Damian Wayne | Robin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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dreamsanddisasters2014-09-04 09:10 pm
earlybird) wrote in dreamsanddisasters2014-09-04 09:10 pm
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Tiny Talon Dick (Plus is an E N A B L E R)
[ 'Stay. Inside,' Father had said. 'This isn't your concern.'
And no matter how much Damian had snarled back that it wasn't fair, that there wasn't any sense in barring him from patrol (it was just a boy, just another threat amongst many, what was so special about this one?), Bruce had left Alfred with strict orders to ensure that Damian stayed on lock-down while he left for the streets of Gotham.
Presumably to find that would-be assassin. The child from the Court of Owls. Although Damian wonders if there's anything about it that could be called a child anymore; wonders what might be behind that mask. Something about the voice, quiet and inflectionless as it'd been, declaring that the Waynes were its targets, had set Batman off, had frozen him solid.
Damian's fought the Court of Owls before. He's taken down one of the adult assassins - shot an arrow through its eye, and when that didn't work? Strung it up and beheaded it. Immortal though they were, the monsters could still die. He doesn't see what's so worrying about a pint-sized version of the same.
Pennyworth is being irritatingly clever for a butler, and unusually effective at keeping him caged. He's not falling for any of Damian's tricks, not this time, and both Redbird and Robin remain out of his access. The Cave is closed to him, and Damian's left to pace the boundaries of his room wearing nothing but a scowl and his satin pajamas (no suit, no daggers, no hooded cape), dinner ignored and left to grow cold as he presses his forehead against the chilly glass. Titus is more than happy to lay out in front of the fire, but as much as Damian hates the winters here, he wants to be out there. Fighting crime, throwing his frustration at whatever villain he can dig his fists into. The night is dark, almost inky, with thick, fat flakes of snow silently falling down; he can't even see the grounds through it, just glaring at his own reflection and the powdery puffs of white when they swirl close out of the pitch black.
Drake was allowed out tonight to attend his precious gala, with Cain accompanying him. Todd wasn't, but he left anyway. Smart enough to take off the second Pennyworth had swapped his focus to corralling Damian into his room before the butler tried the same move on him. Ridiculous. ]
And no matter how much Damian had snarled back that it wasn't fair, that there wasn't any sense in barring him from patrol (it was just a boy, just another threat amongst many, what was so special about this one?), Bruce had left Alfred with strict orders to ensure that Damian stayed on lock-down while he left for the streets of Gotham.
Presumably to find that would-be assassin. The child from the Court of Owls. Although Damian wonders if there's anything about it that could be called a child anymore; wonders what might be behind that mask. Something about the voice, quiet and inflectionless as it'd been, declaring that the Waynes were its targets, had set Batman off, had frozen him solid.
Damian's fought the Court of Owls before. He's taken down one of the adult assassins - shot an arrow through its eye, and when that didn't work? Strung it up and beheaded it. Immortal though they were, the monsters could still die. He doesn't see what's so worrying about a pint-sized version of the same.
Pennyworth is being irritatingly clever for a butler, and unusually effective at keeping him caged. He's not falling for any of Damian's tricks, not this time, and both Redbird and Robin remain out of his access. The Cave is closed to him, and Damian's left to pace the boundaries of his room wearing nothing but a scowl and his satin pajamas (no suit, no daggers, no hooded cape), dinner ignored and left to grow cold as he presses his forehead against the chilly glass. Titus is more than happy to lay out in front of the fire, but as much as Damian hates the winters here, he wants to be out there. Fighting crime, throwing his frustration at whatever villain he can dig his fists into. The night is dark, almost inky, with thick, fat flakes of snow silently falling down; he can't even see the grounds through it, just glaring at his own reflection and the powdery puffs of white when they swirl close out of the pitch black.
