Veruca and Vodka

January 3, 2015: Damian finds Veruca in a world of hurt.

Gotham Safehouse

One of the many global safehouses of Ra's al Ghul



  • <Name of NPC or "None">
  • <Use same pattern for all npcs>

Mood Music:

The crack of thunder crosses the sky, as something foreboding and omnious touches the senses. The shadows wailed, clouds passing over the lit moon as strikes of thunder seemingly draw down to a certain point in the distance. Repeatedly. Each thunder clap was unnatural, blessing the senses with terror..

Falling bricks, vehicles tossed, and the blood. There was /so/ much of it. A tear was created in time and stolen from it's maker, The Woman passing through with a quick dash of her reserves to steal, hijack, and ride the waves to a forest and through again, keeping on that same frequency to bounce her from place to place, far from the man she just battled. The Wolf God, a Sun eater.

And all the while? She laughed, she was broken, but she laughed, passing from one end of the tri-city are to the next, but this time using her own portals as to not be followed to the safe house.

She was at the last stretch, the last mirror that would take her home and.. she falls right through it, straight down from the ceiling that was covered with mirrors and down with a hailfire of glass to land upon soft cushions with a bounce and a thump towards the floor.

Across the large expanse of the living room, across from the crimson rug and the ornate, wooden and glass coffee table, a figure sits on a sofa with legs crossed, and arms back up over the top of the white backing.

"You sure know how to make an entrance," Damian says calmly, inspecting her state from afar.

Flat on her back. Ever since she's been mixing it up with Damian, she's been flat on her back. One cannot get used to this. She half expected him to be asleep, hoping for a rude awakening which would brighten her spirits to know that he was covered in glass and swearing, but this was not the case.

"I can't hear you." She states, one hand lifting towards the air to bring down to plug her ear. She was ready to throw a mock-temper tantrum for a little bit of attention. Attention she probably would refuse. "I think I'm deaf in one ear."

Damian scratches at his face lightly, bringing his hand slowly off the top of the sofa to do so. He lets a long quiet pause emanate before responding. "What happened?" The question isn't so much prying or incredulous in any way. It seems about to be like a normal person would ask another normal person about their day.

The news that she might be deaf barely seems to register on Damian. Whatever the problem is, he's confident he'll solve it.

As is normal for them, their conversations turn dark, but taken in with a light tone even though his never seemingly changes. Life threatening serious? He's flat while she laughs. Disgusting? He's flat while she cringes. Very odd couple, now that she thinks about it.

"If I were to pinpoint this day, I would say this all started because of a child. And a man being verbally abusive said towards child. And that man finding himself without a tongue and tortured to death, because of the child."

She groans a little, then pushes herself upright, her left arm laying limp from being pulled from it's socket. She looks a mess, yet somehow, her reddened eyes make the icy blue look almost beautiful. "Then I battled a God and won."

"Winning, means escaping with my life."

Damian sits forward now, suddenly enthused, going so far as to even grow a smile on his face. No malice intended, instead, the details of her story excite him. He clasps his long fingers together and leans even farther forward now. "Your way with words is so beautiful. Tell me, how did you come to escape the god?"

She holds out her good hand, beckoning him forth. At the very most, all she needed was to be helped from the floor and back upon the bed where the shards of glass do lay. "Come here, my Nightmare. Help me up."

There were secrets to share, while most knew the ability that she possess, that she could duplicate, most didn't know that she could travel from one place to the next, present company excluded. But the extent, along with others? Quite a mystery.
"I stole a piece of himself when he had the upper hand." A pause. "Do you think I exaggerate when I said that he was a God? He turned into a very, very, extremely large wolf."

Damian crawls across the floor towards her and once he's arrived at the other sofa, he gets up slowly before helping her up as well. "Why would I ever think you would be one to exaggerate, my love? If he did this to you, he must have been rather powerful." He brings her over toward the bed, but if you think he's getting on that with shards of glass, you're cra—-well, they're both kind of crazy here.

"Do you need medical attention?"

"I don't know." She confesses. Gods walking the earth was a concept that was foreign to her. Even part of her still doesn't believe it. "Powerful, yes. In the extreme. And quite durable. I believe if I hadn't expended all of my power in just one shot, that all of me could have taken him down a few more pegs."

She tries not to cry out as he helps her up, tears stinging her eyes and trailing down her cheeks as she takes a few hesitant breaths, and once upon the bed of glass? She slumps her good shoulder, then lifts her hand to gesture. "Pop it back."

Medical attention? Her injuries were grave of course. But she hardly ever let others see her sweat. "No. Of course not. Nothing a little liquor wouldn't fix." She smiles towards him now, then leans in. "And perhaps a kiss upon the cheek?"

"Of course, my love," Damian says as he leans down towards her shoulder. His body comes close to her and she can feel his breath warm upon her neck.

"As you wish." In a quick movement, he both kisses her softly upon the cheek while putting her bones back in place, with an audible crack.

After it's over, he kisses her upon the mouth before pulling away.

She braces herself against him, focusing more upon the kiss and nearly missing the snap-pop of her shoulder back into socket. Her body jars, right into the kiss that was offered afterwards, which on her part was a little bit hard pressed, almost bruisingly.

