Damian Wayne | Robin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
earlybird) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dreamsanddisasters2014-08-24 02:29 pm
earlybird) wrote in dreamsanddisasters2014-08-24 02:29 pm
Entry tags:
Gotham AU (For Asher)
[ There may be a half-a-billion dollar bounty on his head, but Damian doesn't let small things like assassins put him off doing his job. Pennyworth has tried and failed to keep him at home, at bay, especially with his father on a quick international trip for business and the Batman on hiatus for a few days, but Damian is Robin.
There's been word of a new force in Gotham shaking up the underworld, and his father had just started in on the case when he'd been called away. Damian's here to pick up the slack and find out more information. If there's someone looking to upstage one of the big bads, they have to know about it. Especially in the wake of the entire Joker affair.
He's on the case. Nightwing and Red Robin aren't any help - they just nag him about the bounty, how he shouldn't be seen in the field, even though he can see the assassins coming from miles away. So he's on his own for this one.
Good. Just the way Li'l Matches likes it.
The club is distasteful, as are most clubs. Lewd, sleazy, but a favorite gathering point for different members of the criminal sections here in Gotham. He bluffs his way past the doorman (the name Matches Malone can carry him far), and navigates his way through the press of bodies. Damian doesn't even have to work to get the sharks circling; he just claims a VIP booth in the back, settles into the cushions with a glass of iced water, crosses one pin-striped leg over the other, and waits.
Everybody wants their piece, and the dogs will lick his heels if they think they can get an in with Matches through his son. Too stupid to see how he's leading the conversation, digging into questions about the new threat in town under the guise of defending Matches' territory. Idiots.
It's all going perfectly according to plan until a mid-level punk from one of the other families shows up and decides that this is the night to pick a fight with the lone boy.
Sixteen to one isn't bad odds for Robin, but it's less than good for Li'l Matches, who's quickly scruffed and dragged into the back alley kicking and sneering the entire way, even when he's bent double from a fist to the gut or smacked against the slick brick wall with a heavy backhand against his cheek. He's spitting blood at the feet of his aggressors, lip curling.
Can't. Break. Cover. ]
My father will see you pay for this, you Falcone lackey.
There's been word of a new force in Gotham shaking up the underworld, and his father had just started in on the case when he'd been called away. Damian's here to pick up the slack and find out more information. If there's someone looking to upstage one of the big bads, they have to know about it. Especially in the wake of the entire Joker affair.
He's on the case. Nightwing and Red Robin aren't any help - they just nag him about the bounty, how he shouldn't be seen in the field, even though he can see the assassins coming from miles away. So he's on his own for this one.
Good. Just the way Li'l Matches likes it.
The club is distasteful, as are most clubs. Lewd, sleazy, but a favorite gathering point for different members of the criminal sections here in Gotham. He bluffs his way past the doorman (the name Matches Malone can carry him far), and navigates his way through the press of bodies. Damian doesn't even have to work to get the sharks circling; he just claims a VIP booth in the back, settles into the cushions with a glass of iced water, crosses one pin-striped leg over the other, and waits.
Everybody wants their piece, and the dogs will lick his heels if they think they can get an in with Matches through his son. Too stupid to see how he's leading the conversation, digging into questions about the new threat in town under the guise of defending Matches' territory. Idiots.
It's all going perfectly according to plan until a mid-level punk from one of the other families shows up and decides that this is the night to pick a fight with the lone boy.
Sixteen to one isn't bad odds for Robin, but it's less than good for Li'l Matches, who's quickly scruffed and dragged into the back alley kicking and sneering the entire way, even when he's bent double from a fist to the gut or smacked against the slick brick wall with a heavy backhand against his cheek. He's spitting blood at the feet of his aggressors, lip curling.
Can't. Break. Cover. ]
My father will see you pay for this, you Falcone lackey.
no subject
[Someone's watching the proceedings from a rusty fire escape, blocked out in shadow like a noir comic. It's hard to make out his features, but he's small: thin shoulders, the stature of a young teen. He can hardly be much older than Damian, though the voice isn't that of a child. Nor is the scorn.]
