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summary:
Katie Mahone is a ball of energy and a people person. She is always on the move and may seem like she is disorganized and doesn't pay attention, but she sees more than most people think.
Tim Drake is better with nu...
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KATIE'S POV
I move around my bed to the window once again. The third night in a row.
I don't know why, but ever since I saw Nightwing and Red Robin in that little convenient store, I've been hoping to see them. Just a glimpse, a shadow or even them swinging around Gotham.
But nothing. Nothing is all I've gotten.
It's dark out now, but thankfully not raining. It's more often than not, having rain here. I once told Hazel that people in Gotham take their coffee a certain way. That they like their coffee to resemble where they live... and Gotham is pitch black and bitter most days.
Don't get me wrong, I love Gotham. I think there is a certain beauty to it. The alleys, the streets, the buildings that tower over the city and light them up at night. It all has a weird charm to it from how I view it.
Maybe it's because I get lost in the reflections in the windows of the street shops or the lights that brighten up the dark alleys at night. Or maybe it's because I've lived here long enough to know that Gotham, at its core, isn't what everyone thinks it is.
Gotham is known for producing villains, and bad ones at that, but it also produced Batman and his prodigies. People who became so tough they could take on nightmares that have come to life so everyone else in Gotham wouldn't have to.
Maybe that's why it interests me so much. The vigilantes that swing from roof to roof every night. Because I wonder how they do it. How do you become so tough that you can endure and face all that Gotham produces?
I shake head to clear my thoughts. Maybe I'm just overthinking it all.
I grab my pencil and sketch pad. I'm thinking too much. I just want to relax and something that always relaxes me is sketching.
Without making a sound, I slip my window open and crawl out onto the stair way. The old metal creaks a bit, but it holds like it always does as I shut my window. I tuck my sketch pad and put my pencil behind my ear as I start climbing the stairs to the roof.
My hair whips from the wind as I climb the last bit of stairs and untuck my sketch book from under my arm.
I sit by the ledge, using it as a sort of desk as I open the book.
I have one for school and one I use for myself.
I flip through the pages, smiling a bit. I pass by pictures of flowers, the skyline, Hazel, my grandparents, a field of nothing but trees and hills. Countless doodles and drawings. I even have some of people I've seen in the coffee shop.
Opening to a new page, I grab my pencil and look up at the night sky.
I focus in on details. People walking under me, the way the moon light shines down on them.
