2012-10-05 Pass The Torch

The hour is sometime after midnight, and whent the Bats is away, the birds will play. Robin is on one of the platforms nearby, hip deep in the wreckage that used to be the Redjet. Used to be, in that Supergirl decided to fly through the vehicle in it's last flight, rather than around it. In her defense, it was being thrown at her at the time by a super-powered Meta, but still. Robin's phone sits nearby, heavy rock and metal playing.
Robin has just straightened, and slipped back a welder's mask to survey his work. The torch sits in one hand, as the teen wipes his brow with the other. "Damn reapirs are gonna take a friggin month at this rate..." he mutters.
Tim tends to think of the Batcave as a safe place. One in which he can let his guard down. And he as done so tonight. Robin's cape, mask, and heavy utility belt are all draped over the edge of the open cockpit, right near the boy's phone.
It's been some time in the planning. Weeks of studying his opponent, hours of trawling through footage to find weaknesses. Damian knows what he wants and he is not about to risk his one chance at it with a lack of preparation. The battleground? The Batcave, of course. With Batman away there is nobody to interrupt them, save perhaps Pennyworth lurking up above in the Manor.
A few hours ago, Damian left the Cave to go on patrol. He didn't make a show of it, nor did he announce it. But it was obvious enough to those trained to notice such things. By now, he's slipped back in and lurks in the shadows of a rocky outcropping high above the wreckage of the Redbird.
He his shoulders and watches, eyes narrowed and determined.
Robin flips off the welding torch and slides down to the ground. He clips the torch back into it's holder on the propane tank and grabs a bottle of water and tilting it back, taking a long, greedy drink.
Damian tenses up a moment as he watches Robin take the drink of water, planting a foot on the ledge ...
Now!
He launches himself forward, sparing the battle cry or any avoidable sound that might announce his presence. He strikes while his target is distracted, swooping down with both feet before him as he glides in an effort to plant a two-footed kick on Robin's chest.
Was it instinct or luck? Something made Robin turn at the best (or worst) possible moment in Damian's charge. Both feet land solidly on Robin's chest and send him sailing backwards to the metal platform. Luck gave him a chance to let his training kick in, and the Teen Wonder hits the floor he rolls, minimizing the impact as much as possible. The defensive roll takes his right underneath the remains of the Redjet, and Robin stops in a three-point stance and looks up at his assilant.
Damian! Robin's free hand comes up to his chest....'Breathe!' Robin commands himself, trying to fight through the stars of having his breath knocked out of him.
“You have something that belongs to me,” Damian announces, darting forward to launch a practiced palm strike at Robin's middle, “I've come to claim it.”
He doesn't pause to talk, speaking as he moves instead. Someone trained by his father is going to be a formidable foe indeed and the way he moves relentlessly shows that he doesn't plan to give an inch.
Robin throws himself sideways under the jet, using the landing gear as cover to avoid Damin's attack. The teen rolls once more and comes to his feet, and on the verge of blacking out, finally is able to expand his lungs. Robin shakes his head once to clear his vison and steps out from underneath the jet, sliding into an easy fighting stance.
"What in the hell do you think you are doing?" the boy asks, still not sure if this is just a training exercise gone wrong. Tim doubts it. Damian is a wierd kid after all. "What are you talking about? I don't have anything that belongs to you."
“Don't be an idiot, Drake,” Damian answers scathingly, moving forward to engage Robin with a flurry of blows, “Yield or I will beat you to a pulp.”
The keen, analytical mind may notice that none of Damian's attacks seem to be lethal or even particularly injurious. They're meant to hurt and leave a mark, certainly, but he's not trying to disassemble Tim like he would a criminal. Almost like he's making a point of not harming him.
Robin is no slouch when it comes to combat himself, and matches Damian's flurry blow for blow, parrying and countering just as quickly. He may not be agile as Damian, but he's stronger, and Robin tries to press that advantage in a straight up fight.
"You're going to have to stop thinking that the rest of us know what's going on in that weird pointed head of yours and explain what the hell you mean, Wayne." Robin verbally counters. Maybe he can unbalance Damian mentally, and find out what the hell this is about.
“In the League of Assassins, rank is awarded to the strongest through trial by combat,” Damian replies, turning aside those blows he can and weaving to evade those he cannot, “You stand at my father's right hand. I can no longer abide that – consider this my trial by combat.”
