etrayalogs | ( closed )

It's a nice inference to make in reverse—as Barbara often does—that Barbara's neither a surprise to see here, in chaos central, or out there with everyone else doing the job. Small favors for her, maybe even in both worlds, even if they (he and his Barbara) weren't in the same city for him currently. There's a nod for his commentary. "Yes, Damien and I are working on that."

Getting him a costume. If they can find enough requisite parts in the cave. Even a cobbled-together costume is better protection than no costume at all, no matter whether his skills are at the same level as their Dick or not. There were just some things to be better prepared for the eventualities of.

"Jason doesn't do groups often, and things are always a little tenuous with him." And he hadn't reacted well at all to being told there were two Dick's present in this little dome. She knew he needed to be checked in on even if he balked. Updated. Consistently, if possible. That somewhere very, very far down, he appreciated it, even when he complained loudly that he wasn't a child to be looked after.

(He also wasn't someone to ignore. Or to be left alone, wandering the dark spaces like an alley cat. Even if someone did listen and leave him be, later on, he'd be just as quick to deride how easily someone could forget him or write him off once they had. Sometimes, listening to what he didn't say was more important than what he did. He was a handful and a hot head, but it was worth it. He was, and would always be, family.

And they shared too many similar wounds,
even if they'd borne them differently.)

"But I'm sure, at the least, you'll see him when everyone has to gather to head into the labyrinth. Just keep an eye out for a man about as tall as Bruce in a shiny red helmet."

"Oh, I didn't know that." Eventually didn't actually happen as Dick ended up putting together his own sort of suit made of camouflage and spandex sewn together at the correct places, along with a vest and a utility belt he also managed to put together. He was actually pretty efficient with making things when he had to. Alfred had taught him well enough to get along without him before his passing.

Listening to her describe Jason, Dick nodded. There were a few commonalities that he recognized. His Jason was his own person and very young still. There was so much to be learned, but Dick was settling on the more proud side of things for right now-- he'd helped them out at the end of it all and Dick had seen him a handful of times since returning to Gotham to watch over things with Batman's seeming retirement.

"Ah, Red Hood, got it. I know who that is. I'll recognize that if I see him and make sure to keep my eye out." He had no idea how much he'd appreciate it or not, but it didn't really matter to Dick. He was trying. He was, no matter how he felt. Fuck, he was going to try.

"It's what we do. Wouldn't want anyone heading into there unprepared."
He's here. So, for as much as it counts, as long as it does, he's one of them.
Barbara's mouth and her eyes quirk at the corners, and she gives a game shrug.

Barbara was not surprised to hear that he had Jason, not after Tim's mention. Though there's something to it, too; he does not know any of the girls. She has to wonder if they haven't happened yet or if it's a world where they don't. She can't imagine a world with Cass and Steph in it. The idea of not knowing them. Training them. Loving them, being chosen and loved and respected by them.

Batman always needs a Robin, and Robin has always been a legacy position. Especially for Dick—who had assumed the mantle of Batman for a good amount of time when it had been needed—and now for Damian. But she'd never come into this thinking she'd have a legacy to give to another, that someone would want, and she trusted both girls with all of herself and all of it. Her Batgirls.

"I'd suggest a little breathing room with him. He might be the least open to meeting." Barbara shifts her weight between her feet. A graceful movement event at absent, evocative of dance and martial arts through her childhood and so much time spent in the freefall of air, in fighting. "I'm not saying don't introduce yourself—you should, so everyone knows everyone on sight in case of whatever happens in there—just not to be surprised if he's even more prickly than we'd normal expect in the current circumstances."

"Yeah. I have to go to the store and get supplies for the myself and the person who is going in with me. They aren't as good with things as the rest of the people around here are. I said I'd help them out." Since Dick didn't have anyone he really knew that well, he felt like it would be good to help out someone who might need it. He'd also met the... hellspawn, as the creature/person, Angel referred to himself as the first day he got here. Being eight feet tall, flexible, with four arms couldn't hurt their position in the maze either. There were a few good attributes Angel came with.

That was all Dick had, Jason and barely a Tim. He didn't have a clue about the girls, and only knew Damian by way of things here. He'd been a little harsh earlier and felt bad about it now. He looked softly back at the younger robin. Damnit. He'd go over and apologize, but he wasn't sure it'd go over well currently. His stupid pride would kill him one day.

He was half way into assuming the role of Batman as it was, but he'd never take on the mantle. That wasn't a person he wanted to be. Ever. He was far too focused on things here now to even go back to that world for the time being. If he started worrying now, he'd never stop. There were too many variables.

