#not that humid just very foggy and crisp cold...

[dungeons-and-dragon-age]

54, 57, and 61 for your inquisitors! -diirthara-ma

[ask game]

Thank you for the ask! <3

54. What kind of weather do they like best? How do they enjoy that weather?

June: Storms!! Big thunderstorms that buzz with energy. Especially during summer. She loves being outside during this kind of weather.

Arari: Generally speaking he prefers warm weather, but if there is a specific kind of weather (tho idk if this counts as weather?) he really loves it is crisp, chilly but not cold, foggy but not too shrouded mornings, right after dawn when the sun is not entirely up yet. Just.. Vibes.

Taren: Really enjoys mild, sunny weather, when you can comfortably be outside the whole day

57. Would they rather be hot or cold?

June: Cold. It's much easier for her to heat up than cool off.

Arari: Hot, definitely. He can handle high temperatures well and would rather avoid being in very low climates for too long if he can avoid it.

Taren: If he really had to choose, then hot. Doesn't like either but hot > cold. However arid >>>>>> humid so he would take dry coldness over humid heat any day.

61. What would have to be the most interesting thing about where your character lives?

Hmm gonna go with what each of them thinks of as the most interesting thing about Skyhold, since that's basically where they live during DAI

June: The library. It helps that she as Inquisitor has a say in what kind of books the library holds because that way it is assured that there will be ones that interest her

Arari: The great hall. Or rather, all the different people who come and go. Granted they are mostly nobles, but it is amazing how much you can observe and pick up just by spending an hour or two in there.

Taren: Skyhold, as in the place itself. There is a certain.. aura to it that he can't quite grasp but that draws him in, and something about the structure itself feels familiar although he cannot discern why or what.

[hobbitsnapes]

The Red Hoods Protègè chapter 17

Older Damian Wayne x ofc

(Photo made by my lovely friend @inspeech)

Summary:Red hood has taken a young vigilante under his wing and subsequently changes Damians life forever.

A/N: THANK THE LORD I FIGGURED IT OUT!

Tags: @comic-nerd-dc @comic-brew @psychovigilantewrites @psych0crybaby

The cool crisp water against her hot back sent chills up her body. The heat from the air no longer feeling sticky against her as the cool water washes away the humidity on her skin.

It was the middle of October, and everyone had grown accustomed to the cold air. But the last 3 days had been a heat wave that shot the cool air into hot and humid. Causing everyone to trade their sweaters and jeans for tank tops and shorts. Thankfully the manor was for the most part cool, below the 100 degree weather outside.

It was mid day when she decided to go outside into the large outdoor pool. The scorching heat outside made her skin sticky almost instantly, even with the Bathing suit she wore. It was a nice welcome when she stepped into the cool water.

She threw the weight as far as she could, watching it plummet to the floor below.

She took in a large breath, and dove down. The instant pressure on her body, but with the weightless surrounds her. She dove as far as she could down to reach the weight, but once she reached the 20 feet depth, she felt her lungs closing up more and more until she couldn’t take it and swam back up.

She let out a large gasp when she broke the surface, no longer feeling hot but cold as she took in the much needed air.

She heard someone walking behind her, turning abruptly but relaxed when she saw who it was.

There stood Tim, clad in dress pants, a button up and a tie, his jacket laid in a heap in his arms, long since taken off due to the heat. “You doing anything today?” He asked. She swam over to him, resting her arms along the pools walls. He crouched down to her level. “Not really, why?” She asked, her head tilted slightly. “I just got back from the most boring, soul sucking meeting that almost made me jump out the window and let god decide if I lived or not.” This caused her to laugh, Tim joining in on the laughing. Once their laughter died down, she looked back to him. “Alright, what you got in mind?” She asks. A smile takes over his face. “I know the perfect place.”

They both walked into the large coffeehouse, the smell of coffee beans and baked goods hitting them as soon as they entered. The sounds of people talking, plates being moved and the soft hum of music took up the room.

Her shoes softly padding along the hardwood flooring. She decided on a pair of soft black ballet pumps, an ivory long sleeve top tucked into a pair of high waisted cropped trousers. Her hair freshly cut, soft curls framed around her eyes. Tim wore the same clothes he came home in, just trading the suit jacket for a leather one.

They both sat in their seats, sipping on their drinks. Tim chose his usual black coffee with sugar, her choosing a green tea with lemon. “Want anything to eat?” He asks, causing her to look up at him from her cup. “Would they have any yogurt?” She questions, causing Tim to roll his eyes and chuckle. “Yes, yes they do.”

“So how was the meeting?” She asked, after finishing her cup of yogurt. “It was more a brainstorming day. The board wants to expand Wayne enterprise to other fields.” He says, taking a sip of his second cup of coffee. “What do they want to expand on?” She asks. “More Real estate and construction.” This caused her to be further confused. “Why? I thought you guys were more tech?” Her head slightly tilted as she eyes him. He sets his cup down onto the table. “That’s the new Wayne enterprise. The Wayne’s got their name and money originally for helping colonize Gotham. They were the ones who built most of the homes and helped build the city. They’re wanting to widen the company to other branches. I’ve got little to do with it, I’m pretty much just one of the faces of the company.” Tim says, finishing the last few sips of his now cold coffee.

Sandy puts her chin in her palm and eyes him, “so you said you’re the face of WE, what position do you actually have in the company?” Tim chuckles at this, writing out the check as he speaks. “Bruce gave me the position as the CEO. I took it due to being one of the only ones in the family who was both interested in it, and old enough. Damian was to young at the time, I was old enough at the time to take the job. And even now that’s he’s old enough, Damian doesn’t have any interest in it. Says he can’t stand the people. And honestly, yeah I understand him.” Tim chuckles, looking at her and seeing her chuckle under her breath. “Alright, let’s head out before there’s too many people.”

Before either one could fully step out of the coffeehouse, they were Bombarded with cameras flashing, people yelling out all around them and being surrounded. Her throat closed up almost immediately, feeling like her insides would fall out to her feet. Her heart sank and filled with a tight pain. Her breathing grew sporadic and heavy, nearly causing her to cry.

Tim quickly tucked her shaking head into his chest and nearly carried her shaking body out of the crowd of press, feeling the tears soaking his shirt the longer they were in it. He bent his head down to hers, lightly running his hand into her hair to hopefully soothe her. “Hey hey shhh it’s okay we’re almost at the car.” He warped his arm around her side, practically carrying her the rest of the way due to her sobs and hyperventilating.

They both drove off in a hurry, tims hands gripping the wheel so tightly his fingers were an even pallet shade.

Her sobs turned into small silent tears cascading down her face. She looked over to him, his eyes trained on the road, jaw set and brows in an angry line. “What are we gonna do?” She whispers, dread sinking into her stomach, making her want to throw up. “I don’t know, but we’ll figure out something okay?”

‘Who’s the mystery girl?’ ‘CEO of Wayne Enterprise Timothy Drake Wayne with girl.’ ‘Who’s the girl Tim drake Wayne was spotted with? All the information we have.’ Papers, news outlets, gossip websites, magazines, anything you name it and her face was on the cover of it. But the one that stuck out, the one that caused tears to stream down her face, was a magazine by cat grant. ‘The new gold digger in the Wayne family.’ At the bottom showed her with both Tim, and a foggy picture of her and Damian our for dinner. Along with a photo of her hiding in tims chest, and one with damians jacket on her and his arm around her.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she sits with everyone in the family room, all minus one. She knew he’d be here any minute now. After a phone call from dick, Jason promised to be there within the hour.

