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[Damian isn't there at the time he'd said he'd meet Barnes. It's not necessarily a bad sign, but it is completely out of character. On the few occasions where the two of them set an actual time and place to meet, he was always punctual if not early, leaving a message for Barnes if something came up. There is no message this time. No message and no Robin.
In his defense, he had been on his way to the agreed upon meeting area with every intention of arriving there five minutes ahead of Barnes. Unfirtunately he'd only made it a few blocks into the ruins before being...distracted.
He isn't surprised to hear the familiar footfalls that he'd long ago memorized as those of Barnes, but he doesn't look up from his spot in the dirt alleyway between the crumbling remains of two buildings even at Barnes' approach. Instead he remains sitting on the ground, his cape pulled forward to conceal what he holds in his hands beneath the material.]
[ Buck gives him five minutes, though Damian would probably scold him for getting soft, and goes off in search of him. There's a lot that happens here; he knows Damian can handle it, but there's always a message. Always. ]
Hey, Robin?
[ The crouch isn't one of injury, and that lowers his hackles. ]
[The first clue that something isn’t as it seems is that the location that he gives her isn’t in Gotham. It’s not entirely unheard of that Bats might follow a case of theirs to another city, it just isn’t exactly common. The second clue might have been the vagueness of the details of the mission if Bats being vague wasn’t par for the course.
Over the phone he tells her what she needs to know. That they will be undercover. That upon her arrival to the airport, a car would be waiting to take her to a (four star) hotel. That an assistant will be on standby to show her to the dresses reserved for her so that she can pick one for the operation. (He forgets to mention the matching shoes and the fact that shoes and dress together equated to the cost of a decent car, but these things don't readily occur to him as noteworthy.)
Once she agrees to help, he forwards her the airplane tickets and tells her he will fill her in on the rest of the information once they have met in person.
Which is exactly why one week later Damian Wayne is opening the door to a jet black Rolls Royce and stepping up to the curb of a four star New York City hotel to wait for one Rose Wilson. He leans against the car with his arms folded across his chest, freshly pressed Armani suit fitted perfectly, and smiling smugly at the few who pause to gawk as they walk by.]
[ He knows her so well: he never makes it easy. The vague details don't bother her. If Damian is going somewhere she'll follow: it's what friends do. He won't willingly go into danger they can't handle. They can take a lot. Neither of them will tolerate the shame of asking someone else to bail them out. ]
[ She only questions the dresses, and that too is brief: she realises he's left her plenty of room to hide weapons, and the fabric is fire-resistant, insulated, and matches her white eyepatch. Money, she thinks about dismissively, the way one might think about a meal one was forced to have. Obviously he can pay for it. He's managing, isn't he? ]
Hey.
[ The heels took getting used to, but nobody would know it from the way she walks. ]
[It was amazing to her exactly what people were capable of getting used to. Wounds that felt like they would never heal. Grief so impossible it couldn’t possibly fade with time, no matter what everyone said. Learning that the world contained people who were more than human, capable of extraordinary things.
Given enough time, even the most astounding of information became old news.
People always adapted.
Even to ending up on an alternate Earth universes away from home. Then again, with everything else going on in her life lately, why shouldn’t she end up stranded on some other version of Earth? It made about as much sense as anything else.
The unopened bottle in her hand is heavy and she tilts it from side to side, watching the gold liquid swish back and forth from one end to the other. Her grip is careful, aware that should it fall from where she’s sitting, the velocity the bottle would pick up travelling the couple dozen floors to the ground level would make it lethal to any unfortunate passersby.
On second thought, she puts it down beside her. Better not to tempt fate anymore than she already is, and anyway, as of late her ability to juggle things hasn’t been so great.
Fingers trace the familiar contours of the bottle of jack, resting over the top and hovering there for a while. She hasn’t opened it yet, and as long as it remains closed, she remains in control. That she bought it, that she is tempting herself like this, that there is an insidious voice in the back of her mind telling her that just one drink won’t hurt will mean nothing if the lid stays on.
Her hand retreats from the bottle again, pulling itself back to bury itself in her hair.
Perhaps if her mind wasn’t busy fighting half a dozen battles far away from where she sits, she might have realized the image she presents. Perhaps it would have occurred to her that a woman sitting alone with her legs dangling over the edge of a forty story building with a bottle of jack at her side had certain implications.
But this isn’t Star City, and she doesn’t know this world. She had gone away from Star city to leave behind the all too familiar strangers that occupied the rooftops of that city.
No one cared to mention (and later she’d understand it was because everyone else thought it was self-evident) that Gotham had its own masked crusaders who made the cityscape their own at night.
So she really isn’t expecting for someone to land behind her on the roof at two A.M. in a city she’s only heard of but never even been to in her own world. And she definitely isn’t expecting for that person to try to talk her down from jumping.]
[Red Robin is half way through one of his patrol routes when he first catches sight of a silhouette that isn't part of Gotham’s typical skyline.
It isn’t too unusual to see someone at the edge of a building contemplating things, and it certainly isn't unusual for him to act accordingly. That doesn’t stop his eyes from widening behind his mask or his chest from clenching a little when he swings overhead between two taller buildings.
