noun; The excessive or disabling fear of war or physical injury usually resulting from experiences in combat.
War. They say the scars of battle leave the heaviest of wounds upon those that raise their flags, displaying the proudly for the world. I have no use for your banners, your stellar showings of pointless chauvinism. No, neigh, no; I shan’t be witness to the burden of a soldier, a mindless marcher that progs onto the field.
Boots in the mud, swords against the shield, shoulder to the plow of the war drums that march. Because I have seen the endless battles that wage in the returning troops. They beg;
Perhaps they’re weak? They beg;
Clamor and foam at the mouth- beg, they beg and they struggle!; The endless drums marching in their domes;
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But not all soldiers are built to fall apart? What of the ones that don’t fit the mold of the casket, that don’t hark to the sound of the Paul Bearers? Perhaps the funeral march is their reward? A reward that is all waiting. All driving. But they’re scared, aren’t they?
You know, War and the gods that preside over it will one day come for the warrior; broken shield and their own sword stabbed through. Ran red with their failure’s blood. I shed no tears for the mindless masses of the fighters; they are replaceable. Of clay and mud, new ones can be forged.
“The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting”
Gotham isn’t her stomping ground, but he’d seen the news. Gotham wasn’t where she hung her warriors’ gear, but there she was. Gotham wasn’t where the woman tagged as ‘Wonder’ deigned to exist, but exist in front of him she did.
He’d longed in preparation for the Batman, the dark-cowled man that had ever-so increased the number of patients per day. Instead, a warrior of only hair dress and brazen sword stood- distanced- from him.
Eying him with precision. She wasn’t a cop, shivering with delight;
No this one relished war. Relished? No, no one yearns for the battle, they yearn for the exhilaration. Did this one feel the same?
“You. They call you “Wonder Woman”. I would be honored to meet you- to have a lengthy discussion of your history, but you are not what was meant to be.”
With head of burlap and shoulders of leather, perhaps he made a mistake? Oh, oh negatory! A shoulder has seen horror repressed, battered down into their stomachs. She’d be ignorant to charge him for any reason. He’d be foolish to assume her intelligence.
“Gotham is no place for a soldier,” The clock ticks, the hands move freely, “But you’ve come to an impasse,” Down to six, down to nine, “I’m about to be leaving, sorry to cut this short-” Minute hand, seconds hand, all point to midnight and the mist rises through the building, “- but I will be leaving, Miss Woman.”
