Re: babs/dami log: the manor
'Dorkiness' wasn't a concept of which Damian thought much. He would lob something akin to that at Drake, perhaps—he reacted most to 'nerd' and its equivalents—, but it didn't mean much to Damian. It was some foreign word with implications he did not care to analyze. He did not associate it with Barbara. It could have been due to her minimizing its manifestation in his presence or it could have been that she wasn't as obnoxious as she thought.—All in all, the man thought highly of her as well. She could be quite animated, but it didn't annoy him. If anything, he found it rather endearing. As for being the best version of oneself, Damian never considered that. He was the best version. He was always himself. Self-editing wasn't in his nature.
And he could not be blamed for the stupidity of clones, whatever their proclaimed intellect. He would not bad mouth the idiot girl in front of Barbara, but he refused to believe she was anything special. Because she was not.
He would not waste time thinking on her any longer.
Barbara widened the space between her knees and he came closer, watching her tip her head. He could not have said what her tone was, precisely, but he knew he liked it. He smiled at her. He repeated the word, gemstone and bright on his tongue, more natural than any English he spoke. "غزال."—But, he did not wait for her to consider it much. He dipped in, waist against the counter's lip, and he kissed Barbara. His hands slid up from her knees to her thighs. And, to be quite honest, he forgot what they had been talking about. That was fine with him.