The Quiet Swan

DC Batman OC RP Blog A nurse at Gotham General | A Hostess at the Iceberg Lounge Character Profile: https://toyhou.se/698947.helena-reicher 21+ yrs for Interactions please! My OC deals in mature themes.

[swansinstarlight]

One foot in a fairytale...

Artwork by lilamidraws, banner by myself.

Welcome to my Tumblr blog! This is a Batman OC Roleplay blog featuring my character Helena Reicher. This post will serve as my Table of Contents. I will be updating this intermittently with important information relevant to my character, my writing, and boundaries.

Please know that my work includes content warnings and dark topics frequently! I will tag all CW and NSFW appropriately, but if you do not wish to interact at all with these things, my writing may not be for you.

Creator/Mun: Haru | 28 | He/They | CST 21+ only interactions please NSFW / CW for dark topics frequent Settings: Primarily Batman/Gotham oriented, has a Fantasy AU, Vampire AU, and D&D AU Open to: Canon characters, Fanon characters, and Original Characters, Shipping, Suggestive / Flirtation, NSFW (If discussed privately first!) Writing Style: Paragraph / Occasionally Novella (Others do not have to write this way, though!)

I am open to asks, please DM me if you'd like to plot an RP! I am open to shipping but we will need to talk and see if it makes sense for both of our characters.

Open Ask Prompts | My Roleplays & Writing | Faceclaim

Helena's Reference Sheet & My Rules | Backstory Pt. 1 | Helena's Toyhou.se Profile

... the Other in the Abyss

[glitt3ring-ang3l]

˚₊‧꒰ა source ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[belleinblush]

[diorsiren]

[unusual-suspects]

x

[delusions-of-glamour]

Angel Ruche ballet knit wrap cardigan and Colette cami ౨ৎ

[swansinstarlight]

It was a rare occasion that Helena had the energy to pry herself out of bed early for much beyond the incessant call of chores, errands, or the rare energetic displays of her pet. Gotham had a draining way about it, after all. Perhaps it was the miasma that bled through the smog-soaked air like ink in water. Or, maybe it was in the water, which had on more than one occasion contaminated by theatrical villains who seek to make broad political statements by denying basic needs. Another potential culprit could be the way the city was engineered to crush itself down on the backs of the working class and lower, like the cruel pinching fingers of a fisher about the fat belly of a worm. Yes, this city made bait of its residents.

But today? Today, Helena was choosing- despite it all- to be happy.

She had recently found a denim dress with pearly snap buttons that went perfectly with a translucent chemise with pale blue bows she had owned for years. Although the brunette didn't believe herself a vain woman, it was hard to resist the ingrained desire to feel pretty. 

Paired with pale, polka-dotted tights and baby-blue heels with a thin buckle around the ankles, the off-duty nurse's appearance is delicate and inviting. Helena's thick curls are drawn away from her face into a pale blue bow, while the rest spill down her back and down to the mid-point of her calves. It wasn't often she went to the effort of dressing up, but today, she didn't want to be an exhausted ER nurse and bar hostess. She was a woman in a new dress enjoying an over-priced sweetened coffee as she meandered up the stone steps of Gotham's Public Library with a faux leather tote bag cradled in the dip of her shoulder.

Helena almost feels well enough to ignore the typical behavior of strangers who see her for the first time. The way people look at someone with visible marks, illnesses, or disabilities- that locked-in gaze when their mind registers that the facial recognition patterns their brain runs subconsciously has caught an error in hers. The scars. Then they quickly look away, training their eyes on their feet, or something on the wall, because it is impolite to stare. As if that was the most disabling thing about her, the marks on her face- not the developmental things that had wrought havoc on her educational experience. But those weren't visible, and they didn't garner stares unless she opened her mouth too much. This time, it was just the scars. 

Today, she was choosing not to care!

The off-duty nurse paces carefully across the marbled tile floors, eyes wandering the far reaches of the towering ceiling of the building. It was older, and a place that socialites liked to throw their money at for more modern furnishings, it made them feel like philanthropists. It was filled to the brim with books, though, and they even had a decently-sized computer lab, and private study rooms one could reserve for an hour at a time. When the world was not so taxing that it made leaving her apartment a struggle, Helena liked to reserve such a room after browsing the books so that she could relax somewhere other than the cramped walls of her home.

She wanders to the second floor, moving toward the Non-Fiction section, specifically toward a section reserved for Clinical Guides. She was hoping to find Symptomatic by Clair Francomano, or Disjointed by Diana Jovin. She'd had a recent patient with EDS in the ER, and found herself frustrated with her lack of knowledge about some of its long-term complications. She paces through the cramped bookshelves, hazel eyes flickering over spines that range from old, to plastic covered, to practically brand new. 

