Re: Dance floor: Harl/Dami
Damian was like a straight, black line in a mix of color and bubbling happiness. He was glad Stephanie had found something she could depend on and he always liked seeing part of his family together (even if they were all fighting) but this just wasn't what he was used to. After making sure Stephanie was good and no one was trying to fight his father, Damian wandered over to the bar and told himself he didn't need a drink. He didn't even know why he wanted one in the first place. Was he lonely? Yes. He was so miserably lonely. This city always made him feel that way.
So, he took a drink. Some purple thing and made a face at the sweetness and sting of alcohol. He thought about leaving early, but wasn't this what he wanted? To be around people instead of lions? Another few sips and he wondered who he was supposed to wander towards. He wondered if Selina was busy or if she had a whole line of suitors waiting to be much better at talking to her than he was.
Then, he heard a voice. Slummy and confident in a way that reminded him of a certain punk rock girl he left at home. Damian turned and gave the blonde in red a once over without even apologizing for it. The dress invited a look over, didn't? Damian wondered if he knew her from somewhere, if that Gotham accent was just thick enough to remind him of someone. Oh, well. She was hot. He was tipsy. Why not?
"Would you like to dance with me, miss?" Damian looked a lot like his father. Those piercing blue eyes, that strong jaw. His voice was straight-laced and almost exotic in the way vampires or vaguely Middle Eastern kings were.