semblance of speed

[ continued from here ]


Were Damian older, he might be able to see the logic in his father's words, but youth blinds him to everything but the rebuke. He barely registers the question that follows, too focused on containing the sudden rush of blinding anger to give any more eloquent a response than: "Tt."


"I'll take that as a yes," I remark, not unaware of the fury that has suddenly taken him over, a rush of hot and cold anger alike that leaves everything a storm in his wake. And while I have no particular desire to incite that in Damian, he also needs to learn how to control his temper, otherwise this partnership won't work. I need a Robin I can trust on patrol.

And I have the feeling that none of them fit that description right now.

"There are tailors in the city. It wouldn't take long to have your clothes altered."

unease lingers underneath

[ continued from here ]


"Yyyup," I say. "Popping out like gremlins." Weirdest experience ever, although not as weird and kind of horrifying as at the end of the weekend, when they all just collapsed back into me. I still get random flashes of whatever they were doing. I thought having someone else's memories was weird -- and it still is -- but remembering being in several places at once is... also weird.

"As someone whose only experience of superpowers is seeing them on the news, I have to say it... wasn't actually very super."


"It comes with its own sort of burden, doesn't it?" I nod somberly, lips pursed in thought. Not that someone in my position would have much of an idea— and that goes beyond speaking for Bruce Wayne. I don't like magic, I don't like the idea of having abilities beyond my control and understanding. I don't like that it automatically comes with a relaxing of one's own standards for training. It's a crutch.

Look at all of the times Clark's been bereft of his powers, then look me in the eye and tell me that it doesn't have its downfalls.

"People might judge you if you don't make the best use of it. Superman, for instance, if you've ever heard of him. He definitely wouldn't be so popular if he weren't doing half of what he does for Metropolis."

fringes

There is a question that has been lingering on my mind since the island transplanted all of us in this alternate version of Victorian London: where did our city go? Whereas just about every other aspect of Tabula Rasa seems to have been carefully nestled among the various buildings in this small circle of land, Rapture and all of its faded decadence is nowhere to be found. I've searched high and low, inspected the very fringes of the space we're allowed to wander, but it seems to have vanished without a trace.

Normally, I wouldn't be too concerned. The place is mostly faded glory and peeling paint. There are resources worth salvaging in its depths, of course, but nothing that can't be reconstructed with what we have now, and nothing that I've forgotten in full. But there's one reason to be afraid of the fact that Rapture has gone elsewhere.

A laugh that echoed through its tunnels.

I've asked Damian's help on this at last. I get the feeling, justified or not, that something might happen if we don't find this man soon. If the rest of us are reeling from the change, where exactly would a madman fall?

Is this Sander Cohen's paradise, or is it his nightmare?

"I want to run another sweep of the Asylum," I tell Damian. There's a sharp breeze where we stand next to the Thames; the Asylum's only a few blocks away. Mere minutes.