[batwoman-or-whatever]

Katherine Kane was trying to be better. To be more. To become someone other than the heir to Kane Industries, someone other than Bruce Wayne's playgirl cousin, and build a life outside the symbol on her chest. She wanted to be more than the chasm within her, that still gaping wound that never closed. She had long since made peace with it being there, healing no longer the goal to which she aspired. Now, her only goal was to outpace it, to throw as much life and light into it that Kate would not succumb to it, would not fail to pay attention and fall into it headfirst. Not again.

That was proving harder than it initially appeared when she sat at her kitchen table all those months ago, writing down her new rules, primarily because Kate had become so rusty at just...being. She had spent so long lost in her missions, her objectives - one after the other after the other so she never had to sit with herself for too long, and whatever pain or boredom she endured felt necessary, worthy of the discomfort. But this? Navigating life again as Kate, just Kate, without the masks, felt deeply uncomfortable. Unfamiliar.

As she walked up the steps of the Gotham Public Library, her mind briefly wondered how someone could be bad at being themselves, before realizing that she spent so long living as a weapon, she had forgotten how to be the woman holding it.

So, despite her discomfort, Kate kept showing up each morning, trying.

Dressed in a relatively modest but well-tailored all black pantsuit with a satin midnight blue button down underneath and matching heels clacking rhythmically on the marbled tiled floors as she made her way to the second floor, heading for the section on Clinical Guides. Her love of the library and cognizance of how it was one of the last, if not only, bastions of equality in the city, and the best investment she could possibly make for the future of Gotham, Kate lived by the rule that she would not only support it financially, but would also support it by turning to it first for any books that she wanted to read or use.

And besides, Wiley Jr. was in his teething phase, so there was a good chance any books that Kate bought to keep would wind up with more dog teeth than dog-ears.

Kate found herself navigating the cramped bookshelves as her mind reviewed her "shopping list": the DSM-V-TR by the American Psychological Association, A Clinical Introduction to Psychosis, and Schizophrenia: A Practical Primer, before moving to the autobiographies for The Center Cannot Hold: My Journey Through Madness by Elyn R. Saks. Kate had realized a few weeks ago that if she wanted to genuinely help some of the rogues, instead of perpetuating the same tragic cycle over and over until either she or they were dead, she would need to re-educate herself on some of the conditions that might be affecting them - except this time, Kate was educating herself as someone who cared about the people behind the conditions, not as Batwoman intent on locking them away. It was not hate that would heal, but humanity.

She was so lost in her browsing that she did not register her fellow browser until she turned a corner and nearly bumped into her.

So sorry! Wasn't paying attention. Are you alright?

Of course, Kate would almost barrel over a woman who happened to be beautiful - and of course, that would be the first thing she noticed about the stranger. Some things never changed about Katherine Kane, even if she was trying her best. She rolled her eyes internally at herself and put on her best, most professional visage, green eyes dropping down to look at the books the stranger was carrying before offering a small smile.

I'd hate to take out one of Gotham's medical professionals. God knows we have a hard enough time keeping the good ones around.

@swansinstarlight

[swansinstarlight]

Helena is not the type of person who is typically assessed for her looks. Her features are experienced the way someone typically experiences a sensation of Uncanny Valley, or perhaps confusion at a broken expectation. Really, it wasn't much about her that was drastically different from the average person, but in a place like this? Appearances were particularly important. The off-duty nurse's appearance tended to cause heads to turn away rather than toward. Streaks of platinum blonde arcing upward from the left side of her scalp, plunging down through layered brunette, somehow not looking bleached and indicating natural anomaly in their wake. That, and the scars. They displace the supple apple of her cheek, cutting close to the corner of her lips, making the skin pucker ever-so-slightly with the illusion of a worried frown.

There was beauty to be found, though, if one got beyond the initial shock. Rounded eyes with drooping corners that longed for sleep, a hazel so golden the green and brown tones were made more gem-like than one might anticipate, framed in spidery lashes. Instead of a delicate nose, hers is round and homely, settled on her facial symmetry like a blanket over lap. Her lips are full, the bottom double-lobed, adding to the worried look by unwittingly creating the subtle shape of a pout. Freckles dust her nose and cheeks, the kind that darken in the summer and pale in the winter, and her under-eye circles break the milky rose undertones of her complexion with cool purples and blues. She was tired. 

“Oh! Uhm, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get in the way…” The brunette murmurs, her voice practically wilting before it can break the air between them as Kate apologizes. She had locked eyes with Kate for maybe two moments before finding herself unable to tolerate direct eye contact, her gaze wandering down the way rain trickles over a window pane. They settle on the heels adorning the red-head's feet, and her meek disposition seems to swell in the way she crumples under attention, like tissue in a balled fist. 

