#kountesskane

‎ ‎ ⟩ ‎ ‎ [ unauthorised access to the comms for a wildly unprofessional reason, i know. i like living on the edge, sue me. ]

‎ ‎ ⟩‎ ‎ [ but // @kountesskane // and // @officialbruciewayne // — real quick, i gotta say: chag sukkot sameach. ]

Since being turned, Kate had become overly paranoid - whether that was because she was afraid of dying again, or she was afraid of failing her duty again, who could say.

But still, she stood before the Huntress, arms crossed over her chest. The first thing she noticed was the glaringly obvious cross that sat nicely against Helena's chest. It would have been nicer, if not for the fact it was giving Kate a migraine for just simply being close to her.

Taking an awkward step back, Kate clears her throat.

"So.. I'm here."

@kountesskane

helena was sweating. even the exponentially mutating dread of the worst that could be — and were — happening in gotham couldn't take her mind off the fact that it was 90° fahrenheit coupled with a relative humidity of 70%, and she didn't have the time to make-shift a more comfortable, weather-appropriate suit.

it was a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things, of course; nothing was going to stop her tonight from putting on a glass shield that covered her entire face and a fortified full-body suit she had from last year's snowstorm, cross glimmering brightly when nothing else did. crane had helena wrapped around his finger once, a perfect victim she was — but the huntress is always a survivor, she always survives, and she refuses to be preyed on ever, ever again. this time, she knew what had to be done.

“batwoman,” helena greeted with an air of politeness as she turned to face the redhead, eyebrows raising in intrigue. “i haven't even said a word yet, and you already seem like you've got a HEADACHE.”

it was meant to be a mindless quip, not an educated prediction. truthfully, the last time helena interacted with vampires was a worn-out copy of carmilla a decade and a half years ago, and even then, she didn't exactly peruse that novel for academic reasons.

the cross was more than a piece of trinket she wore on her neck and her ears. it was more than a symbol of her choice of theological belief, of her belief in what the crucifixion represented. it was protection.

more importantly, it was her agency.

she was eight years old when her cross was snatched off her neck. omerta took not only the lives of several innocent people, took not only her family, her childhood, and her innocence, took not only her sense of stability, but also the cross on her neck, like her loss of agency was a trophy for him.

and she was twenty one years old when she reclaimed it back, which in doing so she reclaimed herself.

now, what she chose to do with the cross, was between god and herself. she could put kate's well-being first, god would understand that.

with her arms crossed, helena patiently waited for kate's answer. what she heard was truly unexpected from someone like batwoman; the huntress was silent for a while, but she maintained her neutral expression strictly, not allowing kate to know what she felt before she spoke again.

“i feel bad on your behalf,” she said with a quiet sigh, letting her hands drop down. “first, you have died, and then forced into a life you weren't ready for. now, you feel stuck with me as your only choice of companionship of all people.”

she wasn't being sarcastic. she genuinely thought kate deserved better.