Drake was allowed out tonight to attend his precious gala, with Cain accompanying him. Todd wasn't, but he left anyway. Smart enough to take off the second Pennyworth had swapped his focus to corralling Damian into his room before the butler tried the same move on him. Ridiculous. ]
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He's not daring enough to approach Titus himself, even if the dog is remarkably tolerant of his presence after everything he tried to do. But his quiet investment persists as he listens to Damian and watches the dog demand his attention. Part of him is a little surprised that Damian doesn't spend much time with the rest of the Wayne Family, though perhaps that's why the kid bothers to spend so much time with Richard himself. Dogs probably weren't very reliable conversation partners.
He keeps in time with Damian's steps, an eagerness to his steps and his attention unable to focus on any one thing around him, no, he must look at everything around them while they're walking-- half of it training, half of it just the typical attention span of a child.]
Mm. Not really.
[His voice, though still light, grows a bit more grim-- thinking about the circus is still painful, makes his stomach flutter with unease and longing at the same time, and he lets both hands grip the edge of the coat's hood and make sure it covers what it needs to, give his hands something to hold. But like before, he can't not talk about it, is still desperate for the new opportunity to revitalize some part of his old life.]
But one of the elephants in the show, I really liked. We were almost the same age. I used to sneak her snacks before the performance. And she liked to wrap her trunk around me when I saw her, especially if I was sad. She could even lift me off the ground when I was smaller. She was my best friend.
[He wonders if she misses him at all. Wonders if she was sad when he left, and if anybody at the circus noticed and tried to cheer her up. Hopefully someone still slipped her snacks before the show, even though the animal tamer usually disapproved if he ever caught him. He wonders if she would even recognize him if he ever saw her again.]
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And better it be from him than from a Google search.
He hums, noncommittal, and keeps his eyes ahead of him, steady and scanning the tree-line with casual alertness, but no less aware of his surroundings than the Talon is. Just less obvious about it, more controlled; although the boy's constantly darting eyes and swiveling head might have amused him, a little. ]
I've never met an elephant, but she sounds -- nice. If a strange choice for a best friend. Were there no other children?
[ Titus trots ahead of them, sometimes running forward, then stopping and looking back, as if trying to egg them on into a run. Damian rolls his eyes, picking up a stick, and throws it, setting the dog off. Titus runs after it, grabs it, and runs back, eagerly pushing the stick into his boy's hands.
Rinse, repeat.
Eventually Robin pushes his muzzle away, done with the game, and Titus turns to Richard as his next target, whining around the stick and trying to nose it into his hands instead. ]
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There were a few others. They were a little older than me, but we still hung out together. They were my friends, just not my best friends. And a lot of them had to help their parents with their acts too, so sometimes they were too busy, or I was too busy.
[He can't really remember most of their names anymore. Tries to, but most of them are on the tip of his tongue that he can't quite get to tumble out, and besides-- Titus is distracting him from his concentration.
He looks at the big dog curiously, initially drawing his hand away as if he thinks he might be in Titus' way. But Titus seems very insistent, and when he doesn't appear satisfied from Richard withdrawing, he reaches out to lightly tug the stick out of Titus' hand instead, like what Damian had been doing not a minute earlier. He draws his arm back, and throws the stick straight through the air as far as he can, momentarily enthralled by the thrill of exertion on his muscles.
Maybe it's being able to walk around and listen to the crunch of the snow, or if it's thanks to watching the dog run back and forth, or maybe it's that talking about it more starts to make it a bit easier; but the details start to flow a little more from his previous restraint.]
The elephant's name was Zitka. [Names were harder to dust off from his memory, but he could do it with a bit of effort.] I could still go talk to her when the other kids were busy, so I guess she was like Titus too. But she was too big to play fetch.
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I've yet to see an animal too big to play fetch. I bet she could have.
[ Elephants had those long trunks for a reason. He thinks they would be very good at playing fetch. ]
Speaking of-- [ Casual, like he hadn't prompted this topic in the first place. Damian tucks his hands into his coat pockets, shoulders hunching slightly against the cold, and frowns up at the clear sky, squinting against the sun. ] --Haly's Circus. I've been looking into it the past few weeks.
[ Understatement. Damian's been absorbed in researching it - the circus itself, the incident with the Flying Graysons, trying to understand how Richard got tangled up with the Court in the first place. There were a few leads beginning to pan out, and he's sure his father knows more than he's saying, but he doesn't know as much as he'd like.