Che. Pathetic.
[A shadow detaches from the other shadows and leaps to the ground. A girl with ribbons in her hair rises into a ready stance, gaze level behind her glasses. Live steel glints in her hand. A sword.
The crowd's between her and the child.
A trained fighter, one who can recognize the strength in her stance and the experience behind her eyes, might realize it is perhaps not the healthiest place for them to stand.
The speaker starts to descend the fire escape, metal clanging under his expensive shoes.]
And you. Kid. You gonna cower behind your old man's name your whole life? Pick fights from his shadow?
[He stops at the landing, putting one hand on the railing. Now his face is visible. One fierce, contemptuous eye. And in the other socket, a coiling dragon, mouth open in a snarl.
Kuzuryuu Fuyuhiko tilts his head at a disdainful angle.]
You're a thousand years too early to be callin' people 'lackey,' brat. Especially when you're just letting these pissants kick the shit out of you.
You snot-nosed bastard, we oughta--!
[The instant the mobsters' violence turns from Li'l Matches to Kuzuryuu, the girl moves. She is swift, brutal, and horribly efficient, though she does not yet use the edge of her blade. Two men go down before the others register the threat, one cradling a broken jaw, the other gasping for breath after a blow to the solar plexus.
She returns to her ready stance, utterly impassive, as if this were a drill. As if they're not even there, for her.
Kuzuryuu scoffs.]
If Falcone's idea of an organization is you asswipes, then I feel sorry for him. Tell him this isn't how things are gonna work around here from now on.
[He starts down the rest of the stairs but stops to grin down at them humorlessly, an expression more like the bared fangs of the dragon he wears.]
Go on. Unless you want your asses wrecked by a couple'a snot-nosed bastards.
no subject
Only two. Worsening the odds, but not by much. Most of the Falcone subordinates have backed off a few steps, distracted and irritated by the interruption, especially when the other - a girl - jumps in. Damian's still crunched up against the brick, one of the men holding him up by a hand fisted into the neckline of his button-down shirt, and Damian's hands are wrapped tight around his wrists, toes just barely scuffing the cement.
(He could break this man's arm so easily.)
He shoots his own annoyed stare at the speaker, eyes narrowed behind the shades, askew, on his face. He doesn't have to fake the sullen response - Damian's bristling is all his own at the insults, even if he's just playing the role of a mob brat; he has to bite his tongue from snapping back.
(He can take down every last one of these idiots without batting an eye. He doesn't need an intervention.)
But it might be a good thing he keeps silent, because the other one, the one that's not speaking, has just taken down two men in the blink of an eye. The guy who has a hold of him all but throws him back down; Falcone's men have obviously wised up, recognizing the threat, because they're grudgingly backing off, shoving their way back into the club, probably to report back.
Damian has a lot to report, too. He's just found the new player in town.
His lips thin in a frown over the ringing in his ears, wiping the blood from his nose against the back of his hand with a hard sniff to clear it, leaning against the wall for support. He doesn't have to fake the wince when his knuckles brush against the deep bruising on his cheekbone, and Li'l Matches takes his time pulling himself back into some semblance of his clean-cut look, straightening out his rumpled shirt and replacing the hat upon his head. ]
You one of Niko's?
[ Niko headed the yakuza at the moment, taking over after Akahara. Damian knows very well this boy isn't here as part of the yakuza, but it's a reasonable assumption for Malone's kid to make, especially with the teenager boasting about changing how things are run. ]
You shouldn't have interfered. Now it's gonna get all the way up to Falcone himself.
[ A scuffle between two middle-tier members isn't anything the bosses usually get involved in, but Falcone's going to be hearing about this insult to his family's name. ]
no subject
Kuzuryuu himself is a much livelier read, glancing once at the kid, snorting, and then making sure the others have really stepped off.]
Do I look like I answer to that sack of shit? Or care what Falcone thinks?
