thoughtformed | [locked] action;

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Who: The Batfamily
What: Baby brother crashes the party
When: The day of Damian's arrival (we'll call it May 30)

[The arrival of Damian Wayne begins with a bang and not with a whimper.

He doesn't bother to go for subtlety at the hospital, when he smashes a doctor's face into the wall repeatedly, ties up another and leaves him strung up from the ceiling and beat nearly to a pulp. The statements filed with the police attribute it to a dark-haired boy, somewhere around elementary school-aged, but Damian's long gone by the time any of the authorities can get there with all his gear, and he doesn't intend to be caught any time soon.

Somewhere somebody knows something, and the premise is too mad to be real. But maybe somebody believes it, somewhere around here, and somewhere there has to be a clue as to who would go to the lengths of constructing an entirely new city just for the sake of some stupid plot like this. In his mad rush for answers he goes after the likely targets first. Hospital personnel, and whatever files he can find; the city government, and their records, and the elected officials most likely to have any clues on any sort of criminal conspiracy involving the kidnapping and psychological mind screw that is attempting to convince people they're fictional. Worse, they must know he's Robin. Somebody must know, his clothes were there. This can't be a coincidence. There's got to be a reason he's here, a pattern between what's going on and what's been constructed and a plot to string together to make it all make sense and give him a direction that points to the culprit, and from there, back to Gotham. If Richard doesn't find him first.

From there he moves downwards, into the slums and the gutters and the underworld. Something has to be there, somewhere.

For the people who know how to read the signs, all of this- the systematic searching for information, the harsh interrogations conducted swift and brutal- should make it obvious who the culprit is. And when his investigations turn up certain names- Timothy Drake (not Wayne, no matter how much he wants to call himself Wayne, Damian is Batman's true son), Stephanie Brown, Jason Todd- he'll have a new direction entirely. Tracking them down and breaking into their strongholds. Waiting for them to come.

If they don't find him first.]

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[After a while, he decides to make it fun.

The news that some kid attacked a doctor and broke out does catch his attention, but given where they are, he doesn't give it too much focus. Jason knows that his "kind" aren't the only ones who can do that, and besides, there are trolls coming in that are way more violent than he ever was at that age. (Or, rather, he was, but Bruce helped him "channel it." Or so Bruce told himself.)

But it doesn't take him long to realize that he's being followed. Jason's feet hit the concrete in an awkward, clumsy, lumbering way to throw his pursuer off before he slips into some shadow. Whoever's following him, Jason wants to know how well he knows this place. Then maybe he'll have a chat.

After all, Jason grows impatient with the cat and mouse game.

So he slips into a part of the town that he doesn't usually frequent, movements varied and careful. Trained. But it's the kind of training Damian might recognize, not that Jason knows that. Still, he can't help but try to make this interesting for now until he turns around and sees what this person wants.]

[Jason Todd is a black mark on the name of Batman. Grayson can insist that his father saw something in Jason, that he's smart, not to be underestimated, but in his heart Damian can't bring himself to take the man seriously. He's not worthy of it. He never was, and he never will be, and he's barely to be considered.

The similarities between them should probably be obvious, if Damian weren't too proud and too self-absorbed to even consider that he could be like Jason at all.

He's learned some hard lessons under Dick Grayson, but in this he can't take him seriously. Damian hates cat and mouse as much as Jason does, and the application of Bruce's training- the League's training, his mother's training and effort- all of it squandered on this worthless waste of space- just makes him irritable and even more itchy to hit him in the face.

Time to see how good he really is. If only he'd gotten his hands on a crowbar. Oh well. Leap in and strike for the back of the neck first, worry about the appropriate cheap shots later.]

Edited 2013-05-31 06:10 (UTC)

[There are days when he misses carrying a weapon on him, but he knows that it's too risky. The trust he's gained here reminds him of when they were looking for Ray Palmer, and every time he goes through something, he feels as if he's waiting for someone—usually Tim—to get tired of him for existing. Jason hates that there's a part of him that even cares, but he knows that the only way he'll get the resources he needs to accomplish anything is to play nice.

That's what he tells himself. Jason's a pretty awesome master of denial when it all comes down to it.

The point is, he would've let off a few warning shots already, but instead, he's pausing, aware that his pursuer isn't patiently playing along, and then turning. Not in time, because Jason is good, but he thought he had a few more seconds. Damian's foot makes contact with the side of his neck, and Jason doesn't hesitate to reach toward his leg to wrap his fingers around it. Better to take hold of him quickly, right?

Recognition does pass immediately. Talia and Bruce's son. Exactly who he wanted to see here.