He glances at the other boy, serious; he can never really be called hesitant, or shy, or uncertain, because Damian's strongest characteristic is his boldness, but there are moments when he takes the time to think before he speaks. Where the weight of his words is carefully considered before it is dropped.
It's easier for him to say hurtful things than it is to be gentle. ]
I have news, both good and bad. If you wish to hear it.
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Elephants might be able to fetch, he supposes, if the stick is big enough. And Damian's claim got a small hum in response, completely amused without worrying about the finer details.
His countenance is immediately back to seriousness when Damian seems to switch gears, something about him perking at the mention of news about Haly's-- shoulders back, back straighter, and he looks at Damian with wide and focused eyes.]
What is it? [His tone is quick, no hesitation-- quietly hopefully and dreading all at the same time, but almost desperate for news as the possibilities start to dance through his head.]
Tell me-- please. I want to know.
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(Jason claims that Damian has Resting Bitch Face. Pennyworth asserts that the pouting, jutting scowl that he wears everywhere is an inherited trait amongst Wayne men.
Tim knows better, though. The truth is that Damian is really just angry all the time.) ]
The good news is that the circus is still in production and on tour, and appears to have retained most of its original cast. Their next visit to Gotham is scheduled for March.
[ Only a few months away. His lips purse as he looks back at Richard, at the boy's mixed expression. ]
The bad news-- [ He huffs out a sigh through his nose. His voice isn't gentle, because he doesn't know how to be gentle, but it's quiet, gruff. ] The bad news is that it has nearly been two decades since you were taken. Legally, Richard, you are twenty-six years old.
[ He doesn't know what the Court did to the Talon, but every time he considers it he sees red flash across his vision. ]
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[He stops walking. His voice is small once more by the force of his-- surprise, of his disbelief. The stick he was about to throw is already forgotten, slipped through his fingers and into the snow. As relieved as he is that the circus is still in business, he doesn't even have time to dwell on the momentary pang of joy and relief before his chest feels cold again, and the winter air suddenly feels so much more malicious than relaxing. He didn't even know how long it was until March.
Twenty years.]
N-- No. You're lying. [He looks at Damian like he's grown a second head, bewildered and scared, and takes a step back. His shoulders go completely stiff and hands clenched like he's ready for a fight in response to the storm and terror brewing in the pit of his stomach.
He didn't-- he didn't know how long it'd been, but it certainly wasn't twenty years. He didn't know how old he was but he was hardly even tall enough to come up to Batman's torso when he stood up straight. His voice hadn't even started to crack-- he couldn't be that deluded, he knows that 26 is not even close to correct.]
That's impossible.
[But even as he says it, he knows that it's not impossible-- he squeezes his eyes shut, bows his head, and his hands betray the truth that he knows; they snake up to cover the grey veins on his face, and clamp around the back of his neck as he direly tries to deny it.
He knows it's possible. He knows how the Court keeps their old Talons stashed away, he knows the recipe that makes them nigh-immortal and he knows with a snap of their fingers the dead Talons can come back like they'd never been gone-- knows that there are men and women down there from one hundred, two hundred, even more years ago that don't look like they've aged a day over 25.
Knows that his memory's spotty and that things blurred together and he didn't even know how much time had passed.
He's losing the battle to maintain his composure in favor of waging the battle on reality: his knees have locked up, his limbs are shaking and his voice is wet and choked up, and a part of him is still critical of himself for sniveling like this in front of someone else.]
I-It's impossible...!
[It's not impossible.
(All of his friends must be grown up by now. They've had plenty of time to find a new acrobat act and move on with their lives. Some of the animals are probably old and dead by now, or retired. He wonders if Zitka's one of them.)]
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It would be too much. For them, for the Talon. It wouldn't be the same, and it wouldn't be the home he remembers.
Maybe Father just couldn't bring himself to tell the boy. Not if it meant having to see this hurt on his face; Damian's all steel, but even he hates himself a little for putting it there.
