[Another grunt of exertion, and Robin forces his body upwards into a handstand, trying to balance on the edge of a sloped roof, before turning a quick tumble into a crouch.
It… doesn’t work that way. His legs are wobbling slightly, and when he tries to swing into the tumble, his balance shifts and he topples over with a brief yell of shock.
In the opposite direction.
Off the roof.
Shocked yell out of the way, Robin begins trying to grip something, anything on the wall while the Taillow squawks in distress and drops the camera. The Pokegear rights itself on the ground just in time to see the bird grasp the Boy Wonder’s cape.
It slows his descent, but the weight is too much for a small, level 5 Taillow and the two crash into the ground, Robin groaning as his knees absorb the impact. He gives the bird a pained, but grateful look.]
Well, you have Superman’s color scheme down. We can work on the rescuing thing.
[He flops over, lying on his side. Taillow uses his wings to shade his eyes from the sun, and Robin gently strokes the bird’s breast. Annoyed:]
I cannot believe I just fell off a roof. Nobody saw that, right? I just fell off a roof. Batman would kill me if he knew I actually fell off a roof. I mean, there goes my reputation. Say nothing of the mystique. A roof. Not even a big roof. It’s only two stories—and—
[He notices the Pokegear Taillow dropped. It’s lit up.] Why is that thing—
[He turns it off quickly.]
Third Person Sample:
Okay, first fact‘s first: his mother is dead. Ergo, this woman who left the backpack on the desk cannot be his mother. His mind runs through possibilities: Joker trick, fear toxin, holographic simulation of some kind? He’s noticing too many details: the bag has a strange circular logo on it, he’s still wearing his mask and she didn’t comment—indicators of the whole thing being someone else’s construct. The food inside looks Japanese (well, except for the trail mix), and Robin frowns, because that’s definitely not something his mind would give him. A sandwich and trail mix, sure, but a—it’s called a bento, if he remembers correctly? Who does he know in Japan who has a grudge against him or Batman?
A good enough grudge that he wakes up in a strange bed with an empty utility belt and no computer in his gloves. If it’s morning in Japan—assuming he is in Japan and he can’t check without his computer unless he asks someone and the ‘mom’ is way too suspect to trust to give helpful details like that--but if it’s morning in Japan, it’s definitely not in Gotham or Bialya—for that matter, which morning is it? Robin can’t know if he’s lost hours or days or even if his memory has been wiped again.
Nah. Can’t be. That thought immediately brings Miss Martian to mind, and she would definitely be wiped from any recent, relevant memories. So he remembers her, and she’s not in range, because he’s thinking really, really loudly ‘Miss M, now would be a great time to come in…’
The eyes behind his mask narrow as he continues looking through the bag. No effective weapons, although the clothesline might be worth something in a pinch, and maybe the soap, if he can get it into someone’s eyes. Nothing looks too dangerous, and Robin would recognize a bomb if he saw it, thank you. He looks around the room again, and it looks pretty bare. Nothing’s worth taking that isn’t already in the bag. He wishes again for his computer, or even his radio, because if someone else knew where he was, that might be helpful.
Which means, the only thing to do is to get a hold of someone else’s computer.
2/2 Dick Grayson | Young Justice | not reserved
It… doesn’t work that way. His legs are wobbling slightly, and when he tries to swing into the tumble, his balance shifts and he topples over with a brief yell of shock.
In the opposite direction.
Off the roof.
Shocked yell out of the way, Robin begins trying to grip something, anything on the wall while the Taillow squawks in distress and drops the camera. The Pokegear rights itself on the ground just in time to see the bird grasp the Boy Wonder’s cape.
It slows his descent, but the weight is too much for a small, level 5 Taillow and the two crash into the ground, Robin groaning as his knees absorb the impact. He gives the bird a pained, but grateful look.]
Well, you have Superman’s color scheme down. We can work on the rescuing thing.
[He flops over, lying on his side. Taillow uses his wings to shade his eyes from the sun, and Robin gently strokes the bird’s breast. Annoyed:]
I cannot believe I just fell off a roof. Nobody saw that, right? I just fell off a roof. Batman would kill me if he knew I actually fell off a roof. I mean, there goes my reputation. Say nothing of the mystique. A roof. Not even a big roof. It’s only two stories—and—
[He notices the Pokegear Taillow dropped. It’s lit up.]
Why is that thing—
[He turns it off quickly.]
Third Person Sample:
Okay, first fact‘s first: his mother is dead. Ergo, this woman who left the backpack on the desk cannot be his mother. His mind runs through possibilities: Joker trick, fear toxin, holographic simulation of some kind? He’s noticing too many details: the bag has a strange circular logo on it, he’s still wearing his mask and she didn’t comment—indicators of the whole thing being someone else’s construct. The food inside looks Japanese (well, except for the trail mix), and Robin frowns, because that’s definitely not something his mind would give him. A sandwich and trail mix, sure, but a—it’s called a bento, if he remembers correctly? Who does he know in Japan who has a grudge against him or Batman?
A good enough grudge that he wakes up in a strange bed with an empty utility belt and no computer in his gloves. If it’s morning in Japan—assuming he is in Japan and he can’t check without his computer unless he asks someone and the ‘mom’ is way too suspect to trust to give helpful details like that--but if it’s morning in Japan, it’s definitely not in Gotham or Bialya—for that matter, which morning is it? Robin can’t know if he’s lost hours or days or even if his memory has been wiped again.
Nah. Can’t be. That thought immediately brings Miss Martian to mind, and she would definitely be wiped from any recent, relevant memories. So he remembers her, and she’s not in range, because he’s thinking really, really loudly
‘Miss M, now would be a great time to come in…’
The eyes behind his mask narrow as he continues looking through the bag. No effective weapons, although the clothesline might be worth something in a pinch, and maybe the soap, if he can get it into someone’s eyes. Nothing looks too dangerous, and Robin would recognize a bomb if he saw it, thank you.
He looks around the room again, and it looks pretty bare. Nothing’s worth taking that isn’t already in the bag. He wishes again for his computer, or even his radio, because if someone else knew where he was, that might be helpful.
Which means, the only thing to do is to get a hold of someone else’s computer.
He glances at the door.
Just preferably? Not hers.