Who: Holly R & Damian W What: Taking back the night + processing. When: Eaaaarly Thursday morning Where: Holly's apartment, Old Gotham Warnings: Nada.
The night? Was almost over and it was so close and so nearly present she could have cried. She nearly had: darkness and a hundred other warm bodies in the dank heat beside hers and the sounds and sighs of sleep all around her and Steph's warmth trickling off the electric screen. She'd nearly cried and it was stupid and it was young and she knew that and she'd bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood and her eyes didn't sting from kindness anymore.
She'd left the warehouse. Bodies of people she knew curled up tight against one another and the dawn was a thin and pale yellow washing through indigo over the steaming spirals of smoke that were extinguished fires. Windows were long oblongs lit with forgotten light as the power in Gotham came back building by building and Holly ran on soundless sneakers through the streets toward home. She hadn't come back. Not after Steph and Eddie's apartment, sour with fear and pets that circled up against her fingers to be stroked in mindless, endless passes of her hand whilst Steph and Selina went mad with tension. Back? Was for after. Home was safe, it was a roof and a fire-escape and a couch and she probably couldn't take it if there was anyone there. She'd given Damian the address, a scribbled street name and a building and she ran past lit windows and streets empty of thugs for the first time in weeks praying that the water in hers? Was back on.
She was filthy, dirt under her nails and in her hair, a streak of blood from somewhere on the front of her shirt, black hoodie zipped over stained t-shirt and jeans grubby with hours crouching on her heels waiting for signals to run. She was filthy and she was gross and she wasn't thinking boy-in-her-apartment: Dami's sister? Sounded like she was pretty much already gone and that needed a hug more than words.
She rounded into her own street, slap of sneakers on asphalt and her hair bright in the dawn, dirty gold with sweat and dirt. Her landlord? Probably not going to chase her for rent on the way up the stairs and her smile barely wobbled when she saw the shadow of the boy.