#batsign

She's on her own in Bruce's room (is it Bruce's room or their room at this point?) nose deep in a textbook about foundation of law. It's fascinating, but the textbook is drier than dirt in the desert. It does little to distract her.

[ CARRY ]:     having found the receiver in an injured/weak/unconscious state, the sender carries them in their arms to safety.

Strong arms she faintly feels benath her, the slight shift of air and the way aching muscles feel lighter suddenly has her slowly growing alert, a light flicker of her gaze as she tries her best to battle the consciousness that kept slipping her so suddenly. The wound in her side did little to aid her, the staining crimson and throbbing in her head where she’s certian originates from the rising bruise to her eye. 

Someone she didn’t quite recognize personally, but. . .in the darkness, and the blur of her vision, she swore she could see something like darkened horns.

     “. . .Where. . .”

cassandra knew this better than anybody. she heard it, learned it, lived it from the day she could comprehend what fear was. fear was the first lesson she ever learned. it was used against her every single day; her training, her punishments, all of it was terrifying. if she traversed through the jungle of repressed memories within her, she would find david saying the very same phrase. she knew how effective it is to scare people to get whatever she wanted out of them. the problem was that now she was no longer on the receiving end of things. dishing out terror was a slippery slope that she desperately tried not to lose herself in at any costs.

her career as batgirl brought with it a renaissance. her entire world was turned upside down with the revelation of speaking, fitting in, facing the demons she thought were friends. though the bats brought her so much good, cassandra could not help but wonder where the lines were drawn when it came to good and bad with them. she didn't like to think about it too much. watching the man you idolize beat rogues senseless made it hard to avoid, though. she looked to bruce with pursed lips.

she considered admitting how satisfying it was to strike fear into people's hearts. lurking in the shadows, knocking little things over to get her target on edge, whispering threats into their ears before they even knew she was there … the better she got at it, the more she truly enjoyed it. it was powerful and effective. most importantly, it felt right. maybe he could relate and it wasn't a blaring red flag on the trail of her destiny as the perfect weapon. or maybe it would further crack the faulty foundation the two laid their relationship upon. the line between them and her family was sometimes as thin as thread. one thing she does is the picture perfect reflection of batman, the next was a carbon copy of one of lady shiva's behaviors. it was hard to tell- everything was hard to tell now that words were in the mix. reading body language was always so much easier when she was blissfully unaware of how words can misconstrue. her eyes shut for a moment. your mind is racing, cass. cool it.

According to Gotham’s records,     Thomas Shelby had disappeared after being released from a 72-hour hold at Arkham.     According to the records,     Tommy had been declared legally safe and released onto the streets,      where he had never been seen again.      The Shelby family had held a funeral.      They had burned all of his things and his photographs in a traditional Romani funerary wagon.     The only thing missing had been his body,     which was rotting somewhere in the depths of Arkham Asylum.     No one knew.      

There is one thing Thomas will never forget about his time in Arkham : the Batman.     He had been a sort of God to the people trapped there.     All hours of the night had been filled with the disconcerting din of rambling prayers and hopeful shouts to the Dark Knight,     &  when morning came  &  the prayers remained unanswered,     the hatred inside of Tommy’s chest grew.      Hatred for a man who claimed to be a savior.     Hatred for someone who did not even know that he was a beacon of hope for hundreds of tortured souls. 

The Batman had never come.     He had abandoned the ones who believed in him.      Tommy had never been one for prayer or faith,     but watching those around him slip deeper into madness  &  cling to the image of the Dark Knight had been something that he will never forget.      It is burned into his soul. 

Tommy had risen in power and stature since his escape from Arkham.     He’d been elected to the boards of various hospitals  &  schools.     He’d started a scholarship fund for the very University that had begun this awful chain of events.     He speaks at fundraisers and charity events.     &  now,     he’s running for city council. 

All of the best people in the city had been invited to the campaign dinner.     The District Attorney,      the doctors  &   lawyers  &  billionaires who live so far above Gotham it’s a wonder they claim to live here at all.     Bruce Wayne had been on that list.     And Bruce Wayne had actually showed up. 

Tommy extends a glass of champagne to the man.     An olive branch.     There is nothing in the world that Tommy hates more than a man who has more money than he does. 

“ Mr. Wayne, ”     he says, his smile not reaching his eyes.     “ Thank you for coming.     I’d heard you rarely ever leave your mansion nowadays. ”

He says the word mansion like it’s made of acid,    but his face betrays nothing. 

“ What makes tonight so different ? ”