He immediately doubles back, silently landing several yards behind the lone figure (a woman, he now sees). There’s something about the set of her shoulders and the careful way she is gripping the bottle that has him pause. That doesn’t mean his hand lets go of the grapple or that his muscles aren’t tightly coiled, ready to spring forward if needed.
Sometimes people need a place to think, or sometimes they need space, even if it’s somewhere out of the norm. Still, his eyes follow the way her fingers trace the glass and how they worry at the still sealed bottle.
What spurs him into action is the way her hand retreats and twists into her hair and the tension in the action that radiates through her body. She hasn’t said a word yet, but he sees hesitation and a mind torn in more than one direction.
Red Robin is careful to make himself known in audible footsteps and the swish of his cape before he joins her like it’s an everyday occurrence, facing forward with gloved hands propped against the ledge and legs idly swinging in open air.]
That’s some view huh?
[There’s an easy smile below the cowl. The bottle of jack sits within reaching distance between them.]
Well, it’s been clearer on other nights. It’s kind of random, honestly. Thank you Gotham smog.
[They make their first pit stop 90 miles out of Star City and only because they need to fill the tank. It isn't a city or even small town, but rather an old trucker's stop consisting of a gas station, convenience store with attached fast food, and not much else. Tank filled, Laurel pulls the car into a spot, shutting off the engine and turning to face her companion in the passenger's seat. There are a hundred things either of them could say, but she finds it easier to focus on the necessary for the moment.]
It's a while before we hit anything else. We should eat.
[It's been three days since she made her first acquaintance with Red Robin and two days since he'd fixed her up with an apartment that was three times the size of her previous cheap motel room. It's-well, strange is something of an understatement, but that's what comes to mind-strange to think about what her life has become. Stuck in another universe, staying in a city with more masks than she'd ever imagined could exist.
Red Robin had explained the necessary details to her. Apparently universe travel wasn't as rare here as it was on her own Earth, but it was still unusual enough to warrant interest. He's looking into it, stopping by on a daily basis to fill her in on his progress. The kid is sweet. He worries about her, that much is obvious. They don't talk about the other Laurel, no, the other Dinah but she knows that he's working with her more than he would be if she wore a different face.
Sometimes she needs a break from that. From thinking about everything. Since drinking is out, she clears her mind by going on a walk to take the city in. It's all she can do to keep her thoughts from driving her insane. Besides, Gotham makes it easy to get distracted. It isn't like any other city she's ever been to. Even with the bright lights shining over this part of town, there's something dark about it, something gritty and real. (It draws her in, piques her interest even as she knows she's playing with fire.)
Which is why she's walking now, despite the warnings about what kind of city this is. It's just after midnight and she's gone past the comfortable well kept streets near the place she's staying, straying into the other side of town. (Something tells her that in Gotham, the "other" side of town is a lot more encompassing than the rest of the city.)
She's not looking for a fight, really. She's just...looking for a reason to smash some faces in. There's a difference, honestly.
Opportunity comes only minutes into her jaunt down a dark street. Three men hassling a younger girl trying to get home, probably from work. Laurel's pace quickens and her fists tighten at her sides as she approaches. She's not dressed for this but like hell is that gonna stop her from helping.]
Hey! Get away from her! [The men stop and the woman takes the chance to pull away, shooting her a grateful look before running in the opposite direction. Annoyed, the three (at least one of whom is drunk off of his ass) turn their attention to Laurel. She grins-cocky and hard like she imagines Sara used to-as her fist collides with the jaw of the first man who reaches for her, feels her knuckles split open against his jaw and revels in the pain as she watches him drop like a stone. The drunk one of course.
The other two are more reserved, eyeing their buddy on the ground and evidently deciding she's not as easy pickings as they first thought. They don't run though, and she's glad. She needs this. (For all the wrong reasons and maybe a few right ones, she needs it.) At a nod shared between the two of them, they charge her at the same time, and Laurel's grin widens. Maybe her night is beginning to pick up.]
[It's nearing two A.M. on a Friday night when Laurel emerges from the temporary location of their headquarters and begins the walk home. She's already de-suited, fresh from the successful take-down of a burgeoning drug ring, and ready to go home to a nice hot bath followed by some much needed rest. Tired and sore, but still smiling, she can't help but roll her eyes when she first picks up on the the man following her who thinks he's being subtle. Without breaking her stride, she pulls a compact from her purse, pretending to fix her hair as she takes him in.
Definitely sober, dark clothes, hat pulled low, and one hand suspiciously tucked into a pocket. Probably a mugger. She could lose him easily, but then he'd go and find someone else. Laurel is careful about her timing, waiting until she's sure there isn't anyone else around who might end up as collateral damage if the weapon that he's holding onto ends up being a gun. Only then does she slow her pace, seemingly unintentionally allowing him to catch up. There's a moment when he almost passes her by and she wonders if she'd pegged him wrong and then a second later, he moves towards her, the handle of a knife emerging from his pocket.
Even before he can make his threat, she's slammed one elbow into his gut and twisted the knife out of his hands. He makes a startled 'oof,' and takes a swing at her head that she ducks. All at once, Laurel feels a second set of eyes on her, and it's enough to cause her a near miss as she barely dodges a second punch. Realizing her mistake, she keeps her eyes on the opponent in front of her, neatly knocking him out with one more blow.
