Starter for @not-a-vamp-wayne
Oliver Queen waited patiently on the stone steps to the manor house his family owned. He was stood straight as a soldier, but only half as a stern. He was in good spirits all things considered.
Only back among the living for..what was it now? Two weeks. Yes, two weeks thatās right. Heād been so busy heād nearly forgot how little time heād been back
The nighttime breeze picked up, moonlight bathing the gated yard in tranquil light. Crickets chirped and morning larks slept, a peaceful night it was.
As he waited Oliver pondered on why his old friend had insisted on meeting after dark. Was it not best to meet during the day when the sun is warm and world in cheery spirits? He should think so at least.
But this was not the only point of curiousity, the name signed..Bruce..Oliver did not know that name, he hadnāt been in town long enough to hear the latest goings on. The man had wondered if his old friend had been wed, but that didnāt make sense. Heād written his letter to his friend. What sort of husband writes and signs on behalf of his beloved?
Not a one that Oliver respects, that much was certain. He inhaled sharply, and looked down the road. The manor house just a ways outside of Gotham, he hoped his friend would join him soon, in as good spirits as fate would allow.
Receiving a letter from Oliver Queen himself had been a surprise, to say the least. Bruce had heard he was back from wherever he had disappeared to for all of those years when everyone thought Oliver had died; Bruce had thought Oliver had died, too. At least, he thought so after there was still no sign of the man for going on two years, and then all of the years that followed. Bruce had accepted it. Even with word that Oliver had come back, Bruce wasnāt entirely sure he believed it. In fact, he thought it may have been an imposter who simply looked how everyone expected Oliver might have if he survived all those years later. The letter was a surprise.
Bruce had remembered feeling an odd sense of shock when he opened the letter and read through its contents. The usage of his old, long-gone name hadnāt surprised him very much; Oliver had never known him as he was now, simply known him as her. He paid no mind to that. What Bruce did pay mind to, though, was the cadence of the writing, how different it seemed to sound from the Oliver he knew. It intrigued him. So, naturally, he responded, writing out an agreement to meet in his neat, cursive penmanship, requesting the hour he needed to accommodate his limitations that he deliberately made no elaboration on. Finally, he signed his name, his chosen name, and the letter was delivered. Now, a mere three days after receiving Oliverās confirmation of location, date and time, Bruce found himself staring through the window of the carriage car he rode in at the old manor heād spent time at with Oliver a few times before in their youth.
He lifted a hand and knocked on the front wall of the carriage to signal to the driver to stop, āThis is good. Wait for my return,ā he heard himself say, voice calm and even, though internally he could feel his own undead heard thumping heavily in his chest from his own anxiety. There was always the chance Oliver reacted badly to him. It wouldnāt be the first time Bruce met with someone he had known before the change in presentation, or before the change in humanity. Others had not reacted kindly, and he feared the same from Oliver, though he would never admit it aloud. Still, despite his anxieties, he opened the door of the carriage and stepped out, short-heeled boots meeting gravel, the tail of his long coat falling at his sides from the movement. He closed the door, thanked the driver, and made his way slowly towards the steps where he could make out Oliver easily in the dark.Ā
Bruce was near silent as he approached, even the gravel beneath his shoes barely made a sound, but his eyes were sharp and watchful and a gloved hand lifted in greeting to Oliver as he neared the steps. āIt has been some time,ā he heard himself say, his own voice feeling somewhat detached, though Bruce knew well that that was just his anxiety pulling his mind away from the rest of him, āitās good to see you, Oliver.ā Bruce had come to a stop at the foot of the stairs as he finished speaking, letting his hand lower to his side. Oliver looked different, now, that much Bruce could tell. But, Bruce knew he himself looked different, too. His hair was shorter, styled more like the menās hair of the time, though some of the texture, no matter how much pomade he combed into it, would not fully tame, leading to some of the waves in his hair standing out still. His skin was still as pale as ever, a soft red to his cheeks, and his pale, almost silvery blue eyes stood out with a glassy, window-like look to them catching subtly in the moonlight.
Oliver looked at the man before him, confusion written along his furrowed brows. His old friend, while is wasnāt especially surprising to think of wearing menās clothes. Given how roguish heād remembered his friend to be in their youth. And the name..
āBruce..ā he said, returning the hand shake. His grip was firm, but friendly. His mustached lips pursed into a curious grin as he committed the name to memory.
āItās good to see you as well old friend.ā
The change was a surprise, but there was no malice in Oliverās heart toward his changed friend. Oliver wasnāt sure he entirely understood the change, but he believed in a persons libertyās very strongly. A lot of his feelings towards such personal presentations had changed. His own way of expression had changed gone was the clean shaven youngster, now he stood with facial hair and tight ringleted hair. A shape that came naturally to him that in the past heād been embarrassed by, due to perceived femininity. Now he wore them proudly.
He was adorned in a pastel green suit, upon his breast was a boutonniĆØre of forget me not flowers. As opposed to the darker colors his father approved of in their youth.
Letting go of Bruceās hand he let the other man into the house.
āI can take your coatā Oliver offered as they entered, he further elaborated on why heād be taking the coat
āIāve had the servants take their leave, I didnāt want to keep them from their families.ā He said as he attempted to help Bruce with his coat
āMy chefs prepared good food and drink, let us be merry a while before businessā he said with a cheery smile.
It was good to be home