Their moving back and forth across the platform, evenly matched as they trade blows, proves the stalemate they've set themselves in. Something must be done,
“Don't take it personally, Drake. You are skilled. But it is time for me to take my rightful place.”
He swiftly drops into a crouch, planting one hand on the floor as he sweeps his leg to try and throw Robin off balance.
Damian is good, but it's his response that throws Robin off his game. "You...want to be Robin?" he asks, dumbfounded as the sweep is executed. Robin lands flat on his back, wincing in pain.
"You want it so bad, fine. You can have it." the teen grunts, spin kicking from the floor to try and back Damian off a step and give him the momentum to flip to his feet.
Damian lunges forward, raising a fist as he prepares to press his advantage and rain a series of punches down on Robin. When he says what he does, however, he immediately backs off. He does not let his guard down, but the look on his face is clearly one of puzzlement. This is not one of the myriad of outcomes he had thought of during the planning stages.
“What?” he asks, hands still raised before him, prepared to turn aside any surprise attack that may come his way, “What do you mean I can have it? You can't just give it up. That's … “
He was going to say 'that's not how it works' by the sound of it, but then he doesn't really know HOW it works.
Robin lets the momentum of his kick carrying him back up to his feet as the teen takes a few steps back and places a hand on the small of his back. There's an audible 'pop' and a gentle sigh of relief as he studies Damian.
"This isn't the League of Assassians, Damian. We work together and support each other here, and don't go up in rank by killing those above us." Robin starts to explain, taking a few steps towards the open cockpit of the jet. He's moving to turn the music off, and offer Damian the 'Robin' mask, but his Utility belt, with all of his weapons hangs there as well.
"And I think you stepping up to become Robin would be a good idea. With me in college now, I don't have the time to be by Batman's side as much as I want too anymore." he says as he walks.
Damian doesn't trust easily. If someone were to try something like this in the League of Assassins he'd expect a knife at his throat the next time he closed his eyes for more than a split second. So when Tim so readily offers the Robin 'job', he can't help but expect some sort of retaliation. His eyes flicker to the mask for a moment.
“I wasn't going to kill you,” Damian announces, taking exception to that, “I don't do that anymore. It was to show that I am fit to have your title.”
He finally lowers his defenses just a touch to reach out and take the mask, looking at Tim warily, “You're certain?”
"I'm sure Batman will have a say in the matter." Robin explains, letting the mask go and shrugging lightly. "But if he's okay with it, then yeah. I can go under a new name for hero work. I'm mostly solo these days anyway."
Just to show his commitment, Robin turns, showing Damian his unprotected flank as he reaches up and grabs his cape and utility belt from the side of the jet. "I'm keeping my bike though." he says, shooting Damian a grin.
To his credit, Damian doesn't attack when Tim creates the opening. Instead, he lowers his own defenses slowly and tucks the mask away in his utility belt. He's not making it easy to retrieve if he suddenly changes his mind about not wanting to be Robin anymore.
“I don't need it,” Damian answers a little haughtily, folding his arms across his chest, “I have my own.”
Someone is going to have to talk to Batman, that much is true.
Robin thumbs at the Redjet and glances at Damian. "Mind if I get back to work, or are we still dancing here?" he asks, reaching up to run a little more at his back before he clips his belt into place.
“I won't stop you.”
It seems like Damian is a little rattled, perhaps wishing that this transition were a little more cut and dry than it has ended up. Still, a victory is a victory and he's gotten what he wants. There's no need to press on.
He takes a step back, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides before finally venturing, “Do you need help?”
The way he says it sounds like it may have been the most difficult thing he's ever had to say.
"Know anything about installing a yoke that's been ripped out by a super-powered old guy with a built in magical mean streak?" Robin asks, lighting kicking the steering assemble that sits on the floor by the jet. "Because if yes, then sure. Or if you want to learn, then sure." Robin says, grinning lightly and tossing his cape back over the cockpit as he starts climbing back on top of the jet.
Damian says nothing, looking off towards the ledge that his Spartan quarters has been set up on. He could probably just sneak off and sit in his ivory tower. After all, nobody really expects him to be helpful or even personable. But for all his pomposity, part of him feels that he owes the elder Bat-Family member something.
So, instead, he moves close and crouches down to watch Tim work. Yes, he'd like to learn.
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