Titus' ears perk, then fold back at the change in atmosphere, whining at Damian's side and looking between the two boys. ]
Shh. [ A hush meant for both the dog, and the child. ] Breathe, Richard.
[ Maybe Damian does know gentleness, because the command is soft, if firm. Robin's voice.
He knows the assassin might not welcome the touch, but approaches him as one would a skittish animal. No sudden movements, palms up, loosely curling his fingers around the hold the Talon has gripping his own neck, lightly squeezing the fine bones of his wrists.
He's still not comfortable with touch, but it's important that the Talon doesn't lock down, that Damian give him a tether to ground him, and uses the hold he has to pull the boy's attention to himself: to shockingly warm hands, to a reassuring voice, to sharp grey-blue eyes. ]
You're not alone in this.
[ He doesn't pay attention to the words, the denial, and hones right in on one of the unsaid issues at hand.
(A skill he usually wields viciously, when he scents blood in the water. Dodging deflection and going in right for the kill.)
This time, it's out of empathy, maybe; shared experience. He knows what it's like to have lost everything in a single moment.
I'll always love you in my own way... But from now on, Damian, you are no longer welcome here. You may consider yourself an enemy of the house of al Ghul. ]
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Even with the orignal cast and acts, you couldn't stay the same in show business for twenty years. Maybe the Court had been right in telling him to forget about everything from before. A part of him wishes he had listened more.
He starts when he feels Damian's hands, his muscles tensing in resistance-- but the touch is warm, gentle, and still firm. He quiets his mumbles and distress, tries to breathe and takes deep breaths and let the fresh air fill him up like before. Tries to look up and focus on the boy in front of him, but his eyes are misty and wet when he opens them, and on top of everything else he's trying not to completely cry. But after this display it's impossible to deny: he's weak.
Not alone. Damian said he wasn't alone, and despite their initial conflict, he's never lied to him before, even if he sure feels like he is.
He focuses on the warmth. Loosens his grip, lowers his hands away from his neck and let's himself lean into the touch. Still shaking, but it's a start, and his voice is soft but trying to sounds even.] Wh-- What am I supposed-- what do I do now?
[Damian's the only person that's given him any kind of explanations or answers or-- anything. He wouldn't know who else to ask, and he can't think of anything on his own, because all he can think of is going back to the Court. Maybe this was why Batman had always seemed so grim while talking to him.]
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[ It was a good choice, talking to him about this out here, without the presence of any of the rest of the family. Otherwise, Damian might not keep his fingers curled around the other's wrists - a grip that's easy to break, but as comforting as he knows how to be.
Too self-conscious of his own displays of weakness around the others. With Todd, and Drake, he can't be anything less than combative, caustic; that's the nature of their relationship, and he's nowhere near socially skilled enough to know how to change it.
But Richard seems to appreciate the gesture, so he continues it for a few more moments. ]
None of them are easy, but -- [ He shrugs, shoulders hitching. Nothing in life is ever easy; not for those like them. Par for the course. ]
We can arrange for you to join a protection program, and be fostered and cared for until you are of age. Father has been speaking with Superman, and it sounds like he would be willing to take you in. You would be safe there, probably safer than here.
[ If safety is what Richard wants, there's no place safer than under the same roof as Clark Kent and Lois Lane. Damian may (so irrationally) dislike the alien, but even he can grudgingly admit that he would do a good job of looking after the boy, of caring for him and making him feel welcome. ]
Or if you'd like to try, we can still talk to Haly, see if it might not still be your home, after all. You won't know for sure otherwise.
[ Even with the time difference, and Richard's unnatural youth, there is still a chance he might find happiness there, bleak as the outlook may seem. Damian was already planning on talking to the owner, personally. ]
And if neither of those seem like a possibility--
[ Batman is going to kill him, he thinks, wry and dismissive. ]
--you may always stay here. With us. [ With him. ] As a ward. A brother.