The door swung open, hearing heavy footsteps hurrying down the hallway. She stood up, seeing him at the door of the large room. She ran over to him and into his wide open arms. She let out a few tears into his chest, clutching to him with all her strength. She took in the familiar smell of him, the scent of cigarettes strong on him. Knowing he puffed on one either before he left or in his way.

She looked up at him, seeing behind his dark tired eye bags, his eyes shined with bushes tears. “I missed you so much bugga.” He whispered into the top of her head, kissing her forehead lightly.

“Alright, we all are up to date with what’s happened, correct?” Bruce asks, breaking the very uncomfortable silence in the room.

Jason sat beside her on her left, with Tim on her right. Next to them say dick and Barbara, with Alfred on the other couch. Beside Alfred, sat bruce and

Selina. And sat in a chair was damian.

Tension was high in the room with the two, almost creating a thickness in the air that worried all of them. They all could see them avoid looking at one another, with a slight uncomfortable pain expression.

Sandy held her necklace in her fingers and twirled it lightly back and forth, Jason taking notice and putting his hand on her shoulder.

“So are we just gonna sit here in silence this entire time, or are we gonna actually talk?” Asked Tim, shocking sandy and mostly everyone. They had grown used to Tim being one of the more quiet of the family.

“No you’re right Tim, we need to figure out what our next step is.” Replies dick. Jason’s jaw ticks lightly, a scowl on his face. “We’re all talking about the same one right? The article written by cat?” Asks Jason, anger evident in his voice. His eyes shone with anger, jaw set and fists balling lightly.

Bruce sighs as he looks at him. “Yes, that one in particular is the one that’s caused concern-“ “then why not go after her? Why not do something about it for all the bullshit that article alone said.” Jason not back, fists now in a tight ball. “There’s one problem with that jason. She has some of the super family behind her-“ Jason slams his hand on the table in front of him, breaking Bruce from speaking. “Isn’t this fucking asshole over here best friends with one?” Jason points to Damian, eyes wide in anger. “Why dont you make yourself useful for once in your fucking life and have your buddy call off his cousin so I can have a word with her?” Jason angrily says, eyes boring into damians equally fiery stare.

“I’m not having Jon do that.” Damian said back, shaking slightly in his seat, his eyes boring into Jason’s. “God you are seriously the most useless one out of all of us! AND REPLACEMENT OVER HERE WAS ROBIN FOR A YEAR BEFORE YOU CAME IN!” Jason yelled back, fists now shaking along with the rest of his body. “Jason that’s enough!-“ “STAY OUT OF THIS BRUCE! YOU'VE DONE ENOUGH AS IT IS WHEN YOU GET INVOLVED WITH ME! No I’m fucking sick of how this fucking prick thinks he’s the king all because he’s ‘the blood son’ when he’s nothing but A FUCKING PRICK WHO NEEDS TO GET OFF HIS HIGH FUCKING HORSE!”

Jason has moved into Damians face, nearly inches away from him. Tears brimmed jason's eyes, anger so prevalent that it made his heart throb in pain due to holding back.

Damian wasn’t far off from it as well, now fully shaking, his legs having a hard time keeping himself standing. Heat radiated off of each other as both men shook in place.

“Get the FUCK out of my face Todd! And STAY THE FUCK OIT OF THIS IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH Y-“ “THATS MY FUCKING DAUGHTER! ANYTIME SOMEBODY HURTS HER THEY'RE DEALING WITH ME! Same with you you little bastard. See that scar across your cheek? That’s from me. And if I had it my way, this is hell and I’m the devil.” Jason spat, getting right in damians face. He can feel the raging breath Damian takes the closer he gets to him. Feeling the anger pouring off of him. “I’ll show you what hell is-“ “you better keep that fucking trap of yours shut. I was the first robin to die. I’ll gladly make you the second one. Oh wait, mommy’s boyfriend already did that a few years ago.” “Alright that’s I-“ “ENOUGH!”

All eyes turned to sandy. Who had now gotten up from her seat, shaking slightly as she stood.

Her eyes burned with tears as she watched them both, watching as both got worse and closer to breaking. Her Stomach in so many knots, it felt as though it’d fall out into the floor in a heap. Her mind played a thousand different thoughts on what she could do. Her options were limited, she could grab Jason’s arm and pull him away, she could get between them, she could hit both of them hard enough to knock them out, or get a squirt bottle and spray them like cats. The last one made her chuckle slightly.

She watched as Damian raised his hand from his side, and her heart shrunk and fell. The anger inside her screaming out loud enough to boom out around the room.

Emery one watched as the first tear slid down her cheek, quickly wiping it away as fast as it came. Her hand shook by her sides relentlessly. Her jaw set and eyes cold as she bore into both of the men’s eyes. “If you both are done with your dick measuring contest, then can we actually talk like fucking adults for ONCE.”

“We could sue her, she is in defamation of character.”dick says, eyes looking back to Tim and sandy. Tim sighs, head resting in his hands. “Cats had more lawsuits against her than I have bullet wounds, she always weasels her way out of them each time.” “Fucking vulture.” Damian whispers. Sandy lightly chuckles when she hears it. Jason looks over to her with a raised eyebrow, her shaking her head at him lightly.

Leaves crunched under both of their boots the longer they went down the sidewalk towards the park, his jacket covering her arms, along with his hand around her side pulling her into him.

Damian noticed them first, seeing them around the corner snapping the photo. His jaw set, eyes hard on the man as he pulls her further into him. His grip ever so slightly tighter. “It’s another one.” Damian whispers, looking down at her. A soft laugh escaping her. He tilts his head slightly, brow raised as he looks at her. “You mean another vulture?” She teases back, making Damian smile and roll his eyes. She laughs at his expression, causing him to let out a chuckle. “And hey, I don’t mind. As long as they get my good side.” She jokes, moving her head so only her left side was shown, in a mock model face. He laughed at her antics. “Oh trust me, all your sides are good sides, gorgeous.” Damian whispers, kissing the top of her cheek.

“Well then what can we do? We can’t just let her and the media make whatever they want about sandy.” Barbara replies, slightly scooting into dicks arm. Looking over at her.

“How about an interview, or a press thing? Why not clear everything up with my word.” All eyes looked to her, even Damian looked questionly at her. “Are you sure?” Asks Jason, worry struck to his face. “An interview would be the better option.” Replies Bruce, all eyes still trained on her. “Then that’s it, that’s what I’ll do.”

She ran her fingers over her hair for what was probably the 100th time in the last hour. Smoothing over her skirt probably even more frequent.

She was scared, her heart sinking low the entire day it felt like. Each hour that ticked closer to 2 her stomach would twist further.

Dread filled her when the clock showed 1:50. 10 minutes left of life outside of the spotlight. 10 minutes of having only a few people knowing she exists. 10 more minutes of having as normal of a life that she’s had.

Her flats padded against the floor softly, her heartbeat taking up most of the noise in her ears. Sweat beaded down her forehead that she quickly wiped away.

One more hallway until she reached the room they decided to have the interview. They chose a small office, it had a few chairs, a couch, and a table. Pictures hung on the wall along with a large window. It was one of the few small rooms in the manor, but it would fit perfectly.

Her breath got caught in her throat when she passed the living room door. There, walking out was damian. They both stopped in their tracks, as if they again were frozen.

