Zatanna Zatara performs (infishnets) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-12-29 14:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | !dc comics, *log, bruce wayne, zatanna zatara |
Gotham log: Bruce W & Zatanna Z
[She waited until Christmas had passed. Christmas, with its scents of evergreen and molten candle-wax - and if Alfred were present, the pleasantries of beeswax polish and the pine of a tree. Her own home was not filled with the echoes of now-toothless pagan ritual. Shadowcrest was heavy resins, the odorousness of dragons' blood, the heavy scent of burned cedar and sandalwood. She knew the way to Wayne Manor: she had learned it as a small girl in bare feet and a loose dress and wild, dark hair. Now she picked her way beyond the boundaries between properties, pants loose through the hip and the knee and a shirt liquid silk that scooped low at the neck and showed the ends of curlicues that burned black against pale skin. No fishnets, no top-hat: no act. Christmas had come and Christmas had gone, but stage magic had no weight in a manor thick with grief's shadow.
She did not question her welcome. She took the liberty of an old friend, an old friend who did not require invitation, who had stood on the grassy bank before the water and shown a grieving boy tricks to draw his mind out of darkness. This Bruce was not her childhood friend: she knew that, even if the cards reminded her, splayed patterns that hinted at a future not too far beyond the veil. But this Bruce needed the friends that belonged to every thread of a life and she let herself in the door of the mansion with a quiet snick of a lock that perhaps should not have been that easy to open.
She padded through corridors as familiar to her as the ones that belonged to the dusty old mansion that had once been home and it was the shaft of light in a manor mostly shaded with thick curtains that made her turn, silent as a cat into the opened door of the library.]