do it more subtly than by buying her a drink. ] Thanks.

[ she's not sure whether she'll ask until her mouth is open and the first word out. ] Are you all right?

[ people like them don't show weakness. his question - it hadn't been weakness, exactly, but worry at the very least. ]

PILOTING.

[ettersberg]

[ the ships are very far outside of the range of what nightingale is used to, but he's getting the hang of them. what he is less quick in getting used to is the link with his co-pilot, though he's quite certain that he could have partnered with someone worse than alan foster. at least he knows mr foster, finds the fellow's presence not just bearable but pleasant. (he hesitates to call anyone a friend too quickly, but he'd say that they are friendly.)

it's odd and it's a little disconcerting. nightingale keeps a tight lid on his own emotions, which is not too difficult to do because he has plenty of practice in controlling himself. magic requires control rather than abandon and after ettersberg, nightingale had taken compartmentalisation to new heights.

(to sometimes unhealthy heights, he's aware.)

he doesn't know how much of that thought process and the emotion that accompany it (determination, the sadness he keeps at bay) bleed through the link. ]

I think I preferred the teleportation.

[beknight]

[ They're friendly. Bruce's opinion on these ships barely matters, what he's testing of himself is how fast he can meet the equilibrium with someone new. It helps when someone isn't new, when he already has some measure of them. Sharing one's emotions — no matter the reason — is a matter of drawing blood, for him. ]

[ He's even-keeled, not a flicker of fear or uncertainty. But there's no hiding that he's quiet and cold. ]

So did I. Watch out for those meteorites.

intro overflow.

[beknight]

ISABELA.

[beknight]

[ ooc: from here ]

[ She laughs. It's a clear sound, almost innocent, in the choppy waters they've thrown themselves into. It reminds him of rooftop tags and friendly clashes with others who were like him, who were in his life once. ]

I always take the opportunity to leave a mark.

[ He might as well have winked, as he adjusts his stance to aim that grenade into the water. ]

Here we go!

STEVE TREVOR.

[beknight]

[ In fact, it's about an hour before any reply, suitably keeping Steve in suspense. It's a GPS ping to a location, a sleepy old man who keeps a ramshackle shop of various hunting supplies at the edge of Wyver, who'll try to sell Steve a knife. Along with the reply is a seemingly unrelated addendum that Steve will realise is a breadcrumb to the next location he's meant to go to, and so on, and so forth. ]

[ The full treasure hunt (a day and a half) takes him through the city — gossipy fruit stall vendors, bars of the likes he can consider employment at, places that let him brush shoulders with several types of Wyver society and allows him to see the equipment they have available for use. There are a few short stops which are obviously breaks: a small fountain that's relatively deserted and peaceful, with open air and a view of the night sky. A market square where an old aunty definitely tries to read his fortune. Throughout, there's pings to his phone — that show him even if Bruce isn't tracking his progress in person, he's being watched. ]

[ The last stop is a group of kids telling each other ghost stories around a blazing fire, who did their level best to keep Steve around as long as possible — the last breadcrumb leads Steve up to one of the higher points in Diana's neighbourhood, overlooking her house and the other blocks nearby. It's just after twilight — Bruce is in shadow, sitting on the ledge. He's very, very still, and Steve soon learns why: there's a pair of ears peeking out from his scarf, and there's another cat in his lap and a few others who've turned their faces to Steve. ]

How was your day, Steve?

[dianano]

[ Steve doesn't take any offence to Bruce taking a while to reply, even if it comes across as odd when his other responses took minutes at the most. Something probably just came up.

What he doesn't expect is a location with no explanation attached. Fine, maybe Bruce wants to meet him there? So he follows the GPS, fascinated by how it works along the way. There's no sign of Bruce where he ends up, some kind of shop, but the trip isn't a waste of time. He ends up buying the knife the old man tries to sell him, haggling a little. He'll come back for more weapons when he has more money.

Steve thinks that's it, but then there's more pings he could ignore, except he's too intrigued not to follow. At first he wonders what trail exactly Bruce is leading him on, but it makes more sense with each new spot he discovers. They're all of use to Steve. His eyes are open to everything around him, the people that he meets, the way they talk, walk and dress. He listens in closely on gossip, makes mental notes of where to return, manages to charm an owner of a bar into giving him a trial. It's an incredibly productive day for Steve.

He's not sure how helpful the fountain spot is, but it's certainly a nice place to sit and contemplate. Or maybe sit and brood, in Bruce's case. (The fountain makes him think of that fountain in Veld, too. He sits there a little longer than he should, with his eyes closed, humming the tune Charlie played that night quietly to himself.) As for the old aunty, ironically she predicts his death (because he's too nice to say no to her), and he has to laugh. He really does.