Damian sighed when he looked at her. She adored an off white floral top, a black skirt, and ballet flats. Her hair was slightly curled, well as much as it could due to the short length. Her face appeared bare, besides flushed cheeks and lips painted as red as a fresh rose. Her posture was tight, ridged. She looked about ready to pass out from anxiety.

Damian sighed. “You’re too tense. Relax your shoulders, take a deep breath. It’s not as scary as you think.” Her shoulders instantly lowered, her posture was still ridged. But more natural, and less like a board or robot. “Thanks, I just can’t help but be scared.” She looked away when she spoke, a pain in his heart when she couldn’t even look him in the eyes. “I know, but this is Vicki Vale. She’s not as bad as most reporters.” He replied. A soft smile on her face appeared. “So she’s not a Vulture?” She giggled, causing Damian to lightly roll his eyes.

She walked by him, down the hallway to the room. Significantly more relaxed. When her back fully turned to him, a soft smile adorned his face as he lightly chuckles under his breath.

When she reaches the hard wood door, she stops. She takes in a shaky breath, her heart again pounding. She reaches up and takes her necklace into her fingers, running her thumb over it a few times. Instantly calming her slightly. She again takes in a large breath, and turns the knob and opens the door.

Walking in she instantly spited the large camera, the man behind it, the lights, along with a blonde woman standing in front of the camera. The woman who she recognizes to be Vicki, walks to her putting her hand out. She shook it lightly, hand still slightly shaky. Both of them walked over to the two chars, now facing each other. “Alight in 3,2,1. Go.”

Vicki turns to her, with a smile on her face “Hi there I’m reporter Vicki Vale,” “hello there, it’s nice to have you here.” She replied, a soft smile on her face. Her heart beat going down slightly. “Thank you for having me here. Now, why don’t we start this off with who you are?” Vicki asks.

“My name is Saundra Todd.” Both the camera man, and Vicki gasp. Shock written on their face. “Todd? As in?” A small chuckle escapes under her breath. “Yes, as in the daughter of Jason Todd.” Vickis eyes widen further, not even trying to hide the shock in her face. “But, hasn’t he been dead for years? I don’t understand, he passed when he was 15?” Vicki asks, “funny you say that, cause he’s alive.” Both Vicki and the camera man gasp even more.

“When my dad was 14, he had a stalker. At first it wasn’t so bad. A couple letters,both Bruce and Jason thought it was weird but the letters were harmless. They thought it was probably just a girl or boy around his age who thought he was cute. But overtime the lets became more concerning. They would go from nice to lashing out, each one getting worse. Bruce hired an investigator to find who it was, but they came up empty. One night, when my dad was 15, him and Bruce got into an argument. He left. He was wandering around the city that night. He had grown up on the streets so he knew where he was going. Well, before he knew it, he was knocked out. He was taken by his stalker who followed him, to an abandoned warehouse. He, beat my father so heavily, that he passed out. The guy was sure he killed him, and left. Later that night, Bruce called the police, and someone had tipped them that they heard screaming from the warehouse. Officer Jim Gordon was the one who found him. They took him to the hospital. And there, Bruce, Jim and my dad, made a plan. They decided to fake my fathers death. And have him leave the country. And so he did. He went to Europe. He had a fake name, fake aliace, everything. Well a few years passed, and they caught the man. When Bruce called him telling him, my dad said he wanted to stay. And there he stayed. For 5 years my father stayed in Europe. Well when he was 23, he decided he wanted to come home. He didn’t take up the Wayne bane, or come back announcing he was alive. Over the years he grew comfortable being out of the spotlight. And so, he moved into a small apartment. He’s not my real dad, he actually found me. I was an orphan, had been for a long time. I was living on the streets at the time. And one day, he saw me. I was only 17 at the time. And he offered me a place, and here we are.” “I just, wow. I can’t believe he’s been alive this entire time. Is he ever wanting to come out himself?” Vicki asks. “I don’t know, he’s pretty comfortable where he’s at now. I was too until well, you know.” She laughed, causing Vicki to chuckle. “Very true, Gotham isn’t very forgiving in that department. Especially since you’re seen with the Wayne family.” Her heart was no longer feeling like it would fall out her chest, now feeling comfortable. “Oh yeah, especially since I’ve been staying here the last month.” Confusion written on Vickis face. “Oh? And why’s that?” She asks her. “My father went back to Europe to visit some of his friends for a while, I chose to stay here in Gotham.” “Now, I gotta ask, what’s your father like? I mean we haven’t seen him in over a decade.” A soft laugh leaves her at the question. “He’s absolutely amazing. He’s incredibly caring, he’s always looking out for me. But being that he’s only 6 years older than me, he's kinda like a big brother to me at the same time. He’s also a huge dork, he’ll go at any length to make me laugh. He’s the best father I could ask for. But it always hasn’t been that way. When I first went to stay there, we barely talked. It wasn’t just an instant father daughter bond. Hell, he didn’t adopt me for a few months. He’s not like Bruce who has adoption papers in his jacket.” She chuckles. Everyone turned to the door when they heard large laughter behind the door. Vicki turned to her mouthing ‘who?’ “Oh that would be my uncle. The cool crisp water against her hot back sent chills up her body. The heat from the air no longer feeling sticky against her as the cool water washes away the humidity on her skin.

It was the middle of October, and everyone had grown accustomed to the cold air. But the last 3 days had been a heat wave that shot the cool air into hot and humid. Causing everyone to trade their sweaters and jeans for tank tops and shorts. Thankfully the manor was for the most part cool, below the 100 degree weather outside.

It was mid day when she decided to go outside into the large outdoor pool. The scorching heat outside made her skin sticky almost instantly, even with the Bathing suit she wore. It was a nice welcome when she stepped into the cool water.

She threw the weight as far as she could, watching it plummet to the floor below.

She took in a large breath, and dove down. The instant pressure on her body, but with the weightless surrounds her. She dove as far as she could down to reach the weight, but once she reached the 20 feet depth, she felt her lungs closing up more and more until she couldn’t take it and swam back up.

She let out a large gasp when she broke the surface, no longer feeling hot but cold as she took in the much needed air.

She heard someone walking behind her, turning abruptly but relaxed when she saw who it was.

There stood Tim, clad in dress pants, a button up and a tie, his jacket laid in a heap in his arms, long since taken off due to the heat. “You doing anything today?” He asked. She swam over to him, resting her arms along the pools walls. He crouched down to her level. “Not really, why?” She asked, her head tilted slightly. “I just got back from the most boring, soul sucking meeting that almost made me jump out the window and let god decide if I lived or not.” This caused her to laugh, Tim joining in on the laughing. Once their laughter died down, she looked back to him. “Alright, what you got in mind?” She asks. A smile takes over his face. “I know the perfect place.”

They both walked into the large coffeehouse, the smell of coffee beans and baked goods hitting them as soon as they entered. The sounds of people talking, plates being moved and the soft hum of music took up the room.

Her shoes softly padding along the hardwood flooring. She decided on a pair of soft black ballet pumps, an ivory long sleeve top tucked into a pair of high waisted cropped trousers. Her hair freshly cut, soft curls framed around her eyes. Tim wore the same clothes he came home in, just trading the suit jacket for a leather one.

They both sat in their seats, sipping on their drinks. Tim chose his usual black coffee with sugar, her choosing a green tea with lemon. “Want anything to eat?” He asks, causing her to look up at him from her cup. “Would they have any yogurt?” She questions, causing Tim to roll his eyes and chuckle. “Yes, yes they do.”

