Svetlana loved her parents. She believed they were almost perfect and learnt to ignore the stares they often received. A black couple and a white child, it often drew attention — and for her parents' safety, she learned to keep her mouth shut.

Reginald Oswald loved his daughter. He loved their evening walks that they tried to do at least once a week, and he loved how in four years she grew to trust them.

At eleven, Svetlana would lock herself in her room, argue, refuse food or any help and sneak out — at fifteen she was almost the opposite, though she often snuck out.

She was grinning ear to ear as they walked through the streets, her hands deep in the pockets of her jeans (pockets she had extended herself). The pleasure in her face was all due to the A she had gotten in the English essay that she had done yesterday — the one where Robin rudely interrupted her flow.

"Can you believe it, Папа?" She asked an echo of happiness in her voice. Dad

Reginald smiled at his daughter. He was not surprised, Svetlana was a clever girl but never said it to her. He did once, and it caused her to freak out.

Svetlana didn't like certain descriptions. Clever was one of them, only due to the pressure to uphold the description was far too heavy. She knew she was intelligent or clever, but when the words were verbally said, the pressure would multiply and she would be left crushed under the weight.

She also hated a few others, but those were not relevant or important.

"I'm very proud of you, Lana." He spoke, smiling down at her. Reginald placed his arm over her shoulder, gently pulling her into his side. He placed a kiss on the top of her head.

Svetlana leaned into the embrace. As much as she was decent at keeping her mouth shut — she wasn't good at not reacting. Her eyes had found a woman giving them a dirty look as she shook her head.

Svetlana Orlova flipped the woman off as Reginald shook his head at her, pushing her hands back at her side as he let go of his daughter. He stepped away, creating distance — his head turned down and his shoulders slumped.

The teen bit down on her tongue, her hands in tight fists at her side. She raised a brow (if she wasn't very angry she would have laughed) at the woman as she scurried off to an officer.

Said Officer, of course, came over to the two.

Svetlana and Reginald couldn't step any further. The male kept his hands where they could be seen as the daughter reminded herself to not do anything that could lead to her father getting hurt.

It was great for her being anti-cop because minus her Russian accent (she had on a couple of occasions been stopped and checked to see if she was a Russian spy or some other type of criminal) she had no reason to worry, but when she was with her father her actions and words could affect him ten times more.

She was drawing blood from her tongue as she watched the man.

"Hello, miss. I'm Officer Jenkins, is this man bothering you. That kind lady is worried about you."

"No, sorry, he's my dad. I was adopted four years ago." She spoke with a Russian accent. There was one thing she refused to lose, and it was her accent — it was a huge part of her identity and something she simply wanted to keep.

"I'm going to have to see some identity. Why don't we go down to the station?"

Reginald glanced at Svetlana, she was as calm as she could be and he was surprised she hadn't snapped at Jenkins yet.

"I have the adoption certificate in my bag, along with my ID," Reginald spoke, he was disappointed to say he was also an officer for GCPD.

"I can get them out if you prefer? It saves time and makes sure we don't waste space." Her voice was forced — a fake cheeriness that further irritated her.

Svetlana hadn't waited for an answer as she unzipped her dad's backpack, pulled out his ID, along with his badge (simply to be petty) and grabbed the adoption certificate. She handed them to the officer before turning around the lanyard that rested on her chest and slipped her phone out of her pocket to find a picture of her passport.

Officer Jenkins read the identities, checking a few too many times as Svetlana began to tap her foot, checking her watch.

"You have different last names."

"It was her choice, we offered her our last name but Svetlana wanted to stay as Orlova."

"I'm sorry, I have homework to be doing are you nearly done?" She asked, trying to continue her polite and cheerful voice.

Jenkins narrowed his eyes as he looked at Reginald and the ID, slowly handing it over along with the adoption certificate. He soon left them alone.

"Что за хуйня!" She scowled, shaking her head in her
disapproval. What a fucking prick!

Reginald sighed, putting everything back in his backpack. "I told you this would happen, it always will, Lana."

"I should skin him, Папа, I really should." She stated. Dad

"No, remember we're moving on from what you use to be."

