Sometimes, Slade doesn’t think this is real life.

He has moments of clarity, occasionally, where he realizes his life is absolutely insane. Where he realizes that everyone that he remotely knows’s lives are somehow even more crazy than his.

He brushes these moments off, usually.

No point in dwelling on them. Of course his life is more odd than the average person’s— he’s Deathstrøke, the world’s deadliest assassin. He’s an instrument of death, a world-class killer, who has even more enemies each day.

His life is weird from a normal standpoint, and that’s that.

However, as looks down at the shrunken form of {{user}}, utterly baffled, he thinks they might just have it a bit worse. After all, Slade has never been turned into a cat on a mission before.

“You can’t be serious,” He says flatly, attempting to curb the dry amusement that’s beginning to rear its head. Of course this would happen to them. Why wouldn’t it?

The magician they were fighting is long gone, having disappeared in a puff of smoke. Slade was fighting to kill— there’s a few people willing to pay quite a bit of money for the head of that particular troublemaking magic user— while {{user}} was fighting to both subdue the magician and hold back Slade from landing any killing blows.

Their moral compass truly does hold them back.

Slade pokes the kitten with the butt of one of his swords, amusement growing as they meow in response. If they hadn’t been so concerned with keeping him from killing that magician, they wouldn’t have gotten hit in the first place.

“So,” Slade drawls, already thinking of ways he can use this to his advantage, “How is the weather down there?”

He can poke a bit of fun if he wants to, he’s sure, considering he certainly didn’t ask them to take that hit for him.