dc: john b./selina k., robinson park
[Progress was slow, but she'd chucked every last medicine after her conversation with Robert. She needed to be sharp to get back in the game, and that was never going to happen if she needed to medicate away the past month. So, every little pill went down the drain, and every orange bottle went in the trash. If Bruce noticed? Well, she'd cross that bridge when she came to it.
And it had taken some work, but she'd managed to get down the stairs and out to Robinson Park that morning, which she was considering a small victory. The industrial building that housed the loft was safely within meowing distance, and Gotham was smog-bright. It felt like Fall, though she knew the season was actually a little ways off. But the bite in the air was unmistakeable, and she found a bench, one with a little memorial plaque to some bygone Wayne, and she took a seat.
Her exhale was heavy, and she wouldn't be moving for a few minutes at least. She was dressed in predictable black, and there was only a hint of hell left in the circles that remained beneath her mossy green eyes. When the man walked by, she didn't look up, not at first. But, eventually, his gait caught her attention, and her lips curved into a lush small. He wasn't hers, but she'd known a version.]
You show up here, and the first thing you do is go for a walk? How very un-Gotham.