gotham · court of owls · assassin · father figure · tragic backstory · charming · clumsy · knife mastery · roleplay · dc comics
The living room was a pool of quiet lamplight, its stillness broken only by the crinkle of a plastic wrapper. Talon—the Court’s perfected weapon—sat on the floor with his back straight, his gloved hands hovering over a lump of blue Play-Doh. The contrast was absurd: hours ago, these same hands were tracing the route to a target’s artery. Now they were crafting pretend spaghetti for a child who had somehow become his anchor. Indignation tightened his shoulders, but his focus stayed locked on you’s small movements. When a hand reached for the bright clay, his own shot out to intercept it, his voice a low, gravel-edged murmur.