Well, at least Tim probably wants to see him as much as Jason does.]

[He's fast. Faster than Damian had expected, getting ahold of his leg like that. But as he's yanked he takes the opportunity to size up Jason, the fall of his clothes and the potential tell tale bulges, subtle as they'd been taught to keep them, that would indicate weapons. His suspicions are confirmed; Jason isn't carrying anything, or there would be a gun I build face right about now. That's a substantial advantage in Damian's favor, because as ever he's armed to the teeth.

So: Jason grabs, and Damian rolls with it, letting himself get held close as he goes for a batarang at his belt and drive for the weak points. Kidney, abdomen, thigh, whatever he can hit first that might throw Todd off balance or get him to loosen his grip.]

No guns? Are you losing your edge, Todd, or did you finally come to your senses and accept your failure?

Didn't need a gun to take you out before.

[It's said with the slightest hiss of breath before he twists to reach for the front of Damian's clothing so he can throw him down against the ground and hold him there. He doesn't need any weapons to take out Damian—Talia had been sure that one of his instructors would make him a human weapon. Of course, Jason had thanked that German asshole by killing him with poison. It still did the job.

But either way, he keeps himself composed. This isn't the first time he's dealt with Bruce's kid, and the circumstances are different. He's different, even if he hates it sometimes. "Different" is a way to taunt him, to tell him he's lost his edge. No, he can still take out a ten-year-old boy one handed. And he intends to.]

[Damian recalls all too well getting slapped out of the way by Jason, and it's not a mistake he intends to make again. It would be easy to kill him. It is always easy to think about how to kill anyone he gets in a fight with, and much harder to think about how to not do that than it is for the rest of Bruce's "sons".

He doesn't really see what good letting Jason live serves, but the lesson's been drummed in enough. We don't kill. Incapacitate, though. Maim? Does he really need Jason intact? These and other issues have to be considered.

But it's more important not to get caught underneath Jason, not to get pinned. Twist away before Jason can grab ahold of his front- cape's going to be tricky but that gives him more room to maneuver if he gets grabbed there instead, if he can't move fast enough. Get a kick to the inside of his knee, break out of his grip and roll away, if he can. Distance. It's going to be about distance. Close range, Jason's much stronger.]

That was then. This is now.

Yeah, you're right.

[The difference is now, he's not confused, lost, broken, letting Bruce's damnable words play over and over in his head. See, even though he's working with Tim—to some extent now—the last thing he's letting happen is allowing those words to rule his life.

Needs help. Sure. He took care of himself just fine before Bruce had come along and decided he needed to play father. And he did just fine after that, right up until he died.

But Bruce acted like it was a thing all along.

Oh, well. He's living in the here and now and the here and now means there's an annoying ten-year-old boy who looks like a bizarre mix of Bruce and Talia. That doesn't mean Jason's overly fond of him, actually. Talia's great, on occasion, but Bruce? And of course, a bright young youth like this could just be another Robin heading out the door (even if somewhat temporarily).

Damian's kick lands and he allows it, and then he recovers, allowing Damian to move away.]

But ... see. I didn't need a gun to beat Bruce, either. Or Tim. It's all about raw talent.

[Jason might not have a gun, but Damian has blades. Knives, of course, the ones he's not supposed to have unless somebody like Dick or Alfred or Bruce allows it, and at least one of his swords if not both. It's enough to be working with. For somebody else it might be a source of pride, to take Jason down without them, but Damian's never truly given a damn about anything like that. He's too confident not to.

Next time, though. Crowbar. Going to have it. But if Todd's going to give him the space, he's going to keep it, at the point of his sword, on the attack this time. Precision strikes to get him on his guard and on unsure footing. Face, inside of the thigh, across the abdomen.]

Says the son of a drug addict and a petty criminal. You wouldn't be anywhere without my mother's help, Todd.

[Some part of him knows this is an unproductive conversation, that there are things he could be asking Jason that might help. But really, does he really want Jason's help?]

[Steph hates it when chocolate ice cream time gets interrupted by loud stalking. Loud stalking during the night work, that's one thing, but during the day, during chocolate ice cream time, it's just really, really rude. That's probably one of the lost commandments. Thou shalt not interrupt chocolate ice cream time. She sends up a quick apology to God, and her mom for that, just in case.

The good thing about being abducted to a tropical island, aside from all the beaches, is that it's usually nice enough out to sit outside when you have an ice cream date with yourself. Seriously, she has like, a table on Robbin' Baskins terrace, just for a day like this. It's hers. She's seen other people sit there, sometimes, but it's hers.

