CARRIE KELLEY { яσвιη } (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
slingshots) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2014-08-07 10:54 pm
slingshots) wrote in maskormenacelogs2014-08-07 10:54 pm
Entry tags:
for every step there is a local boy who wants to be a hero
WHO: Robins
WHERE: a rooftop
WHEN: Evening of Aug 8th, a bit after this
WHAT: Robins meet for the first time, kinda
WARNINGS: probably not
She knows he’ll be here.
He’ll be here, because in his place, she’d definitely be here. She set it up for intrigue and mystery, the kind of thing no Robin can resist, although of course now she’s second-guessed her approach at least a hundred times. Was that over the top? What if he thinks she’s a threat? Well, of course he has to think that now, but what if he thinks it even after they meet? What if he hates her? Even worse, what if he doesn’t think she’s good enough? He is, after all, the authority around here on Robin.
She’d checked and rechecked her gear about a million times, and took off to be at the meeting place an hour ahead of schedule. She’d immediately taken to a nearby tree, one with the roof in easy sight, and drawn up tightly into herself. It’s the first time she’s even pulled the colors on since she got here, and it almost feels… wrong. Like she waited too long and they don’t fit right now. Nerves, she knows. Everything feels off and wound up wrong right now.
But there’s nothing to do but wait, so that’s what she does; knees drawn to her chest and arms wrapped tight around them, eyes on the rooftop across the street from her tree.
He’ll be here.
WHERE: a rooftop
WHEN: Evening of Aug 8th, a bit after this
WHAT: Robins meet for the first time, kinda
WARNINGS: probably not
She knows he’ll be here.
He’ll be here, because in his place, she’d definitely be here. She set it up for intrigue and mystery, the kind of thing no Robin can resist, although of course now she’s second-guessed her approach at least a hundred times. Was that over the top? What if he thinks she’s a threat? Well, of course he has to think that now, but what if he thinks it even after they meet? What if he hates her? Even worse, what if he doesn’t think she’s good enough? He is, after all, the authority around here on Robin.
She’d checked and rechecked her gear about a million times, and took off to be at the meeting place an hour ahead of schedule. She’d immediately taken to a nearby tree, one with the roof in easy sight, and drawn up tightly into herself. It’s the first time she’s even pulled the colors on since she got here, and it almost feels… wrong. Like she waited too long and they don’t fit right now. Nerves, she knows. Everything feels off and wound up wrong right now.
But there’s nothing to do but wait, so that’s what she does; knees drawn to her chest and arms wrapped tight around them, eyes on the rooftop across the street from her tree.
He’ll be here.
no subject
She moves closer, finally, and stretches out a green gloved hand for a handshake. This feels like the real meeting — with both of them behind masks (shades, in her case, same thing) and coming clean.
"Makes me Carrie Kelley, the third Robin." At last, she's able to grin. "I'm a real big fan."
no subject
He shakes her hand. It's strange — it feels like passing the torch when he's barely begun. Like he's the keeper of something bigger than himself, and isn't that a weird thought?
"Well," he says, "It's nice to meet you, Robin."
no subject
She steps back again to give him a little space, and although she's dying to suggest a dual-Robin patrol, there's probably a few things still to get out of the way. First and foremost: "And, uh... sorry for the dramatics. Wanted to make sure you'd show."
no subject
Maybe it's a Robin thing. Comes with the territory. He'd always been a performer, even before he donned the cape, but being protegé of the Dark Knight encouraged dramatics.
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And she's sure he has questions, he'd have to, but she's pretty sure she can't wait anymore. A little eagerly, she asks, "So, you wanna do a circuit? Y'know, make sure the neighborhood's safe from evil, all that." And yeah, she totally wants to see his moves.
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"But after that," he adds, "I've got some questions for you."
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She half spreads her arms at that last part, palms out. "Open book, spud." Mostly. Tricky questions might get light fibs, but she'll do her best. She pulls her grappling gun out from her belt again, a smirk firmly in place to match his grin. "Meantime, race you to the bank on 12th."
She doesn't wait for confirmation, she's already firing off a line. A head start isn't cheating, it's strategy.
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His laugh rings out clear in the night as he heads after her and then swerves, cutting across a few blocks. He's been here longer than she has. He knows the shortcuts — and when to use the top of a city bus as a springboard between a street that would otherwise be too wide to cross. The benefits of a town with no highrises.
In motion, he thinks, there's no doubt she's the real deal. It's a strange thing to watch. There's a feeling in his chest that's something like jealousy, but a weird kind of pride, too. She's... really, really good.
