about sunrise

Considering how closely knit the people of this island are, I'm surprised Monday's explosion didn't cause more panic. In the short amount of time I've spent on Tabula Rasa, it's quickly become clear that trouble seems to attract the same few individuals— or, conversely, perhaps it's the people who draw trouble to them, inviting it to their doorstep. I haven't distinguished correlation from causation yet, but the former is widespread knowledge.

I do start to wonder if I should be endearing myself to that inner circle, as it were. I don't expect to be welcomed, either as Bruce or as Batman, by the majority of their number. And frankly, I don't need widespread approval. I need a single contact, someone I can trust, someone who can set aside differences and realize that someone such as myself could prove to be of aid in certain situations.

Coupled with the other conversations I'm sure we ought to have at some point, only one man stands out as the right choice.

I find him, one Wednesday morning, having a late breakfast in the kitchen. It's meals that seem to be the most practical time to seek the man out. With the crowd buzzing around us, and with the chef of the day actually being someone whose food I trust, there's plenty of reason for both of us to be there, and plenty of distractions to keep us from drawing too much attention. Spotting an open seat across from him, I grab a plate of eggs and toast and round the table.

"This spot free?" I ask, making sure to smile.