[The fact that he has to shield his eyes, is the first thing that let's him know he's probably not in Kansas anymore. There'd been a moment, strapped down and in that van- that he'd strongly considered the idea that he'd just imagined a rescue from the world's most ill-conceived duo, and instead of killing him outright, the winner of Roulette's game had decided to play with their captive first. It wouldn't exactly be the first time- but being let out, stumbling and foggy brained into the mouth of an ally doesn't exactly fit the M.O. either.
A slight change to predictable behaviour isn't that out of the norm, if not unsettling- but the heat, and the bright glaring sun- even in it's warmest season, Gotham was barely anything but overcast. A mix of pollution and rainy weather both. So the first thing he does upon that realization, is sink a little further into the alley, hand scraping along the brick until he's covered more in the shadow of the buildings.
He needs to lay low, at least until the slight trembling in his limbs ease, because he knows if he comes stumbling down in the party below, looking like he'd just escaped from a hospital room- he's more likely to cause a bit of mass hysteria, than to get any of the information he actually wants.
He's just hoping his reaction time wasn't so slowed down, that the people who came stumbling out of the truck after him, noted particularly where he'd gone. Not when he has no idea if they're in the same boat as him, or insurance by whoever had actually dropped him here. Bats be paranoid]
II. THE GREATEST SHOWER SCENE- SINCE PSYCHO. For Steph - but if you want this, by all means
[When Dick had managed to make it back to the safe house, he'd barely spared a glance for anyone else in the space. Simply selected a cot when asked, that kept him towards the back and with a view of as many people he would be living with for the next little while, as possible. Then he'd grabbed what passed for clothes that would allow him to blend in, the bag of toiletries and made a beeline for the communal showers.
Privacy is an illusion he could ill afford for most of his life, and more so, when your ex is a rather omniprescent on the other side of every available tech feed, and so he thinks very little of shredding the scrubs he'd come in with and turning on the water as hot as he could stand. The actual shower portion had been quick and perfunctory- something to get rid of the sweat from the heat at the beach earlier, and the slight feeling of grim- of wrongness, in knowing he'd been stationary for an amount of time he found impossible to determine.
It had helped- but not by much. The warmth seeps over muscles that feel out of sorts- not as bad off as they would be, he thinks, if he'd been out of commission this long back in Gotham- but stiff with more disuse than he's seen out of them since he'd first learned to walk. Braces his forearms on the wall in front of him, and tries not to find it disconcerting that the motion doesn't bring with it the pang of broken ribs that he knows he should be feeling. That the water runs down over his forehead and down the edge of his nose, and doesn't plaster his hair across his eyes.
Let's the sound of it hitting the drain, and the pounding of it on his skin, drown out the sound of everyone else there. As much as he's shucked a lot of Bruce's teachings over the years, a few things are so ingrained he'll never drop them. Collect all information available. Go over it. Then again, and again, until he's as sure of it as he is his own name. Then plan. The problem is- When he goes over the information he's been given- none of it makes any sense.
Kidnapping, forcibly induced coma with very little after effects, a compelled need to do as he's instructed, a neural implant that needs to be adjusted before he can leave the warehouse- an older Damian- no. That, he's going to leave alone.
He sighs, and scrubs a hand through shorn hair, and tips his head back beneath the spray. Try again. Kidnapping, forcibly induced coma-
Wait, was that-?]
III. RIG THE DECK? WILDCARD
( this is your do as you will space, hit me up at kiriakis#4400 at discord, or shoot me a PM if you want to work out something specific, otherwise- go nuts )
dick grayson | DC Comics
[The fact that he has to shield his eyes, is the first thing that let's him know he's probably not in Kansas anymore. There'd been a moment, strapped down and in that van- that he'd strongly considered the idea that he'd just imagined a rescue from the world's most ill-conceived duo, and instead of killing him outright, the winner of Roulette's game had decided to play with their captive first. It wouldn't exactly be the first time- but being let out, stumbling and foggy brained into the mouth of an ally doesn't exactly fit the M.O. either.
A slight change to predictable behaviour isn't that out of the norm, if not unsettling- but the heat, and the bright glaring sun- even in it's warmest season, Gotham was barely anything but overcast. A mix of pollution and rainy weather both. So the first thing he does upon that realization, is sink a little further into the alley, hand scraping along the brick until he's covered more in the shadow of the buildings.
He needs to lay low, at least until the slight trembling in his limbs ease, because he knows if he comes stumbling down in the party below, looking like he'd just escaped from a hospital room- he's more likely to cause a bit of mass hysteria, than to get any of the information he actually wants.
He's just hoping his reaction time wasn't so slowed down, that the people who came stumbling out of the truck after him, noted particularly where he'd gone. Not when he has no idea if they're in the same boat as him, or insurance by whoever had actually dropped him here. Bats be paranoid]
[When Dick had managed to make it back to the safe house, he'd barely spared a glance for anyone else in the space. Simply selected a cot when asked, that kept him towards the back and with a view of as many people he would be living with for the next little while, as possible. Then he'd grabbed what passed for clothes that would allow him to blend in, the bag of toiletries and made a beeline for the communal showers.
Privacy is an illusion he could ill afford for most of his life, and more so, when your ex is a rather omniprescent on the other side of every available tech feed, and so he thinks very little of shredding the scrubs he'd come in with and turning on the water as hot as he could stand. The actual shower portion had been quick and perfunctory- something to get rid of the sweat from the heat at the beach earlier, and the slight feeling of grim- of wrongness, in knowing he'd been stationary for an amount of time he found impossible to determine.
It had helped- but not by much. The warmth seeps over muscles that feel out of sorts- not as bad off as they would be, he thinks, if he'd been out of commission this long back in Gotham- but stiff with more disuse than he's seen out of them since he'd first learned to walk. Braces his forearms on the wall in front of him, and tries not to find it disconcerting that the motion doesn't bring with it the pang of broken ribs that he knows he should be feeling. That the water runs down over his forehead and down the edge of his nose, and doesn't plaster his hair across his eyes.
Let's the sound of it hitting the drain, and the pounding of it on his skin, drown out the sound of everyone else there. As much as he's shucked a lot of Bruce's teachings over the years, a few things are so ingrained he'll never drop them. Collect all information available. Go over it. Then again, and again, until he's as sure of it as he is his own name. Then plan. The problem is- When he goes over the information he's been given- none of it makes any sense.
Kidnapping, forcibly induced coma with very little after effects, a compelled need to do as he's instructed, a neural implant that needs to be adjusted before he can leave the warehouse- an older Damian- no. That, he's going to leave alone.
He sighs, and scrubs a hand through shorn hair, and tips his head back beneath the spray. Try again. Kidnapping, forcibly induced coma-
Wait, was that-?]