For a moment, Terry thought the thing was a GoLeM. But, no. Willie Watt’s GoLeM had been destroyed, torn to pieces and sent to a scrap yard. The pieces had eventually found their way into Morgan Bifford’s toy robot, true, but only as fragments, never as a fully-formed figure. So the sight of what seemed to be one now made him blink… until the realization dawned on him that there was someone inside of it. She glowered down at him, and the illusion was shattered. It was clear now that whatever this thing was, it wasn’t a GoLeM. The color, shape, build, even the size, was all wrong. Whether it was dangerous, though, was still up for debate. But, just as that thought passed through his mind, the thing just… disappeared, like magic. Terry blinked, and it was gone, the girl who had been encased inside dropping neatly to the ground in front of him. Ter took a step back, clear confusion showing on his face. Well, okay.
❝ I… was trying to hit that, not you. ❞ A finger pointed to the tin can perched atop a nearby stump, his initial target. Her last comment stung, though, and Terry couldn’t help but let a defensive note slip into his voice. ❝ I’m Batman. And for the record, these aren’t my regular tools. Not by a long shot. So slow-pulse it, kid. ❞ She looked older than he was, actually, but she didn’t need to know that.
“Hitting that is the same as hitting me.” Because she pretty much considers her mech an extension of herself at this point, so it's just the same as trying to harm her well being. Actually, if she hadn't been inside of her mech when he threw...whatever that thing is that looks like a horribly made child's toy, she'd probably be down on the ground with a lump on her head. Head turns to the tin can that he points to, which he claims that he was trying to hit instead. She believes him, but is still irritated at being hit instead. “Doesn't change the fact that you're a bad shot.”
“Batman, huh?” Well, that explains a lot and by a lot, that explains absolutely nothing. While she's sure that the name is supposed to mean something to her, it doesn't ring any bells. At this point, she'd rather just let it go and drop the subject as she's more interested in knowing just who he is now that she's got a name--until he calls her a kid and that's way more than enough to strike a nerve. And so she steps closer, edging into his personal space and her face is scrunched up enough to show him that she's displeased at the comment.
“Kid? No, I'm nineteen years old. I don't know what the heck ‘slow-pulse it’ even means, but you better watch it batty.” Index finger is shoved against his chest now, just to emphasize what she says even more so.
stormborns
prguitarman
jacobvanloon
jbbartram-illu
kianamaiart
kaledo-art
