Post by Wachter on Jan 2, 2017 20:42:01 GMT
“I get it, y’know?” Nightwing voiced as the sickle slashed through the space previously occupied by his knees, “you have a particular set of skills,” the hammer smashed the metal container inches away from his face, “got the strength of ten grown men,” his split let hammer head and sharp blade whiz over his hair with a dangerous breeze, “faces only a mother could love…”
The Abramovici Twins growled something in Russian. There was no need for that sort of language. He wasn’t being that insulting. Grayson stated a simple fact. They were ugly bastards and it had nothing to do with their previous conjoined status. Their faces were like a squirrel and opossum had a baby that was born already roadkill.
Mr. Hammer – swear to god, that was his name, not something Grayson came up with – charged like a rampaging elephant. A leap took Nightwing into the air and he stayed there, one hand resting on the not-so-gentle giant’s bald palate. The man swung back and forth, hammer crashing through crates, leaving the young hero swaying in his handstand. That was the problem of having only one arm. Couldn’t knock him off.
“It’s just… Why hire yourself out to the Sicilian Mob? I mean, I know Franco’s fallen on hard times so it can’t be for the pay.” He reached into his utility gauntlet, “The Circus of Strange, the Crime Circus… these things exist. Probably have dental. And if they don’t, why not strike out on your own? It’s a good theme. Great gimmick you have going for ya.” The pellet was tossed into the face of the approaching Mr. Sickle. “And you, you could have decapitated your brother. Medical Fact of the Day: You wouldn’t have become triplets.”
While Sickle was choking on quick drying foam, Grayson flipped down onto the shaft – a decade later and he still had the balance of a tightrope walker – of Mr. Hammer’s, for lack of a different word, hammer,. Maybe he could call it a maul, that’d be less awkward phrasing but who really knew their medieval weaponry anyways (besides a young Romani raised by an eccentric billionaire)? Better chance of convincing the Russian to change his name to “Sledge.” His spin kick connected with the big man’s jaw and a very painful crunch was heard by all.
Another flip to the wall of shipping containers followed by a third to land at the feet of Sickle who had successfully resumed breathing through his mouth. So very sad his fingers were too sticky to pick his weapon back up. Wait… that might have been a bad idea. Yep. Very bad idea. Grayson had effectively managed to superglue the less-ugly twin’s palm to a blade longer than his leg.
He did not think that one through all the way to the end.
Nightwing dove between his legs, escrima sticks drawn and taser-charged, and stabbed them straight into the monster’s kidneys. That really should have worked. Really, it should have. One of the first lessons the Bat taught him was where to hit a man to bring them down. It did not bring Sickle down. No it did not. It made him angry…ier.
“As one circus brat to another, I’m sorry.” The two towering Russians threatened him in what might as well be tongues. “I also have reason to be angry too.” He keyed a code into his gauntlet. “This is going to be my third in less than a year and super gadgets personalized to your theme don’t grow on trees. They’re custom.”
His motorcycle was a thing of beauty as it soared into smog-filled night sky of the loveliest ‘Haven moon. The wheels revved it up over the boxes. The Abramovici turned to face the noise. Nightwing took the opportunity to dive for cover. They tried just as he expected – really, why were super-grunts never intelligent – to hit his bike out of the way.
That was their bad idea.
It blew up in their faces.
He waved his hand to clear the air of smoke and took a look around. Bodies lined the docks in various states of pain and groaning. Nightwing would have loved to have taken credit for it but mostly he tricked the twins into doing his work for him. The most efficient use of his effort. Bats would have been proud… except that last bit with the bike.
He bent over the giant Russians, satisfied that they were still alive. In need of a wash and slightly burned but mostly alive. He poked both with his sticks a tad longer than needed just to make sure they’d stay knocked out when a violet lightning bolt fell from the heavens, crashing into the middle of his city with the roar of thunder.
What the –
In the distance, Grayson saw the explosion and heard as the impact set off car alarms.
He sighed. What were the chances it was just a freak bit of lightning and only that? If this night continued, he might just feel a little bit of empathy for the old man having others join his crusade. Lonely work. Hard on the legs and arms… especially when one so happened to have destroyed his main mode of transportation and the jet was so wasteful just to go a few blocks away. That simply wasn’t good for the environment.
Running, Nightwing shot out his grapple line and swung into the night.
Gotham
The Drake household was in full holiday spirit as they exchanged the few gifts that by tradition they opened on Christmas Eve. Unfortunately, that spirit was interrupted every so often with his mother Janet doing her best attempt at holding back tears. She was only moderately successful. When she opened his gift featuring the finest coffee mixtures from around the world that paired well with the new coffee maker for his dad, the sobs burst out with hiccupping. His father had to go get her a calming drink while Tim sat at her side, rubbing her back, consoling her.