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She switches directions with a snap of her grappling line, pulling herself across that wide street at its narrowest point, from a stone gargoyle on one side to an outstretched flagpole on the other. Then she's off again, just behind him but keeping up. Her heart isn't quite fully in the race, though, especially not since she's got a perfect view of the First Robin in action from here. What footage she could find of him in action back home pales in comparison, really. He's awesome.
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He's grinning, heart racing, and the bank's coming up ahead of them fast. He doesn't slow down to let her catch up, but he does show off — a triple somersault in midair that cuts into his time by several seconds — and their feet hit the rooftop close enough that it's hard to say who got there first.
"So," he says, just on the edge of breathless, "call it a draw?"
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"Sounds good... for a first round, anyway." A gently challenging tone, but her smile still looks fond more than anything. "Figure like I'd say you're pretty good, but it'd be a max understatement. I get why you made the name famous."
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"How long have you been Robin?" The question itself is a compliment: she's a natural.
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"Some over a year," she answers proudly. And, since she's feeling more honest than usual, decides to lay a few cards out on the table when she adds, "What about you? Heard from Wally you started younger than the you in my world, but he wouldn't give exacts."
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"I started at nine," he says with an easy shrug. "It's not a big secret."
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She's about to ask something else, but pauses when another thought occurs to her. Something she hadn't given much mind to, not in light of working this out then arranging a meeting. But now that she thinks back on it again, her smile fades out.
"Hey — you met him already, right?" Gentle emphasis on him, there. He should know who she means, who else needs nothing more than a pronoun? "I take it he... didn't mention me."
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But that's a question for later.
His smile fades, too, and he frowns sympathetically. If she's anything like him, it must have been... distressing. "No," he replies. "He didn't know me, either, though. So don't take it too personally."
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"No, I mean — didn't think to mention there were two Robins around. Right?" There's a twitch of a smile, wry. "Left it to us. Real Batman of him, you ask me."
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"Yeah," he says, eyes rolling a little behind the mask, fond but exasperated. Bruce is Bruce is Bruce, apparently, even in another world or 30 years in the future or way too young. "I guess some things are the same in every universe."
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"So..." She sidesteps a few paces, dropping in a lean against the back of the access door, with arms folded over her chest. "You wanna do the questions now, or later?"
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He pauses, considering. "I guess... with you. How'd you end up with this gig, anyway?"
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She considers the question for a few seconds. An answer like that is always a long story... though it does boil down to one thing in particular, doesn't it? So she offers a shrug. "He needed someone."
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"What happened to the others? Me and... the second one?" He must be older, but would he have stopped helping? He can't imagine it — not if Batman was still active.
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"You'n the boss had a falling out." Seems rude to say he got fired. Her eyes behind the shades flick down for the second part, though. "Next one died."
She manages to say it calmly, but that's what distance does for you. Personal hero business aside, to Carrie Jason Todd is just a suit in a glass case and an extra layer of protective nature on the boss.
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A falling out — and Bruce replaced him? With someone who— god, what happened? When? What had Dick done — and how did Bruce take the loss of someone he must have felt responsible for? It's too much, too much to process in the span of the few seconds he has to take it in, react, respond.
"Oh," he says, his voice soft and shaken. He wonders if maybe he shouldn't have asked. This... isn't the kind of thing he can just chalk up to alternate universes. Too real — too directly linked to his worst fears. "It's a risk we all take," he continues, at last, glancing off across the rooftops. A risk, though, that he hadn't hit him until recently, until he'd watched his friends die in the simulation — under his orders. That hadn't been real, but this...
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"Yeah." He voice is soft, low, doesn't carry far. "We're soldiers."
Despite the enormous adventure that being Robin is, that's the bottom line of it. It was a hard lesson, but well learned. Her voice stays low.
"He retired after that, though. Spent ten years outta the game 'til he had to come back again."
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They may be soldiers, but he doesn't want to get comfortable with the idea of death. That's the whole reason he took this job, isn't it? And Bruce, too. Maybe Bruce more than any of them.
But — "Had to?"
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This is the uncomfortable part. She'll turn watchful observation on anyone else, but it feels like some kind of sacrilege to turn it on the parts of the boss that not even he acknowledges. She frowns, but keeps going.
"I figure like he can't stop. You know? Like it's part of him."
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More troubling still is the fact that Dick's noticed it in himself, too — the way he can't always parse out what's real and what's fake in the Venn diagram that is Robin and Dick Grayson. The way he can't imagine a future where he goes to college or has a normal job, the way he can't even really imagine dating someone he can't take out crimefighting. The way he looks into the future and, really, only sees the mask.
"Yeah," says Robin. "I think I get what you mean."
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It's the kind of habit that turns into a way of life.
"You got any other questions?" She asks it with a subtle shift of her weight; if he doesn't, she's more than ready to declare another race. That sounds a lot more fun to deal with.