“So how was the meeting?” She asked, after finishing her cup of yogurt. “It was more a brainstorming day. The board wants to expand Wayne enterprise to other fields.” He says, taking a sip of his second cup of coffee. “What do they want to expand on?” She asks. “More Real estate and construction.” This caused her to be further confused. “Why? I thought you guys were more tech?” Her head slightly tilted as she eyes him. He sets his cup down onto the table. “That’s the new Wayne enterprise. The Wayne’s got their name and money originally for helping colonize Gotham. They were the ones who built most of the homes and helped build the city. They’re wanting to widen the company to other branches. I’ve got little to do with it, I’m pretty much just one of the faces of the company.” Tim says, finishing the last few sips of his now cold coffee.

Sandy puts her chin in her palm and eyes him, “so you said you’re the face of WE, what position do you actually have in the company?” Tim chuckles at this, writing out the check as he speaks. “Bruce gave me the position as the CEO. I took it due to being one of the only ones in the family who was both interested in it, and old enough. Damian was to young at the time, I was old enough at the time to take the job. And even now that’s he’s old enough, Damian doesn’t have any interest in it. Says he can’t stand the people. And honestly, yeah I understand him.” Tim chuckles, looking at her and seeing her chuckle under her breath. “Alright, let’s head out before there’s too many people.”

Before either one could fully step out of the coffeehouse, they were Bombarded with cameras flashing, people yelling out all around them and being surrounded. Her throat closed up almost immediately, feeling like her insides would fall out to her feet. Her heart sank and filled with a tight pain. Her breathing grew sporadic and heavy, nearly causing her to cry.

Tim quickly tucked her shaking head into his chest and nearly carried her shaking body out of the crowd of press, feeling the tears soaking his shirt the longer they were in it. He bent his head down to hers, lightly running his hand into her hair to hopefully soothe her. “Hey hey shhh it’s okay we’re almost at the car.” He warped his arm around her side, practically carrying her the rest of the way due to her sobs and hyperventilating.

They both drove off in a hurry, tims hands gripping the wheel so tightly his fingers were an even pallet shade.

Her sobs turned into small silent tears cascading down her face. She looked over to him, his eyes trained on the road, jaw set and brows in an angry line. “What are we gonna do?” She whispers, dread sinking into her stomach, making her want to throw up. “I don’t know, but we’ll figure out something okay?”

‘Who’s the mystery girl?’ ‘CEO of Wayne Enterprise Timothy Drake Wayne with girl.’ ‘Who’s the girl Tim drake Wayne was spotted with? All the information we have.’ Papers, news outlets, gossip websites, magazines, anything you name it and her face was on the cover of it. But the one that stuck out, the one that caused tears to stream down her face, was a magazine by cat grant. ‘The new gold digger in the Wayne family.’ At the bottom showed her with both Tim, and a foggy picture of her and Damian our for dinner. Along with a photo of her hiding in tims chest, and one with damians jacket on her and his arm around her.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she sits with everyone in the family room, all minus one. She knew he’d be here any minute now. After a phone call from dick, Jason promised to be there within the hour.

The door swung open, hearing heavy footsteps hurrying down the hallway. She stood up, seeing him at the door of the large room. She ran over to him and into his wide open arms. She let out a few tears into his chest, clutching to him with all her strength. She took in the familiar smell of him, the scent of cigarettes strong on him. Knowing he puffed on one either before he left or in his way.

She looked up at him, seeing behind his dark tired eye bags, his eyes shined with bushes tears. “I missed you so much bugga.” He whispered into the top of her head, kissing her forehead lightly.

“Alright, we all are up to date with what’s happened, correct?” Bruce asks, breaking the very uncomfortable silence in the room.

Jason sat beside her on her left, with Tim on her right. Next to them say dick and Barbara, with Alfred on the other couch. Beside Alfred, sat bruce and

Selina. And sat in a chair was damian.

Tension was high in the room with the two, almost creating a thickness in the air that worried all of them. They all could see them avoid looking at one another, with a slight uncomfortable pain expression.

Sandy held her necklace in her fingers and twirled it lightly back and forth, Jason taking notice and putting his hand on her shoulder.

“So are we just gonna sit here in silence this entire time, or are we gonna actually talk?” Asked Tim, shocking sandy and mostly everyone. They had grown used to Tim being one of the more quiet of the family.

“No you’re right Tim, we need to figure out what our next step is.” Replies dick. Jason’s jaw ticks lightly, a scowl on his face. “We’re all talking about the same one right? The article written by cat?” Asks Jason, anger evident in his voice. His eyes shone with anger, jaw set and fists balling lightly.

Bruce sighs as he looks at him. “Yes, that one in particular is the one that’s caused concern-“ “then why not go after her? Why not do something about it for all the bullshit that article alone said.” Jason not back, fists now in a tight ball. “There’s one problem with that jason. She has some of the super family behind her-“ Jason slams his hand on the table in front of him, breaking Bruce from speaking. “Isn’t this fucking asshole over here best friends with one?” Jason points to Damian, eyes wide in anger. “Why dont you make yourself useful for once in your fucking life and have your buddy call off his cousin so I can have a word with her?” Jason angrily says, eyes boring into damians equally fiery stare.

“I’m not having Jon do that.” Damian said back, shaking slightly in his seat, his eyes boring into Jason’s. “God you are seriously the most useless one out of all of us! AND REPLACEMENT OVER HERE WAS ROBIN FOR A YEAR BEFORE YOU CAME IN!” Jason yelled back, fists now shaking along with the rest of his body. “Jason that’s enough!-“ “STAY OUT OF THIS BRUCE! YOU'VE DONE ENOUGH AS IT IS WHEN YOU GET INVOLVED WITH ME! No I’m fucking sick of how this fucking prick thinks he’s the king all because he’s ‘the blood son’ when he’s nothing but A FUCKING PRICK WHO NEEDS TO GET OFF HIS HIGH FUCKING HORSE!”

Jason has moved into Damians face, nearly inches away from him. Tears brimmed jason's eyes, anger so prevalent that it made his heart throb in pain due to holding back.

Damian wasn’t far off from it as well, now fully shaking, his legs having a hard time keeping himself standing. Heat radiated off of each other as both men shook in place.

“Get the FUCK out of my face Todd! And STAY THE FUCK OIT OF THIS IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH Y-“ “THATS MY FUCKING DAUGHTER! ANYTIME SOMEBODY HURTS HER THEY'RE DEALING WITH ME! Same with you you little bastard. See that scar across your cheek? That’s from me. And if I had it my way, this is hell and I’m the devil.” Jason spat, getting right in damians face. He can feel the raging breath Damian takes the closer he gets to him. Feeling the anger pouring off of him. “I’ll show you what hell is-“ “you better keep that fucking trap of yours shut. I was the first robin to die. I’ll gladly make you the second one. Oh wait, mommy’s boyfriend already did that a few years ago.” “Alright that’s I-“ “ENOUGH!”

All eyes turned to sandy. Who had now gotten up from her seat, shaking slightly as she stood.

Her eyes burned with tears as she watched them both, watching as both got worse and closer to breaking. Her Stomach in so many knots, it felt as though it’d fall out into the floor in a heap. Her mind played a thousand different thoughts on what she could do. Her options were limited, she could grab Jason’s arm and pull him away, she could get between them, she could hit both of them hard enough to knock them out, or get a squirt bottle and spray them like cats. The last one made her chuckle slightly.

She watched as Damian raised his hand from his side, and her heart shrunk and fell. The anger inside her screaming out loud enough to boom out around the room.