When she is profiled with quick, deliberate certainty, Helena can't help but feel a little jarred. Normally she was the one doing the observing. Watching from her post in a nursing station, or from behind the bar at the Lounge, in practically any crowded room she entered. The brunette had carefully trained herself to hover on sidelines and cling to shadows large enough to harbor her, but not so large as to draw anyone else into it for comfort. Now, she had been disrupted in the quiet, her profession sussed and suggested with a confidence that indicated this woman had no doubt in her mind of what she was seeing. Being known was a privilege rarely afforded. 

“Aha, what gave it away? The luggage under my eyes?” The off-duty nurse attempts to stitch her person-suit back together, find a social script for a situation like this. That was Helena's life. Picking scripts for situations that she'd learned to navigate, or cobbling together lines from various scenes in the hopes of creating something for an unpredicted scenario. The nerves are obvious, though, if one bothers to look. The inability to make eye contact. The pinched furrow of her brow. The smile that sits more constipated than comfortable on her lips. The subtle incline of her head downward to match her drooping shoulders, radiating a meek sense of guilt at taking up more room than she had intended- metaphorically and literally. 

[batwoman-or-whatever]

Oh, you weren't in the way. I'm the one barreling through here like... well, a bat out of hell.

Kate was smiling softly at the brunette, but the other woman couldn't see it looking down and avoiding her eye contact. Adept at reading body language, she fought the urge to frown at the message being sent by the stranger's: don't look at me, I'm sorry for being an inconvenience, it's safer to be invisible. Kate considered her a moment, resisting the urge to tell her that she was safe with Kate, that Kate was someone skilled at making the world heel to her, or keeping its snapping jaws far enough away that they could not take her between their teeth as long as Kate was around. Instead, she slipped into a role she knew well.

Actually, I was so caught up in your eyes that I didn't even notice the luggage underneath them.

She said confidently, offering a wink as her own green eyes sparkled with something that oscillated between flirtation and sincerity, mischievousness and a desire to make the other woman smile.

Your reading material, however, coupled with your hands, gave you away. I'm guessing...hm, you seem too lovely to be a doctor...I'm going to say that you're a nurse? And now that you mention the dark circles....let me guess -

Kate takes a step back and makes a show of appraising the other woman, nothing but admiration and something soft in her gaze, as she smiles at the brunette once more.

Nightshift? Probably the ER?

[swansinstarlight]

…Well. That was certainly one way to disarm insecurity, wasn't it? 

It didn't require any real modicum of skill to startle someone as skittish as Helena. When confronted, she reacted almost like a watered-down imitation of a dog used to being kicked. As if the mere presence of unscheduled interaction carried with it such an indisputable level of risk. Kate knew she wasn't a danger to the off-duty nurse, but Helena didn't. She saw danger everywhere. It was how she had gotten through 9 years as a resident of Gotham relatively unscathed, after all- that was no small feat.

Flirtation had its way of jarring someone away from a previous train of thought, or even a typical pattern of behavior, if it was effective enough.

Effectiveness could be defined in many ways. Many treated it like a balance that required a mixture of subtlety, charisma, charm, and humility all wrapped into a golden bundle of miraculous enticement of the concept of Chance. In the case of a high-functioning autistic woman like Helena Reicher, effective was best defined by how closely one could describe your attempt to express attraction as hitting her over the head with a brick. If it was not overt and direct, even painfully obvious, it was going to go right over her head. Either Kate was an incredibly good judge of character, or this was simply her method.

It certainly worked.

Being as naturally pale as the off-duty nurse was (the joys of being primarily Irish and German in heritage) made it impossible for her to hide physiological reactions. The color currently in her cheeks begins to intensify, added to by the steady crawl of blotches beginning at the base of her throat. Frozen, she stares for a long moment, processing. Like a little old laptop that was desperately trying to connect to the internet. Error screen moments away from blinking into existence. 

Then she is quickly determined to be a night-shift nurse working in an Emergency Room, and the younger woman has to wonder if she's got some equivalent of a neon sign flashing on her forehead. She is so utterly detached from any social script she could rely on in this moment that she doesn't know how to react beyond initial confusion. Her nose scrunches, and her brow furrows, and her lips pucker in a way that conveys the sheer absurdity of the thing happening in front of her was genuinely perplexing. 

“…Yes?” It wasn't a question, but what followed was an unspoken question. “I'm sorry, I'm just not used to- well. That's. People don't,” Helena becomes more flustered the more she stammers. The brunette tries to offset the awkwardness that seems to seep from her pours with feeble laughter, “Oh, jeez. I'm Helena,” The shorter woman pivots, deciding to instead opt for something that she actually feels competent in getting out of her mouth. “It's nice to meet you, Miss…?”

[batwoman-or-whatever]

If Kate took some small sadistic delight in how flustered Helena had become, it wasn’t malicious. She simply appreciated knowing she’d hit her mark, the brunette turning shades of crimson that settled on her cheeks in a constellation of patterns, somehow both endearing and charming for her awkwardness. Something akin to pride and self-satisfaction nestled in her chest at Helena’s confirmation that Kate had deduced her profession correctly and won her prize - a name, and a chance for a proper introduction.