Damn, she wishes she was wearing her gloves. Her knuckles were definitely feeling this in the morning.]
You can come out anytime now. [She says as she turns in the direction that she knows she's being watched, arms across her chest and mentally ready for round two.]
[Damian is staring. More than staring, Damian is gawking. Eyes wide, jaw pulling his mouth open a fraction of an inch, transfixed by the man walking down the street as if he belongs here. As if he isn't from a different century in a different universe and he strolled down the streets of Gotham all the time.
Rogers. How on Earth? This Earth? His Earth? How in the universe was he here?
The man turns a corner and Damian follows at a pace closer than he should for proper tailing. It's just that he isn't willing to lose him, not even for a second. He doesn't know how Rogers is here, but that is definitely Rogers. He has to talk to him. He has to tell him-something. Anything. He just.
He just can't let him get away.
He doesn't call out. There are too many people around-too much attention. But if he can get him somewhere where the can talk...For now, he continues following, eyes never leaving the man's back.]
[He's gotten used to blending in. It's easy enough. Hands in his pockets, shoulders sloped down, hat pulled low over his eyes. He's wearing a pair of aviators he paid for but feels guilty about - he has no real way of knowing if his currency is legal tender across universes or not. He can't help his size, but he's not walking like a soldier, either.
And someone's following him.
He's not certain of it at first. He deliberately stops at a hotdog stand, takes too long ordering, moves on as he eats the rather messy meal. He ducks into a bathroom to wash his hands, spends time studying the pets visible through the front store of a shop, and finally he cuts down an alley. The person following him is short, and small. Seems likely they're young. But kids are often used as bait, especially where muggings are concerned, and Steve is really curious who'd look at him and think he made a good mark.
So, whenever the child rolls up Steve is idly leaning against the brick wall with his glasses hooked into his shirt and when he sees who it is he actually stops short.
Because that's a face he knows. A little older, sure, but its that same kid he ran into all the way back in Haven, and the odds of that are-- several billion to one, he's guessing. All the way in Gotham? Gotham, that as he knew it was home to bats and birds and the villains galore. Gotham, and there's a child that's a little under five feet tall following him, of all people.
The bright light and disorienting tug at his insides, that wasn’t expected but also not surprising. Traveling through the multiverse couldn’t be easy after all. But this.
This.
This barren wasteland of a city that he had landed in...this was a joke. Some all powerful being’s sick idea of humor. Because he was supposed to go home. At the end of the tunnel of spinning light, he was supposed to leave Haven and find himself home. Not lost in some other universe again. Not stuck somewhere billions of...miles? Light-years?-who even fucking knew-away. Not anywhere but his Gotham. And this is not his Gotham.
His hands curl into fists at his sides leaving half-moon marks in his palms even through the gloves. There’s a scream building in him, a wounded pitiful cry that makes his throat ache and he clamps down on it, swallowing over the ache and closing his eyes for just a moment. Just long enough to try to gain some control.
He can’t afford to be...he needs to focus. He needs to. To take stock of the situation. Examine his surroundings and. And try to figure things out. He needs to be Robin. (Not Damian.) He doesn’t realize that his shoulders had begun trembling until he forces them to stop and begins to move forward.
There isn’t a single other person in sight. Wherever he is, whatever awful place he’d ended up, it’s not like Haven. He’s alone here. (The muscles in his throat tighten painfully and he lets out a soft growl, fighting the feelings threatening to bubble to the surface.)
An abandoned city not unlike Haven, except the crumbling buildings of this once city are much taller, more Gothic, architecture reminiscent of Europe, almost like-Oh. Like Gotham.
Perhaps he had made it home in more ways than he’d expected. (Still not his universe, still not his Gotham)
Damian pulls his hood up, flicks his mask lenses into place, pulls his cape tight around his body and begins to trudge forward. If his guess is correct and this is Gotham, the situation may not be as hopeless as he’d first believed. There had to be someone around. He clings to that hope with a reckless abandon and pushes on through the fading sunlight, making his way silently through the abandoned crumbling city and looking for any sign of life-enemy or friend-that might lead him to some answers.]
[One day, Damian will get the hang of this secret identity crap. One day he will be able to come up with explanations for his presence that don’t involve the words 'None of your damned business.' One glorious day, he’ll be able to put up the front of an average child and easily slip out of awkward situations with childish finesse.
Today is not that day, as evidenced by the tight grip a large dark haired woman has on the back of his shirt collar. It would be easy enough to break the hold of course, but there are people staring and that would cast even more suspicion on him at this point. He seethes at her in silence, answers to her demands failing to present themselves.]
I said, [she repeats with a deepening frown] Exactly what are you doing out of class without a pass and what is your name?
[Damian’s mouth works open and closed again and for a second he imagines answering her truthfully about the second part. It would be interesting to see the look of shock on her face at his surname, but then again she’d probably just call him a liar.
In hindsight, trying to locate a much younger Grayson while he was in school may possibly have been a mistake. He had thought it might be less jarring to acquaint himself with the boy outside of costume (and outside of Father’s presence.) There’s a small chance that he’s landed at a time after the boy’s stay in Haven and that his Haven memories have stayed intact, but knowing his own luck Damian doubts it very much. Hence attempting to contact him this way.
