Re: babs/dami log: in front of the manor
Damian was unaware, in the most obvious sense, that his practicality could be a potential hindrance. It was how he had been raised to think. Cut the fat of sentimentality and subcutaneous 'socially contracted behavior' from the bone, and it was what was left—practicality. The man was aware, however, that Barbara responded to it better than some. Others, like Woods, got mired in their own attachments to things—or their own interpretations. They thought Damian's suggestions personal. They were not always incorrect on that count, but, at times, they were.—He smiled at Barbara as she shared her reasoning: the girl was worth something to the League, which meant she was worth something to them. It was a point he had not considered, but rather than be embarrassed of that fact, he was pleased Barbara had considered it. It showed in his face. "Of course."
One day Damian would learn inviting others to move-in was not an entirely normal thing to do. (To his mind, they had room and resources where others did not.) But, today was not that day. Barbara said she would ask and he nodded, finding that a reasonable response.—His body language did not change when she asked if he knew anything about the girl before. But, he did not lie, regardless. "Yes. She is the clone.—This girl is the clone of the girl Jason was involved with, I believe." Damian watched Barbara to measure her reaction. "She had no previous League affiliations that I'm aware of, so I do not know the purpose of her recreation, so to speak. Luring Woods would not be worth it to them—to Grandfather." That was his opinion, anyway. "So, she must be intended for something else. I doubt she knows herself. And if they've let her free, that's something else entirely."
Damian was privy not to the thoughts whirring through Barbara's head, but to the distance between her eyes and the world. He was aware she was thinking on something, even if he did not know what. Her automatic smile encouraged one from him, and as he tugged her along with the lead of the scarf, Damian brushed against her.—As she began removing her jacket, with him much too invested in this process, he looked up to meet blue eyes and a frown.
"He's difficult to talk to, because he infers too much and assumes that inference is correct, when it never is." This was a statement of fact. Damian relinquished his hold on the scarf and stepped forward, attending to the half-shedding of Barbara's jacket by pushing it from the crest of her shoulder with cold fingers. She looked at Damian. They were close. Words formed on her lips. "I told him we needed to talk." It was a weakness, but he wished to fidget again with the scarf. He did not, but he did want to. "We can't be certain it's even him until we see him."—He touched the yellow tongue of the scarf with a brush of fingertips, and looked at Barbara.