The stop with the kids might be his favorite because he can't actually remember being around children without seeing them crying for their parents, or covered in blood, or not breathing. He decides he ought to leave before he takes them all home to Diana as a present. He keeps moving, sensing he's near to end of his adventure - and there sits Bruce, surrounded by cats. He does a double take at first, not surprised by his appearance, but certainly by his feline friends. ]

Figures you'd be a cat person. [ Personally Steve likes dogs more, but that says a lot about him as a person. ]

It's been enlightening. [ He comes to sit next to Bruce on the ledge, one arm over a raised knee to prevent any cat from crawling into his lap (sorry, cats). ] Is this what you do with every new person you meet, or just the ones that know you as Bruce?

ANA.

[beknight]

[ Dinner's an understated affair. He usually gets takeout, something quick or energy replenishing. A man stops for fuel, after all — his palate's undergone the readjustment, though sometimes when he passes Alfred in the pods his mental voice is there to chide him. ]

[ But this time he took the trouble of some simple hummus and soup. When she knocks, ]

It's open.

[ The window is, but so's the door. He's writing something by the low light of the lamp. The apartment is sparse, absent of character. ]

[nanamari]

[ She lets herself in through the door and hangs her coat out of the way. The apartment is one of many, but she appreciates that there's little pretense here. It's honest.

She's brought coffee in a thermos for them to share and a small half-pound bag for him to keep. She doesn't say anything at first. She just sets the gift down, pours the coffee for them, and sets a mug on the nearest flat surface beside Alan. ]

Are you going to eat as well? [ He cooked. That he's done so and taken her preferences into account is something that she doesn't call attention to, but she appreciates it all the same, like the many silent ways in which Alan shows that he cares. Maybe he will let her pay a little of it back, tonight. ]

& a partridge in a pear tree.

[beknight]

DIANA + STEVE TREVOR.

[beknight]

[ It's a particular challenge to sneak into a house with both an Amazon and a trained intelligence officer, one very likely to reach for a knife or gun hearing someone about the house — Diana at least is accustomed to his presence, if not to him creeping around in her quarters while she's asleep. Bruce takes it in stride; it takes him longer than he'd care to admit to arrange everything precisely how he wants it to be seen. ]

[ When she opens her eyes, he's cheerfully seated on a chair in her line of sight, reading a book. He closes it, and the expression on his face is briefly genuine before it transmutes into his usual smugness. With a smirk, ]

You're up a little late.

[ Normally, she's up with the dawn, and him heading to sleep. But the sun's a little higher up in the sky as morning spills in from the window. There's the distinct smell of something cooked drifting in from the kitchen area. No, he didn't cook — it would have been a perfect sincere gift, but it's not among any of the talents he was so bloody minded about mastering — it's a good breakfast nonetheless. He expects Steve to be up soon as well, surprising that he's so amenable to staying in the same house, for a man of his time. But Bruce knows how people don't exactly say no to Diana. ]

[ He holds out a glass of light green liquid for her. He'd heard it clears the mind after sleep, tried it, found that it's true. ]

Good morning. My treat.

/carnival tunes swell

[summertimeblues]

((330 comments what kind of a tagging monster are you, gotdamn))

[Whatever comfort people might get from visiting the sleeping bodies, it's clear that Richie Tozier is taking none himself.

The dim and sterile lights take no prisoners on the pallor he's assumed upon entering, casting deep shadows on the underside of his eyes against the ghostly white of his cheeks. The bottle dangling out of his hand has a third of the amber slosh left inside the glass. It makes a gentle splish to each side as he walks, even-paced in spite of the shaking need to run. The space is broad, and it would be impossible to tell if anyone was down here with him. He doesn't want to look like a mad man.

Even so, he's more and more nervous the longer he spends looking. He'd come in by a different door than last time and it's a shot in the foot, because now he's gotten turned around and even if he could see a familiar junction in the distance he's gotta take a scenic route to get there. Richie's courage is flagging yet his feet move forward, magnetized and running on automatic.

Except...

His dogged trudge stops. Richie's head is turned to the side, and the trepidation written between his brows has loosened for genuine disbelief. He takes a step closer to a pod on the left. Then another. Comes within fogging distance of the glass. Squinting.

This isn't...this isn't one of those tricks, is it? Just like how he'd seen the Teenage Werewolf not a week after catching the flick in the cinema. Except he hasn't read a comic in centuries, but goddammit he knows what he's looking at. Purple suit and green hair, white face fixed with a grin that slit too far up the cheeks. Sleeping. It doesn't look a lick like Cesar Romero but there's no mistaking that getup.

He holds. Seconds tick by. The apparition doesn't stir in the pod. Cautious, Richie taps at the glass.]

