[img]https://imgur.com/9tdVJpN.png[/img] The sun was shining in Gotham. There were old scars on the woman’s face and on her hands. They disappeared up the sleeve of her jacket and down the neck of her shirt, and cut through her black eyebrow. Cassandra always stood out from the crowd one way or the other. Anyone who saw her passing by would naturally wonder why. A question that was usually on her mind, as well. It looked like this was the place. A nice house, only a few streets away from the coast. Though from what had been said about her, the large windows and friendly welcome mat belied a veritable fortress. Doctor Leslie Thompkins was a very busy woman. She had a lot of people to help. Cassandra felt guilty for taking up her time- there were people that needed Doctor Thompkin’s help much more than her. Deserved it more. Cassandra was kindly informed that this kind of self-talk was exactly the reason she should be contributing a single measly hour a week to visiting her. And she was one of the only Doctor’s in Gotham, the world, even, that could be trusted with the knowledge Cassandra was about to impart upon her. Because, apparently, this was a tell-all situation. Cassandra did not have very much experience with telling, let alone tell-alling. Regardless, she knocked on the door, feeling her heart rate tick up. She had faced death as much as any superhero, and like many of them, she knew that social interactions were always the scariest part. That was just the truth. Anyone that said otherwise was either a liar or in the wrong profession. The kindly older woman opened the door and smiled warmly at Cassandra. From what Bruce had told her of Leslie, she used to be a mortician. But that was some time ago, and apparently somewhere along the way she had taken a little more interest in seeing people alive rather than dead. But only a little. What type of person went to school for fun? A dangerous person, definitely. “Cassandra.” She said. “It’s good to see you. I’m glad you could make it.” Uh huh. Okay, killer. Cassandra could see the resolve and strength of this woman behind her eyes. Battle hardened steel, the type of revealed strength only found when one dedicates herself to fighting humanity’s hardest battles. A trial by fire, entered voluntarily. somewhere Immediately, Cassandra felt small and stupid in comparison. Swords are lame after all, actually. “Um. I’m here for the therapy thing.” Cass said, struggling to make eye contact. They say eyes are the window to the soul. For Cassandra they were more like an open door to the soul. Or simply a hole that was easy to fall into. The depths were often dizzying. Cassandra wasn’t the only person who could read people. “That’s what I’m here for.” Doctor Thompkins said. “I spent a few years in my off time learning how to do the therapy thing.” Cassandra’s eyebrows quirked upward. “Sorry, my Doctorate isn’t in therapy.” She grinned. “But beggars can’t be choosers, right?” Her teeth were shiny. Intrusively, she knew how and saw what would happen if she broke them. Cassandra blinked hard, pinching her nose. “I’m sorry. I do not mean to judge. I’m just…” She trailed off. “Don’t apologize. There’s no being sorry in this house. Come on in, I’ll make you some tea.” Cassandra was silent as she was welcomed into Thompkin’s home. The tea was warm in her hands. It tasted great. Was the secret ingredient love? That kind of brotherly, sisterly love for all mankind? Probably. Cassandra wouldn’t doubt it. So here she was. In the therapy room. Like she had seen in the movies. A wise person sitting behind a desk, and a silly person about to pour their damn heart out. Uuugh. Ugh! Maybe she’d get lucky and someone would try to assassinate Thompkins. Then after saving the Doctor’s life, Cassandra could say ‘see everything worked out in the end, I have superpowers! Okay, goodbye!’ But no dice. It didn’t happen. So Cassandra just sat there, staring at her murky brown reflection in the tea. Doctor Thompkins waited patiently. The room was quiet. Safe. Cassandra knew more than anyone what a safe place looked and felt like. Doctor Thompkins had just gone over in detail what to expect from the session, recapping how long it would be and how little pressure their was. This was Cassandra’s time. And of course Cassandra believed her, the Doctor was about as earnest and honest as a person could get. Didn’t make it any easier, though. One would think that people able to tell exactly how people were feeling and potentially even what they were thinking about would make talking easier. “Have you