Kate. You can call me Kate. It’s nice to meet you, Helena.

The name rolled off Kate’s tongue as if it tasted sweet to say it, and riding her momentum, Kate was determined to see this as far as she could. She cocked her head to the side, a playful smirk on her lips.

You’re not used to which part? People almost running you over, people getting caught up in your eyes, or people correctly deducing your profession?

Kate found herself drawn to analyzing the shorter woman’s features, looking for something, as if she was trying to find the edges of a well-fitting mask. Something about Helena tripped an alarm in her mind, suggesting her waters run far deeper than the surface belied, but Kate considered whether that was more a projection of her own paranoia than fact. Still, she found herself intrigued by the other woman, curiosity spurring her onward, right past the edge of the boundaries she’d put in place for herself.

Is there any chance you’d let me have a second chance at a first impression, make up startling you like this with something like coffee or lunch?

[swansinstarlight]

Helena's fingers are soft in Kate's grasp, smelling faintly of vanilla from lotion applied before leaving her home. When the gesture of greeting ends, she withdraws to curl her arms tightly about the books she had gathered, gaze once again drifting away from the red-head's eyes. The off-duty nurse settles on the side of her jaw, at first, and then wanders to the glint of an earring on her ear, and along a line of vivid hair that paints brushstrokes around the shape of Kate's face and down to her shoulders. It wasn't hard to see that she was pretty, and incredibly well-kept. 

The teasing isn't lost on the brunette, but in equal measure she isn't sure how to address it. Teasing was something usually reserved for group conversations, or more intimate relations. There was the smile and laugh option, but that worked best in groups because that didn't carry a conversation- it facilitated one already happening. If she answered the question directly, it would betray her social ineptitude and further cement her oddity. That made her memorable, but not in a good way. Already her mind is doing gymnastics to determine exactly how she is expected to act in this scenario, what will be received best, what she should or should not be doing. 

Only to come up blank. Her mind could leaf through past experiences and conversations, stitch them together in an amalgamation of effort at human behavior, but it'd fall short. 

Helena is further taken off guard when the woman in front of her invites her to meet. This was even further from her realm of expertise. Typically, offers to gather occurred at the end of interactions, not when they'd just begun. They also occurred between people who had developed rapport, people who had business or relations in some capacity. She knew that Kate was flirting, but she didn't understand why. What was there to gain from an odd, busted-up stranger from the public library? The brunette didn't radiate confidence or charisma, she wasn't openly well-off. Where was the transaction? What was gained? 

“I'm not used to being given the time of day, I guess,” Helena admits, her mind finally churning out a response- an honest answer. It was the most she could think of. “I didn't really think anything of it. You were looking for something, I was just out of sight. It happens.” It wasn't like the well-dressed woman before her needed reassurance, but she didn't know what else to offer. “Uhm. Why? I don't think badly of you. You don't have to make it up to me, or anything."

Really, she doesn't understand the reasoning behind the offer. People flirted for fun, sometimes, but they never flirted with her. And she had nothing immediately to provide.  It didn't follow the typical procedure of things. 

[batwoman-or-whatever]

Kate stood there, momentarily stunned, and blinked at Helena a moment, processing their encounter thus far and finally clicking key pieces into place: she had been right to assume Helena had a history rife with being crushed by the churning of some crucible, probably a story, or several, that would make Kate consider her other self to dispense some form of justice, but Kate had failed to realize that Helena was far more a straight-shooter than Kate was used to being around. Sensing some form of neurodivergence, Kate realized she would have to challenge herself to practice an art form she rarely engaged: honesty, straightforwardness, saying exactly what she meant.

Kate also realizes a third thing as the silence stretches between them, the two women both mirroring each other’s intense stares as if two wild animals caught, sizing the other as predator or prey - she liked Helena. Something about her intrigued Kate in a way she could not articulate yet, but was determined to figure out.

And so, finally, Kate smiles at Helena, but something about it is more honest this time. Less flirty and more sincere.

I’ll level with you, because I think that’s something you’d appreciate. There are two main reasons I’d like the chance to spend more time with you: one, you’re pretty and I enjoy looking at you, so I’d like a chance to do more of that. And two -

Kate tilts her head to the side, eyes narrowing slightly, smile diminishing as she looks at Helena - really looks at her.

There’s something about you that I can’t figure out. You’re clearly intelligent, skilled, and dedicated to your work, but I suspect there’s a lot more to you than what meets the eye. I also suspect you’re used to hiding whatever it is. Hiding most of what makes you, you.

Her voice softens, her face briefly flashing with the kind of sadness borne only from understanding.

I know a thing or two about hiding, and I know it would probably be wiser to let you keep doing just that, but -

And she was back to form Kate’s flirtatiousness unable to abate for too long, smile broadening once more.

