<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/zqjm9YC.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Character Name: Damian Wayne<br/>Date/Time: Wednesday the 1st of May 2019<br/>Location: Wayne Manor, Gotham City<br/>Wearing: Black civilian clothing (nondescript hooded jacket, scarf, cotton pants, sneakers)<br/>Tagged: Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Selina Kyle<br/>Warnings: None<br/><br/>Once the words were out, Damian felt his heart trying to escape his chest. He knew he’d be back one day, right from the moment he’d left, but now that he was here…<br/><em>No</em>, he scolded himself. <em>You don’t have time for that shit. You’re home. They can deal with it, and so can you.</em><br/>He pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair, which had grown out in recent months and was now brushing the base of his neck. Undoubtedly, Alfred would disapprove, and would have him shorn in no time at all. The thought brought the briefest of smiles, which faded as he was left standing in silence.<br/><em>C’mon, I know you’re in there</em>, Damian silently urged the intercom.<br/><br/><em>“Master Damian, welcome home,”</em> the intercom - Alfred - broke the night silence, and it was a welcome noise. Damian felt something flooding in; relief, regret, a plethora of emotions that he didn’t want or need to deal with. Regardless, he felt his mouth opening, and unnatural words of apology catching in his throat, but before they could escape, Alfred continued in his signature blase manner.<br/><em>“Would you mind taking care of the screaming wench in the kitchen while I put the kettle on?”</em> Alfred asked, and Damian’s eyes narrowed. An intruder? Was something happening that Alfred couldn’t take care of? <em>“Master Bruce should return any moment. Oh, and, do try not to break anything please, sir,”</em> Alfred implored, as the gates swung open, granting him access.<br/>“Can’t promise anything,” Damian muttered to himself when the intercom fell silent, and, putting the Redwing onto stealth running, he glided along the driveway and pulled up outside the front entrance.<br/><br/>A few minutes later, Damian was around the back of the building. His hood was raised, his scarf pulled over his mouth, and on his back was his sheathed sword. Without making a sound, he vaulted onto the window ledge, and into the kitchens, in a single, fluid motion, which ended with a roll that took him beneath the dining table.<br/>His ears told him, before his eyes did, that the intruder had moved on. Music, muffled through the walls but still considerably loud, flooded the Manor, and Damian discerned that it was coming from the sitting room. Considering that the music may be a trap to lure the occupants in, Damian decided against the direct approach. Rather than take the stairs, he slipped into the shadow of the grand staircase itself, and vaulted with silent grace from the awning of the grandfather clock, to the balcony of the next floor, overlooking the entrance at the same moment the intruder made herself present. From on high, clinging to the balcony, Damian watched, confident that he was blended with the darkness. It helped that the girl had apparently left on the light of the sitting room - with it, the shadows around him had only grown deeper.<br/><br/>He frowned; the intruder didn’t seem hostile. She spoke in a hushed voice to herself, and even with his acute auditory perception, Damian couldn’t make out much beyond staying here, and a first kiss. She looked to be in her twenties, from what he could make out; was she an ex-lover of Tim or Dick, perhaps?<br/>When the girl - for her giggling curiosity put Damian in mind of someone who’s curiosity superceded the maturity of someone her age - continued deeper into the Manor, he swiftly followed, swinging from chandeliers to the rafters, each landing carefully placed so as not to disturb or shift any of the fixtures or furniture.<br/>Now the intruder was talking to herself before a portrait of the Wayne family. His Grandparents, wraiths he’d never met, yet their spirits ever-present in the way he operated thanks to Bruce. And there was Bruce himself, albeit younger than even Damian had been when he’d first arrived in Gotham. He was unmistakably Damian’s father; they were by no means identical, but it was definitely there.<br/><br/>“If only there was a way to fix things,” the girl lamented. Now Damian was confused. What interest did she have in Thomas and Martha Wayne? “Maybe there will be, one day…”<br/>When the girl made her way back to the stairs, Damian dropped to the ground in front of her. The only thing visible through his hood and scarf were his eyes, narrowed and intense, and in this light, incredibly like Bruce’s.<br/>“Who are you girl, and what the <em>fuck</em> are you doing in my house?” he snapped, his hand gripping the hilt of his katana, though he hadn’t pulled the weapon… yet.</span>