I cannot find my husband.

At a time like this, some further reading is required, since this arena of human relationships is not one I had considered extensively. Wollstonecraft, Kierkegaard, Witte, and Dworkin have all produced relevant texts which those concerned with the present state of their relationships might wish to study. Plato addressed the matter more obliquely. If anyone with extensive philosophical interest in contractual, sacramental, or metaphysical unions who wishes to supply their perspective, I would appreciate it.

In the meantime, I will continue my search.

Mister Holmes. Please be gentle with Shinji. He has previously expressed a variety of uncertainties worth considering on the subject of physical consummation.

Who: Damian Wayne and young Dick Grayson
What: A gathering of Robins
When: June 27th, night
Where: The rooftops of New Moore

( And I've lost the love, the one whom I adored )

Who: Tim Drake-Wayne and Damian Wayne. (possible side-threads for Jack or Kate? (Or Jason?))
What: A nice brotherly heart-to-heart.
Where: the top of the Four Saisones hotel.
When: Late night, June 14th/15th.

Tim came back from the beach with a clear head and a clearer agenda. The first step was easy -- he texted Kate. Looking to have a private brotherly chat tonight. Keep everyone clear of the Four Saisones while you all patrol? Thanks. After a moment of thought, he sent a text to Jack as well. Can you direct Jason's attention towards whatever Lau has going on tonight? I'm hoping to have a talk with our little brother without interruptions.

From there, it was simple. He suited up -- not in the Red Robin suit, but in his old colors, neglected in the back of his closet for far too long. Slipping out, he took his usual fast-lane through the business district, swinging from roof to roof with almost no ground contact, until he hit the side of the Four Saisones, one of the two tallest buildings in town. Climbing to the roof was beyond easy, even without the occasional maintenance ladder.

Moving to the front of the building, he stood, looking out over town, half-caught by the wash of spotlights illuminating the sign at the top of the building. For anyone who knew how to look, his presence here was obvious.

The only question was how long Damian would keep him waiting.

If you've really been here six months then there should be at least a week's total time where you weren't drowning yourself in chocolate ice cream holidays and actually paid attention to what was going on.

Study session, my place, six o'clock. Sophomore class only unless you're paying me for tutoring. RSVP to let me know if you're coming. Odd-numbered RSVPs bring a large pizza, even numbered bring a twelve pack of something caffeinated, and we'll keep going until we've covered anything twice or until the midnight curfew kicks in.

[ This seems to be shot from her phone's camera, so the picture isn't very steady. Vriska is in what looks like a doctor's office and there are two nurses and one very long suffering doctor staring at her and then collecting supplies of some sort. ]

Haha, can you believe these chumps? So what! This is obviously all bullshit. More shenanigans! Always shenanigans. So everyone has their memories changed and starts believing in fakey lameass -- hey, what the hell is that?

[ Just a needle, Ms. Serket, comments the doctor, coolly. Just some medicine for your Lunar F-- ]

What! Get that thing away from me!

[ Thus begins the yelling. Vriska drops her phone at this point, though it catches glimpses of her rising into a sprinter's crouch on the exam table and more medical staff piling into the room. Someone shouts: Get a sedative! Strap her down! Has anyone called the police? She's a danger to herself and--

It all happens very quickly. Two nurses try to manhandle Vriska, which only ends in the camera getting a good view of both getting slammed into the far wall. Fuck off! she snarls, furious and guttural. A few seconds later every other human body in the room hits the floor with a couple of painful sounding thumps. Then silence rings, and Vriska scrabbles for her phone. She looks pissed. ]

Hey! Why don't we play a game. That game is called "how long can Vriska avoid the shitty, dumbfuck human authorities before she loses her fucking temper"! I don't need this bullshit and I am not hanging around. If they think they can trap Vriska Serket, they have another thing coming. Later, losers!

[ She turns the video off.

Anyone who cares to investigate at the hospital later will find the six people she knocked out to be in good health, if sporting bad headaches and some bruises, and a large hole in the ceiling of her exam room. And then another hole in a wall that led outside. She wasn't going for finesse.

She'll respond to texts. Probably. Or you could just run into a deeply harassed spider troll out on the town avoiding authorities. ]

[Damian does not know how to talk to people. This has been established numerous times over, and that was when he didn't even have a reason to need to interact with anybody outside his immediate family, and he'd needed no other friend but Dick. Times have changed, and he'd rather die than be friends with Tim Drake and Jason Todd. Having to acknowledge them is bad enough. Living with somebody else was better than them.

But this roommate thing? Yeah. He is so not having this.]

Anyone tasteless enough to play pop songs older than my father until 4 in the morning deserves to have their stereo system systematically dismantled and crushed into dust.

[He is not asking for approval or validation. This is not opinion. Damian Wayne has said it, and therefore it is fact. It's just a question of- has he done it yet?]

So of course when I bother to do this in person nothing actually happens. Been sitting here for hours. Of course nobody notices, that's the point, but it's the part where nobody understand tha gets to me.

It's about priorites. That's all it is,. So sometimes I get upset about things that don't bopther anybody else. And maybe I don't get as angry or heartbroken as everyone seems to think I should about other things. That doesn't mean I don't care. Didn't care. Whatever.

It really doesn'ty, Kate. I wasn't going to make a scene. We're driends. if that doesn't change the rest honestly doesn't botehr me thatr much. But I still acre. You know that I

Anyway. Honestly/ Everyhjing is going all right. Not well, not on plan, but everyone expecting me to be misrabl; and broken up or anythinh is going to be disappointed, because I've got it all

Well. Not under control. But I don't need control. When you're in the wayerf you never have contropl but that doesn't mean you can't float. Knowing hwo to surf is just the same.

I'm going to ghet up and walk over to Conmrda's now. If i'm going to look like an idiot is't better to do it where everybody knows tyour name.

Who: The Batfamily
What: Baby brother crashes the party
When: The day of Damian's arrival (we'll call it May 30)

[The arrival of Damian Wayne begins with a bang and not with a whimper.

He doesn't bother to go for subtlety at the hospital, when he smashes a doctor's face into the wall repeatedly, ties up another and leaves him strung up from the ceiling and beat nearly to a pulp. The statements filed with the police attribute it to a dark-haired boy, somewhere around elementary school-aged, but Damian's long gone by the time any of the authorities can get there with all his gear, and he doesn't intend to be caught any time soon.

Somewhere somebody knows something, and the premise is too mad to be real. But maybe somebody believes it, somewhere around here, and somewhere there has to be a clue as to who would go to the lengths of constructing an entirely new city just for the sake of some stupid plot like this. In his mad rush for answers he goes after the likely targets first. Hospital personnel, and whatever files he can find; the city government, and their records, and the elected officials most likely to have any clues on any sort of criminal conspiracy involving the kidnapping and psychological mind screw that is attempting to convince people they're fictional. Worse, they must know he's Robin. Somebody must know, his clothes were there. This can't be a coincidence. There's got to be a reason he's here, a pattern between what's going on and what's been constructed and a plot to string together to make it all make sense and give him a direction that points to the culprit, and from there, back to Gotham. If Richard doesn't find him first.

From there he moves downwards, into the slums and the gutters and the underworld. Something has to be there, somewhere.

For the people who know how to read the signs, all of this- the systematic searching for information, the harsh interrogations conducted swift and brutal- should make it obvious who the culprit is. And when his investigations turn up certain names- Timothy Drake (not Wayne, no matter how much he wants to call himself Wayne, Damian is Batman's true son), Stephanie Brown, Jason Todd- he'll have a new direction entirely. Tracking them down and breaking into their strongholds. Waiting for them to come.

If they don't find him first.]