- that brings us back to reason number one.

[swansinstarlight]

The brunette is attentive to Kate's visible fluctuation through a myriad of emotions. When she was caught off guard, the taller woman advertised her emotions across her face in the way that people typically did. Despite having a charismatic mask, it gave way like most normal people's did. That made Helena more comfortable, she could anticipate this stranger better as a result. Surprise, confusion, disorientation giving way to processing, recalibration, then settling back into position. Mere moments contain the wordless transitions, and Helena drinks each one in with wide, attentive eyes. 

When Kate begins again, there is almost an undertone of surrender- not in the way of the give and take of power. The kind that signals a shifted expectation, a reoriented focus that acknowledges it has to concede to new information. She is upfront with Helena about her intentions. You're pretty. I like looking at pretty things. And you're odd in a way I find positive and enticing, which somehow amplifies your appearance to me. That, Helena could understand. 

A painting was just a painting until it connected to you, right? Your favorite color, depiction of a story you've always loved, an evoked emotion that compelled you deeply. Even oddity could have a sort of gravitational pull, if one was predisposed to tinkering or dissecting. 

That tended not to bode well, though. Kate was right about hiding- the nurse was hiding who she was underneath, her thoughts and ideas, her beliefs and dreams, and everything that hurt her most. It wasn't unusual. Everyone hid their weaknesses, no? Yet, for some reason, the particular fractal of light that glinted off the facet of Helena in that moment when the taller woman turned the corner and startled the smaller woman to attention was enough to draw out fixation. 

It seemed reckless. She didn't know Kate. Trusting outright flirtation didn't end well for almost any AFAB person she'd met in this city. 

But, there was a selfish little part of her that felt good, having someone be attentive to her. This was a conventionally beautiful woman. She was tall, and fit, and confident. She had every right to be. Logically, others might feel emasculated by her, just by the sheer fact she exists. Kate wielded power in a way that most did not, and that made her interesting. Helena supposes she feels much the same about this red-head, she was pretty and interesting- just as Kate had first indicated her reasoning to the brunette. 

“Would dinner be okay instead? I'm up early today, but I do strictly work nights. It can be casual and friendly, nothing formal or…expected. I guess,” Helena counters, her voice quiet, uncertain as she tries to half-heartedly assert a need. “But later in the day would be a bit easier on me, admittedly.” 

[sidneysheldon]

Sidney Sheldon, “The Stars Shine Down”

[swansinstarlight]

It was a rare occasion that Helena had the energy to pry herself out of bed early for much beyond the incessant call of chores, errands, or the rare energetic displays of her pet. Gotham had a draining way about it, after all. Perhaps it was the miasma that bled through the smog-soaked air like ink in water. Or, maybe it was in the water, which had on more than one occasion contaminated by theatrical villains who seek to make broad political statements by denying basic needs. Another potential culprit could be the way the city was engineered to crush itself down on the backs of the working class and lower, like the cruel pinching fingers of a fisher about the fat belly of a worm. Yes, this city made bait of its residents.

But today? Today, Helena was choosing- despite it all- to be happy.

She had recently found a denim dress with pearly snap buttons that went perfectly with a translucent chemise with pale blue bows she had owned for years. Although the brunette didn't believe herself a vain woman, it was hard to resist the ingrained desire to feel pretty. 

Paired with pale, polka-dotted tights and baby-blue heels with a thin buckle around the ankles, the off-duty nurse's appearance is delicate and inviting. Helena's thick curls are drawn away from her face into a pale blue bow, while the rest spill down her back and down to the mid-point of her calves. It wasn't often she went to the effort of dressing up, but today, she didn't want to be an exhausted ER nurse and bar hostess. She was a woman in a new dress enjoying an over-priced sweetened coffee as she meandered up the stone steps of Gotham's Public Library with a faux leather tote bag cradled in the dip of her shoulder.

Helena almost feels well enough to ignore the typical behavior of strangers who see her for the first time. The way people look at someone with visible marks, illnesses, or disabilities- that locked-in gaze when their mind registers that the facial recognition patterns their brain runs subconsciously has caught an error in hers. The scars. Then they quickly look away, training their eyes on their feet, or something on the wall, because it is impolite to stare. As if that was the most disabling thing about her, the marks on her face- not the developmental things that had wrought havoc on her educational experience. But those weren't visible, and they didn't garner stares unless she opened her mouth too much. This time, it was just the scars. 

Today, she was choosing not to care!

The off-duty nurse paces carefully across the marbled tile floors, eyes wandering the far reaches of the towering ceiling of the building. It was older, and a place that socialites liked to throw their money at for more modern furnishings, it made them feel like philanthropists. It was filled to the brim with books, though, and they even had a decently-sized computer lab, and private study rooms one could reserve for an hour at a time. When the world was not so taxing that it made leaving her apartment a struggle, Helena liked to reserve such a room after browsing the books so that she could relax somewhere other than the cramped walls of her home.

