[ once he docks, bruce finds himself led by compulsion, and one that he's acutely aware of. he follows, for now, if only because it might lead him to more clues about what this place is and why he's really here; beyond that, he remains cautious. the temple itself seems peaceful, and he's grateful for the supplies, but he stays quiet and watchful, not only of the otherworldly creatures who roam this place of worship, but of the others who, like him, wander in for shelter and answers. as he leaves, his eye lingers on the yellow symbol in the center of the temple, making note of it before he exits, shrugging his new pack over his shoulder. ]

[ normally, bruce would feel more at home in the suit, if not for the bat-like mask on his face-- it's not normally a combo he mix and matches. but he didn't know anybody here, didn't know their faces, feeling more forthcoming with his identity than he normally might back in gotham. where he might find comfort in the strength of the cowl, it reminds him pointedly of it's falseness as he tries unsuccessfully to pry it from his face. when he stops to think, he can't even remember how he got here or how the mask got on his face in the first place, guided from place to place as if with little anchor to keep him grounded. he recognizes the familiar looking symbol on his chest as well, but mentions nothing of it. the longer he stares at it, his eyes lose focus and he finds the veil draw closer over his eyes until he awakens upon hearing whispers of secrets and their revelations. unconcerned, he'll turn to you, the person closest to him, and state simply: ]

I'm Batman.

[ ...and like a lid breaking it's seal, bruce finds that he's able to suddenly remove his mask. ]

[ and now it's night. where did the day go? how long has he been wandering from place to place, only to find himself on the beach, of all places? the sand crunches lightly under his feet as the waves lap softly back and forth by the moon's pull. in the darkness, bruce can see a faint glimmer from ahead, like eyes peering, and the soft, sometimes jerking movements of fabric, like the ghost of a person dancing in the moonlight. as he approaches, he sees it's only a cloth-- yellow, the same color he's been seeing all day-- and a grinning skull buried in the ground that smells faintly of cinnamon and cardamom on the wind.

he sits cross-legged in front of it, like sharing a fire with an old friend, and once again finds the veil falling over his eyes, compelled to reveal more and more about himself that he clandestinely keeps so carefully hidden. bruce pinches at his temple when he finds the haze build into a piercing headache that tears at him as the broad smiled skull finds his candor lacking... ]

[ PROMPTS NOT YOUR JAM? hit me up with your own! or feel free to friend me at BATGUY if you'd like me to write you something specific! ]