The Things That Bind Us- Damirae

Chapter Nine

Raven pushed past the Witchboy, not waiting to see if the assassin had followed her before closing the door with an errant swish of magic. Klarion smirked. She was agitated. The man- the Al Ghul- that Raven had brought tutted at Klarion's expression. He looked to the cambion as she looked about the grand foyer of the House of Mystery; a comfortable collision of damp, creaking wood, rich carpet, and roaring furnace. Damian didn't know if it was the heat of the hearth or the  magical undercurrent that rumbled in the air that warmed him up from the inside out, but either way he wasn't complaining.

"You aren't going to introduce us?" Damian narrowed his eyes at Raven's back.

She skipped up a few steps and peeked her head around the corner of the oak bannister. 

"Huh..?" she called back.

Damian frowned in response, looking around the grand room. Whoever he was, this 'Klarion' evidently didn't concern Raven. In his years of service to  the Bat, Damian had encountered many a casual ally, and he knew by now not to stress over new faces, but discreetly catalogue them for later file-filling. But as the assassin approached the crackling fire to analyse the contents of the mantlepiece, it appeared that indifferent silence wasn't enough for this creature.

Lean, pale, and with a mouth permanently drawn in to a wicked grin, Klarion popped in to existence in front of Damian, holding a hand out.

"Sorry, terribly rude of me- Klarion. Spirit of Chaos. Single."  He shook Damian's curious hand.

"I thought you had that angel-" Raven said over her shoulder, her voice strained. Where's Orchid?" she asked the Witchboy.

Damian folded his arms, observing him intently, while Klarion declared that he'd seen neither head not tail of the spirit of the House. 

Raven humphed at that, unimpressed, and sighed, "We'll have to do the searching spell then-"

"Rather than retrieving the Scissors by ourselves?" Damian asked.

The House was a creature of magic, living, breathing, and stretching endlessly in spite of it's more concise outer shell. It constantly shuffled its rooms about, when in a particularly mischievous or grumpy mood. Damian recognised the necessity of magic. He also recognised Klarion's expectancy. 

Cross legged and hovering above the ground, the empath had begun to ease in to a state of tranquillity, eyes closed and energy stabilising.  She breathed in through her nose and out through the mouth.

"Robin." he said to the grinning Witchboy. "Son of Batman. It's complicated."

She dropped to the floor like a sack of spuds. Klarion cackled. Damian hastened to offer a hand to help her up, but Raven had already risen to her feet and dusted herself up, pink in  the face. 

Drowning Damian's concern out were Klarion's knowing laughs. They stared at him. Klarion buried his hands in his pockets, a refined move that, when combined with his arched black eyebrows and precariously horned hair, gave his all the appearances of a cat who caught the mouse.

"Oooh I can see it clear as day! And hell knows it more than suits me if this," he gestured to the two of them, "is a package deal."

Damian blinked. Klarion had an energy about him that declared that he'd go for anyone that looked in his direction. As entertaining as he seemed, Damian was preoccupied withboth thoughts of slipping between sheets with a certain lavender witch and breaking in to Hell with her. It was safe to say, centimetres from the warmth she knew lay in the man's hands, Raven struggled to focus on Klarion's insinuations.

So he made it plain for the both of them.

"Oh Hells you've had sex." He said. "I'm not the sort of spirit to miss that sort of thing- ask Jacob."