( closed )

[imaginate]

Characters: Kyle & various.
Date: Catch-all log for July.
Location: All around.
Situation: Various.
Warnings/Rating: War horrors, child abuse, mention of torture, physical and psychological.
Notes: [Action] or prose are all good. Ping me if you'd like a specific setup/threadstarter.

Comments

[demon_brat]

... stop confusing him, Kyle.

"I can what?"

Though his voice is genuinely baffled, rather than pushy-confused. Another thing that Damian Wayne has no reference for.

[imaginate]

'I'm going to try and get some sleep.' The knife from earlier, he puts next to him. He's still angry, hurt, and suspicious, although it's less sharp.

'A story. You know. Fiction.' He pulls a futon mattress and blanket onto the floor, adjusts it so he's comfortable and then pats the ground next to him for Damian to sit.

'In theory they help people sleep.'

OH OH OH and this is how we get to that other idea...

[demon_brat]

Damian settles on the floor beside him, for all the world looking like it's the most comfortable place in the room, and cants his head.

"Fiction. Will a play do?"

Because the works of fiction that he has bothered to learn by heart is fairly limited.

walking into them nbd

[imaginate]

'A play's fine.' Beat. 'Shakespeare?'

tmw the characters line themselves up for plots without pushing.

[demon_brat]

Well...

"Yes."

[imaginate]

He adjusts slightly where he is and glances briefly at the ceiling, before turning on his side and looking intently at Damian.

'Okay. Hm. Do you know all of them or just a few?'

[demon_brat]

Neither.

"A little more than half."

[imaginate]

Now it was a game of Guess Which Plays Damian Knows. The popular ones, probably yes, but he wasn't really feeling like listening to a tale about a bloodbath, even if it was symbolic. Nor was he terribly concerned about the history plays.

'Twelfth Night?'

[demon_brat]

"If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die."

It only takes Damian a moment, to sift through to the right beginning.

[imaginate]

'That strain again! it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,' he continues, smiling.

Then, a slightly ominous pause as he waggles a finger at Damian. 'Don't tell anyone that I know.'

They don't deserve to know.

[demon_brat]

"Why would anyone ever ask?" Why would they ask Damian, that is.

But, no, he is unlikely to tell.

"Is that the one you want as a 'bedtime story'?"

[imaginate]

'People get ideas, sometimes.' He waves a dismissive hand and shifts to being extremely attentive, while remaining as comfortable as possible in the blankets.

'Yeah. Go on.'

[demon_brat]

Damian's lips twitch.

"Not around me, they don't."

Not those kinds of ideas, at least.

The boy straightens his back, then starts on the play. It takes about twenty verses before he's doing voices, too, only a little. It is a play, after all, and - rarely as that shows - he does have a good imagination.