[He does care, of course, but only as much as it means Falcone will have to be aware of him, now. And it'll be a hard, deadly time for a while, and he and Peko will have to work themselves to the bone, but soon enough, the Roman will have to take him seriously. They'll all have to take him seriously.
When the thugs don't return, he makes a dismissive "che" sound under his breath and turns to face Li'l Matches again.]
It's Malone, right? From Hoboken. I got something to ask you.
[He nods at Peko.]
She says, the way you moved with the hits, you could've taken those guys on your own.
[Which would explain why she hasn't put up her blade. She continues to watch Damian, still, but alert.
Kuzuryuu steps forward so that she isn't in front of him any more.]
So my question is, why didn't you.
no subject
His glance flicks back to Kuzuryuu, appraising the newcomer. Damian doesn't have a guess on how powerful the boss may be compared to his bodyguard; there's no telling if he's a meta or not, so he has to keep his guard up.
--or tries. The question catches him by surprise, unexpected. He frowns, ruffled, but tips his chin up, cool and haughty, licking the split in his lip before he answers. ]
My father taught me a trick or two on dealing with thugs. Doesn't mean I'm gonna show my cards unless I gotta. Besides, I couldn't have taken them all out.
[ A shrug, casual. He's ten, he can handle one or two guys, maybe. But not all of them.
(Keep the cover. He knows he should be retreating back to the club by now, should be making off with the info he has, but Damian's arrogant, and always overreaches.) ]
So you're, what, with no family? Sure, Gotham's got a good thing going, but loners don't last long here, you know.
[ Find out his game. What's his angle - drugs? Weapons? Flesh trade? Does he work with anybody else? Who are his contacts? ]
no subject
A quick glance at Peko--who hasn't relaxed an inch--indicates otherwise. Her stance is fluid and ready; the slightest threat and she will act, and act efficiently.
Peko, like Damian, like Cassandra Cain, speaks violence as her first language. And Kuzuryuu?
He knows Peko.
His eyes narrow, but he doesn't call out the kid's lie. Not yet.]
Loners like you?
[Because, seriously, what gangster's kid shows up at Titty Typhoon without backup? That is the point of having a gang: the security of numbers, the knowledge that you are safe because you are brutal in your pack. But Kuzuryuu snorts and puts his hands in his pockets, looks towards the mouth of the alley, subtly backs off so that Li'l Matches isn't pressed into the corner anymore.]
Do I look like an idiot, kid?
[Does he look like he's stupid enough to take on Falcone AND Niko AND whoever else without his own crowd? Midnight Syndrome may not be in the news yet, but he knows they're nothing to trifle with. Also, does he look like he's stupid enough to give this brat the information he's obviously going after?
What is this little shit trying to do?]
I'm not gonna ask again, pipsqueak. What were you trying to pull over on those shitheads by letting them pulp your face? 'Cause I gotta tell you, if you're gonna rely on daddy's name to get you out of scrapes, you can't let people piss on it like that. When Malone lets his brat take a beating, word gets around.
excuse me while i fukkin die at titty typhoon okay
[ Damian's temper is getting away from him, bristling in affront at being dressed down from a kid who's not much older than he is. What does it matter that some mid-level gangster's kid was here alone, or that he'd had to eat a few fists rather than fight back? ]
Not like I have to explain myself to you--
[ What Damian hadn't realized was that, in getting knocked around, his comms device (which they always wear, always, even when they're going dark) had been activated.
Activated, without the accompanying earpiece to direct the sound. Activated, and with Drake's voice (god damn it, Drake) suddenly crackling across the line, tinny and small as it breaks the air, and annoying and fucking obnoxiously ill-timed-- ]
Robin, where the hell are you? Nightwing's going nuts with worry--
[ The vigilante with the half-a-billion dollar bounty on his head has fallen dead silent, expressionless, calmly reaching up underneath his lapel to click the device back off, ending the transmission. He's running through his options, but nearly unarmed and with his identity already this far compromised, the conclusion's fallen into place on his face long before the last word gets out.