Really, it was quite understandable. Most of Tim’s life had been spent with relatives or boarding schools. Not with his parents. Their careers took them all over the world which was no way to raise a child. Especially when quite a few of them happened to be war torn nations. Now, when they had finally settled down and began to take root, he’d received an impossible scholarship. It was his turn to go away. Had to admit, it was a bit unfair.
Jack returned with a drink for his wife and offered his son the smile shared between men. Tim took after him in looks though hopefully he’d avoid inheriting the receding hairline. He liked keeping his dark hair bordering on shaggy. No amount of crying from his mom would get him to cut it before he left. But it’d be years until he had to worry about that. Just as it’d be years before he’d be as big and broad of shoulder as Jack. For now, he was a scrawny teenager who could do with getting out a bit more instead of staying in front of his computer.
Once his mother had calmed down, there was one last gift to open from his uncle Nathan. It came in a medium sized box and was packed to the brim with paper and other things to keep the package from breaking during shipping. It was also a bit risqué if Tim said so himself.
“Priceless idol from Kahndaq or,” Jack examined the bottom, “not made in Taiwan. Huh. Maybe he actually found something for once.” There was a wistful sound to his voice. Dreams of adventure he no longer had.
His mother sniffled.
“I’m happy where we are. A curator is not a job to turn your nose up over – especially here – plus no more sunburns or bugs.” He patted his wife’s knee. “We’ll be here for whenever Tim returns for the holidays. It’s not like this is our last Christmas together.”
St. Hadrian’s Institute – formerly St. Hadrian’s Finishing School – in England had invited Tim to be one of the few male students at what was still mostly an all girls’ school. The movers and shakers of world studied there. You could find many a great woman behind every great man among their alumni. And making it co-ed wasn’t the only change. The curriculum had evolved to encompass everything from primary education to post-grad courses. It was weird without a doubt and Tim had a few theories why but the problem was he wouldn’t be able confirm them until he got there.
He very much doubted he’d been recruited for being the top student at Gotham Academy three years running and having the best test scores in the state.
After the New Year, he’d be moving there and honestly no telling when he’d be back. If he’d ever return if the answers he had came up with proved to be true. But there was no need to tell his mom that. Just let her think he was going to one of the best schools in the world and wouldn’t be following in the Drake family tradition of hunting for things that didn’t exist and trying to make a profit off it.
When the last of the gifts had been opened, Tim went out back, leaving his parents alone. His family was well enough off to actually have something that could be called a yard in Gotham. Wasn’t that big but it had grass. Green grass. At least it did whenever it wasn’t covered in snow. Tim liked it out here. It still had a swing set from the previous owners. Taking a seat in it, hearing the creak as it welcomed his weight; he took out his phone and began searching.
Crime didn’t take a holiday in Gotham. The Batman had been sighted all over the place though it wasn’t as bad as a Christmas a few years back when he’d just started at the Academy and been one of the only people left behind in the dorms when it entered lockdown and curfew spread across the city. Someone else had been spotted over the city too. Sightings and events that had resemblance to the phenomenon that happened the last time Scarecrow escaped from Arkham.
Even as he read it, he saw the greenish-red shooting star fly across the sky.
Tim laughed and opened up a chat.
The Answer: One of yours is here again.
It took a few moments before a reply came. It was Christmas Eve after all.
Watchtower: Oh? Which one?
The Answer: Red probably.
Watchtower: Huh.
Typing… typing… typing...
Watchtower: My source says they’re all out of town except one.
The Answer: Your source. Riiiight.
Watchtower: Don’t be jealous that I know superheroes and you don’t.
The Answer: Ha… ha.
Typing… typing… typing…
Watchtower: He says if you’re lucky, have something tasty handy and you might just witness a Christmas Miracle.
The Answer: Ever going to admit to me how you know each other?
Watchtower: No? Why admit to something when you’ve probably already invaded my privacy to try to find the answer ?
The Answer: Trust much?
Watchtower: My turn to “ha… ha… “
The Answer: Merry Christmas.
Watchtower: I’m Jewish.
Tim chuckled and swung his feet through the snow, paving a furrow for the grass beneath.
The Answer: Lies.
Watchtower: Seeeeee. What I say? You too. And have a good night.
The Answer: Night.
There were going to be some things he missed when he went to St. Hadrian’s. Lin was one of them.
Blüdhaven
Nightwing watched from his perch where a power transformer had blown out, leaving this part of the ‘Haven bathed in the darkness of a silent night that was anything except actually silent. The sirens, the shouts, a bit of late night raiding… and here he was observing what was so obviously a trap.