Time travel is the worst.
The last thing he had been expecting was to be snatched up by some tyrant of an instructor who believed he was a student cutting class. Which is why he is now standing (sort of) restrained in the mostly empty hall of Grayson’s school and attempting to come up with any answer that will get this obnoxious woman out of his hair.
A loud ringing pierces through the hallways and he feels the woman’s grip tighten, clearly anticipating and hoping to curb any escape attempts as the bell signaling the changing of classes continues to ring. Damian glares harder at her, feeling the eyes of dozens begin to land on him as the students head to their next class.]
I am not a student here, I have private tutors. I was merely attempting to locate a friend.
[His captor rolls her eyes in clear disbelief.] Of course you’re not, sure. Alright, young man, I’m taking you straight to the principal.
[Damian makes a face akin to a cat being dunked into a pool of water, bristling with annoyance and planting his feet to keep her from moving him.
Whatever happens next, she has only herself to blame.]
[ Principal Browning means well, so Dick’s listening to her with half an ear, hands in pockets, nodding while she explains codes of conduct and expectations and why it’s alright to miss his mother and father but never alright to take out his frustration on other boys. She folds him an extra Kleenex for his split lip while he waits patiently by the open door, and then she reminds him again that he can talk to her any time and sends him to the bathroom to clean the blood off his tie. Dick heads obediently in that direction, head down, trying not to picture in his mind what she’s about to say on the phone to Bruce right now. What Alfred’ll say when he’s due to pick him up tonight.
He has an hour to think it over.
It’s with that gloomy thought that he pushes the bathroom door open, and just as it’s swinging shut behind him he hears it. One voice, one impossible voice coming from down the hall, rising above all the others.
He pushes at the door again with his hands, hard enough that it bumps back and nearly smacks him in the face as he listens. There it is again. That voice. ]
Hey! [ The word bursts out of him, and then he’s running, something wild and disbelieving rising in his chest. He shoves aside two boys and nearly crashes headlong into a smaller girl as he rounds the corner and spots him, so close and so far away, looking both absurdly small and absurdly angry. Absurdly ensnared in Mrs. Donnel’s grasp. Damian. It’s Damian. Dick’s forgotten how to breathe. ]
Wait, Mrs. Donnel! [ He starts running again, trying his hardest to wipe the sheer joy and surprise off his face in time as she turns her attention on him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. It’s her class he’s late for, after all. ] You don’t want to do that.
[ And he skids to a stop, panting for breath more out of excitement than exertion. Damian. ]
So you haven’t met Damian, huh? [ He moves to touch Damian’s shoulder, both to attempt to edge him out from under Mrs. Donnel’s grasp and to reassure himself that this- that this is really happening. That this is Damian, standing in the hall just outside Dick’s sixth grade algebra class.
He’ll worry about the somehow later. ] He’s visiting. From uh, Kravakia. [ The lie comes all too easily. ]
You know Bruce, he probably forgot to put in the right form. But he can sit in with me, right? [ He turns the shining glow in his face onto her at last, all hopeful, blue-eyed innocence. ]
[She runs into him grocery shopping of all things.
At first she doesn't recognize him as he's older than she would have expected. They're both in the soda aisle and it's the red hair that catches her eye as she passes, glancing up to give him a courteous smile and then stopping short when she takes a good look at him.
She's been in this universe for nearly two months and Tim had already explained the nature of the multiverse and filled her in on some information about the people in this universe who she knows back home. Enough to know that she really shouldn't be that shocked to see Roy standing in front of her, older, but very much the Roy Harper she remembers.]
Roy? [The name slips from her lips before she can stop it.]
[ Grocery shopping, of all things. Roy's becoming uncomfortably familiar with all the various confectionaries and which ones to provide Lian as a treat for finishing her homework. Cookies have to start being rationed. ]
[It's not exactly a regular occurrence for Robin to be showing up at Gotham Academy at ten at night, but it's also not exactly unheard of either. Which is why he hardly thinks to somehow get a message across to Maps that he's coming since it's late enough that she should already be in her room thanks to the academy's curfew. Should be. (He really should have known better than to think she followed something as ridiculous as curfew.)
When she doesn't answer his second quiet knock at her window, he purses his lips and jimmies the pane open to take a look inside.]
[Maps is not here. In fact, most of the students of Gotham Academy aren't here. Currently it's spring break and it's one of the few break periods of the school year that students return home for. The ones who have homes to go to, of course. Maps, Kyle, Colton and even Pomeline are all gone for the break, so Olive is by her lonesome.
She's returning from the floor bathroom, in a shirt with a raven on it and pajama pants, ready to get into bed and sleep. That is until she walks in and yelps undignifiably, immediately noticing Damian jimmying the window.]
Hey, who's out there?!
[And immediately she rushes up to the window, outright shoving the pane up.]
