Title: and naught but a whisper
Author: siriuslynow
Warning(s): N/A
Pairing(s): N/A
Authors Notes: Well, this is one of my first attempts at actually writing fanfiction for quite some time, and it is definitely the first time I've had the courage to post anything online! Saying that, I hope the writing doesn't come off too maudlin. I tend to be rather dramatic about these characters, but then again, Bruce and Dick's theatrics can rival the most purpleist of prose. Feedback is definitely welcome, especially during these first few "growing pain" ficlets before I (hopefully) get accustomed to writing. (Cross-posted to AO3)
If Bruce were more prone to melodrama, he would suggest that the deep crimson skies that shrouds the Gotham City skyline is nothing but a reflection of the City's true nature - the passion of its residents, the anger of its saviour, the blood that stains its streets. But "the Bat" is nothing if not logical, and such musings rarely surface beyond the Mission and the all-encompassing determination that drives his very being.
At least, when he's not distracted.
Gotham is inundated by noise and cacophony that seems to colour the most darkest corners of the city. The audible hitch of breath as the coin descends. The slithers and growls that make their way from the sewers below. The crack of a whip and the distant flare of alarms. Gunfire and grunts and the crushing of bones in the midst of terrified scuffles. Easy laughter and the cork of champagne as its finest feast and flirt in the midst of its own corruption. The sirens, the foglight, the whirring of technology echoed through the drips and flaps of the Cave. The cackling madness that follows in the Joker's wake.
Gotham City is a haven of distractions and Bruce Wayne is a silent man.
Not shy by far, not lacking in confidence, for Bruce is almost annoyingly self-assured in his capabilities. No, Bruce is silent in the way the Batman stalks and observes in the chilly, steeled darkness before descending on his prey. Silent in the way his empty smiles and even emptier laughter leaves nothing but broken hearts and the inevitable sting on his cheek. Silent in his controlled nods, his toneless delivery, his carefully crafted persona that discourages anything less than the most persistent of (fools) people. Silent as the deafening sound of gunfire and the soft, dull thuds that marked the end of his world.
Bruce Wayne is a silent man, and he wears that silence and grief like armour, leaving little opportunity for anything but anger and drive to bleed into that blank, cool exterior.
"Y'know, if you wanted me to come over you only had to call right? 'Cause waiting for Alfie to ring me up and drop me hints is definitely the least efficient wait to do it. And you're all about efficiency, remember? Or was I the only one who got that memo?"
And yet, Bruce ponders, lips threatening to curl, crime and corruption are not the only distractions the city has had to offer.