The figure was waiting. Probably waiting on him. It glowed with some light that made his hair stand on end. That was a good reaction. Better than people who glowed and left his skin crawling. Electricity cackled on the edge of the figure’s glove. Now to check… tech or meta? Nightwing tapped the side of his mask to activate what he had named detective vision much to the Bats’ displeasure. His eyesight turned to static and he nearly fell from the roof.
“Okay Firefly,” Nightwing leaped over the edge, “Lightning Bug,” he managed four flips before landing in front of the figure “Or the amazing Electric Ma – Woman. Whatever you call yourself, I hope you can pay for that otherwise we might have a problem. Well, we have a problem either way but I’ll take the money into consideration for how badly I leave you hurting.”
“Lightning Bug,” the voice came filtered through a strange gas-mask with glowing eyes, “I like that one.”
It was most definitely a woman. A very petite figure with little in the way of curves. The top of her hooded head barely reached his chin, clad in what he had to assume was insulated gear. This close, he could see that she was using some sort of tech. The sparking gloves gave it all away. That made it easier. But what the hell was it with the ‘Haven that brought out electric themed goons? This was the third one just since his return.
“Care to explain why you called down the wrath of God?”
“It wasn’t up to code. Figured it’d be a good way to get your attention and to fix the problem now instead of later.”
“You have my attention.”
“Cool.” She cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders, “just so you know, this isn’t personal.”
Two orbs the size of golf balls flew at Grayson. Did she honestly think he had missed them dropping from her sleeves? He ducked under one and used his escrima stick to bat the other back at her, dashing in its wake. Electricity exploded behind and before him. Her suit was as insulated as he expected. The sparks traveled harmlessly over her body. His elbow collided with her gut a moment later. Her head said hello to his knee as he brought it up meet her chin. There was the sound of cracking glass.
He spun away as she coughed. Fingers released his escrima sticks. They ricocheted off brick and dumpster, flying around them like misguided missiles except he knew exactly where they’d be. The first slammed into the middle of her back. Nightwing rolled around her to catch it before it fell even as the second buried itself in the visor of her mask.
The light in those glowing eyes went out.
He grabbed her by her shirt and lifted her off the ground. She struggled faintly in his grasp. The sparking gloves wrapped around his wrist and he could feel the static being redistributed elsewhere. She wasn’t the only one who wore protection. The mask was ripped off to reveal a… kid?
It was a bit hypocritical of him to call her a kid but she couldn’t have been older than him. And when he factored in life experiences, he was probably in his seventies. So he saw her as a kid. One with too many piercings and a bad dye job for her hair though he liked the color blue.
“This is the part where normally I tell the person why I added the finger-stripes to my costume,” he growled in his toughest scared straight tone of voice.
“… so the blood wouldn’t… leave… stains.” She grunted, short of breath.
“Damn. You’ve heard that one before.”
Instinct had Nightwing drop her as a dart buried itself in her neck and her eyes began to gloss over. He took refuge behind the dumpster, on the lookout for the shooter.
“You can come out, Mr. Grayson…” A figure in a billowing cape fell from the very same roof he had watched from. Copy cat! “That was simply so that Miss Row would not bear witness to our meeting. She did well to draw you out but I had hoped her to be capable of putting up more of a fight.”
“Are you supposed to be Batwoman’s Evil Twin Sister or something?” Grayson hollered back. She knew his name. That wasn’t good. What else did she know?
“Please.” The dignified figure whipped her silver cape, glowing in the moonlight, in a classic ballroom dance move except without the dress. “That woman wishes she was half as good as I am but… for my purpose tonight, I suppose you can think of me like that. Call me Owlwoman to go with this tacky costume you superheroes are so very fond of.”
Owlwoman… it suited her. The silver clawed gloves like talons, the cowl that swept up on the sides in resemblance to the bird’s head. The giant, freaky yellow eyes that saw him hiding among the trash. Okay, Owlwoman it was until he figured out how she knew his name.
“I do not mean to harm you but you see, we had to test you.”
“Blowing up a part of my city and using a girl to do it is not testing anything except my patience.”
“It’ll be fixed within the hour. You can trust me on that.”
He stood up warily and faced her down.
“That’s good, Mr. Grayson,” there was something hypnotic to her voice. It made his head spin. “I have one simple question for you and then we can part ways permanently or temporarily based on your answer.”
“Ask.”
She tilted her head. Full lips twisted in a harmless smile.
“Are you fulfilled? Is this the life a young man like you should be living? Is this how you want to spend your Christmas? Alone, fighting petty crooks and mobsters just to forget the pain? Did you ever imagine all those years ago when that mad man started you down his insane crusade that the two of you could possibly see it through to the end?”
“That’s more than one question.”
"Yes,” she spun a fine web around him with her silky tone, “however, they all have the same answer do they not?”
Dick’s thoughts were spiraling out of control. He wanted to disagree, to fight, to defend the man who had raised and trained him for half his life… but she was right. It was the same answer. Those questions all circled back to the same answer.
