milliways_bar | Entries tagged with dick grayson

It's Halloween in Bludhaven.

The beauty of Bludhaven is that, fro all the citiy's flaws, unlike in Gotham, Halloween is actually a time for fun costumes, and kids going trick-or-treating, but with a much smaller chance ofthose kids being kidnapped or hurt or otherwise victimised.

And cops can, if they're lucky, take the opportunity to wear a fun costume without having policework or viglilanteing getting in the way. And Dick Grayson is going to take that opportunity.

He's at the bar right now, in what you'd think was a poorly made, cheap Batman outift. But it's green. And there are tiny paper avocados attached to it. And instead of a cape it has large green feathered wings. And a halo over the pointy ears.

You can also see Dick's full face, into which he freely unloading spoonfuls of cereal, as he watches other goings on in the bar.

sunbaked_baker

There's a ten-year old in the bar kitchen today, humming absently to herself as she makes a grilled cheese sandwich. She has tossed her backpack into a corner, out of the way, and a crumpled brown paper bag lies discarded on the kitchen table alongside a bag of chips.

(She can too use the stove - wait rats totally count as adult supervision.)

canttrickmeanymore

These books are heavy - he lost his backpack again - why was he taking advanced chem? That book alone weighs a ton. And since he doesn't have time to go to his locker before chem, he's gotta carry the damned thing to Spanish class too.

Sure, he has his shiny super strength, but that doesn't make heavy books any less heavy - it just means it takes a little longer to be uncomfortable. He shifts again to settle the books in his arms and hopes the door isn't closed when he gets to the classroom.

Even better, he meets up with Ned on his way to class. Ned is still in the mode of asking him random Spider-Man questions, but he has at least gotten the hint to not ask them quite so loudly anymore (it only took a year). Then they switch over to talking about Spanish homework...

"No, Ned, we don't have a test today, but we probably have to still answer everything in Spanish..." as he steps through the door, only for his Spanish class to suddenly look a lot not like a classroom and his best friend seems to have gone astray. And that's pretty damned weird.

[[ooc: He's in the mode of keeping his secret identity (mostly) secret - so, unless he's told you, please let's not canon puncture the kid. And we're somewhere between Homecoming and Infinity War.

Marvel folks: superhero types - if you wanna CR having met outside the bar, totally game, and he probably would've told you all of his names like a doofy fanboy weirdo. (I'm Peter... oh, we're using our made-up names...)

Deadpool: what even are 4th walls - knock yourself out, babe.]]

daringyoungman

Dick shuffles into the bar wearing super comfy sweat pants an oversized hoodie, and fluffy bunny slippers (it's January in Gotham). He is also carrying a stack of cake boxes.

He's just spent a long morning in the kitchen with Alfred, who when asked for his help decided not to look the gift horse of a morning with Master Dick in the proverbial mouth and hasn't asked for a hint of where the cakes might be going.

The boxes he dumps at the bar, each with a note that says nothing except from Dick xx, include:

- Carrot cake, with a rich cream cheese frosting and pecans, for Kanan and Hera
- An arctic roll for Klaus
- A dozen butterfly-cut fairy cakes for Ben
- a rich fruit cake for Tess
- a dozen coffee walnut cupcakes for Cassian.

He then perches on a barstool next to a pile of gingerbread cookies that he's also just made, and proceeds to wash them down with an Oreo milkshake.

He's back at Wayne Manor and life is good.

daringyoungman

[OOM:
"His name is Robin.

He is my partner."]

daringyoungman

[OOM: It's a very confusing time not to have adults around you can talk to about this stuff.]

Dick is in all black. Track pants and a sweatshirt, but at least his gloves and balaclava aren't visible so he doesn't look too much like a teenage assassin? Just a kid who hasn't yet grown his bangs out into his emo phase.

He's also sitting in a booth, with a piece of paper in front of him and the end of a pen in his mouth, wondering how on earth he's going to start this letter.

Dear Bruce seems like a good start.

for_everyone

In a corner booth, Hera and Kanan are settled over mugs of caf and Hera's datapad, its screen seeming to flash constantly as she flips through star charts and schematics. They've also been going through their tried-and-true motions for ensuring they aren't watched or overheard – surveillance droids aren't so much of a concern here, but Hera, with her back to the bar, keeps her eyes down on the table, her attention apparently consumed by her datapad, while her lekku are primed to sense approaching movement. Across from her, Kanan is leaned back on his bench, one arm resting along the top while his other hand his curled around his mug. His head is titled back, like he's resting, but his eyes flicker around the bar.

