Re: babs/dami log: in front of the manor
It was unexpected. The green glass of her eyes went bright, sparkling, and color rose as tide to moon in her cheeks. She looked beautiful, Damian thought with a suddenness that he could only shove away after the fact. Of course he could not follow her thoughts as they were born, but he could witness how they changed the canvas of her face. How her mouth opened and brow furrowed, how her entire body went rigid as she began smacking her palm with the butt of her fist. It was as if she was electric, as if she was livewire, and there was something magnetic about it that both puzzled and worried the man next to her.—He had thought she would be upset, perhaps troubled by the fact that Damian had not told her of the other girl's status earlier, but he would not deny being pleased she was not. In fact, he found himself over-warm in an instant, the blackness of his hoodie cooking him where he stood.—That Grandfather or the League would wish to clone Bruce was not farfetched. In fact, it seemed the most likely, if they knew Father had not actually died. But, as to why they chose this girl originally? The man had no answer. She was so inconsequential, a faceless nobody with blood that could have been water for all its worth. Her connections did not seem all that noteworthy either. In fact, as far as Damian had been able to ascertain, all she really had going was a genius IQ, and, around here, those weren't particularly difficult to come by.
"But, why her?" He found himself asking aloud, wishing to hear Barbara's take on it—and hoping to see the pinprick dance of electricity move through her again. "She is no one. I understand why, if she would not be missed, they might desire her, but there are countless such people. They would have a purpose in their choice, something specific. I just don't see it."—That he was admitting that was proof that he trusted Barbara in a way he had yet to trust others. It was an allowance of weakness, and he did not attempt to shield it from her.—As her jacket dropped to the floor, Damian looked down at Barbara as she hinged toward him, her hands finding the plane of his chest. Unthinkingly, he placed his own hands over hers, a frown plucking at his lips as he considered her question, and then, her curse. It was only mildly difficult given her proximity.
"It's as sound a theory as we have." He shook his head. "If they are just allowing this girl freedom, testing her limits, then they wouldn't have Father coming back. I'm more worried he's perhaps an impostor. It wouldn't be the first time." The man smiled at that, a true curling warmth. After all, he was the one carrying the mantle of The Shadow in the Capital. A joke. That's what it was. "I will see if I can glean anything worthwhile from our meeting." Just as thoughtless as before, Damian shifted, this time to touch knuckles to Barbara's cheek in a manner he might later cringe at, given the proprietary nature of it.
He pulled back from her, abruptly, and began tugging at the neck of the hoodie. "I need to get out of this. It's too hot." He struggled with it, but, ultimately, he was able to shed the thing, allowing it to join Barbara's jacket. It mussed his hair and his maroon t-shirt underneath needed straightening, but the sensation of crawling, clawing heat diminished.—Uncertain of what precisely to do next, he brushed his shoulder to Barbara's again as he walked past her toward the kitchen, understanding she would follow. "What would you like your codeword to be?"