Chapter Text
Danny hates political espionage. It's tedious, annoying work made especially difficult by his ghostly nature. Ghosts aren't known for patience and Danny was hyperactive even as a human. He likes taking things apart and learning how they tick, but struggles when that is applied to a governmental body. The shmoozing, analytical prowess needed to excel in a room full of sharks is not something that comes easy to him, much to the chagrin of his advisors; hence where Jazz comes in.
Where he would be happy to keep her out of anything King related, he already knows the lecture he'd get if she ever found out. She's too stubborn and too much of a big sister to let him go into a situation potentially over his head. Not to mention the fact that the alternative options aren't options at all.
Dan doesn't exactly excel at subtle or restrained and Dani is such a loose canon it gives Danny a headache just thinking about it. He doesn't want either of them anywhere near the type of experimentation that's rumored to be going on in the Court of Owls, either. His core thrums angrily at the very thought.
Not that he wants Jazz near it either, but she hasn't had the same experiences they've had. She's only dealt with the fallout.
No footsteps fill the throne room when Jazz enters with Fright Knight by her side, but Danny can sense her even before he turns around. She's wearing a mix of human and ghost garb, with sturdy combat boots and a belt laden with gadgets from Tucker and Danny himself. Her jacket's interior has the same sheen of stars as Danny's cape and her long red hair is tied back into a sharp bun. She looks simultaneously ready for a board meeting and a war, which is fairly accurate to what they'll be walking into.
"I still must insist that you take me with you," Fright Knight says.
"We've been over this," Danny reminds, "I want them to underestimate me. That means no guard."
"It's dangerous—"
"I'll call you if I need you. Until then, you know what I want you to do."
He radiates displeasure even as he bows his head. "Yes, my king."
"I'll keep him in line," Jazz promises. "You'll have your hands full with things here, as is."
Clockwork appears, form shifting between old and young as if he can't quite decide between the two; that's never a good sign. "It is time," he declares.
Danny and Jazz share a look.
"Any last minute advice?" Danny asks lightly.
"Indeed," Clockwork rumbles. "The soul knows no bounds, as there is always shadows within the light's embrace."
"Cryptic as always."
Rather than try—for the thousandth time—to pry a proper answer out of him, Danny raises a claw to tear through the Realms and into the world of the living. A vortex of green roars into being, giving off an eerie light that plays over his armor. As one, he and Jazz step through to the other side.
The room they enter is the kind of grand showpiece that Vlad would favor. Despite the fact that Danny can tell they're underground, someone has gone to the effort of putting in a vaulted ceiling. The ribbed infrastructure arches up from the walls in curving lines that meet at the center of the ceiling. Staring it down from one end of the room means that it gives the illusion that they're standing in the innards of some great creature. It also brings all the attention to the long polished table centered on top of an equally-as-polished dark marble floor. The table could easily seat at least thirty people and it hosts chairs whose arms have been carved to look like the clutching taloned feet of an owl.
Meticulously painted murals climb the lengthened walls. They all depict owls in some form; taking flight, hunting, watching from the tree line. Hundreds of eyes stare down at them, seeming to follow their every move. If Danny were someone lesser, he might've been intimidated.
The showpiece of it all is a grand throne. Dozens of expertly carved owls make up the bulk of it, with shining topaz eyes. A man sits in it now, though he rises at their appearance.
A crafted mask hides his features, pale like the face of the moon and shaped into an owl's visage. It shadows his eyes, hiding most of what makes him human. Danny doesn't need any of it to read the nerves and anticipation radiating off the man.
The entire place reeks of old blood. Shades flicker around the edges of the room, their whispers creating a susurrus of background noise only he and Jazz can hear.
"High King Phantom," their host says, making his way down the stairs to meet them. "I'm so glad you accepted our invitation. I am the Grand Master and I welcome you and your guest to our Court."
Danny inclines his head. "I am the Keeper of Balance, I am duty sworn to investigate any disturbance in the order of the afterlife. This visit will determine if your Court will be allowed to continue its activities."
There's a flare of offense. "Yes, of course. I trust you'll find no fault in our practices, as we do it to keep balance within Gotham itself. But enough of that, for now! I must show you to your rooms and allow you to settle. Talon!"
Two shadows flit to the man's side, so silent Danny would have mistaken them for ghosts if he didn't know any better. Both figures are hardly distinguishable as people. One is larger than the other and taller. The skin tight black suit both of them wear puts what appears to be masculine bodies on display but they're so covered in knives and holsters that it's hard to tell. Every inch of skin is covered and a hood with large golden goggles covers both their eyes. The bridges of them are, of course, shaped like the beaks of an owl.
They both give off the same twisted wrongness of the undead. They're also not giving off any sort of emotion.
"You mentioned not bringing a guard, so these Talons' shall be the ones to take care of you."
"The guard is appreciated but the rooms we shall have to decline. We prefer to be above ground and would like to see the city while we're here." It's not entirely dishonest. Danny does need to talk to Lady Gotham. Gotham is all kinds of cursed and it's yet another task on his long to-do list.
"Oh. But of course, Gotham certainly has her charms! If you give me your address I can have one of our guides collect you tomorrow."
"I'd like to get our bearings first," Jazz says smoothly. "High King Phantom will find you when we're ready."
It's rude, certainly, but there are certain advantages to being King. Namely that very few can refuse him. Jazz is even worse—not that the Grand Master knows that. His human senses will be able to pick up that there's something off about her, but it won't be able to discern what.
"Our trip was long and we would like to retire. We thank you for your hospitality and wish you happy haunting until our next meeting." The colors of Danny's reflect off the blank face of the Grand Master's mask as the man stiffens in surprise. Jazz steps closer to take Danny's arm as he holds his hands out to both Talons. "Come."
Neither hesitate. They leave the Grand Master's side to take his hands; Danny offers one last fang ridden smile before they all disappear.
"Well that was unpleasant," Jazz mutters, as they appear in the brownstone Clockwork informed them they would be staying in. It's stocked, with running water and heat, which is all that matters.
Danny lets go of the Talons' hands. They both stand exactly where he leaves them as he dismisses his crown and armor.
"The shades definitely aren't happy," he agrees.
"They were practically screaming, I could barely concentrate!" She shrugs out of her jacket and turns to their two guards. "What are your names?"
"Talon," they both say, in the exact same tone, at the exact same time.
Danny and Jazz share a frown.