They speak quietly, without looking at one another.

"- no, I'd imagine if it were up to you, you'd want to go alone."

"I would rather not risk more pilots or ships than we have to," Hera answers. "But diplomacy was your suggestion, love. Doesn't that mean limiting our show of force?"

"Sure, but you should also have enough to cover your backs."

"Well, I do wish we had more variety in our fighter squadron, since we don't really know what we'll be up against."

"Hey, how about some more diplomatic thinking?"

Hera smiles, at last straightening, and raising her eyes from the datapad. "I think you're right. I just don't know if I'm much of a diplomat."

[ooc: Both pups here, open forever]

awkwardbot

The second time I found Milliways (or it found me, because that seems to be how it works), I'd been trying to get into one of ART's lesser-used storage holds.

Speaking of ART, it had been very interested in hearing about the Bar at the End of the Universe. And watching all the recordings I took there (multiple times). It was also very interested in some of the media I brought back with me, especially Star Trek. ART requested that if I ever went back, I should look for some media with constructs or bots (or whatever the local equivalent was) in it. It might be interesting to get a fresh perspective, ART said.

Well, I was back, and I could find what ART was looking for. But there was something I wanted to do first.

The lack of cameras in Milliways made me nervous. (I mean, more than usual.) Not just because I couldn't keep tabs on potential threats (not that I'd seen any so far, but the thing about threats is that you don't see them right up until you do), but because I had no fallback if (when) I got into an awkward conversation and had a hard time maintaining eye contact.

I didn't know what the local attitude towards surveillance was, but it seemed like it might be similar to how people felt on Preservation - that it was invasive and generally not okay. That and the constantly shifting layout meant that permanent cameras were out of the question. So I got simple camera drones instead, very small ones that don't even do their own recording. They just send their audiovisual input to some other system that records for them (in this case, me). I could recall them and store them before I left.

Once I got them placed on rafters and in corners so that I had good coverage of the main bar, I felt a little better. I backburnered the feeds from the drones, sat down in one of the big armchairs by the fireplace, and started searching through the Bar's media.

[OOC: Please read Murderbot's bio before responding, if you have not done so already. Feel free to have your pup notice a drone sitting somewhere (they are matte black and about the size of a golf ball) - they can even try to mess with it, but Murderbot will notice and react. Thanks!]

[Tinytag: Murderbot]

skyhigh_seance

Enter: One Klaus Hargreeves.

He kicks the door back, as he steps into the room, both hands full with bottles of an alcohol of such poor quality it can only be classified as 'poor life choices in a bottle'. There's a plastic medical ID band around one wrist, a gauze-wrapped bandage around one elbow where his coat has been shoved up, and a complete lack going on in the shirt category (his coat, however, a patch-work fuzzy thing that drapes to his knees and swirls gloriously, is the best).

And he has the brightest smile imaginable.

"Bar! Bar, you are magnificent, let's party baby!" He cheers, "Give the old bastard a proper wake!"

Or a 'enjoy your trip to hell' party, whichever, Klaus isn't particular. Ding-dong, the bastard's dead, and Klaus can't remember being happier.

have_no_mercy

It's been a busy day for Tess. Today Lettie is six months old, a milestone Tess is thrilled to have reached with baby still intact. Since it's not an actual birthday, she had scaled back the celebration and merely invited a few friends over to chat and reconnect.

Naturally, Lois and Clark were there and it was strange to see Lois so interested in Lettie. Lois is not a baby person. But then Clark had asked for her help and the pieces fit into place. She said she'd have to think about - and work on - it, as the request was not something she's sure she can pull off.

But she does have one idea.

At the moment, Tess is curled up in an armchair holding an odd looking crystal, sleek and smooth, with a mirror finish. She doesn't look pleased.

daringyoungman

Dick has a project. Funded by the odd Happy Hour, he has now bought several dozen yards of high quality trapeze rope, some bars, and the appropriate hardware. He is now in the rafters installing that hardware with all the care and attention any aerialist would give his equipment.

This means that if you look up, you may see a teenage boy hanging upside down, or even swinging around a beam several times, brandishing the occasional power tool, but mostly just testing and securing the apparatus with the fullness of his expertese.

daringyoungman

Dick has a plan.

