Tiny Talon Dick (Plus is an E N A B L E R)

[earlybird]

[ '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. ]

Comments

[graysondive]

[Education was probably the least intimidating thing Richard's had to deal with over the past-- however long he's been here. Certainly in the last hour. But he's already so behind and not even sure where he stands on the education front-- he doesn't really feel very clever for the disgraceful way he's been acting today.

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.

[earlybird]

It's fine.

[ 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.

[graysondive]

[Titus is definitely fun to watch-- maybe it was a bit simplistic, but he's only had the smallest and simplest things to derive amusement from for awhile, and the dog is incredibly enthusiastic while Damian seems entirely blasé about the whole affair. And even if he still felt a bit emptied out, it was hard for him to dwell too much with the dog trudging through a snowdrift.

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.]

[earlybird]

Stars and galaxies - that's astronomy. Or astrophysics. Studying how they move, their celestial behavior, what physical laws apply or don't apply to them. Looking at phenomena like black holes, or learning about the different kinds of stars.

[ 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. ]

[graysondive]

[He listened to Damian's explanation with the same vested interest that he watched Titus bound around in the snow moments before-- only this time there was something a bit more aware and attentive, and certainly less exhausted from his own emotions.

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.)]

[earlybird]

Not exactly a spaceship. It's not built to travel in space for very long, not like satellites are. Think of it as a jet that can escape the atmosphere for short trips.

[ 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.

[graysondive]

[Never before in his entire life did he think he would ever get the chance to ride a spaceship-- or, a spacejet. Whatever it was exactly (he would figure that out, later, he definitely would).

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.]

[earlybird]

It's fine. After all, I built it.

[ 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. ]

[graysondive]

[The admission seems to calm him a little bit-- not from his excitement, but. He can't imagine himself being very good company either, a worthless kid from another decade and now a failed assassin that can't keep his mouth shut. But if he's somehow made Damian happy, then he doesn't want to jeopardize it. And maybe knowing that he isn't just a complete burden sets him a bit at ease.

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??

[earlybird]

Good.

[ 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!!

[graysondive]

[He follows Damian's lead (as opposed to Titus' example) once they get back to the house, flicking off the snow and dusting off the few bits that were clinging to his pants. He takes great care when removing the boots and coat, carefully setting them both in their places so as to not disturb them or the other items that were already in place.

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.]