Kintsukuroi
'What if I put a clock pendulum in my torso' was the sort of question Bruce had come to expect when visiting Oracle.
"Pendulums are dependant on a stable base," he replied, because the last time he'd assumed they were being unserious Tim had tried to fit a chemistry test lab in his mouth and accidentally leaked the fumes through his mask.
"It'd be so aesthetic though," said Barbara, not looking up from the dozen screens she was surrounded by. "Listen. It would look so cool - Spoiler, robbery on fifth and main - Especially if I put a clock face over my heart."
"I thought you were trying to fit a super computer in it?"
"I was, but progress is slow. It's hard to fit it and enough padding to protect it plus leave enough room for ventilation. If I add the pendulum I might at least get inspiration." She gave a heavy sigh and pushed away from the desk, gliding in her chair to where her doll body was resting on a table, the glue separating the two halves of the smashed torso still glistening. Bruce followed, peering over her at the many scanners and wires hooked into it, flashing and beeping.
"Any luck?" he asked, and they both knew he wasn't talking about the computer anymore.
"Nothing."
He squeezed her shoulder, and she leant into it. They stayed there for a long moment.
"I just don't understand!" Barbara finally burst out, hands clenching on her chair arms. "I glued nearly every single piece back together! I made sure every splinter I could find went exactly where it should! I know the contract is still there. She's worked with more missing pieces before. But she's just not responding!"
"It's not you," Bruce soothed. "You've more than enough determination and strength to puppet, and we know the human body's state doesn't affect performance."
"That's the thing!" Barbara threw her hands up angrily, nearly smacking Bruce in the face. There was a chatter over comms, and both reached for their own. "One second," she said tightly, and wheeled back into the glow of the monitors. "Copy. BW, you're nearest? Thanks. Try and avoid the sniper this time. Wing, backup is in five."
She muted again and spun around, pinning Bruce with a heavy stare. "Is there anything, anything you can think of? We've - nothing I've tried has worked."
"Well...." He trailed off, one hand coming up to rub at the chin of his mask - a quiet night meant the opportunity to forgo the practical but muffling gas mask for his favoured plain black.
It was far from the first time a doll had been horrifically damaged. The incident with Bane came to mind - Batman had been in a very similar condition, body shorn clean in two and tossed to opposite corners. It was an awful memory, but the expression on Bane and the audience's faces as his bloodless body fell apart like a rotting tree trunk and then kept moving was a silver lining he'd always treasure.
But he'd been repaired and back on his feet in weeks, if bearing the incandescent fury of the doll for several more. It had been months for Barbara, and still nothing was happening.
"There's something we're missing, and I doubt it's on your side."
"I know THAT-"
"Listen," he demanded, and her jaw clicked shut mutinously. "There's something we're not seeing. Batgirl is in no shape to demand it herself, it seems. So its inaction is something we can't fully rely on."
"You've got the most experience with the dolls of all of us. Can you.. I don't know, sense anything?"
"Nothing more than the usual, with the Patriarch Doll, but we might get more if we return to the doll house -"
"No." Barbara interrupted again, but Bruce did not take offence. "She's not going anywhere. She doesn't want to head back to the cave."
Oh?
"She doesn't want to, or she doesn't care to?"
"I say she doesn't."
Interesting. This was likely a case of the doll exerting its will. The bats were well versed in avoiding the few lines their wooden bodies drew in the sand, treating them with the wary respect one would give a favorite blade or a highly trained attack dog. They could work together, share the highs and lows of life with them, but never get complacent. The dolls were forever a foreign, inhuman presence, and as with all wild creatures they would never be so arrogant as to assume full understanding. For Barbara to so strongly decide for the doll meant she was most likely not the only one deciding.
Which meant the solution would not be found in the cave.
"Perhaps there are upgrades she wishes to have?"
Oracle paused.
"Maybe," she conceded. "But there's practically a limitless amount of things I could do, and I wouldn't know where to start. And I could more easily do them when she's up and walking."
Not that then. If the doll wanted something to change but not receive upgrades or heal, than what?
... Not heal.
Batman hurried to the table. Oracle watched him with hawk eyes, but another call on the comms turned her away with a final warning glance.
Recovering every single splinter from a damaged wooden object and perfectly reattaching it was nigh impossible on a good day, never mind in the dead of night with a moving target. The dolls always returned to the cave to regenerate scratches and nicks they couldn't buff out, or accepted plaster to transmute with whatever supernatural power guided them.
The batgirl on the table, divested of all covering and armour, was still as chipped and scuffed as the day nightwing recovered last splinter.
The pieces fell into place.
"She doesn't want to be perfectly rebuilt," he realised. "She doesn't want the damage to disappear as it normally does... She wants it to remain visible. A different type of repair, then."
Oracle spun in her wheelchair to face him.
"Why?" she asked, something sharp in her eyes. Bruce chose his next words carefully.
"Perhaps she thinks such damage doesn't need to be hidden away," he said, slowly, and didn't comment when she turned away. Though she put on a strong face, and the doctors had recently released her full time, it would be a long time until the young hero was able to truly heal her mind.
"She doesn't need to do that for me. She's just causing me trouble."
