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

[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.]