"Right," Danny says, "but what are your other names?"
It's the smaller one that speaks first. "We have no names. We are Talon and that is all."
Concerning. They're acting more like zombies than revenants even though they clearly have intact souls.
"Can you take your hoods off?" Jazz asks.
There's the slightest hesitation. Then, without looking at one another, both of them take off their goggles and pull their hoods off with taloned fingers. They look remarkably similar in some ways. Both have heads of dark black hair; both have the same pale gray shade of skin and black spider webbing veins; both are squinting in the light, eyes the same topaz as the owls' that made up the Grand Master's chair.
"Does the light bother you?" Jazz is quick to dim the lights before they can even respond; the fact that the lights have a dimmer to begin with reeks of Clockwork's planning. Which means the Talons are important in some way.
"We are sensitive to the light," the big one says slowly, like he's not sure he should be speaking. His thick brows push down ever so slightly as he opens his eyes. The bridge of his nose is slightly crooked, Danny notes, like it was broken and healed wrong. There's a small scar on his upper lip, too, just barely noticeable.
The small one, on the other hand, is practically flawless. He's got sharp cheekbones and high, aristocratic features. There's not a single scar or blemish on him from what Danny can see—which is, admittedly, very little.
"The big one is yours," Danny decides. "I need to go talk to Lady Gotham before she appears and scares the neighborhood."
Jazz shoots him a look. "Be careful."
"Talon, you're coming with me," he says, instead of trying to lie. "Keep the hood off. It's dark out so you shouldn't need the goggles."
Talon nods. He sets his things down carefully on a side table and moves to Danny's side. When Danny holds out his hand, Talon takes it. He phases them up through the floor and onto the roof.
Much as he hates the very idea of leaving Jazz alone with a potential enemy, he can't ignore the summons of a city spirit. He also knows that Jazz would kick his ass if he even tried to voice his concerns.
Talon keeps up as he flies where the pull takes him. He can jump further than a normal human and he doesn't seem to get winded, no matter how fast Danny pushes him.
"So," he says, slowing enough to fly level with Talon. "The reports mentioned that you're a meta. What can you do?"
"The meta gene is genetic, a Talon is created." There's a pause where Talon tenses, like he's expecting Danny to reprimand him for the correction. When nothing comes, he continues cautiously. "We are able to see in the dark. We revive when killed. We are faster and stronger than a normal human. We do not need food and sleep the way a human does, nor do our bodies subsist on oxygen. So long as we have supplements of electrum, we do not decompose."
"Hm. And you chose this?"
"I—"
Danny comes to a stop as the pull turns into a tether that roots him to the spot. Talon falls silent as a mass of shadows rises from the dock rooftop they've found themselves on. It closes over them like a dome, cutting off any light and bathing them in darkness. The smell of city smog and sea salt fills the air.
Lady Gotham takes shape slowly, like the creeping mist rolling in from the ocean. Shadows build on top of one another to create the shape of a woman. She's taller than Danny, with eyes like black holes and a mouth that can't decide if it's skin or bone. Her dress writhes around her; her hair drips like oil spill.
There's the wailing of a siren, and the crashing of waves; the sound of thousands of feet against sidewalk and the soft whistle of coffee brewing.
"G̴͕̭̤̜̜̘͓̼̠̟̳̻̟̻̝̋̈̇͆̕͠r̴̢͍̗͇̒̍̂̏̎̓̋̎̍̓̚͜͠͝͠e̸͎̜̘͇̪̬͓̥̦͋̃̎̓ͅḛ̵̳̗̟̯̮̉͗̿͛̀͋͘ͅt̷̳̭̝͎̔͗͜ͅì̵̡̜̖̳̞͔͕͆̈́͗͂͛́̇̀̅͘̕͝ń̷̡̨̡͉͙̹̣̖̥̝͓́̇̍̆̓͜͝ͅǵ̴̡̮̝͈̤̫̮͚̯͒͝s̵̝͇̫̬̹̹͔̦͕̰͇̟͂̎̄̈̈́̊͜,̷̠̲̲͎̙͓͐͂̀̓͌̒̈́̆̂̽͜ ̷̨̛͇͔͎̟̭̥͈̝̠̭̥̂͑̊͗̅̀̂͗̍͊̕͜͜͝L̶̡̧̨̻̘͙̥̲̻̗̲̙͇̲̻̟͓̉͆̎̄̈̆̓́ä̷̢̢̫̮̣̙̹̩̮͙͖́͑̉̔͘͝͝͠ḍ̴͕̒̿͆̓͐̇̐͋̇̊͗͗̑͑͛͝y̸̧̖͎͔̻̝̥͙̝̟̱̦͉̟̞͍̅́́̄͊͜͝ ̷̧̧̥͍͈̟̊̉ͅG̵̢̠͓͚̖̼̘̤͇̝̜̓̔̈́͗̓̕͝ō̵̻̣̥̫͔̤̯͕̻̲͌́̆̏̎̐̂̑̃́͌̾̚̚ͅt̷̡͈̭̮̭̟͛̇̀̎̾̾̒́̾̃h̷̘̒͌̂a̸̢̨̡̛̟̮̬͕̩̲͚̜̥̲̖̲̍͐̒͐̈́̀̈́̈̾̆́̃͆̑͋̆m̸̨̛̪̳͓̀͊̂͋̾̒͋̅̓͒̈͘͜͝͝."
She meets his eyes. Though her face is expressionless, he can read the accusation there, plain as the sound of a machine flat-lining.
