Chapter Text
Damian twitched with barley controlled energy. His fingers drummed on the kitchen table as he shifted restlessly in his seat. He longs to break something. Quick fingers shuffle through the sheets paper scattered across the table, putting them in some semblance of order. He couldn't get any more done tonight, not with this restlessness making it impossible to focus.
He idly doodles on the corner of a file folder before losing interest.
A well-aimed thrown leaves Bruce's fountain pen lodged in the kitchen ceiling.
Damian rolls his shoulders, trying to release some of the tension. In a flurry of motion he pushes back from the table, the chair skidding across the polished floor. He gets to his feet, hurrying into the sitting room and up to the grandfather clock. He halts in front of the unassuming fixture, chewing the inside of his lip as he collects himself.
He really shouldn't, its cold and drizzling and his father certainly would not approve and they are doing so well....
He takes a step closer. It's not like Bruce would find out immediately. He could leave and be back within a few hours, he's sure of it. He just needs to let go, break a few people things, free fall from the observatory, perhaps crash a back room poker game or two...
He stalks forward and opens the grandfather clock, making his way down the steps and to the locker room before he changes his mind.
Damian dresses quickly, slipping on flexible black armour instead of his usual bright fare. He clips on a matte black utility belt and a re-purposed cape (from Grayson's stint as The Bat), before carefully applying a white mask over his eyes. He uses one of the display cases as a mirror to make sure it's straight. Next is a mask to cover the lower half of his face. It is detailed to look like a skull, and the effect is rather striking, if he does say so himself. He peers at his reflection in one of the suit displays and frowns, the cape it a bit much….
He tosses it in the vicinity of his work table as he heads to the vehicle port, stopping only to pick up a pair of T-batons. He selects one of Drakes old bikes, doing a quick sweep for any trackers before hightailing it out of the cave and towards the city. The thick smell of rain invades his senses even though none falls from the overcast sky and he breaths deeply. The view as he crosses the bridge is spectacular. The city glows as if it was lit by fire rather than electric lamps, the bustle growing louder as. Damian ditches the bike as soon as he enters Old Gotham, taking to the rooftops as he begins to search for entertainment his patrol.