"Breathing room. I take it he hasn't had a smooth journey. Are there things I should know about? Maybe? I mean, as much as any of us know about one another? My Jason is the Red Hood, but it's ... alrightish between us right this minute." He moves a little and pats the large armrest on his chair, inviting her to sit. He knows she can probably stand forever, but he'll get a stiff neck.

"It might be smarter to send a team to requisition all the supplies at once. We'll all need the same things. Why not; two birds, one stone. We could get two sets for you."

Or he could be one of the ones to do it.

Barbara considers the arm of the chair he pats. There's a politeness and something like the ghost of familiarity, and it tangles up in the vague tension that permeates everything in this room. Three faces that are familiar and aren't. The faux pas that she made the first time, and the things she still couldn't quite say she wasn't looking for. She doesn't look to Dick or see whether anyone's watching, but there's a heightened awareness of the idea anyone might be.

Yes, she'd be doing this for anyone. But Dicks not anyone. There's no way for him to be.

After a moment, she perches, light and precise, like someone who balances comfortably on rooftop railings hundreds of feet in the air. One set of toes resting on the cushion between the arm of the chair and him, and the other leg hanging off the otherside of the arm of the chair, and she does consider the room this time. The people talking.

"Jason's story is," Barbara's words are careful, considering Bruce and Dick and Damian each. Thinking about how she's never entirely comfortable with people talking about her worst day (the knock on the door, that smile, the Hawaiian shirt, that rictus red grin, bright green hair, the sound of the gun, the one-second puncture of burning fire, in, out, cold chilling her skin, the sound of the laughter, of the camera going off over and over, until she passed out from blood loss) or showing up already knowing the intimate details of it. "—deeply personal. He'll tell you it if you get there."

The same could be said about everyone in this room, couldn't it?

Damian's mother. Cass's childhood. Steph's father.

Edited 2024-05-06 00:31 (UTC)

"However it works is fine. I'm not particular." He'd rather do it alone, but he's not going to say that. He's trying to get along and he needs to keep reminding himself of that. They all recognize this place, and that it means something. That should make it easier for Dick to let go of all the things bothering him.

There's not even really a thought about her sitting on the chair or not. His brain merely tells him that he's trying to do the right thing, build a bridge. He knows very well that he doesn't know her in the slightest. They are virtual strangers, no matter how kind she is. She does have a lot of information though, and that's helpful. She knows things and people, unlike he does.

That's what sets him apart from the rest. He knows Damian's story. It was a private affair between them, one Dick will never speak about and so maybe he gets how Barbara doesn't share this information, but it also reminds him once more about how he's set apart. He nods. "That's fair." They all have their stories and the right to share them.

There's plenty about Dick that none of them know either. He's not from their world, and so they don't know him either. "Any big plans for you before Labyrinth day?" He goes on, trying to think of simple things to talk about.

Barbara considers him from her vantage point. Still a bit higher than him, but not as higher as earlier. There's an interesting feeling of lost professionalism. The kind she doesn't usually let kick loose until she's flying through the air, and it's all gale-force ribbons in her hair and her heart. Reminding her why it was Alfred has once relayed Bruce saying she was the one loved it best.

Barbara's gaze lingers on him, but she chooses it anyway. Chooses to trust that someone, or multiple people, made sure he was here. Trust him to be here. In the room. In the plans. To be just as worthy of all of it as any of them. "Probably not. I have a cipher code I'm going to build for everyone so we can communicate on the comms without the whole rest of the world eavesdropping the whole time."

She shrugs a little. "Somewhere around that, I'll try to consider getting some sleep." That was so far down on the totem pole compared to prep and having her own mini-mission first. "You? Big plans before heading into the belly of the beast?"

There will always be that thing that sticks with him from their first meeting. The quiet touch of their fingers and the way he knows that their eyes can meet and feel a moment. He won't choose to acknowledge it or think about it overall, because it's not a thing he can give himself time to linger on, but it might be a thought later after the labyrinth is done and he's laying back in his bed that he lets go of. There's plenty for him to let go of, and Dick's working his thumbs over it.

Trust will come. He might will himself into it. There are only a handful of names in his head that he's had any depth of conversation with and those people have been impactful even in his short time here. "That sounds like a lot of work here. I hope that you can get it to work. Let me know if you need someone for grunt work. I'll be happy to help. I can build things. I'm only basic with code, but I've had to be inventive at times. Luckily, Gar was pretty good with it back home." He tips his head up a little and smiles, genuinely.

