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.
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.]