Practice Chat

Chelsea

I ignore the question, just smirking back as I go off to the nearest tent, a student playing with just enough flair. He pauses in my approach, unsure. I see the usual flash of fear to his face, but ignore it to lean upon the piano and smile at him. "Do you know Swan Lake, Odile's solo?" I quiz, narrowing my eyes playfully.
He blinks at my request, still hesitant. "Oh. Uh, yeah..."
"Would you play it for me...?" I ask him, putting on an act of innocence for him. After another second, he gives a slight smile back before nodding, his fingers finding new keys to play the song. I plop my boots next to the piano, going forward and stopping with enough distance around me. Giving a quick stretch before I point, set my stance, and start the ballet solo.

Will

I watch her with slight amusement. She really didn't care what other people thought. She was pretty good, talented even. I give her a small applaud when she finishes. "you are quite talented, who taught you?"

Chelsea

It wasn't simply ballet, there was a mix of gymnastics within it as well that I had learned from Nightwing and the necessaries of fighting. Backflips and feats of flexibility that attracted the gypsies to watch. Most of my time spent in this city alone was spent with them, learning the street dancing and their loose style that I liked so much. I made the technique my own, as they had, and at his question towards the end I laughed. "Many people, though only for two years. Pig headed classical teachers never liked wandering away from tradition." I walk up closer to him once thanking the pianist and retrieving my shoes, giving a slight wave to the group when they gave a jesting cheer. I glance back up at him. Sheesh, everyone had to be taller than me, huh. My inch over Damian would soon be lost, most likely... And then I'd never hear the end of it from him.

Will

"Where to next?" I ask, sticking my hands in my pockets. I had lived in New York for two years, with access to a portal to the underground headquarters in Bridgecroft. We had a false lead on the location of the head's daughter. In the two years, I learned the area pretty well but had never really been sight seeing. I had studied maps for only one purpose, to play cat and mouse. I had walked the street of broadway but had never seen a play, saw the statue from far away but have never climbed the top. Father doesn't give free time.

Chelsea

I hum a note at the question, slipping my boots back on to zipper and strap them. "Somewhere," I say, giving a playfully mysterious smile. Clasping my hands behind my back, I wander away towards the west side of the park. "Does Damian talk of me?" I ask, just to give some subject of conversation.

Will

"No, he talks of nothing. Just makes snide comments and gives orders." I say, giving a slight snort. "He's been training me."

Chelsea

"No, he talks. You simply need to listen," I say with a smirk. Ace brushes up against my hand and I run my fingers lightly along his back as we walk. So he knows Damian's name, which I suppose is to mean that he's trustworthy. Not that I entirely care of trustworthiness or not; I've been around my fair share of untrustworthy people. "Is that all you think of him?"

Will

"No. There are many words you could use to describe him, just not all of them are polite." I reply, with a slight smirk. "Tried being civil, attempted friendship. That failed."

Chelsea
I giggle as we leave the park through a different entrance. "I don't care about politeness..." I prompt, gazing up at him. "He doesn't care about it either. Nor being civil, nor friendships. He doesn't like me because I go against him. I'm unpredictable, and I know his fears, and I annoy him. But it gets me what I want when I need it from him." Ace had his beginnings from all of this, even...

Will

"Doesn't like me either. I tend to have a habit of poking around in his thoughts. Which is how I got this," I say, gesturing to the bruise on my cheek from the punch. "Not that it bothers me. I'm used to picking fights," I shrug.

Chelsea
"Poke through thoughts?" I question, my expression getting curious. A psychic, like me in a way? Interesting... I haven't met someone else like me... My expression quickly transitions to a blank slate at my insecurities, and I look away, down at the sidewalk. There were questions, lots of questions, but I keep them quiet. A habit. Or...a symptom, I don't remember which are which anymore.

Will

"All part of what comes with being a Seer. I'm a medium of sorts. I can see, talk to, and touch the dead." I say, lowering my voice a bit. Just enough so she could hear. Announcing stuff like that out in the open and having people overhear make people think you're a nutjob.

There were plenty of souls in New York, there are plenty of souls any where. I could see one following the girl in front of us, trying to get her attention. Of course, they wouldn't get it. Some people don't realize they've died.

Chelsea

"Oh." Not like me, then? "What's that to do with going through thoughts?" Unlike him, I didn't particularly care if people overheard. This was New York, after all. A cowboy in underwear playing a guitar or a man in a cheap Batman costume dancing on a balcony is normal here...

Will

"Often helps figure out a spirit's past, another form if communication. Just Somethings we use it as. I didn't bestow it upon us." I say, shrugging. "We have magic as well."

Chelsea
I nod slightly, with a noise of understanding. "I just scare people," I say quietly, although seriously. It wasn't intimidation like Batsy, it was more than an effect from legends or rumors - though I had enough of those going around for myself.

Will

"...I scare people too," I say, looking down at her. "I'm not exactly what you would call a 'good guy'. How do you scare people? You don't seem that intimidating."