Dick's plan involves money. Or bar-currency, at least, as he won't use the children's fund for this plan. Bar did offer to charge his Bruce for it, but Dick was very clear that he wasn't his Bruce anymore thank-you-very-much. And as Dick doesn't have another cource of income, he's offered to do a spot of bartending.

So.

SPECIALS

Slushies
Milkshakes
Ice cream floats

Your young bartender for the evening is on the bar, in soft shoes, juggling glassware. Because of course he is.

daringyoungman

So. Dick has a place to stay and sleep that's not the bar. This is good, because he's still not sure how long his door will be stable for.

It's bad in that it's kind of sort of a boarding school for teenage assassins?

Which is good, because Dick's an energetic, physical kind of kid, and at least now he's getting a work out and hanging out with boys his age.

But it's bad because - it's a school for teenage assassins?

But it's good because maybe Dick can investigate it and bring it down from the inside?

Maybe?
(It's possible Dick's out of his depth)

Anyway.

He's just getting finished with a napkin-conversation, the gist of which is Bar knows somehow that he's not living with Alfred and has therefore concluded that he needed protein and vegetables, and lots and lots of carbs, and he has to prove that he's finished this entire plate of spaghetti before she'll let him have waffles.

Bar is the worst.
(He has a smoothie as well, which is like a milkshake if you squint.)

daringyoungman

[OOM: "I'm not in the mood to play anymore."

In which a homeless Dick finds somewhere to stay.]

[Story and dialogue all from Robin: Year One by Chuck Dixon & Scott Beatty]

daringyoungman

Dick went back upstairs as soon as he saw Cubefall had started.

He comes down, burdened with a deceptively small knapsack containing probably not much.

(What it does contain includes: a domino mask, a yellow belt with multiple pouches, batarangs of varying sorts, grappling hooks, wires, various tools for all sorts of functions, and a few smoke bombs.)

He hesitates once at the furnace, clutching it to his chest protectively, before throwing it hard into the furnace. The resulting explosion is small, and well contained by the door that he heaves shut after it, and he can't help but feel disappointed that such a huge, all-consuming part of his short life can be over so quickly.

He hops up into the rafters to consider if he feels like changing form. LEGO Superman is there, again, but Dick isn't sure that he fancies pretending to be a superhero at the moment.

daringyoungman

Before Dick found the bar again recently, he'd left Bruce a note. He'd left, with no intention of coming back, and with no real clear idea of where he was going.

Then, he'd gone to see Dr. Thompkins, only to walk right in on a plot my Mr Freeze.

At least now, when he heads down into the bar, once again dressed for winter parkour, and knowing that he's got what must be his last ever Sideshow Baddy to take down, he knows where he wants to sleep tonight.

Dick hops onto Bar, sitting on her smooth surface and running his thumb affectioinately along her grain as he contemplates his options. Eventually he digs under his hoodie and finds, in his bat belt, an old, well thumbed, folded several times, photo of John and Mary Grayson.

He would never have it in his batbelt under normal circumstances, but he couldn't leave it at the manor.

"Hey, girl," he says finally, "can you take care of this for me?"
That way he'll have to come back.

It's absorbed into the wood, and replaced on its surface with a Milliways branded cocktail stirrer and a napkin.

For luck,

Bar tells him.

Dick gives her his most conspiratorial grin and slips the stirrer into his pocket.

"Catch ya later, girl."

Then he jumps down and over to the Door. Turning his face away form the bar as a whole, he slips on his mask, and then slips out into the cold.

--

An hour later, mask off, and hood down, Dick comes back in. He retreives his photo from the Bar and disappears again upstairs.

[OOC: Catch him before or after the OOM if you want, but you may prefer Dick's other still-open EP, and he'll have another one for Cubefall. Just getting this in there.]

have_no_mercy

It's a beautiful day outside and Tess has decided to make the most of it.

She's out by the lake, blanket on the ground, siting with her legs stretched out and a pillow behind her back. She's surrounded by children's books, which she goes through one at a time, fairly carefully.

daringyoungman

It's winter in Gotham. Dick is bundled up against the snow in jeans and an oversized red hoodie and... it had been a domino mask, but as soon as the disused factory gives way to the bar, that particular item is spirited away into the sleeve and then the pockets of the hoodie.

He slides from stealth to scuffing his heels like a pro. Might as well get a hot drink in himself now he's here.

[DCU!Dick]

imagines_the_ocean

She is down by the lake.

