#' ᴵᴰ : ＊AMALA.

[gothamsaved]

` ❛ TRANSMISSION RECEIVED ˒﹚) ↳ send me ✎ ( pencil ) and I'll draw your muse! AMALA SHARMA - @/BURNTSCARS

[gothamsaved]

` 𝐇𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬.

[ … ] He just knows it’s lured,  harshly tugged from him with a startling ease as the moment she comes back over after leaving to check on a patient in the neighbouring room.  The distant sounds of her hard work bear fruits in the form of soothed groans,  relief bleeding free over more aching pains.  His words are a low rumbled hush,  a ghost-like whisper kept soft,  muffled as he calmly observes her by one of the open windows left slightly ajar.

Gotham’s Bat is cryptic as always with what he shares,  making no move to close the distance any or show any indication he plans on leaving her clinic space anytime soon.

He was certain he’d caught something familiar in her sights,  not lost,  just…   on the verge of drowning.  Drowning if she lost her footing in the unsteady   &&.  shrouded path she chose to walk in her pursuit to do good for this ailing City.  Where her efforts   &&.  steadfast determination would have led her greater places,  made much more of an impact were she stationed anywhere else outside of this ever glum,  dreary City…

She’d possibly have a better life.  It’s familiar,  blaringly so in a way reminiscent to peering right into a mirror.  He isn’t a particularly huge fan of it,  but it garners his respect all the same that @burntscars chooses still,  even after all this time,  to stay permanently settled in this location.  It’s openly, easily accessible to any who need the help,  doesn’t discriminate on the status of the patients she takes under her care be they criminal,  hero,  average citizen.  She does so much, but the more he’s observed her base of operations, he realizes there’s no help here for what Ms. Sharma does.  Just herself alone in tackling the seemingly never ending mission of healing the broken.

It’s his odd way of offering some form of advice to stay sane,  to stay strong in continuing on.  By having something solid,  sturdy to anchor onto,  it helped make everything feel that bit more worth it.

As the seconds tick on by,  gradually turning into long stretching minutes in awkward,  if pensive quiet,  he exhales softly through his nose,  a barely audible sound as the Bat softly asks what her anchor is in a moment of sincere curiosity.

` ❛ LAST LOGGED TRANSMISSION ˒﹚)

[gothamsaved]

` add + to reverse so receiver is the one cleaning blood off sender.

` 𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐜.

[ … ] As was warned,   &&.   as was known on his end,  his presence if sighted too often around the neutral medical space,  it could cause an uproar or a sudden loss in business for her.  He’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this,  had taken as much care as he was physically able to keep his profile low,  inconspicuous,  even staying far from it,  turning a blind eye while offering his aid anonymously in the form of donated supplies as Bruce Wayne.

But the attention it garnered,  the sudden break in delicate routine…   frayed everything until it finally snapped.

Her building is under attack,  far too fearful,  far too trigger happy men who swear to the distant heavens the shadows have moved,  that the Bat lurks before they unload their weapons on the place.  Cover blown,  it doesn’t matter to try staying in the shadows any more,  instead he does his best to scramble into the fray,  the mess of flying glass   &&.   debris to manuever the few startled patients on the cots behind safer cover.  Thankfully,  there’s not many,  but in the heat of everything,  he loses sight of @burntscars.

His heart catches,  stopping a moment as brightened lenses scan the destruction fallen scene in a flurried haze.  He spots her crumpled frame curled behind a toppled cot,  clutching at a wound blossoming a worrying amount of blood through her shoulder.  He grits his teeth,  making a call to Alfred to call the paramedics to the location,  taking another surveying glance around the space,  checking over the vitals of those left shaken from the drive by attack.

Left scared,  but all in one piece,  rattled,  bruised,  but in stable enough condition.  It’s the best outcome he can hope for in the tipping carnage.  He keeps a gloved hand pressed to her wound,  staunching the bleeding as best he can as he nods her way when she peers up at him.  A silent order to take over as he moves to help her back to her feet.  The Bat is all caution-wary gentleness.

He makes sure Amala doesn’t move too suddenly,  too sharply,  leading her to the back of her clinic,  giving an insisting pull when she tries to fight against it,  mumbling something about checking on the other’s first.

