[Warsman still can't quite believe he's even here; he thought he'd already made his mind up and decided to go out on patrol instead, but here he is in silver armor, eyes glowing a soft red through the slots of his visor. The idea of wearing a second mask over his own had been oddly jarring; a helmet seemed a good compromise. And maybe the costume helped his decision, just a little- maybe he was thinking of someone specific when he picked it out, and maybe he's still thinking about what that person would have told him to do. Robin would have badgered him into a suit instead, of course, but this is close enough.
Even so, not even Robin's imaginary influence is quite enough to get Warsman out among the dancing guests, as much as the idea of joining appeals in a quiet, wistful sort of way. He's happy to hover on the outskirts of the floor, drink in hand- just the one, but he's never been able to turn down a screwdriver- as he watches the parade of costumes swirl and spin past in a glittering wheel of colour and lights. Maybe he might even recognise a few people under those masks.]
OPEN
Even so, not even Robin's imaginary influence is quite enough to get Warsman out among the dancing guests, as much as the idea of joining appeals in a quiet, wistful sort of way. He's happy to hover on the outskirts of the floor, drink in hand- just the one, but he's never been able to turn down a screwdriver- as he watches the parade of costumes swirl and spin past in a glittering wheel of colour and lights. Maybe he might even recognise a few people under those masks.]