Talia’s heart nearly stopped hearing Damian, her eyes seemed to lose the glimmer of joy she had just by him coming to see her. She had made a new life away from his grandfather something she had always wanted, now her darling star was wishing to destroy him.

"Damian my love, don’t flirt with that particular slice of danger. I have kept myself well off his radar for many years now." Her eyes seemed to plead with him, not wanting to see him hurt by her father. "He’s grown stronger with the League. He won’t hesitate to kill you. He had no problem in killing your uncle many years ago."

Talia quickly closed her eyes feeling the tears threaten to fall, pulling herself together. “Please my sweet star, just let him be. I can not fathom losing you.”

"That is precisely why I must pursue him." Damian took one of Talia's slender hands, cupping it between his own. His fingers had grown long over the years, his palm wide and hardened with strength. "We are not free so long as he lives. You've evaded him, but you know you can't do so indefinitely.

"He will not take you from me," he added, voice dropping low and fervent as he grazed a finger over her cheek. No teardrop had yet fallen, but he saw the path it might track across her skin, and he wondered how many nights she'd allowed her sorrow to rain freely down her face. "He won't take me from you, either. You have my word, Mother. But we cannot allow him to ravage this world a moment longer." 

"Of course." A current of skepticism rippled across Damian’s face, but he marshaled a neutral expression once more. His polished shoes clicked the tile as he paced near her, hands folded neatly at his back. "I hope, then, that you’ve been well." 

Talia saw the flicker of skepticism flash upon Damian’s face, it reminded her of Bruce and made her smile of the fact that he was more like his father than of her blood. Reaching out to him she placed her hand lightly upon his shoulder to stop him from pacing, “I am doing fine my darling. It is I whom should be asking you that question though. Your tasks aren’t exactly hidden in Gotham my son. Are you in need of anything?” 

Damian was stilled at once by her touch, the tense muscles bunched in his shoulder gradually relaxing beneath her hand. He was older now, but he still carried the sensation of her presence when he was a child: just as enigmatic now as she was then, comforting but tempered with a whisper of danger that kept his senses alight.

"I need you to tell me of my grandfather," he told her, eyes hooded beneath the thick lashes he'd inherited from her. His voice was devoid of emotion when he added, "I want to find him. I want to kill him."

  "Because we should have seen this."

Damian clicked his teeth and slipped a small tool from under his glove, jamming it into the keyhole. Little pops of electricity sparked from the metal as it read the internal lock mechanism. "We are both too driven by sentiment where Grayson is involved. If we weren't worried by his disappearance, neither of us would have walked into an ambush."

"Of course." A current of skepticism rippled across Damian's face, but he marshaled a neutral expression once more. His polished shoes clicked the tile as he paced near her, hands folded neatly at his back. "I hope, then, that you've been well." 

"Do not tell me to calm down!” He yelled, scowling furiously under his cowl.

"We are of no assistance to him in this state!" Damian’s hand shot out, shoving at the emblem that spanned Bruce’s chest. His teeth ground together in a mirroring flash of temper, eyes searching the enclosure for some route of escape. "This is your fault, Father!"

"This is not my fault!"

"Well, it isn't mine," Damian returned, lip curled. He pressed his ear to the door of their cell, listening to their captors convene on its opposite side. "Why are you so enraged, anyway?"

"Do not tell me to calm down!” He yelled, scowling furiously under his cowl.

"We are of no assistance to him in this state!" Damian's hand shot out, shoving at the emblem that spanned Bruce's chest. His teeth ground together in a mirroring flash of temper, eyes searching the enclosure for some route of escape. "This is your fault, Father!"

Thomas narrowed his eyes at stared at the other from under his helmet. He was focusing mostly on the red bat across the other’s chest. This wasn’t someone he knew. “Who are you?”

Damian swooped closer even as the other spoke, one hard arm snapping out to hammer him across the chest, seeking to throw him off-balance. He didn't answer the question. "Pick someone else to imitate, boy," he spat, one hand flicking toward the red helmet. 

  For a second Holly was thrown by the guy coming right up to her. No one ever saw her unless she wanted to be seen. As she listened to him talk about women and reporters and Porsches, she decided two things:

One. She had been right. This rich kid wasn’t native to the streets.

Two. If she played along, she might find out something worth knowing. She was just getting bored before then, too.

With a coy smile, she placed her backpack on the ground and withdrew a small notebook. Lucky she carried that around. “So the rumours are true? Your father has been issued with a lawsuit?”

Had Gotham really gotten so safe these days that a kid crashing into a Porsche made headlines? Who was this guy?

When the notebook made its appearance, Damian huffed, eyes rolling wide and exaggerated. "We're Waynes. Everyone in Gotham tries to sue us at least once a year," he returned, teeth flashing white as if something in it amused him somehow. 

To encounter a reporter in this particular neighborhood was... unexpected. Certainly Damian was out of place as he played the wealthy fool, belt and shoes made of soft Italian leather, gold watch gleaming brazenly on his wrist. He'd sought to attract a particular sort of attention, but perhaps he could get information without breaking the bones of an unwitting would-be mugger.

He looked the young woman over once, eyes roving from her smart shoes to her head of blonde hair, and concluded it may be a more pleasant enterprise than he originally imagined. "Perhaps I could tell you more about it over coffee," he suggested, straightening the knot in his silk tie. "I'm Damian. And you are?" 

"Yes, well…" he decided he was totally going to play this up; keeping a serious face on, he pressed on, "Villains are an odd bunch. He lives on Drury Lane, by the way."

"You’re aware of his place of residence?" Damian’s eyebrows shot up, lips parted in disbelief. "Why have you not yet apprehended him? Ah, you need backup. Yes, I see. I’ll accompany you. Does he poison his enemies with these muffins, then?"

+ gothamlegacy

The night was cool in the streets of Gotham’s East End. Holly was perched on the top of a two-story building, peering down at the late night bustle of people at cheap restaurants and pubs, hailing cabs and making noise…

He didn’t quite fit in, though, Holly thought of the young man who held her attention at that moment. Something about him was… what was a good word for “out of place”?

Curious, she kept an eye on him, clambering to her feet and making her way down to the street to get a better look.

There was no scientific explanation for it, but Damian had grown to recognize the sensation of being watched. Nights spent in Gotham's roughest neighborhoods had honed this questionable skill, and his eyes searched the skyline now for whatever source made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Even in civilian clothes as he was now, he had to be cautious. 

He met her gaze before she turned from the building's roof, and he rightfully assumed that she would make her way downstairs. He was waiting near the alley where the door opened, hands folded behind his back with an air of feigned impatience. "Good evening. I'm accustomed to women staring at me," he began, an easy arrogance rolling off him that he'd partially learned from his father and that largely came natural to him, "but not often from such high perches. Are you a reporter? I've told you all everything I can about the Porsche I wrecked last month. Yes, my father was angry, and no, I can't speak about the lawsuit." 

Damian's eyes flashed with surprise, but he was quick to school his features into a neutral expression. "You should be. It required considerable restraint on my behalf." 

First off, wow! No seriously! WOW! Thank you so much for following me guys! It really means a lot to me that I’m doing this Tiny Cutie justice. -snorts- Get it? Justice? So funneh!

Like wow! I don’t even know where to start! I’m so whelmed! I made this account to re-live a part of my childhood that I can’t seem to let go. And I’m having such a grand time, I log off with a smile on my face every day. Thanks for making me really happy. I needed a good laugh. You guys are awesome!

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((Oh, that is so flattering! Thank you. I've been scarce in general for a couple of days but would love to RP with your Tim.))