[ It'd be funny, if it wasn't because his world is a disaster. He sits up a little to take a cup to pour himself some tea, giving Stephen his time to sulk and contemplate the existential stupidity of alternate worlds. ]
[ Pulling back and putting both hands up, jeez fine. ]
If it makes you feel better, most of what happened was my old man's fault. [ Except maybe not, because Bruce isn't the least bit magical. ] He does that.
It doesn't. [ if he was a sorcerer, he should've done better. if he wasn't, that doesn't excuse the people with the ability to do so for their failure to put the world in order.
... but it is enough to alert Stephen to the fact that he's elsewhere and bring him back into focus. a lungful of air floods into his cheeks for a second then goes released in a heavy gust. okay. over it, he's over it. moving on.] Sorry.
[ Damian looks up. There's really no end to the bullshit that is his father in his eyes. ]
He spends most of his free time looking at the people around him to figure out their weaknesses, so he can strike those and force them to do what he wants. He shackled me to the floor of a windowless room and left me there for months, telling me he'd let me out if I'd fall back into line. I was fifteen.
[ at first, asshole seems like a good summary but the man still sounds like any old businessperson, exploitation being such a global industry. but then comes what follows, and any look of friendly agreement falls.
obviously some things had to have happened for Hafid to be the young man that he is, but Stephen had never really guessed at them. put it down to the life and times of a superhero made too young. which— yes, that's almost definitely part of it. helped along in no small part by a history of abuse and related trauma.
finally, after a few seconds of strained silence, a conclusion. ]
Asshole.
[ all the first thoughts (should've been reported to child services, did anyone call the cops) are too soft for this world of Hafid's, and absolutely no use to him now. so. asshole.
what he wouldn't give for a free trip to whatever fucking place Hafid was dragged in from. it needs some damn work. ]
[ There's always that satisfaction when someone agrees. When someone isn't blind to the glory of the Batman, and can see his failings for what they are. ]
My mother raised me to think for myself, despite all her other failings, and he never appreciated that trait.
Just as well she did. [ for all it regularly gets him into hot water, his capacity for independent thought is invaluable. it's also what makes him adaptable. and what gives him the ability to know an asshole when he's fathered by one.
speaking of hot water, the two full minutes might not quite be up but there has never been a more apt time for tea. Stephen gets up and crosses to pour, his own first to make sure Hafid's gets the longest possible brew time, and when they're both poured he sits himself down next to him on the couch rather than retreating back across the room. ]
[ He takes the tea, raises an eyebrow at the shift in position but doesn't comment on it. ]
I didn't get a childhood. [ He had the start of one. Briefly. In that big old mansion, with three brothers and a handful of people who looked at him and didn't see bloodshed waiting to happen. ] The second I could hold up my own head I was given a book and a sword. You make sacrifices to be the best.
[ there's an argument to be made there, but the book part isn't unfamiliar - the sword though. it's one thing trying to turn your kid into a doctor or a gymnast, but sculpting a quote unquote superhero? ]
Sacrifices are choices.
[ it's not seeming as though Hafid had the chance to make many of those when it came to the shape of his life. ]
[ it's not that he doesn't agree. Stephen himself has come up against some fairly extreme situations and, given the availability of infinite time or an excess of effort, opposed and ended them.
but a roadblock is something you can drive around. what they're dealing with here is more like an often invisible drawbridge with missing parts in the working mechanism that nobody knows how to fix. he still has faith that they're going to get out of here, eventually, but not before given enough time and effort is stretched to its absolute limits.
it's not a pleasant avenue to walk down. neither will be what he asks instead, doubtless, but better far away things than the truths on their doorstep. ]
A setback from what?
[ a roadblock implies a journey to a destination. where was his life headed before this? ]
Killing my father is the first thought that comes to mind, of course - but that's not something you can say to someone. But neither is any of the rest of what he's been doing since Talia broke him out of prison. ]
[ something about the hesitation, the tightness of Hafid's jaw, tells him that the way it should be is a subjective that he's not necessarily going to want to delve into right now.
comfort levels are a bad guide for good conversation. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ spoken from within the rage bubble, expression not changing in the least, barely even glancing his way. instinctive reaction to poor tea habits.
don't fuck up the tea, hafid. we've come this far. ]
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If it makes you feel better, most of what happened was my old man's fault. [ Except maybe not, because Bruce isn't the least bit magical. ] He does that.
