#ngc6853

it was rare to hear a knock at the door. lucky, really, that she happened to be in residence at the place she was supposed to call home. the apartment was somewhere inbetween her two favourite haunts; the library and the clocktower. chosen for the location and for the ease of access. ground floor apartments aren't so common. after all, so many people need them for their pets - as one landlord had, so understandingly, put it. nevermind that most older buildings in gotham didn't have lifts and the ones that did often had maintenance troubles.

still, barbara's careful. she doesn't answer her door without knowing who waits on the other side. the grainy footage shows a familiar face, one that turns up her lips in a smile. ❝ hey, you. ❞ she greets, the door letting out a small groan as the hinges move. lips part to speak. to what do i owe this pleasure? but nova bets her to the post. smile only growing as she catches pieces of her words, putting together the puzzle of her visit. the tickets come into view, eyes focusing on the words printed on the paper. pride and prejudice. her favourite story with her favourite person, how could she say no? every part of her screams to say yes. it drowns out that voice at the back her mind that whispers poison.

❝ it's a date. ❞ heart beats faster. it causes flutters in her stomach. never normally is barbara so brave with matters of the heart, but nova makes her want to be. she swallows down the lump that dares to form in her throat. with it she banishes the insecurities that threaten to bubble to the surface. ❝ are you hungry? ❞ from the wall beside the door she grabs her coat and bag. ❝ i know this great italian place. ❞

this is so sweet and kind and actually made my day thank you thank you!!

she doesn’t fret the fact that she’s been caught , for a shadow only goes so long before the light catches up to it. and so her countenance strings together a humored look ,  performing a segment of comedy only fate would laugh at.   she’d been after this  girl ,  THIS NOVA ( THE RED STAR OF THE ICE,) / for a few years now , always watching but never speaking to see just how she’d unravel. for  death does not take part in the game of killers, for free- will was promised to each life. but on their death she’d have her way , righting the wrongs they’d put upon the earth.    “ I THINK I MAY TELL YOU, BUT .. .”  she is teasing ,  testing what sits between them ,  because  this one presents differently.  as though maybe she wasn’t really from here.

“ would you (     @ngc-6853  )   like to play a game ?”  she is interested to see what this child would ask of her . maybe a longer life , a look into her future or would she be happy enough to let her tag along for any measure of time . 

[𝓦]hat a sanguinary beholding of the ethnologic being: a broken cheval glass on insatiable flesh, the cramoisy chassis of the accursed gospel. Is this the seeing of his marrow ? This is what it means to have the incardine vision of a macabre apologue, and to become its antithesis. [ The paladin of the morn, the mourn’s mirth ] There is a tempest baptizing 𝕲otham, and it is frore ; the desertion of the bask, to the bats’ communion. But the ( ℛobin ) dared the fell betwixt its pinion, claws unclad to the purgatorial now. Eyes of his haunt the harrowed earth, if only.

𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: CAPE CARMINE 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴: 01:37:49 𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝚂𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝚃𝙾: ███░░ GCPD’S ON THE WAY 𝙲𝙰𝚂𝚄𝙰𝙻𝚃𝙸𝙴𝚂: [ TO BE CONFIRMED ]

If only— [ BREATH.WAV ] ( 𝓐n outbreath; he hears the funeral psalm. )

𝚂𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙼 𝚀𝚄𝙴𝚁𝚈: 𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙴𝚃𝙴 𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝚂𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽? [　Y E S　]　　　 [　N O　] 𝚁𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙽𝙴𝚇𝚃: O R A C L E / / H A N D O F F P E N D I N G

The cabalistic laconism is for the mulish: ❛ Huh, ❜ a muted hum, and the tragedians find utterance for him. The theatrics on interval, then the coliseum outcries once again. Blue and red daub the walk below, and he does not bare the real ... [ The animus in his sinew ] Momentarily venerated by the one that effrays him the most, the absinthian appetite. ( ℋe, ) the forsaken ; this dereliction is gnawed to the bone. The ethos of being a hero.

❛ 'Ya know, every time we meet, you’ve got something to say. ❜ They start to bathe the demise beneath, and crows are starting to chant from afar. ❛ I hate that I get 'ya. I can’t even call it bull. ❜