[ HMM... there sure is a temptation to push there, but y'know. strange gotham. strange other-robin. better not test his luck and potentially lose the help getting back to his own time/dimension/whatever.
play nice and all that. ]
Right. Sorry, kinda weird calling someone else that. I'll be there in ten.
[ true to his word, that's exactly when he'll be showing up at the cave. ]
( if not by the first replacement, by the fifth iteration it's at least less of a family name.
play nice, think about other people's feelings, etc. all notions that could wait until any potential threat was recognized and subsequently neutralized. it doesn't strike damian as difficult for someone to emulate the outwardly cheery, charismatic and almost nonchalant disposition that none of the subsequent robin's ever quite lived up to. he's still suspicious and watches the camera feed from the tunnels with intent. all their biometric information is stored, and neither age nor interdimensional time travel throws off the retinal scanners and voice recognition software. eventually there's the distant hiss and clicks of doors, and damian turns in the batcomputer chair to size dick up while he makes his approach.
they're both dressed as robin, but with slight differences. recognizable enough to damian, though dick is only spared a few moments to note the evolutions before damian's standing. extending a formal hand. )
[ it's hard to imagine that he'll "get over it" when robin is such a personal thing to him, but then he doesn't know what circumstances led to a successor(?) or what mantel he supposedly wears in this here and now. he'll just have to take this robin's word for it and get the checks over with so he can get some real answers asap.
although everything remains familiar enough, from gotham itself to the cave's security measures letting him pass without fuss, he can't help being wary. the sense of Batparanoia™ that bruce has instilled in him dictates inherent suspicion and caution. it's helped along by the sight of another robin in the batcomputer chair and how wrong that feels.
not that he lets any of it show.
he keeps his body language seemingly relaxed and inoffensive as he makes his approach. as much as he wants to glance around the cave and note the differences there, his gaze remains firmly on the other robin, studying him and the changes in the outfit in the time he's granted to do so before he's suddenly offered a hand. which is— interesting. ]
I'd say the one and only, but that's obviously wrong.
[ he replies easily, tone light and grin slightly sheepish, and talking buys him a few seconds to consider. the hand feels like it could be a test and it's not a welcome one when he already feels at a disadvantage what with the other robin knowing his name and dick having no idea who this kid is. he takes it anyway in the spirit of cooperation and friendliness, pressing on as he does. ]
Is Bruce out with the League?
[ it's a simple question posed very casually, but it's one that could give him a wealth of information if answered. ]
( the handshake is equal parts a test, and a rather aggressive means to an end. firstly — a swift, but not entirely subtle opportunity to size up this foreign version of dick grayson that's well memorialized in the computer archives, but inconsistent with all of damian's memories of him. pointedly not the man who became his batman, nor who introduced him to the mindless enjoyment of old arcade games along the pier, but still undeniably the beginnings of what made him. it's disconcerting, but damian likewise masks any discomfort behind thinly pressed lips and the opaque shields of his domino mask.
and secondly — )
He's out.
( talking, even in roundabout not-answers buys him a few seconds to overshadow just how long their handshake has continued. past the initial shake of the wrists, and lingering through a slight adjustment to damian's grip before dick inevitably feels the slight prick of a needle stabbed through the seam between gauntlet and wristguard. it's an innocent jab. no fast-acting paralytic agent to follow, as had been the original design behind the advancement to his gloves. but it's enough to draw a few droplets of blood, just enough to be subsequently swabbed onto a lab disk and inserted into the computer desk behind damian.
a little underhanded? yes. literally. but while the large screen runs the marathon of in-depth blood tests, damian at least elaborates. )
Outside our atmosphere, actually. You really picked the worst time to fall out of your timeline.
that doesn't say a whole lot, but to dick it says enough to put his mind at ease a little bit as he surreptitiously continues studying the other robin. it means that bruce is still around — still alive, still batman — and if this is some future-to-be then that definitely comes as a relief.
now, if this is some alternate universe where batman and robin are evil... well. dick will deal in whatever way he must, but from what he's glimpsed and gathered so far, that hardly seems the case.
although he comes to question that assessment soon enough.
he's caught up in the thought of bruce enough that he doesn't anticipate what happens next even if he should have. the prick of a needle instantly sets him on edge, makes him tense and brace for the worst as he expects to hit the floor any moment after the fact. fortunately there's no telltale wooziness and it becomes apparent what the other robin has done and why when he pulls away, quelling the instinctive urge to retreat and create distance.
dick doesn't know whether to be impressed or annoyed. he settles for something that's in between both. ]
Ow. [ flat and unamused, said pointedly only to make his displeasure known rather than an exclamation of actual pain. ] Not cool. You could have just asked.
