[He doesn't understand why he is here. He doesn't understand what he had ever done to deserve this. He doesn't understand why Drake couldn't deal with fulfilling his "helpful promise" to Brown on his own. Damian tightens his arms over his chest and rubs his nose against the collar of his jacket to attempt to get some warmth back into it. There were many things he would willingly wake at five AM for, and many things he would brave the high twenty degree weather of a November morning in Gotham for.
This was not one of them. It didn't make the list. It wasn't even close to making the list.
A store clerk in a bright red vest moves along the line of people, informing them that the doors will open shortly and that they are to proceed in a careful and polite fashion.
Ludicrous.
He turns to Drake, lifting his (bright red) nose to give him a pointed look.]
I don't understand why you couldn't just buy everything for her on any other day. And why do I have to be here? [He knows at least the answer to the second question. He can only disobey Father so many times before being issued some sort of punishment. That it came in the form of accompanying Drake to do Brown's Black Friday shopping should certainly count as Cruel And Unusual and violate the Geneva convention. He tucks his nose back into his collar just as quickly as it had emerged, glaring over the top of the jacket and from beneath his dark red beanie.]
[Sometimes Tim isn't exactly sure how Steph manages to talk him into things. Or why he lets it happen. What he does know is that he is being punished for his lapse of judgement by Bruce forcing them to endure each other's company at 5 AM in Gotham.
In winter.
On Black Friday.
Without anyone else as a buffer. It's like Bruce wants there to be bloodshed.]
Take it up with Steph. [He responds with the dry resignation of someone who lost an argument.] Before you say anything, yes, I made sure to mention how pointless Black Friday is with all the other, better sales throughout the season, and no, she refused to let me buy everything for her online even if it would've been much easier on all of us. She also demanded all the receipts and she has Babs on her side.
[So they can't cheat no matter how much they want to. Or they could, but the effort required was Not worth it.
The whiny complaint has Tim rolling his eyes and sighing, the puff of air visible under the dim street light. He shuffles his feet in place, taking in Damian's petulant visage. He sighs again.
She is a menace. [Although he had anticipated that Brown had implemented some sort of fail safes to assure that Drake didn't do exactly as he'd been thinking, hearing it confirmed only deepens his loathing (and respect) for her conniving plan. Surely this is a sign that her father's villainous genes did indeed take root in her. Damian pauses to consider this new revelation, remembers the idiotic failures of plots that he'd read about in the Cluemaster's profile on the cave computer, and promptly reconsiders. Brown is far too nefarious to be compared with a lackluster d-list annoyance like Cluemaster.
A chilly breeze sweeps through the line and Damian takes a step closer to Tim, using the teenager's body as a buffer and perhaps seeking out some of the other boy's heat. Not that he will ever admit it.]
If we're here out of ridiculous obligation, why on Earth are the rest of the people in this line? [Are they all just insane or?]
[He coughs into his hand (which may or may not be disguising laughter), and pretends he's unaware of any unkind thoughts Damian is having.]
Why do you think Steph made me come out here?
[His sardonic tone makes it pretty clear what he thinks of that. He gets liking a good deal and only being able to afford things when they're on sale, but Black Friday takes it too far. It isn't even worth the ridiculous amount of effort when the alternative is warm beds and going for better sales later.
After a short pause, he adds on:]
It's also a holiday tradition for some people.
[Which is also why Steph made him come out. He yawns (again), and tries not to shiver at the sudden breeze.
It's freezing at ass o'clock in Gotham, and he's supposed to brave the crazed crowds with Damian, but Tim can't find it in himself to be too irritated. Between the happy chatter among a few people and the visible - if drunk tired - excitement of more than half the line, it takes a real Grinch not to feel the cheer. It isn't often Gothamites get into the spirit of things instead of defaulting to their usual cynicism. (Tim isn't fooling himself though, he knows it'll be all out war once the store opens.)
Speaking of Grinches.]
Here.
[Tim drops his thick knit red scarf on Damian's head, already looking away and shoving his hands back into his coat pockets. Before any protests can be voiced, he continues speaking, this time in a bland manner.]
[Why would anyone make this a tradition??? Who hated themselves that much? Damian understood that this day reportedly held highly desired items (?) for very low prices (???) but surely no one was so impovershed as to deem losing the sleep, standing out in the cold milling around like a bunch of cows, and then fighting their way through obnoxious crowds worth saving a few hundred dollars?
Who was that poor!? If Brown wanted money, he could share his allowance with her.