He bolts. ]
I just got to the Titty Typhoon murders today I'm upset
[But the girl's already in pursuit, having been ready for action from the very start. Her legs are longer than Damian's, and she also has the narrative advantage, since if Damian escapes we can't very dang well keep threading out this conversation, can we?]
Alive, Peko!
[She doesn't acknowledge the order in any way, but when the opening presents itself, she only moves to tackle the boy instead of trying to cut his legs out from under him.]
WAS IT EVERYTHING U HOPED IT WOULD BE?
Agh! [ She's got well over a foot of height on him, more weight, and the tackle knocks the breath from him when he slams into the concrete, no armor to provide any kind of cushion.
It doesn't slow him down much - as soon as he hits the ground he's snapping an elbow back into her, twisting for freedom - experience giving him the effectiveness of an eel trying to slither out of her grip, quick and hard to hold down. ]
YEAH ACTUALLY
But that brief moment, even if it isn't much to disrupt his momentum, is still enough for someone to get a sniper bead on the little bird. The laser designator hovers over the center of his chest, barely wavering.]
Better not move.
[It's Kuzuryuu who says it, though he's still not quite caught up. He slows from a run to a walk, unwilling to pant in front of an unknown like Robin.]
She doesn't fucking miss. The hell were you after?
giggles 'titty typhoon' gdi
(There is still a terse pause, as if he is carefully calculating whether or not he might survive if he does make a move, but ultimately the odds don't fall in his favor.)
His head turns marginally to watch Kuzuryuu approach, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses but the impudent twist to his mouth speaking loud and clear in their stead. ]
Information.
[ This snarky little asshole of a kid. Hey, here's an answer, but hey, it's vague enough to be absolutely useless, because fuck you, he's Robin, that's why. ]
You really want to get on Batman's bad side this early on?
I'm so happy they kept that in the localization
Peko, of course, has no such compunctions. She stands again, blank-faced, with her sword in her hand.]
If I did, you'd be a head shorter right now, Robin.
[Kuzuryuu's glare goes from irritated to thoughtfully doubtful.]
I kinda thought you'd be older. The Bat make a habit of throwing little kids to the jackals? Little kids with bounties on their heads?
its loss would have been a damn tragedy
Wow, pot should not speak on matters of the kettle. ]
A little kid that can kick your ass.
[ Charming to see that the threat of a sniper and a sword-wielding hitman aren't enough to get him to watch his mouth. ]
That bounty was put on me by my mother, if that gives you a clue about why Batman has me as his partner.
[ Not exactly classified information, that he's League bred, but still an impetuous, prideful, thoughtless snap back all the same. ]
no subject
I don't give a shit who thought your head was worth money. I'm not interested in the League. Or in the Batman's little costume club, long as you keep your noses out of our business.
[Not that he has any illusions that they will. Still, he knows Batman and Co. have nothing on him or his associates yet. They can't touch him. That's not how they operate.]
But tell me, kid, you make it a regular habit to impersonate Matches Malone's brat? Or--[And he is sharp, this dragon boy, for all he can't read Damian like Peko can.]--does he even exist?
Wait I want a Dave thread too
no subject
He's cruising along in stealth mode, humming lyrics to himself under his breath, when his police scanner crackles. After a pause to listen, he turns his rocketboard around and jets bridgewards. It doesn't sound serious enough (yet) to get Dirk's panties in a knot (and he knows Tinker's listening to the same feed anyhow), and besides--
--it looks like he's already got backup.
He slows his roll for a moment to keep pace beside Gotham's Boy Wonder.]
Hey, Rob. What's up?
no subject
'Sector five, clear!' Don't be so peppy, Grayson.
'Sector ten, clear.' Shut up, Drake.
'Sector one, clear--!' Are you sure about that, Brown?
'Sector eight. Clear.' He trusts your judgment, Cain.
'Sector two, all quiet on the homefront.' Who the hell invited you, Todd?
And on, and on, as the night starts to wrap up. It's been slow, especially with him being delegated to the quieter areas (for his own 'safety'). Damian's just about to call it in to Oracle and turn back when she suddenly pushes an alert to his visual interface.
