[The batarangs she had disappear back into her sleeves as she walks over to Saul, taking the batarang from him once he's had a chance to look at it. Then she demonstrates how to activate it, before just lazily tossing it at the far wall, where, after a few seconds, there's a sort of crack, and thick ice crawls about four feet up the wall.
( For Atlas having too many emotions, the uniform, and so on. But what is typed is Adonis, interfering with Atlas' work, and he grits his teeth. Idiot. Not the time. Not the place, not for doubt. )
It was pretty shitty, but it's okay. We're friends.
( There's a long pause, before he adds something else: )
You should see the other guy.
( The one without the mask. The one that's useless. It's as close as he can see himself getting to admitting who he is, exactly, but even if Steph had met Donny, Atlas is pretty certain she'd have no idea who he was talking about. )
[She hates texting, putting her words down definitively always makes her feel kind of stupid, when she can't saythe words out loud and figure them out.
But right now going to audio would feel even more awkward, so she just forces herself to deal with it.]
i won't do it again.
[Make shitty jokes, at least about her death.
She misses her therapist. And Babs. And Cass.
What he says about the other guy has her frowning at her screen for a while, trying to figure out what to say.]
my ex. the one i mentioned. he thinks like that.
[About (Red) Robin versus Tim Drake, that one is better than the other, and that they're... different people, instead of being different parts of the same person.
thanks for the offer, but i should probably learn when to keep my mouth shut.
[90% of the time, basically.]
i know.
[Clark Kent. Bruce Wayne.]
my best friend doesn't understand secret identities, but she can look at someone and just see who they are, really, behind all the lies we build up, so maybe that's why.
she doesn't talk much, either. i think you'd like her.
[He's not convinced. He walks over to the wall, hesitantly reaches out, and touches the not-straight-up-ice. It sure feels like ice. Maybe there's some molecular difference, or something.
[He notices her word choice and is almost tempted to ask, but doesn't. He doesn't have to.]
But I appreciate that you've given me options. Those are the only things I could use, I think. I'm not a fan of blades and you're probably not supposed to use a staff like a baseball bat, right?
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