Timothy will argue that we don't have the budget for a cave full of pillows.
[ A warning, young Grayson. You do not want to get Tim started on 'the budget.' Numbers come easily to Damian, and when he was younger he'd made an effective go at sorting out more than a few mismatching balances at Wayne Enterprises (a result of some executives thinking they could get away with funneling a steady trickle of finances into non-existent projects), but only Timothy could make numbers seem dull. Every time he started discussing 'the budget' Damian wanted nothing more than to just walk out of the room and leave Tim yelling behind him.
Sometimes he did. It was oftentimes more entertaining than listening. ]
And my hair's not going to fall out,lólodúianchír. [ The word is a little awkward on his tongue, not quiet fluent, but it's telling of the oldest son's vested interest in Dick's well-being (even before this conversation) that he's been making the effort to learn the boy's language. Damian looks aggravated at the very notion of his hair falling out, long leg reaching out to kick at the edge of Dick's glass-and-metal nest, sending the centerpiece swaying. His hair's always been on the thicker, rougher side, close-cropped strands curling in haphazard whorls as is typical of Arab men, but he's also had a widow's peak even from when he was very young. It hasn't receded or anything, but the worry is still there (god help him if he ends up looking like Ra's)-- ]
Master Damian.
[ Alfred's voice floats up to them in a sharp report, utterly scandalized, from where he's standing in the entryway, a severe look on his face.
His expression is unrepentant, but it may be the first time Dick sees Damian attempt to fold himself into a smaller shape, shoulders hunching and knees drawing up like a sulking child. ]
Pennyworth. [ He intones back, dismissively, as if he's not doing a single thing wrong. But Damian is quick to slide off the chandelier, dangling from the metal before dropping with a heavy thump to the floor below, straightening to stand and kicking out the sting from his heels (dress shoes aren't made for gymnastics). ]
no subject
[ A warning, young Grayson. You do not want to get Tim started on 'the budget.' Numbers come easily to Damian, and when he was younger he'd made an effective go at sorting out more than a few mismatching balances at Wayne Enterprises (a result of some executives thinking they could get away with funneling a steady trickle of finances into non-existent projects), but only Timothy could make numbers seem dull. Every time he started discussing 'the budget' Damian wanted nothing more than to just walk out of the room and leave Tim yelling behind him.
Sometimes he did. It was oftentimes more entertaining than listening. ]
And my hair's not going to fall out, lólodúianchír. [ The word is a little awkward on his tongue, not quiet fluent, but it's telling of the oldest son's vested interest in Dick's well-being (even before this conversation) that he's been making the effort to learn the boy's language. Damian looks aggravated at the very notion of his hair falling out, long leg reaching out to kick at the edge of Dick's glass-and-metal nest, sending the centerpiece swaying. His hair's always been on the thicker, rougher side, close-cropped strands curling in haphazard whorls as is typical of Arab men, but he's also had a widow's peak even from when he was very young. It hasn't receded or anything, but the worry is still there (god help him if he ends up looking like Ra's)-- ]
Master Damian.
[ Alfred's voice floats up to them in a sharp report, utterly scandalized, from where he's standing in the entryway, a severe look on his face.
His expression is unrepentant, but it may be the first time Dick sees Damian attempt to fold himself into a smaller shape, shoulders hunching and knees drawing up like a sulking child. ]
Pennyworth. [ He intones back, dismissively, as if he's not doing a single thing wrong. But Damian is quick to slide off the chandelier, dangling from the metal before dropping with a heavy thump to the floor below, straightening to stand and kicking out the sting from his heels (dress shoes aren't made for gymnastics). ]