She wanders to the second floor, moving toward the Non-Fiction section, specifically toward a section reserved for Clinical Guides. She was hoping to find Symptomatic by Clair Francomano, or Disjointed by Diana Jovin. She'd had a recent patient with EDS in the ER, and found herself frustrated with her lack of knowledge about some of its long-term complications. She paces through the cramped bookshelves, hazel eyes flickering over spines that range from old, to plastic covered, to practically brand new. 

[batwoman-or-whatever]

Katherine Kane was trying to be better. To be more. To become someone other than the heir to Kane Industries, someone other than Bruce Wayne's playgirl cousin, and build a life outside the symbol on her chest. She wanted to be more than the chasm within her, that still gaping wound that never closed. She had long since made peace with it being there, healing no longer the goal to which she aspired. Now, her only goal was to outpace it, to throw as much life and light into it that Kate would not succumb to it, would not fail to pay attention and fall into it headfirst. Not again.

That was proving harder than it initially appeared when she sat at her kitchen table all those months ago, writing down her new rules, primarily because Kate had become so rusty at just...being. She had spent so long lost in her missions, her objectives - one after the other after the other so she never had to sit with herself for too long, and whatever pain or boredom she endured felt necessary, worthy of the discomfort. But this? Navigating life again as Kate, just Kate, without the masks, felt deeply uncomfortable. Unfamiliar.

As she walked up the steps of the Gotham Public Library, her mind briefly wondered how someone could be bad at being themselves, before realizing that she spent so long living as a weapon, she had forgotten how to be the woman holding it.

So, despite her discomfort, Kate kept showing up each morning, trying.

Dressed in a relatively modest but well-tailored all black pantsuit with a satin midnight blue button down underneath and matching heels clacking rhythmically on the marbled tiled floors as she made her way to the second floor, heading for the section on Clinical Guides. Her love of the library and cognizance of how it was one of the last, if not only, bastions of equality in the city, and the best investment she could possibly make for the future of Gotham, Kate lived by the rule that she would not only support it financially, but would also support it by turning to it first for any books that she wanted to read or use.

And besides, Wiley Jr. was in his teething phase, so there was a good chance any books that Kate bought to keep would wind up with more dog teeth than dog-ears.

Kate found herself navigating the cramped bookshelves as her mind reviewed her "shopping list": the DSM-V-TR by the American Psychological Association, A Clinical Introduction to Psychosis, and Schizophrenia: A Practical Primer, before moving to the autobiographies for The Center Cannot Hold: My Journey Through Madness by Elyn R. Saks. Kate had realized a few weeks ago that if she wanted to genuinely help some of the rogues, instead of perpetuating the same tragic cycle over and over until either she or they were dead, she would need to re-educate herself on some of the conditions that might be affecting them - except this time, Kate was educating herself as someone who cared about the people behind the conditions, not as Batwoman intent on locking them away. It was not hate that would heal, but humanity.

She was so lost in her browsing that she did not register her fellow browser until she turned a corner and nearly bumped into her.

So sorry! Wasn't paying attention. Are you alright?

Of course, Kate would almost barrel over a woman who happened to be beautiful - and of course, that would be the first thing she noticed about the stranger. Some things never changed about Katherine Kane, even if she was trying her best. She rolled her eyes internally at herself and put on her best, most professional visage, green eyes dropping down to look at the books the stranger was carrying before offering a small smile.

I'd hate to take out one of Gotham's medical professionals. God knows we have a hard enough time keeping the good ones around.

@swansinstarlight

[swansinstarlight]

Helena is not the type of person who is typically assessed for her looks. Her features are experienced the way someone typically experiences a sensation of Uncanny Valley, or perhaps confusion at a broken expectation. Really, it wasn't much about her that was drastically different from the average person, but in a place like this? Appearances were particularly important. The off-duty nurse's appearance tended to cause heads to turn away rather than toward. Streaks of platinum blonde arcing upward from the left side of her scalp, plunging down through layered brunette, somehow not looking bleached and indicating natural anomaly in their wake. That, and the scars. They displace the supple apple of her cheek, cutting close to the corner of her lips, making the skin pucker ever-so-slightly with the illusion of a worried frown.

There was beauty to be found, though, if one got beyond the initial shock. Rounded eyes with drooping corners that longed for sleep, a hazel so golden the green and brown tones were made more gem-like than one might anticipate, framed in spidery lashes. Instead of a delicate nose, hers is round and homely, settled on her facial symmetry like a blanket over lap. Her lips are full, the bottom double-lobed, adding to the worried look by unwittingly creating the subtle shape of a pout. Freckles dust her nose and cheeks, the kind that darken in the summer and pale in the winter, and her under-eye circles break the milky rose undertones of her complexion with cool purples and blues. She was tired. 

