"I will definitely take you up on that offer."
"Really, anytime. Kitchen de Brown is always open for those in need of soup."
"Thanks Steph. It’s nice having options like this."
"Typical human. Panic an’ run at the slightes’ abnormal thin’. Go on then. Run. I won’ chase."
"Not…panicking, not running. You just, uh, looked busy."
"I don’ appreciate a liar, mate."
[/txt] I may or may not have handcuffed myself to a bed post…
[/txt] I DEMAND you get your tush over here and help me
Talon wasn’t sure why Damian had texted him, of all people, but considering that the text said he was handcuffed to a bed, it was probably an accident. Regardless, he showed up at Wayne Manor only a few minutes later and let himself in through Damian’s window. “Well well well, what have we here?” he asked, smirking under his mask.
Damian wasn’t sure who he texted but he figure it would be someone important. How, one might, ask did he handcuffed himself to the bed? Well this was certainly the last time uses himself as a test subject for a new weapon. He froze, as he heard the voice from the window. No…It can’t be. The Gods can’t hate him THAT much right? He slowly looked over at his window.
"…Shit." He muttered, pulling on the handcuffs even harder.
Talon chuckled. “My, I do love having my presents all wrapped up for me like this,” he said. “I thought you might have been joking with that text. I just had to come see for myself. And boy am I glad I did.”
"T..That text was not meant for you!" Damian hissed, as he kept pulling. "A..and I’m not stuck. I. CAN. GET. OUT. ANYTIME. I. WANT!" He grunt, pulling on the cuffs with every word. Damn. Was he REALLY stuck?
"Oh, I bet it wasn’t. But you have no idea how glad I am you made that mistake." He stepped closer to him, removing his mask and tossing it onto the bed. He jumped onto the bed, on his back with his hands behind his head and watched Damian. "I’ll give you two minutes. If you can get out before then, I’ll leave, won’t say anything, won’t do anything, just go. If not, you’re mine."
Cinna really wasn’t able to help herself, she was too curious for her own good sometimes. But…it was just a little button right? What harm could it do?
A timer popped up once the box opened and she squeaked at the suddenness of it. The numbers flashed red for a moment, setting themselves, and then landed at 60.
A second later, it went to 59. Oh—shit.
"Uh— Garrus?! I think we have to leave—like right now!!” She shrieked, almost falling out of her chair. It was a bomb, and they had 59—58 seconds to get the fuck out of the apartment. It was one floor above her shop, she was the only tenant in the building. If it was a bomb that went off she’d lose her store, but it was her own fault, she could rebuild, recollect. But she did not fancy losing her life or her friend’s life.
"Vakarian!!!" She shouted angrily, frustration, fear. Oh shit this was bad. This was so, so bad.
"It’s a timer," Garrus said with interest. "What are you so panicked for? We don’t know what it’ll do." He lifted the little box and tried to find a panel he could remove so he could pick it apart. "You’re getting all worked up for nothing," he said, huffing slightly when he couldn’t find anything.
"Do you have any tools around here?" he asked, looking around. He could probably pry the side off if he had something thin enough to stick into it. "I want to see if I can get it open."
[ text: wrong number ]: Yeah no [ my muse’s name ] and I are just friends.
[ text: wrong number ]: [ my muse’s name ] doesn’t mean anything to me. Stop worrying.
[ text: wrong number ]: Don’t worry, I’m sick of [ my muse’s name ], I’m done.
[ text: wrong number ]: It’s just a game to me.
[ text: wrong number ]: Sometimes I’m just glad [ my muse name ] and I are over.
[ text: wrong number ]: I hate [ my muse name ] so much.
[ text: wrong number ]: [ my muse name ] doesn’t mean a thing to me.
[ text ]: Sometimes I get tired of all this.
[ text ]: You’re not worth it.
[ text ]: Why don’t we not talk for a while?
[ text ]: I’m done.
[ text ]: Don’t come near me.
[ text ]: How can you do this to me?
[ text ]: If you don’t know what you want then I do— out.
[ text ]: Do you feel good knowing you have this power over me?
[ text ]: Why don’t you go to him/her instead?
[ text ]: I don’t care about you.
[ text ]: Stop kidding yourself.
[ text ]: Did you really think you mattered?
[ text ]: Don’t bother
[ text ]: I knew this wasn’t going to last.
[ text ]: I don’t think I can do this anymore.
[ text ]: I don’t care.
[ text ]: You never mattered.
[ text ]: I never mattered to you. I know that now.
[ text ]: I see the way you look at him/her.
[ text ]: Stop wasting my time.
[ text ]: You’re just a waste of time.
[ text ]: I don’t want to hear it.
[ text ]: You’re a monster.
[ text ]: I was wrong.
[ text ]: You don’t care, do you?
[ text ]: Don’t pretend that you care.
[ text ]: Stop. Just stop.
[ text ]: I don’t want you back.
[ text ]: I hate you.
[ text ]: You know, I’m glad we’re over.
[ text ]: I’m tired of waiting.
It was a whole new experience walking without sight. Well, doing anything without sight, really. He didn’t know where anything was and he didn’t know if he was going to trip on anything. He was glad he was indoors. He knew he wouldn’t last two seconds outdoors right now. When he was led to the couch, he sat himself down on it, glad to have something solid under him. He gave the sign for thank you and offered a smile. Anything to keep Garfield from panicking, despite the fact that he was nearly out of his own mind.
Garfield let out a long sigh as he offered Dick a smile, knowing that the other couldn’t see. So he tried to give him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “It’s not so bad being blind.” He said, trying to keep his voice in the normal range. “You’ve just got to use your other senses.” He said. To be honest, he’d probably rather be blind than he deaf. Being deaf he’s not able to see things coming, or communicate well… At least he’s been blind a good couple of times with his various animal forms.
Dick nodded. He knew he would have to rely on his other senses more now, but that still didn’t mean he was happy about it. If this was a permanent thing, he would have to go and retrain entirely to learn how to fight blind, as well as traveling via rooftops. It would take months, at least. Years, at most. It wouldn’t be easy, but he couldn’t just let Nightwing vanish because he’s blind now.
"What is the matter?"
"An’ oo’s the one still yellin’ like it’s gettin’ ya anywhere?"
"Why are you here?!"
"It was a bloody accident! Y’think I wanna be here? I’d already be gone if I could,” he snapped. He tapped his foot on the ground a few times, but nothing happened. “I can’t leave!”
At first, Dick didn’t think anything happened, but then he suddenly got images of a foreign world, one with two suns and appeared to be largely orange. What was this new place he was being shown, and why was he being shown it?
And then he saw something else. It was Angel, but it didn’t look like Angel. How was he able to tell that it was Angel if it didn’t look like the man standing in front of him?
"You had to hit that button, didn’t you?" he snapped.
Having never gotten drunk myself, I take my knowledge of hangovers from places like Supernatural and School of Rock, where they have shown next morning hangovers.
Supernatural tells me that when you’re hungover, most food looks disgusting and likely to make you puke.
School of Rock tells me what hangovers give you a killer headache and light and sound hurt your head.