@harleymaguire

his cheeks flushed, burning presumably red, as icicles over icicles formed and clustered along the length of his arms. once unpolished and raw, the ice now manifested in a crude design of geometric patterns – swirls of frost, glistening altogether.

it was the other male’s words that took away the man from his head, from that place of channelling his inner cold. he let out a visible breath. standing in the training field with the other, dressed only in trousers for combat ease, his cold gaze settled on the face of the male before him, who he’d been partnered up with to test each other’s abilities.

“okay, i’m done,” the iceborn huffed out the words in a cloud of white. “your turn.”

Her torch flickers out. Not a problem, really, when Clementine is trying to track someone down. The light is dead giveaway. A beat later though, the little pinprick of light she’s using to guide her steps dies, too. “Fuck me,” she mutters, squinting. It’s too dark to see the person anymore; they are a mere shadow among a blob of others. Her attunement tries to grab her attention, tries to reach out, and for once, she lets it.

Then she reels back with a loud gasp, clapping a hand over her ears as the winds become an all too loud screech. She yanks her attunement back in with a grimace, ears still ringing long after her attunement has stopped. When she lifts her head again, the shadow is closer. Her heart leaps. She cups her hands around her mouth and yells: “Hey! Jackass! Get back here!”

It’s hard to actually catch Karma out in the day time, he’s a creature who finds the dark more appealing and it’s usually when the more human side of him is done with lethal doses of alcohol does he burn off.

When you found yourself cut off from the plentiful resources you were so used to having, sometimes you had little choice but to build up more using the skills at your disposal. And Ada Wong was good at three things: killing, seduction, and theft. There were no moral dilemmas to be had with simply cleaning out a jewelry store undetected; for her, anything was fair game if she didn't have to kill innocent people. But everyone else? That was a different story, and one that the unfortunate souls working there weren’t around to experience. 

Lucky them. At least until they found their store completely cleared out in the morning. But that was their problem.

Ada quietly slipped inside the shuttered store through an air vent, only choosing to jump down when she was certain there was no one inside. Compared to her usual job, this was like taking candy from a baby. She confidently sauntered over to the security panel, but the moment she reached out to disable the security she her the sound of breaking glass. Her hand jerked back, the woman looked over to the source of the sound in surprise to find a blonde wielding a baseball bat standing in front of the shattered remains of a storefront window.

“Oh me oh my.” Requiem’s voice is a chime more than anything, a broad grin that could very well sport pointed teeth if she were anything other than an elf. The soft whistle of admiration is followed by Requiem sauntering just a bit closer to get a look at this brightly colored stranger, clever eyes searching up and down. “What a style you have, my dear. Positively alluring.” Perhaps a strong words, but she’s strong in her feelings and ideals. 

Without a Robin costume on hand or a utility belt hidden underneath his clothing, Damian was only just that: Damian Wayne, the son of billionaire Bruce Wayne. However, so far it had seemed that no one recognized him even as that. The boy had almost thought it would be possible to still act as his normal self despite the lack of disguise.

Almost being the key word.

How well did Quinzel follow tabloids? Damian certainly wasn’t the most well known of the Wayne family, and he only made public appearances occasionally. 

.... That wasn’t a good risk to take, though.