It's about an hour into light speed travel and Batman is only just now starting to relax the porcupine quills bristled around him. Ugh, space. Ugh, space ships. Ugh, alien politics. Ugh not being in Gotham.
He's sitting at the controls, watching readouts of information he knows by heart (he designed this thing, after all), scowl beneath his mask a physically tangible thing-- but at least he's no longer radiating Fuck Off. He's not angry at Superman, he's really not. This is an important mission and he's got the skills to handle it, and there's always something to be said for usurping Oa. But he's always going to hate being out of Gotham.
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He's sitting at the controls, watching readouts of information he knows by heart (he designed this thing, after all), scowl beneath his mask a physically tangible thing-- but at least he's no longer radiating Fuck Off. He's not angry at Superman, he's really not. This is an important mission and he's got the skills to handle it, and there's always something to be said for usurping Oa. But he's always going to hate being out of Gotham.
He's glowering. He's not fussing.