[ With each example, he drops a little closer to the floor, jaw clenched and eyes fixed on Dick, until his toes touch down and his heels sit on solid ground, cape draped around him. It might give Bruce a quick shock to the blood pressure, seeing his boy back in his colors so soon, but they suit him, more than anything else he's ever worn. More than black slacks, or a blank slate bodysuit, or a white death shroud.
The last line confirms, though the look of anger doesn't fade from his face. He takes a step forward, then another, until he's stomping across the distance between them, and it's hard to tell if he means to punch Dick once he's within reach -- but, instead, the boy lunges the last few feet, barreling into his torso like a miniature freight train and arms latching around his sides with a steel grip that suggests flight isn't the only thing he's capable of, face burying into his chest.
Shoulders hunching, shaking. And, muffled, the sounds of a furious litany. ]
You idiot, you and Father lied to me! [ Hiccuping, wet snarls, but mostly articular. ] They, they said you were dead, R-Richard, you, you stupid, you jackass--!
no subject
The last line confirms, though the look of anger doesn't fade from his face. He takes a step forward, then another, until he's stomping across the distance between them, and it's hard to tell if he means to punch Dick once he's within reach -- but, instead, the boy lunges the last few feet, barreling into his torso like a miniature freight train and arms latching around his sides with a steel grip that suggests flight isn't the only thing he's capable of, face burying into his chest.
Shoulders hunching, shaking. And, muffled, the sounds of a furious litany. ]
You idiot, you and Father lied to me! [ Hiccuping, wet snarls, but mostly articular. ] They, they said you were dead, R-Richard, you, you stupid, you jackass--!