[Kon is in Gotham casually floating between two gargoyles on a high rise building in downtown. Kon does not know why he is in Gotham and he does not remember getting here. Incidentally, Kon is inexplicably much younger than he should be. Young enough to still be sporting shades and leather and of course that stylish fade-cut. It is probably an odd sight to anyone who knows Kon should no longer be wearing leather and shades and sporting a stylish fade cut but fortunately (or unfortunately depending on your point of view) Kon is blissfully ignorant to his unusual state of being.
All Kon knows is that he is in Gotham and it's very late which means he had better go and find Robin because Robin always knew what was going on for some reason, he was reliably nerdy like that. At the moment, Kon is grateful to have such a reliably nerdy friend. Now if only he could find him...]
[Sorry Kon, Robin's not around tonight. Probably a good thing too, because who would want to deal with that brat? Steph's more than glad Brat Wonder is off doing something else tonight, because it means she doesn't have to deal with him on her patrol. They dynamic duo have their own thing going on, and well, it's up to her to keep the city safe tonight.
What better way than swinging roof top to roof top like any decent bat should, surveying the city below, and keeping an eye out for that bat signal in the sky. And, uh, nearly running into people, floating in midair!.
That's pretty unusual, even for Gotham.
She manages to change her trajectory so she doesn't run right into him, though it's close, and she ends up hooking herself on a gargoyle. Thank goodness for years of gymnastics letting her turn what could almost have been a complete embarrassment in front of probably some super villain into a sweet save and she lands on top of the gargoyle in a crouch.
Clearing her throat pointedly now, and that's-- well it's not a super villain? More like a super tacky halloween costume?]
Has anyone told you Halloween was like six months ago?
[Sure, being thrown into a strange and almost seemingly abandoned city had thrown her for a curve ball. (If she'd known what such a thing was, anyway.) But it hadn't left her alone in this boat, instead throwing in numerous other peoples from different places. She could hardly fathom the time jumps or the fact of different planets, let alone the travel necessary to get to them!
Rapunzel finds something to marvel at in all of their homes—ignoring the fact she's still marveling at all of it and tries to pinpoint one or two to not seem so sheltered.
There are some things... Some experiences that catch her off guard.
Such as snow.
She'd been asleep when it had started, though the air had gotten brisk and cold and one of her dear friends made sure the barefoot fiend had proper footwear. Lord knows she won't remember it when at last Rapunzel awakens and peers out her window. Or. Well, she tried to.
The snow had covered the whole thing!!!
The blonde has now pretty much raced outside with only a jacket on over her normal garb and is just laughing and running and tossing the snow up in the air and twirling around. Just enjoying the new fresh weather!]
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Totally not Batman.... I mean... Damian....
Haunted House, winning prizes)OOPS I FORGOT TO REPLY TO THIS
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In his defense, he had been on his way to the agreed upon meeting area with every intention of arriving there five minutes ahead of Barnes. Unfirtunately he'd only made it a few blocks into the ruins before being...distracted.
He isn't surprised to hear the familiar footfalls that he'd long ago memorized as those of Barnes, but he doesn't look up from his spot in the dirt alleyway between the crumbling remains of two buildings even at Barnes' approach. Instead he remains sitting on the ground, his cape pulled forward to conceal what he holds in his hands beneath the material.]
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[ Buck gives him five minutes, though Damian would probably scold him for getting soft, and goes off in search of him. There's a lot that happens here; he knows Damian can handle it, but there's always a message. Always. ]
Hey, Robin?
[ The crouch isn't one of injury, and that lowers his hackles. ]
What's the matter, pal?
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Over the phone he tells her what she needs to know. That they will be undercover. That upon her arrival to the airport, a car would be waiting to take her to a (four star) hotel. That an assistant will be on standby to show her to the dresses reserved for her so that she can pick one for the operation. (He forgets to mention the matching shoes and the fact that shoes and dress together equated to the cost of a decent car, but these things don't readily occur to him as noteworthy.)
Once she agrees to help, he forwards her the airplane tickets and tells her he will fill her in on the rest of the information once they have met in person.
Which is exactly why one week later Damian Wayne is opening the door to a jet black Rolls Royce and stepping up to the curb of a four star New York City hotel to wait for one Rose Wilson. He leans against the car with his arms folded across his chest, freshly pressed Armani suit fitted perfectly, and smiling smugly at the few who pause to gawk as they walk by.]
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[ She only questions the dresses, and that too is brief: she realises he's left her plenty of room to hide weapons, and the fabric is fire-resistant, insulated, and matches her white eyepatch. Money, she thinks about dismissively, the way one might think about a meal one was forced to have. Obviously he can pay for it. He's managing, isn't he? ]
Hey.
[ The heels took getting used to, but nobody would know it from the way she walks. ]
Nice car.
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Given enough time, even the most astounding of information became old news.
People always adapted.
Even to ending up on an alternate Earth universes away from home. Then again, with everything else going on in her life lately, why shouldn’t she end up stranded on some other version of Earth? It made about as much sense as anything else.
The unopened bottle in her hand is heavy and she tilts it from side to side, watching the gold liquid swish back and forth from one end to the other. Her grip is careful, aware that should it fall from where she’s sitting, the velocity the bottle would pick up travelling the couple dozen floors to the ground level would make it lethal to any unfortunate passersby.
On second thought, she puts it down beside her. Better not to tempt fate anymore than she already is, and anyway, as of late her ability to juggle things hasn’t been so great.
