The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. [ A quote, and one that tastes twice as sour on the tongue of a boy who was grown in a tube and killed at his mother's words. ] In other words, it's the family you choose, not the family you were dealt, that is the stronger relationship.
[ Some strange method of reassurance, perhaps, to calm Diarmuid. ]
I already know about modern amenities. [ His eyebrows raise, unimpressed with the so-called pros of this place. He's thankful, at least, that he has his smart phone patched into the system; the comm unit, on the other hand, can't be compromised - it's a private channel limited to their tech, useful only if Batman somehow makes his way here to this planet.
What Diarmuid says next catches him by surprise, eyes widening before they narrow, lips thinning in displeasure. ]
A planet, removed from time. Probably space. Its own, isolated dimension.
[ The conclusions are immediate: 1) If he escapes and returns, he will be dead. 2) His father won't be coming. Nobody will be coming.
His gloves creak when his hands ball into fists, grief and fury breaking in a wave across his face, jaw setting in a grimace. ]
So it is Purgatory, after all. But I have to go back. Death won't stop me.
[ He's determined, all iron will and damn-the-consequences stubbornness. ]
I don't have special powers, so that's no issue. Daily contact--
[ Is asking too much. Damian's only ever really been free with physical contact when it comes to his father: leaning back against him on the bench while pulling his boots off; Damian's fingers wandering into Bruce's space to annoy the older vigilante; his father's hand, huge, cupping the back of his skull and dragging him into a welcome hug, or weighing, heavy and reassuring, on his shoulder, his back. ]
--that won't work. Not unless I can find a sparring partner who can hold their own against me.
[ One that isn't a giant alien robot. Damian prefers human-sized adversaries in the training ring. ]
no subject
[ Some strange method of reassurance, perhaps, to calm Diarmuid. ]
I already know about modern amenities. [ His eyebrows raise, unimpressed with the so-called pros of this place. He's thankful, at least, that he has his smart phone patched into the system; the comm unit, on the other hand, can't be compromised - it's a private channel limited to their tech, useful only if Batman somehow makes his way here to this planet.
What Diarmuid says next catches him by surprise, eyes widening before they narrow, lips thinning in displeasure. ]
A planet, removed from time. Probably space. Its own, isolated dimension.
[ The conclusions are immediate: 1) If he escapes and returns, he will be dead. 2) His father won't be coming. Nobody will be coming.
His gloves creak when his hands ball into fists, grief and fury breaking in a wave across his face, jaw setting in a grimace. ]
So it is Purgatory, after all. But I have to go back. Death won't stop me.
[ He's determined, all iron will and damn-the-consequences stubbornness. ]
I don't have special powers, so that's no issue. Daily contact--
[ Is asking too much. Damian's only ever really been free with physical contact when it comes to his father: leaning back against him on the bench while pulling his boots off; Damian's fingers wandering into Bruce's space to annoy the older vigilante; his father's hand, huge, cupping the back of his skull and dragging him into a welcome hug, or weighing, heavy and reassuring, on his shoulder, his back. ]
--that won't work. Not unless I can find a sparring partner who can hold their own against me.
[ One that isn't a giant alien robot. Damian prefers human-sized adversaries in the training ring. ]