#ignore errors

Bruce is tired. He had a rough patrol last night and a rough couple of hours at WE this morning. He's tired and his head is pounding. He can barely open his eyes and there are bruises decorating his torso. This is no matter, he'll be fine after a long nap.

But Damian needs to practice his violin. And he needs his father to watch him play. He also needs someone to play the accompaniment. Dick is out, Jason will not, Bruce is so tired and Tim, Tim is right there.

"Timmy, sweetheart, would you play with your brother?"

Bruce's voice is ragged as he asks, leaning his head back against the couch. If he could just rest for a moment, he'd be fine and Damian would have all his attention. Just a moment.

With a roll of his eyes, Tim reluctantly gets up and takes his place at the piano. He waits for Damian to start and follows his lead. They play beautifully together. Bruce gives them a soft smile, enjoying the soft melody. Jason lifts his head from his book and watches his little brothers play from his place on the chaise.

Timothy is a shit starter. This is known. He grins to himself and speeds up the peice. Just a little. It's barely noticeable. Just enough to throw Damian off and make him shoot a glare in Tim's direction.

But he doesn't stop playing. He matches Tims pace and continues playing. Tim chuckles to himself. Perfect. He speeds up a little more. Damian glares, grits his teeth, and speeds up as well. Tim speeds up again. Damian speeds up as well.

At this point, instead of the soft, calming melody he got to hear just a moment earlier, the room is filled with angrier sounding notes, speeding up every few seconds.

Damian is angry, Tim is focused, Jason is amused, Titus and Ace are alert, and Bruce is tired. Bruce sighs deeply and starts to get up. He rubs his eyes and moves toward his youngest, his baby, ready to calm him down.

And then...

The sound of wood splitting, Tim screaming, and the piano keys emitting an ungodly sound as Tim's head smashes into them.

Then, out of the blue, she chuckled. This sudden action startled Finn so much, he sat up swiftly on the horse and stared at her. At this, she chortled some more, her laugh gaining intensity, eyes ablaze with light that didn't come from the outside.

"Why are you laughing?" he demanded to know, frowning at her, irritated that she could laugh at a time like this. Not because four kids were dead, but because he felt as though her laughter was mocking of him. Was she mocking him?

"This is just so awful, isn't it?" she giggled and Finn's jaw dropped. She'd gone completely and utterly mad. He knew it. She was crazy, insane. Maybe the Daggers had it right. She couldn't run this City. She was nuts.

"What's your problem?" Finn mustered between his bewilderment that left his hands balled into fists.

"All there's left to is laugh, huh? Laugh before we die." And with that, she laughed some more, rocking back and forth on her horse. It was now that Finn saw the truth in her words. It seemed evident now that many of them were to die. Anywhere the Daggers were, death was to follow. Yet with the garish deaths of four kids in one night, it confirmed that a lot more was to come. Even Finn could feel it. Even he knew it. So, perhaps she was right. Laugh it all away. Laugh until you feel the coldness coming for you. But, her laughter kept him from doing the same.

Her laughter tugged at his stomach, reverberating in his ears louder than before. Suddenly, the more than she laughed, the more adrenaline sparked up inside of his veins. Laughter and screams. But, neither were coming from him. His body was warm and alive, but so hollow. He couldn't balance, he was blind except for the night. He was falling and falling, hitting with the same thud she produced when he pressed her down.

"No! Please!" She was screaming, tears running down the olive-skinned face. He laughed in replied, while the other let it all soak into his skin, like slipping into a warm bath. It ran itself over him and caressed him like a pair of lips on his flesh. The wolf had caught the bird. The only witnesses were the horses, who leered at the violence. Struggling, she was only rewarded with a flash of silver. Her screams were fading into his laughter, the fight evaporating into the air. It was warm, still warm.

And it remained warm with laughter, warm with pleading and sobbing. She was in pain. She shrieked, "Stop! Please, stop!" He was wrapped up in it, letting it shudder down his back and draw forth a groan from his lips. He wanted to reach out and hold it forever.

But, that couldn’t not be.

They left her crying and scarred.

He was crying and scarred.

Finn. City. Bad.

She was at his side on that grass. “Finn? Finn?” she was crying, gripping his shoulders, shaking him. “What happened?”

Mother’s face loomed over the boy, through his tears. His stomach was filled knives, twisting around in his gut, cutting open something, drawing forth something.

“What happened?”

Suddenly, it all made sense.

“H-he was hurting her!” he cried, gripping her shirt in his sweaty hand, eyes wide, trying to catch his breath. “I-I was w-watching! It was here!” He could hear how frantic his voice was, but he didn’t care and he didn’t let go of her shirt and she didn’t fight him off. “W-who was she? He…he…he did something to her! You know what he did!”

One thing I wish schools would do properly/better (which I'm sure we could all create an extensive list) is evaluations. True evaluations that truly EVALUATE how "good" a teacher is! Instead of having one teacher sit in the corner, watching maybe fifteen minutes of a class, when the teacher knows they are there and is going to alter their style for that fifteen minutes. I hope there's more to it, I hope they look at the grades of one class and compare to that same subject taught by another teacher.

Because it's not fair. If one student has a good teacher and another has a bad teacher, they're graded the same. Given the same tests and graded on the same scale. But one child is at a disadvantage because they have to struggle and try to teach themselves (which they really shouldn't, not before college). They have trouble because their teacher won't help them, won't teach them in a manner that works, won't take responsibility for their lack of knowledge or skill.  And the kid in the "good" class gets good grades because his teacher works well. The teacher helps them, alters her style in order to get the best results, maybe makes the subject interesting or at least TRIES.

But then when both students are trying to get into college, the colleges don't give a shit whether you had Mrs. Something who never showed up or went on rants or made you teach yourself. They don't care if your friend had Mrs. Another who did well.

They just care about how well you did. And you are at the mercy of the luck of the draw.