Ķ̸̢̧̨̡̺̼̬̮̺̺̖̮̭͉͕̠̗͚̠̯̞̮͔̥̲̬̯͉̭͎̻̱̱̪̻̫̲̗̜̦͇̝̺̥̩͈̠̫̩̜̻̲̹̦̲̎̋͊̌̾̃̍̈́̒̉͐̾͊̀̽̍̿̇̐͋̊͒̃̿́͗͊͛́͗̀̌͐͠͠ͅͅi̶̡̧̧̛̛̘̼͓̩̞͇̠̭̯̫̥͕̞̗̬͍̠̺̯̞̖̙͈̠̜̳͉̭̘̱͉̺̺̭̺̭̭̠̭̹̔̇̈͑͂̎͛́͛̇̇̿̈́͂̇̈̔̾͛͂͛̆͒̽̂͗̿̀͒̈́͗̋͑̀̑͋̀͊̊̊̕͘̕͜͜͜͝͠͝͠n̸̛͎̭̠͖̙̖͒̀̽͋̈́͌͌̽̓̓͗̉̀͊̏̀͌̽͑́̿̈̓̌̄̑̓̅̔̕͠͝͠͠g̵̛̟͖̾̓̂̒̄͛̔́̊̎̎̈́̈́̈̃͌̃͑͋̚̚͝.̷̡̧̨̧̛̭̩̜̥̫̜͕͍̜̲̫̖͎̘̱̭͔͔͎̦̻̜̮̞͔̻̥̹̖̩͓̻̯̮̺̯̩̠̗̖̲͔͇̠̮͕͈͓̰̯̺̲̙̝̟̖͖̦͎̖̇̀̈̈́̽̔̓̽̒̏̈̾̋͘͜͜͝͝ ̵̢̡̡̧̧̛̛̻̗͔̙̣͎̟̞͓̭͎̠̪̹̞̼͓̠͎̲̲͉̙̘̻̟̜̯͖̬̼͔̬̺͎̰̦͕̫̬͎̙͈̺͙̮̱̫͈̲̥̮̦̖͍͇̳̪̮̮̤̲̞̭̦͔̣̽̇̂̀͊̀́̈͊͆̇͋͗͂͂̔̑̏̽͗͌̑͂́̓͒̍̄͊̀̒̌̽̏̉̓̂͗͐͌̇̓͊̃̀̔̈́͛̍̆̊͊̉̑́̈͌͒̚͘̚̕̚͜͜͠͝͠͝͠͠͝͝͠͝ͅY̵̨̡̨̦̹͎͈͓̩̝̘̬͈̠̖̤͍̯̠̦͖͓̝̟̲̩̫̲̦͇͉̯͇̱̫͖̯̝̘̫̱͍̺̥̭͙̬̗͙̫̭͈͕͐͊̿̇̿́́̌̽̔̈̄͂͋͊̾̈́̈̌͋̎̊̆̌̀́̉̔͋̓̓͑̃́͒̽͋̂͌̐̿͌̉͊̏̊́̀͌̒̾̀̀̌͋͋̉͋͐͘̕̕͘̕͘͘͜͝͠͝͠͝ͅͅͅǫ̴̨̨̢̧̛̣̠̗̭̙͚̯̥̦̩͖̰̖̪̼̖̝̦̫̼͖͖͓͎̱̞͕̜̗̜̞͖̠̣͉̰͚̳̥͙̮̳̻̲̼̲̣̹̞͙̞̫̟̘̱͙̙̭̭̣̞̖͎́̓̑̈́̈́̽̊̌͊̓̓̿̈̿͑͂̍́́̀͆̐̌̍̑̊̊̈́͛̐̓̐̀̊̾̄̑͊̂̑̔̎̂́̐͆̆̀̈́̀͗́͘̚̕̕̕̚̕͜͜͝͝͠͝͠͝ͅų̴̡̡̨̡̡̛͈͙̣̝͙̥̻̯̦̭͖̺̙̪̬̝̙̤̮̰͓̯̙̝̟͓̰̈́̑̒̏͋̓̌̄͗̂̍̾̀̅̊̀͗̔̋͋̈́͂̑͗̌̃̇͆̍͐̌̽̀̀̒̏̄͑̆͑̿͛̀̀̊̆͌̿̔̃̽̑̒̅̀͐̾̎͑̐͌̓̈̅̋̿̇̍͛̌̕̚͝͠ͅ ̴̧̛̩̲̹̹̞͓̪̤͉͔̘̦͍̘͓̻̫͙̹̜͎͈͕͖̹͆͒͑̋̂̄́͋̎̆̏̉̈́̈̿̄͂͗̎͊̽̀͑́̊̌̋̈́͘͘͘ͅͅẖ̴͕͕̥͚͍̥͍͔̫͕̘̥͉̜̭̬͙̣̥̠̘̥̭̬͕̰̮̝̘̺̣̭̌̒̃̽͊̈̆̒̑́̿͐̑͊͗͊̚̚̚̚͝ą̶̧̨̨̨̢̡̛̗̼͍̠̦̪̹͎͖̰͍̘̣̺͍̰̥͖̟̤̫̙͕͇̲̻̖̱̗̲̰̟̯̞͍̞̤̬̻̰̬̺͆͒̽̓̐̑͊̾̏͒͊͗̎͊͌͌̽̃̿͒͂̒̋͌̒́̎̃̎͂̒͐͐̽̈́̒̑̀̈́̈́̄̍̈̔͊̔͒̂̏́̕̕̚͜͜͝͝͝v̷̧̢̨̡̡̢̡̧̝̤̭͇̮̮̳̦͎͍͈̘̗̻̯̙̖̖̣̰̭̟̺̬̳̰̱̮̗̳͉̟̱̗̲̙̤͕͈͉͂͗́̒̂̆͌̉̈́͒͑͌͐͆̈́̐̍̉̈́͆͆̓̌̓̓̈́̉̈́̑́̾̋̌͑̒͛͐̂̊̽͊̈̎̒͒̊̂͗̅͑̅̀̇͒͒̚̚̕͘̕͘̕̚̕͠͝͠ͅĕ̸̡̧̨̢̢̢̧̡̥̗͚̼̘͖̰͕̲̣̲͎͍͕̥͍̫̹̼͇͕̻̗̰̙̩̲̤̺̝̖̲̞̯̳̹̪̹̙͚̪̩̼͍̳̫̟̖͓̩̱̂́͛́̒̿͐̉̓̃̽̉̔̾̈̑̀̒̓̓̽́̒̚̚͜͜ ̴̧̢̡̛̛̛̛͓̦̪̺͙̠͇̮͍͉͎̗͉͉̼̼̟͍̠̣̗͙͔̝͎̙̜͇͔͕͉̤̬̪̺͎̣̳͗͌͒̏̐̿͐̏́̓́͑̌͛́̐̃̎̒̃̊̇̏̒̏̎̽̈̅̂̓̆̏̓́̎̆̈́̀̕̕͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅẅ̸̢̡̧̠̫̠͍̰̻̱̻͎̼̩̠́̽̒ą̴̡̢̨̛̛̛̛̞̦̭̦̺̼̜̩̞̰͓̱̭̻͕̼̰̙̯̳̜͕͈̖̥͔̜͇̼̱̜̹̻̺̳̜͚͈̞̘̖̻̝͈̭͓̮̹̭̗̺̮̺̦̮͚͉̼̳͖̙͚͓͇͈̫̀͋̈́̐̈̊́̅͊͑̎͒̋̀̒̊͐͐̀̄̈́̽̈́̄̓̀̓͆̋̾̈̓̓̈͊̂́́͂̂̒̈̍͆̌͆͊̆̓̓̏͌̈̈́̓̾̔̑̕̕͘̚̕͜͜͝͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅì̷͙͔͕̜͐̽͑̎́̌͊̋̆̑̐̇͑͑̍̀̋͗̇̒̃̍̈̈́̎̏́̇̍̄̓̂̍͐̿̃͂̏̔̇̃̿͗̂̉̔̀͋̒̈́̀̋͐͒̋̚͘̕̚ͅt̴̡̧̛̛̳̼̣͎̩͈̩͓͇̳̥̤̟͇̣̫̖̳͈̻̙̟̺̯̬̗͚̺́̑̈́̄̑̾́̊̔͑̓̈́̆̍̋͒̈́̾͂̈́͌̈́͋̽̈̄͛̑͑̉͆̉͋͆̌̓̑͒̊̓̈́̀̈́͆̈́̈́̒̔̓̈́͋̍̇̑̈́͂̕͘͘͜͠͠͝͝͝ͅę̵̰̼̯̝͎̙͙͕͔̫̙̹͔̦͎͍̞̟͛̿̎̿̄̀̃͋̿͛̉̆͊̒̃̓̌̕̕͜͜͠͝ḓ̸̨̛̫̭̠̖̖̩̙̗͔͓̹̜̩̞̱̖̦͚̩̟̠̟͓̈̽͐̏̇̌̈́́͂̅͛̈́̐͊̍̽̓̋̉̀͑̀̾͐̋̀̄̔͂̾̐̎͌̓͌͑̂́̓͆͌͌͗̾̾̉̚̚͘̚͜͜͜͠͠ͅͅ ̷̢̡̡̛̛͍͚̥̲̞͓̘̫̝̙͍̜̫̱̗̤̖͖̤̤̲͔̱̩̬̮̳̬̤͇̮̹͓̠̠̞̆̓̓̽̎̑̀̅͐̋̀̃̉̓̊̀̂̀̏̈́̊͛̈́̈́̄͛̂͐̌̏̒̓̉͑͌̄̉̌͆́̓̅͆́̔͑̅͑̇̽̓͘̕̕͘̚͘͜͠͠͠͝ͅͅͅĺ̴̨̛̠̹͎̝̥͕͓̼̭̻̥̯͈̩̤̗̭̥̞͎̹̟̭̌̈́̀́͊̄̎͐̅͒̑͑͗̉̀͆͒͒̍͗̐́̒̎͊̈́̂́̀̐̅̆͒̊̈̑̽̾͛͊̏̅̂̒̋͆̋͂͋̐̈͗͊͛̍́̿͛͋̐͘̕͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͠͝ͅo̸̘̰͚̰̥̗͔̹̙̖̮͍̳͓̖͇̹̳͕͈͍͎͓̭͓̣͒̐̋̾͋͒̾͌͂̈́̂͋̇͜͜͠ǹ̷̡̨̡̨̛̳̭̩̘̙͖̣̯̞͙͈̜̻͔͎̱͖̹̣̲͕̝͙͉̤̣̼̜̯̥̜̯̠͚̻͎̻̳̮̱̤̝͚̙̩͈̹͆͆̓̃͜͝͠ͅͅģ̴̢̢̨̰͖̬̮͙͚̩͇̭͙̲̪̲͚͖̫͍̯̟̘̫̝̠̬̻̤̫͈̭͕̞̦̜͈͎̼̪̮͛͠.̴̡̢̢̢̡̨̧̨̨̨͎̗͚͎͓̬̬̪̭̣̳̤̮̲̥͙̬̬͖̝̭̭͕̲͔̞͕̳̜͓̮͇̝̙͙̮̺̝̙̘͍̳͓̩̬͔̟̩̝̫͚͇̲̘̽̉͑̈́̓͌̇̿̓̈́̀̈́̆̍̐͜͠ͅͅͅͅ ̵̢̡̢̡̨̨͔̜̥̺̺̺͙͙̩̞̭̲̙̬̜͙͖̺̻̬̞̬̬͙͖̥̭̻̭̺͇̮̝̱̲̞̜͚͚̺͇̝̖̪̯̼̙͉̼͎̣̜̩̯̥̠͚̟̺͚͔̥̾͑͒̉͂̀͂̐͂̅͒̀̎͗̇̑̄͒́̔̌̓͊̿͗̂̍̿̽̐͐͐͑̌͛̂̒̌̾̀̿̿̔̂͋͒̉̍̈́̔̂̓̽̈͋̅͌̑̾͗͘͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͠M̷̧̡̢̧̡̨̢̢̢̛̟͈̫̟̺̻͎̺̠͍͎͈̞̞̤̭͙̦͍̺̙͓̹͕͈͓͎̱̗̠̯̣̰̫͔̮͈̙͚̼̞̟̻̯͎̝̭̥̥̞̻̅́̂́̏͋̈̑̌̋̄͗̈́͂̾̅́̍́̓̈̌̐͆͆̈̉̂̒́̾̂̀̇̂̈̅́͒͑̾̊͆̔͆̀̏͊̒̎̐͘̚͜͜͜͝͠ͅͅy̸̡͍͎̪̞̘̪̠̝̗̞͙͎̠̗̟̜̟͙̯̲̝̩͈̗̟͖̙̗͇̭̖̲͕̞̙̭̯͎̺̰͕̖̤͌́͊̈́͐́͆͌͒̓͊̀͆̎̈́̏̆̍́͛͘͜͝͠͝͠ͅ ̷̨̛̛̛̘͚̦̤̯̯̦̘̲̦̟͔̱̪̭̈͛̈́̓̋̿̎̏͊̽̆͂̍̍̅̓̒͗̈̍͒͆̈̈́̏̉̏̐͌̑̅̎̒̑͆̓͗̐̚̕̚͝͝͝ķ̵͇͎̝̮̤͖͓̞͍̬̰̙̫̳̭̘͚͖͕̮̟̬͙̱̠͈͉̺̟̬̂̄̔̏́̉̂̅͜n̵̨̧̢̡̛̛̛̛̙̳͉̥͓͚̫̠̠̤̲̙̮̳̝̆̍̂̐̎̇͐̿̂̈́̆̎̊͆̈́̀͒̒̔̐͊̋̋͑̃͌̀̓̔̓̅̓̈́͛̍̈̒̑̇̚̚̚͘̚̚͜͝͝͝i̸̧̡̨̨̛̯̬̩̪̺̥͇̖̳̤̺͈̺͚̩̠͇͉̝̟̲͔̜̭̪͉̠̘͈̝̗̓͊̿̔̀̾̄͐̌͗̌̂͑͂̋́̀͋͒̏̅̇͂́̂͑̈̀͒͆̀̈̃̂̿́͌͒́̒̌͗́̉́̑̌͑̌̄̈̔͊̌̊̑̄̓̕͘̚͘̕͘̕͜͠͠͝͝͝͝ͅg̷̡̧̢̢̼̜͓̭̲͕͚̱͕͕͍̞̖̲̪̞̞̫̫͈̺̱͉̞̹͓͓̣̼̙̝̭͕̘͔̯͚̯̼̦͂͆͑̿̑̌̃̾̅̀̓͌̋̀́̿̊̏͐͐̈́͑̈́̑͑͆̈́̓̌̓̌̀͒̓̃̇̈́̅̇̈́̆̿͂̇̍̔́̍̔̏͋̿̊̚̕͘̕͜͜͝͝ͅh̴̢̨̨̢̨͍̞̜͈̗̣̱̲͉͙͙͉͖̫͓͚̱̲͔̳̟̯̙̟̫̘̳̘̤͔̞̹͇̼̮̺̬̜͕̙̓̊̆̄̀̒̋̐̾́̋̂̃̍̾͒̾̂̇̓̎̕̚̚͜͝͠͝ͅͅͅt̷̡̨̨̨̨̧̛̟̻͙͙̭̥̲̞͚͉̱͕̦̯̯̪̦̱̫͎̼̃̿̈́̓̐̇̔̋̀̏̾͗͌͛̅̃͂̐̎̈́̅̽̉̆̇̋̚̕̚͝ͅs̵̢̨̨̡̢̡̛̛̛͔͚͎̣̰̳̝̬͚̣̯̼̥̻̣͖͉͉͖̲͍̥̮̪̱̱̥͎̰̱͎̤̬̞͖̠̫͖̼͈̥͙̺̣͈̣̻͕͕͖̤̙̱̱͗̔̎̇͒̾̀̏̋̈́͗̈̽̊̌̈́̋͒̓̅̎̍̑̓̽́̈́͆̒̎̽̐̇̒̃̌͋̐̓̎͗̓͋͂̇̽̆̓̌̒̆͋̾͐͑̀̋̆̍͘͘͜͜͜͝͝ͅͅ ̶̨̨̧̡̧̨̛͚͎̭͕̙͔͕͙̥̜̱͎̳͍͍̲̙̲̱͎̙͓̤͓̠̹̞͉̲̠̰͉͈̮͕̪̦̲͓̺̦̳̬͖̳͚͕͔̱̝̪͓͍̻̟̦̿̈̎͐̓́̓͐̿̿͌̽͋̍͂̒̿̓͂̑̓̾͐̿̇̄͂̒́̊͋̑͊̚̕̕̚͜͜͝͝͠f̶̨̯̺͚͈̘͎̺̟͎͍̖̬̗͎̮͎̮͉͇̟͕̯̱̟̩̺͈̜̫̬̘͐͛́̽̈́́͌͗̾̅́̈́̔̇͗̾̔͒͑̿̀́͋͗͐͛̓̉̄̓̏͗̓͒́̐̽̀̿̊̓̏̈̃̚̕̚̕̕͝͠ą̶̫͉̖̹̥͇̪̰̬̹̣̝̬͓͎͕̱̔̆̀͒̓̔͗̄̌̓̏͗̚͜͝ͅļ̷̡͈͉͔̠̲̳̫̦͔̼̺̝̬͖̘̳̝̞̳̘̟̙̯̼̼̞̫̳̘͍̝͓̫̺͉̙̩̺͖̗̆̊́͋͋͜ľ̷̨̧̨̡̺͙͔̫͕͉͓̦͔͇̰̖͇̰̦̫̯̫̫̯̮̰̭̪̱̟̻̺̱̪̰̻̙͔̹͕̯̰͍̯̾̾̏͗̆́͛̍̈́̑̈́̈́͂́̀̑̈́̋̀̀͗̂̀̅̒̔͐̑͊̋̆̂̽͊̅͆̔͋͑͛̊̆̓̋̓̀̆͘̚͘͝͠͝͝ͅ ̸̡̨̡̢̬̱͖̜̝͕̘̠͍̭͚̺̼̝̤̩̫̫͎͉̠̰͈̬̖͑̅͂̏͒̀̅̎̆̑̇̌̀͐́̍̈͌̎̔̂́̔͒̽͛̀͊̇̏̓̈́̾̈̄́̇͘͜͝͝͝͠ḁ̴̛̠̆͂͊̓͊̿̓̑͗̈́̇̎̓̈́̐͊͌͌̃̈́̋̽̀̏͛̎̃̃͒͘ṇ̵̨̛̲̬̹̝̞͍̯̫̻̞̳̠̘͋̐͆̐̂̀̈́̎́͘͜͠ͅḑ̴̢̪̯̭̙̤̣͇̠̬͗̅̽͒͊̆͋͋͊̇̈́̓̽̈̄͆́̿͛̏̈́̀͑̓̒͛̈̉̋̈́̈́̑̉̏̀̄̍̃̌̽̇̒̅̓͌̒̈̄̿̕̕̕̚͘̚͘͜͜͝͝͝ ̵̢̡̡̢̛̣̳̝̰̳̤̞̭̬͙̪̤̜̳̠͖͎̖͉̥̖̘͓̬̯̪̤̯̜̦̼͉̟̦̪͇̣̤͎̪̰̠͔̣̟͕͖͔̊͛̋̎͐̈́̀̒̀̌̒̉͐̈́̄̿̾͋̾̃͆̾̑̊̔̉̀̂̍͊͗̒̇̓̃͌͒̽̌͆̀͊̌͑̀̂͑̌̍̔̓̈́͊͐̕̚̚͠͝͝͝͝͠͝m̷̧̧̡̛̛̗͇̻͔̜͉̳͇̝͙͎̭̫͚͙̭͎̞̮̲̝̩̺̞̟̩̬̩͖̬̰̝̰̲̠̣͈͇̘̩̘̞̲̲̤̝̭̜̝̰̫̩͍͍̟̻̟̮̮̣̓́̅̃̃̈́͑͐́̈́͋̋̑͛̔̄̍̅̀̌̂̈́̒̌̇͊͐̑͋̚͜͝͝͝ͅý̸̡̨̨͓̝̰͙͔͓̻͎͇͍̣̬̙̥͚̼̖̟͈̥̬̲̟̗͇̠͈̖̮̣̹͍̮͙̣̮̹̟̼͈̼̞͚͈͖̖̞̟͖̜͖̘̞̦͓̥̙̱̬̬͓͖͑̈̿̈́͋̓̄͋́̓̒̅͑̔̑̎̕͜͠ͅͅ ̸̦̩̱̳͍̲̳̭̰̺͙̙̩̱̞̻̜͙͉͖̪̗̱͉̗̠̱̠̤̽͛͐̓̾̃̊͆͒̌͆̅̽̋́̓̊͗͛̀̆̈́̇̎̃̀̚̕̚͜͝͠ͅͅͅh̶̡̻̦͕̜̳͚̝̤͈̠͓̥͉̟̞͖̟͔̫̲͖̜̦̖̎͑͂̅͑͌̈̋̔̈̈́̔͗͂̇̄̋̄͊̓͗̾́̀̀͐̋̋̂̉̾͋̄̎̈́͛̈́̓͐͂̀̉̀́̏͊̏͒̀̎̋́̅̒̌̅͂̇̀͐́͘̕͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅą̸̢̧̢̧̞̳̻̻̗̮̼͚͙̩͚̩̰̼̦̹͓̤̖̬̱̮̻͚̮̬̘̟͓̘̳͍̮͓͚̠̭̳͈̝͖͉͙̰̅̃̏͊̆̿̏̊̒̄̽͌̍̈́̓̂̈́̓̕ͅͅư̸̡͍̙̔̾́̃̂̓̃̈́͊̂͊̓̅̎̽̾̃̄̈̒̽̓̓̐͋͘̚͜͠͝n̶̨̡̡̥̲͉̤̺͎͚͔͎̬̙̯͕͙̺͇̪̤̳̩̺̈́͑͐̆̔͆̅͆̉̈́̀̄̿̄̀̂̏̈̓̅͗̓́̊̿̆̊̓̍͋͗̋͛͒̄̋̽͗͗̍̈́̾̉̂̊̔̎̀͂͌̐͋͆̾̕̕̕̚͘͝͠͝͠͝͠͝t̷̨̢̢̼̘̗̩̲̙̻̭̮͕̲͇̹̟͓͕͓̞̬͉͔͖͈͚͎͈̮̞̥̼͓̺̩̀͆̓̎͑̌̆̏̐̑̀̉͛͗̔̓́̎̿̐̈̑̐̈́̆͑͊͂͂̊̀̓͌̿̎́̔̐̏̇̍͘͘̚͜ͅ ̴̧̢̛̛̖̜̞̺͇̭͈̹̺͉͕̥̼̻̲͔͈̮͙̭̜͈̼͕͎̗̭͖͎͎̺͖̯̦͉̜̖̹̭͚̙̥͊͂̓͌̓́̑̈́̎̊́̈́͊́͛̾͑͗̋̽̀̇͋͊̐́̓̃̇̇̀̈́͛̿̇̈́̈́̏͗̂͐̐͆́̍̓̏͐̈́͌̆̂̾̌͂͂̚͘̕͘̚̚͝͠͠͝͝͠͝ͅb̴̧̨͕̯̟̥͙͍̥͙̮̭̥̻̬̙̤̥̗̺̻̖̹̝͈̯̤̹͍̟̯͎̤̣̬̯̊̈́̅͊͐̾̑́͂̓́̑̒͋̈́̎̇̾̓͆͐̊͛͗̿͆̐͝͝ȩ̸̛̤̗̞̟̗̖̮̘̮̲̈́̀͒͛̇̾́̈́̔̅̂̊̆̈́̅͂̓̑͒̉́̿̋̐̿̓͑̊̓̈́͛̔͐͋̄̐͘͝͝͝ͅc̶̡̡̡̢̢̞͖͍̬͙͇̖̫̭͇͇̮̦̞̫̙̱̙͚̫̙̱̜̩͈̠͈̰̣̬͖̖͔̞̼͑̈́̇̂͆̆̌̂͑́̅̓̏͜͜͜ȯ̵̡̱̘͈̮̘̜̩͖̣͚͔̘̱̜̯̱̪̙͕͎̰͍̖̬͈̺̥̮̰̟̯̫͙̜̥̲͖̊̽͂̆̍̀͊͌̈̾͐͆̒̿̒̊͒̊̏͌̿̒̃̄͘̕̕͘͘̕͝͠ͅm̸̧̧̨̨͍̫͈̠̦̣̪̬̘̥͖̱͕͕͍̪̖͗̇̓̌͆̃̈́̍̕͝e̷̡̨̡̨̨̛͎̥̹̠͇̫͎̜̬̩͇͈̰̠͖̟̤̪̯̭̝͍̫͎̘̰̩͖̤̱̗̟̥̳̜̱̹͈͈͓̠̩̥̩̗̦͚̱͍̯̻̗̗̠͙̻̟͎̻͉̝̱͑̉̇͊͗̓̇̈͂̈́̿̓́͐̓̂͂̊̂́̓̑͆̌̐̈̑͂̾́͂̍̒̈́͗͗̎̀̃̈́͗͊̽͊̎̓̅͛̚̚̕͜͜͠͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅs̴̡̨̨̛͕̘̪̲̞͎̞̩̺̞̐̏͋́́͛͗͗̋̀̍̓̏́̇͌͂̊͒̽͋͊̊̓͗̄̏̿̈̇̇̓͂͛̐̏̈́͑͊̄͘̕͝͝ ̵̧̡̧̢̢̧̨̪͙̻͉͔̤̜̟͎̠̱͍̳͚͈̮̯͇̰̰̣̠͖̻͇̻̭̟̘̻̦̰̲̗̫̬̼̲̭̝̙̼̖̻̱̱̼͇̪͙͖͚̩̼̞͕̜͉̹̜̦̳͚̳̠̒͒̋́͐̂͐̋̊̐͑̐̈́̓͊̀̅͐͆͗̉̆́̀̾̾́͆̈́͐̂́̈́͆̈́͋̂̈́̒̈́͗̏̋̃̕͘͘̕̚̕̕̚̚̚͘͜͝͝ͅï̴̛̛̞͈̳̱͓̳̱̹͎̄͋̔̏̌̌͗̑̎̌̓̿̍̈̍̽͐͒̌̌̄̾̆̾͋̈́̽͛͒͝͠͝͠n̴̢̢̨̡̡̧̛̛͓̥͈͈̳̩̰̩̼̱̫̗̮̗̜̻̬̥͙͖̰̤̦̻̦͐́̔̉̈́̽͊̀̿̓̀̍̊̇̏̓̌̀̈́̈́̄͌͗̕͝ͅf̶̛͕̦͕͈̦͔̜̙̖̱͖̣͗̅̅̽̿͗̂̓̅̈̇̿̓̓͂̎́̇͒̓́͐͌͑̊̅́̑͐̆̈́̔͂̐́̂͌̾̆̔̑̆̆͛̐̽͊̿̿͊̀̎̉͐̃̀̔͛́͑̑̔̌̑̈́͘͘̚̚͘̕͠͠͝͠e̵̡̧̡̡̨̧̧̡̛̛̛̛̬̮̻̻̰̬̝̪͚̹̟̣̯͉̝̪̼͇̟̜̻̣̱͎͔̟̼͈͕̹̯̟͈̯̗̣̜͓̙͔̳̱̤̩͚̦̜̪͇͔͖̥̹̣̩̜͈̺͒̔͋͗͑̄̍̾̋͑̅̏́̇̈́̈́͗̇̾̓̂̽̍́̽̈͐̔͋͆̌͗̏̔̆̀̃̎̓̅͐͌̆̈͗̾̿͒̉̑̈͐́̈͊̿͊̇͐̕̕͘̕̕̕̕͝͝͝͠ͅͅş̵̡̡̧̨̡̡̢̢̢̡͈̻̬̦͈͔̳̗͖̭͈̰̗̭̭͖̣̹̹̼̱͓̙͇͈̳̘̬͚̖̘̭