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}
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?