She hasn't even made that much of a dent in her first scoop when she gets that tingly, cold feeling that happens when she's being watched. She really hates that feeling. It's handy, yeah, but it also tells her someone good's been watching her for a while, and now they want her to know. It always makes her feel kinda dumb.

Steph sighs, and stabs the spoon right into the middle of her cup. She crosses her arms. Maybe they'll wise up and just come see her instead of creeping around when she's trying to relax.]

[Of course he wants her to know. If she cannot even figure out that somebody's watching her she has no right to the Batgirl costume, and she should just give it up right now and spend the rest of her days guzzling chocolate ice cream like a common incompetent, rather than hang around besmirching his father's legacy.

But it's also true that Damian is fairly certain she knows he's here by now, because Steph has proved that she's not that hopeless, and maybe in some ways he's almost sort of not quite glad to see her when compared to the presence of Tim Drake and Jason Todd? Irritating she might be, but she does ok. Sometimes.

None of this prevents him from doing the irritating thing, which is finding a way to suddenly drop in behind her, hang upside down and put his face perfectly level with hers, so that if she turns around to look they will literally be face to face.]

Girl blunder.

[And turns she does. There is literally only one person annoying enough to call her that, and last she checked he wasn't around. Steph really does see it coming, but can't stop it: she moves in surprise, and bangs her forehead into Damian's.

Damian's forehead. Which is here. Along with the rest of Damian.

She pushes her chair back a little, and reaches up to take her own temperature, and like, maybe rub at her forehead a little. Whatever. She's pretty sure people can get concussions from banging foreheads with someone else.

Oh, God.

It's the tiny demon spawn.]

Ow.

[Something like annoyed fondness blooms in Steph's heart. She squashes it down. Shh. Only bewilderment and pain now.]

What the hell?

[He should have seen that coming. When given the opportunity to do something undignified and utterly disgraceful, Stephanie Brown will always take that option. The fact that he set himself up for it is irrelevant compared to the fact that she should be good enough not to do things like that, or that he has to clamp his legs to keep from falling and losing his position because she caught him off guard even if he's just going to flip and drop to the ground the second he has enough space to do that without mostly falling on top of her.]

I should be asking you that. Here we are in the middle of a mass kidnapping situation orchestrated by who knows what madman and I find you eating ice cream. And on top of that, you didn't even respond once you knew I was here, if you knew at all. If you're going to get sloppy you should just give up being a part of my father's legacy entirely. You're certainly not going to be of any help to me.

[This is something like disappointment and irritation and somewhere, buried deep down, a genuine happiness to see that she's here and ok enough to be sitting around eating ice cream and the admission that he would actually seek her out for help, in the absence of Dick Grayson.]

Edited (i can html and i can also put the correct words in a sentence to make sense) 2013-05-31 06:49 (UTC)

[Steph grimly stops herself from sticking her tongue out. She is an adult, damn it. Kind of, anyway.]

Ugh. First day, huh?

[It's rough. She knows. Tim does the whole explanation thing so much better, though. ]

Yeah, I'm eating ice cream. I have a job here. I'm probably signing up for college again next semester. The whole thing's kind of...permanent.

[She chances a glance at him. That'll be hard to swallow. It is for everyone.]

And I am not getting sloppy! You're just...too tiny for me to spot.

[And Damian pretty much thinks he's an adult. Or at least that he should be treated as one. But that never stops him from sulking like a ten year old.

It doesn't stop the moment of child-like terror, either, at the thought that this isn't something he'll just be able to think or fight or trick his way out of. He might disparage Steph every chance he can get, but she's not- she's not that incompetent. If she's been here long enough to sign up for college again, she must be well and truly stuck. How long have Jason Todd and Tim Drake been here? How long have they been stuck?

Damian much prefers to think of himself as infallible. One second of doubt, before he sucks it up and shoves it somewhere deep where hopefully it never sees the light of day ever again.]

I am stealthy, as I should be, and the idea that even you could overlook an entire person in your proximity should be laughable. Now what the hell do you mean, permanent?

[Steph takes her hand off her forehead. She hopes it's not red, or anything, but she knows her luck is not that good, especially around Damian.

Now she just needs to figure how can she even start to explain this to him without sounding like she needs to be hospitalized.

Yeah. Right. That's definitely gonna happen. Better to just jump in there.]

Well, okay, um. When was the last time you saw me back home?

[It's definitely going to swell and be noticeable for days, on account of how thick-skulled they both are on a regular basis. Or perceive themselves to be.

Or maybe it's just Damian, who won't want to hear anything she has to say. It means losing- losing a lot of things.]

When you were hospitalized under the influence of Black Mercy.