Damian's eyes flash to Tim the moment he senses movement but he still isn't prepared for the scarf that is suddenly dropped onto his head and he scrabbles at it with his hands, tugging it away from his hair. It's near instinctive to drop it on the floor and make some sort of derisive comment (because he knows what Drake is doing) but before he can do exactly that, the warmth begins to seep through the cashmere and into his fingers and he finds himself wrapping the offending fabric around his neck and lower face before he can help himself.]
[Tim should get an award for not rolling his eyes. Heck, he should get several for resisting the urge to smile triumphantly when the younger boy swaddles himself with the scarf. (Honestly, he wouldn't have been surprised if Damian "accidentally" dropped the scarf in the muddy sludge they're standing in. He's going to count this as a win.)
The red vested employee walks past them again, back into the brightly lit warmth of the store. Half the line stares after enviously (while likely counting down the minutes), though Tim is busy mourning the fact that he has no coffee in hand.
At some point he turns towards Damian, coincidentally blocking the wind.]
Hey, hold out your hands.
[It’s just loud and cheerful enough for the surrounding people to hear.]
[Unlike Haven, the city of Proles is much bigger in both size and population and Damian is glad of that. It makes it easier to fade into the background. Easier to make himself unapproachable. No one in this city would blink twice at a child on his own, assuming he had family to get back to. He prefers it that way. He prefers being alone.
The only other alternative is entirely unacceptable. He had already learned his lesson on acquainting himself with those from other universes. He had learned it recently and painfully and he had no intentions of having to be taught the same thing twice. (His heart was still hurting from the first time after all, a fact of which he was reminded of every night when he tried to close his eyes and rest.)
So when he hears that this city (not unlike Haven) receives new arrivals once every month and the day of new arrivals is upon them, Damian does not go to their place of entry. He doesn't watch any of the comms, and he doesn't make any plans to go out. No one from his home world is arriving and no one from Haven will ever join him. To think otherwise is to be stupidly childish and naive. That's not him.
Damian is a soldier. He's strong. He will survive just fine on his own. He doesn't need anyone.
The day after new arrivals have settled, he goes out at night as per his usual routine. Missing are the jeweled tones of another life, replaced instead with dark blacks and grays, though he does bear the Kevlar beneath. The name Robin means nothing here and so the colors are nothing more than a disadvantage. The domino is worn more out of habit and for intimidation factors than any real need to conceal his identity. It's not as though anyone here knows him anyway. No friends or family to speak of. No one to put two and two together. It's simpler this way. Easy.
One of the sections of downtown has it's share of lowlifes and thieves so it's there he's been working and there he finds himself stopping an armed mugging and nearly losing sight of his fleeing target when a flash of red out of the corner of his eye almost has him tripping over himself. A moment later his focus is back and the would be murderer slash robber is knocked out cold, but there's a chill running down Damian's spine and he grits his teeth and wills it away.
What a stupid fucking way to get distracted. In anger, he ties the man's hands together a little tighter than necessary before making his way back into the shadows. It's possible the momentary lapse in judgment means he should go back to his apartment and sleep, but he won't. He can't. Even if he went back, there wouldn't be any sleep now, not that there ever really is these days. With a scowl etched into his features, he moves on, eyes alert and searching out his next mark.]
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Black Friday
This was not one of them. It didn't make the list. It wasn't even close to making the list.
A store clerk in a bright red vest moves along the line of people, informing them that the doors will open shortly and that they are to proceed in a careful and polite fashion.
Ludicrous.
He turns to Drake, lifting his (bright red) nose to give him a pointed look.]
I don't understand why you couldn't just buy everything for her on any other day. And why do I have to be here? [He knows at least the answer to the second question. He can only disobey Father so many times before being issued some sort of punishment. That it came in the form of accompanying Drake to do Brown's Black Friday shopping should certainly count as Cruel And Unusual and violate the Geneva convention. He tucks his nose back into his collar just as quickly as it had emerged, glaring over the top of the jacket and from beneath his dark red beanie.]
no subject
In winter.
On Black Friday.
Without anyone else as a buffer. It's like Bruce wants there to be bloodshed.]
Take it up with Steph. [He responds with the dry resignation of someone who lost an argument.] Before you say anything, yes, I made sure to mention how pointless Black Friday is with all the other, better sales throughout the season, and no, she refused to let me buy everything for her online even if it would've been much easier on all of us. She also demanded all the receipts and she has Babs on her side.
[So they can't cheat no matter how much they want to. Or they could, but the effort required was Not worth it.
The whiny complaint has Tim rolling his eyes and sighing, the puff of air visible under the dim street light. He shuffles his feet in place, taking in Damian's petulant visage. He sighs again.
