@ozcobblepot
Drake tirelessly wanders these streets, this dirty filled streets. It wasn’t London. He fully knew that. He left London in a boat hitch-ride to America. He’s an immigrant from England. But; did he think or know that? No. He’s only a child. He wanted to be as far away from that place, that country as possible. To steer himself away from the Ice Angels. In hopes that he could start again. The eleven year old stumbled against the walls of the alleyway. His same home. It didn’t seem like much of a difference. More spacious? Again, it made no difference. His exhuasted body that had transversed through Gotham City for how long? He lost track. He exerted his energy more then he should’ve.Â
Drake fell to his knees in the alleyway. His feet bruised from the intense pain in it. The muscles were strained. He couldn’t go on anymore tonight. He sat in a hunched ball. Looking down at his fingers noticing it twirling a small pebble in the air. He wondered; how did he get these abilities? Why did he have them? Was it something that he was cursed with? Or.. maybe it’s something much more in his past when he was younger. He just hoped he’d never have to use them. Most kids would be thrilled to be a meta-human. But him? He murdered with those hands. In a way he was scared to use them again.