[ he gets it though (precautions, blah, blah) and it's not unlike something he would do so he can't exactly hold it against the other robin. besides, the blow is softened by some more information given. rather than get huffy, he steps away to settle himself, moving with easy familiarity to lean back against the console where he can keep facing robin as the screen runs tests behind him. ]
Is there ever a good time?
[ no. ]
Guess he'll be gone for a while then.
[ he knows better than to ask for further details at the moment, but the curiosity is palpably there. ]
( and yeah, precautions, blah and blah. best to get it out of the way immediately, not give the young grayson any chance to balk, and also to gauge how he reacted because that was some grade a batman-style sneaky bullshit. and dick seems as unbothered by it as any of them would be. that serves as much to reinforce his identity as the dull chirp of the computer pulling up the positive results for the blood test, along with the dossier on all things richard john grayson.
for a fleeting second, half of the giant monitor is taken up with an image of adult dick grayson's face. the other half pulls up his history — from acrobat, to robin, to nightwing, to batman, to nightwing again, to spyral; from grade school, to the teen titans, to the protector of blüdhaven, to international man of mystery; from blood type to a litany of personally grievous injuries he'd endured during his time as a vigilante — and a list of affiliates, where damian's own name appears somewhere along the bottom. it's all there, but only for a moment. just long enough for damian to register the results, and then he's punching the escape key.
blah, blah, not infecting the past with the truths of the future. not changing the present by meddling with the past. it's the first rule of time travel, unwilling or otherwise. and they've better things to attend to now that he's as certain as can be. )
We could attempt to contact him via satellite messages, but he's busy. ( saving the world, as always. ) And I don't see any reason to bother him with this when I can handle your displacement. What can you tell me about the altercation right before you came here?
[ the protest is halfhearted at best and the "no manners at all" he mutters under his breath right after lacks any real bite or frustration. underhanded tactics are part of the gig and he can only blame himself for not entirely anticipating it when he should have. it's only his blood taken which he would have given anyway so no harm done.
dick's soon distracted from his put-upon pretense by the computer either way.
he's listened to wally's hypothetical rambling about time-traveling enough that he could probably write a dissertation of his own. he knows he shouldn't look. yet the ding of the computer has him glancing over his shoulder automatically, habit trumping logic. his eyes widen behind the mask and his breath is caught in his throat as his gaze alights on a picture of his older self. it's— strange, to say the least. it's only there for the briefest of moments and all dick can absorb is the picture and a few stray words and names that either don't mean anything to him (teen titans? spyral?) or that he doesn't understand the significance of (blüdhaven?) before the dossier is gone from the screen.
he faces forward again, finally remembering to exhale as he does his best to suppress all the questions that immediately bubble up. he's not supposed to know. instead he hums in (distracted) agreement at the mention of not bothering bruce. of course he'd prefer bruce to be here, but if he's busy saving the world then it's not worth pulling him away. dick will have to settle for this other robin, uncomfortable as it may be.
he sighs at the question, shaking off his curiosity and redirecting his focus to answering. ]
Not a lot I'm afraid. It's all kinda fuzzy.
[ it's made this displacement all the more frustrating. there's really nothing quite like waking up in familiar-yet-different surroundings having no idea what happened. especially when it's not the first time something similar happened.
he crosses his arms, head tilting downward in thought as he grasps at the fragments of memories he does possess, thinking hard. ]
I know I was on a mission with the Team and things didn't go as they should have. As usual. I think... Klarion was there? But he wasn't supposed to be.
[ given that anything can happen when the witch boy is involved, he seems like the most likely culprit yet dick neither has evidence or the recollection to be certain. ]
( open the flood gates of frustrating circumstances and the waters never stop flowing.
damian scoffs at the mention of klarion — ) The Witch Boy. ( — derisively annoyed with the mere legacy of the sorcerer, as well as his flakey habit of ever being useful. seeking him out for any sort of help seemed preemptively fruitless; chaos personified and all, with a sour attitude that hasn't changed much over the years. but still... ) I believe Drake saved his cat once. That may be enough to open a line of communication. The least we could do is ask.
( though that means begrudgingly asking tim drake for a favor, and possibly ending up on the less pleasant side of an interrogation as to why he needed an in with a magical sociopath. if that headache could be avoided, it would be, and damian folds his arms across his chest while running down the list of superior associates to ask for help. )
Superman is also off-world. Hunter or West may be useful, but if this is the work of supernatural abilities it would be best to start with Zatanna. Try to remember the specifics, Grayson, it's important.