Fingers trace the familiar contours of the bottle of jack, resting over the top and hovering there for a while. She hasn’t opened it yet, and as long as it remains closed, she remains in control. That she bought it, that she is tempting herself like this, that there is an insidious voice in the back of her mind telling her that just one drink won’t hurt will mean nothing if the lid stays on.
Her hand retreats from the bottle again, pulling itself back to bury itself in her hair.
Perhaps if her mind wasn’t busy fighting half a dozen battles far away from where she sits, she might have realized the image she presents. Perhaps it would have occurred to her that a woman sitting alone with her legs dangling over the edge of a forty story building with a bottle of jack at her side had certain implications.
But this isn’t Star City, and she doesn’t know this world. She had gone away from Star city to leave behind the all too familiar strangers that occupied the rooftops of that city.
No one cared to mention (and later she’d understand it was because everyone else thought it was self-evident) that Gotham had its own masked crusaders who made the cityscape their own at night.
So she really isn’t expecting for someone to land behind her on the roof at two A.M. in a city she’s only heard of but never even been to in her own world. And she definitely isn’t expecting for that person to try to talk her down from jumping.]
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It isn’t too unusual to see someone at the edge of a building contemplating things, and it certainly isn't unusual for him to act accordingly. That doesn’t stop his eyes from widening behind his mask or his chest from clenching a little when he swings overhead between two taller buildings.
He immediately doubles back, silently landing several yards behind the lone figure (a woman, he now sees). There’s something about the set of her shoulders and the careful way she is gripping the bottle that has him pause. That doesn’t mean his hand lets go of the grapple or that his muscles aren’t tightly coiled, ready to spring forward if needed.
Sometimes people need a place to think, or sometimes they need space, even if it’s somewhere out of the norm. Still, his eyes follow the way her fingers trace the glass and how they worry at the still sealed bottle.
What spurs him into action is the way her hand retreats and twists into her hair and the tension in the action that radiates through her body. She hasn’t said a word yet, but he sees hesitation and a mind torn in more than one direction.
Red Robin is careful to make himself known in audible footsteps and the swish of his cape before he joins her like it’s an everyday occurrence, facing forward with gloved hands propped against the ledge and legs idly swinging in open air.]
That’s some view huh?
[There’s an easy smile below the cowl. The bottle of jack sits within reaching distance between them.]
Well, it’s been clearer on other nights. It’s kind of random, honestly. Thank you Gotham smog.
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It's a while before we hit anything else. We should eat.
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Would it not be more expedient to get drive-through?
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Red Robin had explained the necessary details to her. Apparently universe travel wasn't as rare here as it was on her own Earth, but it was still unusual enough to warrant interest. He's looking into it, stopping by on a daily basis to fill her in on his progress. The kid is sweet. He worries about her, that much is obvious. They don't talk about the other Laurel, no, the other Dinah but she knows that he's working with her more than he would be if she wore a different face.
Sometimes she needs a break from that. From thinking about everything. Since drinking is out, she clears her mind by going on a walk to take the city in. It's all she can do to keep her thoughts from driving her insane. Besides, Gotham makes it easy to get distracted. It isn't like any other city she's ever been to. Even with the bright lights shining over this part of town, there's something dark about it, something gritty and real. (It draws her in, piques her interest even as she knows she's playing with fire.)
Which is why she's walking now, despite the warnings about what kind of city this is. It's just after midnight and she's gone past the comfortable well kept streets near the place she's staying, straying into the other side of town. (Something tells her that in Gotham, the "other" side of town is a lot more encompassing than the rest of the city.)
She's not looking for a fight, really. She's just...looking for a reason to smash some faces in. There's a difference, honestly.
Opportunity comes only minutes into her jaunt down a dark street. Three men hassling a younger girl trying to get home, probably from work. Laurel's pace quickens and her fists tighten at her sides as she approaches. She's not dressed for this but like hell is that gonna stop her from helping.]
Hey! Get away from her! [The men stop and the woman takes the chance to pull away, shooting her a grateful look before running in the opposite direction. Annoyed, the three (at least one of whom is drunk off of his ass) turn their attention to Laurel. She grins-cocky and hard like she imagines Sara used to-as her fist collides with the jaw of the first man who reaches for her, feels her knuckles split open against his jaw and revels in the pain as she watches him drop like a stone. The drunk one of course.
The other two are more reserved, eyeing their buddy on the ground and evidently deciding she's not as easy pickings as they first thought. They don't run though, and she's glad. She needs this. (For all the wrong reasons and maybe a few right ones, she needs it.) At a nod shared between the two of them, they charge her at the same time, and Laurel's grin widens. Maybe her night is beginning to pick up.]
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Definitely sober, dark clothes, hat pulled low, and one hand suspiciously tucked into a pocket. Probably a mugger. She could lose him easily, but then he'd go and find someone else. Laurel is careful about her timing, waiting until she's sure there isn't anyone else around who might end up as collateral damage if the weapon that he's holding onto ends up being a gun. Only then does she slow her pace, seemingly unintentionally allowing him to catch up. There's a moment when he almost passes her by and she wonders if she'd pegged him wrong and then a second later, he moves towards her, the handle of a knife emerging from his pocket.
