Dream

[redlyreflecting]

There isn't a carousel near the lake in Robinson Park, but you can't tell Tim's mind that; his mental Gotham resembles no Gotham in existence, a ragged, overlapping collection of impressions from the city that was his home, the city he lives in, and the city he trains in. The music is tinkly and off-key, punctuated by distant gunfire. The sun is

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[bishie_beastboy]

Walking out from behind the cover of a stand of trees, Changeling isn't suprised to see Tim, but he's not interested in jostling past the crowd of waiting people or talking to the not-Bruce-Wayne. He skirts around the edge in a wide arc, in plain view and most likely sticking out since he's the only green person there, to a spot where he can watch both Tim and the carousel.

[redlyreflecting]

He can watch Tim step sideways around the bench and gut someone, then. Dream combat is never fast enough, never really a fight: it's like there are several seconds simply missing from the entire sequence of stabbing and the target falling over, and the blood is warm and red but rolls off of them like drops of oil. In this dream, anyway, death seems to be just another story element, something anticipated but not yet here. He sets the body rolling toward the lake with a shove of his foot. Not-Bruce hands him a handkerchief; Tim wipes the knife clean. Nobody seems particularly alarmed. The carousel plunks on.

[bishie_beastboy]

Well, that was more interesting than the carousel. Changeling waits until Tim is done cleaning up after himself before walking closer, although he's still uncomfortable enough around Bruce-figures to keep a larger distance than normal - for him, at least. "What was wrong with that one?"

[redlyreflecting]

Tim jerks at Changeling's voice, expression both startled and aggravated. Instead of answering, he drops the knife and attempts to take the other boy by the shoulders to march them both off away from not-Bruce, who doesn't seem to have noticed.