Emery one watched as the first tear slid down her cheek, quickly wiping it away as fast as it came. Her hand shook by her sides relentlessly. Her jaw set and eyes cold as she bore into both of the men’s eyes. “If you both are done with your dick measuring contest, then can we actually talk like fucking adults for ONCE.”

“We could sue her, she is in defamation of character.”dick says, eyes looking back to Tim and sandy. Tim sighs, head resting in his hands. “Cats had more lawsuits against her than I have bullet wounds, she always weasels her way out of them each time.” “Fucking vulture.” Damian whispers. Sandy lightly chuckles when she hears it. Jason looks over to her with a raised eyebrow, her shaking her head at him lightly.

Leaves crunched under both of their boots the longer they went down the sidewalk towards the park, his jacket covering her arms, along with his hand around her side pulling her into him.

Damian noticed them first, seeing them around the corner snapping the photo. His jaw set, eyes hard on the man as he pulls her further into him. His grip ever so slightly tighter. “It’s another one.” Damian whispers, looking down at her. A soft laugh escaping her. He tilts his head slightly, brow raised as he looks at her. “You mean another vulture?” She teases back, making Damian smile and roll his eyes. She laughs at his expression, causing him to let out a chuckle. “And hey, I don’t mind. As long as they get my good side.” She jokes, moving her head so only her left side was shown, in a mock model face. He laughed at her antics. “Oh trust me, all your sides are good sides, gorgeous.” Damian whispers, kissing the top of her cheek.

“Well then what can we do? We can’t just let her and the media make whatever they want about sandy.” Barbara replies, slightly scooting into dicks arm. Looking over at her.

“How about an interview, or a press thing? Why not clear everything up with my word.” All eyes looked to her, even Damian looked questionly at her. “Are you sure?” Asks Jason, worry struck to his face. “An interview would be the better option.” Replies Bruce, all eyes still trained on her. “Then that’s it, that’s what I’ll do.”

She ran her fingers over her hair for what was probably the 100th time in the last hour. Smoothing over her skirt probably even more frequent.

She was scared, her heart sinking low the entire day it felt like. Each hour that ticked closer to 2 her stomach would twist further.

Dread filled her when the clock showed 1:50. 10 minutes left of life outside of the spotlight. 10 minutes of having only a few people knowing she exists. 10 more minutes of having as normal of a life that she’s had.

Her flats padded against the floor softly, her heartbeat taking up most of the noise in her ears. Sweat beaded down her forehead that she quickly wiped away.

One more hallway until she reached the room they decided to have the interview. They chose a small office, it had a few chairs, a couch, and a table. Pictures hung on the wall along with a large window. It was one of the few small rooms in the manor, but it would fit perfectly.

Her breath got caught in her throat when she passed the living room door. There, walking out was damian. They both stopped in their tracks, as if they again were frozen.

Damian sighed when he looked at her. She adored an off white floral top, a black skirt, and ballet flats. Her hair was slightly curled, well as much as it could due to the short length. Her face appeared bare, besides flushed cheeks and lips painted as red as a fresh rose. Her posture was tight, ridged. She looked about ready to pass out from anxiety.

Damian sighed. “You’re too tense. Relax your shoulders, take a deep breath. It’s not as scary as you think.” Her shoulders instantly lowered, her posture was still ridged. But more natural, and less like a board or robot. “Thanks, I just can’t help but be scared.” She looked away when she spoke, a pain in his heart when she couldn’t even look him in the eyes. “I know, but this is Vicki Vale. She’s not as bad as most reporters.” He replied. A soft smile on her face appeared. “So she’s not a Vulture?” She giggled, causing Damian to lightly roll his eyes.

She walked by him, down the hallway to the room. Significantly more relaxed. When her back fully turned to him, a soft smile adorned his face as he lightly chuckles under his breath.

When she reaches the hard wood door, she stops. She takes in a shaky breath, her heart again pounding. She reaches up and takes her necklace into her fingers, running her thumb over it a few times. Instantly calming her slightly. She again takes in a large breath, and turns the knob and opens the door.

Walking in she instantly spited the large camera, the man behind it, the lights, along with a blonde woman standing in front of the camera. The woman who she recognizes to be Vicki, walks to her putting her hand out. She shook it lightly, hand still slightly shaky. Both of them walked over to the two chars, now facing each other. “Alight in 3,2,1. Go.”

Vicki turns to her, with a smile on her face “Hi there I’m reporter Vicki Vale,” “hello there, it’s nice to have you here.” She replied, a soft smile on her face. Her heart beat going down slightly. “Thank you for having me here. Now, why don’t we start this off with who you are?” Vicki asks. “My name is Saundra Todd.” Both the camera man, and Vicki gasp. Shock written on their face. “Todd? As in?” A small chuckle escapes under her breath. “Yes, as in the daughter of Jason Todd.” Vickis eyes widen further, not even trying to hide the shock in her face. “But, hasn’t he been dead for years? I don’t understand, he passed when he was 15?” Vicki asks, “funny you say that, cause he’s alive.” Both Vicki and the camera man gasp even more. “When my dad was 14, he had a stalker. At first it wasn’t so bad. A couple letters,both Bruce and Jason thought it was weird but the letters were harmless. They thought it was probably just a girl or boy around his age who thought he was cute. But overtime the lets became more concerning. They would go from nice to lashing out, each one getting worse. Bruce hired an investigator to find who it was, but they came up empty. One night, when my dad was 15, him and Bruce got into an argument. He left. He was wandering around the city that night. He had grown up on the streets so he knew where he was going. Well, before he knew it, he was knocked out. He was taken by his stalker who followed him, to an abandoned warehouse. He, beat my father so heavily, that he passed out. The guy was sure he killed him, and left. Later that night, Bruce called the police, and someone had tipped them that they heard screaming from the warehouse. Officer Jim Gordon was the one who found him. They took him to the hospital. And there, Bruce, Jim and my dad, made a plan. They decided to fake my fathers death. And have him leave the country. And so he did. He went to Europe. He had a fake name, fake aliace, everything. Well a few years passed, and they caught the man. When Bruce called him telling him, my dad said he wanted to stay. And there he stayed. For 5 years my father stayed in Europe. Well when he was 23, he decided he wanted to come home. He didn’t take up the Wayne bane, or come back announcing he was alive. Over the years he grew comfortable being out of the spotlight. And so, he moved into a small apartment. He’s not my real dad, he actually found me. I was an orphan, had been for a long time. I was living on the streets at the time. And one day, he saw me. I was only 17 at the time. And he offered me a place, and here we are.”