Even before he can make his threat, she's slammed one elbow into his gut and twisted the knife out of his hands. He makes a startled 'oof,' and takes a swing at her head that she ducks. All at once, Laurel feels a second set of eyes on her, and it's enough to cause her a near miss as she barely dodges a second punch. Realizing her mistake, she keeps her eyes on the opponent in front of her, neatly knocking him out with one more blow.
Damn, she wishes she was wearing her gloves. Her knuckles were definitely feeling this in the morning.]
You can come out anytime now. [She says as she turns in the direction that she knows she's being watched, arms across her chest and mentally ready for round two.]
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Rogers. How on Earth? This Earth? His Earth? How in the universe was he here?
The man turns a corner and Damian follows at a pace closer than he should for proper tailing. It's just that he isn't willing to lose him, not even for a second. He doesn't know how Rogers is here, but that is definitely Rogers. He has to talk to him. He has to tell him-something. Anything. He just.
He just can't let him get away.
He doesn't call out. There are too many people around-too much attention. But if he can get him somewhere where the can talk...For now, he continues following, eyes never leaving the man's back.]
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And someone's following him.
He's not certain of it at first. He deliberately stops at a hotdog stand, takes too long ordering, moves on as he eats the rather messy meal. He ducks into a bathroom to wash his hands, spends time studying the pets visible through the front store of a shop, and finally he cuts down an alley. The person following him is short, and small. Seems likely they're young. But kids are often used as bait, especially where muggings are concerned, and Steve is really curious who'd look at him and think he made a good mark.
So, whenever the child rolls up Steve is idly leaning against the brick wall with his glasses hooked into his shirt and when he sees who it is he actually stops short.
Because that's a face he knows. A little older, sure, but its that same kid he ran into all the way back in Haven, and the odds of that are-- several billion to one, he's guessing. All the way in Gotham? Gotham, that as he knew it was home to bats and birds and the villains galore. Gotham, and there's a child that's a little under five feet tall following him, of all people.
His eyes narrow.]
Never got your name.
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YJ!Dick
The bright light and disorienting tug at his insides, that wasn’t expected but also not surprising. Traveling through the multiverse couldn’t be easy after all. But this.
This.
This barren wasteland of a city that he had landed in...this was a joke. Some all powerful being’s sick idea of humor. Because he was supposed to go home. At the end of the tunnel of spinning light, he was supposed to leave Haven and find himself home. Not lost in some other universe again. Not stuck somewhere billions of...miles? Light-years?-who even fucking knew-away. Not anywhere but his Gotham. And this is not his Gotham.
His hands curl into fists at his sides leaving half-moon marks in his palms even through the gloves. There’s a scream building in him, a wounded pitiful cry that makes his throat ache and he clamps down on it, swallowing over the ache and closing his eyes for just a moment. Just long enough to try to gain some control.
He can’t afford to be...he needs to focus. He needs to. To take stock of the situation. Examine his surroundings and. And try to figure things out. He needs to be Robin. (Not Damian.) He doesn’t realize that his shoulders had begun trembling until he forces them to stop and begins to move forward.
There isn’t a single other person in sight. Wherever he is, whatever awful place he’d ended up, it’s not like Haven. He’s alone here. (The muscles in his throat tighten painfully and he lets out a soft growl, fighting the feelings threatening to bubble to the surface.)
An abandoned city not unlike Haven, except the crumbling buildings of this once city are much taller, more Gothic, architecture reminiscent of Europe, almost like-Oh. Like Gotham.
Perhaps he had made it home in more ways than he’d expected. (Still not his universe, still not his Gotham)
Damian pulls his hood up, flicks his mask lenses into place, pulls his cape tight around his body and begins to trudge forward. If his guess is correct and this is Gotham, the situation may not be as hopeless as he’d first believed. There had to be someone around. He clings to that hope with a reckless abandon and pushes on through the fading sunlight, making his way silently through the abandoned crumbling city and looking for any sign of life-enemy or friend-that might lead him to some answers.]
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Today is not that day, as evidenced by the tight grip a large dark haired woman has on the back of his shirt collar. It would be easy enough to break the hold of course, but there are people staring and that would cast even more suspicion on him at this point. He seethes at her in silence, answers to her demands failing to present themselves.]
I said, [she repeats with a deepening frown] Exactly what are you doing out of class without a pass and what is your name?
[Damian’s mouth works open and closed again and for a second he imagines answering her truthfully about the second part. It would be interesting to see the look of shock on her face at his surname, but then again she’d probably just call him a liar.
In hindsight, trying to locate a much younger Grayson while he was in school may possibly have been a mistake. He had thought it might be less jarring to acquaint himself with the boy outside of costume (and outside of Father’s presence.) There’s a small chance that he’s landed at a time after the boy’s stay in Haven and that his Haven memories have stayed intact, but knowing his own luck Damian doubts it very much. Hence attempting to contact him this way.
Time travel is the worst.
The last thing he had been expecting was to be snatched up by some tyrant of an instructor who believed he was a student cutting class. Which is why he is now standing (sort of) restrained in the mostly empty hall of Grayson’s school and attempting to come up with any answer that will get this obnoxious woman out of his hair.