"I didn't use to skin people, Папа." Svetlana laughed, leaning the way home as she slid her phone back into her pocket. Dad

Svetlana had barely been home alone for two hours before her father had left and her mother had gone to work. And after those two hours, she was greeted with a surprise.

Unlike Amara and Reginald, Svet didn't have to climb the stairs to get to her room — she had argued her way into having the bottom floor bedroom when they had moved to this house.

She had sat in there for a total of five seconds before she heard a tap (or a light knock) at the escape door. Svetlana groaned, grabbing the gun from under her pillow, loaded it and cocked it.

She held it limp at her side as she left her room, opened the curtains and found Robin standing on the other side of the glass door.

Svetlana smiled at him — he did not smile at her. She grumbled as she unlocked the glass and metal door and pulled it open.

It took him seconds to step in and pin her to a wall and placed a sword to her throat.

Svetlana laughed, feeling the flat part of the sword press closer to her skin — it was cold. "Excited to see me?" She asked.

"Drop the gun."

"Doesn't sound smart. This baby is ready to shoot, I drop it right, a bullet could hit you."

"I'll do it myself!" He scowled, snatching the weapon from her hand and threw it to the sofa.

The cold metal was almost forgotten by the Russian teenager.

"You lie, I get killing, got it?"

"Are you birds supposed to be killing, does the mother bat allow that?" Svetlana asked, her face unreadable as she tilted her head (or rather, she tried to tilt her head, she ended up catching some of her jaw on the metal edge, cutting it in the process).

"Do I look like Batman to you?"

"You do kinda look like his pet."

Damian Wayne wanted to slap some sense into her — he was under the irritation of knowing she was unbothered by their position and the sword to her neck, as well as her unreadable-ness — so, her rolled his eyes. "You have a sword to your neck."

"I know, I just cut my jaw on it." She shrugged. "Bet I could cut my hands on your jaw, Симпатичный мальчик." Svetlana teased the darker-skinned boy.
Pretty boy

He did not like that she didn't fight against him and that she seemed perfectly fine with everything going on. Maybe he should listen to his instincts and slit her throat — despite Virgil having telling him it was a terrible idea to kill a potential future wife only an hour ago, and also his father's no killing rule.

"Who are you?"

"Svetlana Orlova. Who are you?"

"Don't play dumb!"

"Are you sure, I'm blonde acting stupid is the norm, that's usually such a turn on for men? I think it's cause I'm short and fifteen and have doll-like features." As she spoke her words got slower and slower. She caught a glimpse of herself on the wall mirror that showed her face and his back.

The white of her skin was already pale — almost as pale as snow — but now she looked practically transparent compared to the small amount of skin she could see from him.

Looking in the mirror was like a reality check. She had doll-like features — pale as snow skin, pale blonde hair, big bright blue eyes, rosy cheeks and lips, she was dainty looking and was now feeling rather uncomfortable in her skin.

Svetlana's face screwed up. "I attract paedophiles. Блин." Crap

"I came to find out who you were and what you know, not to witness your existential life crisis."

"Uh, I'll have you know I'm having a god awful day," Svetlana complained, looking at him. "First, some bitch got a higher score than me in maths, my health and social teacher ripped up my essay cause I answered it in Russian, and then my dad got stopped by the police because they saw a black man and thought kidnapper. Swear, I could kill — I should! I should do it. Черт! Я сделаю это." Fuck! I'll do it.

"I can't let you do that," Damian spoke. "What was his name?"

"Officer Jenkins, GCPD."

Damian nodded, almost forgetting that he was resting the sword against her neck. His eyes widened as he realised they had very much gone off track.

He turned the sword, placing the sharpness against the base of her neck.

She crossed her arms, watching with a raised brow. "Is this you threatening me? I don't know who you are, or why you do this. I promise." She allowed the honesty to seep onto her skin, for him to read her.

Hours had passed and a lot had happened. Svetlana had stitched up the fellow teen. They had talked and talked — at least until they fell asleep on her sofa. Maybe that day was the start of a beautiful friendship.