terrence "terry" mcginnis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shway) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thoughtformed2013-10-21 12:52 am
shway) wrote in thoughtformed2013-10-21 12:52 am
Entry tags:
(no subject)
who: terry & batfam!? + anyone else who patrols if they'd like!
what: terry's given up on the self-imposed ban on heroing and has suited up.
where: rooftops.
when: october 21st, around 1 to 2AM. school nights, schmool nights.
Despite the overwhelming amount of cons regarding the whole kidnap island situation, it's looking as though he can (gratefully) add "batsuit seemingly unscathed" to the scant list of pros. It's late, the witching hour fast approaching, when Terry takes to the rooftops for the first time since his arrival in New Moore. He had thought he'd enjoy the unexpected downtime from his night shift, another tally to the "pro" column, but three days in and he'd been all but climbing the walls. And there was only so much reality tv courtesy of a subscription to webmoviez he could stomach.
He keeps to the shadows, using them to plot his course as he canvasses the city until he finds a sufficiently tall enough building to take five on and run recalibrations (the GPS needs gutting and the date and time are still wrong). He crouches on the parapet and surveys the street below as he fools with batsuit's programming from the console at his temple.
A small, disapproving voice in the back of his head that's managing an impressive Bruce impression scolds him for being so audacious; it's risky sitting out in the open in unfamiliar territory. Especially with unfamiliar superheroes with unfamiliar agendas afoot. And where there's heroes there's bound to be villains, too. Not to mention there's the potential threat of running into, uh, "family". He sneers grimly to himself at the thought before shrugging off the Bruce-like voice of reason. He'd never been all that great at longterm reconnaissance, or patience in general, and what better way was there to get acquainted with a new city than to dive right in?
what: terry's given up on the self-imposed ban on heroing and has suited up.
where: rooftops.
when: october 21st, around 1 to 2AM. school nights, schmool nights.
Despite the overwhelming amount of cons regarding the whole kidnap island situation, it's looking as though he can (gratefully) add "batsuit seemingly unscathed" to the scant list of pros. It's late, the witching hour fast approaching, when Terry takes to the rooftops for the first time since his arrival in New Moore. He had thought he'd enjoy the unexpected downtime from his night shift, another tally to the "pro" column, but three days in and he'd been all but climbing the walls. And there was only so much reality tv courtesy of a subscription to webmoviez he could stomach.
He keeps to the shadows, using them to plot his course as he canvasses the city until he finds a sufficiently tall enough building to take five on and run recalibrations (the GPS needs gutting and the date and time are still wrong). He crouches on the parapet and surveys the street below as he fools with batsuit's programming from the console at his temple.
A small, disapproving voice in the back of his head that's managing an impressive Bruce impression scolds him for being so audacious; it's risky sitting out in the open in unfamiliar territory. Especially with unfamiliar superheroes with unfamiliar agendas afoot. And where there's heroes there's bound to be villains, too. Not to mention there's the potential threat of running into, uh, "family". He sneers grimly to himself at the thought before shrugging off the Bruce-like voice of reason. He'd never been all that great at longterm reconnaissance, or patience in general, and what better way was there to get acquainted with a new city than to dive right in?
no subject
He hasn't jumped out a third story window in months, but his timing's still fine -firing the anchor line to swing, spreading his cape to slow himself. He tucks and rolls on impact rather than taking the shock straight up his legs. Then he's running for the television station, firing a second line to pull himself up. The broadcast tower is the highest point on the island.
Whoever the Hell this guy is, all he'll have to do to see Tim is look up.
no subject
Cape, cowl, a fan of the color red, and an emblem he can't quite place. Utility belt tells him he's probably not a super in the preternatural sense; those who can split bullets with just a thought don't really have a need for an assortment of lock picks. But a friend or foe? Well, he's about to find out.
"Nice night out, huh?"
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Tim gave up his forbidding act with new vigilantes a long time ago, but this - this is different. The build is wrong for Bruce, but that's a high-tech rig with a bat on its chest. Accepting that someone else has the right to dress up and fight crime by night is one thing. Sharing that...
"I'm going to go out of my way to be understanding here, because New Moore is a strange place. But we need to talk."
