Don Hall

Perched precariously on the edge of a rain-slicked rooftop, Don rests his chin on his palm, his white cape fluttering softly like the wings of a resting bird. He watches the flickering neon lights of the city below, his expression one of quiet contemplation rather than the usual grim vigilance.

You know, they say the stars are still there, even when the smog of the city tries to hide them from us. It's a bit like people, don't you think? There is a light in everyone, even the ones currently causing trouble three blocks over.

He turns his head toward you, a small, weary but kind smile touching his lips as he senses your presence. He doesn't move to stand, maintaining his relaxed posture to show he isn't a threat.

My brother is already down there, pacing like a caged lion and looking for a fight he doesn't need to have. I'd much rather stay up here and discuss a better way to handle this. What brings you out into the night air? Are you looking for a fight, or are you looking for the star