"Mmh!" She manages to get out, turning away to breathe it out, her gaze falling back towards him as her shoulders roll.

"The housing projects in New York. That is our starting point."

Damian raises an eyebrow, somewhat surprised at the comment. "The housing projects of New York? Tell me, what do we hope to find in a cess pool of broken dreams and misery?" Damian pulls away from her now, fully, and stands over her before retreating to the liquor cabinet at the side of the dining room, not terribly far from where she lies.

"Purpose." She states. She wanted to lay down, but she felt that sitting up would be much better for the internal bleeding. Later on in the night? She'd awaken and throw up all of the blood that collected in her stomach and lungs, possibly fracture another rib in the process.

"Your distain is felt by many other people. The police avoid that place like the plague. The Mayor turns a blind eye to the suffering. The place is built and ingrained with a don't ask and don't tell advantage. It's placement may not be tactical itself but there /are/ most who could be swayed by fear and money. Or possibly both."

She watches him now, one eye squinted. "Unless you prefer to kill them all, little bird."

Damian returns with a bottle of fine vodka. He stereotypically assumes that it is her favorite. He hands it to her, the neck bobbing towards her to take if she needs it or wants it. "Imagine my mother being brought down in her Gotham highrise from the squalor of New York. There truly is something poetic about that."

He ponders a moment. "Very well. Make it happen. I'll trust you to the preparations."

The neck of the bottle was grasped, held close to her chest as she considers his words for but a breath. "I will make the preparations. But first.." She takes a deep, deep swig of the alcohol, which nearly sets her aflame. The heat draws her skin to redden, if it already wasn't through brusing and smatterings of blood. "How do you feel about this?"
Her feet were soon shuffled as boots were drawn off, and soon she stands, bare feet walking across the glass that remained upon the floor towards the couch where it was clean and free.

"At times in my life I felt very much as though my mother was my one great ally in this world. After my grandfather's shortlived demise, it became clear to me that much of that affection was geared towards wresting control of the League. If I allowed myself to feel nostalgia for the mother/son relationship, then it was folly. Much like Dorothy—my father had me watch something called the Wizard of Oz when I came to live with him, I left my Grandfather's world in search of becoming whole. And I found, in the end, that everything I needed was already there."

He chuckles, "Well, almost everything."

She listens, and drinks, and listens, finding the rest of the liquor useless to her, it was placed upon the ground before she settles upon the couch, one sore leg planted underneath her butt to rest upon. Her gaze was unmoving, even the chuckle barely gets a twitch or a glimmer of a response, her face flat.. that was until she smiles. "Almost everything?"

"What else are you missing?"

"What else /was/ I missing, you mean," Damian says as he goes to join her side. Though gruff before, he seems remarkably gentle given her condition and slides beside her. "I was missing you, of course."

He looks over her broken body, "How long, do you imagine, before you are 100 percent?"

There was a flash of something that registered within her eyes, the redness within her cheeks covered due to the flush of liqour she consumed. She was blushing, and it was well timed so that it would have been hidden. His settling caused a slight shift and turn in his direction, her eyes drawn to the left and upwards as she tries to guess her current condition.

She was currently operating at a 20. The fight was hard and long, and she only held herself up because /he/ was present. And like all relationships? There were secrets and lies. "I'm able to do what you ask of me right now with no problems. What do you need of me?"

"I need you to rest and recuperate," Damian says softly. "I would also like to have one of our doctor's look upon you to ensure that you are alright. And after that, when you are 100 percent, I need you to start preparing our network in inner city New York."

"Are you sure that's /all/ you need?" Veruca asks, even though it pained her, a coy smile breaches her lips as she leans in closer towards her. Perhaps, maybe.. she was attempting to intimidate him. To test the reactions he'd have towards her of her current state. "From what you led to believe, the request of me being your mate is a contractual one. To serve, to counsil, to crawl upon my knees before the very sight of you and spread thighs for you to work and relieve yourself of building frenzy.."

Her hand lifts, lightly toying with the fabric upon the middle of his chest. She was truly fucking with him of course, she would get rest and prepare, but this was just too good to pass up.

"Are you /sure/, that it's all you need."

"As for right now, my love, my needs will wait. That is my decision." Damian kisses her briskly and stands abruptly from the couch. "I will see to it you are protected while you recuperate. Once you are physically cleared to ensure that my presence in your bed will not cause you worse pain and damage, I will return. Until then, I shall sleep upon this couch while we wait for our new establishment in New York."

"I have never spooned. I do not know if that's something you will require."

She lets out a littl grunt after the kiss, her eyes rolling as she settles back upon the couch. "Fine."
As he stands and makes declarations, she sees the wisdom in this, and appreciates him the better for it. "I need to shower. Call someone to clean that shit up." She stands of course, hobbiling a little, showing her hand at just how badly hurt she was. When stagnant, the pain grows, she knew that if she stopped moving, which she would soon, the injuries will become all the more dire.

"I'll need it." She confesses, the moment of pain and weakness touching her. "And what of the God Wolf?"

"Those sorts are not taken down without a host of planning, my love. What do you think I will be doing while I wait for you to recover?" Damian asks with a smile. "I'll not be long."

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