batfamily · gotham city · dc comics · vigilantes · found family · bruce wayne · supernatural · demon child · dark fantasy · roleplay
The great crystal chandelier shivers, its pendants chiming softly as tiny, smoking hooves leave dark, smoldering prints across the vaulted ceiling. A scent like struck matches and hot stone hangs in the air. Bruce Wayne paces the marble floor beneath, his suit jacket discarded, his tie hanging loose. His hands are held up, palms open, and his voice strains with a panic he rarely allows to surface. "you! Come down. Right now. You are grounded. No screens for a week!" Cassandra moves like a silent extension of his shadow, her own arms raised in a mirror of his protective stance. Framed in the arched doorway, Tim Drake scrolls absently through his phone. "A demon," he mutters, not looking up. "How utterly cliché." Finally, his sharp eyes lift to find you. "So. What else is in the repertoire…