( another frustrated exhale, and then as an afterthought — because, his version or not, this is still dick grayson. and the grinch's-heart-grew-three-sizes part of damian cares. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tfln.
[ HMM... there sure is a temptation to push there, but y'know. strange gotham. strange other-robin. better not test his luck and potentially lose the help getting back to his own time/dimension/whatever.
play nice and all that. ]
Right. Sorry, kinda weird calling someone else that.
I'll be there in ten.
[ true to his word, that's exactly when he'll be showing up at the cave. ]
+1 to fuck captcha
( if not by the first replacement, by the fifth iteration it's at least less of a family name.
play nice, think about other people's feelings, etc. all notions that could wait until any potential threat was recognized and subsequently neutralized. it doesn't strike damian as difficult for someone to emulate the outwardly cheery, charismatic and almost nonchalant disposition that none of the subsequent robin's ever quite lived up to. he's still suspicious and watches the camera feed from the tunnels with intent. all their biometric information is stored, and neither age nor interdimensional time travel throws off the retinal scanners and voice recognition software. eventually there's the distant hiss and clicks of doors, and damian turns in the batcomputer chair to size dick up while he makes his approach.
they're both dressed as robin, but with slight differences. recognizable enough to damian, though dick is only spared a few moments to note the evolutions before damian's standing. extending a formal hand. )
Grayson.
no subject
although everything remains familiar enough, from gotham itself to the cave's security measures letting him pass without fuss, he can't help being wary. the sense of Batparanoia™ that bruce has instilled in him dictates inherent suspicion and caution. it's helped along by the sight of another robin in the batcomputer chair and how wrong that feels.
not that he lets any of it show.
he keeps his body language seemingly relaxed and inoffensive as he makes his approach. as much as he wants to glance around the cave and note the differences there, his gaze remains firmly on the other robin, studying him and the changes in the outfit in the time he's granted to do so before he's suddenly offered a hand. which is— interesting. ]
I'd say the one and only, but that's obviously wrong.
[ he replies easily, tone light and grin slightly sheepish, and talking buys him a few seconds to consider. the hand feels like it could be a test and it's not a welcome one when he already feels at a disadvantage what with the other robin knowing his name and dick having no idea who this kid is. he takes it anyway in the spirit of cooperation and friendliness, pressing on as he does. ]
Is Bruce out with the League?
[ it's a simple question posed very casually, but it's one that could give him a wealth of information if answered. ]
no subject
and secondly — )
He's out.
( talking, even in roundabout not-answers buys him a few seconds to overshadow just how long their handshake has continued. past the initial shake of the wrists, and lingering through a slight adjustment to damian's grip before dick inevitably feels the slight prick of a needle stabbed through the seam between gauntlet and wristguard. it's an innocent jab. no fast-acting paralytic agent to follow, as had been the original design behind the advancement to his gloves. but it's enough to draw a few droplets of blood, just enough to be subsequently swabbed onto a lab disk and inserted into the computer desk behind damian.
a little underhanded? yes. literally. but while the large screen runs the marathon of in-depth blood tests, damian at least elaborates. )
Outside our atmosphere, actually. You really picked the worst time to fall out of your timeline.
no subject
that doesn't say a whole lot, but to dick it says enough to put his mind at ease a little bit as he surreptitiously continues studying the other robin. it means that bruce is still around — still alive, still batman — and if this is some future-to-be then that definitely comes as a relief.
now, if this is some alternate universe where batman and robin are evil... well. dick will deal in whatever way he must, but from what he's glimpsed and gathered so far, that hardly seems the case.
although he comes to question that assessment soon enough.
he's caught up in the thought of bruce enough that he doesn't anticipate what happens next even if he should have. the prick of a needle instantly sets him on edge, makes him tense and brace for the worst as he expects to hit the floor any moment after the fact. fortunately there's no telltale wooziness and it becomes apparent what the other robin has done and why when he pulls away, quelling the instinctive urge to retreat and create distance.
dick doesn't know whether to be impressed or annoyed. he settles for something that's in between both. ]
Ow. [ flat and unamused, said pointedly only to make his displeasure known rather than an exclamation of actual pain. ] Not cool. You could have just asked.