[ Waynes have a bad habit of collecting strays, and Damian is no different. Titus, Alfred the cat, and now this boy. ]
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Superman was something else; he could distantly remember reading newspaper articles about the man as a child, hearing about all the daring feats he went to to protect the people of Metropolis and more. He was a real hero, bold and fearless, strong and inspiring and flying through the air and doing everything that Richard had wanted to do. That he would be safe, he has no doubt. That the man would even entertain the notion of taking in some pathetic kid he's never met just confirms everything he'd thought about the hero's kindness and generosity.
But Superman was everything that was so good about the world. Too good for him. Indiscriminate assassins and red-caped heroics just didn't mix. Superman was a stranger, and he had far bigger things to worry about than assassins and one kid from the wrong time period. Richard didn't want to burden the man.
The idea of going back to Haly's, now-- made something inside him wither, and he quickly and weakly shook his head in response. He'd already known he couldn't really go home anymore, but now it was just more obvious, and even more painful. His Haly's didn't exist anymore. He wasn't even a full act without his parents, and the worst thing he could think of was to confirm that no one there missed any of them anymore. He wasn't sure if he could even go back to that life as if nothing happened.
(And he wasn't so sure if Haly wouldn't just hand him back to the Court anyway, especially once a new Talon came looking and the Court started asking questions. The circus had decided to hand him over in the first place; the Grandmaster said it was what he was born for.)
That was kind of the problem; he was born to be a Talon, and now that he was trying to run away from it, he didn't know what to do.
But something in his chest jumped at the last suggestion.]
Brother?
[He'd never had one before, had only ever been an only child. He didn't want to burden Batman just as much as he didn't want to burden Superman, and Batman already had three other kids to look after (four? a few of the others mentioned a girl but he had never really seen her around).
He'd been thinking for quite some time, with nothing more than a loud sniff to keep his eyes from overflowing. His voice was finally a bit more collected when he tries to speak.]
I want-- to stay with you. [It felt like a lot to admit, and it's almost like he lets out a breath that he's been holding in the entire time.] But-- I don't want to. Be trouble. I won't if Batman doesn't want me to.
[(A part of him thinks he'd rather just leave, run away on his own, away from everyone and figure out how to deal with the Court of Owls on his own, and then no one has to be burdened with his presence. But he has no idea where he'd go, and the world around him must be so different than how he's known it. Maybe he could join the League of Assassins like Damian said. It was something, at least.)]
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[ Father, not Batman, as if Richard's declaration that he wants to stay is all the confirmation that Damian needs. The decision is made. Done. No take-backs.
(And, to him, it is, whatever objections Bruce or the others may raise. He will fight them down if he has to. He has his arguments ready. But, watching his father interact with the boy, he thinks that, no, there won't be much objection at all. Not like there had been with himself.)
He turns, continues walking, humming thoughtfully and clearly expecting the other boy to follow. Titus is eager to bound along, and turns figure-eights around the two, snuffling through the snow. ]
You'll need to pick out a room. I recommend the one next to mine - it has large windows, faces to the west, and is close to the kitchen.
[ Purely a recommendation made on practical choices, and not on the fact that Damian actually wants to keep him close, after all. Clearly.
The young Wayne, Richard will eventually come to realize, is an entirely contrary creature. Pleased to have his assassin at his side, as his brother, even as his healing wound pulls and stings with every step.
(Maybe he was lonelier than he'd realized. To finally have someone his own age, who'd experienced many of the same trials as he had - it's precious. Valuable. A warm, reassuring thing that he wants to trap and keep for himself, because he's selfish, and shameless besides.) ]
We'll also have to pick your education back up. Drake, annoying as he is, makes for a very effective tutor.
[ Damian will cede that to him, at least. He knows he doesn't have the patience to be a teacher. ]
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Adults were frightening. Especially the Waynes.
He lags behind for a moment or so, staring at the snow at his feet, most of him still numb from the turn of events. He hurries to follow once Damian is a certain distance away, picking up his feet and scrubbing at his face with the sleeve of the coat while Damian's back is still in front of him.]
OK. [He didn't really know much about picking a place to stay. He likes the idea of a big window, though he knows from creeping into Damian's room that the rooms at Wayne Manor are not anything like the small sleeping spaces he's used to.]
But I've never been to school before.