“Oh! Uhm, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get in the way…” The brunette murmurs, her voice practically wilting before it can break the air between them as Kate apologizes. She had locked eyes with Kate for maybe two moments before finding herself unable to tolerate direct eye contact, her gaze wandering down the way rain trickles over a window pane. They settle on the heels adorning the red-head's feet, and her meek disposition seems to swell in the way she crumples under attention, like tissue in a balled fist. 

When she is profiled with quick, deliberate certainty, Helena can't help but feel a little jarred. Normally she was the one doing the observing. Watching from her post in a nursing station, or from behind the bar at the Lounge, in practically any crowded room she entered. The brunette had carefully trained herself to hover on sidelines and cling to shadows large enough to harbor her, but not so large as to draw anyone else into it for comfort. Now, she had been disrupted in the quiet, her profession sussed and suggested with a confidence that indicated this woman had no doubt in her mind of what she was seeing. Being known was a privilege rarely afforded. 

“Aha, what gave it away? The luggage under my eyes?” The off-duty nurse attempts to stitch her person-suit back together, find a social script for a situation like this. That was Helena's life. Picking scripts for situations that she'd learned to navigate, or cobbling together lines from various scenes in the hopes of creating something for an unpredicted scenario. The nerves are obvious, though, if one bothers to look. The inability to make eye contact. The pinched furrow of her brow. The smile that sits more constipated than comfortable on her lips. The subtle incline of her head downward to match her drooping shoulders, radiating a meek sense of guilt at taking up more room than she had intended- metaphorically and literally. 

[batwoman-or-whatever]

Oh, you weren't in the way. I'm the one barreling through here like... well, a bat out of hell.

Kate was smiling softly at the brunette, but the other woman couldn't see it looking down and avoiding her eye contact. Adept at reading body language, she fought the urge to frown at the message being sent by the stranger's: don't look at me, I'm sorry for being an inconvenience, it's safer to be invisible. Kate considered her a moment, resisting the urge to tell her that she was safe with Kate, that Kate was someone skilled at making the world heel to her, or keeping its snapping jaws far enough away that they could not take her between their teeth as long as Kate was around. Instead, she slipped into a role she knew well.

Actually, I was so caught up in your eyes that I didn't even notice the luggage underneath them.

She said confidently, offering a wink as her own green eyes sparkled with something that oscillated between flirtation and sincerity, mischievousness and a desire to make the other woman smile.

Your reading material, however, coupled with your hands, gave you away. I'm guessing...hm, you seem too lovely to be a doctor...I'm going to say that you're a nurse? And now that you mention the dark circles....let me guess -

Kate takes a step back and makes a show of appraising the other woman, nothing but admiration and something soft in her gaze, as she smiles at the brunette once more.

Nightshift? Probably the ER?

[swansinstarlight]

…Well. That was certainly one way to disarm insecurity, wasn't it? 

It didn't require any real modicum of skill to startle someone as skittish as Helena. When confronted, she reacted almost like a watered-down imitation of a dog used to being kicked. As if the mere presence of unscheduled interaction carried with it such an indisputable level of risk. Kate knew she wasn't a danger to the off-duty nurse, but Helena didn't. She saw danger everywhere. It was how she had gotten through 9 years as a resident of Gotham relatively unscathed, after all- that was no small feat.

Flirtation had its way of jarring someone away from a previous train of thought, or even a typical pattern of behavior, if it was effective enough.

Effectiveness could be defined in many ways. Many treated it like a balance that required a mixture of subtlety, charisma, charm, and humility all wrapped into a golden bundle of miraculous enticement of the concept of Chance. In the case of a high-functioning autistic woman like Helena Reicher, effective was best defined by how closely one could describe your attempt to express attraction as hitting her over the head with a brick. If it was not overt and direct, even painfully obvious, it was going to go right over her head. Either Kate was an incredibly good judge of character, or this was simply her method.

It certainly worked.

Being as naturally pale as the off-duty nurse was (the joys of being primarily Irish and German in heritage) made it impossible for her to hide physiological reactions. The color currently in her cheeks begins to intensify, added to by the steady crawl of blotches beginning at the base of her throat. Frozen, she stares for a long moment, processing. Like a little old laptop that was desperately trying to connect to the internet. Error screen moments away from blinking into existence. 

Then she is quickly determined to be a night-shift nurse working in an Emergency Room, and the younger woman has to wonder if she's got some equivalent of a neon sign flashing on her forehead. She is so utterly detached from any social script she could rely on in this moment that she doesn't know how to react beyond initial confusion. Her nose scrunches, and her brow furrows, and her lips pucker in a way that conveys the sheer absurdity of the thing happening in front of her was genuinely perplexing. 