"Sleep is one of those things on the list. I have no idea if there's going to be much possibility out there. It's going to be a long haul, and so I plan on loading up on food and drink the best I can before. I know I'll hate it, but my body will thank me. Plus, I'll be doing my best to train as I can. I don't want my muscles to atrophy." He makes a face. It's been hard not having a great training space around. He's so used to the one he created in his apartment. Spoiled. Yes.

"It's what I do." Barbara gives a little shrug, and decides to let herself lead on the on this corner of the back of the chair, too. Relaxing by inches, even if the rest of her hasn't moved, when she gives the turn of a wry smile. A little grateful for the offer, but also a little proud of what she's excelled at so well. "You know, when I'm not in the tights."

"The chair pretty much consumes the rest of it."

It's not entirely the truth, and she says it with a light swing to the words. But she knows there are times that's not far off the truth either. There's only one Oracel and there are hundreds of heroes, of all ages, across the globe, for her to be helping. Sleep often forgets to even exist in the options box.

Sitting there, Dick listens to Barbara for a few seconds and then he turns his whole body and looks at her. "You know, I honestly don't know exactly what you do. You're very different from the Barbara in my world. She has a very different job, one I know that you don't have. She doesn't wear a suit like us." He admits and shrugs. They are all different, and he mentioned that briefly to her when they had lunch.

It's odd to compare people to him. He's worked to not do it, but it's nearly impossible. There are always going to be little similarities of movement, and even emotions at times. Dick knows it's not like this all the time from talking briefly with the Barry back in his world. He's had several doubles of people come through his life, and all of them with varying personalities. So, Dick tries to treat it like that.

"What chair consumes it?" Dick has an idea, but he's still not completely understanding. He doesn't understand her version of Oracle. They had one, but he's still of the idea that it was shut down to prevent its abuse.

Barbara wonders how exactly he thinks he knows what she does or doesn't have when he's saying he doesn't know exactly what she does at all. But the rest is even more baffling, and it does sideline her from answering the question he poses (only one of which happened to be outright or out loud). Because. Because she can't imagine it. Giving up her cape.

The only thing that had made her stop was the accident.

But even then, she hadn't been able to.
Oracle had been born of that fire, refusing to go out.

"You only said she was still in Gotham. I thought--" But what she thought is obvious.
"What does she do? Why isn't she out there with you or the others?"

Edited 2024-05-08 21:13 (UTC)

Well, the only chair he knows about is Barbara's wheelchair and this Babs clearly doesn't have one. So, there's no hint in Dick's mind that she ever even had one. It's confusing to him -- that phrase. That's why he has to ask about it. He may have said too much then because the next part makes him go quiet for a few seconds.

"She never was really out there with me. We had a small thing we did together, but it wasn't protecting the city." He hopes that will get her off the spine of his misstep and perhaps onto another form of questioning.

"Your world doesn't have a Batgirl?" Barbara can't even keep the surprise out of her voice, or the fact that rolls out faster than her logical mind trying to race behind to oddly strangling notion of being unmade. "Or do you, but it's someone else and not her?"

She hasn't missed that there is a void unfilled, a question unanswered to fill it—the same as her own, each waiting for the other sid of its equation—but he'll have to forgive her for being a little off-kilter at the sudden yawning chasm that seems to have appeared under her feet. It only feels deeply personal, even when she knows—logically, she knows—this is not actually about her at all.

Chewing over his lip, Dick gives a small shrug. "No, we don't have a batgirl. We've got a wondergirl. Donna Troy is my best friend. That's what I've got. I don't like to compare worlds or people. It doesn't work like that in the multiverse. I know that sometimes, people are completely different. In one world they could be batgirl, in another they could be a secretary or a scientist. It's not the same everywhere. There might be similarities, and there might not"

There's a small sigh. There are some with Barbara, but Dick doesn't want to bring it up. It's how they recognized one another instantly. There's that ineffable chemistry that lands between them in this world and the other. It's her brain and her determination. He can see it in her eyes, the set of her jaw. Dick would never have mistaken her for someone else despite the color of hair. It's not about her, in the same way the other Dick isn't about him-- but they both can't help but compare anyways.

Barbara visibly has to process that—a world where she doesn't exist. Or does (a Barbara Gordon does), but Batgirl doesn't exist—no Batgirl. No Batgirls comes swiftly next, looking toward Steph and Cass, as the one goofs off and the other is quietly pleased, even in her seriousness. Of course. No Genesis Domino.

There's the press of brows upwards at his words as he oddly starts to tell her what the multiverse is and how it works. Like somehow he thinks she needs to be told it. (When he was the one who said he'd known of it but never interacted with it.) "I know. My world is well-versed in the multiverse, both the theoretical and the actual part, remember?"

