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)
dreamsanddisasters2014-09-04 09:10 pm
earlybird) wrote in dreamsanddisasters2014-09-04 09:10 pm
Entry tags:
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. ]
no subject
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.]