[You couldn't really pick up what you never actually started in the first place. Haly's had something of a tutor, the kids there learned the basics, anything needed to get by, but there had never really been a need for normal schooling, nor the time. Writing and Arithmetic and History certainly weren't the kind of things that'd been prudent to teach an assassin that was only supposed to follow orders.
And he's honestly pretty sure that Red Robin was even more suspicious of him than anyone else, and seemed to be the busy type.]
Um... [His voice is still quivering a little, trying to imitate the easy normalcy Damian speaks with, and he hurries a bit more to meet his pace again.] Did-- did you go to school? With the League?
[He said they'd kinda been in similar situations, right...?]
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Never been to school before?
[ He can't say he's surprised, considering the entire 'traveling circus' bit. His head tilts, turning over that bit of information, and he tosses the snowball out for Titus' entertainment. ]
It's alright. You're clever, and young. It won't be too difficult to get you caught up.
[ Again, he never said the options were easy. Part of being a Wayne was presenting a public face, and Richard will need some education under his belt, otherwise the socialites may eat him alive. It's work to be part of the family, sometimes, but there are perks.
At the other boy's question his expression, carefully, rearranges itself into neutrality, though there's a furrow to his brow that gives him away, a tightness at the corners of his eyes. He's never really had to discuss his League upbringing with anybody here -- just swept it under the table, like everything else (moon cakes and halal, greetings and polite customs and everything that was not normal here), in order to be accepted. To not reaffirm how different he is. Nobody wanted to hear it, and Damian wasn't about to offer up anything they could use against him.
(Though sometimes Cain looks at him like she wants to say something, has read something in his body language that gives his first impulses away, but he hurt her too badly for her to reach out again.) ]
I didn't attend a school, but I had personal tutors. Usually masters in their field. Not just combat, or weaponry, but the arts and sciences. A classical Greco-Roman education.
[ He hesitates, lets himself be kept busy with putting together another snowball. ]
When they had nothing left to teach me, they were killed. There is a very large graveyard at the bottom of the ocean that is a testament to the thoroughness of my education. Thankfully, we do not continue that tradition here.
[ He'd never been allowed to become close to any of his instructors. Had been kept isolated, even in the League. No friends, no allies, no adults he could trust or children he could play with -- just his mother, when she wasn't traveling. ]
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He's not even really sure what a 'classical Greco-Roman education' was supposed to entail, but it certainly sounded impressive. And all in all he's pretty sure Damian's way smarter than him in light of it.
The corner of his own eyes are still stinging a bit, but he's still watching Damian to keep some sort of focus, can can detect the way his expression changes, and most of all watches the way that he's keeping busy, where usually Damian seems pointed and purposeful.
The brutality of the 'tradition' doesn't surprise or phase him, it just seems rather inefficient. Perhaps the Court of Owls just took more restraint in choosing their targets.]
I'm sorry. [He does know a thing or two about isolation while deep in assassin strongholds. And he didn't really want to bring it up if it upset the other.]
It-- it must have been a little fun, though. Learning all that stuff. [Head bowed again, and he's nervously rubbing his forearms with his hands. It was kind of a paltry attempt at trying to carry a conversation, but he was trying.] I don't even know anything about science.
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[ He waves the snowball, back and forth, and watches Titus hop from left to right, looking distinctly unimpressed with his dog. Left hand - a hop. Right hand - another jump. Eventually he rolls his eyes, fakes a throw, and watches the mutt take off into a snow drift. The snowball remains in his hand, and Damian scoffs.
(He's amused, another smile curling at the corners of his lips. He's grown too fond of Titus.) ]
They knew too much about me, and about the League. [ Dead the moment they were taken. He shrugs, as if unbothered; for a long time, he wasn't. But now he dreams of his family, floating in that underwater cemetery, and wakes sick to his stomach, gasping and hiccuping and hating himself, his own callousness.
As tumultuous as their relationship is, and as distant as they can be, they are his family.