Steph and Bruce totally owe him.]
no subject
A chilly breeze sweeps through the line and Damian takes a step closer to Tim, using the teenager's body as a buffer and perhaps seeking out some of the other boy's heat. Not that he will ever admit it.]
If we're here out of ridiculous obligation, why on Earth are the rest of the people in this line? [Are they all just insane or?]
no subject
Why do you think Steph made me come out here?
[His sardonic tone makes it pretty clear what he thinks of that. He gets liking a good deal and only being able to afford things when they're on sale, but Black Friday takes it too far. It isn't even worth the ridiculous amount of effort when the alternative is warm beds and going for better sales later.
After a short pause, he adds on:]
It's also a holiday tradition for some people.
[Which is also why Steph made him come out. He yawns (again), and tries not to shiver at the sudden breeze.
It's freezing at ass o'clock in Gotham, and he's supposed to brave the crazed crowds with Damian, but Tim can't find it in himself to be too irritated. Between the happy chatter among a few people and the visible - if drunk tired - excitement of more than half the line, it takes a real Grinch not to feel the cheer. It isn't often Gothamites get into the spirit of things instead of defaulting to their usual cynicism. (Tim isn't fooling himself though, he knows it'll be all out war once the store opens.)
Speaking of Grinches.]
Here.
[Tim drops his thick knit red scarf on Damian's head, already looking away and shoving his hands back into his coat pockets. Before any protests can be voiced, he continues speaking, this time in a bland manner.]
My neck itches.
no subject
Who was that poor!? If Brown wanted money, he could share his allowance with her.
Damian's eyes flash to Tim the moment he senses movement but he still isn't prepared for the scarf that is suddenly dropped onto his head and he scrabbles at it with his hands, tugging it away from his hair. It's near instinctive to drop it on the floor and make some sort of derisive comment (because he knows what Drake is doing) but before he can do exactly that, the warmth begins to seep through the cashmere and into his fingers and he finds himself wrapping the offending fabric around his neck and lower face before he can help himself.]
...obviously your skin is inferior.
no subject
Yeah. Okay.
[Tim should get an award for not rolling his eyes. Heck, he should get several for resisting the urge to smile triumphantly when the younger boy swaddles himself with the scarf. (Honestly, he wouldn't have been surprised if Damian "accidentally" dropped the scarf in the muddy sludge they're standing in. He's going to count this as a win.)
The red vested employee walks past them again, back into the brightly lit warmth of the store. Half the line stares after enviously (while likely counting down the minutes), though Tim is busy mourning the fact that he has no coffee in hand.
At some point he turns towards Damian, coincidentally blocking the wind.]
Hey, hold out your hands.
[It’s just loud and cheerful enough for the surrounding people to hear.]
no subject
Why?
no subject
The only other alternative is entirely unacceptable. He had already learned his lesson on acquainting himself with those from other universes. He had learned it recently and painfully and he had no intentions of having to be taught the same thing twice. (His heart was still hurting from the first time after all, a fact of which he was reminded of every night when he tried to close his eyes and rest.)
So when he hears that this city (not unlike Haven) receives new arrivals once every month and the day of new arrivals is upon them, Damian does not go to their place of entry. He doesn't watch any of the comms, and he doesn't make any plans to go out. No one from his home world is arriving and no one from Haven will ever join him. To think otherwise is to be stupidly childish and naive. That's not him.
Damian is a soldier. He's strong. He will survive just fine on his own. He doesn't need anyone.
The day after new arrivals have settled, he goes out at night as per his usual routine. Missing are the jeweled tones of another life, replaced instead with dark blacks and grays, though he does bear the Kevlar beneath. The name Robin means nothing here and so the colors are nothing more than a disadvantage. The domino is worn more out of habit and for intimidation factors than any real need to conceal his identity. It's not as though anyone here knows him anyway. No friends or family to speak of. No one to put two and two together. It's simpler this way. Easy.
One of the sections of downtown has it's share of lowlifes and thieves so it's there he's been working and there he finds himself stopping an armed mugging and nearly losing sight of his fleeing target when a flash of red out of the corner of his eye almost has him tripping over himself. A moment later his focus is back and the would be murderer slash robber is knocked out cold, but there's a chill running down Damian's spine and he grits his teeth and wills it away.
What a stupid fucking way to get distracted. In anger, he ties the man's hands together a little tighter than necessary before making his way back into the shadows. It's possible the momentary lapse in judgment means he should go back to his apartment and sleep, but he won't. He can't. Even if he went back, there wouldn't be any sleep now, not that there ever really is these days. With a scowl etched into his features, he moves on, eyes alert and searching out his next mark.]