Damian Wayne | Robin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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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.
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.]