[That's kind of a bad last memory of her. But then again, she'd also thought she'd hallucinated that part, so it's nice to have confirmation. Yeah, she's a horrible person.]

I remember going to England with the big guy, and then I was here. But it's been like...six months since I woke up in that hospital. The one here, I mean.

[You know, just in case he gets confused with the last time she woke up in a hospital. She'd like to stop doing that sometime soon. At least six months is probably a new record.]

[No he was there, paying his respect. It's a gesture he doesn't make very often, and he's not sure he'd be glad to hear that she thought she hallucinated it and let him off the hook for any potential feelings-laden conversations he's too awkward to deal with, or hurt that she doesn't believe he'd really do it.]

If you'd been gone for six months I think I would know.

[But she hasn't been. She very much hasn't been.]

Yeah, uh. That's what I thought too.

[Her ice cream's starting to melt. She just pushes it aside. This is a big sacrifice, okay.]

I mean, about Tim. You know he's been here like, two years. Apparently people don't, like, disappear back home.

[She could keep eating the ice cream. He didn't tell her not to.

Of course, he'd probably have something snide to say about it, but she could do it.]

I would definitely notice if he'd gone missing back home. I might even consider it one of the top ten days of my life. What the hell has he been doing here for two years?

[Tim likes to keep an eye on new arrivals. He's aware, peripherally, of the events at the hospital, and certainly he hears the police report around the same time the police themselves do. From there, it's a matter of calling up the surveillance footage from the cameras...

Where he comes up blank, at first. Someone good enough to beat his way out of the hospital at that age, and sneaky enough to --

Oh, no. Please no.

He's on his way back home when he notices that the feed from a motion-activated camera in his bedroom has been activated. Switching over, he has the distinct displeasure of noting that his traps, alarms and contingencies have all been bypassed, along with the outer surveillance perimeter. But this camera is hardwired, not wireless, and both it and the wire are hidden well inside the room. No way to cut it remotely without hard EMP.

Speaking of remotely, he cancels the screensaver on his desktop computer, blacks the screen, and opens a text editor.

H-E-L-L-O , D-A-M-I-A-N.]

[Perhaps out of all of them, Damian hates Tim the most. Batgirl is no threat and no trouble to him and Todd is a washed up failure clinging to the illusion that he could one day earn Batman's approval back. But Tim, Tim was the golden boy when Damian showed up. Tim is the one he needs to fully replace in his father's heart. He's Robin now, not Tim Drake. He's the true son. Tim needs to understand his place: second best, if he's lucky.

There's a vicious sort of pride in taking apart all his surveillance and traps, and how laughably easy it seems (even when it isn't.) It's just one more strike against Tim and how Damian is always, inevitably, better in every single way.

It only makes him hate all the more that he missed enough to give him away. Enough that Drake isn't even here, doesn't bother to greet him face to face. When he finds that would-be usurper, Damian will enjoy every drop of blood he wrings out of his broken frame, as he proves yet again who Bruce Wayne's true son really is.}

Tt. [Somebody who isn't ten would probably bother- probably think to- hide their irritation better than Damian does. But he's too arrogant to think it even matters.] It took you long enough to notice I was here. And your defenses are laughable. I was disarming systems like this when I was four.

[And if Tim can't hear him, if he hasn't wired for sound, if the camera isn't set up to let him read Damian's lips, then he deserves to not know what Damian says. ]

[Two clicks away from enabling audio.]

My defenses are hand-built on a limited budget, fit into an apartment, and don't pose any threat to my neighbors if they go off accidentally. First lesson of the island: understand your limitations.

I've always had far fewer limitations than you, Drake. We both know that. You can make all the excuses you want, but it doesn't change the fact that I walked right in here without any sort of effort at all.

[At least none that he'd admit to.]

So what's so important that you're making at least a half-hearted attempt to hide it? Another "hit list"? Should I hack your files, just to see if you put me on this one too, pre-emptively?

On that server is a three-year surveillance archive of an extensive camera network on the island, along with annotations. But you don't have to hack it. Anyone networking with the local patrollers can get the Vigilance app on their mobile device and tap in.

[His voice is clipped, the standard Tim Drake annoyed-professional, but it's also slightly smug.]

Apart from that, when I was caught between a cyborg and a thirty-first century hacker, I wiped and destroyed any sensitive personal information. It's all in my head now, or offsite and off-line. So really. Be my guest. I'm out of the secrets business for the most part.

[Damian's not going to take his word for it. He's going to hack into every single part of that server he can find, painstakingly if he has to, however long it takes, and if Tim doesn't like it he can come out and take that up with Damian himself.