'I'm on it.'
Some kind of metahuman outbreak. Details are minimal, but it sounds like a third-tier villain is targeting the bridge again. Easy, but it's something; Damian is quick to swing his way through the city, gunning for the bridge just a few blocks away, when he hears the hum of a familiar piece of rocket-powered equipment come sidling up next to him mid-jump. ]
Temper. [ Purely professional acknowledgment, as is standard for the young vigilante when he's on duty; he lets his para-cape out so he can glide along, darting a casual look at the other crime-fighter. ] There's a call-in at the bridge. Let me guess - that's where you're heading?
Oh man let me pick the opposing team I know exactly who I want
[The vague deflection is automatic and conversational. He doesn't put effort into the cool and ironic front around Damian anymore, and he knows Damian's smart enough to translate his bullshit into "Yep."
He surveys the skyline in front of them for a moment, then looks at Damian.]
Want me to go in first, do a little recon? I dunno about your intel, but my feed was supremely lacking in deets.
[He holds his hands up, casual.]
Worst case, I make an awesome distaction.
[With his board, he's faster than Robin long-distance, and Robin's definitely better at the whole sneak-attack element of surprise thing than Dave is.]
AT YO LEISUREEEE
Damian doesn't mind going in blind, but a team-up isn't a bad deal. And Temper's far more tolerable than any of the rest of the Batman, Inc. members.
(One day he will forgive Grayson, maybe. Today is not that day.) ]
Oracle says it's a meta of some kind, but nothing much else. News crews have yet to get there. Go for it, I'll be right behind.
[ A smirk, that says Damian's ready for a little bruising action. Dave won't have to play distraction for too long before Robin hits the fray. ]
And watch your tail this time. [ He adds, scoffing. ] You get swatted out of the sky, I'm letting you fall.
[ He won't, not really, but the princess carry last time was one of the most awkward maneuvers they've pulled yet. No repeats. ]
PREEEEESENTING...
[He zips his hood up all the way--which he really should have done earlier, if Tinker were there he'd be getting that I'm-not-acknowledging-how-blatantly-you're-compromising-your-identity non-glare, non-attention thing--and Temper takes off, all speed and linear motion. This, honestly, is his favorite part. The fighting and protecting people and stuff is cool, too, but having the wind in his face, going so fast it's like he's the only thing in the sky--he keeps that to himself. He and Tinker, they're in this to be heroes, not to perform acrobatic pirouettes above GothCorp.
The AI in his shades isn't as advanced as Tinker's, but at least it doesn't backtalk him or try to manage his love life. As he closes in on the bridge, the display lights up and points out the important details in mac 'n cheese orange: traffic at a dead stop across all lanes, but no visible pileup, none of the frantic honking (at least on the bridge itself) that marked a distressed citizenry. It isn't quiet, though. Temper frowns, unable to place the sound, but doesn't slow as he skims closer to the service.
And then, as he slips beautifully in between two of the suspender cables, he smacks full-speed into something near-invisible, horrid, and sticky, that sways and wobbles with the impact but doesn't let go.
His first instinct is to yelp and flail, but does a moment of uncool make a sound if your brother isn't there to witness it? It takes only a heartbeat for him to kick back into gear and assess the situation. A quick unzip, and he drops out of his hoodie to the pedestrian walkway, rolling to absorb the impact. His sword bag follows a second later without his shoulders to hold it up. He opens one of the pockets and upends it, listening warily to the skittering click-clackety he now can identify as claws on asphalt.
Many, many claws.
He sends up two of the color-coded mini flares Tinker designed just for this situation, knowing Robin will be able to see them. They light up above the bridge, cobalt and teal.
It's not one meta. It's two.
The Scourge Sisters are back, and they're Clouding the bridge to feed the monsters that live in their heads. Dave hopes Robin's resistant to mind control. Or at least more resistant than he is.
Though, really, Serket isn't the problem. Not for him.]