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[justify][sup]Interacting With: [@Polaris North][/sup]

[i]Well,[/i] thought Leo with uncharacteristic charity, [i]it's certainly isolated. Mom didn't lie on that front[/i]. The academy was to be his base of operations for the foreseeable future – though he doubted it would ever be so warm and comfortable as to be considered 'home' – and loathed though he was to admit it, there were worse places he could be. The shape of some of the buildings (the dorms, perhaps?) was exquisitely expensive, the sort that might have fine modern art pieces in the hallways "just because". There would surely be something suitable to decorate his own room with.

As it was, he brought few things with him. Only an old backpack's worth. Everything else (and there was [i]a lot[/i] of 'else') had been sent ahead, with his mother calling in a favour with an old friend. It was partially the reason he was even there to begin with. Before Leo knew it, he had been corralled into the kitchen of their penthouse-slash-lair and informed that all of his precious belongings had been sent away, and that he was to go with them. That was Plan B, in case he didn't want to go. Plan A worked. Catwoman knew just how to convince someone of his sort with a just a handful of little words: "Don't you want to learn to be like me?"

They weren't going to teach him that, Leo was sure. The only way one could learn to be Catwoman was on the streets of Gotham, in sweaty dojos and opulent galas alike. Something different, then.

For someone who had never seen the outside of Gotham in his life, Leo considered it an interesting diversion from the rest of his life; a heist in which he didn't know what he was looking for yet. It would take a night or two to explore the academy, but after that, he could begin to pick out the best spots for lonely hearts and high vantage points that required a good climb to get to. What would he even look at up there? Fields? There were no high-rises to speak of.

With a curious dark gaze, Leo surveyed the others. There might be something interesting for him to look at; a motley crew that rivalled the sort of mismatched crooks in locked up in Blackgate Penitentiary. Judging by the colourful cast and the one boy who was "[i]Frank fricking Sage[/i]", Arkham Asylum might have been more apt.

Big cats [i]fascinated[/i] Leo, and they always had. The skulking elegance of a panther, the vibrancy of a tiger, and the untiring huntresses in the Savannah providing for their pride. Catwoman brought one home once – not a lion, no, but a Bengal, raised in captivity and sold to some gangster. She promptly stole him away to her apartment, where she lay around on him like a sofa and patted him like a pet cat, until he expressed his desire to leave, at which point she found a home for him. Leo had cried for [i]days[/i] when he woke up and realised that the short-lived experience was over. It was before he accepted that these things happened.

He could have done what Selina Kyle would have done. Mom would stalk right up there and schmooze until whatever caught her eye returned his or her attention. [i]Something different[/i], he reminded himself. Leo skirted around the edges of the group until he was on the fringes, eyes flickering from student to student. A woman with a cigar – that was a dirty habit. Another red-head – wasn't that a dying gene?

In the end, Leo didn't head towards the girl with the lions, or the smoker, or the clearly sane person talking to himself. It wasn't charity so much as it was curiosity. He had heard rumours of the masked vigilante in Manhattan, whose identity was recently unveiled, being able to see without [i]seeing[/i]. Padding wordlessly and noiselessly towards the boy with the cane, falling into step with him, he asked, [color=536099]"Need a hand?" [/color]
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