What in the world...

[beknight]

[ The smell of alcohol is noticeable. In this vast room, footsteps echo, voices carry. It's like a crypt more than a hospital room, bright in shade, but only a place that welcomes those who're haunted. ]

[ Bruce spent more time here in the early days than he does now, when he comes up as a matter of habit. There's little animal terror in him, not that there was much to speak of when he first saw those fateful faces in the tubes, but there's a scrabble for control and then there's — this. The waiting. He's a patient hunter. ]

[ His footsteps are distinct, the level of a normal person trudging through this lonely place — because there's company. The smell, the swish of a bottle. The voice. ]

They really didn't discriminate.

[ He winces a little, like any normal person would upon seeing a face like the Joker's. ]

I think that's his brother, next to him.

gala event & related.

[beknight]

CLARK.

[beknight]

[ This for once doesn't lead to any of the mysterious places in the city. It's just a ping to his house, y'know, he could have said come over but where's the fun in that. ]

[ The floor's already cleared — it was clear enough, this apartment is a sparse place, everything is only this side above serviceable: lit by the bare minimum, lived in by no one. ]

Stand over here.

Christmas Eve;

[rzhavyy]

[Bucky leaves Bruce a neatly wrapped present in bright red paper; not hard to spot even if it's tucked cautiously just out of view.

It's a book. He thinks he might have liked something similar when he was younger, so gifting it means something. It's an attempt, anyway. Bucky thought about getting him a knife, but weapons were both too easy and too difficult and anything else seemed too generic. So instead he gets him a murder mystery that also examines themes of guilt and justice.

The plot of the novel is simple: a group of people are invited to an island, where it's revealed that they're all guilty of murder, and yet managed to get away with it, although the degree of their guilt varies. Then someone starts killing them.

All of them die. But the epilogue reveals it was the judge, who faked his own murder halfway through, and explains about an obsession with bringing justice to those that escaped it, and a darkness within himself but the ability to only kill the guilty. The writing, at least, is sharp.]

[beknight]

[ There's a certain amusement Bruce derives from receiving a murder mystery, not that Bucky knows his favourite name out of all the ones he has is Detective. That is the one, inviolable, unchangeable core. And he's been wondering about his own lines, how his own darkness had once only reached for those who deserved to be seared by it — it ate part of him, too. It gives him a lot to think about. ]

[ He sends Bucky a quick text to meet again on the rooftop with his little family of strays, and smiles faintly at him when he shows himself. ]

I wasn't expecting a gift from you.

[ He can't remember the last time anyone surprised him so pleasantly. ]

Pre-Christmas

[whatisright]

[Justice doesn't quite understand this whole 'gift-giving' thing, but it seems that he's being expected to do it. He doesn't want to bother Anders or Stannis for every little thing, so now it's 'Alan's' turn.

Justice is just in the kitchen early one morning, fingering someone's favorite mug and cocking his head in interest as he runs his fingers along the handle and feels the memories humming within.

Most people would knock, or maybe call ahead, but that would require a modicum of social awareness. Who needs that? Justice certainly doesn't.]

[beknight]

[ Nice that he's got a few of them to rotate, huh!! Bruce is snoozing, awake the second he hears someone in the kitchen, sneaks out just holding a batarang and — oh. Hm. Well. This is what THAT feels like. Karma found him eventually. ]

[ The mug was a gift from Cassandra, purchased for him once he'd managed to get her settled in Olympia, bears many shared breakfast memories of them sneaking into each other's quarters to spend quality family time. He pockets his batarang. ]

Humans usually expect calls.

[ He doesn't sound annoyed, because he doesn't bother with this himself, and it's usually to work around people's assumptions. But he figures it can't hurt to mention. ]

What can I do for you?

CLARK. post-gala

[beknight]

[ Three days of absolute silence. His heartbeat is still detectable, but the apartment is empty, the office similarly so, it's like there's no trace of him but that distant sound, almost never hitting its usual baseline. ]

[ But it doesn't drag on. At their usual training time a GPS ping to Clark's phone from Bruce's regular number lead him up to Thesa Station, to one of the simulation rooms. The heartbeat is there, somewhere, inside; the area's open. But as soon as the door closes behind Clark the room becomes an obstacle course. Barriers, rings, shifting and blinking lines. ]

I'm testing this out.

[ It's quietly said. There was no one at Clark's side, now there is. Bruce is in their usual training clothes, only looks a little tired, otherwise contained. ]

You can practice flying.

[apricitous]

[ Clark doesn't look tired. Clark looks lost, sad in a way that says he's not quite sure what to do. He looks over at Bruce, acting like nothing had happened, acting like everything was normal, but- ]

I'm sorry.