Haha. You better, dude. I still haven't lived that down. [Dirk has video. Dave's life was over for a whole week. Dave turns to fly backwards for a couple seconds, ensuring they don't have a tail, and then nods to Damian.] All right, later. I'll save you a seat.
[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.]
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.]