Though, he might not. Their conversation hadn't exactly clung to any specific rails. But it's normal in their world. Well, it's not normal. But also nothing like impossible. Or an earth-shattering epiphany. It's another problem to solve. It's a large bit of the reason why che central around them isn't full of panicked voices, but mostly serious faces, who are dedicated to trying to plan as well as they can for the absolute unknown on the otherside of whatever this labyrinth will be.

"That isn't going to stop me from asking. You're the one who said your Barbara was doing something you knew I absolutely wasn't. You can't expect me not to ask, if you're going to say things like that."

"I- I'm sorry." There was a lot that first conversation, and Dick had already had quite a morning with the rain and all before he met up with her. Then there were all the feelings and flashes of things that were invoked by her mere presence, the things that still lay there in the dusty spots of his mind. He's done work so that they don't flare up, but tonight's not all that easy for him either.

It's difficult being in a room full of people he doesn't know. Being a stranger sitting in a chair and not knowing how to attempt to start a conversation this time around is a kick in the ass for Dick. So, he'll apologize-- he'll do it as many times as he needs to tonight. He's already been jealous, said the wrong thing aloud, and gotten off on the wrong foot. Somewhere along the way, he might figure all this shit out. Maybe.

It's not looking like he's going to manage it with Barbara though. She's worse than a dog with a chew toy. He tries to think around the problem. "Your other is in a chair, and she's working with the police force. You're obviously not. You work as a vigilante, like us, and your legs work fine." He breathes out softly, eyes tender as he speaks of her-- his care evident.

"They don't."

The words are out even before her expression changes; this careful slide toward sympathy for her other self, even as it pulls her back and inward without her body shifting on the arm of Dick's chair. Not being injured was not a thing she had wished on her other part because it wasn't a thought to exist in her own head. She took her life as it was, and then she demanded it be what she said it would. She was not broken. She was not beaten. She refused all such ideas. She had created the biggest ghost in the machine, which all the heroes in her world relied on, from it.

"I have a temporary neural implant." One that was experimental at best when it went in. With a shelf life of 'it won't last forever,' might fritz out, stop working at any second without warning--that she'd had to cut directly out of her body with her own hands more than once. No one needs to tell her what that's done to its viability and shelf-life either. "It bypasses the severed part of my spinal column that can't ever be fixed."

It takes so little effort to say the facts,

and so much to make it through the next two words. "For now."

"There are still whole strings of hours or days I need a wheelchair. It's only sheer luck it hasn't happened yet here." And it is only a yet. There's no question of if in her voice." It's still had touch and go days since arriving, but not insurmountable problems yet."

Edited 2024-05-15 12:44 (UTC)

There's a light in Dick's eyes that closes beyond the one she can see. All the pain he'd hoped that she hadn't had to endure shatters past. Certainly she was never broken or beaten. That would never, ever be in Barbara's repertoire. It was still a thing that Dick wished had never played through her life.

To have been spared the horror of that night, and the miserable task of learning how to relive life-- Dick had cared so deeply for her and it hurt him even if he didn't go to her. He was a sorry ass chicken. He knew it. Rubbing the back of his head, Dick closes his eyes and tries to hide the wealth of thoughts that go running through his brain, all the memories that surge forward.

Vibrancy, them dancing back and forth over the vase before ending up deciding to become partners in crime and life. Then again, not too long before he ended up here-- finding himself in her arms. He looked up to her. "I'd hoped you didn't have to go through that. I hope that the implant works the best it can while you're here. I know the chair never holds her back, not to compare, but I do doubt it does you either. This place, this planet? It makes me anxious in ways I don't get in Gotham often."

There's an odd sort of symmetry to it. Barbara watches him close his eyes and rubs his head. It's for her, and it's not. It's her through the lens of what he experienced of that trauma with his Barbara. (Not quite living through it again, but incapable of understanding the price of it, the weight, the pain.) It's the same as wondering if it's an echo of what Dick was feeling when he wasn't there.

She doesn't quite have a lot of words to say about that (she doesn't always with her people either, not on the days she has to be stuck in the chair or quietly helped from it to a bed). She doesn't look away. She isn't hiding from it having happened, or the injury she'll have for life, or his grief, or apology, or acknowledgment. Her eyes are a solemn green, and her tightens a little in understanding.

There's the slightest nod of her head for that.
Barely there. Likely not seen from half the room away.

"Gotham's," Barbara hazards, letting the last syllable linger into silence. "A predictable known."

"This place isn't, so it's left only everything ever as the options of what could be thrown at us."

There's that paradox that can't be avoided again no matter how much Dick wishes that it could. The subtle ways in which worlds collide and his mind wanders back to Barbara's counterpart in his world instead of staying fully rooted here and letting worlds be completely singular in their existence-- never letting the issues of the multiuniverse interfere with his determination to treat people as utter individuals, such as he wishes to be treated.