"I’m here to recruit you for a crusade you can finish, Mr. Grayson. All you have to do is answer.”
He answered her, snow falling with him.
Gotham
The door opened to reveal a man clad in a bad Santa suit glowing green and red. He saw Tim sitting on the steps leading upstairs and quickly went to close it.
“I have rum.”
The door opened again. The glowing man peered through, a sack over his shoulder. It had been interesting to watch or rather listen. The perfect keys to fit into the keyholes, a tiny little hand reaching between the cracks to undo the chain lock. Maybe Tim shouldn’t have disabled the alarm system. He didn’t quite have the answer for how this man overcame that obstacle. Not yet at least.
“What kind of rum?”
“My Grandpa Sully brought it from Santa Prisca.”
“Your grandfather has good taste.”
The man stayed in the doorway, staring at Tim.
“Mind coming inside? It’s kinda snowing.”
“Right, right,” the Glowing Santa stepped in. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
“So you’re not breaking and entering houses all over Gotham to leave behind Christmas Gifts?”
“I am but…” this close Tim could see that the man had a wild mane of red hair on his head and face. “How’d you do it?”
“After that Fear Wave hit Gotham awhile back and that weird storm in Coast City, I reasoned out your abilities have something to do with emotion. I think empathy factors in too. In order to fool you into thinking I wasn’t here, I came up with the answer on how to beat it.”
Fake-Santa waited expectantly. He made a gesture with his free hand that he was all ears.
“Oh… I recited code, pi, the multiplication table, etc… until I was so bored out of my mind that I was numb to any and all emotion.”
“That’s a scary trick for a boy your age.”
“Wanted to know if it worked.”
Another awkward silence.
“You know, you look just like the Scarlet Sentinel. Kinda a big coincidence that you two have the same powers isn’t it?”
Santa scowled. “I get that a lot.”
More silence.
“You’re not getting the rum until I get my present,” Tim stated as matter-of-factly as he could. “You don’t even want to imagine the boredom I put up with to test this theory.”
“You could have got the gift had you gone to bed like a good little boy.”
Tim shrugged.
“What do you want?”
“Do you have any Gunpla?”
“…huh?”
“Gunpla. They’re these model kits of mechs, the Gundam franchise specifically, that you put together. A bit like those model cars from when you were a kid… probably”
The man’s face turned a bright crimson in either rage or indignation. “I do actually…I had… Nevermind why.” He reached into his bag. He reached really far into his bag. Was it hammer space in there or something else? Then he pulled out two boxes that were the correct size and shape. He reached in again and pulled out a toothbrush and dental floss. All four were handed to Tim.
Tim gave him the rum. He’d probably be in trouble for it going missing but by the time his parents’ noticed, he’d be across the Atlantic Ocean on a different continent. They could try grounding him there if they wanted.
“Thanks, Merry Christmas.”
A mumbled ‘Merry Christmas’ came the reply and the man turned to leave.
“Hey, is it cool to fly?”
“It’s the best.”
The door closed. Tim sat back down on the steps, holding the gifts close to his chest. That was an amazing memory for quite possibly his last Christmas in Gotham… Even if it was technically a memory of him extorting a superhero.
Blüdhaven
Club Mod’s Christmas Eve – now just Christmas – Bash was in full swing by the time Grayson found himself stumbling to the bar and taking a seat next to a tan man chatting up the pretty girl on his other side. The two were laughing. She slid him her number when a friend appeared a short time later to take her back to the dance floor. The man sighed in disbelief and pocketed the napkin before facing Grayson.
“I should call that giant bouncer over to kick your underage ass out,” Kyle Rayner grinned and nodded his head towards the tall Asian woman who was already keeping an eye out on Dick though trying to be discreet about it.
“Billionaire,” murmured Grayson, “Fake ID,” he really wanted to rest his head down on the counter but that’d be his second greatest mistake of the night. “Take your pick and I’ll have you thrown out instead.”
“After I went through all that trouble to fly out – “
“You were already here visiting.” Grayson stared at him through dead eyes. “I’m learning, I was learning, to keep a better watch over my city…”
Kyle’s hand reached out to steady him before he could tumble off the stool. He ordered the younger man a glass of water. There was a distinct lack of energy and life to Grayson. This was a man that Kyle had first met literally laughing and joking in the face of fear.
“This have something to do with weird lightning earlier? Given the color I thought it might be related to me but I felt nothing out of the ordinary from it.”
“Yes. No. Maybe.”
The glass of water went a long while before Grayson felt confident enough to drink it. Light sips turned into one big gulp. He could breathe, he could talk. He could say what he needed to, what had him frightened for the future.
“Nightwing dies at dawn.”