ever visited a psychologist before, Cassandra?” Cassandra shook her head. As soon as she did, she knew Doctor Thompkins was looking for something more than a nonverbal response. “Your guardian told me about your abilities. You can read my body language, right?” Cassandra nodded, shrugged. Kind of. It’s more than that. “How do you feel about that ability of yours?” A question she couldn’t shake or nod her head at. She supposed that she could just sit here and shrug the entire time if she wanted to be stubborn and petulant. And it was a good question. A very hard question to answer. Cassandra opened her mouth and expected words to come out, but nothing did. “...I…” Cassandra said, false starting. “I feel…good about them. But also, bad.” She said, and then face palmed. “It’s all right. There’s no wrong answers, no stupid answers, here.” Thompkins said, and she believed what she said. “Do you think you can elaborate on your feelings?” “It is…hard.” Cassandra said. “Because my powers come from a bad place. The place where I came from.” — Snow-capped peaks, blood stained compounds. Far, far away from Gotham. Here was where shadows lurked, the darkest place in the world. Umbral tendrils slithered out from this cave and others like it, seeking out spots of light to snuff out. [i] The place where I was grown, where I was built, and allegedly, where I was born. We figured out later I was with the League of Shadows. But at the time, it was just my home.[/i] Within the dark recesses of this place, David Cain was constructing his magnum opus. The perfect weapon. [i] I wasn’t an assassin like the others. I wasn’t supposed to think. I was to be brought along. And at the right moment, one of my superiors would point me in the direction of our enemies. At least, that’s how it started. But that’s for later, I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I was a curious little kid. They tried to keep two steps ahead of me but, nobody’s perfect. Every once in a while I would slip away. The rule was ‘no talking’. Nobody talk around Cassandra.[/i] — Cassandra had paused, feeling the Doctor’s question. She knew the Doctor was keen on simply letting her client speak, too, but… a few seconds of eye contact and Thompkin’s got the message. “No talking?” Leslie Thompkins uncrossed her leg and leaned forward, holding her notebook. “Can you explain what you mean by that?” “No talking.” Cassandra repeated. “Nobody talked around me, or to me. I never talked. I did not learn a language like you.” “...I see. That must have been very difficult for you. You’ve come a long way, then.” “Yes. I had help.” Cassandra smiles fondly. “Please, continue.” — [i]But I could eavesdrop. Overhear them. I didn’t know what they were saying, but I knew they were speaking. There was no love in that place. They were not supposed to care for each other. But every once in a while, some of them did.[/i] The assassins spoke quietly in the corridor, clad in form fitting black clothing, faces concealed even within the parameters of their own base. Peering at them from gaps in the wood, her eyes were reflective like an animal in the underbrush. Fear gripped the hardened killer’s heart as they caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of her eye. Turning to look, she was gone. Anger would come next, or perhaps doubt. Either way, resentment was growing. It was hard not to feel like one was always being watched. There was a ghost in this building. Rumors spread amongst the ranks of assassins. They had work to do. They couldn’t be distracted by this…mutated child David Cain was creating. [i]I liked listening to them talk. But soon even when they were sure I wasn’t around, they spoke barely above a whisper. I couldn’t hear the nonsense babble anymore. Sometimes it still all feels like nonsense babble. I don’t think in words. Whatever I say, it always sounds better in my head. But when I try to say it to you, or anyone, it…it…[/i] — “It…it gets more bad.” Cassandra said, and then set out to correct herself. “Badder. No- worse. It gets worse when I say it. When it is in my head, it is easy. Sorry.” “That’s quite alright. I can understand you fine. Remember what I said about apologizing?” “Yes, I do. Sorry.” A skeptical look from Doctor Thompkins. Cassandra smiled. “That was a joke.” She clarified. She took another sip of her tea and then glanced around. “How long do we have left?” “Well, that was about…two minutes. So forty-eight minutes.” Doctor Thompkins said. “Forty-eight-” Cassandra began, then shut her mouth. This was…going to be a long session.