milliways_bar | tim drake inna dress.

There was a new girl in the bar. She looked mildly surprised to find herself there, but more or less stared at the location that she had turned out in. From her style of dress that consisted of a nice red dress that came down past her knees, revealing smooth legs and high-heeled shoes, not to mention how tidy her straight chestnut hair was as it brushed against her mid-back was, it could be guessed that she had come from some sort of party or function.

Bright green eyes lined neatly with eyeliner and touched up with eyeshadow eyed the surroundings warily, her cherry red lips tightening in a line. She was actually quite the looker when it came down to it, but she looked mildly irritated at the moment.

You couldn't blame her, though. That was because of one primary reason -- she was actually a boy.

Tim Drake, to be exact, or better known as Robin, formidable sidekick to the Dark Knight.

So why was he in such a get up? He had been asked by Bruce to be his date for a function because he would rather not make the effort of finding a complete stranger to go with. And it seemed that Cassandra had been busy for the night.

A sigh escaped those painted lips. He was never doing this ever again.

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"Oh, ew." Tim certainly did not want to go there. At all. Ever. "Excuse me as I go wash out my brain with a steel sponge!"

Dick smirks. "What, you're not curious at all?"

Yes, this is his way of getting revenge, why do you ask?

"No, no, and let me see...no." Yeah, Tim was definitely Not Going There. "You go ask him, if you're so curious."

"That'd work well, if I wasn't across the country," Dick points out. And besides, he really doesn't want to know at all. Ever ever -ever-. "You can be my messanger."

"Um, no." He wasn't suicidal, after all. "There's a thing called modern technology, you know. Call him, comm him, email him?"

Dick feigns ignorance. "I think I've forgotten how."

Psh.

"Liar. Liaaar." So he sounded a bit immature. So what?

"Pants on fire?" Dick finishes for him.

"More like tights. Or lack of them," he told Dick, snickering as he thought of the Robin pant-thingies.

"Oh, you mean the look you were too chicken to wear?"

"I was not too chicken. I wore them, remember? When I saved your sorry butt?" Ah, the old days. The beginning days. "Oh, wait. That doesn't specify much, does it?" He said cheekily.

Dick makes a face at him. "And I've returned the favour many times, you brat."

"Details, details," Tim said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But man, if your old man-cleavage outfit could have been set in fire..."

"We'll just wait and see what happens when you're left to create your own costume," Dick says. "We'll see who's laughing then."

"Hey, I've learned from your mistakes. I am not going disco, not if my life depended on it," Tim told the older man, shaking his head.

tim drake inna dress.

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