[Kate loves Billy and Tommy to death, truly, no matter what versions have shown up here, but three people crammed into her tiny apartment is suffocating. They all need a break from each other, and to be honest, Kate misses Damian, so she heads over to his place and lets herself in. It's become such a routine that she doesn't even bother knocking, but she is careful in other ways. She's not sure if anyone else is here, so she calls out, sticking to his alias.]
That should be what he wanted. The old man was gone, he was finally free of his father and his concern that the people he'd come to care for would favor the old man instead. He's gone and Damian no longer feels the weight of his shadow.
It wasn't his father.
He knows this.
But he finds himself... conflicted. Lost. Elated, but... almost mourning. Feeling some fresh wound he'd thought long healed suddenly tear open again.
He's settled in the living room, his back to the door, a real canvas in front of him with real paint in hand. Not really thinking about what he wants to do, just letting his mind wander and just kind of go places with feelings and colors. He has music on, he's not listening to the door. He's hyperfocused on something that isn't violence, and its starting to take shape.
It's far better stress relief than busting his knuckles on the floor. ]
[No response, which isn't exactly normal, but it's not the weirdest thing, either. Kate's got a bag of takeout in one hand, because that's become habit as much as just letting herself in has. What she certainly doesn't expect to find is Damian seated in front of a canvas, working on something absolutely breathtaking.
She's so taken aback by it that she dumps her bag to the floor unceremoniously, sucking in a sharp breath.]
Damian.
[There's no way to tell that he's listening to music with these implants, but she says his name much more loudly this time, and the benefit of close quarters helps.]
[ This time he hears, starling - visibly startling - from the reprieve he was in, whipping around to face her and holding the brush like it's a deadly weapon. Which, well, in his hands it could be. ]
Kate.
[ Oh. He glances from her to the canvas, jaw working for some kind of excuse. ]
[ He... doesn't know how to keep painting with her watching. He sets the brush aside, pushing his hair back from his face. It leaves a rainbow smear across his cheek. ]
[Kate hums thoughtfully, tapping her lip in feigned consideration.]
Should we talk about how there are three people crammed in my tiny, terrible apartment? Or how one of my friends is suddenly a prince? Or maybe about how this UNA thing gives me the creeps?
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Hafid?
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That should be what he wanted. The old man was gone, he was finally free of his father and his concern that the people he'd come to care for would favor the old man instead. He's gone and Damian no longer feels the weight of his shadow.
It wasn't his father.
He knows this.
But he finds himself... conflicted. Lost. Elated, but... almost mourning. Feeling some fresh wound he'd thought long healed suddenly tear open again.
He's settled in the living room, his back to the door, a real canvas in front of him with real paint in hand. Not really thinking about what he wants to do, just letting his mind wander and just kind of go places with feelings and colors. He has music on, he's not listening to the door. He's hyperfocused on something that isn't violence, and its starting to take shape.
It's far better stress relief than busting his knuckles on the floor. ]
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She's so taken aback by it that she dumps her bag to the floor unceremoniously, sucking in a sharp breath.]
Damian.
[There's no way to tell that he's listening to music with these implants, but she says his name much more loudly this time, and the benefit of close quarters helps.]
That's gorgeous.
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Kate.
[ Oh. He glances from her to the canvas, jaw working for some kind of excuse. ]
W- what are you doing here?
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[She moves to join him, reaching out to touch his shoulder gently. Relax, Damian!]
You never told me you could paint.
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[ Relaxing is fake. He's not as tense but he feels like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't be. ]
I haven't for years. I picked it up as a form of stress relief.
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[She grins at him.]
You haven't done it for years and you're still this good?
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[ In other words, yet another gift from his overbearing mother. ]
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[She nods towards the painting.]
Who's that?
[Guess who doesn't know what Batman looks like?]
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My father.
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Oh. Why are you painting him?
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[ ... ]
Good riddance.
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[Kate reaches up to wipe the paint off of his cheek. Sounds fake, Damian.]
Are you okay? Really?
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I didn't want him here and now he's gone. I'm thrilled.
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[ That isn't breaking his knuckles. ]
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Hey, you know you can talk to me, right? No judgment. I know how... weird things can get with family.
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How about we talk about your problems for once?
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Which problems specifically?
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Should we talk about how there are three people crammed in my tiny, terrible apartment? Or how one of my friends is suddenly a prince? Or maybe about how this UNA thing gives me the creeps?
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Do you need some help?
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No.
[Stubborn as always.]
It's sweet of you to offer, though. But I'll be fine, I promise. I can handle tight quarters for a little bit.
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