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( open ) everything else was just remembering.
It isn't a feeling Sarah is used to anymore.
Boredom.
It has been a long, long time since she's been able to stand still, and she finds, more often than not, she does not know what to do with this stillness. Being on the ship means having an imposed vacation from her real life and her real problems, and while she can't say she's entirely against that - it also feels like hiding. Pretending. Waiting can be more excruciating than having no time at all, and Sarah would know. For the first eighteen years of her life, she thought she wouldn't have the time to wait.
Now she has it to spare, and she is reacquainting herself with pleasures she's forgotten; watching old school movies while indulging in chocolates and staying up late into the night to watch the stars. These pleasures are age-worn in her memory, like a picture that is fading. She also finds, like most people do, some things are like riding a bike. A sketchpad and charcoal pencils have been located, and the rest becomes simple.
There is a bar by the pool and there is a fallen angel by the bar. She holds the sketchpad in one hand and the charcoal pencil in the other, like she is remembering.
She will offer to draw a face portrait to anyone who is interested, like she did the first day she ever arrived to Chicago.
There's a symmetry to that.
( ooc: prose or spam, i will match you! )
Boredom.
It has been a long, long time since she's been able to stand still, and she finds, more often than not, she does not know what to do with this stillness. Being on the ship means having an imposed vacation from her real life and her real problems, and while she can't say she's entirely against that - it also feels like hiding. Pretending. Waiting can be more excruciating than having no time at all, and Sarah would know. For the first eighteen years of her life, she thought she wouldn't have the time to wait.
Now she has it to spare, and she is reacquainting herself with pleasures she's forgotten; watching old school movies while indulging in chocolates and staying up late into the night to watch the stars. These pleasures are age-worn in her memory, like a picture that is fading. She also finds, like most people do, some things are like riding a bike. A sketchpad and charcoal pencils have been located, and the rest becomes simple.
There is a bar by the pool and there is a fallen angel by the bar. She holds the sketchpad in one hand and the charcoal pencil in the other, like she is remembering.
She will offer to draw a face portrait to anyone who is interested, like she did the first day she ever arrived to Chicago.
There's a symmetry to that.
( ooc: prose or spam, i will match you! )
no subject
All the good guys usually are. Trying to save cities that don't always want to be saved. Trying to fight a system that is fundamentally against what is right, as opposed to what is convenient.
"Can I tell you a secret? When I was a teenager, I really, really hated cops."
If someone had told her she would become one, she'd have laughed in their face.
no subject
People often find their callings in the most roundabout of ways. His path has always been clear to him.
But at a cost.
"I guess one secret deserves another. My dad was a district attorney in Gotham. After he died? I found out he was corrupt, too."
no subject
It's subdued and gentle in its sympathy, like she generally is, until she's angry and the spark comes; like a storm you never saw coming.
"Trying to right his wrongs?" she asks curiously. What led him down this clear-cut path?
no subject
He settles back, as if telling a story, though if she's expecting a long, detailed one she'll be disappointed. James Gordon is a man of few words. Passionate words. Honest words. Earnest words. Just not many of any of them.
"I lived a kind of sheltered existence, I guess, growing up. I saw the city through that filter. After my father died, and when I grew up, I saw things for what they really were. But I also didn't see any reason they couldn't be the way I'd believed them to be."
no subject
She was right; he's one of the good ones.
"I'd like to say my reasons were as idealistic, but I was led to it almost by coincidence." She settles back herself, glancing up at the night sky almost thoughtfully. "Would you believe me if I told you I can see death before it happens?"
no subject
It's not a no, and it's certainly not an and you're nuts. But here he is on a cruise ship to nowhere, apparently, pulled in by some unseen intelligence or force.
It would be rude not to at least consider the possibility, even if he has no frame of reference in his world.
"How does that work?"
no subject
Sarah leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "I look into someone's eyes, and if they're going to die in seven days or less, I have a vision of it. Sometimes it's fuzzy and it doesn't always give me details, but I can piece enough together. We don't always get there in time, but we can catch the person who did it."
It's a responsibility she takes seriously. Every life she doesn't save is one that weighs on her, but justice for them should be sought.
no subject
He leans in slightly. "Do you feel like it's a blessing, or a burden?"
no subject
no subject
"That's probably the most true statement I've ever heard," he says. "You can't really have one without the other, they tend to go hand-in-hand."
no subject
That's what makes it messy.
no subject