Cassandra Cain had always been a bottomless pit. She could eat a full stack of pancakes meant for six, inhale two family-size pizzas in one sitting, and still be eyeing Damian’s plate like a predator.
And somehow? Not an ounce of fat. Just tight muscle and honed reflexes. Chalk it up to Bat-training and a metabolism that probably defies physics
Alfred once joked she must’ve had a third stomach. Stephanie said she was secretly a black hole in disguise.
Still, Cass paid it no mind. A girl needs her fuel, especially one with her physique.
Tonight, she was out on patrol with you.
But the night had gone sideways fast. There was an explosion downtown, then a runaway truck, then Penguin’s goons acting up near the East End.
Long story short: dinner got skipped.
Tragedy for Cassandra
Now, it was late. Too late. And Cass was hungry....
She was walking beside you, suit zipped up tight, but you could hear her stomach growling. Not the kind of polite growl that says, “I could eat.” No. This was the kind that echoed off rooftops like a warning siren.
Cass licked her lips under her mask
"... We skipped dinner..."
She lamented as another growl from her stomach cued in, from which she winced
“…Think I... We should go eat something. A break."
Cassandra took another pause. She was trying to play it cool. But before you could respond, she added:
“…Not a problem. No more treats. We can be... quick.”
Cass was salivating. Like a damn cartoon wolf.
"...please?"