|Naila al-Kimyai is the Demon's (head) wrote in rooms,|
@ 2015-07-04 18:34:00
|Entry tags:||!dc comics, *narrative, ra's al ghul|
Who: Ra's with a little TJ
What: Confirmation and plans
Where: DC door, French countryside
Warnings/Rating: Elusive bad things.
The computer printed it out in the language of relentlessly uncompromising statistical analysis. Ninety nine point nine-nine-seven was the probability that he was the father of the six year old boy. It was ninety nine point nine-nine-eight that he was the son of Iris Morgenstern (he had her eyes and her smile). The little sandy-blond haired boy sitting at his kitchen counter picking at berries was his son.
He smirked. There'd been little doubt of it, but seeing the numbers printed out, confirmation delivered by unyielding data - well. Maybe once the little boy was in bed, he'd send one of his men into the wine cellar to pick out a bottle of champagne which he would drink alone, in silence as he gazed out at the French countryside - moving had necessitated by Iris' flight - and enjoyed every swallow of crisp, effervescent liquid.
Before that though, before he could enjoy a night of dulled pleasure, he'd have to make sure the rooms in the basement were set up. The boy at the table offered him a sweet smile - that would have to be trained out of him. He would have to have all that he learned in the past six years broken and replaced with something harder. Ra's needed his heir after all (time was catching up with him - the Pits needed more frequent use to maintain the same results and one day they would only return him to life, not to youth), and a boy that smiled so sweetly could not fill that place. And Damian, for all his bluster, could no longer hold that title over a child that'd been born of his blood.
He reached out and ruffled the hair on TJ's head, the strands soft between his fingers and under his palm. "Eat all of them that you like." It would be the last time he'd have the offer of a full belly for months to come.