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[fingerstripes]

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"You know what to do."


Friendr

	Friendr
«		»
	» Age: 23 » Seeking: Friends, running partners, anyone interested in getting out and seeing the world. » Preferences: any » Interests: trapeze, martial arts, breakfast foods » Bio: Let’s get to know each other. See what we might have in common.
	base code by photosynthesis
	Dick Grayson
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SLAMS THIS DOWN HERE

[bestrobin]

( Richard had been out when he'd woke that morning. And in his confusion, Damian hadn't stayed in their home long. He'd left quickly, had encountered a perimeter guard while he was out.

They hadn't lasted after a short conversation that was met with unsatisfactory answers.

Damian had returned briefly to the home he woke in, the front of his clothing wet with blood and the golden emblem on his chest in a similar state. It was only after he'd thoroughly ruined all of their rooms in a search for information and weapons that he'd found a few batarangs, tucked them away to use along with a few of the flash bombs.

What Richard would find when he finally returned to his room would be the space in complete chaos. Smears of blood were across his sheets, evidence of where they'd been carelessly pulled from the bedding, a few things broken, papers scattered if they were deemed useless. His clothing was thrown across the floor, any drawers emptied, pulled from their frame, and any other compartment - obvious or hidden - emptied and turned inside out.

At the heart of it all was the gold and black emblem dropped atop the torn and bloodied sheets. It's surface was dull, covered with a splatter of blood that had since dried. The edges were framed in half-formed fingerprints, from where it had been removed and then discarded. Not far from it, the green domino was half-hidden under the mess, and the dark cape had been abandoned carelessly elsewhere. )

WAILS

[fingerstripes]

[ There's no one else with access to the house who would know where to look for the batarangs, so his first, reflexive thought is that the blood is Damian's. For a too-long moment he's frozen in place, because all he sees in the blood stained bedding is Damian's small body torn apart. Staked to a rooftop. Bludgeoned with a baseball bar. A crow bar. He can't breathe.

He's gotten complacent. He's been selfish, he knows he has, and now someone's reached into his heart and pulled out the thing he should have been protecting above everything, everything else. Now Damian is the one paying for it.

And that snaps him out of it. There might be minutes. Seconds left. The evidence gloves come on swiftly, mechanically, and Dick does a cursory survey of the room. Then he does another, slowing a little, convinced he's moving too fast. That he's out of practice, after months away from Bludhaven. That the blind terror hooked into his gut is warping what he's seeing.

Or maybe, maybe it's not.

His hands fumble for his phone. It's a last resort. A risk to a hostage when the odds of them having control over it are nil.

But it's information either way. He needs that piece now. ]

Robin. [ His voice his tight. It's not Damian he's expecting on the other end. ]

...Robin, pick up. [ Please. ]