He catches the nervous behavior from the corner of his eye, snorting and leaning in to bump his shoulder against the other boy's, falling into an easy walk closer to him. ]
I do enjoy learning. It was a very strict upbringing, but it had many enjoyable moments. [ Little victories, every day. Damian succeeded in his duties because of his own determination in rising to a challenge, his gladness at winning approval, and not just because he was hard-pressed to do so. ]
Science can be very fun. Chemistry, physics, engineering, computer science -- I'm sure you'll find something you enjoy learning about.
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The bump startles him for a small moment, and he looks up at Damian quickly-- but he relaxes the extra tension when he realizes there's no harm done, and even makes a shy attempt at bumping his shoulder back (with a bit less force).
A muscle in his cheek tugs at the corner of his mouth, for only a split second. But it's there.]
I guess the Court would've done the same if I needed to have teachers. [It still seemed like too much of a hassle. Then again, the Court probably had the same thing.
He finds his gaze wandering again, though a bit more hesitantly than before; but his eyes eventually land on the sky. And the hesitation and nervousness is still obvious (it's practically a permanent part of his demeanor at this point), but he tilts his head back down to look at Damian, his mouth in a small, careful line, apparently confident enough to still ask questions.
He didn't know much of anything about engineering, or computers, or chemistry, but.] What about-- what about space stuff? Like stars, and galaxies and spaceships?
[That's science, right? He sounds just a tiny bit hopeful.]
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[ He's pleased, a little more animated, and his stare flicks up to the sky as well, momentarily washing his eyes out with a brighter blue hue in reflection before he looks down again. This is a good topic. ]
Spaceships, that's different. Astroengineering. Learning how to design machines and systems that will survive and function in outer space. It focuses on building materials, structural integrity, even engine design. I myself specialize in aerospace engineering -- it's similar, but more concerned with building airplanes and jets. Nothing meant to leave the atmosphere, at least not for very long.
[ There's a coy smirk on his face, as if he's got a secret he's debating sharing with Richard, but eventually decides that he might as well. ]
We have a craft capable of suborbital spaceflight, you know. And I know how to fly it.
[ A craft they could use, so that Richard can experience it for himself. Hypothetically. ]
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He listens quietly and politely-- and most of it he really has no idea what Damian is talking about, though he's amazed that he would know how to build an airplane. But he files everything away for later-- there must be so much more on the topic that Damian knows how that scientists hadn't even know about twenty years ago.
The thought was scary, and a bit intimidating. But this time it didn't feel like the sort of terror that would swallow him whole. Not yet, at least.]
Y-- You have a spaceship?!
[Eyes wide, and his face and tightly gripped hands barely containing the complete amazement at the fact. He'd known Batman's arsenal was impressive, but he had never guessed that the man had something like that at his disposal. Even the Court didn't have a spaceship.]
Can we-- [The question gets partially out of his mouth before he can stop himself, and he quickly retracts silences himself and tries to change the track of his words.] I mean-- can you really fly it? All by yourself?
[(He really wanted to go out on a space ship. So badly. So badly.)]
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[ Damian is finding he highly enjoys the changes to Richard's face and body language, the subtle awe that speaks to so much more under the surface. A quirked smile or wide eyes indicates a surprising intensity of internal emotion; and the longer he's stayed with them, the more that shows.
It's fascinating. And Damian interprets it as a challenge, and a victory already, how only he seems to be effective at pulling a visible response from the boy. It's a good feeling. ]
I can fly it, all by myself. [ A deliberate pause, as he rubs his chin, before pulling his hands back and cupping them over his mouth and nose to puff a warm breath on cold fingers - chilled by the snowballs he's been rolling for Titus. ]
But it's easier with a co-pilot. I could teach you, and in a few months' time you'll be able to fly it, too.
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Nevermind be potentially given the chance to help pilot one himself. If there was ever any evidence that this was all too good to be true, this definitely clinches it. He's practically starstruck.]
I-- Yeah--! I mean-- I'd like that. To try that. If it's OK.
[He fidgets a bit with his hands, taking a few extra steps through the snow despite going at the same pace. Very excited, but still too scared to show it.]
