[Bruce is full of things he doesn't say, but there are some secrets he's better at keeping than others. He can acknowledge that he's still, in many ways, a work in progress- but he'd like to believe that what Selina once told him was the truth. He's changing. Being outside of Gotham, with no faces that knew him Before, he has no way to measure an objective After. The opal comes away in his hand and even now, after the destruction of the bridges and the isolation of the city, after Gotham has been an annexed warzone for a year, the fear he'd felt in that moment washes over him again. Will the little bitch ever walk again? Then the rage.
Bruce's jaw tightens, and the opal is put carefully into his pocket.
His gaze goes to the man's lantern instead, a well honed reflex at this point. Like fingerprints each is a distinct representation of its bearer, so few share even a common shape. And perhaps caught off guard by the sentiment, by what can really only be considered a show of kindness, Bruce huffs a short breath through his nose. It could generously be called a laugh.]
That's one way to put it.
[Bruce's expression doesn't quite soften, but it does open, just a little. He's always had a curious nature and Beacon hasn't dampened it in the slightest.]
no subject
Bruce's jaw tightens, and the opal is put carefully into his pocket.
His gaze goes to the man's lantern instead, a well honed reflex at this point. Like fingerprints each is a distinct representation of its bearer, so few share even a common shape. And perhaps caught off guard by the sentiment, by what can really only be considered a show of kindness, Bruce huffs a short breath through his nose. It could generously be called a laugh.]
That's one way to put it.
[Bruce's expression doesn't quite soften, but it does open, just a little. He's always had a curious nature and Beacon hasn't dampened it in the slightest.]
How's your project going?