Demons (Damirae)

Chapter Forty-Four

"Thank Azar that's over, another second of Dick's Christmas songs and I would have been tempted to break someone."

Snorting at Raven's enthusiasm, Damian chimed in, "Tt. Not to mention Kyle and father's repulsive flirtations. Dinner couldn't have ended sooner."

Bounding across rooftops like stones skimming over water, the part-demons' relieved remarks continued, ranging from mild irritation to downright indignation at the horrid of prior events.
Where others may bond over their love of a certain hobby or other similar interests, Damian and Raven's common ground appeared, in this instance, to be their hatred of social gatherings. Christmas dinner included.

Back arching to achieve maximum height, Damian launched over metal railings, feet meeting the ground moments later as Robin fell in to a forward roll, harnessing the momentum so as to add fluidity to his movement- though the uneven carpet of snow proved somewhat a hindrance. At his side, enduring significantly less physical strain, Raven carved a path through the air, incased in her signature purple glow. The wind threatening to beat back her hood, the demoness squinted, white flakes relentlessly battering her eyelashes.

"Tonight of all nights...", mist left Damian's mouth with every word, "when the temperature has plummeted below zero degrees celsius...", his feet left the security of another rooftop, "you decide not to save us from the torments of Gotham in winter...",with a decided crunch, Robin's boots find purchase atop a bank, "but to endure the cold."

Halting, Robin regarded the demoness, resting against the side of a building, "Care to explain why?"

Purple glow fading to nothing, Raven's hovering ceased. Shoes sinking through the blanket of white, she marked her way to the boy, wafting away clutters of snowflakes. Sufficiently camouflaged against the night-sky backdrop, the demoness steadied herself besides her associate, balanced on her toes and crouched low, much like he was.

Shoulders lifting, Raven's head inclined in Damian's direction, shrugging, "That's irrelevant."

Tutting at her unexplanatory answer, Robin's fingers tugged his hood up, casting his image in to further darkness as he redirected the dialogue, his tone abrupt, "Authorities have reported fifteen armed individuals entering the bank below, do you concur?"

Surveying the scenario on the ground, Damian awaited Raven's confirmation, lip curling at the weightily embellished fir occupying the space in the centre of one of Gotham's numerous commercial squares. In the place of joy-makers and well-wishers (the folk one would expect to find at Christmas in so live an area) blue and red lights flared, sounding alarm to those in the area -warning them to stay back- because, of course, it was Christmas in Gotham.

Just a typical Christmas in Gotham, punctuated by shrill sirens rather than carols. Where there was a good chance that your bus driver was a villain's lackey and theft as common as breathing.

At least the Joker had been rather quiet, and Oswald Cobblepot hadn't tried to return, not even Mr Freeze was out and about, taking advantage of the cold. Things were...quiet.

Silent, even.

On the subject of silence, Raven finally broke it, "I sense twenty-three, spread about the ground floor and basement: fourteen top; nine below."

Standing to his full height, shrouded in shadow, Damian shook his head, "And father says you can trust Gordon's men. Tt."

Understanding the bitter humour behind his words, Raven's eyes rolled skyward, the corner of her lips lifting also. Seeing no need to dally any further, Raven summoned her magic, allowing the glow to encase her once more.

"Let's get this over with."

***

How pathetic.