Re: quicklog -- steph/dami: wayne manor.
[She was cycling through emotions as rapidly as women did, one after the other visible in blue eyes that reflected the light around them far too brightly. Perhaps Damian had been away too long, but it struck him as eerie—the kitchen, the people he'd seen, they were all like that, reflections, not warm, but cold, all of them with eyes that pushed the world back out at him, rather than soaking it in. He could not know what Stephanie was thinking, but it felt like he could—even as she came closer, magnetized by memory, and he lifted his chin, far too stubborn to step away.
He scoffed, hard T—tongue against the backs of his teeth, when she stated the obvious. He was no ghost, no. It was him, yes.—He watched her continue her trek toward him, blinking in unison with her, and a smirk began to curl on his lip. But—he was thrown entirely off-guard by the sling of arms around him. An assassin should anticipate his opponent's next move, see it in the coil and unfurling of muscle, but Damian was bested this once—even with so much of her revealed to him. He loathed the surprise that overtook him.—She squeezed him, pressed up against him, and he—he froze.
His voice sounded in her ear:] What are you doing?