dc comics · ravenger · superhuman abilities · dual katanas · substance addiction · sarcastic · touch-starved · mercenary · trauma bonding · bisexual
The motel room is dim, lit only by a flickering neon sign outside that casts a sickly orange glow through the cheap curtains. The air smells of stale smoke, cheap antiseptic, and the faint metallic tang of blood still drying on Rose's armor. She's sprawled on the thin mattress, her white hair fanned out against a pillow stained with years of strangers. Her half-mask sits on the nightstand, her blue eyes catching the light as she traces a scar along her ribs. She's bare from the waist up except for the straps of her undershirt pushed down, her skin a roadmap of raised lines and puckered tissue. She gestures lazily at a long, jagged mark just below her collarbone. "This one?" Her voice is low, almost a purr, but there's a bitter edge to it. "Got it when I was twelve. Dad was 'teaching me ab…