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... but it is enough to alert Stephen to the fact that he's elsewhere and bring him back into focus. a lungful of air floods into his cheeks for a second then goes released in a heavy gust. okay. over it, he's over it. moving on.] Sorry.
The tea'll only need a couple of minutes.
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... is this next line of questioning likely to bite him in the ass? sure. but there's an opening and the man's come up twice already today, so. ]
You don't seem to be the biggest fan of your father.
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[ It's not a dangerous topic, at least. His hatred for his father runs deeper than anything else. ]
He's an asshole.
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Okay.
[ "okay" and silence, the universal one word prompt to elaborate without pushing too hard. ]
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He spends most of his free time looking at the people around him to figure out their weaknesses, so he can strike those and force them to do what he wants. He shackled me to the floor of a windowless room and left me there for months, telling me he'd let me out if I'd fall back into line. I was fifteen.
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obviously some things had to have happened for Hafid to be the young man that he is, but Stephen had never really guessed at them. put it down to the life and times of a superhero made too young. which— yes, that's almost definitely part of it. helped along in no small part by a history of abuse and related trauma.
finally, after a few seconds of strained silence, a conclusion. ]
Asshole.
[ all the first thoughts (should've been reported to child services, did anyone call the cops) are too soft for this world of Hafid's, and absolutely no use to him now. so. asshole.
what he wouldn't give for a free trip to whatever fucking place Hafid was dragged in from. it needs some damn work. ]
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My mother raised me to think for myself, despite all her other failings, and he never appreciated that trait.
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speaking of hot water, the two full minutes might not quite be up but there has never been a more apt time for tea. Stephen gets up and crosses to pour, his own first to make sure Hafid's gets the longest possible brew time, and when they're both poured he sits himself down next to him on the couch rather than retreating back across the room. ]
Sounds like quite a childhood.
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I didn't get a childhood. [ He had the start of one. Briefly. In that big old mansion, with three brothers and a handful of people who looked at him and didn't see bloodshed waiting to happen. ] The second I could hold up my own head I was given a book and a sword. You make sacrifices to be the best.
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Sacrifices are choices.
[ it's not seeming as though Hafid had the chance to make many of those when it came to the shape of his life. ]
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[ His voice is flat. ]
You just find a way to make the best of it.
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[ mm, says the man with nothing else to say. some pasts can't be undone. you don't have to like it, but you don't have to comment on it either. ]
Until you're whisked away to another universe and get to start finding a way to make the best of that instead.
[ one problem to the next, with every chance this kid will never get a break.
a sip of his tea. will any of them? ]
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[ Just as flatly. ]
This is a setback. Nothing more.
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[ equally flatly, though with no shortage of implied meaning.
pretty hefty setback as they go. ]
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[ Damian considers his words for a moment, instead of lashing out blindly or mocking Stephen for not understanding. ]
Whatever doesn't kill you permanently is just a roadblock. You can work around it given enough time and effort.
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but a roadblock is something you can drive around. what they're dealing with here is more like an often invisible drawbridge with missing parts in the working mechanism that nobody knows how to fix. he still has faith that they're going to get out of here, eventually, but not before given enough time and effort is stretched to its absolute limits.
it's not a pleasant avenue to walk down. neither will be what he asks instead, doubtless, but better far away things than the truths on their doorstep. ]
A setback from what?
[ a roadblock implies a journey to a destination. where was his life headed before this? ]
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Killing my father is the first thought that comes to mind, of course - but that's not something you can say to someone. But neither is any of the rest of what he's been doing since Talia broke him out of prison. ]
Putting my world back the way it should be.
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comfort levels are a bad guide for good conversation. ]
Watched over by the right ambassadors?
[ "ambassadors" ]
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That dream is dead. ]
Just stopping the wrong one from taking control.