capedcrusvder.
It seemed to come from afar–the sound of Selina forming the syllables of his name. But it was easily disregarded. Easily drowned in the deep thick of fury and desperation as he armed himself, inputted coordinates to the Batmobile, contacted his allies.
Again and again and again.
How many times would the Joker attempt to destroy his city. His family.
Bruce jammed his fingers into the Batcomputer, sending out the last missives necessary to get his allies into spread out positions over Gotham. And turning towards his vehicle he noticed her, lingering by the stairway.
“I don’t have time, Selina. If you’re helping, get in. Otherwise I don’t want to hear it.“
she’s FAR from that desirable soothing summer breeze & warm sand grains under your feet, that soft whisper in the wind that envelops so tenderly; no, for all of his f u r y she’s a TURMOIL of a woman, all rough edges & games of mirrors. they like to HIDE under the engulfing midnight veil, pry about in the shadows that linger--- but TONIGHT, tonight she wasn’t hiding.
❛ BRUCE, stop--- ❜
boots are HEAVY & his demeanor seems to shake the ground, her feet are light but just as demanding--- she follows close behind, close enough so claws could grip onto his shoulder blade.
❛ you can’t. ❜
she doesn’t need to SPELL the words for him to understand--- they know. that anger, coiling inside his lungs, spreading its corruption like rust through his bones & clouding his judgement... it’s all too familiar. she CLIMBS onto her seat swiftly ( too familiar with the vehicle, more than she should be ). but how could she not go? it had once been HIS HAND holding her wrist. she’d come here with the sole intention of helping ( selfless act for a thief, huh? man, she was really screwed ) & she’d HELP. perhaps not with the kind of help he wanted, but the kind of help he’d undoubtedly need.