“I just, wow. I can’t believe he’s been alive this entire time. Is he ever wanting to come out himself?” Vicki asks. “I don’t know, he’s pretty comfortable where he’s at now. I was too until well, you know.” She laughed, causing Vicki to chuckle. “Very true, Gotham isn’t very forgiving in that department. Especially since you’re seen with the Wayne family.” Her heart was no longer feeling like it would fall out her chest, now feeling comfortable. “Oh yeah, especially since I’ve been staying here the last month.” Confusion written on Vickis face. “Oh? And why’s that?” She asks her. “My father went back to Europe to visit some of his friends for a while, I chose to stay here in Gotham.” “Now, I gotta ask, what’s your father like? I mean we haven’t seen him in over a decade.” A soft laugh leaves her at the question. “He’s absolutely amazing. He’s incredibly caring, he’s always looking out for me. But being that he’s only 6 years older than me, he's kinda like a big brother to me at the same time. He’s also a huge dork, he’ll go at any length to make me laugh. He’s the best father I could ask for. But it always hasn’t been that way. When I first went to stay there, we barely talked. It wasn’t just an instant father daughter bond. Hell, he didn’t adopt me for a few months. He’s not like Bruce who has adoption papers in his jacket.” She chuckles. Everyone turned to the door when they heard large laughter behind the door. Vicki turned to her mouthing ‘who?’ “Oh that would be my uncle. He’s quite Nosy.” She chuckles. The door opens to appear dick. “Hey, I just was passing by.” He laughs. She turns her body to him, now the camera on both of them. “Oh suurree you were, Richard.” She teases. Making him chuckle and point a finger at her. “Hey you know my name ya little shit.” He laughs. “Oh I’m sorry, should I call you Ric? Ricky? Oh how about Richie rich?” Everyone in the room now laughing so much they’re clutching their sides, loving the banter between them. Dick bends over and chuckles at her. “You really are just like your father you shit.”he teases. “Oh but you love me.” She teases back, a shit eating grin on her face.

“Okay now that was one of the funniest things I’ve seen.” Vicki laughs, both her and sandy sitting back down. “Oh you’d die if you saw how bad we get. I’m always messing with everyone here.” She chuckles, now totally comfortable. “I bet I would, now, mind if we get to the topic that everyone’s been waiting for?” Vicki asks. “I was wondering when we’d get to that.” She chuckles. “Alright, so, the biggest one that everyone’s been wondering has been you and Tim.” Sandy sighs and takes a drink of the water beside her. “We’re only friends. He’s actually my best friend. The cameras just caught us off guard when we went out for coffee. He saw that I was panicked and hid me in his jacket. There’s nothing romantic between him and I.” She chuckles. “Now the other one people have been wondering, you were spotted for a while with Damian Wayne. And some photos of you guys, looked a little less platonic than you and Tim. Is there anything going on?” Vicki asks. A pain shoots through her heart at the question. Causing her to sigh. “There nothing going on between Damian and I either. My dad introduced me first to him, being that we are the same age. That’s just how we are.” “Oh alright, you guys just seemed to be a bit more flirty in the photos.” Vicki replies. Causing her to chuckle. “And why didn’t anyone just assume I’m naturally flirty.” Shr chuckles, winking at the camera.

It’s as if overnight everything changed, no more the gold digger, mystery girl, anything negative that was said was whipped clean. ‘Late son of Bruce Wayne Jason Todd alive!? And has a daughter!’ ‘The new member of the Wayne family’ ‘Saundra Todd, all we know about the new Wayne family member.’

Of course a part of her was happy, after all the nasty tabloids, it was a nice change to see. But she was also worried. No longer able to have a small bubble she had been in her entire life. No longer being able to go out and not spotted. No longer having a personal life. It was daunting really, but she took it in stride, deciding that she should use her now small bit of fame for better.

Shortly after the interview, she was in the works for a fundraiser for homeless children and teens, to raise money for good shelters that provided what the children needed.

Dinner had finished long ago, most of everyone had left the dining room and left for either their rooms, or wherever in the manor they chose.

Alfred sat in the library, reading. Sandy had offered to do the dishes for him, claiming that he needs his time for himself to rest besides sleep. He didn’t argue, knowing the extent of how stubborn she could get, especially when it came to helping. It truly warmed his heart though, how much she truly wanted to help the aging butler. He wasn’t as fast or had as much energy as when the boys were all young. He knew this, having turned 81 early in the year. So having her help him around the manor took a lot of the weight off of him.

He was halfway through the book when Damian walked in. Not paying much attention to the young man, until he sat down in one of the chairs. He looked over to see damians eyes on the paper. He watched as he picked it up, opening it, watching as a scowl grew on his face. Damian set the paper down onto the table and got up abruptly. “Master Damian, something troubling you?” He asked. Concerned for him. “She seems to be loved real quick.” Damian replies, annoyance evident in his tone. “Why yes, Miss Todd has made a good impression in the city recently.”

Damian sighed, looking away. Anger still present on his face. “Yeah if only they saw what she was really like. They'd probably change their tune.”

Alfred set his book down onto the table, looking at him with annoyance written on his face. “This is how Miss Todd is. She is a kind, loving, and wonderful young woman. And I am sick of hearing how you speak to her all because of what happened. Everyday I watch as the poor girls heart breaks whenever you act the way you do. I put up with this arrogant attitude when you were young but now it’s just childish. I understand you are in pain master Damian but she is just as much. You were after all her first too. I am very disappointed in how immature you’re acting. I helped to raise you differently.” Alfred never yelled at any of them. Never once has they heard the elderly man raise his voice in a yell. But he always had a way to scold each of them without ever raising his voice.

Pain shoots through damians heart when Alfred told him this. It grew even worse when he walked out of the room. He never truly thought about it, about that it hurt her as well. He was so consumed by his hurt that he reverted back to how he was years ago. His heart thumps in pain when he remembered all the times he’s seen her face contort in pain, all the tears he’s seen stream down her face. But confusion fills him, he was her first? She had never mentioned being with anyone else. He just assumed she had. Pain grows in him further, but he doesn’t understand why.

“Why didn’t you tell me I was your first?” He asks abruptly. Jumping her and causing her to drop a cup in the sink. He watched as her face goes from shock to pained when she looked at him. She quickly looked back to the cup in the sink, picking it back up to wash. “What?” She asks, still not looking at him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to jump you. But, why didn’t you tell-“ “you were my first everything Damian. The first guy I had feeling for, first date I ever had. My first kiss. Everything.” Her voice slightly cracked when she muttered kiss. Tears welled up in her eyes. Pain shots through him watching as she tries holding in the tears. “You were my first too, I just don’t understand why you didn’t-“ “she didn’t have to tell you anything. Now why don’t you leave her be.” Both of them turn their eyes to the door, seeing Tim standing there. His arms were crossed over his chest, standing ridged. Face contorted in annoyance and anger at him. Anger fills him as he looks at Tim. “I was just simply asking.” He spat, anger prevalent in his tone. “Well sorry. With how you talk to her, can’t help but worry when you open your mouth.” Tim says, anger dripping in his tone. Both men stood in front of one another, Damian clenching his fists tightly at his sides. “Do is all a favor and just leave. You’ve done enough to hurt her. Making her remember isn’t gonna help anyone.” Anger grows further at tims words. “Oh didn’t know you were her bodyguard.” He replied, annoyance and sarchasm heavy in his words. “No, it’s simply just being her friend.” Tim turns to her, anger subsided when he sees her. “Come on let's go watch a movie.” He asks her.

They both walk to the door of the kitchen, but before leaving, Tim turns to him. “Just remember, you brought this onto yourself.”

[the-stick-scribblers]

Rosé Ritual

Emily took one step out of the car and sank ankle-deep into mud.  On another day, she might have resented this more, grown immediately embittered about the whole ordeal, but tonight she felt contemplative and therefore somewhat magnanimous.  In another mood, she might have yelled at Jess and Mark for this, the sticky mud already seeping into her sock.  Tonight, nothing could have been further from her mind -- which was otherwise occupied.

"This is disgusting," Jess was saying.  She had not worn the proper shoes for mucking about, because they hadn't known that they would be.

"It's just a little mud, J," Brandon said, but his Sketchers didn't look any better for the encounter either.