“…Yes?” It wasn't a question, but what followed was an unspoken question. “I'm sorry, I'm just not used to- well. That's. People don't,” Helena becomes more flustered the more she stammers. The brunette tries to offset the awkwardness that seems to seep from her pours with feeble laughter, “Oh, jeez. I'm Helena,” The shorter woman pivots, deciding to instead opt for something that she actually feels competent in getting out of her mouth. “It's nice to meet you, Miss…?”

[batwoman-or-whatever]

If Kate took some small sadistic delight in how flustered Helena had become, it wasn’t malicious. She simply appreciated knowing she’d hit her mark, the brunette turning shades of crimson that settled on her cheeks in a constellation of patterns, somehow both endearing and charming for her awkwardness. Something akin to pride and self-satisfaction nestled in her chest at Helena’s confirmation that Kate had deduced her profession correctly and won her prize - a name, and a chance for a proper introduction.

Kate. You can call me Kate. It’s nice to meet you, Helena.

The name rolled off Kate’s tongue as if it tasted sweet to say it, and riding her momentum, Kate was determined to see this as far as she could. She cocked her head to the side, a playful smirk on her lips.

You’re not used to which part? People almost running you over, people getting caught up in your eyes, or people correctly deducing your profession?

Kate found herself drawn to analyzing the shorter woman’s features, looking for something, as if she was trying to find the edges of a well-fitting mask. Something about Helena tripped an alarm in her mind, suggesting her waters run far deeper than the surface belied, but Kate considered whether that was more a projection of her own paranoia than fact. Still, she found herself intrigued by the other woman, curiosity spurring her onward, right past the edge of the boundaries she’d put in place for herself.

Is there any chance you’d let me have a second chance at a first impression, make up startling you like this with something like coffee or lunch?

[swansinstarlight]

Helena's fingers are soft in Kate's grasp, smelling faintly of vanilla from lotion applied before leaving her home. When the gesture of greeting ends, she withdraws to curl her arms tightly about the books she had gathered, gaze once again drifting away from the red-head's eyes. The off-duty nurse settles on the side of her jaw, at first, and then wanders to the glint of an earring on her ear, and along a line of vivid hair that paints brushstrokes around the shape of Kate's face and down to her shoulders. It wasn't hard to see that she was pretty, and incredibly well-kept. 

The teasing isn't lost on the brunette, but in equal measure she isn't sure how to address it. Teasing was something usually reserved for group conversations, or more intimate relations. There was the smile and laugh option, but that worked best in groups because that didn't carry a conversation- it facilitated one already happening. If she answered the question directly, it would betray her social ineptitude and further cement her oddity. That made her memorable, but not in a good way. Already her mind is doing gymnastics to determine exactly how she is expected to act in this scenario, what will be received best, what she should or should not be doing. 

Only to come up blank. Her mind could leaf through past experiences and conversations, stitch them together in an amalgamation of effort at human behavior, but it'd fall short. 

Helena is further taken off guard when the woman in front of her invites her to meet. This was even further from her realm of expertise. Typically, offers to gather occurred at the end of interactions, not when they'd just begun. They also occurred between people who had developed rapport, people who had business or relations in some capacity. She knew that Kate was flirting, but she didn't understand why. What was there to gain from an odd, busted-up stranger from the public library? The brunette didn't radiate confidence or charisma, she wasn't openly well-off. Where was the transaction? What was gained? 

“I'm not used to being given the time of day, I guess,” Helena admits, her mind finally churning out a response- an honest answer. It was the most she could think of. “I didn't really think anything of it. You were looking for something, I was just out of sight. It happens.” It wasn't like the well-dressed woman before her needed reassurance, but she didn't know what else to offer. “Uhm. Why? I don't think badly of you. You don't have to make it up to me, or anything."

Really, she doesn't understand the reasoning behind the offer. People flirted for fun, sometimes, but they never flirted with her. And she had nothing immediately to provide.  It didn't follow the typical procedure of things. 

[babylandflowers]

[swansinstarlight]

Short Story Poll

If I were to start writing excerpts of scenarios from Helena's backstory, important story beats or small memories she might reminisce on, what would you want to read about her first?

Which should I write first?

Childhood Ballet Memory

College Rock Bottom Memory (CW: Alcoholism & Risky Behavior)

Adopting Her Pet Cat (CW: Su!c!de mention, Mental Illness)

Middle School Memory (CW: Bullying, Physical Aggression)

First Meeting Thomas Elliot (My Interpretation/Her Canon Progression)

Remaining time: 2 days 17 hours

[inkpressedpetals]

[nobrashfestivity]

Mary Binney Wheeler 1975 South Asia

[swansinstarlight]

[pnglove]

[glitt3ring-ang3l]

˚₊‧꒰ა source ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[7pleiades7]

Ophelia (1910) by John William Waterhouse RA (English, 1849 – 1917), oil on canvas, 49 in x 29 in (124.4 cm x 73.6 cm), Private Collection