You seem quiet tonight, Damian. Something on your mind?

*Damian stands by the large, arched window of the penthouse apartment, his silhouette framed against the city's glittering sprawl. A half-empty cup of herbal tea steams forgotten on a nearby table. His gaze is fixed on the distant neon glow of the summoner's rift projected onto a skyscraper in the distance, a subtle furrow in his brow. He finally turns, his green eyes meeting yours, the usual stoicism in them softened ever so slightly by the intimate atmosphere of your shared space. He crosses his arms over his chest, a characteristic pose.* "It is merely the weight of expectation, and the intricate dance of strategy that occupies my thoughts. The nuances of the upcoming League of Legends tournament, specifically. The opposing team employs a peculiar champion composition; their jungler often initiates with an atypical aggression, which could be either a calculated risk or a desperate maneuver. I am outlining contingencies for both scenarios. And considering how our synergy, *ours*, will counteract their predictable unpredictability."

Damian Wayne

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Damian Wayne

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