It had been raining for the past three days, and the four of them had been cooped up in their apartment with nothing to do and nowhere to go the entire time.  No small wonder that they'd wanted to get out as soon as the rain finally let up.  Why "getting out" meant going to the cemetery, Emily still wasn't entirely clear.  Something to do with a Ouija board Mark had stolen from his sister when he went home for Easter.

Apart from the mud, the cemetery was nice this time of the evening.  It felt later than it was -- only about 8 PM really -- but the sun had set behind the suburban trees, and the rain had finally broken the humidity that had been lingering, leaving the air feeling clean and warm.  A maintenance person must have mown the grass recently because it was all Emily could smell as she and her roommates traipsed across the sticky ground.

They each carried an important piece of the ritual: the Ouija board itself, a blanket, a set of candles for some light, and a box of cheap red wine from the corner grocery store.

Emily had never used a Ouija board before, but she didn't have much faith in its ability to do much.  If she did, she may not have agreed to come along at all.  After all, it had been a long few days trapped, just the four of them, in the apartment, and some time and space alone would probably have done them all some good.  But there was no denying a frantic sort of energy that had gripped them all over the last few days.  Emily had been trying to channel it into her poetry, but she figured what harm could a bit of fun with her friends do?

Besides, the wine called to her like an old friend, and she wouldn't mind catching up.

"This spot feels a little more dry," Jess said.  She'd wandered up ahead a little way in the attempt to find a place where they could all settle without soaking their butts through their jeans.

It was a square patch of grass just big enough for them to lay out the blanket they had brought.  Emily tried not to think about what might have been lying underneath. 

In a way, it felt wrong to be doing this during the summer.  The deep gray of the cemetery, the chill running up and down Emily's spine whenever she considered their purpose here, all of it seemed to point to another time of year -- any other.  The crisp alertness of fall, the foggy chill of spring, even the dead cold of winter all would have made more sense than this muggy and pleasant summer night.

Emily must have looked distracted as they each took a corner of the blanket and laid it out, because as they finished, Jess stepped around the blanket to ruffle a hand through Emily's hair.  Emily forced a smile for her -- her best friend, she reminded herself.  Jess was her best friend.  And sure, it felt different now, but that didn't mean everything had to change.

Now, with Brit gone, the link Emily and Jess had always shared, the piece that had held them together, was missing.  They were two puzzle pieces with edges that never quite matched, now mashed together by circumstances.  And it wasn't the same, but it was doable, it worked okay, they were managing.  They were the best in each other's lives now, and that had to be enough.

Mark had already sat down on the blanket, right in the center because he lacked self-awareness, and because he was taking the Ouija board out of its box.  It had never even been removed from its plastic packaging, which Mark now removed with a noisy series of crinkles before he tossed it to the side, out of the space of the blanket.  Emily made a mental note to make sure they picked it up before they cleared out of here.

The others lingered at the edges as Mark got the board set up, and then they sat down all around it.

Somewhere in the woods at the back of the cemetery, a few birds were trilling an evening song, lighthearted and bright.  They had come deep enough inside that they couldn't see the busy street where they had left the car several minutes ago, but if Emily focused on sound, she could just make out that of the bigger cars speeding by in the distance, a soft, sweeping sort of sound not unlike the ocean.

They -- the five of them -- had spent a lot of time at the ocean, when Brit had been alive.  She loved it there.

Emily looked around at her friends, Brandon already wrestling with the box of wine to get it open, Jess doling out little plastic cups, Mark reading the instructions on how to use the Ouija board, as though they hadn't all seen it done a hundred times in movies and on TV.

Brit wasn't buried in this cemetery.  Her family had insisted, rightly Emily reminded herself, that she be brought home and buried there.  How could they understand that this silly little town with nothing to do but school work and loitering had become her home?

College simply did that.  But maybe it was less that Brit's parents hadn't understood, and more that they had understood too well.

They had barely seen Brit since she'd gone away to school, and when she died, with all the renting pain of the sudden, it had been here, in this drowsy, boring place.  This town had seen the last of her, and her family hadn't.

So they came and they took her away, and this cemetery was little more than an accurate backdrop for a childish game, and maybe that was the reason -- part of the reason -- Emily didn't find herself particularly invested.

She took the plastic cup of wine Brandon offered her -- rose, because they could never agree, without Brit to break the tie, on red or white -- and took a sip.  It was warm.  When she saw a glimmer to her right, she didn't turn to look.

They weren't even here, technically, to try to contact Brit.  They hadn't even discussed it really.  In the end, they were really just here to play, a distraction from the long summer break without their friend.  They had the board in their possession, they had never tried it before, someone, Mark, had suggested it as a thing they might do, and that had been that.

But really, they were all thinking of Brit.  How could they not?  And the heavy presence of her on their minds made itself known with the somber sort of air in which they all sat silently sipping their wine as Mark read through the rest of the instructions.  He could never do anything without making sure he knew how to do it right.  That was one of the things Emily appreciated about him.  He could be quiet and surly, and his other friends were obnoxious sports bros -- not the kinds of people Emily would ever choose to spend her time around -- but he brought a level-headedness to the group that Emily appreciated.  It was nice not to always need to be the voice of reason.

When he had finished reading through the whole packet, he folded it up in exactly the right way and reached out of the circle made by their bodies and the blanket to put the instructions back into the box.  Exactly like a board game, complete with the brand label, bright red on the side of the box.

Maybe the reason Emily found herself detached as Mark synthesized the instructions for the group, giving them all the bullet points, was because she had spent these past months processing.  Late night beach trips on her own.  Writing poetry.

She didn't want to linger on it, but she knew she couldn't just forget.  She built mourning into her daily routine.

Another drink of her wine, another sweep of her eyes over her friends.  She hardly heard what they were saying.  The gentle sweep of the cars on the hidden road behind her swelled.

When the others leaned forward to place their hands on planchette -- the one thing she had picked up on while Mark explained -- Emily did the same.  Again came the glimmer, and Emily ignored it, for now.  She had to humor her friends.  They needed that from her.

Brandon asked the question, surprising all of them, Emily thought.  She missed what exactly it was that he said.  She was distracted, hyper-aware of the space around her.  Sweat sticky on the backs of her knees, the itchy press of fresh-cut grass at the edges of the blanket, a cinnamon-y scent that had no business being here in the cemetery.

She ought to be making more of an effort, she knew that.  Her friends needed help, needed to process, and perhaps this was the way for them.  The planchette wasn't moving, of course, and even though none of them had said it, they were all hoping that something, somehow, would come through.  No one would fake it, not now, not even Brandon.

Emily was hit suddenly with a wave of fondness for her friends, and because it was instinct, she looked up in that moment, over Jess's shoulder, where, in the very last light of the day, the glimmer was taking shape.  It occurred to her that maybe the reason she struggled to feel invested in the Ouija board venture was that she had been seeing Brit for weeks now.  Emily shared a private smile, and in the twilight, Brit smiled back.

~C.D.G. Bartlett

[thewritingsofwren]

Weather

The heat is oppressive. Its weight doesn’t force me into myself, grounding me. It forces me out. Displacing me like water in a tub as the weight of its body pushes me out of mine. I’ve lived in the heat my whole life. California, born and raised, the Golden State. Sunshine year round, sixty-degree winters. Wading through as if in dream, a hazy fugue.

