Re: Log, Gotham: Holly R/Jim G
Home, he wouldn't have asked the girl in the purple boots about. He didn't care how she defined it. The question wasn't about anyone else but him. Whatever home was to her, wasn't what is was to him. Someone might come here and see Gotham as Gotham; Gotham was what it was. Jim didn't believe that. He didn't believe things couldn't change. It would take a lot, the way all true change did, but it could be done—and it would be, if he had any say about it.—He wasn't commissioner, not here, but he hadn't been at home either (and it was still home, whatever the amateur thief would have told him). He was doing his best to catch up on everything, but he knew the city was dirty, top to bottom, and maybe he'd failed before, but he wouldn't now.
Not that he was thinking about his vendetta when the girl grinned at him. All he saw was a kid, hungry and stupid, and he saw her rising to her toes to push off of the old cement. Jim didn't reach out to stop her.
"He is," he said of the missing. Because the man was sifting through his groceries right now, and he did miss them. He looked up, gaze narrowing on the girl in the overlarge coat. Jim looked down at the would-be thief. "Give them back. I'll get you something."