Trying to Impress Dad
Rplog-icon Who: Robin and Nightwing
Where: Wayne Manor
When: December 23, 2012
Tone: Angsty, Social
What: Damian continues to work his way through the former Robins to try and prove his worth for the title.

Wayne Manor is deserted.

Alfred is away in town buying groceries and the Master of the House is out doing what he does most evenings.

The sun has just set, casting a gloomy orange over the Bristol township and the grounds of Wayne Manor. The uber-riche have returned to their homes for the evening, the streets outside now quiet save for the rustling of the wind through the trees.

Richard Grayson returns from his ski jaunt to Vermont and makes his way back into the Manor. "Alfred?" is called when he lets himself in, but it's not terribly rare that no one answers. They could be downstairs as well. Locking the door behind him, he makes his way to his room, "Hey Gracie? Kitty...where are you, girl?" is called to the kitten left in Alfred's care.

Yes, Dick does have his priorities. No need to look for Bruce...he has to pay attention to the cat.

Only silence greets Dick. The kitten is napping on the other side of the house, and though she lifts her head she does not deign to come bounding out just yet. A cat, too, has priorities.

But then, it happens.

A heavy wooden door, leading to a disused cloak room just inside the foyer, bursts open and a figure flies from it. He is dressed as Robin after a fashion, though his uniform is not what any of the past Boys Wonder have worn. He does not hesitate; he does not announce his presence with a witty catchcry or even a barbaric shout.

No, Robin simply leaps from his hiding place and aims a boot squarely at the base of Dick's back to try and throw him off balance.

The Manor can be so creepy...even the upper levels that are intended to be a home. But when no one is here and it's dark...yeah. Creepy. When the heavy door is heard to open, Dick instinctively drops to the ground in a roll, barely avoiding the boot to the back. He pulls out a batarang that's always kept on his person, even in 'civvies', and it's tossed back towards the attacking figure before he can get to his feet and peer through the shadows.

"Damian? What the Hell?"

"Silence, Grayson," Robin commands, not breaking stride as he darts forward and takes a swing at the man's jaw with his fist, "You will fight me."

Richard Grayson throws an arm up to block the punch, "Why? Jesus, Damian, I don't want to fight you. Stand down!" He takes a few steps back to give a little distance between the two. "What has gotten into you? Did the Joker gas you or something?"

"You are the logical successor," Robin grunts in annoyance as his punch is turned aside, "You must prove yourself. I will not accept a superior who is not able to best me. My father cannot live forever."

Oh. He was wondering when that might come. Straightening from his battle-ready crouch, Dick peers through the darkness at Damian. "Why don't we wait a bit. For when that time comes. We don't need to fight now, ok? That way, you'll have more time to prepare yourself." He couldn't help that one. "Seriously though...I get you fighting Tim for the whole 'Robin' moniker. But I don't have it don't need to fight me about it. And when Bruce...when that happens, we'll deal with it then."

"No," Robin refuses flatly, attempting to plant a kick to his unwilling opponent's chest, "When that time comes, you will not win. Consider this a sporting chance. Cease with your stalling."

Richard Grayson hops back, on full defense for the moment, "So you're going to decide this now? Really? When you're just a kid?" Because apparently that will make some sort of difference. "What brought this on, anyhow? I thought you wanted to work with the Titans and all? Now you want to fight me for some future potential inheritance?"

"My place is in Gotham," Robin answers flatly, continuing to attack while Grayson defends himself, "At my father's side. This is no personal vendetta. I am testing you ... so far you have done little to impress."

As Robin lunges in for another punch, his elbow nudges a vase on a podium nearby. When it begins to fall, the boy immediately drops to one knee and catches it. As he stands up, he places it back in place and mutters an 'apology' to his 'grandfather' in Arabic.

"And why do I need to prove myself to you? For your own personal satisfaction?" His suitcase is tossed aside and Dick tumbles away from the punch, pausing as Damian takes the time to rescue the vase. "You said this isn't personal...if it's not personal, then what is it? I don't feel that I need to impress -you-, kid, no matter who you father is."

Robin doesn't follow, instead busying himself with settling the vase where it was and even dusting it off a little. As he does so, he glances towards Dick and shakes his head.

"You talk a lot. Do your talk your way out of everything? I had thought you had more substance than that."

"Yeah, I'm the talker of the family. Always have been," Dick actually smirks a little at that as he keeps his eyes trained on the younger Wayne, "I have a great deal of substance, thank you very much. I don't need to prove everything by fighting it out. I think that proves that I'm quite deep and multi-faceted. I'm so much more than 'Nightwing SMASH!'."

"If you say so," Robin murmurs, his tone ripe with disinterest, "I shall accept your refusal for now. I do not wish to damage gr -- "

He pauses, clearing his throat and attempting to sound less caring about the matter, "I would not wish to hear Pennyworth gripe should any of his artefacts be damaged."

Richard Grayson arches an eyebrow, "I think the stuff is all Bruce's. I mean, maybe Alfred picked some of it out, but I don't know that this stuff is his, you know? But I'm sure that he appreciates you not wanting to wreck things." He relaxes a little, still watching the younger one, "What brought all this on, anyhow?"

"Of course it isn't his," Robin scoffs, reaching up to pull his mask off and tucking it into his belt, "But he cares for it. My father spends little time attending to his possessions ... the ones up here, at any rate." The question only causes him to shrug slightly.

Richard Grayson snorts, "Yeah, I know. All too well." He watches the teen a moment, "Is that what brought this on? If you fight me, he'll notice?" Because he's been there.

"Do not presume to understand my notives, Grayson," Damian answers, suddenly derisive, "If a lion could speak in English, you would still not understand it. It was my intention to test your mettle against mine. Perhaps the venue was poorly chosen but I did not wish to subject myself to the disgusting display of you making moon-eyes at some woman in Vermont."

"You're evading my question, Wayne," Dick shoots right back. If Damian's going to play that game, so will he. "Why do you want to test my mettle against your's? And it was none of your business what I did with the woman in Vermont. You'll understand when you're older."

"Please, I understand fully and I could not care less," Damian actually smirks a bit at that himself, shaking his head, "And I wished to test you because I seek self-improvement. Who is a better opponent than an opponent trained by my father?"

"Your father," comes the easy answer. "He didn't train me in everything, you realize...and if you want a better opponent, he's the one." There's a grin then, "Although I'm flattered. I'd be happy to spar with you sometime, Damian, but I don't want to fight you. I'm not going to fight you for any sort of legacy...what Bruce does is his own decision and I'm sure that he's thought of pretty much any and all possible scenarios."

"His time will come," Damian answers, shrugging once again, "But we work as a team, and it would not do to have him feel he must keep an eye on me." His eyes roll at the mention of sparring, "Sparring proves nothing, Grayson. A fight, unexpected and unbidden, is the only true measure."

Richard Grayson starts to walk back to retrieve his travel bag, "Believe me, Damian, you can't control what he things...of you or anything else. I've tried for years. You can try and do something thinking that it will prove something to him, but if he even notices I can guarantee it won't be what you intended. You proving it to yourself is one thing, but you proving anything to him? You won't be able to control that." Shouldering the bag, he makes his way towards the stairs, "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go find my cat and unpack. If you're restless and want to go out tonight, I could be game."

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