She sits in the water itself. Her knees barely clear the water when they are pulled up to her chest. She draws her hand through the water periodically. The water trickles out every time she uncups her hand.

On a close approach her face is filled with awe and delight. Sometimes she leans back. She never lets her hair dry completely.

Sometimes she sits completely still. She stares longingly over the water when she does. She never moves further in.

The lake.

It's a miracle.

nothinglikeanybody

Timmy's parents were home, for once, which is exciting! He got to see his mom and dad every day, at least for a little bit. There were outings! But Business waits for no one (he thinks? that seems to be true), so after a week or so, Jack and Janet Drake announced they had to leave on a shorter, weekend-long trip that's not as far away as most of their trips, but Tim can't come because it's Business and he'd be bored and have nothing to do so it's really better if he just stays at home.

And that's okay, because Tim is Very Grown Up, and Grown Ups aren't disappointed about things like that. So Tim is sitting on the couch at Milliways again, not being disappointed.

Although his Superbear might be. A little. It's a good thing it has Tim to comfort it.

daringyoungman

It's been a long day. Or night. Or... actually, Dick's been moving around so much in the last 24 hours he's not sure what timezone his body thinks he's in. It's been a long one, involving Inhumans and alien weaponry and a lot of people trying very hard to kill him.

Fortunately, no one succeeded, but it looked close there for a minute.

In a leather biker jacket and jeans so tight they may cause a health warning, Dick Grayson picks a spot, orders himself a whisky and turns around, leaning back against the bar as he surveys the patrons casually, wondering who would make the best conversation.

[OOC: Dick's AU. Please assume no knowledge of any other versions of him. What happens in AU week stays in AU week, plskthx.]

twiceahero

From Barbara's perspective, she hasn't actually been out of the bar for very long. But long experience with the place, and her own innate paranoia, mean that one of the first things she does when she comes in is retrieve a digital watch she keeps with Bar to check the time and date.

Oh, and she orders a coffee. Obviously.

Her eyebrows rise for a fraction of a second as she does the math, but then her expression calms back to a pleasant, thoughtful smile that doesn't actually communicate much.

She takes her coffee and rolls over to a table not too far from the door, her back to it so that she can watch the patrons of the bar, trying to update her mental catalog of who is around and what they're up to.

Hopefully it won't take her too long to realize that this isn't an especially good week to try to figure out what the bar tends to be like these days.

nothinglikeanybody

The Tim Drake who enters Milliways has been here before, even if that was not true up until a short while ago. He's unnaturally pale, somewhat underweight, and wearing a surgical mask over the lower half of his face. He's not alone, though - he's accompanied by a black lab wearing a service vest and a collar that proclaims him to be Ace (1007 Mountain Drive). He trots along at Tim's side loyally, subtly shifting position as they walk to put himself between Tim and anyone who gets too close.

Milliways is... a challenge for Tim. He's used to solitude and company in small groups. He may be forced to retreat at some point, but for now he's willing to slide into an unoccupied booth (maybe a little too pressed up against the side facing the wall but who's judging?) while Ace sits down next to the table and dutifully resists barking at the rats.

[Write-up of Tim's AU. Warnings for discussion of torture of a minor, mental illness, and other unfun things.]

daringyoungman

" It wasn't me that killed you, it was the Bat."

The good news is that Bruce is alive - he escaped his bonds and rescued Dick and is completely unhurt when Bruce wakes up.

"It wasn't me..."

The bad news is that Dick now knows something that hurts worse than a baseball bat to multiple bones.

It is the phrase: "You're fired. Robin's finished."

"...it was the Bat."

~*~*~*~

Dick wasn't looking for the Bar today. He wasn't looking for anything, really. He's just been puttering about the mansion in his sweatpants and a flannel shirt that Alfred has cut off and hemmed above the right elbow for ease of getting on and off over his cast. Apparently the door has decided he might as well putter around in here, so he takes it.

He alters his gait a little, trying to be less visibly in pain from walking, but he can't cover the bruising on his face or the plaster cast that covers him from wrist to elbow.

He kiiiinda wants to just hide in the rafters but that's probably a no-go. so he heads to the couches instead.

After a while a rat brings him hot chocolate and cereal.

daringyoungman

[OOM: Who dies first?

In which a man has two faces.

CN: drowning, graphic violence against a child.]

[Story and dialogue all from Robin: Year One by Chuck Dixon & Scott Beatty. If you would like a thread timed before this, Dick's last EP remains open.]