( Steps are heavy and slow when he makes his way in, blue eyes beneath the grease paint gently taking note of everything there in the room. Gloved finger touching the edge of the door, he closes it, a soft click filling the silence between them. He stands there, cape gently resting around him and stares to the single lamp there in the room. This... is ideal. Having spent so much of his time the past two years in the dark β in the alleys of Gotham, light often throws him to the point where he needs a moment to adjust to it all, having become the nocturnal animal that he is.
When he finally regards the other man, his voice is soft albeit in a way that's very much Batman and not so much Bruce. )
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When he finally regards the other man, his voice is soft albeit in a way that's very much Batman and not so much Bruce. )
I take it you don't wear a suit anymore?