#gothanite

CENTRAL GOTHAM: 7:19 PM, OUTSIDE THE HOTEL BELLE MONICO.

or at least, that's what i think he's thinking(?). i'm having trouble quite deciphering anything that he spews, not that he really ever has. it would be cool to go on a wild goose chase for this burglar, but in these boots, he should know i won't be running anywhere. “ she must've left behind something. ” words of naïveté are spoken like honey dripping down my throat, i ponder his acknowledgement of my existence at all as i stand in front of him. the deep purple of my trench coat gains traction in the morose gotham wind, it's gelid grip latching onto my bare neck. hands bury themselves into the thick pockets, they sheath my cuticles &. my thick brows furrow, accompanied by the lack of expression in his.

the  moon  is  bright  and  warming  tonight,    making  her  way  through  throngs  of  people  who  each  turn  to  her  as  if  asphodel  to  life,    wolf  to  the  sky.    and  this  wolf.    this  wolf  feels  sixteen  all  over  again,    nearly  bursting  from  his  itching  skin  as  his  eyes  track  her  movement.    if  she’s  spotted  him,    she  hasn’t  indicated  it  to  him,    but  he  can  smell  her  even  across  the  room  and  that  tethered  ache  to  go  to  her  is  only  bolstered  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  host.    ❝    mister  wayne,    ❞  says  scott,    his  ears  pink.    slowly,    regretfully,    he  tears  his  gaze  from  allison  shaking  hands  with  a  gotham  diplomat  and  looks  to  @gothanite​  beside  him.    ❝    i,    uh.    the  party’s–  ❞  idiot.    he  clears  his  throat  and  tries  again,    far  more  honest  though  still  thoroughly  scott.    ❝    i  still  suck  at  these  things.    how  do  you  do  it?    ❞

carrie sulks. she sulks hard. the ice cream tub turns her skin vivid red,  just as red as her cheeks turn to match her bob and the flourishing bruise on her chin that she nurses with her cold treat.   ❝  but i was right.  ❞  she argues back at @gothanite , unwilling to yield just yet. she did the math right. she was sure she did the math right, so she’s not sure now how the van drove off and carrie nearly broke her face on the fire escape ladder in pursuit. not the most graceful, unfortunately. her mother had once remarked when she tried to put carrie in heels.  ❝  what’s the point of being right if i’m going to mess up and the bad guys get away anyways ? ❞

❝  how did you find me ? ❞  lara looks up from her bruised knuckles when the scuffle of shoes crosses the threshold of the locker room. it’s a hole in the wall. the quaint little training gym in the heart of the city, where she honed her fighting skills on trips guised as convention gatherings. it’s safe to say that lara’s ass gets kicked on the regular, but it’s good.  because she’s learning to hold her own and fight back.   ❝  how did you even know i was in the city ? ❞   her tone is lamented with accusation to bury the guilt of not telling @gothanite​ she was state-side. though it seemed now, she didn’t need to tell him. she’s still battling with revelations that nearly crippled her in grief back in siberia. the truth behind her father’s death. ana’s betrayal. trinity. a threat only lara knew about, a threat she has to be the one to snuff out. she wipes the back of her wrist against her bloodied lip and turns away, pushing him away, like she’s pushed everyone else. 

 ❝ it looks all wrong. i suppose ..  the color is nice. ❞  and that would be her best attempt at optimism for the night. a hand sweeps over the smooth fabric gathered at her waist before the pleats flow effortlessly around her figure. the dress is modest enough to cover up most of her scars, the ones that were unfit for lady of her status or a businesswoman of her position to display. but even then some of those prodded from underneath the boatneck line of the fabric, which ultimately meant lara would have to let her hair down. another lara croft rule broken. but she was still stitching together the pieces of a the tattered croft reputation, which meant becoming a stickler to the expected, abandoning who she is to protect it. 

a final huff towards an imperfectly perfect reflection, lara resists the urge to throw the perfectly styled waves out of order - she’s so used to strays falling over her eyes that the unobstructed view is distorting her depth perception - finally turns to bruce,  ❝ you’ve always been much better at this than i am. ❞ she admits helplessly - 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘥𝘮𝘪𝘵 -  as she crosses the length of the powder room to meet him, dragging her feet both figuratively and literally ( lara’s balance is impeccable but she’d rather walk a rusty ladder over an endless abyss than in these heels )  ❝ do i really have to give a speech ? ❞