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[ Smug? Hell yes, he is. He'd taken one of his father's private jets and upgraded it as he pleased. Damian may sometimes be barred from driving the vehicles (especially if it's up to Drake), but he's proved his skill on both land and air, and normally has monitored access to them. Sometimes he'll drive the Batmobile to pick up one of the others, or he'll take the Batwing for a quick trip in an emergency.
(Todd's stupid 'but how can your little legs reach the pedals?' jokes aside.)
He chuckles at Richard's fidgeting, the excitement in how he shifts from foot to foot. ]
I'm glad. [ And he is, he realizes. Glad that Richard would like to stay with them (him), glad that whatever poor company Damian provides, it's helping him. Glad for the opportunity to take him under his metaphorical wing, help him catch back up with the rest of the world and teach him what he can. Even mundane things that have nothing to do with fighting.
Not something he'd expect to be glad about, but he's -- alright with it. Most of the time Damian feels like he has to bury his enjoyment, has to keep his attachments out of sight, as if being happy and liking something is a weakness, a vulnerability (and it is, it was, in the League).
But this? It's -- okay. To admit. ]
Ready to head back inside? We can pick out your room, and after dinner we can get it set up for bed.
[ And, frankly, Damian hates the snow and the cold, and it's getting darker with the oncoming evening. He looks forward to spending the rest of the evening in front of the fireplace. Richard will be sent to the shower, too -- he's not going back to the cell. ]
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He didn't know what to say, so he simply nodded; though it was eager, and almost even perkier than before.]
Oh-- [He hadn't even noticed it getting darker, not consciously at least--] Yeah. That sounds good.
[He didn't want to admit that he actually was getting a little hungry, or that he felt exhausted. His eyes felt itchy, but a part of him is reluctant. Still expecting to walk back inside to a pair of handcuffs, or a yellow-eyed stare, or to simply be locked out of the house entirely.
But-- less reluctant than before. Damian wasn't in charge of the house, but he still trusted his word.]
I don't-- mind taking the room next to your's, though. [He'd prefer it. This is house is far too big.
He's tired and dubious, but there's still just a little extra bounce on the ball of his toes as he starts to make way for the Manor again. Old energy coming back, just bit by bit.]
hmmm is this a good place to wrap-up this scene??
[ Very good. Damian's never really known the feeling of contentment (not outside of the rare pleasant dream of him and his father), and so he can't identify this calm, quiet feeling of good as such, but it's close. Close enough.
Dinner, then setting up his room, and Damian will prepare to meet his father head on later tonight when the man gets back in. It'll be a challenge to box him into accepting Damian's decision, but Robin has his battle plan.
(Take no prisoners.)
He strolls through the powder after Richard, more sedate than the increasingly-jaunty boy he's taken under his wing. At the back door he knocks his toes against the step, dislodging the snow built up on his boots, and trudges inside to the mud room; shrugging off the coat and hanging it up, toeing off the shoes and neatly lining them up on the tile as he steps up onto the hardwood foyer.
Titus, of course, bounds right back in, leaving dirty paw prints in his wake without a care as he trots in. The air's filled with the smell of Alfred's cooking, warm compared to the chill outside, and the butler has some quiet oldies playing on a vinyl record, the slow tunes drifting down the hall.
(Almost like a home, if Damian associated home with anything so cozy.)
He turns back to look at Richard, and he doesn't smile, doesn't drop the imperious lift of his chin, but something around the edges of his eyes softens, and he beckons him with a nod towards the kitchen and a hand held out expectantly. ]
Let's go see what Pennyworth is preparing, shall we?
ye sounds good to me!!
This isn't any sort of home he's used to. But he rather likes being able to walk inside into the warmth during the winter.
For less than a moment he stares at Damian, but maybe it's progress that there's less full-tilt shock in his face at the offered hand now. He still doesn't fancy the idea of speaking with the butler, but it's not the worst thing on his mind; and there's surprisingly little hesitation when he reaches out to take Damian's hand.
He's still careful. Still treats it like a lifeline.
He nods his head in silent affirmation to the plan just in time for his stomach to grumble and announce it's own agreement to the idea.]