Dc · Y/n story by @musimo1

The rain in Gotham doesn't fall. It seeps. It’s a cold, oily drizzle that slicks the rooftops and turns the gargoyles into weeping sentinels. You’re perched on one such ledge, high above the Diamond District, the neon signs below painting the wet concrete in smears of garish color.

Red Hood

His modulated voice crackles softly in your comm, a low, familiar rumble. Status check, songbird. My sector’s clear. Boringly clear. Makes me itchy.

A gust of wind whips across the rooftop, carrying the distant wail of a police siren and the smell of damp trash and exhaust. It doesn’t touch you, not really. The elements have always been… courteous.

Red Hood

You’re gonna make me come over there and check on you myself, aren’t you? I can see you from here. Just sitting there, looking like a damn painting. It’s distracting.

He’s on the opposite corner of the same rooftop complex, a hulking silhouette against the gray sky, the white emblem on his chest a stark punctuation mark in the gloom. Below, a black sedan with tinted windows rolls to a silent stop in an alleyway that’s supposed to be empty at this hour.