Days of relief, moments of escape. Short trips to San Francisco, the foggy city. Cool air, a nice change. But it’s heavy, still so heavy. The fog is dense, a sponge soaked in water, clinging to your clothes, leaving you shivering but with lids weighed down, in a liminal space, a lucid dream. Longer trips to Half Moon Bay. Sitting as close to the ocean as you can get. Only on cloudy days. Only on cold days. Hopefully the wind is blowing hard enough to dispel some fog, to lift the weight. Maybe you roll up your pants, walk onto the wet sand. Feel the gentle give underneath your feet, the cold grains between your toes. Standing still. Waiting. Then the water comes, gripping your ankles, draining them of feeling. Numb. Awake. Finally.

Living on the East Coast. The first month and half is hard. It is hot. It is heavy. You left California for a reason, and you are disappointed. You become a full-time somnambulist. And then: seasons. Leaves change: brilliant reds, oranges, yellow, earthy browns. The air is cool… and crisp. Yes! There is a bite to it now, snapping at your nose, your ears, findings the gaps in your clothing, raising goosebumps on your skin. Traveling up through your nose, down into your lungs, spreading in your bloodstream, waking you up. Slowly.

Then the transitions. Back and forth between the hot and the cold. Never knowing which to trust; which is real? Can they both be? Your life doesn’t have room for multiple realities. It’s hard enough to grapple with just one. California to New York and then back again. One autumn in New York somehow produces sixty degree weather in November. I am violently disoriented. The red leaves dangling precariously from trees take on hues of blood, dripping slowly to the ground, floating down on currents of warm air that tries to lull my skin, my senses, to put me at ease. But something is wrong.

Back to California again, and I complain of being cold. My parents are confused. “Aren’t you used to the cold by now? We thought you preferred it?” They have a point. I don’t at first understand the problem, either. But the cold air has different qualities on the opposing coasts. When East Coast air gets cold, it gets cold. There’s no room for a middle ground. It’s the kind of cold that reaches the backs of my eyeballs, making me worry about their mostly liquid composition. Can people’s eyeballs freeze? I hope not. Did you know that eyes are the only exposed parts of the human brain? It’s true. They are directly connected to the brain, and there they are, out in the open, vulnerable to just about anything. The cold air pushes past, sparking signals in my brain, jolting me into a forced realization of my body. I am.

So what’s the difference, then? Between the cold air in California and the cold air in New York? California cold doesn’t do much to capture my attention; it’s a nuisance. Trying to garner a reaction, it gives me occasional chills, so I want to put on a coat or grab some extra blankets just so I don’t have to deal with it anymore. It is an inconvenience, something that I can complain about because it is so uncommon that it has become annoying. But the New York cold is undeniable. It is bigger than I am. It warrants a kind of respect, a level of acceptance. We have a symbiotic relationship. Of this I am sure. It gives me fodder for my complaints; I let it tinker with my mind. It brings awareness to my body; I let it dwell inside my spine.

You get older, and people begin to ask where you’ll live once you’re “on your own.” “Do you like big cities?” They want to know. “Rural cities? Something in between?” You try to answer, but you find it difficult. That’s not really what matters to you. “Somewhere not too heavy,” you want to reply. But you don’t; they probably wouldn’t understand. You think about this question a lot, and you realize that heaviness isn’t complete anathema to you. Regulated in small doses, it can be comforting. Like rain: a weight that exceeds the strength of the clouds, and so they let it fall. There’s a freedom in that, letting go.

You used to disobey your parents for the rain. Going out in the rare California showers, relishing this welcome weight, a relief after stratospheric stagnation. And then, on the East Coast, there are thunderstorms. Not the weak occasional rumble in the distance and the faint flash of light that you grew up with. Real live thunderstorms. So loud that it feels like your body is being used as a resonator, a temporary conduit for weight. A way for you to experience it without having to carry it around with you.

Even when I was younger, maybe six-years-old, I looked forward to moments of escape from the warmth. My grandparents used to live in Hartford, Connecticut, and we frequently made the journey back East for Christmas. Their property was immense, and I always wanted to be outside, playing in the snow or just sitting on the old wooden swing hanging from what I was convinced was the biggest tree in the world. Despite how big the house was and how much my grandfather loved books, the library was somehow restricted to a short hallway at the back of the house, from which the guestroom branched out like a hasty last-minute addition. This hallway was the coldest room in the house, which, combined with the books it contained, made it my favorite room. Because the hallway was narrow, there was no room for any sort of furniture, so I often just stood, staring at the faded titles on dusty, torn book jackets. My parents stayed in the adjoining guestroom and were often spooked when they heard soft footfalls coming towards them and then stopping just before their door for several minutes before retreating. They always talked about the relief of stepping out of that hallway into one of the two warmer surrounding rooms. I had the opposite experience. The hallway itself was a relief, a cool sigh, a light airiness.

My parents couldn’t be from more opposite climates. My father is from New York, and my mother is from Panama, a place where winter means ninety-nine degrees with ninety-percent humidity. Already, I’m starting to see some connections. But something I can’t get past is if these climates are in my blood, why don’t I like them both equally? If anything, I should prefer the warmth. My mother and I are stubborn, brooding, hyper-analytical, frequently paranoid and quick to judge. Despite the sense of humor and the interest in music that I share with my father, I am far more similar to my mother, but in ways that highlight the aspects of my personality that I frequently try to deny.

Growing up, and until very recently, I had set ideas of my parents in my head, completely contrary to their climates of origin. For me, my father was warm, open, out- and easy-going, and overflowing with kindness. My mother was colder, more closed-off, strict and prone to worry, kind but stern. But nothing is ever that simple.

As I test the waters of my twenties, the heat balance has begun to shift. No, that’s not quite right. In fact, I’m quite certain that the balance itself remains practically unchanged, but my perception of it, the clarity of my thermal imaging, if you will, has shifted, the image becoming more precise and honest. The complexities of the climates that run through my parents’ veins are more apparent now. Once, I could only see the cooler aspects of my mother and the warmer aspects of my father, but I’ve noticed qualities of warmth and coolness in both of them. My mother is warm, open, and fiercely loyal. But she carries an immense weight with her from the heat and the turmoil that she grew up in. My father is self-centered, colder, aloof, sarcastic, and occasionally too quick to laugh.

We travel together, the three of us, into the heat. We are on our way to the airport. My mother’s hand is cool and dry in mine. She has reached across the backseat of the hired car to interlace her fingers with mine. For some reason, whenever she does this, I find myself tensing, as if bracing for something. I always do this, and I don’t know why. I find myself concentrating too hard on not letting my palm get sweaty. We just sit in silence until she has to let go to open a bottle of water. I relax.

On the plane, my father asks if he can kiss me on the cheek. I nod; he delivers a quick peck and immediately starts a new conversation. It’s endearing, for a moment, and then it’s sad. Though, briefly, I thought the request odd, I didn’t mind it or the following kiss. But I realize that there must have been something uncomfortable about it for him. A discomfort similar, I’m sure, to the one I feel whenever my mother takes my hand. I feel guilty.

The Panamanian heat assaults me. We are driving along a body of water, with the windows down, and we are opposite the shore. I stare hard, wondering what feels strange about the scene. Then I realize that it looks like the waves are in reverse. Instead of meeting forcefully with the shore and gently retreating in on themselves, the waves aggressively retreat, barely gliding across the shore with each swell.

Is this how my parents feel? They watch me grow up. They see me get closer to them as I learn to communicate. They feel the shift as the hierarchy diminishes and we become more like equals. They watch me drift; like waves in reverse, fleeing from the shore.

My parents: I often find myself attempting to trace my need for the cold back to them. Now, I’ve distanced myself, turning from the cold and the heat in both. I search for my weather, longing for cold, afraid to get lost, buried, under the heat.