̪̪͓͍̙̯̯̘̯̬͉̦͉̳̰͉̣̰̣̬̺̜͍̥̫̣̰͖̫̑̃̕ͅṯ̶̛̛̹͙̬̈́̔̉̃͐̾͊̓̽̏̐͌̀͋͂̇̇̓̓̄̾̽̋͂̂̄̿͂͗͋̔͗̏̐̿͐̏̓̔̄͛́̆̄̄̉̑̾̐̂̒̑̆͑̓͐̐̎̆̋͐̈́̊́̅̕̕̕̕͜͝͝͠e̶̛̛̼̰̞̰̬̻̠̣̻̗͖̣͍͖̭͙͉̘̍͑̉̆̿̎̔̏̏̓̀̑̍́̓͂̽̀̅̎̃̏̎͗̓̅̈́͗̀̍̃͌̄̏̐̂͋́̂͋̓́͋̐̎̚̚͝ͅd̷̡̧̢̢̢̧̨̨̛̛̞͚̥̰̺̜̹͉̥̗͇̣͚̮̤̥͈̣͉̰͍͈̳̜̰͍͈͚̻͎̙̼͚̮͎̟͔͖̪͈͊̅̐͆̌̐̐͐̂͊͆̿́́̌̋̆͆̾̾̓̏̎͑͒̑̊̿̆̅́̉̈̓̈́͋́̃̇̽̚̕̚͘͘͜͝͝͝͠ͅ.̸̛̳̭͔̭̼̥͉̫̺̼̺͍͒̊̐̈́̐̇́̊̀́̉̎͑̆̆̏̇͊͌̊͘̚͠
Danny just barely manages not to cringe. Her words are warped nails, even to his own ears. Talon does not fair better. He drops to his knees, hands pressed to his ears as a scream tears itself free from his throat.
Lady Gotham's sound cuts off abruptly. Her head swings, as if she is becoming aware of Talon's presence only just now—which shouldn't be possible. She's the heart of the city, there shouldn't be anything out of her sight.
She floats closer and bends. Long fingered bones make up her hands; they take Talon's face between them and lift. The dome above them cracks to let in a sliver of light; it lights Talon's wet face. A broken, mournful cry from Lady Gotham makes Danny's own eyes burn.
Her shadows pet at Talon, climbing over one another in a bid to touch. The gesture is almost loving which is all the more confusing, really. There is so much sorrow in her as she hums with all the music of the city and bends to press a kiss to his brow.
Talon shudders all over.
She lets him go slowly, reluctantly and turns to Danny once more. For a brief moment, her shadows coalesce around Talon, hiding him from view as she speaks again. Then she is gone, leaving only her message to echo inside Danny's mind.