` ❝ They’ll be okay.  No one else got caught in the crossfire but you. We need to look at it now unless you want to bleed out first. I’ve already made the call for help. ❞

The unspoken request to patch her up before they got there,  a form of apology for the chaos he brought with him is offered.  Stubbornly so.

` [ ꗃ ] TRANSMISSION RECEIVED ˒﹚) ↳ send 🛑 to clean blood off of my muse after they protected yours.

[gothamsaved]

[ … ] MAYBE NOT THE BEST THING TO RESPOND BACK WITH GIVEN HIS CURRENT CONDITION.        But in his meagre defence,  he’s tired,  had nearly bled out,  suffering from the less than glamorous brunt of his late night excursions.  Though he’s well aware no one else drives him to do what he does   —   no one but himself left to carry the burdensome blame when the weight of it all does come crumbling down   —   in moments such as this his dagger sharpened mind dulls,  his carefully kept composure snaps.

Like a wounded dog,  rare as it is,  he will grow cruelly harsh,  rude,  directing his ire towards the nearest person that so happens to be caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.  But rarer yet,  is it that someone snaps back when he’s in the cowl.  Very few found the courage there to stand up to the Bat of Gotham.

As soon as the words leave his mouth,  he already feels the desperate wish he could take them back,  a freshened cringe already lacing his tired limbs as he grunts softly,  shaking his head,  moving to pull himself up into a straighter standing,  confident position.  Nary a waver,  barely a reaction or further acknowledgement that his healing wounds truly bothered,  all born out of stubborn,  spiteful pride than anything truthful.

Brows knit tight beneath the protective veneer of his cowl,  lips pressing,  teeth delicately clattering as he gloomily frowns.

No excuse for his rotten mood,  no matter how badly he was left in his condition   …   despite it,  she had helped.  He just supposes he expected the usual branding of ‘costumed psycho’   —   it’s part of why,  aside from his want to keep his identity carefully hidden,  he only went to a select few people when he knew he was in too rough a shape to treat himself.

With a quiet grunt,  but one that acknowledged    &&.   begrudgingly agreed with @burntscars statement,  he nods softly before he cradles his newly patched wound.  As the stern but mysterious figure turns on her heel,  striding off to continue her personal mission of tending to the others in need,  Bruce slowly follows her lead,  taking his own leave.

He makes a mental note to look more into her,  unsure yet if she was someone to be truly trusted,  though acknowledging that she could’ve been more hostile,  more harsh.  Had numerous chances to turn the tense encounter into something less than strained.  She was neutral but undoubtedly well-meaning.

Something   …   Gotham could use more of,  if he were being honest.

` ❛ LAST LOGGED TRANSMISSION ˒﹚)

[gothamsaved]

` 𝐀 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧,  𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐭’𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝.

[ … ] He has come to expect a lot of reactions from those familiar with his presence.  Some are mindfully cautious.  Uneasy but just trusting enough in a mutual,  if uneasy alliance.  Others,  are more accepting,  though there is that boundary of strained respect present.  It’s comfortable,  familiar.  It’s what he’s come to expect after so many years donning the cowl nightly   —   with the doctor present,  or rather…  good Samaritan just trying to help with the skills she’d acquired   —   she treated him as anyone else.

It proves her character is genuine,  through   &&.   through honest in her mission to treat everyone the same   —   as a patient in need of attention   &&.   care regardless of their social standing or profession.  She’d offered her aid to the Bat on the ever rare times he’d needed help   —   treated him as just another Gothamite,  a man   —   for whatever reason,  it brought him some more peace regarding the odd but helpful woman to know she didn’t fear him or butt heads as much these days.  Her neutrality is perplexing,  but all the same,  a reassurance that there was someone within Gotham who truly meant well,  was serious in aiding those who truly needed it.

He’d tried to gather more information in the subtle ways he normally does when something new crops up of importance or curiosity within the bayside City   —   made his own attempts to look into ways he could offer support as Bruce to keep it up   &&.  running.

But the difficulty lie in knowing his presence or any attention brought towards the space would jeopardize it,  bring the careful balance she’d spent however long building up by her own hands crashing down.  It was a rare occasion where staying his hand,  keeping his appearance   &&.  control carefully kept away from it was for the best.