"I don't think she is," he tried. "Dolls tend to reflect their puppeteer even after they accept us. You can't deny your trajectory has been changed."
They both sent a significant look to the enormous super computer taking up the wall.
"You've said you almost feel better able to protect Gotham now, with your reach and skills. Do you really feel that way?"
"I - I don't -" her mouth worked silently, and Bruce waited. "I mean I guess... But a part of me always assumed it'd be temporary, you know? Once I fixed batgirl.. It'd all return to normal." Her voice wobbled, and Bruce didn't hesitate to crouch before her, wrapping her in a long armed hug. She buried herself in his chest, regardless of the chilled metal.
"It's okay if you don't," he whispered into her hair, and held her as she shook. "I'm just throwing ideas around."
"I do though," she rasped. "I think I do feel that way. There's so much that can't be solved by violence, and it feels good to be out there but... I think I can help even more people, this way."
"That's good," he praised, "that's good. You can do whatever you set your mind to."
"You stole that from a parenting book verbatim."
"It's applicable to the current situation."
"Fine," she sighed, and pushed him away to roughly scrub at her eyes. "I'll give the doll another chance. Find some glitter glue or something, I don't know."
"Any materials you need will be provided," he promised. "I wouldn't recommend glitter glue or our usual tar."
He moved to pat her on the hair as the emotions of the moment faded, making sure to keep his unsheathed claws out of her hair.
"Once you fix her, though, I would recommend you puppet the doll during night hours still," he told her. "It wouldn't be good to put your body through twenty hour days."
"I've got a good system set up for now, but thank, B-man."
The computer dinged with another alert, and oracle spun to squint at it with a muffled curse, typing furiously. Batman escaped to the other side of the room, where the folders he'd originally come looking for lay. She waved, distracted, as he left, and although the doll could not smile, he could feel it on his face all the same.
@puppetmaster13u I summon thee dear mutual ^^
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Two new WoT theories about Galad, one Watsonian and one Doylistic.
Doylistic: People super underestimate what a minor character Galad actually is, probably because Sanderson promotes him in ToM/AMoL. His first PoV in the RJ books is the KoD prologue, and otherwise he only appears on-page 1) when Rand visits Caemlyn, 2) when Egwene and Nynaeve go to the White Tower, 3) the infamous quarterstaff duel, and 4) when Elayne and Nynaeve run into him in Samara and he's become a Surprise Whitecloak. Everything else is people talking about him! Given the repeated hints he's romantically interested in Egwene and/or Nynaeve that go absolutely nowhere, plus at least one prophecy/viewing that does the same, I think that RJ may have rejigged his role in the story around TFoH.
He's a goldmine of interesting connections to main characters (Rand, Elayne, Egwene) that don't pay off, and when he does take centre stage in ToM it's about his relationship with Morgase (established, significant to him, but SHE is quite a minor character) and a new enemies-to-allies arc with Perrin which...comes out of absolutely nowhere if we're being honest. Perrin already had a Whitecloak to have an enemies-to-allies arc with! He didn't need another one. Justice for Dain Bornhald. RJ kinda moved away from the Arthuriana stuff by mid-series and I think Galad, Walking Arthurian Archetype, suffered from that.
Watsonian: I will make it super-clear that I think everything that follows is because RJ simply wasn't thinking about Galad that hard outside of his role as the Galahad archetype. NEVERTHELESS.
As @butterflydm noted elsewhere, there's not a lot of reason for Galad to be at the White Tower (much less to argue to stay there when Elayne leaves, as he does) and the more I think about it...for someone who is nearly 30, he's extremely adrift from all the normal markers of adulthood and status in his culture. Morgase doesn't appear to have given him any significant responsibilities within Andor, even though he's treated otherwise as her son. He doesn't seem to have inherited estates from Tigraine or Taringail that he could be administering (a la Gareth Bryne in retirement in TFoH). He's arguably in line to be High Seat of either Mantear or Damodred, or even a candidate for the throne of Cairhien, but he's not apparently considered for any of those. Readers are often surprised at how old he is because he's presented as equivalent to Elayne and Gawyn, literal teenagers not yet old enough when the books start to take up their future responsibilities outside of the emergency situations that later occur. Notably, although Galad expresses clear romantic interest in multiple women through the series he's not married or a parent, though again he's more than old enough. (That last is definitely a Galahad-archetype thing.)
So my "canon doesn't support it but canon leaves room for it" new theory is that this is actually on purpose, because like spare sons of royalty before him he's an incredibly tempting target for conspiracies, especially out of Cairhien. He has a close and loving bond with Morgase but she is very politically pragmatic and likely wouldn't want to put him in a situation where he could become the focus of plotting like that. And also...he would righteously report every plot to her unless and until someone managed to convince him that Doing The Thing, whatever it was, was actually the morally correct course of action. Valda achieves this pretty quickly, so it's clearly a possibility!
So, to sum up: Galad is unmarried, uncommitted, and available to be sent to the Tower in TGH because he's too much of a political hot potato to do anything else with. If he was bonded by an Aes Sedai that would probably be a perfect long-term career for him from a political perspective. Ironically puts him in a position, after all these years of Morgase protecting him, to be radicalised by Valda.
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