Damian and Leena in NJ Who: Damian and Leena What: Leavin' on a Jet plane Where: New Jersey When: Current, after this Rating: Two bat Shadow babies are in New Jersey, are they going to stay out of trouble?
The airplane ride (flight? flight) was exactly what Cat had said it would be - different (with the exception of her luggage, that was pretty much the same. One small bag, now with her laptop and two changes of clothes, toiletries, pills, but no frills). The plane smelled clean, like lemon and pine and not like a couple hundred humans shoved into a rocket with wings with all the smells that accompanied them. Body and breath and packed much too close for eight hours of forced enclosure and negotiating for space on the elbow rests and leg room. Instead it was stretch out as far as she could, elbows and forearms hugging the arm of each chair, head almost in the seat as she reached out with her tip toes across carpet that wasn't tread by a few hundred people per flight.
Her meds sat hot in the pocket of her jeans, but she didn't take them, didn't have to, her edges left alone by her possible brother. It didn't mean she let her guard down, not even once they landed in dreary NJ, like all the colors had been sucked up and pumped into neon signs that left the rest of the landscape desaturated.
Was this where she had grown up?
She tried not to press her face to the window as they landed, and absolutely refused to in the car enroute to the family mansion. The roads gave her no more clues, triggered nothing, and nor did the house as large as it was. First things first - she returned the pearls that Cat had given her (after a couple of hours of search-wandering through the house turned mausoleum) and pawed through the rest of the things until she found a hairbrush that still had a few dark hairs in it.
They'd do.
Stripping out of the jacket she'd worn for the entire flight, she took the stairs two by two up from one landing to another, around the floor, poking her head into every room but only pressing deeper to look into the drape covered dressers and nightstands in a few rooms. No clues. Nothing. No pings off her cranium. Her t-shirt, once probably a salmon color, was now faded to a light peach and covered in dust when she finally stopped, half the rooms investigated. The tail of her ponytail swung free of her shoulder as she peeped her head out of the door of what was definitely a bedroom. "Damian?" He knew the house; exploring was probably boring for him.