As he studies her behind his lensed gaze,  lips kept pressed together in a steady line as she responds so casually.  His intrigue is still held,  head cocking to the side in an almost owlish angle as the Knight gives her the assuring space to continue at her leisure.  It’s a quiet night for the City,  enough he feels no immediate pull to return to patrolling just yet.  The silence feels like a blanketing layer,  contemplative,  full of stirred thoughts flowing lazily along like the sting of a fresh cut bleeding.  Brows pinch together at the mention of not having one anymore.

His gut feeling can’t parse much from it,  intellect going quiet as something vaguely kindred rears its face at the admission.  It’s intimate,  something guarded but offered back with the same nonchalant grace she normally mustered.  Kind but guarded,  like a still healing injury that had some lingering pangs of a raw feeling echoing.

More quiet begins to span,  the detective humming in acknowledgement as she continues then.  It clicks,  the sudden knowledge it was family that also helped to keep her going strong.  He’s at least thankful her anchor was still alive,  alright circumstances aside.  His was the opposite,  but even so,  their mark on him,  the ever lasting impact made with their kindness,  their efforts to raise him to be the best he could while using a gentle hand in nurturing him   —   his own family was an anchor to him even now.  The Bat mulls over her final comment,  a muttered thing as she rubs at her tired eyes,  the fatigue of the day made all the more well known as she sighs.

Hypocritical of him to say,  but he still makes a quiet but short laugh,  more a softened bark than anything that’s barely audible.

` ❝ You should get some rest,  Doctor. ❞

Hasn’t been a cakewalk the last few weeks in Gotham.  Activity spiked recently with people poking their heads out to hatch some new half-baked scheme.  It went south,  put people in danger,  resulted in her ending up with far more patients,  a busy schedule that undoubtedly clashed with her day-life in a way that contributed to her exhaustion.  He turns to the window he’d come through,  mind stirring with potential offers to give,  ways to try giving help,  before he holds his tongue,  glances over.

` ❝ I get the feeling she’d also want you to take care of yourself too. ❞

the batman has become a more and more common presence about amala's makeshift clinic, and she's not sure how to feel about that. he's polite enough, and leaves if she has a patient, and (on one occasion) scared off potential troublemakers. but, if word gets out that the batman is hanging around her place--well, that might drive some of their more tetchy, in-need patients away.

so far, word hasn't gotten out. the closest thing that amala's heard was the sweet girl with balance issues who lives nearby commenting on seeing 'funny shadows' around 'doctor sharma's place' (she insists on calling amala a doctor, despite them only having the most basic of medical certifications). thankfully, the girl just chalked it up to some of the plants that amala's neighbors have out on their balconies, and that was the end of that.

at least the batman is a somewhat decent conversationalist, when or if he's in the mood to chat. he never asks too probing questions, and amala tends to do the same in turn, as she doesn't exactly want to get on his bad side. there's more to that being polite to the batman, however--underneath that cowl and cape and gadgets, he's honestly just a guy. a very, very strange guy, to be honest, but just a guy.

(perhaps people would call amala insane for considering the batman to be 'just a guy,' but she doesn't care. in the eyes of death--something amala is intimately acquainted with due to personal experiences and her current profession--everyone is equal.)

"i...well, i don't have an anchor, as you put it," amala replies to his soft inquiry, leaning against the windowframe of her presently open window. it's dark out, and they're dressed casually in an oversized t-shirt depicting some anime characters and a pair of shorts, leaving their burns on full display. this fact, she doesn't seem to care about, having grown so used to her skin and the mars on it. "well, not anymore."

her mother had to move back to her home country of india several years prior due to...something amala can't quite recall, and due to some fucked-up shit involving visas and amala's shitty sperm donor, amala couldn't come with her mother. so, eva sharma remained in india, far far away from her one surviving child with little way to contact them, and amala no longer is able to have that gentle, guiding presence in her life.

"...'s not like said anchor is dead or anything, i just can't talk to her easily--something about expensive-ass cell rates for overseas and family having a lot of trouble." no need to go into depth, and amala scrubs at the heavy dark circles under her eyes, visible even in the dim lighting. "she'd be helping me if she was here."