"F̴̨̡̡̢̢̡̢̧̨̢̡̧̛̛̛̼͙̪̮̭̜̗̭̳̝̭̼̼͉͈̥̯̳͇̩͎̮̖̱̫̥̼̙̩̘̩͕̞̭̝̖͉̲͍̱̰͉̰͍͚̞̖̹̮̣̤͖̺͎̗̗͓̫̝͙̻̫͍̪̺͓͉̝̗̻̥͍̰̥̞̟̪̤̹̥̱̥̟̳̪̳͕̠͖͉͉̰͙̩̻͓͇̙̹͚͎̰̹̬̱̣̞͓̬̟̻̳͉͍͓͎̖͇̰̘̩͙̯͈̟̳̮̥̫̊́̌̑͒̈́̿̽̉̄̅̎̽̿͒̈́̈͌͊̄̾̀̎̀̂̓̋͊̆̐̆͋̍͗̏͑̓͆͌̔͆̍́̀̌̀͂̈̎̊͆͋̑̓́̌̑͊͌̏̽̒̓̓̀͆̿̑̄͗̈̍̌̐͋̍̿̅̋̀͊͊͋̆̀́͛͋̉͋̎̽͌͌̑̋͒͂̑͋̂̔̐̈́̃̎͊̓̈́̄͗̈̐͗̓̃̏͛̈́̓̓̃͛̉͌̍́̓͐̐̔̆̉̌͒͐̎̑̓͐̽̀̇̑̌̏͌̑̓̿̾́̌̽̀͆̈̑͋͘̚͘̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅi̸̢̧̨̨̡̧̨̢̛͖̺̰̝̬̟̗̠͕͇̪͎̩̜͈̗̫̬̞̣͓̟͔̗͚̝̹̯̞̤̠͇̦͉̠̰̖̮̘̱̪̩̝͉͈̖̘̦̯͕͉͈̭͉̪͔͕̯̹͈̫͔͎̣̗̥̦̞͎͕̠͉̬͓͓͕̖̇̀̓̇̿̓̌̋̀̍̇̆̓̎̈́̊̓̀͑̽̇̆̉̎̉̌͒͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͝͠ͅͅţ̵̡̢̡̧̨̡̡̡̢̡̨̧̨̧̧̧̨̨̛̛̛̻̙͈̝͙̺̮̳͇̺̭͇̣̥̘̦̹͓̯̗̦̤̳̝̤͇̙͙̬͇̟̱̥̻̹̗̳̪̠͓̜̯͚̗̞̲̼̝̝̤͉͎̲̦͚̯̗̞̜͈̖̤̫̗̗͎̯̬̞̯͚̪͇̫̞̭͍̘̰̰̪̬̬̱̠̱̥͚̬̥̥͔̯̜̻̩͖̥̗̺͉̭̙̺͈̖̣͓̩̤̘̯͍͙̼̣̺̤̘͍̮͍̱̜̳̠̩̣̝̫̭̻̩̻͉͙̣̤̪̼̲͖̬̹͉͓͍̹̲̦̼̱̳̺̞̘͈̬̦̤̥̰̐̈́͆̎̋̓͋̽̏͆̀̈̿̌̒́̎͆̀͌̀̋͆͒͗̉̀̌͊̇͒͛̔̎̌̄̀̀́͋̾̐̐̽́̐̓͌̾̅́̓̈̒̐̐́͑̃̅̽͒͐͑͂͛͋̕̚̚̚͘͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅ ̸̨̡̡̢̨̡̡̢̧̢̢̡̢̡̧̢̡̢̛͈̻͉͉͖͙͉̫͉͙̻̖̝͖̘̲̖̭̪͚͙̫̻̜͉͔̞̘̻̞̠̫̮͓̠̻̹̱̭͔͇͖̱̰͍͇̯̩̱͓̠̗͍͖̖̹͕̲̻͚̞͖̪̜̼̰͎̥͍̳͚̙̳̲̘̣̮͎̜̞̳̻͙͖̣̝͉̪̖͚̩͍̻̜̟̥͇̼̟͙̼̱̯̠̬̯̹̥̼̩̺̫̜̦̣̠̟̯̪̪̯͍̜̜̰͙̖̱̪͔̮͎̭̠͈̣̦̝̬͖̙̣̜̗̍̈̈́͐̔́̑͒̃̋̐̉̆͐͐̏̈̔͆͗̓̏͂̾̔͊̐̂̈́́̋͑̌̈́͆̆̿̇̒͋͂̽̈́̈̾̈͛̀͆̐̈̾̈̍̅̓̒͊̎̔̾͆̏́̽̀͆̈́̔̈́̾̑̒͆̾͆̋͐̏̊̒̉́̊͒̎͑̒̏̃̅̿́̋͘̚͘̚͘͘͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅį̵̢̧̧̧̢̨̧̡̢̧̧̢̢̛̛̛̛̛̛̱̞̳̺̞͕̖̜̼̣̦̹̣̜̯͚͕͈̺͍̤̙̲̱̪̳͓͔͔͍͚̫̖͙͈̩̜̥̖͓̪̣͕̱̘̹̭͙͖̪̮͉̱͚̻̜̠̤̣͓͚͖̞̙̤̭͖̳̯̟͚̣̰͎̰̙̖̣͈̬̙̤͎̦̫̦̥̰̣̭̯̤̗̮͚̺̺̻̬͓̬͖͎̮̙͈̼̪͍̻̦̞̬̊̒͒̍͐̊̈̿͑̏͗́̔̾̊̏͋͒̍͊̊͑̒͑̉͐̀̈̅̇̍̀̓̔̌͐̑̔̓̐͋̔͌̎̆̆̈́̽̃͒͊́͂͗͐͑̔͐̒̔̍̃̈́̋͐̌́̿̓̿͛̿͒̎̽͂̾͂̿̾̆̒͂̊̍͑̍̈̍̊̿͑̊̍̉̿͑̉̀̀̌̊́̾̈́́̀̐̾͘̚̚͘͘͘͜͜͜͠͠͝͝͠͠͝͝͝ͅt̵̢̢͎̬̗̠̤̦̭̭̦̻̹̬̭̻̫̘̤̗̪̞̬̬͈͚͉̪̹̬͉̞̟̼̮̼̠͉̮̰̞̠̥̭̘̹̹͙͛̂̀̔̆̈̈̀̐͜ͅͅ"
Danny settles on the roof, giving Talon time to recover as he thinks over everything he has learned in such a short amount of time. The situation is more complex than he thought. He might actually have to call in Dan and Dani at this rate. Lady Gotham's words came with the impression of four faces. Danny has already met two of them. The other two are up in the air.
"What was that?" Talon finally gasps, some indeterminate time later.
Danny twists through the air to face him, arms crossed and frown pensive. "That was Lady Gotham, the city spirit. She gave you her blessing."
He lifts a hand to his forehead; his fingers shake. "That was—it felt—" Abruptly, the emotions coming off of him shut down. He straightens and bows his head, eyes cast down. "Apologies, Highness. I have failed in my duties. Please punish me as you see fit."
"Anyone would buckle under Lady Gotham's wrath, I'm impressed you stayed conscious for it. I wouldn't have brought you if I'd known she was angry with me." Danny's legs coalesce into a tail as he floats closer. "Did you see something when she touched you?"
Talon looks up at him. "I saw a boy," he admits. "He had blue eyes and was chasing shadows on rooftops with a camera."
"You have her favor. That's not an easy thing to earn."
"I don't know what I did to earn it."
"Maybe that's the point." Danny sighs and gives a shake of his head. "Anyways, let's grab some food and get back to Jazz. You know any place that's open this time of night?"
Talon blinks slowly. "Yes."
"Great!" he grins. "Lead the way."