It doesn't work. His head needs to let it all go, but he hasn't figured out how to navigate this ship yet.

Noting the way she moved, the look in her eye, Dick wishes he didn't have to mention things. It was his unknown and now there's this here, but it will move on in time. It's always there, but he has a feeling it will move on.

Nodding, Dick sets his lips in a line. "That's it exactly. Gotham may have its own horrors, but we know how we face them there. These are all new horrors not within our borders, with our settings.

She doesn't mind touching on it, but there's not much use staying on the topic. She won't stop being injured ever. She won't stop having delicate experimental technology holding her spine together today. (Hopefully.) And so she does what she always does. She bulls through it. She nudges him with one bare foot—just the slightest of touches before her heel is back against the chair arm again.

"Buck up, new Boy Wonder. We'll all be too distracted by them to think about comparisons soon, probably."
As much as it's worrying, there's a part of her that would rather be handling it under the cowl, too.
A part of her that forever thrills toward all those times. Taking it head on.

Then, something catches her, and she backtracks, absently turning a little in her seat. At ease. Maybe a little of it is forced, but something fond and a touch amused creeps back into her voice again. "Back home, my Dad never wanted me to be a cop. That's sort of how all this got started on my side. With me aiming to give him a heart attack in party costume."

Edited 2024-05-17 14:07 (UTC)

Funny that she calls him the new boy wonder, when he's obviously older than the other Dick Grayson. It doesn't matter to him either way, but it makes him smile to be called new. He hasn't felt new in a very long time. If anything, life's recent events have made him feel older than ever. This turn in the paycheck might make him wish he were the younger model. Age wears everything down eventually, no matter how perfectly kept the body is-- being injured time and again isn't necessarily perfect for human bodies. Not that any bat would ever complain.

"No, I have plenty on my thought plate. You're right."

Like a dog with a bone. He nailed it, because she's back around and plucking away at the other Barbara's life. It's strange how he continues to fill in the spaces and she is so insistent, when she wouldn't tell him an ounce of information about Jason. Don't people in his world get to have a right to their privacy as well. "Did he? That sounds like him. Barbara has given her dad attacks in plenty of ways. You don't have to know everything about her. It's not really our deal to pick apart people in other time lines is it? I mean, I can tell you I got to know her doing things that were illegal, and you'll have more and more questions. It's only right she gets her privacy, isn't it? Like Jason?"

Barbara raises an eyebrow as he launches into a little reprimand, bringing up the topic return to his Babara while accusing her of it. It's blatantly passive-aggressive—mentioning another thing, on purpose, and telling her she'll want to ask about it but that she shouldn't ask about it. This sudden, unnecessary mention of illegality contrasts his point of not saying things. Or he does it to bother her, to leave it like a thorn in her skin. But if he was trying to score a point for making her stop—for making her not want to ask, or know, or want to know, but not want to ask him about the words coming out his own mouth?

He's won that point.

"Right. Sorry for sharing something about myself, then." Barbara slipped off the arm of the couch with the light grace of a dancer, a fighter; someone used to the air. "We can just keep it all professional and not talk about either of our lives, then. I should get back to working as it is. I'll make sure your name is down with everyone's for those supplies. "

That hadn't been what his intentions were at all, but he was working the room with normal stellar social grace this evening. It was probably best that he grant himself leave before too much else happen. He really didn't know anyone that well anyhow and he'd already done the one thing he'd come to do.

Clothes had exchanged hands, and he was thankful to Damian for the small arsenal that he had. Nodding his head at Barbara's ire, Dick inhaled and exhaled deeply. "Gotcha. You don't have to worry about me. I take care of myself. You take care of the rest." Dick rocked forward out of his chair and with another short acknowledgement to the people he knew, Dick left the exchange all together.

They could meet again on the other side if it came down to it.

Barbara stands there, bare toes in the plush carpet and green eyes narrowed speculatively behind her glasses, watching him push himself up and all but run away from the room. It keeps catching her as a surprise; for all that, this new Dick looks right around the same age as her and Dick; he acts so much younger. This wholesale abandonment of the room and its greater purpose—to them, to every person pulled into this multiverse and now required to bear its stressful unknowns as he just put it—is just another showing of it.

After a moment, she does finally make it back to her computer.
She won't change her mind about the supplies. She never would.

It's what she does. What Oracle does.
Watching out for all the heroes who need it.

Especially the ones twisting in the wind, saying they don't.

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tw: violence, shooting, sexual assualt

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