Chelsea

I give a light smile, a small giggle, but fall silent for a while. I never liked discussing my powers, especially since after the Lazarus Pit... "Everyone fears all the time, but they do a good job of hiding it. The subconsciousness keeps those thoughts away so the consciousness can go along it's supposedly happy existence, not a care in the world. It's all to prevent anxiety. And there's a lot of defenses to keep these things locked away to not bother normal activities of peoples' lives... Denial, repression or suppression, displacement, sublimation, projection, intellectualization, rationalization, regression, reaction formation, affiliation..." I list of slowly and quietly, still looking at the sidewalk ahead of us. It's been a while...enough time to figure some things out.

"You're scared. Nothing to be ashamed about, everyone is scared of something... There's a strong sense of self consciousness through yours, as well as your father. You fear him. You fear disappointing him, not living up to his expectations, not being good enough. You fear your doubts of his beliefs. You fear pain, death... Nearly everyone does..." I hesitantly glance up at him, sensing something else now. Like a seed - no, a wound. The start of his fear. And I can go in and make it fester, make it grow. Completely consume a person in the fear.

Will

I stare down at her, forcing myself to keep looking at her. I want to turn away. I want to deny it all. But I can't. I can't keep doing that.

Just looking in her eyes, I see all my flaws, faults, and fears staring back at me. "My father-" I say quietly, taking a deep breath, "-is a man to be feared."

Chelsea

"I feel it," I say simply. "It's nothing new..." My tone stays neutral. Lightly, my arm goes around his once again to pause our walking, pulling him off to the side so as to avoid the street traffic, and take a deep breath. Like breathing in his fears, I sense the anxiety diminish within Will to have him calm once more, and carefully I let the breath out in a long sigh as my focus goes unfocused for a moment.

"...I influence anxiety too," I explain in a murmur, eyes flicking away from his to find a neutral place to look at. I end up staring with my eye level at his chest. Something should be said, I feel like. I wasn't sure exactly what, though. "...Sorry." Not really, but I didn't know what else to fill the need.

Will

I take a deep breath, feeling my anxiety melt away which only makes me a bit more uncomfortable. "...why should you be sorry?" I ask, blinking down at her.

Chelsea

I just give a slight shrug, pursing my lips slightly. "I'm not," I tell him, eyes wandering down and away, gazing at Ace sitting patiently next to me. Quickly, I reach out to go take his hand, not caring about his reaction or anything, leading off to the west still. I can feel how shaky I am. I hear Ace giving a small whine next to me. I'd rather not black out right now...just wanted somewhere calm... My pier. Chelsea's Pier.

Will

Again. With the touching.

"...you sure are a puzzle, aren't you?" I murmer, staring down at her. I can feel her hand shaking slightly in mine. "...Are you alright..?"

Chelsea

I give a light giggle, eyes forward again towards the edge of where the skyscrapers meet the sea. The space suddenly opens up, a pier extends down a few hundred yards next to another park. Above proclaims Chelsea's Pier. Puzzles and fears, right... "Pandora's box," I comment quietly, glancing back. "I hold my own fears. And everyone else's. I forget which are which sometimes, and my power has consumed me before. It's been tricky to understand since...last year."

Will

"Why since last year?" I ask, looking up at the sign. Ah, her pier. I couldn't help but give a slight chuckle. "Come here often...?"

Chelsea

"Before. Tim was gone the year before that for training in Europe. Didn't really know who I was, what I represented, back then. Ran away to New York to get away for a little while, try some solutions on what fit me best..." I murmur, walking down the boarded walk next to the grass. Many different versions of 'who' Chelsea was. The name had been largely abused and ignored since my stay at Mothers Home for Friendless Children when I was six, and since then I've been put into many molds. The little devil of the Lux Team, the twisted kid jester under Joker, Tim's crazy girlfriend, Batgirl... Chelsea was largely forgotten in the mess, so I tried whatever might have suited me.

"Tried a normal existence, doing a little heroic work, then flipping back to killing - for good or for bad - after taking up Batgirl again to see if she fit - which was how Tim ultimately found me here in New York when he came back. I wasn't ready to go back to Gotham though. It confused me there...too many memories telling me what I should be, but nothing about who. And then I made this - Blackbird. What I've always believed myself to be, I guess. Just a black soul... Didn't matter how much good I'd do, I would always be tainted, but I've sort of learned to live with that..." We reach the end of the pier, and I fold my arms atop the railing guarding from a fall into the Hudson. One of my hands go around my neck, feeling the small part of the Lazarus Mark on my neck hidden by my longer hair - the raised black burn scars in the ironic shape of a bird.

"...Went back to Gotham around last year when I was ready, but the place had different plans for me." Blankly, I stare out across at Jersey City's cliffs, just watching. I ponder leaving what had happened at that and not speak of it, but I already told this much about myself. What would be the point of hiding it now? "It killed me," I reply monotoned, not the slightest flicker of emotion at the statement.