Doors Secrets (doorssecrets) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-07-08 12:59:00 |
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Entry tags: | plot: secrets |
Who: Good boy
What: Reveal~
When: Secrets plot.
Warnings/Rating: None.
Beneath pigment and oil and topcoat, the woman had bled just like any other. She died like any other, too, and the wolf left her motionless form with her blood staining his muzzle and only the faintest sense of regret. Even fools knew better than to shoot at wolves; she had sealed her own fate.
The sun rose as he prowled the grounds, restless, and when the first golden rays peeked over the horizon they illuminated not grass but concrete, hard and grime-streaked, and he no longer walked upon four paws but two feet. Boots, to be exact, armored and heavy. Black like the rest of them, black as soundless, suffocating night, but fur fell away and his teeth were no longer sharp and his eyes were not yellow, not any color at all, just two twin pools of burning onyx. He was not wolf, but he was not man, and he felt as though he was being pulled in two directions at once. He wanted to be wolf, did not want to be man, but he stood upright and his bulk was encased in manufactured skin, bulletproof and resilient in a way fur was not.
He tipped his head back to howl, but the sound would not come. Not wolf any longer, no, yet on the edge of a rooftop with his city below, the Bat was not quite man either. Oh, beneath the armor and the kevlar, beneath layers of black, he was, but like the wolf's man-shape, it was donned out of necessity and not choice.
Night began its slow transition into day as the Bat slid his phone from his belt, a swipe of gloved fingers across the surface bringing it to life, where against a lighted background the typed words glared up at him: your secret, revealed. He frowned with lips that did not disguise fangs, and while his jaw was hard it was no lengthened muzzle.
His secret, it said. Which was what? That he wished he could shrug off his humanity and always be the wolf, or that as wild a thing that he was, as much as he claimed to need no pack, he still craved affection, still longed to be wanted?
The Bat thought of the woman in the basement. (Good boy.) He thought of what they'd done, and he felt a stirring of something like desire that made him scowl and immediately turn his thoughts elsewhere. He thought of the woman outside, with the gun, the one whose blood no longer stained his mouth even though he could still taste the copper tang on his tongue.
And then he tucked the phone away, and he straightened. The boy was ever-present in his mind, but he wasn't sharing his own experiences and Bruce did not push. He refused to waste time dwelling upon another of the hotel's tricks and what it might mean; Luke could do so if he liked, but he would not.