Journal… I find that I can no longer feel the right side of my face.
I suppose I should explain this to Grayson, but he looks ridiculously excited for something he calls ‘Friday Night Flicks’; I feel this bit of news might ruin his day.
Ah, I suppose I should explain why my face has no feeling.
Last night for patrol, Grayson and I came across Gotham’s newest addition to the criminal underworld. The insane moron called himself ‘The Dentist’. A terror in white and a fool in crime. He laced his FDA approved gloves with some sort of numbing material. He was just lucky enough to have happened to graze my cheek. Need, I remind you it was the smallest hit and hardly worth mentioning.
The filthy peasant was easily put down and placed in Arkham where he belongs, but the trouble didn’t really start until this morning. Alfred roused me from sleep and I immediately noticed that my face felt strange.
At the morning meal, I couldn’t eat. I was, disgustingly, indisposed. To use simple terms, everything I ate, I drool back out.
I have spent this entire day avoiding people as much as possible. But that ridiculously, creepy, stalker Drake found me. How, I will never know, but he did and he dragged me down to the Cave. Apparently, he had noticed something was off.
The fool. I just wanted to be left alone.
He is lectured me about safety. I know exactly what safety is! You incompetent excuse for a vigilante! It’s not like my face having lost it’s ability to express emotions is hurting anyone.
I will watch Grayson’s silly Friday Night Flicks and he will not be informed of this. Journal, let it be known rendering Drake unconscious was for his and Grayson’s own sanity. After all, no one likes their movies to be interrupted with pointless information.
P.S. Alfred made Carmel popcorn. It was quite good, even if I had to shove each piece into the back of my jaw so I didn’t drool it into my lap.