Reaching into his utility belt, he pulls a batarang - he has throwing discs of his own, so he rarely uses them, but he's kept one around. With a flick of his wrist, he throws it, embedding one wing in the ground between them, closer to... whoever this is.
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His mask crinkles with a smirk. "Sure. I'm all—"
The batarang is still humming from impact when he remembers, with startling clarity, where he's seen that insignia before.
After a long moment of deliberation, Terry reaches for his own belt. A sharp snap of his wrist later and an answering batarang (it's more circular in shape, and the wings are retractable) quivers at the feet of the former Robin.
"Ears."
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He shakes his head. This... happening right now, it's...
"Are you familiar with the Many Worlds theory? The notion of a multiverse?"
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"Not intimately. But something tells me it's pretty self-explanatory."
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But that means we don't know each other, and I'm betting we were both trained to be territorial about who plays on our turf. And the way this island works, it's better if we trust each other sooner rather than later. With me so far?"
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He sighs through his nose.
"2041. We rang in the new year six months ago, and I've been working the night shift for about a year and a half. Before that, Gotham hadn't had a Bat for over twenty years."
He taps a finger against his sternum, where the Red Robin crest would lay.
"No Robin, either, Red or otherwise. Took me a sec, but I know who you are."
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What did that imply about Dick? About Tim himself? Hell, what did it say about Damian? Although he could live with that part, it was still startling.
casually pretends return of the joker hasn't happened yet
He sounds hurt, or maybe just frustrated. It's too subtle to tell.
"... Sorry."
Re: casually pretends return of the joker hasn't happened yet
And mention of Ace - although probably not the same Ace - is proof enough to Tim to convince him this isn't an impostor. That tone is too genuine, anyway. Everyone Bruce mentors gets it.
"Does the suit have a built-in phone?"
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Right. Trust. It's better sooner rather than later, but...
"And that entails what, exactly?"
Tim might have the benefit of a few scant details that put Terry in the clear, but all Terry has on Tim is his outfit. He's already had the displeasure of a compromised batsuit before; he's not really looking for a part deux.
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"An uplink to the secure communications and surveillance network the vigilantes on New Moore use. Just one small file."
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Y'know, just to verify this uplink doesn't come with any friends.
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A tracking device in the batsuit that isn't only explicitly accessible by the cave's computers? Bruce would have a conniption. It'd been drilled into him pretty early on that the job and his life outside of it were wires never meant to be crossed. But with the uplink doubling as a tracker, anyone with access to the network could trace him back to his apartment, right down to which bedroom he sleeps in. So much for anonymity. He'd planned on outing himself to Tim - maybe - but a whole list of people he's never met, let alone recognizes?
... Still. Here on the island there is no batcave, no supercomputer to do the heavy lifting for him. No Bruce. His options are suffocatingly limited.
"How about a compromise. Can this handle your file?"
From his utility belt he produces the phone they'd given him back at the hospital.
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He draws out his own smartphone, calls up the Vigilance app, and taps the phones together, transferring the file. As it does, he smirks, and nods fractionally.
"...And it's what I would have done, too."
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His thumb glances off the phone's touchscreen once the application loads, briskly scrolling through the home page. It at least appears pretty simple as far as apps go.
"Anything specific you wanna give me the grand tour on?"
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"I'm afraid my schedule doesn't allow me that kind of leeway tonight. Rain check?"
If he does much more running and jumping between roofs, he's going to put his recovery back by weeks and he knows it. But he's not quite ready to admit to that much.
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"Sure."
He tucks his phone back into his utility belt as he steps back onto the parapet.
"I'm sure I'll manage."
He gives Tim a grin and a two-finger salute in parting before dropping off the side of the broadcast building. He free falls a couple stories before the batsuit's gliders unfurl with a crisp snap and catch the updraft. He banks hard, and weaves between two apartment complexes and out of sight. Be seeing you, Tim.
KATE PATROLS REGULARLY ALSO SHE AND TIM ARE BUDS / EXES
She approaches his perch on the parapet, and clears her throat, arrow in hand. "Can't sleep?"
HEY KB HOW YOU LIVIN
"Yeah. It's too quiet. I'm used to more sirens than this. Figured I'd stretch my legs and go for a jog instead."
SORRY I'M SUCH A BACKTAGGER
"So, what, you're from Gotham? Like Red Robin?"