Re: quicklog -- steph/dami: wayne manor.
[He heard someone coming before he saw them—slow steps, sedate or, perhaps, tired. Feminine, he decided, from the gait—short-strided, legs closer together. Damian had just stood, not yet victorious in his search, and he turned toward the incoming sound as it relayed loudly in the old manor and the cold tiles of the kitchen.—The woman in the doorway was blonde—hair wet from a shower, showing a lot of skin in a tanktop and shorts, along with revealing a number of bruises, scrapes, and minor injuries, aged somewhere near 30, and entirely surprised to see him, with traces of some other unnamed ghost haunting features matured by age, yet fully familiar.
Stephanie Brown.
Batgirl. Batwoman. Damian looked at her without shame, like he was perfectly entitled to it, before he turned away to close the cabinet nearest.] Are you trying to look like a streetwalker? [Of course he was older than she remembered. Taller—just shy of Father's height, and he pretended not to notice the way the silk pajama pants he wore puddled a bit around his ankles. But, no matter how much older, or how much deeper his voice was, Damian Wayne was still Damian Wayne.]