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Among the various abilities Conner had conjured to be in his own capabilities, the concept that sound may be not only amplified, but constantly audible was almost alien to him. Pausing, stopping all focused, planned, marginalized movement would result in a sudden sweep of voices, songs, and the vibrating sounds of machinery in the base. He could barely stand it, and continued moving toward; checking how M'gann was doing, spar with Dick if he was up for it, anything to flood out the noise. This was just an inconvenience, he decided, a shallow rejection to his own powers, and come one time or another he would learn to adapt. But not now, not when he needed be responsible with his own strength, stay in the line, and make sure nobody got hurt.
John slipped the sunglasses off the bridge of Dave's noise, dangling then in his hands and not quite sure what to make of them. Witnessing his friend wear the things so often quickly became a day-to-day basis, and had taken John more than it should have to realize that they were in fact, detachable from the Strider person. If anything, sunglasses might as well be hereditary. The sole unique trait of the Strider bloodlines, and the constant source for their undeniable coolness. John contemplated what to do with the glasses, gazing down at them once again before deciding that their place was better with Dave. He could've been ironically fantastic, or just as personally bland, but John usually enjoyed himself more without being those.
Okay so it was a fake, no big deal. Tim could deal with that. In fact, if anything, he'd suspected the stupid thing wasn't real in the first place. Kon laughed and shrugged it off, sure it gave him every possibility of seeming the most rebellious on the team, but Tim's discontent was hardly the moving force he thought it to be. They had an image to uphold, Tim said, the least they could do was uphold a decent reputation. Of course Bart had the least to say about the matter, because if anything he was the most unaware of the obvious urgency their argument had come to.
No
Not according to mission
"Look," Dick was trying his best to stay composed, which was normally a pretty easy thing for him to do. Deep breath in, deep breath out, and just don't make eye contact. Or maybe not, making eye contact was good. Do that, people take you more seriously - didn't Bruce say something like that once?
In fact, maybe Wally was the one who had told him that. Although that was a kind of ridiculous and obviously out of place notion because if anyone knew how to stay still, it wasn't a particular ginger.
Things were a lot harder when you couldn't take you eyes off him, though.
Koyomi Araragi found situations embedded to himself the same manner in which he had witnessed Shinbou linger in whatever dank, frozen place she normally found herself about. Nonetheless, he accepted them. Not that he would have any opportunity to refuse, because just as he would something even more terrible would wind around to swat him in the face. In fact, this too was just as synched in his existence just as complex and ultimately disfiguring excitement was. Vampires were, afterward, somewhat off the beaten track and then maybe thrown around against a wall some.
Tonight wouldn't be difficult at all. Muzuni rubbed the bandages running down her shoulder, and then the ones that tightened themselves around the wrists. Combat was built on a stagnant discipline with involved the constant belief that there would still remain a plausible outcome for you in the end. In fact, the blow to the chin hadn't felt like a concern, a possibly wouldn't become one in the future. The pins pricked against the tips of her other good hand, leaving sharp little prods and then somehow vanishing. Sewing was another thing, maybe a tad too violent for a manual hobby, but nothing as explosive as practice with her brother.
Tim's connection to the family was of course, strained. Mud clotted on his boots would drag into the mansion after missions, which Alfred would silently comply to taking care of. Although it wasn't as if he had suspected adversity in the teen in his distinct lack in communicative appreciation. Today was just a bit bleak, bad, not his good side. The Robin suit would need its customary amount of repairs to be applied here and there. The mask could be taken cared of later, there wasn't much use for it when he was with father.
In the single moment when thirty seconds evolve into a whole minute, Jason counted each of his breaths in the back of mind as he grasped the rope. He could feel the thick material stitch against his gloves, and pressed his knees together like Bruce had told him. Suddenly he was more than hundred feet over Gotham, lost in the unexpected rush of adrenaline and quickening pounding in his chest.
Shawok laughed, and leaned over Ken's shoulder with the camera in her right hand. The sunlight glared off the lenses, suddenly lashing away from the device into a single line. Each fraction of light was merged into hundred of individual strips, collected and merging together into a blazing white color. Ken held his breath and glanced over his shoulder as Shawok pulled away, lowering the camera and turning it around. The lenses had been unfortunately burnt, stripping the device of any use it may have had. However there already were higher obligations at hand; the collected light had already begun to curve and collapse on to itself.
The volume of electricity was profound, and sent a horrifying rumble throughout the dorm. Aian stepped back, afraid for his own safety and gazed up at the flickering blue sparks surrounding him. They leaped into the air, striking the ceiling and just as quickly vanishing out of existence.
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