[ he gets it though (precautions, blah, blah) and it's not unlike something he would do so he can't exactly hold it against the other robin. besides, the blow is softened by some more information given. rather than get huffy, he steps away to settle himself, moving with easy familiarity to lean back against the console where he can keep facing robin as the screen runs tests behind him. ]
Is there ever a good time?
[ no. ]
Guess he'll be gone for a while then.
[ he knows better than to ask for further details at the moment, but the curiosity is palpably there. ]
no subject
( and yeah, precautions, blah and blah. best to get it out of the way immediately, not give the young grayson any chance to balk, and also to gauge how he reacted because that was some grade a batman-style sneaky bullshit. and dick seems as unbothered by it as any of them would be. that serves as much to reinforce his identity as the dull chirp of the computer pulling up the positive results for the blood test, along with the dossier on all things richard john grayson.
for a fleeting second, half of the giant monitor is taken up with an image of adult dick grayson's face. the other half pulls up his history — from acrobat, to robin, to nightwing, to batman, to nightwing again, to spyral; from grade school, to the teen titans, to the protector of blüdhaven, to international man of mystery; from blood type to a litany of personally grievous injuries he'd endured during his time as a vigilante — and a list of affiliates, where damian's own name appears somewhere along the bottom. it's all there, but only for a moment. just long enough for damian to register the results, and then he's punching the escape key.
blah, blah, not infecting the past with the truths of the future. not changing the present by meddling with the past. it's the first rule of time travel, unwilling or otherwise. and they've better things to attend to now that he's as certain as can be. )
We could attempt to contact him via satellite messages, but he's busy. ( saving the world, as always. ) And I don't see any reason to bother him with this when I can handle your displacement. What can you tell me about the altercation right before you came here?
no subject
[ the protest is halfhearted at best and the "no manners at all" he mutters under his breath right after lacks any real bite or frustration. underhanded tactics are part of the gig and he can only blame himself for not entirely anticipating it when he should have. it's only his blood taken which he would have given anyway so no harm done.
dick's soon distracted from his put-upon pretense by the computer either way.
he's listened to wally's hypothetical rambling about time-traveling enough that he could probably write a dissertation of his own. he knows he shouldn't look. yet the ding of the computer has him glancing over his shoulder automatically, habit trumping logic. his eyes widen behind the mask and his breath is caught in his throat as his gaze alights on a picture of his older self. it's— strange, to say the least. it's only there for the briefest of moments and all dick can absorb is the picture and a few stray words and names that either don't mean anything to him (teen titans? spyral?) or that he doesn't understand the significance of (blüdhaven?) before the dossier is gone from the screen.
he faces forward again, finally remembering to exhale as he does his best to suppress all the questions that immediately bubble up. he's not supposed to know. instead he hums in (distracted) agreement at the mention of not bothering bruce. of course he'd prefer bruce to be here, but if he's busy saving the world then it's not worth pulling him away. dick will have to settle for this other robin, uncomfortable as it may be.
he sighs at the question, shaking off his curiosity and redirecting his focus to answering. ]
Not a lot I'm afraid. It's all kinda fuzzy.
[ it's made this displacement all the more frustrating. there's really nothing quite like waking up in familiar-yet-different surroundings having no idea what happened. especially when it's not the first time something similar happened.
he crosses his arms, head tilting downward in thought as he grasps at the fragments of memories he does possess, thinking hard. ]
I know I was on a mission with the Team and things didn't go as they should have. As usual. I think... Klarion was there? But he wasn't supposed to be.
[ given that anything can happen when the witch boy is involved, he seems like the most likely culprit yet dick neither has evidence or the recollection to be certain. ]
no subject
damian scoffs at the mention of klarion — ) The Witch Boy. ( — derisively annoyed with the mere legacy of the sorcerer, as well as his flakey habit of ever being useful. seeking him out for any sort of help seemed preemptively fruitless; chaos personified and all, with a sour attitude that hasn't changed much over the years. but still... ) I believe Drake saved his cat once. That may be enough to open a line of communication. The least we could do is ask.
( though that means begrudgingly asking tim drake for a favor, and possibly ending up on the less pleasant side of an interrogation as to why he needed an in with a magical sociopath. if that headache could be avoided, it would be, and damian folds his arms across his chest while running down the list of superior associates to ask for help. )
Superman is also off-world. Hunter or West may be useful, but if this is the work of supernatural abilities it would be best to start with Zatanna. Try to remember the specifics, Grayson, it's important.
( another frustrated exhale, and then as an afterthought — because, his version or not, this is still dick grayson. and the grinch's-heart-grew-three-sizes part of damian cares. )
Are you hurt?