That will show that stupid smug note in his voice]

As if I would ever believe that, Drake. You're too obsessively controlling and paranoid to ever let up. Do you do it because you think if you try to emulate my father he'll treat you like a real member of the family, or are you looking over your shoulder for some other reason? Because I can just as easily stab you from the front as I can from behind.

[But it's true that however good Damian is, he's still not as good with computers as Tim. This would take awhile.]

[Fortunately -- or sort of fortunately -- for Tim, he's on his way in person and moving fast.

He had an answer, an observation about how long he'd been on the island, how out-of-date Damian's profiles were, but the brat keeps talking and he grits his teeth, losing sight of the argument.

It's not as bad as it would have been when he was seventeen. But Damian still knows all the wrong semiotic switches to flip. And he sees the first reports coming in from his computer]

I crashed the computer network of the entire League of Assassins. Whoever trained you in computer intrusion can't have been half as good as I am, and I'm better than I was three years ago. Give it up.

You've never been good enough for me to even entertain the possibility of listening to you.

[He's not going to give up. Just out of spite, he would continue, even though he knows how long it took him to crack the last one. But that was on a far better system than this, and even if he can't finish it in time, the attempt still holds some importance. He's baiting Tim, of course. He wants to drag information out of him, one way or another.]

[No reason to waste time.

Three minutes later, Tim's coming in his front door, dressed in civvies, headed for his bedroom. He checks the surveillance one last time to guarantee his own door hasn't been booby-trapped against him.]

[He could have, and it would have served Tim right. If he were in a less tense mood, he might have done it just to do it. But he needs Tim's answers and his information, one way or another, much as he would hate to admit it.

He's sitting in Tim's chair, clad in his full Robin costume, and he doesn't so much as turn when he hears the door open.]

Took you long enough.

In an emergency, my response time would have been shorter. Or if you triggered my failsafes -- still intact -- the computer would have wiped itself. Wrecking three years of archived data.

[is there an offsite backup? In fact, there are three. But Tim's not going to discuss them.]

Allegedly, we're all on the same side here. You want access to my network, you do what any other vigilante on the island does. You ask.

Tt. When are you going to learn to stop underestimating me?

[He might not be the computer genius Tim is, but he's not an idiot.]

And I'm not every other vigilante.

[That's arrogance, but there's something more about it too. It feels like a power play, on Tim's part, and Damian really, truly deep down, doesn't think Tim would give him anything even if he asked.]

Believe me. That part I'd noticed.

[He really didn't want to be having this argument.]

Look. Give me your phone, and we can get out of each other's hair that much quicker.

[If he wants that phone he's going to have to pry it out of Damian's hands.]

Explanations first. And it's not like I want to spend more time here than I have to.

It's an app called Vigilance. It patches you into the database and archives, the surveillance network, and the anonymized communications relay.

We don't get to pick how long we're here. Not yet, anyway. But if you work with the network you've got a lot better shot than you do on your own. Suite yourself.

[If Damian seemed as though he had anything remotely like patience beforehand, it's totally gone now.]

Not that explanation, you idiot. The one where you've been here for two years and you're still here.

The forcefield doesn't respond to physical or electromagnetic force short of a nuclear strike -- probably short of asteroid impact. It's either projected externally or from somewhere deep inside the island with no surface access. Believe me, I have looked. Teleportation, technological or magical, can't get you out. Security is tight, tight enough for any of us to appreciate it, and they change it every time there's a penetration.

Best guess. The only way out is the way we came in. I've been working on that, but an eight-digit research grant would be called for for some of the equipment I'd need, and I don't think I'm getting that.

[The whole spiel is rattled off with only a few icy pauses to grit teeth and glare. Tim's not any happier than Damian.]

[The cold, hard truth: Damian doesn't think a whole lot of TIm as a person, and he'd have to be dragged kicking and stabbing before he would concede that he had any worth as a crimefighter, either. But he knows deep down where he keeps all the things he doesn't want to admit, he knows that Tim's more than competent at what they do; he resents him for that, for how much he thinks his father favors Tim, but he can't always say he doesn't understand what Bruce sees in him as a protege either.]

You've had two years, and that's all you've come up with? What the hell have you been doing this whole time, Drake? Batgirl could do better than that in two years!

Then I guess you'll only need to wait about fifteen months for better results.

Do you have anything that's not excuses?

Do you have any better ideas?

Several in the works.

[He's coming back for that computer, Tim, guarantee it. But in the meantime, this conversation is about as unproductive as he imagined it would be, and he's done with this.]

Unlike you, I haven't had time to get complacent.

I'm sure I'll be thrilled to see what you do with the place.

[Reaching much the same conclusions.]

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