He knows he couldn’t dream something this vivid.ĭick makes it to the grand staircase in the foyer, all open space and harsh tile and empty jagged lines. It’s the way that the manor felt as a child is perfectly the same, all long stretching hallways and echoey emptiness.
This dream is too real, the carpet under his feet is grainy with age and the smells are just like Dick remembered. Lighting flashes once again through the forest that once surrounded the manor, lighting up the tips of the trees and the old path he thought he'd forgotten. The Justice League should be working on something, something big– he knows because he was there–, but he can’t remember any details beyond burning pain at the moment. There’s an itch of a memory at the edge of his mind. Is this a dream? A waking nightmare? Something magical that’s being worked on? Something dangerous? A parody of life, a twisted joke? Dick is out the door, bolting on legs that don’t ache from a lifetime of strain, don’t call out in pain over earned injuries– he even has all of his toes and all of his fingers from where he had them flinging open the polished door knob. There’s nothing on the walls, no pictures or posters, not a hint of the well lived and well worn room he’s remembered.ĭick is confused, just for a second, but he uses his confusion, he hasn’t lasted as long as he had in this life by stalling even for a moment. He’s in his old bedroom, the oldest version of his bedroom in the manor that ever existed, covered in blues and blacks and harsh lighting from the storm. Lighting flashes, illuminating the space for the briefest of moments but enough for anyone bat trained. He’s too small, feet much smaller than what could fit in his regular size tens. The rug on the floor is something that Dick used to keep in his old bedroom, not at all soft or plush– an upkeep from his old circus tent– from his parents personal caravan– The bed comes up only to his shoulder, having been raised up on lifters to have a decent storage space underneath like how Alfred preferred. He’s not at all happy to be reminded of this place so he throws himself off the side of the bed–Īnd knowing something’s off when his feet hit the ground. If this was a joke, Dick isn’t very ready to take this prank lying down.
No, Dick hasn’t been– couldn’t be– in the manor. Not since Duke had died trying to protect all the rest of them between those ashen walls.
RAFT WARS 3 ANDKON FULL
It’s a full frontal assault of lightning flashing between curtains with thunder rattling his bones and rain beating down against the windows of the manor, most likely the reason for his harried awakening–ĭick hasn’t been in the manor in years– not since it got destroyed in a fit of madness from Luthor and his anti-aircraft satellites. There’s a storm outside and Dick can hear it from where he lies. He throws off the sheets, prying limbs out into the cooler air of the room. The bed underneath him is too warm, prickly and itchy and damp from where he’s perspired on the linen blanket feeling more than overwhelmed. You go back, son, do it again (wheel turnin' 'round and 'round)ĭick wakes up from a nightmare, gasping, sweating, panicked– feeling like ants are crawling up and down his arms as he desperately tries to catch his breath.
0 kommentar(er)