A loud ringing pierces through the hallways and he feels the woman’s grip tighten, clearly anticipating and hoping to curb any escape attempts as the bell signaling the changing of classes continues to ring. Damian glares harder at her, feeling the eyes of dozens begin to land on him as the students head to their next class.]
I am not a student here, I have private tutors. I was merely attempting to locate a friend.
[His captor rolls her eyes in clear disbelief.] Of course you’re not, sure. Alright, young man, I’m taking you straight to the principal.
[Damian makes a face akin to a cat being dunked into a pool of water, bristling with annoyance and planting his feet to keep her from moving him.
Whatever happens next, she has only herself to blame.]
yells
He has an hour to think it over.
It’s with that gloomy thought that he pushes the bathroom door open, and just as it’s swinging shut behind him he hears it. One voice, one impossible voice coming from down the hall, rising above all the others.
He pushes at the door again with his hands, hard enough that it bumps back and nearly smacks him in the face as he listens. There it is again. That voice. ]
Hey! [ The word bursts out of him, and then he’s running, something wild and disbelieving rising in his chest. He shoves aside two boys and nearly crashes headlong into a smaller girl as he rounds the corner and spots him, so close and so far away, looking both absurdly small and absurdly angry. Absurdly ensnared in Mrs. Donnel’s grasp. Damian. It’s Damian. Dick’s forgotten how to breathe. ]
Wait, Mrs. Donnel! [ He starts running again, trying his hardest to wipe the sheer joy and surprise off his face in time as she turns her attention on him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. It’s her class he’s late for, after all. ] You don’t want to do that.
[ And he skids to a stop, panting for breath more out of excitement than exertion. Damian. ]
So you haven’t met Damian, huh? [ He moves to touch Damian’s shoulder, both to attempt to edge him out from under Mrs. Donnel’s grasp and to reassure himself that this- that this is really happening. That this is Damian, standing in the hall just outside Dick’s sixth grade algebra class.
He’ll worry about the somehow later. ] He’s visiting. From uh, Kravakia. [ The lie comes all too easily. ]
You know Bruce, he probably forgot to put in the right form. But he can sit in with me, right? [ He turns the shining glow in his face onto her at last, all hopeful, blue-eyed innocence. ]
Just for the one class.
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At first she doesn't recognize him as he's older than she would have expected. They're both in the soda aisle and it's the red hair that catches her eye as she passes, glancing up to give him a courteous smile and then stopping short when she takes a good look at him.
She's been in this universe for nearly two months and Tim had already explained the nature of the multiverse and filled her in on some information about the people in this universe who she knows back home. Enough to know that she really shouldn't be that shocked to see Roy standing in front of her, older, but very much the Roy Harper she remembers.]
Roy? [The name slips from her lips before she can stop it.]
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Hi.
[ Smooth. He doesn't recognise her. ]
Can I help you?
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When she doesn't answer his second quiet knock at her window, he purses his lips and jimmies the pane open to take a look inside.]
...Mizoguchi?
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She's returning from the floor bathroom, in a shirt with a raven on it and pajama pants, ready to get into bed and sleep. That is until she walks in and yelps undignifiably, immediately noticing Damian jimmying the window.]
Hey, who's out there?!
[And immediately she rushes up to the window, outright shoving the pane up.]
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All Kon knows is that he is in Gotham and it's very late which means he had better go and find Robin because Robin always knew what was going on for some reason, he was reliably nerdy like that. At the moment, Kon is grateful to have such a reliably nerdy friend. Now if only he could find him...]
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What better way than swinging roof top to roof top like any decent bat should, surveying the city below, and keeping an eye out for that bat signal in the sky. And, uh, nearly running into people, floating in midair!.
That's pretty unusual, even for Gotham.
She manages to change her trajectory so she doesn't run right into him, though it's close, and she ends up hooking herself on a gargoyle. Thank goodness for years of gymnastics letting her turn what could almost have been a complete embarrassment in front of probably some super villain into a sweet save and she lands on top of the gargoyle in a crouch.
Clearing her throat pointedly now, and that's-- well it's not a super villain? More like a super tacky halloween costume?]
Has anyone told you Halloween was like six months ago?
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Jon
((dude if you didn't want me to read your Kon threads you shouldn't have linked me to a test drive with your Kon on it. Just saying.))
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Uh. [Is he supposed to know that? Is Jon supposed to answer?]
Who's asking?
/grabby hands at damian GO AS SLOW AS YOU NEED TO BC I'M SLOW TOO
Rapunzel finds something to marvel at in all of their homes—ignoring the fact she's still marveling at all of it and tries to pinpoint one or two to not seem so sheltered.
There are some things... Some experiences that catch her off guard.
Such as snow.
She'd been asleep when it had started, though the air had gotten brisk and cold and one of her dear friends made sure the barefoot fiend had proper footwear. Lord knows she won't remember it when at last Rapunzel awakens and peers out her window. Or. Well, she tried to.
The snow had covered the whole thing!!!
The blonde has now pretty much raced outside with only a jacket on over her normal garb and is just laughing and running and tossing the snow up in the air and twirling around. Just enjoying the new fresh weather!]