𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐘 ― d. grayson ¹

⤷ fifteen

He folded his arms, towering over her. Yet, Artemisia was not intimidated. For the first time in her life, she saw past the body build, her anger suppressing his. "We?"

"Me and Zach," she snapped, fulfilling the temptation to throw the balled note at him. It hit him in the chest, slowly dropping to the ground as she kept on hissing through her teeth, "these are for him. He's probably trying to find me and since we went literally everywhere, I had to leave a trail."

"Maybe this family picked up on your trail," Dick blurted out, trying to find any weak point to dig deeper and bring out something dark to use against her. She cursed at Bruce Wayne for teaching his stepson about this stuff. "Neon pink post-its in the middle of the street, not interesting at all."

His sarcasm was about to tear through her sweet persona, evolving her kind manner into a ferocious beast. Instead of pleasing him, she decided to hear his words. Her gaze dropped to the ground, where the pink note had fallen, crumbled into a ball. He might have been right. The bright paper could still be seen even after wet, when the laces of their shoes could not. Artemisia rasped, accepting the notorious object. Perhaps they did need to change some tactics of this plan.

Watching her lips curl down, he stepped closer, not to comfort but to confront. "And you said it yourself. Your friend is dead. He isn't coming for you," Dick's voice was a notch too high, the rest of the group that hung not too far away turned to them, seeing the tension between their bodies. Hell, Robin hadn't even noticed how close they were stepping towards one another in anger. If she had, things would have favored Dick, who would win thanks to her embarrassment.

Flaring her round nostrils, she shot a glance over her shoulder, finding two pairs of curious eyes on them. Sighing, she turned back around to face him again, lowering her tone, "he is not dead."

"How do you know?" With every sentence that sprouted from the brunette's thin mouth, her emotions varied, shifting accordingly to a perfect response.

Artemisia's fingers ran across her dark strands, pulling slightly to release tension, an anxious quirk she developed in school. "Because he's done it before," she explained, recalling the sense of grief she experienced, "faked his death in front of a gang leader so they would lower their defenses, then next thing they knew we ambushed them. I'm sure he was up to something this time, too, but things went south."

He was quiet, mouth shut without attempting to think of a reply. She scoffed, recognizing this set of actions from Washington when Rachel stood in her place and defied him. It was her turn to cross her arms in disappointment, hurt by his lack of effort. Or maybe... she shook her head, denying a second thought.

"Thank you for not believing in me, Dick," she copied his sarcasm, tears filling her eyes. After all this time together, she thought they were getting somewhere, yet he had proven not much had changed. He did not trust her. "I'm sick of your constant anger and how you load it off on people. See this?"

From her pocket she took the ticket from the ATM, slapping it into his chest, feeling for that split second, his hard pectorals. She did not blush, as it was common with her. His hand reached for the ticket that remained on his shirt, still shook by her brutal move.

"There's other invisible clues he can follow," Artemisia explained, looking down. She gave in to the first idea that crossed her brain, confidence washing off, "I'm not stupid."

He gulped, eyeing the proof of her statement. "I'm sorry―"

"Are you?" The last spark of security reflected on her words, building up enough signals to control her body until she was out of sight. "Or is it just part of your act?" Dick was left with a wobbly mouth, moving his eyes around the small crowd that witnessed their argument. Robin blocked them from her peripheral view, going straight inside, that fantastic idea of eating another round of fries leaving her mind. Right now, she wanted to give in to her dramatic exit. So she did, leaving them all behind, proud of each response she gave.